Hunting Will (7 page)

On cue, the man materialized inside the room, and all of them jumped. The man’s persona oozed hatred and death, and his appearance did nothing to lessen the effect. His head was shaved clean, and was covered by dozens of thick, deep scars that put Athos’ single scar to shame. But it was the eyes that made the man truly terrifying. The entirety of each eye was a deep blood-red.

The man had developed a powerful ability to project empathy Energy into his victims. He could increase their fear to the point where they were unable to fight, and the executions were quick and painless. The Hunters didn’t understand how that could be much of a challenge, but The Leader had impressed on them that The Assassin’s bloodlust could never be fully quenched. He would kill without reason, or mercy, or remorse, and ask for more. He wasn’t looking for a challenge; he was looking for mass slaughter.

“Speaking of someone who doesn’t need a Halloween costume,” Porthos muttered.

“Where is the picture of the target?” The Assassin asked. He’d managed to hone his voice to have an icy edge to it, a tone so ingrained in him that he used it with the Hunters just as he did with his victims.

Aramis flipped through his notes and pulled out a printed picture of the target. The Assassin accepted the photo, looked at it once, and committed it to memory. “Where is the target presently?”

“She’s going to be at a costume party tonight at our target’s house,” Athos replied. “We’d recommend that you attend with us and follow the woman home when she leaves. Aramis’ research didn’t turn up an address for her.”

The Assassin merely grunted. That was his indication that he’d understood. The Hunters knew he’d prefer to simply exterminate the entire house of humans. Such actions were strictly against orders of The Leader, though, and nobody dared violate such orders.

“And no ‘accidents’ involving anyone nearby,” Athos cautioned. “Wait until she’s alone.”

The blood-red eyes stared at him with an even greater degree of malice, if possible. That was as near to consent as Athos could hope. The man had been warned; failures would be dealt with by The Leader.

“Rest up, gentlemen,” Porthos said. “We have a party to attend tonight.”

●●●●●

Porthos managed to convince the Hunters to modify their traditional attire to make it look “costume-y,” and a means of having a bit of fun with their work. Porthos managed to find a wide-brimmed hat with a feather and went as one of the Three Musketeers. “I’ll go as Athos, though I’ve heard he’s pretty dull.”

Athos, after much convincing, agreed to attend as a pirate. He wore a patch over his right eye along with some silks and a stuffed parrot attached to his shoulder.

Aramis insisted that his costume include his beloved top hat; they swapped out his glasses for a monocle and stuffed his pockets with fake paper money to create the look of a board game character. Like the other Hunters, he’d wear his short sword on his belt. “Tell them you’re a rich ninja,” Porthos suggested. “Nobody will believe it, because you look like a complete loser, but try it anyway.”

The Assassin went as a cold-blooded serial killer with blood-red eyes. “If anybody asks you, you’re wearing something called ‘tinted contact lenses,’” Porthos said. Nobody else said anything. The Hunters thought it unlikely anyone would engage the man in conversation.

They parked their rental car near the end of the driveway and walked roughly a half-mile to the house. “I can feel him close by,” Porthos subvocalized into the communicator implanted under his ear. “I hope I don’t gag at the smell.”

“Try not to lose control,” Athos said, putting as much sternness as possible into words spoken at such low volume. “And no chatting with the ladies. We have a job to do.”

“Yes, Dad. I’ll have the car home by midnight.”

“This party is going to attract attention,” Aramis muttered. “People will start to ask how he can afford such extravagance. This may qualify him for tentative charges under a few more laws.” He started to reach for his hat, before Athos cut him off. For now, they needed to inject the man with the sleeping serum, leave, and wait for him to fall into a deep sleep. They’d be able to incarcerate him and then identify additional charges later without fear that the suspect would pull a Stark and vanish.

The house was bursting with light, and loud music accompanied by a steady percussive beat greeted their approach. A burly man stood near the door holding a clipboard. His posture and build suggested that he wasn’t a man to trifle with. His gaze, a condescending sneer, suggested the man wasn’t impressed by the four relatively short men of lean builds. “Names?”

“We have some already, thanks,” Porthos said, and made as if to walk by the man and into the house.

The man’s arm shot up, barricading the door. “Only those invited may enter. Mr. Jones has made it clear that others are not permitted on the premises this evening.”

“And why would we be here if not invited?” Porthos asked. “This is not exactly a place you’d find by accident, is it?” As he spoke, he seeped Energy into the man, Energy that said that the four men were
special
guests of Mr. Jones, and should be allowed inside immediately and without incident.

“No, I suppose not,” the man replied. He looked at them with interest. “Mr. Jones did mention he had four special guests tonight who would not be on my list. I suspect that must be the four of you.”

“That’s us,” Porthos said, smiling. The other Hunters tried to look as if this was no surprise to them. The Assassin merely looked at the guard.

“Go on in, gentlemen,” the guard said, pushing the door open. “Do enjoy yourselves. And, sir?” He tapped The Assassin on the shoulder as the man passed. “That’s an incredible costume. It genuinely makes me fear for my life. Very nice makeup work with the scars.”

Aramis and Athos each took an arm and led The Assassin inside, before the killer demonstrated to the guard just how appropriate his fear was.

As Porthos had predicted and the line of cars outside had suggested, the inside of the house was packed with humans, all chatting amiably and loudly amidst the deafening music. Many were making strange movements that seemed coordinated in some fashion. “I fear they’re on to us,” Athos said into his communication device. “The movements appear to be a prelude to an attack.”

Porthos barely stifled a laugh. “It’s called
dancing
, you idiot! It’s something done for recreation and enjoyment. I have a dictionary back at the hotel if you need to look any of those words up.”

Aramis’ face betrayed a look of horror. “They
must
be violating a rule or a law somehow in doing this,” he hissed into his communicator. “We should look that up and…”

“Do nothing,” Athos said. “Humans being humans is not a crime, despite what The Assassin might think.” He glanced around, having noticed that The Assassin had left their group, until he spotted the killer standing on one of the steps leading to the upper floor, his blood-red eyes scanning the crowded entry floor for his target. “We need to find Clint, jab him, and then leave.”

“The party’s just started though,” Porthos said. “If we stay, we don’t have to wait to come back, and…”

“Jab and go, Porthos.”

“Right.” Porthos’ tone was sullen. “I’d suggest we split up and approach our friend separately. Don’t follow me.” And the Hunter merged into the crowd and began weaving through. Athos thought he’d spotted Clint already, but Porthos was actually making a direct route toward a beautiful redhead. Athos sighed, then glanced at Aramis. “You go next. Porthos, keep us posted on your progress.”

“I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Right, right. Your friend is on the opposite side of the room from me.”

Athos and Aramis both looked, and spotted Clint talking to a small crowd of men and women. He was deeply engaged in the conversation with the humans, which baffled the Hunters. Such actions with lesser beings couldn’t help him to continue to advance, and increased the risk of accidental exposure of the Aliomenti. Perhaps that wasn’t a concern for the Alliance, but the Hunters had other ideas. “You first, Aramis. Brush past him after you put on the ring and make contact; just be careful not to jab yourself in the process. Make your way toward Porthos after you’re done. I’ll go after you.”

They’d found the rings in the cargo hold of the transport and decided they were a much more efficient way to deliver the serum into Clint’s bloodstream. The rings were somewhat oversized, hollow on the inside, and featured miniature injection needles on the underside, closest to the palm as the rings were worn. They’d need only brush their hands on Clint briefly to initiate and complete the injection, a more natural-looking action than trying to depress the plunger on the smaller syringes.

Aramis did as commanded, slithering through the tight packs of humans, keeping his eyes on Clint without ever seeming to look in that direction. When he neared within a few feet, he reached into his pocket, slipped on the ring, and flicked the miniature needle covers off after removing his hand from his pocket. As Athos had noted, he didn’t want to inject himself with the serum.

Aramis moved between two men whose backs faced Clint; the target was looking in the opposite direction and wouldn’t see Aramis approach. Squeezing by, Aramis muttered a quiet “excuse me” as he slid through, and in the process his hand made contact with Clint’s shoulder. The miniature injection needles punctured Clint’s shirt and the serum entered his bloodstream, all of which happened in the fraction of a second Aramis’ hand lingered on the target’s shoulder. As he emerged on the opposite side, Aramis whispered. “That was easy. Athos, you’re up next.”

Athos maneuvered his way toward Clint as Aramis reached a comfortable distance away. He’ nearly reached the target when a young woman with platinum-blonde hair stepped in front of him. “I just
love
your pirate costume!” She batted her eyes at him.

“Er… thank you. You… you look very nice.”
Now go very far away.

She blushed. “Thank you. Are you new to the area?”

She wants to have a conversation
? “I’m actually feeling warm and need to step outside. If you’ll excuse me?”

“I’ll go with you.”

Athos suddenly recognized her. She was Eva Elizabeth Lowell, the young woman that The Assassin was supposed to kill.
Assassin, follow me outside please. Your target is with me. Exit through the door on the side of the house opposite where we entered.

Athos smiled at Eva. “That would be nice.”

Athos donned the ring syringe and jabbed it against Clint on his way outside. The Assassin stepped in front of Athos before the Hunter could exit, and the three of them walked out together.

Once outside, the trio stepped off the porch and into the grassy areas behind the house. Athos snapped his fingers. “I’ve left something inside and need to go get it. Perhaps you could keep my friend here company, Miss…?”

“Eva.” She turned around, spotted The Assassin, and gasped. “Oh! What a fantastic costume! The makeup work on the scars must have taken
hours
! And the eyes… how are you doing that?”

“Tinted contact lenses.” The Assassin’s words were spoken in a grunt; he was not one given to pretending to be a simple party-goer wearing an impressive costume. He was behaving exactly as an assassin should behave.

The young woman seemed impressed by his act and costume. “That’s so clever! Are you new around here, …?”

Athos realized that she was looking for his name. “That’s Joe,” he said, speaking the first English name that came to mind. “Joe was telling me earlier that he’d love to take a walk around these grounds and see all of the sights. Perhaps you could show him, Miss Eva?”

She giggled, glanced at the strong-looking man in the terrifying “costume,” and nodded. “Sure. Come on, Joe. I’ll show you where Clint keeps his horses.” The two wandered off into the night.

Little did Eva know that her life would soon end.

Athos walked back toward the house. “Porthos, if you haven’t already, do your jab job and let’s leave. The Assassin has already engaged his target. We need to depart.” Athos entered the house and spotted Porthos, still chatting away with the lovely redhead he’d approached earlier. The Hunter made eye contact with his leader and nodded. “That nod better mean ‘I’m heading over to do my job right now,’ and not ‘I’m having a wonderful time with this human woman.’”

Porthos looked at his wrist, uttered some explanation, and made his way in Athos’ direction, which would take him past Clint. The young woman looked aghast at his departure, and Porthos turned to offer some parting word. As Porthos turned back toward the rear of the house and toward his target, Clint turned in his direction — and froze.

It only then occurred to Athos that Porthos, having been involved in Oath affirmations for the past several years, had likely been seen by Clint, and a simple feathered hat was nowhere near sufficient to mask the Hunter’s identity.

Clint frowned, as if determining his best approach to handling the sudden and unexpected appearance of a Hunter. He’d know exactly why Porthos was there, of course. It was simply a matter of deciding how to manipulate the situation to his advantage. Athos supposed he would make his excuses, retire upstairs to an unoccupied room, and teleport from there to the outside to attempt his escape. He suspected he should warn the others of that.