Vespertine

The bar wasn’t empty, even at noon—just like Salvatore had expected, seeing as it was a Saturday. But it wasn’t crowded, either, and he quickly spotted the older woman behind the bar, as well as a young-looking girl who was wiping tables near the back.

He approached the bar, drawing the attention of the bartender as he didn’t take a seat. “Can I help you?”

“Margarette?” Salvatore questioned, smilling politely.

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“Are you, by chance, Margarette the flux user?”

She hesitated before responding. “No. That would be my granddaughter.” Salvatore’s eye flickered to the girl in the back, who was still wiping dutifully, but had clearly noticed his presence. She glanced up curiously, looking away as soon as their eyes met.

“Do you need something?” Margarette asked, her tone becoming hostile as she appraised Salvatore, noting his simple white tank and cutoff khakis, his attire completely devoid of the silken scarf that would have marked him as a sorcerer.

He smiled as charmingly as he could. “Just to talk.”

She glared uninvitingly, but before she could turn him away, the girl stepped up to the bar and took him by the elbow gently. “To me?”

He nodded, and she led him to an empty table near the door, away from her grandmother behind the bar. She gestured to the table, despite the unfriendly look Margarette shot them.

“Thanks. And to whom am I speaking?”

“The younger Margarette,” she responded lightly, an amused smile dancing across her face. “But you can call me Arette.” That smile disappeared as she leaned in, a little more covertly. “Please tell me you’re with the V’s.”

Salvatore didn’t reply right away, gazing at her impassively. He couldn’t say anything incriminating until he was sure this wasn’t a trap.

Sensing this, Arette leaned forward even more, a desperate tone entering her voice. “Please. You can do it, can’t you? I know what people like you do. I’ve heard the stories. It wouldn’t be hard, right?”

There was a fear, a pleading in her voice that was almost impossible to fake. Salvatore considered her question for a second, before answering with one of his own. “Date of contact?”

“February 3rd,” she replied quickly. Then, after a pause, she added, “I was told you guys would require details like that to verify I am who I say I am.”

He nodded briskly, and then offered an apologetic smile. “Right…listen, Arette.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s been a while since you contacted the V’s with your request, yeah?”

“Months,” she answered, impatiently. “I was beginning to think my message hadn’t even reached you guys.”

He shook his head. “We got it. It’s just…we don’t really do things like that.”

Her face crumpled. “But you do! You do assassinations and stuff, don’t you? I’ve heard about you guys, on the news and on the streets. All those dead sorcerers, picked off by organizations like yours. Why can’t you?”

“Those sorcerers had it coming, Arette. It was important for them to be gone.”

Her eyes hardened. “So does she.”

“This is of a personal nature, isn’t it? The V’s don’t kill for money or personal grievances. And besides…” he glanced at the woman behind the counter, still watching them suspiciously. “She’s your grandmother.”

“You don’t understand,” Arette hissed. “That woman has done nothing but torture me for years.”

“She locks me up,” she spat. “Or at least, she used to.” She laughed bitterly. “You know it’s bad when you miss being locked up. When I was younger, it was just that. Do something to piss her off, she’ll throw me in a closet, leave me there. A couple days at most. No food, no water, no light. No contact.”

“But she’s started hitting me, ever since I got too big to handle nicely. Uses whatever’s around. Metal weights, chess pieces, cups, fucking spatulas. And she can, because all the metal around here’ll obey her.” Her face twisted in fury. “She’s a coward, she is. Just a mean old woman without her magic. But with it? She’s cruel.”

“You’re a flux user, though, aren’t you?” Salvatore pointed out. “Why don’t you just take her magic away?”

She shook her head. “I can’t, not forever. And if I do it, it just pisses her off, and I receive much worse later. There’s no way out. The police, they wouldn’t believe me. A nice old woman, abusing a strong little girl? Preposterous.”

“So you hired us to kill her.”

She nodded. “It was the only way I could think of.”

“Why not kill her yourself?”

She looked a little shocked at the question, even as Salvatore met her eyes calmly, his right eyebrow slightly raised. “Because…because then I’d be a murderer, wouldn’t I?”

“And you’re not like this? Arette, don’t get me wrong. We supply the killing, but you supply the intent. This is just as bad as doing it yourself.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “I just need help,” she whispered. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.”

Finally, he smiled.

“Luckily, I think I have a solution for you, Arette.”

She perked up a little. “You do?”

“You don’t really want to kill her, I know. It’s not about her dying, or even you escaping. You just want to punish her for what she’s done, but I think we both know that deep down you couldn’t be a murderer. But…what if you could take away her magic forever?”

She frowned. “That’s not possible.”

“It’s a hypothetical.”

“I’d do it,” she answered immediately.

“Even if it meant losing your own?” He posed the question nonchalantly, but on the inside he was tense. He prayed she would answer how he needed her to.

“Yes,” she said, a bit slower this time, but no less confidently. “I’d do anything.”

He smiled, letting a bit of his relief color his expression. “Good. I’ll be in touch, then.”

“Wait,” she said, a little panic in her voice. “You’re leaving?”

“This isn’t something that can be done overnight. I’ll explain more later, but this can only happen after two years.”

She looked devastated. “Two years?”

He nodded apologetically. “I’m afraid so. It requires very specific circumstances. But you said you’d do anything,” he reminded her. “And you’ve managed to survive this long. Two years is nothing to a fighter like you.”

She took what little comfort she could from his words, and watched as he left, with nothing but a phone number, scrawled on a tight piece of paper, stuffed in her palm.

Salvatore blew out a big breath of air, staring blankly down at the mess of papers in front of him. Alone in his room again, at the end of the day. Quinn was probably downstairs, watching TV. Another part of his plan had been set into place today, but he was far from ready.

He reached under his desk and pulled out the folder that was stuck to the underside. Inside was a single sheet of paper, with all the information his parents had told him just before he’d left for work in the morning and came back to find them dead.

I should really transfer this onto a drive, he mused. Probably more secure that way.

His eyes ran over the paper, noting the numbers as he dug up the papers with corresponding numbers tabbed at the top. Every note had required pages of extensive research and planning, something he was fortunately good at.

The plan was elaborate, so elaborate. But it had to be, given the limited amount of resources he had to work with. He had to go backwards, too, and that was always difficult.

Of course, there was one way to make the plan a lot easier.

Tell Quinn.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because so much of the plan hinged on her, and she didn’t even know, but it was for her own safety. She couldn’t know, because as soon as she knew, she would no longer be safe, and that was something Salvatore just couldn’t risk.

“Hey, Sal! You gonna make dinner or what?”

He couldn’t stop the smile. “Coming,” he called, and took one last look at the mess on his desk before turning off the desk light.