Storm of Shadows (Lumineers 1)

CHAPTER 23: FELIX LANE

Clara crouched over Felix, shaking. She'd never seen a dead body this close before. He was still warm. "Please," she whispered, her voice hoarse, terrified of the death that stood before her. "Please don't kill me." If she had to beg, she would.

The masker towered over her. A woman. She never knew maskers could be women.

"I will do whatever you ask," she begged again. "I won't say a word. I understand that your work is your business. I promise I won't say anything."

She knew enough about maskers. They were ruthless killing machines. Heartless demons. They killed their marks. They covered all evidence. Left no trails. She was a trail, she realized in that moment. A loose end.

Her chest rose and fell in rapid bursts. This was it. This was how she died. After everything, she'd never get her freedom after all.

Unless...

She glanced around, hoping for an escape. Somewhere to run. Fear had a way of warping rational thoughts. But death—death was debilitating. There was nowhere to go. All the fight drained from her body until she trembled.

"If you wish to live, you must do exactly as I say." The woman's deep voice was intentionally disguised.

"I...you..." Her hands trembled. "You'll let me live?" She had to blink to clear her vision.

The woman's frame was slight, but she was lean and muscled. Her hair was a common shade of brown, pulled back into a tight knot. Her skin, the golden bronze of mixed ancestry. And yet, there was something...familiar about her.

"I will let you live," the woman spoke again, "but only if you follow my instructions. Can you?"

She looked down at Felix. "I can," she said, squaring her shoulders. She could more than follow them. In that moment, there wasn't anything she wouldn't do to keep her life. Perhaps that's what being a whore did to a person. Stripped them bare until there was nothing left.

"He isn't dead," the woman said. "Only sleeping. See?" The masker crouched and put a gloved hand against Felix's pulse before removing the dart. Clara had only just noticed it jutting from his neck. Not dead?

"Unfortunately, Mr. Long had too much to drink tonight. Far too much. So, listen carefully. You're going to go downstairs and send Claude to summon a cab. He can help you move Mr. Long into the cab. You will get into the cab with him, see that he makes it safely home, Twenty-Seven Dorwald Street, where he can sleep off the liquor. In exchange, I promise you your life. One misstep, one move, if you tell a single soul..."

"I—I won't say a word. I won't."

"Good. Repeat your instructions to me carefully."

She did, stumbling over the details until she got them right.

"Excellent. Go downstairs, then. When you return, you will not see me here. But I will be watching, waiting..."

Clara stood, steeling her nerves. She forced her trembling hands to steady.

"Do not disobey," the woman added. "For I shall know if you do." The threat sent shivers down her spine.

She swallowed, nodded, and stepped away. Her hands gripped the banister as she moved down the stairs. It was a wonder she could walk at all. A wonder she didn't stumble and come crashing down to land before the receptionist.

"Clarabel?"

"Claude!" His name was a gasp on her lips. For a brief moment, she considered spilling everything in a hurried rush. Telling hime what she'd seen. The front door was mere steps away. Could she make a run for it?