Unchangeable

Part Two

My mouth slips open, but I snap it closed. I watch through the windows as my father has a quick word with the chauffeur and then gets into another limo.

The chauffeur climbs back inside and starts the engine. His eyes flicker worriedly to my face through the rear view mirror. "Your father says there's a packet underneath his seat. Inside the packet is information on the Kunzite boy and how you should behave at the boarding school."

I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together. My muscles relax from the stiff position I had when my father was in the car. I pull the knife out of my sandal and wriggle my toes in relief. As an afterthought, I yank the other two knives out of the floor. 

Kill someone? Can I do that? I'm the heir to the Iolite family, and that's part of who we are. I knew I was going to have to get blood on my hands at some point, but so soon? I'm fifteen. 

What would my father do if I didn't kill him? The Kunzite boy would probably kill me first. It's murder or be murdered.

I clutch one of the knives in a fist in my left hand and clench my teeth. With a flick of my wrist, the knife flies through the air. It embeds itself in the middle of the head rest of the passenger's seat, ten feet in front of me. The chauffeur doesn't flinch. 

I throw the remaining two knives into the headrest. They land right next to the first. My aim is almost as perfect as my father's. 

After I force another deep breath, I reach under my father's seat and pull out the file. Multiple sheets lie inside.

The first page explains how I should act at the boarding school. I’m certainly not going as Onyx Iolite. No, I’m going under the name of Elisa Ettens.

Elisa Ettens is rich but not tremendously wealthy. She is well behaved but not perfect. She is smart but not brilliant. She is stuck-up, but not someone who draws too much attention. Elisa Ettens is a normal, rich, bragging brat. Elisa Ettens is someone who won't get noticed at this boarding school. 

I skim through two whole pages of petty rules and guidelines that my father gave me.

I turn the page. A photo of a boy stares back at me, his piercing green eyes sending chills over my skin. Dark brown hair just reaches his ears. He’s barely smiling in the picture, only the corner of his lips upturned. I’d have to lie to say he wasn’t attractive. Too bad we have always hated each other. 

Adam Kunzite. 

The boy my father wants me to kill. 

I turn the page again. This page has a long list printed on it. It states all Adam's possible strengths and weaknesses.

Even though the Iolites and Kunzites had been enemies for ages, we know nothing about each other. With habits like ours, we have to be secretive. 

I've been privately tutored my whole life. I never socialized with anyone my own age, except when my father has "acquaintances" over from work and they bring along their snobby daughters. 

I refocus on the page. 

Possible strength – Knife-throwing

I glance up at the three knives embedded in the headrest and smirk. Shouldn't be too big of a problem. 

Possible weakness – Mother

His mother died in an accident when he was eight years old. I'm sure that the Iolites had a hand in that 'accident.'

Just like when I was eight. The Kunzites planned a little accident for me that caused both of my legs to be in casts for a whole summer. My father says it's very lucky I saw it coming or I would be dead. 

I memorize the important information. He's sixteen years old, only a couple months my elder. This is his first year at the boarding school. It is unlikely that he will be going by the name Adam Kunzite at the school, but we don't know what his pseudonym will be. 

As I turn the last page, I see a light blue sticky note stuck to the back of the packet. It's my father's handwriting. My headrest.

For a second I think he somehow knows that I threw the knives into the headrest. Then I realize he's telling me to look at his headrest to my left. 

I lean over in my seat, straining against the seatbelt. I dig my nails into the bottom, top, and sides of the headrest, but the leather doesn't give an inch. 

I say, "Chauffeur, could you give me one of those knives back."

Without hesitation, the chauffeur leans across his seat and pulls out one of the knives. He doesn't take his eyes off the road as he snaps his wrist. The knife flies back and lands in the leather seat beside mine. 

Knife throwing is a very important skill to the Iolites. 

I grab the knife and slice the headrest open. A syringe. The clear liquid glitters faintly inside. If you inject someone with this, they will be dead within seconds. The poison is untraceable and it will make it seem like the person died of a heart attack. 

I slip the syringe into the hidden pocket in my purse. 

I look through the files again. I close my eyes, forming a plan. 

When I open my eyes again, we are pulling into a busy parking lot. 

We have finally arrived at the horrid boarding school.