Isabella was late.

The guild master had informed her to meet the client at sundown, yet the moon’s radiance reflecting off the stale water pooling in the alley told her she was way past the meeting time.

Her cloak was fluttering in the wind as she ran down the alley, narrowly avoiding the puddle of water, her hood pulled up to cover her face. Her insignia pinned to the front of her cloak insured no one would dare to interrupt her or bar her way. It was a red and black crescent declaring her a member of the Assassin’s guild, the insignia known to all in the slums made people afraid to meet her gaze. Weaklings she thought to herself. Ever since the young age of 6, Isabella had gotten the idea of fear beaten out of her. She learned that to show fear, to show weakness or vulnerability, was to die. Any trainee of the Assassin’s guild in Reviton City knew how ruthless the instructors were, and how worthless their own lives turned out to be. Isabella was chosen from the orphanage by the guild collector not because of her wits or talent, but because he walked in and decided to pick the children on the left side of the room. Life was not fair, and weakness was bowing down to the unfairness of life and accepting the pile of shit you get served. She tried to meet the eyes of the peasants, as they walked silently on the side of the street, but they averted their gaze as soon as they saw the insignia on her chest. She shook her head with disdain as she ran faster to reach her destination. Soon she was approaching the gates of the noble district. She veered left, walking alongside the tall walls hemming in the wealthy and the powerful, protecting their eyes from the sight of poor peasants and shabby buildings. She started scaling the wall.

She dropped down to the other side, skipping on the protruding stones from the unkempt wall to lessen her fall.

She started walking side alleys and dark corridors, avoiding the main streets with the guard patrols.

This is going to be exhausting… she thought to herself. Not a single assassin enjoyed trips to the Noble District.

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Lord Atkinson was angry.

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His butler had assured him that the meeting was to take place at sundown. He had paid a hefty sum to hire a senior member of the assassin’s guild, their reputation known throughout the country as the best of the best, yet this tardiness was making him regret his decision.

“Joseph! Come here at once!” he shouted at the closed door of his study.

Hurried footsteps could be heard rushing towards the door before it opened, revealing his butler, who take a few seconds to catch his breath before he responded.

“Yes, Milord, how can I be of help?”

“Where is that damn assassin?! I paid 250 gold coins and I expect him to be at least on time!”

“I will go check with my contact at once, Milord” Joseph nodded his head, and hurried out of the study, closing the door behind him.

“Her, not him.” A voice said from directly behind him.

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Lord Atkinson was a heavyset man, his sideburns bushy and overgrown. A bald spot growing on his head, normally covered by his hat, now lying on the side table. The lord jerked from the couch he was sitting on, not expecting the interruption. He dropped his glass of liquor, brandy by the looks of it, and it fell to the carpet, the glass rolling to rest by Isabella’s feet.

She bent to pick it up, and straightened again, brushing dust from her cloak, bringing his attention to the insignia on her chest. “You should really be more careful with that, your Lordship. Carpets are very hard to clean stains from, I would know” her smile was predatory, walking forward with measured steps to place the glass carefully on the table, then she took a seat on the chair across from the Lord.

“How in the hells did you get in!” he shouted

Isabella smiled, but stayed silent, letting the lord reach his own conclusions. In her experience, it was always better to let the client think she was infallible, that the rules that governed humanity did not apply to her.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly and started muttering curses under his breath.

Finally, he calmed down and started talking again.

“This is not the first time I hire your…establishment. So, I’m aware of your expertise. However, this time it’s going to be – How do I put this? – shall we say challenging? This man I want to get rid of, he’s not an easy one to deal with. He has been a thorn in my side since gods know when. Always there to profit when I lose, to catch a deal when I miss it, to plunder when I fail. Well, no more. Tonight, I need you to kill this cretin Count, and finally rid me of this annoyance once and for all.”

“I work on my own timeline. I cannot finish a job in a few hours when I don’t even know the target’s schedule, his routine and security. I need time.”  Said Isabella, frowning.

“I need this done before the next auction, a week from now. I don’t care if it’s an hour before or 3 days before, as long as he’s dead when I’m betting on the estate of the late Lord Stoker.”

Isabella nodded “What’s the name of this count?”

“His name is Count Vlad the Impaler, however, he likes to go by Count Dracula”.