Isabella did not recognize the name, but that was not unusual. She made it a point to forget all the nobles’ names as soon as she could. Prissy arrogant shits, the lot of them, yet when they face her blade in the middle of the night, they all plead and beg and piss themselves worse than children. Fucking pathetic she thought to herself.

After leaving Lord Atkinson’s manor, she went back to the guild. The Assassin’s guild did not have an official location, just a bunch of safe houses all over the city. She had already agreed with the guildmaster to meet up in one of the houses that lie inside the noble district. Apparently, it used to belong to a baron that died a few years back but mysteriously this house was left out of his estate. A big reason the assassin’s guild became what it is, is because of all the connections the guildmaster has managed to acquire from the noble houses, the kinds of people who were not used to hearing the word no.

Isabella moved into the hidden entrance that led directly into the basement, inside she found the guildmaster sitting behind his desk scribbling on a piece of paper. The guildmaster was a tall man, he had a bald head and dark brown eyes, and he was wiry but deceptively strong. However, what separated him from the rest of them – and subsequently made him the unopposed guildmaster for 35 years- was his ruthlessness and his speed. Isabella knew he noticed her when she entered, because he was the guildmaster and nothing escaped his notice, so she just stood and waited until he finally set his pen in its holder and looked up at her.

“Ah, Isabella, take a seat and let me know how it went, wont you?” he asked her, with a grandfatherly smile on his face. Isabella shook her head and stayed on her feet, knowing the guildmaster’s temper, if she agreed to take a seat then her punishment would be severe. She learned early on, ever since she was 8 years old to never trust that kind smile that can very quickly become a sinister one with the flip of a switch. It was a delicate balance, dealing with the guildmaster, as he wanted all his assassins to show no weakness but still act subservient, or else they would be ‘punished’. Punishment ranged from a simple beating to losing a finger, and sometimes it ended with death. Isabella still remembered when Garth, who she grew up with in the guild, questioned the guildmaster on an order. Garth was as wide as a door, with more muscle than any man should ever have and the temperament to match. He was one of the best fighters in the guild, sometimes even beating two or three people at a time in the ring. The one thing Garth lacked, was common sense, and a viable way to keep his mouth shut. That day, the guildmaster moved so quickly you could only see a blur where he used to be, and just as quick, Garth did not have an arm anymore. The guildmaster then declared loudly “A one armed assassin is useless to me” then slit Garth’s throat before you could count to three. Isabella remembered how he continued explaining the job while cleaning his blade on a handkerchief, she remembered how his voice never even wavered, and how his clothes did not have a single drop of blood on them after the geyser that sprouted from Garth’s shoulder. The one thing she could never forget however, was the glint of euphoria in his eyes while cutting the throat of a man he helped train for more than 20 years like it was nothing, like it was the best thing he ever had the privilege to do. Isabella was an assassin by necessity, because she knew no other trade and the only retirement from the guild was a knife to the throat, however, the guildmaster was a man that enjoyed violence and looked for excuses to kill constantly, even if it was his own people.

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“Thank you guildmaster, the meeting with the Lord Atkinson was brief, he gave me the name of the target and his residence location. I will set up surveillance to learn his daily pattern and routine, and have the job done before the end of the week.” Isabella replied, still standing.

The guildmaster’s grandfatherly smile turned into its more sinister parallel, realizing she did not fall for his bait. “Good, good. Let me know when you’re finished, I will be waiting.”

She nodded and turned to leave – but was stopped when he called out her name again.

“And Isabella? – Do not disappoint me. If you do, there will be …consequences.” She turned around and saw his smile still plastered on his face.

“Yes, guildmaster”. She hurried out the door to start her surveillance.

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What the fuck is wrong with this man? Isabella thought to herself. She had been shadowing this ‘Count Dracula’ for two days now, and all he did was stay inside his manor, leaving only to stand at the gate, letting out his butler that goes to the whorehouse and comes back with a woman on each arm. He has done that 3 times by now, and none of the women had left yet.

This Dracula was a pale man, with deep blue eyes, contrasting with his long dark hair, slicked back and falling to his shoulders in neat piles. He always wore a black cloak over his shoulders, with a dark red lining on the hem and collar, a dark red that was closer to the color of blood. Very unusual for a noble to wear, yet nothing about this man was usual. The common staff of a noble household was missing. There was no gardener, no gate guards, no maids hurrying about dusting and wiping. The only people she saw from her perch on the wall of a neighboring manor, was the count himself, the six whores he brought home, and the butler who went by the name of Renfield. She only learned his name because earlier that day she went to the whorehouse to investigate and found out that he was famous for taking girls home and returning them a week later with more gold than they know what to do with.

It seemed that this Dracula was only after his own base lusts and wasting his money day and night, which was surprising because someone ordered his death to stop him from stealing business, when it seemed that he didn’t do any business at all.

Isabella stopped pondering as the front gate opened again – she still didn’t know how, as there were no guards pulling the latch – revealing the Count who was finally leaving, alone.

Isabella perked up and shifted on the wall she was perched on to get a better angle on where he was moving so she could follow him. Suddenly, he looked up, directly at where she was hiding. Isabella froze, there is no way he could ever hear me from that far, or even see me hiding behind this shadowy nook she thought. Yet he kept staring at where she was hidden, she thought she saw a glint of red in his eyes, but when she looked again, they were their normal deep blue. Finally, he stopped looking at her and started walking forward towards the main road. Isabella let out a sigh of relief, the guildmaster would have never let her stay alive after alerting a target that he was being followed.

She started climbing down the wall to follow the count when suddenly something hit her in the back of the head, and everything turned to black.

It was a few hours later when Isabella finally opened her eyes, chained to a chair and Count Dracula’s red shining eyes - for they were definitely red right now- peering into her own as he asked her.

“Who the fuck are you, and why are you following me?”