Five

Choose The Best Kill (There Is Only The Kill)

Or: “In Which We Meet Are Stuck With Shayla Silverhand.”

“Do not make deals with the Fae of the Spring Court, for they are flighty and will forget. Do not make deals with the Fae of the Summer Court, for they will lie to you and leave you to spoil in the sun. Do not make deals with the Fae of the Autumn Court, for they will do whatever they can to make the harvest come in. And do not make deals with the Fae of the Winter Court… for they will kill you where you stand.”

Old Fae proverb.

This place smells disgusting.

Shayla Silverhand could not stand the smell of humans. She could not stand the smell of most things, come to think of it. Before she had been taken by the Winter Court and trained as an assassin, Shayla Silverhand had only just been able to stand the smell of the soft breeze in cool woods. Smells in general made her feel sick to her stomach.

These days, when smell and sound were her way of navigating this stupid world, the fact that she was constantly surrounded by these smells was frankly repugnant. It was torture.

But torture is what you deserve, fallen assassin of the Winter Court, a small, venomous part of her brain hissed at her. If it were any other in your place, you would say the same.

She chose to not respond to it, but she would not argue either.

It was her own failure – many failures – that had brought her here. If the punishment for that included even this minor torture…

… well, that was fine, then. She would bear it, like she bore every other stupid indignity she had faced in the human world.

This smell is hardly the worst thing.

There had been a sense of hush in the room when the man (older, ridiculous perfume – no, the males here call it ‘cologne’ – and the strange scent of a freshly-pressed uniform) at the podium had introduced himself. Shayla could well understand why.

‘Daniel Romero’. Shayla remembered him well. She remembered the sound of his confidence permeating his words, the way his voice had never cracked even in the least under pressure. She remembered the minute pauses that were the only hint that he was ever worried… and the way he had smelled of soot in the aftermath of the battle with Malice.

She could smell the fear right now that permeated the room at the sight of him. It was a scent she was intimately familiar with. It was coming from many of her new ‘comrades’, the ESP soldiers that had escorted her and the rest of this sorry collection of misfits into the briefing room.

Romero’s reputation clearly preceded him.

They are afraid, she thought. Perhaps they are right to be… they are such soft things, after all.

“Good afternoon,” Romero began. “I hope you all had a pleasant flight in.”

“Not really,” came the voice of the man Shayla had heard called ‘Stark’. He smelled of youth and cigarettes and alcohol, but there was something else – a cloying antiseptic smell that reminded her of the few times she had been around SIN supersoldiers before. “And no one’s offered us a coffee!”

“Well, I’m so sorry,” Romero said evenly. He sounded amused with Stark’s outburst. “We’ll see to that after the briefing.”

A hush fell again. Shayla’s ears pricked up. Ah – this is why they brought us here.

“For those of you who don’t know,” Romero continued, “you’ve been brought together to become what we call ‘Team Omega’.”

Shayla knew this already. She sighed and let Romero’s explanation wash over her, only paying attention when he started talking about the specific mission in front of them.

“This,” and she heard the whirring of some machine, so presumed there was an image being shown. “is a town called Stormhall in the state of Florida.”

Shayla clicked her tongue. Obviously they showed pictures. Fools.

“Small place, built around a couple of villages, and best known for being the location for a Starfall Innovation National research building,” Romero continued. The machine whirred again. “This building, in the centre of Stormhall, is that research lab.”

“Don’t worry,” Shayla heard Clark murmur from next to her. “I’ll make whatever notes you need.”

“I won’t need any,” Shayla said back in a clipped voice. She had no doubt her role would be simple – kill anything that was in front of them. In that respect, this would be nothing different than the life that she had in the Winter Court.

Choose the best kill for the moment. It need not matter whether it is the flashiest kill, or the neatest kill, or the most brutal kill. Simply to kill is enough. There is only the kill.

For it to be a Starfall building meant more of the smell of antiseptic, and that faint electric tinge in the air of magic at work. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. She hated Starfall buildings and their stink.

“Some of you know what Starfall’s business is,” Romero said. There were a few disgruntled murmurings – including a loud scoff from Stark, which made Shayla’s ears prick even more.

Something to ask about, perhaps, she thought. Knowing your allies’ weaknesses was always useful.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“That’s good,” Romero continued, “because we’re relying on your inside knowledge to get us past some of their automated defences.” He paused for a moment. “What you probably didn’t know is that Starfall has been working with ESP for the last few years on various contracts, with an eye to developing defences against magical enemies.”

Obviously, Shayla thought, as Romero’s voice continued droning. Because they’re not idiots. This world has been exposed to magic openly for the first time in centuries – naturally they would wish to fight it.

Romero paused for a moment, and Shayla leant forward in her seat, sensing he was about to get to the part of this that she actually cared about.

“There’s an… we’ll call him ‘an asset’,” he said carefully. “He’s stuck in one of those research buildings, and the enemy recently landed a division of Union Guard there in hopes of securing themselves a foothold and getting their hands on that research.”

Wise of them, Shayla thought.

“The local armed forces, supported by ESP forces and a few… esoteric agents… have been working to repel them.” Shayla heard another round of scoffs and murmurs, and she smirked. ‘Esoteric Agents’ – more of these ‘superheroes’.

Vaguely, Shayla wondered if the Anathema was there, and considered the thought of killing the bitch this time, good and proper. Her smirk vanished and her heart sank.

Killing her now would be a waste, even if it were possible, she admonished herself. Don’t be a child, Shayla.

“While they’re in action,” Romero continued, “your team, led by Agent Clark, will locate the asset, terminate any high-ranking targets of opportunity you happen to run into, extract yourselves and the asset alive, and return to base for the ‘you didn’t die’ party.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Shayla tilted her head – no one in the room was talking.

Finally, Romero spoke up again. “Any questions?”

Shayla heard the gentle rustling of hands going up.

“Sergeant Clark, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Clark’s voice spoke. “When you say ‘esoteric agents’, do you have any specifics?”

“At the present time, nothing concrete that intel have seen fit to share with me,” Romero said. “Though I know ESP forces in the area have been working with… let me check this note…” Shayla heard the sound of rustling paper. “Ilayda Windknife.”

Shayla felt a sharp pang, Ilayda Windknife. Of course it had to be her. Memories of a melodious voice, deep and stern yet full of warmth, threatened to overwhelm Shayla – so much so that she failed to hear the next couple of questions that were asked.

Our blades were meant to be drawn as one, she thought, and impossibly, she felt a touch of sadness in her heart.

She took a deep breath, and chastised herself for her stupidity. This mawkishness was unbecoming.

That part of my life is over, she told herself. Have done with this childish sentimentality. Focus only on the kill.

There is only the kill.

When she came back to herself, she heard Stark speaking.

“Who exactly is this ‘asset’ we’re meant to be getting?” he asked. “If we’re going into a SIN building, I kinda want to know who we’re doing that for.”

“I imagine you would,” Romero replied. Shayla resisted the urge to smirk.

“Some of us have shit with SIN,” Stark continued. “I’d rather die than go anywhere near them again.”

Something about his tone held a steel that Shayla hadn’t heard while he was jabbering in the plane, and she almost wished she could see the man’s face. She had no doubt he was almost intimidating.

“If you’d rather die,” Romero said, his tone not changing at all, “that can easily be arranged.”

The temperature in the room seemed to cool down sharply. A moment of dead silence passed.

Then Shayla Silverhand laughed. It was a harsh, barking cackle that echoed in the large room, and she could almost feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her.

“You have not changed, Romero,” she said through her laughter. “I think I shall enjoy being a member of this group once more.”

She heard Romero chuckling too.

“Well,” he said. “That’s something at least, Ms Silverhand. Good to be working with you again.”

***

“It’s fucking crazy.”

“Ja, it is certainly not a mission I would have chosen.”

“I would have chosen to stay at home and fucking sleep.”

“Ha. Noob.”

The words of her new ‘comrades’ washed over Shayla like waves on the beach. The group were heading for their barracks – Clark had been given the rather unfortunate task of being their ‘Handler’, and from the tone the woman had taken when addressing them, she was not happy about it.

Locksley never enjoyed the role either, Shayla thought ruefully, remembering the previous ‘Handler’ of Team Omega. The man had died fighting against Malice years ago. Bravely,, yes, but still – he had died, and Shayla had survived.

I wonder if this Clark will fare any better, Shayla thought. There was little Shayla could tell about the women from their previous engagements – she had not been with the group in Hull when they acquired Stark, and they had missed the fighting in the hamlet where they had found Nerve. Still, ESP had not picked an incompetent the last time, so Shayla had no reason to believe that Clark would fare worse.

They walked for a few minutes, the various members of their group muttering to one another. Shayla heard Stark attempt to flirt with Blood Templar, who rebuffed him. Willow and Nerve said nothing. Troll made noises of amusement, but did not speak (for which Shayla supposed they all had to be grateful). Steiner made a few more choice comments.

“Right,” Clark said after a few moments. “This is the woman’s barracks. Templar, Willow, Shayla, you’re here.”

“And you’re joining us?” Blood Templar asked.

“That’s my job.” Clark definitely didn’t sound happy. “So settle in, ladies. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Shayla snorted. She pricked her ears, concentrated for a moment, and then with practised ease walked over to one of the beds and sat.

“This one,” she said.

“Fair,” Blood Templar said. There came the sound of something heavy being dropped on the floor. “I’ll take anything vaguely soft for half a minute.”

“Perhaps you should indulge Stark after all, then,” Shayla snarked. “He seemed taken with you, and I doubt you’ll find softer.”

Templar laughed at that, but said nothing. Shayla heard the sound of her drawing the sword, then the soft noise of it being whetted.

“I think Stark’s the kind who’s taken by anything with a pulse,” Clark muttered under her breath, so quietly that even Shayla barely heard her.

“There’s more to Stark,” Shayla said. “There’s more to most of them, really.”

“Yeah?” Blood Templar said. “How’s that?”

“You heard him talk about SIN,” Shayla said evenly. “There is more to that story than we know.”

“There’s more to everyone’s fucking story, Silverhand,” Clark said easily. Shayla listened intently; she was unzipping her combat boots by now.

“I suppose that’s true, Sergeant Clark,” Shayla said evenly. “So tell me – why do they call you ‘Wolf’?”

A cold silence descended over the room, and Shayla smiled.

There is only the kill.

***