OF HER ACCORD
Eighteen years. That amount of time, the beginning of her life, was dedicated to her then future life of taking over her family’s conglomerate. Unlike her reputation as a quiet, studious person, her younger years were spent making connections in the wider world. She was thankful for everything that was taught to her. Amelia was a bright girl, one that could easily adapt to whatever challenge was thrown at her. The trade off was her social capabilities. Yes, she may have been used to networking. But that was it.
Her younger brother had already taken up his stint in local politics. He used his resources and connections to become the governor of the state he lived in, Pennsylvania. Though the same, they both shared the life of this world in two different ways.
Jackson Violet made policy. She served alongside investigators. He rallied the people, gave them strength. She hunted down the guilty; gave the criminals reason to fear the dark. Violet. Not known amongst the common household, but infamous enough to gain attention in the domestic space. No one knew of their origins. No one knew of their futures.
Amelia gave it much thought, her place in this world. To humanity, her existence was of little relevance. She would continue to serve, provide, give back—show herself and her family—to these people. In truth there was little foresight that she would end up in her position within the US Marshalls Service. The crème de la crème of all federal law enforcement agencies. In hindsight she would laugh that she became a federal agent, something that was despised by all Americans. The comfort she held in her position was something that kept her distracted. She didn’t live by the gun, SOG. And she wasn’t the one kicking in doors, serving warrants, like the Deputies. Magic was new to the world, untapped. Amelia was a conduit; one of control, temperance.
Following MGySg Kyle Silverstone’s death, NCIS and liaisons from the Office of Naval Intelligence fought to take lead over the case. It had been a week since they first wandered into the office. Their prior demands of involvement with the Marshalls had turned into requests for full control. The tangibility of what was to come was blaring; they men and women they provided to office was abnormal. The resources? Limited. They could only chase possible leads against the local cartels and gangs. It was something that bothered Amelia.
Do they think this is some joke? Her frustrations grew by the hour. Chief Wall had the unfortunate opportunity to sit with the director of the Marshall Service. The incident in Idaho had gained attention within the organization. It was initially played as a failure upon the local office, but skeptical members of the board and DOJ stayed their criticisms opting to wait for the truth.
“Lia,” The agent turned to the call of her voice. Alex looked constrained in the suit he wore in the office on this Friday afternoon. Though it was tailored to his body, each movement he took was restrained by the fabric. He’d much rather be in uniform or in his normal loose civilian clothing. Not that he didn’t enjoy looking sharp and put together… His time in his hometown Sherrif’s Department taught him as much.
He like Amelia was trapped here. 3375, the collection of Deputies operating out of the office were currently under internal review and being critiqued by their immediate chain of command. Incidents such as Silverstone’s death often grinded all cases to a standstill. It forced them to outsource their cases to local departments. Everyone was frustrated. This was not how it was supposed to happen.
“Alex,” Amelia hummed, her gently voice barely reaching him, “How is it?”
“The report is being sent up. We’ve been cleared to get back to service warrants. We start Monday,” he grumbled tapping his foot against the floor. A hollow smile formed on her face. Miranda had stepped into the fray between the higher ups and Zimmerman. She couldn’t do much, but she prevented any repercussions against anyone assigned to the case. Now, an opportunity to set things right presented itself; Alex was eager to capitalize on it.
“Wonderful…” Amelia’s sarcasm wasn’t unnoticed. Alex provided a smirk. “Hey, you think you could grab me a soda?” She calmly asked. Withdrawing a small card from her blazer, Alex stared at the red card before silently nodding and snatching it from her hand. Turning around the hallway corner, the deputy swiped the card on the vending machine; it took 5 seconds, but upon arriving back to the FME agent, he presented her with a brisk cold drink.
“Amelia,” Alex said watching her, “There was a file I saw said you were to be reassigned to a task force being created. I can’t be sure that anything is happening, but are you sure you can handle things at the front? That warrant we served…”
“I’ll be alright,” Amelia said with a fading smile.” Even within the service not all personal were issued firearms. In her position within the FME, cleared and qualified with magic, she was authorized to carry a duty pistol during official matters when in the field. Her handgun sat uncomfortably within the holster she wore, and the more she moved that, and the spare magazines dug into her hip.
“Yeah, I know,” he folded his arms, “Those warrants, you’ll have my guys with you.”
“I’ll take it when we get here. Zimmerman, she should know what will happen whether it will be my reassignment, or we get authorization to continue with our case.” She surmised that this would stretch longer than anticipated. Local law enforcement had attempted to play their hand in the case only to come up dry. They were being stalled by naval intelligence and law enforcement. Not to mention, the city police chief was looking to gain personal glory.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Glory…
“This is what we intended! What we wanted!”
“Who are you—to stop them!”
“SHOW YOUR LOYALTLY!”
Why did she purse her lips?
“Amelia, your phone is ringing.”
###
The winter season always started—for me—during the falling golden lights of October. I, Amelia Violet, have lived in this world watching the cycle of life and death; how the cold removed the beauty of the world and replaced with a glamouring wasteland. Time and time again I have seen and heard the joyfulness of youth crossing this wasteland, and here I remain, staying my feet and watching.
We’re in a new world, one that was troublesome. We stood in a void, created by nothing and everything. Such a place held no bias, no emotion. This was a place where the truth was revealed.
Here I am trapped. My whole life has been a race to break free, to become independent of life itself. I was never the one to choose my own future, let alone dream of it. Isolation was my only answer. No friends, allies, family. Being hard to approach, showing others that leaving me would spare them any harm was comforting. And now in falling snow I would wait for spring to arrive once more. The process would repeat of life and death, of this silence. I hated winter. And that’s why I love this time of year.
###
“Zachary.”
She expected to hear from someone within her family—Jackson, or William Violet, her father. The person on the other side she had just encountered the week before; it was a spectacle running into someone from her high school days, but she supposed that since he was tied to the case, there was little she could do if it meant avoiding him or anyone else in close association.
“Hey, Amelia,” the firefighter said with an extended yawn. “The local cops have been busting my ass, how are things on your end?”
Hearing a door behind her shut gently, she looked over her shoulder towards the empty hallway. With a miniscule smile, she rested against a nearby window and looked out to the snow-covered world beyond the comfort of the office. The cold glass bit against her warm skin, making her shiver.
“I’m doing alright; considering everything,” Amelia answered removing her arm from the window. “Everyone’s fine too.”
“…Right, well I’m glad to hear that.”
She closed her eyes. Opening them, her world was slightly blue, “We’re going to be getting back to work, Zahcary.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, tell me.”
He seemed hesitant to continue the conversation even if he was the one that initiated the phone call. Amelia’s grip on the phone tightened as her hand began to gently sweat. Her eyes darted all around the empty building; curious thoughts of where her fellow employees were racked her mind, “Amelia, what does that mean?”
“…”
“For me of course.”
“From being out star witness? I can’t say much more, not that I know anyways,” Zachary frowned to the answer. “I’m sure you’ll be pulled in for more interviews at least.”
“You’re sure?”
“Best as I can be.”
Really Amelia? “Hey, you’re still involved with all this, right?”
“Zach,” her eyebrows narrowed. Her voice was irritable, “If there’s anything you could gain from this, I’m sure that anyone else would be more than willing to help you.”
Zahcary chuckled. He knew her all too well, “Amelia, we don’t need you trying to turn away any help. This isn’t high school anymore. Those snakes are long gone.”
He’s wrong.
“I appreciate it then.” Amelia said having some trouble imagining what a firefighter could do with an investigation, “When the time comes, I’m sure you’ll be useful in court.”
“Real funny, Amelia.”
###
“With the senator’s approval we did what was necessary. The provocation by them was more than enough to rally our supporters and provide enough sway to give an opening to send our forces in against Aldrich. The Federation is appealing to help us.”
Mike Randall-Arish glanced from the heads-up-display on his sunglasses. The bell-like voice her heard was just to the right of him, near a balcony. His face scrunched at the comment she made; this wasn’t the first time they had to wait for a senator’s approval to initiate direct action operations in foreign nations, and this certainly wouldn’t be the last. Considering the target was the former king, there was much to consider when taking action.
He would know it personally. Every single day he woke up with a phantom pain. His left arm…
A distinct memory came to him. A group of agents from CID and NSA visited him here in the capital of Glacies—their mission was to determine if he was a threat.
“If we go ahead with this—then he’ll become a martyr. Lecca, you’re looking at making yourself a villain here. If we are to kill—”
“Right,” Lecca-Maradel Arish, the queen, nodded. “We have initiated a smear campaign against Aldrich: Not that we needed to do anything anyways.”
Mike smiled at his wife. She did the same to him.
Reclaimers: The true heroes…
“I’m sure we can prop you up as some kind of demon slayer—King Aldrich sure as hell fit that billet just from the manipulation he had after the revolution. He and Senator Orpheus were the ones who orchestrated everything.”
“...”
Mike stood and walked over to his wife. Embracing her in a warm hup, he used his only hand to brush her silver hair.
“We don’t need to be soldiers anymore. We still protect our people, but we don’t go hunting anymore,” he whispered.
As her head lowered, Lecca tightened her grip around her husband.
“What do you think your daughter would think of this?”
Removing his embrace, Mike stared with an amused look.
“I would bet with such a title: mischievousness,” Lecca chirped. “She’s a ball of energy, and if you bother telling a ten-year-old girl that her mother is a ‘demon’ slayer, I could imagine she would get ideas with the Royal Guard. She was able to do with Captain Maximus before he retired, and she might even bring you into the fold.”
Mike didn’t argue. His daughter’s rambunctiousness came from his blood.
“...Pfft.” Mike still couldn’t help from chuckling at Lecca.
“Hey!” Her face flushed with red as she nestled her flustered face into the chest of her husband. “She takes after you! I can’t help it if you pull something like that.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Holding her hand, Mike slowly led Lecca away from the balcony. Their next stop just so happened to be their daughter’s induction into the reserved officer commissioning corps. Yovanna Kait Arish: She was the embodiment of them both. And now as the crown princess, she strove to become the best amongst anyone.
Perhaps even themselves.