On the other end of the pale haired man’s phone call.
The line goes dead
In a lavish office, once the grand ballroom of a small European castle, a woman placed a black satellite phone on a glass desk.
She was beautiful in a timeless, impossible way.
Her long, black hair fell over her shoulders, a stark contrast to her pale, flawless skin.
Her eyes were a piercing, intelligent blue. The color of a winter sky. Holding a cold, ancient light that hid the youth in her features.
She wasn’t dressed for business.
Wearing a magnificent, floor length gown of deep, blood red silk.
The fabric clung to her form like a second skin.
Its rich color was a splash of color against the modern, contemporary style of the room and the pale morning light from the massive, arched windows.
A queen in her court.
Rising from her desk, the red silk of her gown whispered against the polished marble floor as she walked through the grand, echoing halls of the estate.
Her movements were fluid, a power she had thousands of years to perfect.
Stopping at a pair of massive, carved wooden doors, she knocked once.
A soft sound, but more commanding than any shout.
“Aria, my love,” she said, her voice a soft purr. “I’m coming in.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, pushing the doors open and stepping inside.
The room was a young woman’s dream.
A lavish space with a large bed, a walk in closet full of designer clothes, and a vanity table covered with expensive perfumes and jewelry.
A young woman of about nineteen stood before a full-length mirror.
Aria.
She was the mirror image of her mother’s ancient beauty, but with skin the color of warm cinnamon.
Her long, black hair fell down her back like silk, and her eyes were a vibrant, startling purple.
A rare color, both beautiful and unique.
She was pulling on the blazer of an expensive private school uniform.
“Mom, I’m almost done,” Aria said.
Her voice was a mix of youthful impatience and a daughter’s practiced respect.
“Well, hurry, my love,” she replied, her voice a mask of warmth. “The driver is waiting. We wouldn’t want you to be late.”
She walked over to her daughter, the red silk of her gown a stark contrast to Aria’s simple uniform.
Adjusting the collar of Aria’s blazer, her touch was a gesture of affection and control.
“Your twenty-first birthday is approaching. Have you thought about what you would like?”
“A new car, perhaps? A trip to Paris for shopping?”
Aria met her mother’s gaze in the mirror.
Her purple eyes held a flicker of a long-held, desperate hope.
“I don’t want any of that, Mom. You know what I want.”
“Aria…”
“Let me travel,” Aria said, her voice a low, pleading whisper.
“Alone. Without the guards. Just for a week. I want to see the world. The real world.”
The woman in reds’ smile didn’t falter, but a cold, hard light entered her blue eyes.
“I can’t do that, my love,” she said, her voice a soft trap.
“The world is a dangerous place. There are… people out there who would wish to do you harm.”
“If anything were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself.”
The hope in Aria’s eyes died.
Replaced by a look of quiet, bitter resignation.
This wasn’t a discussion. It was a verdict.
A princess in a beautiful cage, and her mother held the only key.
“Of course, Mother,” Aria said, her voice a flat, emotionless monotone.
Turning from the mirror, her face was a mask of practiced obedience.
“You are right. It was a foolish request.”
“Not foolish, my love,” she replied, her voice soft as she smoothed a wrinkle on Aria’s shoulder that wasn’t there. “Just… naive. But that is why I am here.
To protect you from your own innocence.”
She gave her daughter a lingering look.
A mother’s affection and a warden’s inspection.
Then she turned, gliding out of the room, the red silk of her gown a silent, bloody river in her wake.
Aria waited until the heavy door clicked shut.
Her mask of practiced obedience shattered.
A look of helpless fury flashed in her vibrant, purple eyes.
Turning back to the mirror, she didn’t see the beautiful, privileged girl in the expensive uniform.
She saw a prisoner.
A beautiful bird in a cage.
Staring at her own reflection, her hands clenched into tight, white knuckled fists at her sides.
Her entire body trembled with a silent, helpless rage.
She took a single, deep, shuddering breath. When she looked up again, the mask was back in place.
The perfect, obedient daughter once more.
She grabbed her designer leather backpack from the bed and walked out of the room.
Her footsteps were a quiet, steady, and defeated rhythm on the polished marble floors.
Downstairs, a driver in a black uniform was waiting for her by the grand, sweeping staircase.
He gave her a respectful, almost fearful bow and took her bag.
He escorted her out to the front of the massive castle like estate, where a long, black, bulletproof limousine was waiting.
Its engine, a quiet purr.
Another man, a guard in a sharp, black suit with a bulge under his jacket, opened the door for her.
From a high, arched window in her private chambers, she watched her daughter get into the car.
Watched as the limousine pulled away, like a black serpent disappearing down the long, winding, and heavily guarded private road.
Her expression was an unreadable mask of calm.
But the moment the car was out of sight, the mask dissolved.
Her face became a portrait of cold ruthless power.
The air behind her shimmered and warped.
A new figure appeared in the room.
Not with a sound or a flash of light, but with a silent, instant shift in reality itself.
He was a tall, imposing man, his skin a pale gray, his head completely bald.
Intricate black tattoos, with a chaotic swirl of ancient forbidden symbols, which covered every inch of his visible skin.
Even his clean-shaven face.
Each tattoo carefully coiling around his powerful muscles like shadows.
The picture book definition of menacing.
He kneels before the woman in red, on one knee.
His head bowed in a gesture of absolute, terrifying loyalty.
She doesn’t turn to look at him.
Continuing to stare out the window, her gaze fixed on the empty road where her daughter’s limousine had disappeared.
A single elegant hand with nails painted a deep red, traces the cold glass of the windowpane.
The red of her silk gown is a stark, violent splash of color against the pale morning light.
“Knox,” she says.
Her voice is a soft purr, somehow more terrifying than any shout.
“I have a task for you.”
“I am yours to command, my lady,” Knox replies.
His voice is a rumble that felt like it came from the very stones of the castle.
“Our operative in California has confirmed the location of the two more Library agents.”
“A young African American male wearing green and gold earrings, and a Japanese female with a blue star and red heart face tattoos.”
“They will be arriving in Bangkok shortly. I’m assuming they are looking for their missing abominations.”
She finally turns, to reveal a twisted smile on her beautiful, perfect face.
Her blue eyes gleam with a cold, merciless light.
“I want you to handle the operation personally.”
A flicker of surprise, interest, and hunger dances in Knox’s dark, tattooed eyes.
“It will be done, my lady.”
“And make sure to kill them all.”
Knox looks up.
“As you wish…”
“Lady Zaldur.”