Red Hourglass (7 page)

The next morning, I was still curious about Ms. Jefferson. I wanted to know what she and her boyfriend got up to. And after what happened to Raven, I wanted to know if I could escape if I had to. I decided to take a motorcycle and find out.

I snuck into the garage before breakfast and wheeled out a Yamaha R25. When I was sure I was alone, I grabbed a helmet and started the bike. I drove around to the side of the Academy and waited.

Ms. Jefferson got into the black Maserati and I followed it out the gates. The car turned left but I turned right. I rode for about half a mile before doing a U-turn and almost catching up to them. I stayed back about a quarter mile, but I didn’t let them out of my sight.

They drove to a huge house that I assumed belonged to Ms. Jefferson’s boyfriend. I parked across the street as the car pulled into the garage. I made sure they couldn’t see me from the house. A few minutes later, Ms. Jefferson’s boyfriend closed the curtains in one of the upstairs windows.

I imagined what they were doing behind the closed curtains. I loved the thrill of seeing but being unseen.
Maybe I was born to be an agent
.

* * *

I was back at the Academy by five that evening. The security guards stopped me and made me get off the bike. They searched me thoroughly.

“You’re in hot water young lady,” said one of the guards as the gates opened.

Simone, the automotive teacher, was waiting for me in the garage. “How dare you leave the grounds without permission!” She yanked off my helmet. “The White Queen
knows
people!” Simone’s face was as red as her dyed hair and spit was flying out of her mouth. “She’s going to lock you up for good for trying to escape!”

“I didn’t escape. I just wanted to go for a ride. I miss riding, feeling the wind. I’m really sorry.”

“Shut it girl. If I were the White Queen I’d have you flogged in front of all the students. Come on. I’m taking you to her office.”

What if the White Queen thinks I betrayed her
?

Simone grabbed me by the arm. She marched me over to the mansion and stomped up the white marble stairs. Simone walked into the secretary’s small office and pushed open the hidden door.

The White Queen was reclining in her white chaise longue, admiring her moonstone ring. “Thank you, Simone. You can leave us.” She continued looking at her ring, moving it around so that the light hit it from different angles. “My dearest Janet, while I do love your
spirit
, you know I can’t condone what you’ve done. We were worried sick when we couldn’t find you. Fortunately, the CCTV cameras at the gate proved that you hadn’t been abducted. But tell me, why in the world did you follow Ms. Jefferson?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’d just planned to go for a quick motorcycle ride. But then I saw Ms. Jefferson get in her boyfriend’s car and I thought it would be fun to follow them. I wanted to know what it feels like to be on a mission.”

“Ah, that’s excusable. I had faith that my Red Hourglass wouldn’t run away from me, but I’m glad that you returned home.”

“I’m sorry Mama. I wasn’t thinking. I would never leave you.”

“I know my darling. Ah, the folly of youth.” The White Queen puffed up as she took a deep breath. “Next time you want to go for a ride, ask Simone. And promise that you’ll talk to me before assigning yourself more missions.”

“I promise,” I said.

“Very well, but I still have to punish you. There are consequences for impudence. What do you think would be a fair punishment?”

“I could scrub the grease stains off the garage floor. It would take me all weekend … at least.”

“Fine. I’ll let Simone know that you’ll be at the garage after breakfast tomorrow morning. Make sure to complain about your punishment at dinner. We can’t let anyone think that you’ve gotten away with this scot-free. Now, you must be starving. Go feed yourself.”

“Yes Mama. Thank you.”

My stomach rumbled. The White Queen had given me a safe home where I was looked after. She truly was my new mother and I would never leave her. I couldn’t wait to be an agent, to be a force for good in the world.

* * *

Over the next three and three-quarters years, I completed my education and agent training. We were coached in martial arts, but my love of blades was firmly entrenched by then. I chose knife fighting as my specialty. I’d taken some kendo and fencing classes, but I much preferred the intimacy of smaller blades. Nothing beat being close to a target.

My knife coach was a former military officer. He drilled it into our heads that a second makes all the difference between life and death in a knife fight. We practiced deploying our blades in combat situations for twenty minutes at the start of each class. Once I’d mastered whipping a dagger out of a sheath around my shoulder or leg, I practiced getting my switchblade out of the sole of my stiletto and flicking it open in less than a second. I worked hard to master knife skills, and I was confident that my blades would never let me down.

I felt a strong bond with all my sisters by the time I graduated, but Mimi and Vanus were special. We were all around the same age, and we’d helped each other with everything. I trusted them with my life. I’d even told them about my missing mother. As a special graduation gift, the White Queen promised me that she’d do her best to find out if my real mother was dead or alive.

Mr. Cheap Poker

One of my most memorable solo assignments was a jerk I called Mr. Cheap Poker. I spent weeks playing poker in underground clubs to prepare. I learned that I was very skilled at manipulating hearts to get what I wanted, and I loved the thrill of winning. The queen of hearts became my favorite card.

I was the only lady on the table most of the time. I played with huge rolls of bills, no chips. The men always tried to bluff, but I’d usually figure them out and win the round. They also tried all sorts of funny business to get me in bed. I’d humor them while we were at the table so I could take all their cash, but I never slept with any of them.

The night Mr. Cheap Poker finally sat down at my table, I needed a way to get his sympathy. Over the next few rounds, I purposely lost all my money.

“Need some cash there little lady?” Mr. Cheap Poker asked, shoving a stack of bills in my direction.

“In exchange for?” I asked with a foxy smile and a raised eyebrow.

“A private game of strip poker,” he said.

All the players looked at me, awaiting my response.

“I accept.”

“Good. Very good.” He gave me a wide grin and his black buck teeth rested on his lower lip.

Like a lamb to the slaughter, this malignant creature had no idea what was in store for him. The way he puffed on his smelly cigar like a greedy child reminded me of my stepfather.
I’m going to enjoy this.

I played my weak hands and folded my strong hands. It didn’t take too many rounds to lose all the cash he’d given me.

He snuffed out his cigar, grabbed my arm, and pulled me back to his cheap motel room around the corner. He slammed the door behind us and locked it.

The room stank of smoke, and he reeked of alcohol and sweat. I called on my agent training—controlling my mind and body—to keep from gagging in disgust. I could’ve just done what I came to do without playing the game, but I was going to relish this. Some men deserved to be tormented, and I took great pleasure in seeing them squirm like weasels.

He opened a bottle of scotch and had two shots before pouring me a drink. “Cheers,” he said as he threw back his third shot and handed me a glass.

He dealt the cards and used all the cheap, dirty tricks in the book. He bluffed, cheated, and lied to convince me that my winning hands were losing hands—as if I didn’t know the rules and believed that a straight was stronger than a flush.

I couldn’t be bothered arguing with a pig that would stoop so low, and I had no desire to see Mr. Cheap Poker strip. He was disgustingly obese and I feared for my sight if I had to see him naked. There were rolls of fat hanging around his neck, middle, and off every limb. I could’ve pulled the flabby skin from his arms around his face and suffocated him with his own fetid flesh. I let him win every time, folding strong hands if I had them.

I was ready for this game. I’d made sure to wear a ton of accessories—earrings, necklaces, bangles, watches, and rings. After every round, I peeled off one piece of jewelry. He was gagging to see me naked, and I was having fun making him wait.

“You’re taking too damn long!” he chided me after the seventh hand, pouring himself another drink. “If you pull every piece of shiny silver off that gorgeous little body of yours one by one, we’ll be here until next week! You lost a lot of my money and you better start taking off your clothes!”

“You’re right.” I slipped off my shirt before the next hand.

He was having a hard time controlling himself as he stared at my tits squeezed into my bra. I folded my four of a kind.

“I love playing with girls.” He sneered. “You bitches can’t win at poker even if your lives depend on it.”

“Shut up and play,” I said, stripping off my pants. He was really starting to annoy me now.

I lost again and removed my bra. I was down to my schoolgirl panties. He dealt me a really bad hand, so I played it. I genuinely lost the last round to his four of a kind.

“You’re bad at this, little girl.”

“Not as bad as you are.” I bit my lip and felt for the switchblade in my panties. I detested this man who had no respect for women.

“I am a bad man.” He smiled, exposing his black teeth. He took a deep pull on his cigar and blew the thick smoke in my face. “I am a bad, bad man.”

“Down to dirty business now, huh?” I said softly.

“Hell yeah. Hurry it up you slut. I’m ready for the show.”

He drank the last of the scotch straight from the bottle and flopped his blubbery body on the bed like a beached whale. His face was growing redder and the bluish veins on his forehead were bulging as he stared at me. He looked like a ticking time bomb ready to explode any second.

I turned my back to him and bent over very slowly, showcasing my assets as I slid my fingers into the waist of my panties and grabbed my blood-red switchblade. I turned around and leaned over. He was distracted by the two melons hanging right in front of his eyes, and my long locks blocked his view of my hands.

I flicked open my blade and slashed it across the purple veins on his right wrist, then I slashed his left wrist. He screamed and tried to clutch his wrists as blood spewed out like two red fountains.

“You goddamn whore!” he yelled hoarsely as he lunged at me, spraying blood around the room.

He managed to get his fat fingers around my neck, but he was severely weakened from the alcohol and shock. He tried to crush my windpipe, but all he did was drench my pale flesh in blood. He soon let go and dropped back onto the bed like a heap of boiled of bacon.

His face turned blue and I knew it wouldn’t be long. The life left his eyes and the rest of his blood drained away, spreading in bright red patches over the white sheets. The room was shrouded in scarlet.

The murder scene was deeply disturbing, but only because he reminded me of my stepfather—his alcoholism, his cigar, his violence, and the total disregard for women. Bloody sunflower fields filled my vision and I understood why the White Queen wanted him dead. This piece of filth didn’t deserve to exist.

I dialed Vanus. “Send the clean-up crew.”

The Mission

I took a cab to Penn Station in Midtown and got the next train. It was an hour-long journey from Manhattan to Cold Spring Harbor.

I walked out of the station and saw a familiar white Mercedes-Benz. The white-gloved chauffeur put my suitcases in the trunk and opened the back door. The blank expression on his face seemed to be frozen in place. I got in and stroked the soft leather seat with the tips of my fingers.

“How are things?” I asked the chauffeur as he sat into the driver’s seat.

He didn’t respond. I wondered if I was in trouble, but then I remembered that none of the chauffeurs had ever spoken to me.

I pressed the button to open the window and took a deep breath. The fresh country air smelled amazing. It was a relief from the smog and grime of the city. I leaned my head back and the cool breeze swept over me. I’d been living in the city for so long that I’d forgotten how easy it was just to be in the country. There were no police, no sirens, no screams. I was safe. The fields of green grass turned into a blur as I drifted to off to sleep.

I awoke half an hour later, just as the car pulled up to the white metal gates with the gigantic white and gold coat of arms. Two security guards came out of the gatehouse. They scanned the car for explosives and verified my fingerprints and iris scan—the usual procedure. After I was cleared, the guards let me get back in the car and they opened the gates.

As we made our way toward the mansion on top of the hill, I thought about the years I’d spent living and studying at the Academy. Those were the sweetest memories I had.

The chauffeur parked at the red carpet and opened the back door. “I’ll have your suitcases delivered to your room. The White Queen’s waiting for you,” he said.

I walked along the red carpet lined with the ominous marble statues of birds of prey. They were no less intimidating than the first time I walked between them as I approached the mansion’s huge double doors.

I rang the brass doorbell and the butler opened the bottom part of the right door. He motioned for me to go upstairs.

I walked up the oval-shaped double staircase and went into the antechamber outside the White Queen’s office.

I heard the familiar buzz in the wall behind the secretary and I pushed on the hidden door with one hand. I remembered the first time I was here and could barely shove it open with all my strength.

“Janet, darling.” The White Queen stood up behind her desk and opened her arms. She was wearing her usual floor-length white mink coat and the giant moonstone ring on her right index finger.

“Hello Mama. I got rid of that nasty man last night.” I walked around her large white desk with the leather top and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She still reminded me of a snowy owl.