Chapter 1: The End of Childhood

Very few moments distinctly stuck out in her mind. After all, there were 12,433,217 minutes in her entire life; she didn't have time to focus on one or the other. There were very few exceptions to this rule. One was when she was eleven years, four months, five days, four hours, and seventeen minutes old.

Her lungs stopped working. Completely. Her heart probably wasn't working either, but she couldn't remember. All she recalled was looking down at the two figures on the ground, loss of air, and two strong arms lifting her up and turning her away from the scene.

"Kit? Kit, honey, can you hear me?"

She heard her brother's strong, calming voice, but was unable to respond. He just held his sister closer and combed his fingers through her hair. She always felt so young and powerless when he did this, more so than she usually felt next to her brothers. The one holding her, Lemony, was seven years her senior, and Jacques, the eldest, was two-and-a-half years older than Lemony.

If Kit was told to choose her favorite brother, she would immediately answer "Lemony," but she would feel horrible about it afterward. She just didn't connect with Jacques. He was a natural-born leader, an Alfa, a dominant dog. So was Kit. She refused to take directions from her eldest brother, irritating him greatly and generally causing some loud, verbal fight. Lemony, on the other hand, was their mediator. He was gentle and calming. That was what she needed at times like these.

"Shh," she heard Lemony coxing. "You're alright."

She could feel her throat loosening and air returning to her lungs. She could feel her brother rocking her gently.

And without even opening her eyes, she could see her other brother, Jacques, storming over to them.

"Damn it, Lemony, put her down."

Lemony covered Kit's ears. "Do you really think she needs to hear that right now?"

"I think she needs to get used to this sort of thing. It's better to have her cry now than later when it's anything of importance."

"But, Jacques, this is… this is different."

"No, actually, it really isn't."

Lemony looked at his brother in the eyes. "No," he said, "she's too young."

"I was about her age."

"You were fifteen, Jacques, she's eleven."

"So you don't think she could handle it?"

Kit hated when people talked about her like she wasn't there. She was finally able to speak. "What can't I handle?" she rasped.

Lemony opened his mouth to speak, but Jacques cut him off. "What do you remember?" he demanded.

"I walked in the house, and I saw two… things on the ground. Then I got scared and I – I couldn't breathe."

"Do you know what those two tings are?"

Kit shook her head. Jacques took her out of Lemony's grasp and set her on the ground to walk; he refused to carry her.

"Come here," Jacques demanded.

Kit glared at him, "Bite me."

Jacques grabbed her arm and faced her toward the two objects on the floor. In a wave of horror, Kit realized what these things were. They were bodies, two cold, lifeless bodies laying there in her living room. She turned to run back to Lemony, but Jacques held her back. "Look closer," he told her. Kit faced the bodies again; this time she focused on their faces. As soon as she did, her breathing became fast and uneven. She could feel her lungs panicking, her throat closing.

Lemony leaped out of his seat and ran out of the room. Less than four seconds later, he returned, holding a small, white container.

"For God's sake, Lemony, she doesn't need that."

Lemony shoved his brother out of the way in an effort to reach Kit. He opened the box, withdrew the inhaler, put it into Kit's mouth, and pushed the button twice. Immediately, her throat relaxed. She could breathe.

Childhood asthma isn't always life threatening. Many people grow out of it. So did Kit, mostly anyway. She was under constant watch until she was about nine. Since then, she had only two occasions during which she needed her inhaler. When she was ten and saw Lemony break his arm, and now, when she saw the dead bodies of her parents lying on the floor.

Jacques looked at his sister in the eyes. "Do you know why this happened? Do you know who did this?"

Kit shook her head slowly, but before Jacques could say anything else Lemony scooped up his sister and gave his brother an icy glare.

"No," he snarled, and that was the end of the discussion.

Kit shivered in her brother's arms; she had never seen him so angry.

That night Kit didn't sleep; she stared at the ceiling as tears stung her eyes. She could hear her brothers' voices downstairs. (Kit's room was two floors above the main.) She didn't really understand the argument, but she caught bits and pieces.

"The earlier she gets used to this the better off she'll be," Jacques shouted.

"You don't know that," replied Lemony. "For all you know that'll make it worse."

And a little while later:

"I'm her legal guardian now!"

"That doesn't mean you know what's best for her!"

And then:

"She'll figure it out anyway. We'll be moving in a couple of days."

"A couple of days?" Lemony spat. "Jacques, how much more do you think she can take? She just lost her parents and her brothers are about to kill each other. She can't handle this; she's only eleven years old!"

"Do you think it's any easier for me?" Jacques demanded. "I have no idea what to do! I'm terrified, Lemony! Now… oh, God, look at how I was treating her. I was a monster."

There was a dead silence until the doorbell rang.

"Are you kidding me? It's nearly midnight!" he continued, but Lemony had nearly run to answer. He gave a low cough, which preceded three taps on the door. Kit listened intently to this secret exchange.

"It's late," Lemony whispered.

"I just heard; I'm so sorry."

Kit recognized the voice immediately and sprinted downstairs. Tears streaming down her face, she rushed into her friend's arms.

"Beatrice, I'm so scared!" Kit sobbed.

"It's ok, angel; it's okay. I'm here."

Jacques walked awkwardly into the entryway. "Good evening, Beatrice."

"Evening," she replied curtly. "You seem to be doing a splendid job of comforting you sister."

He looked at the floor. "Actually, I was hoping I could talk to Kit. I haven't been… a supportive brother today. Kit, will you come with me? We can make some hot tea."

Grudgingly, Kit released her hold on her friend and walked to the kitchen with her oldest brother. Before she completely left the room, she turned around in time to see Beatrice rush into Lemony's arms. She felt a wave of jealousy at the sight.

Kit took a seat as her brother poured already steaming water into two mugs. "Milk or sugar?" he asked while adding the teabags.

"Tea should be as bitter as wormwood, and as sharp as a two-edged sword," she recited.

Jacques laughed, "Is that a 'no'?"

The look Kit gave him was eerie; her face was completely unreadable. "Why did they die?" she asked bluntly.

Jacques sighed and put down the mugs. "This is a lot for someone your age to handle," he began. "Our family is very involved with an organization called –"

"V.F.D," Kit interrupted.

"Right, and at the moment, that's all you need to know. Lemony, Beatrice and I are… well, we've been doing this for a while. Now that Mom and Dad are gone, we're all very nervous that their killer is going to… come after you."

Her expression remained impassive.

"We need to take you some place safe.

"Understandable."

"Have you heard of the Hotel Denouement?"

"No," she answered skeptically.

"For all intensive purposes, it's a safe house for V.F.D, and –"

"And, since you think a deranged murderer is after me, I'm going to be living at this 'safe house.'"

"You're very perceptive."

"I call it common sense."

"I wish," he muttered, handing her a cup of tea.

Kit pensively sipped at her mug for a moment. Then suddenly stood up and began to walk toward the den. "I need my journal," she explained to Jacques. "I'll be right back."

Kit's journal was neither remarkable nor secretive. She included in it no personal feelings or opinions. She used it to record upcoming events; she liked to be one-step ahead. Her diary, on the other had, was literally locked in a safe under a lose floorboard beneath her dresser. Even at eleven, Kit had plenty of secrets.

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