The warm summer air caressed Carmilla's face as she exited the tube station. The evening was bustling with people who were out looking for something to do, or a place to be; they blurred before her, their fading voices the only clue of their existence.
She took in the scenery around her, new buildings surrounded by old buildings, it was a visual oxymoron to say the least, but she enjoyed the familiar contrast. The overwhelming feeling of nostalgia begged to be felt, and for once she allowed herself the small pleasure of remembering the past.
A flash of memories popped into her mind, one after the other, after the other, yet she could not remember how old she was, or for how long London was her home out of the many places she had called home in her youth. But she remembered the feeling of being there, as though everything was exactly as it was when she left. Even the man selling caramelized peanuts by the London Eye seemed familiar to her.
She remembered the museums, and how she always seemed to be inside an art gallery when it was raining. Even now, the sound of rain makes her think of a William Turner painting.
The outline of St Paul's Cathedral could be seen in the distance across the Thames. She recalled the time she went to the very top and saw all of London, and those dreadful stairs she nearly fell from its dizzying spiral, but someone was there to catch her, yet she could not remember them, and it disturbed her deeply that she could not, so she suppressed anymore memories that tried to be remembered.
Carmilla began to wonder what her old self would think of her present self— a common thought among those in a state of nostalgia. Her childhood ambitions were too always be successful and happy. She chuckled as she imagined herself telling her past self that she would grow up to be a cat burglar and then a lonely assassin.
After twenty minutes of walking along the river, the evening turned into night and she finally arrived at her destination.
Inside the dark lit lounge the smell of tobacco and the sound of jazz music flowed throughout the space and provided the building with a mellow ambience. Countless conversations lingered in the air like a thin haze.
Carmilla walked into the lounge and swiftly maneuvered her way to the bar. She surveyed the area, keeping an eye out for the man she was supposed to meet.
The scent of cigarettes sent chills down her spine, it had been awhile since her last smoke, but she could not indulge in her guilty pleasure, and she would not for a long while after that.
At the bar, she ordered a drink and tried to discourage the flirtatious bartender, who seemed to be under the impression that she was flirting back. Once he left to attend to other customers, she looked around for a clock.
8:49
Suddenly, she felt someone tap her shoulder. A woman with a Spanish accent offered to buy her a drink.
She would be able to recognize that voice anywhere.
"Emilia," she whispered, and turned around to meet the beautiful brown skinned woman. She had long dark brown hair and hazel eyes that looked brown in the darkened room. The black sleeveless top she wore hung loosely over her chest and accentuated her collarbones. The sight of Emilia filled Carmilla with a confusing mix of joy and animosity
"What do you want?" was how Carmilla greeted her former partner.
Emilia motioned to the bartender for a drink. "I thought you would be happy to see your best friend," she said with a cunning smile.
Carmilla let out an exaggerated chuckle. "A best friend doesn't leave you tied up in an abandoned warehouse that's about to explode while she takes the reward and runs. I broke two ribs trying to get out of there."
"That still doesn't compare to you leaving me hanging —literally hanging— from the edge of an art gallery for three hours. I fell twenty feet and luckily landed on a bush and only sprained my foot."
"Well I guess that makes us even then, doesn't it, cupcake?"
The two glared at each other and then suddenly burst into genuine laughter. As their joy dissipated they found themselves smiling at one another, almost like lovers do, as though it was familiar to them, yet there was an uncomfortable tension looming over them.
"How did you find me?" asked Carmilla.
"I always know where to find you, Carm," said Emilia, and then took a sip of her drink.
Carmilla shifted her gaze back to the crowd and looked around the room for a tall man with graying hair, a gold tooth, and a scar on the right side of his cheek.
"Carmilla," said Emilia slowly, as though it pained her.
"No," said Carmilla rather curtly. Her good mood now faded and she found the tinges of hate returning.
Emilia glared at Carmilla before she relaxed her body. She felt a soreness in her hand; she had not realized she was gripping her glass so hard.
"You just left us without a word. For weeks I thought you were dead until I heard from some scum that you were working for a guy named Hollis. What does he have to offer you that we couldn't?"
"We had no direction. Maybe it was fun for a while, taking any job that came our way no matter how dangerous it would be, but I needed something more stable, more organized. I needed something more." Carmilla looked at Emilia with the culmination of years of unsaid words rapidly spilling out of her. Her eyes focused to what was behind Emilia. The man she was waiting for was standing in between two large pillars.
"Good-bye, Emilia," said Carmilla as she left her seat at the bar and approached the man, who eagerly put his arm around her. They both walked towards the exit.
Carmilla turned her head just enough to see Emilia flirting with the bartender as though nothing had happened, but Carmilla could see her hand shaking as she clutched her skirt.
"You seem troubled" said the man as he tightened his grip around Carmilla, which was meant to be assuring but only made it hard for Carmilla not to cringe.
"Yeah, maybe you could help me take my mind off of it?" Carmilla dragged her fingers along the man's chest, slightly pouting her lips.
"Anything for you, princess," the man grinned, widely, exposing his gold tooth.
Carmilla was still trying hard not to cringe. She nodded in response and was about to glance back at the bar one last time, except her view was blocked by the passing of people.
At the hotel, the man was eager to get inside the room but Carmilla was eager to kill him. After spending nearly forty minutes with him she realized why someone had put a hit on him. She would have rather used a sniper or something more exciting, but she had no say in the matter this time and had to settle for impersonating a call girl. Being an assassin had its downfalls.
As the man closed the door, he immediately took it upon himself to be the initiator, and in an animalistic motion, lunged towards Carmilla and began to kiss her.
She pushed him away aggressively, which was something she regretted. He looked at her with a confused, stupid expression.
"Why don't we have some drinks first?" she said, trying to recover from the incident.
The man agreed, although not so happy with the turn of events.
In Carmilla's head, the drinks would come and she could easily slip some poison into his drink (since she had her poison ring on) and that would be the end of her night.
That is not how things went.
The man went to the bar and she followed, going behind the counter and offered to play bartender and pour drinks. However, while she did so, he loomed over like a hawk, his arms wrapping themselves around her and resting his head on her shoulder. It would be impossible to even spit in his drink let alone poison it.
Carmilla kept thinking of ways to keep him away, but they all involved knocking him out with a blunt object and she was told specifically not to leave any marks on him, to make his death look as close to an unfortunate accident as possible. So, the only thing she could do was wait.
After an hour and two bottles of alcohol, Carmilla was not sure if she could get any more alcohol in him. He was a large man with a strong build, not like that of a bodybuilder but of one that was capable of strangling someone to death if necessary, and in his line of work it was necessary.
The man that she was expected to kill was a rising drug lord. His success came from his use of violence rather than clever tactics much like a modern Tony Camonte. This, along with his prominent scar, granted him the nickname Scar.
Carmilla was running out of time. She knew that nearby there were guards who would soon become suspicious about the noises coming from the room. Scar was becoming aggressive, throwing things around and speaking louder than she had hoped.
At this point he seemed to have forgotten the reason she was there and was speaking in slurs. Carmilla watched as he began dancing to the sound of his own humming, and then stripping. She was not sure what to make of this, but she enjoyed the humility.
Scar let out one long, unpleasant note and fell onto the bed. He was passed out.
Carmilla sat with her elbows on the inside of her thighs and just stared at him. She was thinking of ways to take advantage his unconsciousness when she heard a knock on the door.
From the other side a woman's voice called "room service." Carmilla knew that it was unlikely to be an actual hotel maid. Whoever was behind that door had to have bypassed Scar's guards and that thought worried her.
At the same time she heard gagging sounds coming from drug lord. There was only ten seconds before that door opened and she knew that it would take at least five minutes before Scar would die from the unfortunate accident of choking on his own vomit.
Inside of her boot she reached for a small slender gun. This gun did not shoot bullets, but rather jets of liquid concrete that dry on contact. The small tool was invented by her former con partner and was very useful when it came to escaping security guards.
She fired three shots right before the sound of the clink of the door unlocking was heard.
The person behind the door struggled to open it and that sent a wave of relief all over Carmilla's body.
It only took the assassin five minutes to clear any evidence that she was in the room, and it only took her two more minutes to exit through the balcony, scale the walls of the hotel, and hail a cab to the airport.
By the time the door was finally broken down and Scar's body found, Carmilla was on a private jet to New York.
Carmilla entered Hollis's office the following afternoon. The high ceiling, marble flooring and large windows always managed to put her in a state of admiration.
In the middle of the large space was a large desk with one large leather chair behind it and two less luxurious chairs in front of it. Two security guards stood on opposite ends of the room though they were hard to spot due to the abundance of plants in the room.
Hollis stood with his back facing Carmilla. He was staring out of the large windows towards a view overlooking Central Park.
Hollis was a reserved man. He had a slender face with rounded glasses and short hair. He had an accountant's look to him, not the leader of an assassin agency. His position was always a curiosity among the other assassins who knew little about Hollis's background or even his first name.
Without turning around, Hollis kindly said "sit", and so Carmilla sat.
"I have a new assignment for you," said Hollis, a stern look on his face and a worry in his eyes.
"Who is the target?" said Carmilla as she crossed her legs and awaited to be told about the boring subject she would have to kill, and how she would have to do it. But for once, she was taken by surprise when Hollis uttered,
"My daughter."