-1"Merci, monsieur."

"Farewell, mademoiselle."

Evelyn fumbled with her many bags, trying to lace her now gloved fingers through all the hand holes. The leather was a worn, soft kind, almost feeling like suede, a deep red in color and reaching only her wrists. With the money Erik had given her she had just bought a fresh supply of bread, jams, pastries, fruits, tea and a sealed package of meat. Along with that were three new dresses, a pair of shoes and a small gift she kept tucked away in a pocket of her gown.

With help from an entering woman she left the grocery outside, shivering a little in the snow. Tiny snowflakes drifted lazily down from the sky, swirling in a twisting descent. The streets were mainly abandoned except for a few people, most maids or older women out on business or errands.

The fear of being out in the open hit her only a little. She doubted any of these common and nice seeming folk would be working for Laterr. What would motivate an old woman or a little girl to tell the marquis of her location?

Wandering slowly by little shops somewhere near the train station Evelyn paused when she met the heavenly smell of teas, sweets and coffees. Giving a quick glance at the clock that gleamed in a nearby window she decided she had plenty or time and left over money for a quick snack.

Following her nose and grumbling stomach she thanked her stars that she seemed to have gotten over the near pneumonia that could have killed her. Thanks to him, she reminded herself thoughtfully. Finally she turned a corner, further away from the destined meeting place, and found the tiny café, tucked between a tailors shop and a food market.

Opening the door with her foot Evelyn walked head on into a blast of warmth and a great savory smell. The walls were of a lovely parchment color, pale and orange-tainted like old paper, painted with borders of dark evergreen ivy vines and pink roses. Small tables, each with a pair of iron-wrought black chairs, scattered the tiny room, filled with few people, all chatting quietly.

Setting her bags down by a table near the window, Evelyn smoothed the folds of her dress and went up to the counter, smiling congenially to the keeper. A display revealed freshly baked pastries with sweet preserves and powdered sugar sprinkled on the flaky surfaces. An array of delectable cookies and cake slices also wafted their enticing smell from behind the glass with their own special magic. Ever since she was little Evelyn always loved sweets. It was a great downfall but she really wasn't afraid to admit it.

A moment later she sat down with a cup of hot honey-sweetened milk and a soft scone with blackberry filling. Silently she peeled off her gloves, relishing the feel of the hot cup in her palm and the freedom from the clothing. Nibbling on her scone she dazed out the window at the snow as it danced down, rapidly becoming heavier, listening to the low murmur of the other patrons.

Sipping her milk Evelyn sighed heavily, feeling her eyes soften and her brows knit in worry. Poor Erik. Every time she thought of the cruelties he suffered she felt tears swell in her. It was so unfair, so awful. She couldn't understand how anyone could do anything so horrid to such a young boy. And to such a sad man. In sudden desperation she wanted to hold him again, protect him with her dying, frail body.

Self-consciously Evelyn looked down at her body. It might be slowly failing and very weak but it was no where near thin. She wasn't fat or big boned, but then again she was not slender or graceful either. She rued the baby fat that still clung to her legs, hips and belly. Come to think of it her wrists were a little too pudgy…so were her elbows! It surprised her that she never noticed her imperfections before.

Heaving a sigh of self-disappointment she looked back outside. Again her eyes filled with water as she watched the snow. To be honest Evelyn really hated the snow. It was pretty and enchanting but it brought up so many thoughts of Louis. Satin gloves, sleigh rides and chilled breaths that danced on the wind, mingling together before slipping to heaven.

What was she doing? What if she just made the same mistake again? Could her heart take it? Erik didn't deserve it either; he deserved so much more than a hole in the sewers and the drudge he held on his weary shoulders. Perhaps it would be better for her just to leave before something happened.

Taking a gulp of her drink Evelyn forced her tears away and looked over the rim of the cup out the window. The warm milk caught in her throat, causing her to splutter and slam her mug down on the tiny table. Talking with an old, hunched woman with tattered shoes and a wary but eager face was a man that strangled her heart with the mere sight of him.

The man wore no hat over his half-tamed black hair and wore no scarf about his swarthy skin. The long strands hung about his face in a menacing shroud, pitch as midnight. A clean cut goatee and beard adorned his face, the rest shaved neatly, adding a frowning menace to him instead of a welcoming orderliness. Dressed in a blood red uniform with silver brooches he openly allowed the view of a pistol on his hip. The police feared who he worked for and would never attempt an arrest on such a dangerous man. A froth of cool intent hung about him like a cloud.

The old woman pointed directly at the coffee shop from their spot across the street in front of a toy store. Evelyn found herself unable to breathe, unable to move except tighten her grip on the glass as her heart leaped up her throat in horror. Bjorn turned his piercing, calculating black gaze toward her to instantly spot Evelyn sitting in the chair, her face extraordinarily pale and mouth trembling in terror.

Bjorn dropped a tiny pouch of coins into the old woman's withered hands, his gaze never leaving her terrified face. The woman bowed frantically in thanks, backing away to shuffle in the snow towards home. The cup in Evelyn's hands cracked and splintered as she gripped it when the assassin strode towards her. She felt the pain but was too paralyzed to do anything.

Shaking horribly Evelyn finally stood on quaking legs, backing away from the front door. How on earth? How could she be so stupid? Damn her naivety at people!

Bjorn van Durst was Laterr's right hand man, his guard and assassin. No one ever really saw him but somehow everyone knew him, everyone feared him, even Laterr himself. But Evelyn knew him more than anyone else, more possibly than the marquis. Tiny gasps of horror escaped her as she began crying at the images in her mind.

A young man lay in the snow, a stab wound through his soldier's uniform, darkening the deep blue to a black with its blood. The innocent snow was stained red from the spilling blood from a second wound, a deep gash over his strong throat. Wide, surprised brown eyes stared off into nothing, the head turned towards where she sat, screaming in agony. His thick brown hair was matted to his head, tiny wisps of it dancing in the unfeeling wind. Lips bruised from previous embraces were cracked in surprise

And then him, Bjorn, standing there with a detached look, his red boots buried in the red snow, cleaning a filthy dagger with a placid face. Those dark, empty eyes stared straight at her as he put the blade away to turn and disappear.

She wanted to scream, to cry and wail, to tear at her hair at the unfairness God was hurling her. Why him? Why? What was she to do? Bjorn was trained in the art of killing with anything and everything in most painful ways. Evelyn herself had witnessed his talent first hand. As he approached the assassin lowered a dark hood from his cape over his face, masking all but his determined chin and mustache.

No one knew from where Bjorn had come. No one was really sure if it was his real name. All most people knew was that he was not one to cross or Laterr for that matter. Father once told her she should marry Bjorn instead of the marquis. He was positive the assassin would kill him eventually and take over his estate. Evelyn couldn't even laugh at the ignorant remark without crying.

Evelyn felt the cold, hard edge of the counter against her lower back and her breath seemed to stop utterly. Her chest thumped in rapid beats, trying vainly to bring energy to her disobeying limbs. She should run, she should yell, she should do something! But her throat was constricted, her stomach sickened and her legs useless. Her hands gripped the cold counter, steadying her little and driving tiny shards of porcelain from the broken glass into her palms.

Bjorn entered, the door tinkling with mocking bells, his presence darkening the previously light air. He looked no where else but straight at the trembling and silently crying girl. The shop keep, who had been watching, disappeared quietly into the kitchen, locking it behind her. She was no fool to defy one of the marquis's men. She'd rather live and be silent than tell a reputedly dangerous man to leave. She'd rather swallow hot coals!

Evelyn's legs finally gave out and she fell to her knees, leaning against the base of the counter, shaking so badly that her teeth chattered as she choked a breath through a loud sob. No matter how she tried she could not stop her tormented crying or bring her nerves around enough to realize that her hands were bleeding excessively.

Bjorn took two steps forward and stopped. Even though she could not see his face Evelyn was sure he was staring directly at her with his cold, killing eyes. Her heart froze temporarily when his hand moved to reach for his belt.

Drawing out his silver pistol Bjorn pointed it up at the ceiling and fired once, the sound echoing loudly and the bullet disappearing in a gaping hole of splinters. Evelyn jumped and sobbed pathetically as the occupants of the café screamed and started, covering heads and turning to stare.

"Out, all of you," the assassin ordered quietly, his deep voice bearing a poised lethal whip. As the patrons scrambled out with terrified faces and half-concerned glances Bjorn aimed the muzzle at the petrified woman on the floor.

Evelyn didn't dare move, let alone breathe, as he stood there, coolly pointing a weapon at her terrified heart. Once the people were gone it was utterly quiet, not a sound to break the tense air.

"You really thought you could escape, didn't you? Run away from him without reprimands?" he growled in his low, gravelly and threatening tone that sent shivers down her spine. Slowly, tauntingly almost, he reached up and dropped his hood, his blank eyes full of nothing, not sadness nor remorse.

Evelyn swallowed dryly and trembled, too afraid to answer beyond a gasp of air. Seeming satisfied Bjorn put the gun back in its holster. That did nothing to alleviate her terror though; the gun was probably the least painful of his weapons. Suddenly Bjorn strode forward the last few steps to stand right in front of her.

Grabbing a fistful of red hair he dragged her to her knees, forcing her nearly limp body to be upright, turning her tear-stricken face toward his. He gazed into her horrified, fearful green eyes, unblinking. His face was a mask, a precise and cold façade. There was no way to read him, to even tell if he was amused by her sobs.

"The marquis does not wish you dead. Death is not truly a punishment worth the lie your father gave him about your fortune. Not to mention the humiliation you graced him with by running. I have two gifts from him," he said factually, not revealing anything of his intentions. Evelyn was almost positive it was going to be painful though. She stared up at him silently , completely helpless. Why struggle? What could she possibly do to this strong, imposing monster?

To her great surprise and disgust Bjorn leaned forward and planted an indifferent, unfeeling kiss on her lips. Evelyn grunted in horror and tried to pull away. His very lips seemed frozen. The assassin moved back, still without any expression and promptly and roughly punched her across the face, still not letting go of his hold on her hair.

Slumping down in his grip Evelyn felt hot, thick blood dribbling from her nose down her lips and chin. A swollen, throbbing pain echoed in her cheekbone, screaming at her brain. She nearly fainted from the blow, almost wished she would she had, but found herself painfully conscious.

"One gift."

Her dazed eyes focused again on Bjorn as he reached for his belt with one gloved hand. She whimpered faintly as he revealed a wicked-looking dagger, turning the serpentine blade slowly so the light reflected tantalizingly over her face.

"You know this blade, don't you? Oui, I imagine it would be plenty of torture for you to have the same instrument that killed your Louis, slice your flesh," he whispered into her ear, coming close enough to have his hot breath brush her. Evelyn shivered and let out an agonized cry as he ran the flat edge over her cheek. Bjorn watched her in morbid fascination at her terror, much like a cat playing with its doomed prey.

Twirling it in his skilled hand once then twice in front of her eyes he finally let a smirk hit his thin lips. Without much further ado or warning he caught the handle and swiftly drove the blade into her lower stomach.

A loud, strangled shriek of pain burst from her lips as Evelyn curled instinctively about the blade, her muscles slicing more on the cold steel in her gut. The assassin twisted slowly, relishing her screaming as the woman finally jerked in his grasp. Quickly he yanked free his blade, stepping back to avoid the gush of blood that bubbled after, slicking her legs and soaking her gown.

With a flick of the wrist Bjorn severed the hair he gripped an inch or two above her head, letting her body fall to the wooden floor to writhe in pain. Throwing the handful of locks like a dead rat at the floor he watched in twisted satisfaction.

"Two gifts."

Shakily Evelyn reached down with quivering, bleeding hands and pressed them to her puncture. She looked up at him, feeling her blood pool about her, wondering why she couldn't just faint from the pain.

Bjorn looked down at her in cold regard. He was staring at her like he did at Louis, like he did at a corpse.

"For the record, its just business."