Voila! Here it is! Not much to this one, but read it anyway. Review too!
Chapter 9
His carefully laid plans to complete his mission on Saturday so as to leave enough time to go to confession on Sunday was neatly and utterly ruined as he was told that Saturday morning was the day that every single vehicle in the Institute was scrubbed down. Which included everything from the buses and vans, the SUVs, the cars – including an enviable Viper, a gorgeous red convertible and the slickest Mustang he'd ever laid on eyes on – the motorcycles (for the first time in his life, Vincent bemoaned that he had not been trained as a Thief and was unable to sneak out the beautiful Harley or the two mouthwatering crotch rockets), the ATVs, two huge military grade choppers, and the slickest black jet he'd ever seen.
All his attempts to sneak away were brought to a screeching halt by the Wolverine or his little girlfriend/daughter/sister/something Laura. The bastards.
It didn't help that his arm was red and raw from where he had scrubbed his arm after the Thief girl had grabbed him yesterday.
By the time they were finished, the sun was starting to set and he was exhausted, but before he could go pass out on a nice bit of concrete somewhere, one of the teachers who had arrived yesterday – a tall guy called Mr. Bobby Drake – intercepted him and, after a quick shower, dragged him off to get school supplies. Thankfully, all that required was leaning on a shopping cart as his guide steered him through the aisles and then grabbing handfuls of pencils, pens, notebooks, loose leaf paper, binders, folders, highlighters, and a backpack that didn't have Dora the Explorer or Tonka Trucks on it. He fell asleep on the way back to the Institute and hoped to God that this was not how these people spent their weekends.
Nope. They spent their Saturday nights watching movies fraught with explosions, giant robots and epic gun and sword fights or wedding proposals, declarations of love and lots of corny one-liners or of cartoon characters scrambling around to find rainbows, kitty-cats or whatever the hell it was.
Depending on which room you went into.
Vincent went into his room, where to his immense displeasure, he found his roommate, Alexei, the huge black guy called Denzel, and the two older Thieves playing poker on the floor.
"Ah do b'lieve dis is our cue ta leave," the Thief girl said briskly, gathering the cards and her winnings (which were a lot bigger than anyone else's). "Vincent's givin' off so many bad vibes i's givin' meh a headache."
The others quickly joined her in picking up and leaving, Alexei patting him gently on the shoulder. The Thief boy and Denzel passed him with brief nods. The Thief girl was the last to leave the room, and she paused and ran a hand along his red, raw arm.
He stiffened in repulsion as she leaned close and said quietly. "If y' insist on scrubbin' y' skin off every tahme we touch Ah'm gonna start takin' it personally."
She flashed that annoying smile and walked to the door. Before closing the door, the girl cocked her head wickedly. "Y' sure y' don' need me ta tuck y' in?"
All the patience he had been trying to hold onto snapped, and he hurled his knife as hard and fiercely as he could. Instantly, he was hyper aware of everything, the floor under his feet, the bed… The knife. The girl goading him…
The blade left his hand with a whoosh and thunked into the door as she closed it sharply behind her.
He stood by his bed, decked in dark blue comforters, and tried to decide if it was worth stumbling over there to get his knife. It was his uncle's knife.
Of course it was.
Just as he was about to make his way through the long steps to his door, James wrenched the knife out of the door – it took quite a pull – and gave it back to him. "You're lucky you didn't hit Noelle, mate."
"Lucky fo' her."
"Really." James looked incredibly solemn as he returned it to the taller boy. "If you'd cut her, Lucien would've come tearing down our door, then Alexei – he's very fond of Noelle – and if you were very unlucky Logan and the other teachers would find out. Then you would truly be in deep shit."
Vincent scoffed as he tucked his knife into a pocket. "Sounds lahke little Miz Noelle's got da whole damn school wrapped around 'er finger."
"Vincent, mate, Noelle came here when she was twelve years old when she kept shooting off the floor in her old house and hitting the ceiling. She was so small Logan called her Mouse and it stuck even when she hit a growth spurt. She got into X-Men training programs a year early and did even better than her brother. There's no one in this school 'cept maybe the Summers guys who doesn't like her. You pick a fight with her and you'll be bringing the whole house down on your head, mate."
The Assassin snorted and began changing into his pajamas.
He ignored the last words of his roommate as the Brit left the room. "Whatever it is you've got against her, mate, for your own sake, put it behind you."
*****************************
He was drowning.
There was no other word for it.
His head broke the surface abruptly and he found himself hurled against the concrete walls of the canal. His hands clawed desperately at the stone, seeking a handhold. He knew instinctively that if he went under the water again, he would not come back up. And he could find no crack on the wet, slick sides.
He was slipping; the water was pulling at his legs.
Then it was suddenly bucking him back up.
Last chance at life!
He raked his red hands across concrete sides.
Come on. Come on. Come on!
Nothing.
He was going back under.
Under the water.
An explosion of noise came from somewhere above him. A firm grip closed around his hand and another grip closed around his arm.
Light meandered its way through their window in the lazy way that all windows that didn't face the sun attracted light.
Wincing at the bright light, Vincent rolled over and caught sight of his alarm clock. It flashed 12:45PM in bright red.
Dammit! He should have been on a plane back home to New Orleans right now, leaving behind three rapidly cooling bodies!
His mother was going to have his ass for lunch.
And then his heart for dessert.
Snatching for a new change of clothes, Vincent began the task of berating himself for taking so long to complete the job. He wasn't a two bit street thug – he was a Guild trained Assassin, for God's sake.
And speaking of God, he'd missed church.
Another string of dark words left his lips just as James walked in with his younger sisters, Fatima and Saya.
"Easy there!" James scolded lightly. "I don't want to have to explain my sisters' new vocab to me mum. She'd kill the TV again."
"Désole," he gritted out even as he revised his plan.
A quick kill wasn't going to be possible. They were too skilled and at this rate someone was going to get wise and either throw him out, turn him in, or kill him. He was going to have to make this a long term thing. Get close and earn their trust. Get them alone. Kill them.
He thought of being nice to those three, smiling, joking, eating their cooking…
No fuckin' way in hell.
He was not going to suck up to those brats! He would just have to call his mother and explain to her that it was going to take a while to get each one alone – maybe not so long to get the older girl alone, but he was more than a little excited at the prospect of fighting her. Imagine fighting and killing someone who could fly…
That made him stop and imagine what it would be like to fly. It really was a shame that she was a Thief; he couldn't even ask her what it was like to fly.
With a sigh at the thought of what his mother was going to say about this, he reached for his cell phone.
****************************
Noelle looked up from the pile of school supplies on her bed as a feeling of annoyance, resigned anger, exasperation, and defiance came from the direction of James and Vincent's room. She grinned to herself before turning back to inserting college-ruled paper into the binder.
"What's so funny?" Sarah asked, stuffing pencils and pens into her backpack.
She nodded at the door. "Vincent's pissed 'bout somethin'."
Her roommate scoffed. "He hasn't killed you yet. His mother will not be happy."
Concentrating, Noelle threw her empathy out expertly, slipping through the excitement, nervousness and other assorted emotions, to touch the feelings of Vincent Boudreaux. Very close to him she could feel what felt something like a tiny star of anger and bitterness.
A phone call?
"He's talkin' ta his mère, Ah think."
"How can you tell?"
"Dis summer Ah practiced on Mama an' Daddy. 'S easier since mah powers don' work so well on 'em. Makes it easier ta focus on other stuff, lahke da people on da other end o' da phone."
Sarah looked up from the contents of her bag. "You can sense the emotions of people over the phone?"
A lazy grin shrugged off the astonishment. "Gettin' dere. What classes d'y got?"
The younger girl winced and drew her schedule from her pocket. "I've got math first."
"Ouch."
"No, it's not too bad. Then science, history, gym, lunch, English, French, and art."
"Y're takin' French again? Didn' y' learn y'lesson las' year?"
"I passed."
"Afteh Ah retaught y'everythin'."
"You won't tutor me again?"
She looked at her friend flatly. "Sugah, Ah am in charge o' ten kids, who're all gonna be in school dis year. Which means Ah'm gon' be helpin' wit' homework an' fixin' self-esteem issues. Add ta dat mah own homework, Danger Room sessions and missions.
"Ah love y', Sarah, but no way in hell am Ah jumpin' t'rough all dose hoops. Ah help y' only if Ah got da tahme. Y' could ask Luke or Claire. Or even Beast, he speaks French very well."
Sarah pouted, which was a little crazy since she never pouted. "Please?"
Noelle arched a brow. "Y' should know by now dat Ah ain't won over by puppy dog eyes an' poutin', mon ami."
The younger girl sighed heavily and Noelle laughed lightly. "Alraght, alraght! Ah make tahme ta help y'. If y' promise ta help meh wit' mes petites."
"Alright."
**************************
Sunday dinner was a huge meal of catfish, rice and green beans. Luckily, Jayden, Bridget, and Ms. Laura had made it so he could actually eat.
It wasn't bad either, he thought with tired satisfaction. His mother had treated him to an hour long lecture about why she had assigned him to this task to begin with.
"Dese people killed ton oncle et ton père! I sent y' to avenge dere deaths, but if y'd prefer foh me ta do it –"
"Non, Maman," he had said. "I's mah duty ta make dose bâtards pay. I will do it, but it'll take longer dan Ah t'ought. Dese T'ieves've made demselves a nahce little hideaway here. But rest assured, Milday, Ah'll do it."
"Dat's what Ah lahke ta hear."
"Don't forget, everyone!" Storm called. "Tomorrow begins the new school year, and the new year's sessions of Danger Room programs." She chuckled softly at the eruption of groans that sprang up at this announcement. "So be sure to get a good night's rest!"
"Storm is right," the Professor said solemnly. "You don't want to be dozing off in class. Or Logan's training session."
There was a collective shudder at the thought of letting one's guard so much as to fall asleep during any Danger Room session run by the Institute's most feared instructor.
Vincent groaned at the thought of yet another Danger Room session, coupled with his first day of school.
Joy, wasn't tomorrow going to be fun?
Wasn't that fun? Now review so I can write faster please!!!
Désole - "Sorry"
mère - "mother"
ton oncle et ton père - "your uncle and your father"
bâtards - "bastards"