Part 7
It was probably going to be a bad idea. Misty was tired of being trapped in her own thoughts. She had lost track of the amount of time she had spent pacing around her living room. Whoever this Imogene bitch was - whatever it was she had against her - trusting to think what it could be and deal with it on her own was harder than she had ever thought.
Misty groaned, dropping on the couch, burying her face in her hands. No one to talk to...she hated this. "What am I going to do?" she muttered to herself. There had been an idea playing in her head for the last to hours or so. Misty wasn't too sure about asking the Daybreakers for help. Helping people was Daybreak's thing.
And worse, there was the possibility of her painful, shameful secret coming out. ~Or you could always get over yourself, go home and deal with responsibilities,~ her inner voice reminded her.
Misty shook her head. She had run to avoid just that. Now it looked like if she wanted some help dealing with her past looking like something she was going to have to deal with whether she wanted to or not. She couldn't run forever.
The only Daybreaker she felt remotely like trusting was Cindy. Violet with her cooler-than-thou attitude spelled problems of her own and trouble. As for Mayon - the guy seemed nice enough but male problems were a large part of the reason Misty had run to start a new life in the first place. She couldn't risk getting involved with anyone else.
As for this Imogene bitch...she had no idea who the girl was or what she could *possibly* have done to her. How could that girl know who she was. ~Get a grip~ she thought. She found Cindy's number. She had *guessed* they were Daybreakers, but could be wrong. She was going to have to take the risk. She picked up the phone and called the number.
* * *
"Why am I agreeing to this again?"
Monica looked at the movie-star beauty in front of her. Her cousin Elle Redfern, dressed in an expensive black Prada skirt and tight-fitting white short sleeved top, with mounds of strawberry-blonde hair falling around her slender shoulders.
A girl who had an entire room in her mansion just for her designer shoes was the most unlikely assassin in the world. She played the dumb fashion obsessed bimbo well, striking when her victims least expected it. Or at least that was what Monica had heard.
Now, as she looked at Elle, sat across from her in the fancy restaurant they had met in, she was starting to wonder if this was going to be a huge mistake. After all, what kind of assassin had more pairs of Jimmy Choo shoes than weapons?
"You dragged me down here. Want to tell me about what all this is about before I get bored?" Elle asked, inspecting her manicure.
"Rose Darkthorne," Monica answered. "A little half breed bitch. I need her out the picture."
"I have a facial and a massage booked for this afternoon," Elle said, sitting back in her chair.
Monica grit her teeth. She was going to wind up killing the moron who had recommended Elle to her at this rate. "I'll make it worth your while," she said. "Imogene's got the important detail. Contact her."
Elle looked at her doubtfully. "But I can't *stand* Imogene!" she whined petulantly.
Monica had to force herself not to scream. /You're supposed to be an assassin, you brainless waste of space!/ she hissed telepathically. /I heard one of the best. But from what I see, fluff has more brains than you do!/
Elle smiled. /The act really works, huh?/
"You amaze me," Monica muttered. "Not a compliment. So we're agreed?"
Elle nodded. "I suppose so."
* * *
It was probably going to be a bad idea. Misty was tired of being trapped in her own thoughts. She had lost track of the amount of time she had spent pacing around her living room. Whoever this Imogene bitch was - whatever it was she had against her - trusting to think what it could be and deal with it on her own was harder than she had ever thought.
Misty groaned, dropping on the couch, burying her face in her hands. No one to talk to...she hated this. "What am I going to do?" she muttered to herself. There had been an idea playing in her head for the last to hours or so. Misty wasn't too sure about asking the Daybreakers for help. Helping people was Daybreak's thing.
And worse, there was the possibility of her painful, shameful secret coming out. ~Or you could always get over yourself, go home and deal with responsibilities,~ her inner voice reminded her.
Misty shook her head. She had run to avoid just that. Now it looked like if she wanted some help dealing with her past looking like something she was going to have to deal with whether she wanted to or not. She couldn't run forever.
The only Daybreaker she felt remotely like trusting was Cindy. Violet with her cooler-than-thou attitude spelled problems of her own and trouble. As for Mayon - the guy seemed nice enough but male problems were a large part of the reason Misty had run to start a new life in the first place. She couldn't risk getting involved with anyone else.
As for this Imogene bitch...she had no idea who the girl was or what she could *possibly* have done to her. How could that girl know who she was. ~Get a grip~ she thought. She found Cindy's number. She had *guessed* they were Daybreakers, but could be wrong. She was going to have to take the risk. She picked up the phone and called the number.
* * *
"Why am I agreeing to this again?"
Monica looked at the movie-star beauty in front of her. Her cousin Elle Redfern, dressed in an expensive black Prada skirt and tight-fitting white short sleeved top, with mounds of strawberry-blonde hair falling around her slender shoulders.
A girl who had an entire room in her mansion just for her designer shoes was the most unlikely assassin in the world. She played the dumb fashion obsessed bimbo well, striking when her victims least expected it. Or at least that was what Monica had heard.
Now, as she looked at Elle, sat across from her in the fancy restaurant they had met in, she was starting to wonder if this was going to be a huge mistake. After all, what kind of assassin had more pairs of Jimmy Choo shoes than weapons?
"You dragged me down here. Want to tell me about what all this is about before I get bored?" Elle asked, inspecting her manicure.
"Rose Darkthorne," Monica answered. "A little half breed bitch. I need her out the picture."
"I have a facial and a massage booked for this afternoon," Elle said, sitting back in her chair.
Monica grit her teeth. She was going to wind up killing the moron who had recommended Elle to her at this rate. "I'll make it worth your while," she said. "Imogene's got the important detail. Contact her."
Elle looked at her doubtfully. "But I can't *stand* Imogene!" she whined petulantly.
Monica had to force herself not to scream. /You're supposed to be an assassin, you brainless waste of space!/ she hissed telepathically. /I heard one of the best. But from what I see, fluff has more brains than you do!/
Elle smiled. /The act really works, huh?/
"You amaze me," Monica muttered. "Not a compliment. So we're agreed?"
Elle nodded. "I suppose so."
* * *
