Chapter 3

Mirrors

"There's our target," murmured Mireille, circling an item she wanted from her daily subscription to Femme Fatale Magazine.

They sat at the window counter inside a coffee shop. Kirika sipped her coffee, then dazed off into the crowd outside. She casually looked around, watching pedestrians stroll by. Her gaze brushed over a middle-aged man with greased, sandy hair and faded side-burns. He ambled around the flea market across the street, in the comfort of his brown turtleneck sweater and casual jeans. Kirika continued to look at other people.

Mireille peeked from behind her shades. "Seems . . . typical. 'Grey' Varrichione. Corporate scumbag. Goes by his underworld alias, 'V'. It's a simple job really: he's here on business and he's staying in Paradise Suite just a few blocks from here. V nearly has a whole floor to himself so you can bet there will be some guards with him."

Mireille marked a pair of sandals in her magazine with a pencil. "Apart from a few under-skilled bodyguards, this job is going to be fairly routine . . ."

"Mireille."

The Corsican lifted her cup to her lips, but paused there. "I know." She felt the same way as Kirika.

So the darkness still wouldn't give them up.

"Our black daily bread . . ." murmured Kirika, distraught.

"He isn't as deserving of fate as most of our clients, but he still has it coming. Sometimes, for your sake, I wouldn't read too much into their pasts. It'll save you the remorse." Mireille offered a weak smile. "Well, on the brighter side, at least we get some excitement. Paris is not really exhilarating. So, why don't we go get some ice cream or something, anything to take your mind off this? I really don't like to see you upset, although, it's hard to tell if you are or not—."

"I was fine with what we've been doing, all that peace and quiet," said Kirika, frowning. She glared at V, as if it was his fault.

Mireille said softly, "Don't give us away. He could sense us—if not him, he has guards doing it for him."

Kirika didn't seem to care. "No more . . ."

Mireille didn't want to say this, but she had to. "It's part of our nature. Probably the first thing we learned, and it'll be the last thing we'll learn. We don't die so easily without a fight, and that'll include killing. I'm sorry. I can't change that. Even for you."

Her attention lowered to Kirika's hands in her lap. For a second, she though it would help to hold them, but decided against it. They have done this countless times, so there was no need for comfort. Just rip the Band-Aid off.

Mireille gave another of her infamous sighs. She stood up, quickly tucked the magazine into her pocket, and flicked her hair off her shoulders before gesturing Kirika to join her.

"We've got three days," she said stringently. "But, for now, let's relax. As for you, get yourself ice cream or something, and meet me back here around noon."

Kirika didn't know why Mireille thought of ice cream. It insulted her for some reason, as if Mireille suddenly thought her a child.

"And you?" asked Kirika.

"I got matters to settle with." Mireille walked out the glass door. To ensure the blonde's safety, Kirika switched her attention between V and Mireille. After a minute, she walked out, urging herself to not look after Mireille.

Kirika froze.

She looked up from her ice cream as a cat walked by. It came just around the corner from the same coffee shop. She stayed put, leaning against the corner wall of the outside of the building.

The feline paced around her, looking up at her or others walking by. A mother and her two little daughters hurried by. The little girls jumped out excitedly to pet it, but it darted from their reach. They tried again, but their mother pulled them along.

Kirika marveled at the skittish cat. It looked up at an old man reading his newspaper on a bench. Then, it leaped onto the trashcan next to him. It hung on the edge, hind legs pressed against the trashcan, sniffing inside.

Then, two boys hurried by, booming with laughter, startling the cat. It shot up into the air, upside-down and backwards, slashing at them. The lads ran away excitedly, oblivious to its reaction. The black furball fell into the trashcan.

Kirika looked around, wondering if anyone saw. The old man reading his paper looked over but didn't seem to know where the noise came from. The trashcan continued to rattle as the cat yowled inside. Kirika walked over and peeked inside, careful not to spill her ice cream.

At an angle, lemon-green eyes glowed in the trashcan. The creature mewed at her. She reached down to scoop it up, but it sprung up on its own. It dodged her, landing on the ground, then scuttled away before looking back at her.

Kirika paused as to not frighten to it. The cat looked up at her, or her ice cream, she couldn't tell. Then, a bulb of her vanilla dripped onto the ground. The cat mewed, creeping closer, then licked the drop—allowing Kirika to scoop it up.

"Don't tell me . . ." said a familiar voice behind her.

It was Mireille, with a hand on her hip as she scowled at the cat. "You're not really thinking . . ." finished Mireille, sighing.

Kirika said nothing, trying to restrain the squirming cat.

"TELL ME, you're not really?" repeated Mireille. She stepped up, but the cat hissed. She gave a flat expression. "Of course."

Kirika looked down adoringly at the cat in her arms. "She fell in the trashcan."

Mireille pinched her nose. "So that's what that was. I'm sorry, but we can't take it back home. It smells, it has germs, and it belongs in the wild."

Kirika stroked its head. It wriggled, pausing once in a while to look around.

"Look, it doesn't want to be domesticated," said Mireille pointedly. "Beasts will stay beasts—." She stopped herself, but Kirika's eyes already dropped to the ground. She released the cat, which bound away through the crowd.

Mireille cursed to herself: God DAMMIT, you asshole! "Kirika . . . I didn't mean it like that," she stammered—but she shut her mouth.

Her friend watched after the cat as it prowled the feet of pedestrians. Noir stood there for a good bit, Mireille watching her, Kirika staring into the crowd.

"C'mon, the earth is too much," said Mireille, frowning at their surroundings.

"Where we going?"

"I was thinking the water . . ." murmured Mireille, looking up at the sky. "It's the closest to the sky we'll ever get, when the reflection is just right. It's the only mirror I'd rather look into."

It was these words that, for once, drew Kirika's thoughts from the cat. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno . . . I've found it hard to look at myself in the mirror lately," said Mireille, binding a blonde string of hair around her finger. "Mirrors are man's creation. Water, though . . . I feel better looking at it. It always has that natural healing power of making the world look better than it really is."

Kirika thought about it, then looked into Mireille's eyes. "That sounds like me when I'm looking out the window."

Mireille stifled a giggle. "Yeah. Well, c'mon, let's go touch the sky."

The Japanese followed her friend, smiling marveling at her way with words today.

The two of them made it a habit to bike to places within forty-five minutes of the apartment. Any longer than that, and they'd take Mireille's moped or a taxi, but Kirika reminded her of their new goals. So they got their exercise, making their way to a canal.

There, Mireille showed Kirika a motorboat. It was Uncle Claude's; she didn't say anything about it regarding him, though.

Its engine gurgled softly, as it glided them out toward the center of the canal. While Mireille steered, Kirika leaned over the side to watch the deformed pockets of colorful light; they seemed to bob next to their boat.

"The sky . . ." began Kirika, looking down at the water. "It's so clear."

Her partner smiled. "It's nice, huh?"

Kirika parted the water with her hand, slicing through it like cake. "Yes. For once, I don't mind looking at the person staring back. It doesn't feel fake."

Under the midday heat, they felt a breath of wind. It defined layers of their hair and cooled their skin. The world as they saw it, right there, felt refreshed, new, clean. How simple and clean.

They passed docks and houses, an old man fishing on a wall over the water, group of friends cackling with laughter on their front yard, a woman waiting for her husband in their motorboat. Just watching the world drift by, without wondering who was going to kill them or who to kill, brought them peace.

They floated past another pair in their boat, two men who looked a bit older than Mireille. They waved at Mireille, smiling chivalrously. Kirika watched her friend out of the corner of her eye, wondering if the woman would ever take advantage of such things. What kind of man would she introduce her to? Would he ever match such a woman, or make Mireille truly happy?

That flicker of a thought dampened her mood: would that change their relationship they fought and nearly died for? Would they have to split up from there?

"Mireille."

"What is it?" Mireille had brought them to a stop in the more open waters. Here, she decided to switch off the motor.

"Will we stay like this forever?"

"I plan to."

Such words, without hesitation, burned right into Kirika's soul. Yet, at the same time, she turned to look at Mireille eagerly. The French returned the stare, tilting her head with a curious "hm?"

We won't, will we? thought Kirika, casually looking back at their reflections. They were as clear looking through glass. She watched a school of fish, a giant shape that warped wherever they darted. A crab patrolled the ground below them, its bigger claw snapping out airily. And next to it, was Mireille's reflection. Its eyes remained on Kirika.

"Kirika?" asked Mireille curiously.

If she could get Mireille to say it like that, beckoning, for the rest of their lives, that was enough for Kirika. It was that simple. They could make their lives that simple. Kirika couldn't help herself as she stood up and spread her arms to the wind out in the open waters.

"If you fall in, I won't get you," said Mireille from behind, but Kirika knew she was jesting.

But when Kirika swayed at the jostling currents, Mireille leaned in as if expecting the latter to fall. Kirika nearly stumbled backwards, but she caught herself. There was awkward silence as they waited out the sudden breeze and currents, until Kirika looked at Mireille and smiled adventurously, as if they were on a rollercoaster ride. It was weird to think this was the True Noir, a girl who couldn't use her assassin reflexes to catch herself in a rocking boat.

Mireille raised an eyebrow. That girl always knows how to smile at the smallest things.

Although Kirika had caught herself from hitting the back of her head, she decided to lay back. Her rear sunk into the belly of the boat, on its naked, wet floor—then she leaned her head back onto the plank seat Mireille sat on, and closed her eyes, her dark hair tickling Mireille's legs.

Mireille shuddered. A light gasp. She couldn't respond. She went back to the days she'd ever shared such intimate moments: crying into her mother's lap, and that last hug she shared with Uncle Claude. What was left of her family. The last fragment of what she knew was love.

This memory suddenly triggered unrestrained tears. The French held her breath. The memories, the touch, the feeling, the dark past altogether were painful, good and bad. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this mesh of emotions.

And next to her was the cause of these painful memories.

Mireille didn't know how to feel—all she could feel and remember were the years of darkness that stole her from a real childhood.

And next to her was the cause of those painful memories.

But was it really Kirika's fault?

Because next to her was a plain Japanese girl. A friend. Someone, like anyone else, like Mireille, who just wanted peace. Was that much to ask for? Companionship? Understanding? Peace?

Love?

What a mystery. If this was the definition of love, then so be it. Right? Did she want more? To find a man who would love her and wash away all the pain others familiar to her have scarred her with? Or to be content with this: a bond she knew would never be torn.

Just then, the boat jerked; something bumped it from below. Mireille gasped, startled. Both of them looked around themselves—but they were then thrust sideways, right into the water, with a giant SLAP!

It felt as though they've been vacuumed, then spat out, as they resurfaced, gasping for breath, coughing. The cold rush was shocking, but those seconds of surprise washed away as they realized how nice the water was.

Mireille wiped her face, looking to Kirika, whose small head bobbed atop the surface. She looked back, just as confused.

Someone broke from the water next to them. "WOO!" she gasped, waving something round.

Mireille roared, "YOU!"

It was Rhain. When she realized Mireille and Kirika were there beside her, she leaned away. "Uhhh . . ."

"RHAIN!" repeated Mireille, thrashing her arms in the water to stay afloat or throttle the girl, Kirika couldn't tell.

Rhain turned to Kirika, beaming with realization. "Oh, I remember you. Hi!" She waved at her. When she put her hand down, she accidentally splashed Mireille in the eyes.

Kirika could have sworn her friend was determined to drown Rhain—but someone else resurfaced. It was Tsuki, her long braid curving in the water like a snake. She wiped her eyes, then blinked when she recognized Mireille and Kirika.

"Hey, haven't we met before?" she said, pointing at Noir with her hand shaped into a gun-like point. Before the duo could respond, Rhain interrupted, waving her treasure.

"Lookee here, Tsuki! Another one!" exclaimed Rhain, wiping mud and water from the watch.

Noir stared. It was a pocketwatch.

It was smaller, though—round, gold, and rusty, lacking an intricate cover. However, when they watched Rhain snap it open, its broken face turned out to be heart-shaped—

"Wait," blurted Mireille, shaking her head to focus. "What are you doing here?"

"Chill, bitch," said Rhain, taken aback. She raised the old pocketwatch. "We collect antiques. There's this famous antique shop nearby that sells pocketwatches or locks with keys. People like to buy them—usually couples—and attach them to this set of railings. It overlooks this part of the canal. Over there."

She pointed to an aging wall that jutted out over the canal. It was fenced in by railings, covered in chains, locks, or chained pocketwatches. Each were tied or chained to the individual bars.

"Then they throw the keys into these waters," added Tsuki, grinning. "To challenge others to steal their hearts. Other morons, who see their love as a sealed deal, toss their antiques with the keys in these waters. To be lost to the world."

"That's it?" snapped Mireille, kicking her legs underwater to stay up. "You TOSSED our boat just for some stupid street tradition!"

"I was going to drown if I didn't!" said Rhain defensively. "I was trying to resurface, but your boat was in the way. My adrenaline made me push you off. It's amazing what strength the human body is capable of in life-and-death crises—!"

Mireille roared, pounding the water around her. Her tantrum was over in split, though, as she waded back to their overturned boat. She slumped herself over its hull to catch her breath. Kirika had never seen anything funnier. For some reason, she enjoyed this side of Mireille, the side that couldn't control things, the side that reacted naturally yet interestingly to such trivial things in life, like getting dumped into the water.

Back on shore, all four wrenched their clothing of water. As Mireille clenched her rope of hair, leaning to one side, she glared.

"Why are you here anyway?" she growled.

"Hey, these are public waters, ya know," retorted Rhain, pointing around them. On either side of them, groups of people were perched up on cement walls a few feet high. Some kids leaped from their perches into the shallow waters, while others simply chatted among themselves.

"It's off-limits to swimming," retorted Mireille.

"Like anyone listens to rules these days," replied Rhain.

"I'm sorry that Rhain accidentally tipped your boat," said Tsuki, frowning wide.

"Oh, no, she just bucked us into the air like a bull, that's all," said Mireille, squeezing her hair then flapping it out as if to release it. Water sprayed Tsuki and Rhain, who complained.

Mireille give her dagger stare. "Why are you here? I find this odd that we're meeting you again."

"At least we agree on something," grumbled Rhain, drying herself with the towels they brought along. "Here," she offered, throwing the towel at Mireille, draping her whole head from sight.

Tsuki and Kirika, who just dragged the motorboat onto the grass, giggled. Mireille shot them a glare, then tilted her head purposely to indicate Noir's departure.

Tsuki stepped forward. "Would you like us to push your boat for you?"

"No thank you," said Mireille. "We'll go find a public restroom and hope their hand dryers will fix our wet clothes."

Rhain raised an eyebrow. "That works?"

Kirika looked at Mireille strangely. "In the public bathroom?"

Her friend sighed. "If you're uncomfortable stripping in a women's bathroom, then just stay in the stalls and I'll dry your clothes for you."

"We'll help," insisted Tsuki, throwing an apologetic glance. "It's the least we can do. You can stay in the stalls, we'll dry your clothes."

"We?" said Rhain, who faked a smile when Tsuki glared at her. "Joy, joy!"

"Can I hurt you?" muttered Tsuki.

"Sorry, I'm off limits—ah," said Rhain, as Tsuki slapped her arm.

Before Mireille could kindly return Rhain's offer, Kirika bowed to Tsuki. "Thank you."

Tsuki smiled awkwardly. "Ya know, we don't always have to bow."

"Kirika," called Mireille, who had already walked ahead, looking in all directions for any hint of a public restroom. When the other three stepped up to join her, she nearly scowled her new acquaintances.

"Are you going to change, too?" she queried, scanning Tsuki and Rhain's swimming suits, their towels wrapped around their waists like skirts.

Tsuki tightened the knot on the side of her red bikini. Her V-necked top had straps buckled in gold chains. "Our hotel's nearby. We didn't bring a change of clothes. Anyway, let's worry about you, the ones without a change of clothes or swimming suits. We'll walk you . . ."

Tsuki led the way, as Rhain chuckled, "Yeah, after all, I'm sure you shop a lot to give yourself enough practice."

Noir followed in silence. Kirika looked up at Mireille, who closed her eyes as if to shut out any signs of irritation.

It didn't take long for them to find a public restroom thanks to Tsuki's memory. Inside, Noir hid behind bathroom stalls, throwing their soaked clothes to their new acquaintances. From behind doors, they listened to the blasting hand dryers. It was like listening to lawn mowers, powerful and loud.

They suddenly heard Rhain squeal with delight. Kirika looked up as a hand flashed up a pair of red lacy bras over Mireille's door.

"Nice pair! Where'd you get them?" hollered Rhain over the roar of Tsuki drying Kirika's clothes.

Mireille's roar increased to an indignant shriek, as she snatched the bras from sight. "Damn tourists . . ." she hissed.

It took a good half an hour to dry their articles of clothing. It was Mireille's spaghetti-strapped purple tanktop, blue jeans, and sandals, with Kirika' s blue jean jacket over a simple red T-shirt and jean shorts.

When they finished, they stood outside the public restroom to part ways. Noir planned to head back to their motorboat, Tsuki and Rhain to their hotel to review their canal treasures.

Rhain feigned a smile. "Take care, despite that I dislike you. Not hate, just dislike—." Tsuki elbowed Rhain hard in the side. "Gurk—take care."

"Thanks for the clothes," said Mireille, budging a smile at Tsuki, and twitching an attempt at Rhain.

The two tourists waved and turned around, Rhain slinging her damp towel over her shoulder, revealing her matching blue swimming suit.

Mireille exhaled, aiming her finger after the two as if she were to shoot them. "I swear . . ." she muttered. Next to her, Kirika made a soft sound, jogging Mireille's attention. Mireille withdrew her hand, and couldn't help but smile to herself. She walked away back toward the canal. Kirika stared after her quizzically.

Mireille turned around, raising an eyebrow at Kirika with a hand on her hip. Despite the harsh stature, her eyes reflected the skies blushing with a sunset glow. Obliviously, she looked up at that eclipse-like heart that gave her a throbbing sensation.

She finally beckoned. "Kirika." It wasn't an invitation, but a calling. Kirika's heart swelled at the warm light giving Mireille an angelic backlit.

"Kirika," repeated Mireille in a soft, dazed tone, "how many shadows do you see?"

Kirika's eyes dropped to the paved sidewalk: her own shadow stretched out and met with Mireille's.

"Noir . . ." whispered Kirika, smiling grimly. "It is a name for two."

Mireille froze, feeling their warm atmosphere melting.

It was a harsh reminder that, for only one day, they could celebrate their togetherness—then return to the teamwork they always knew. Against Grey Varrichione.

But they would not have it. Kirika stared Mireille in the eye, nodding genuinely and almost comfortingly. She then trotted after her friend, joining her side, their shadows dancing together.

"I invite you to continue your elegant impertinence," said Tsuki, collapsed on their hotel bed.

"I'm sorry, but that kind of attitude is just asking for a good knock to the boob!" snarled Rhain, cursing. "That piece of shit doesn't know what's hittin' her."

"Ohmygod, they DON'T KNOW THAT!" roared Tsuki. "Save the attitude for the real heat, sis!"

Rhain sighed, peering into their refrigerator. "So. What now?"

Tsuki shrugged, stretching. "What else is there? Noir thinks they have signed a real contract. And Varrichione fears he's actually in danger for sanctioning an innocent family after mistaking their association with an enemy . . ."

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" muttered Rhain, sucking on a spoonful of yogurt.

"Why else?" said Tsuki solemnly. "For them."