"And he actually told her Breffort's little bitch was his cousin?" Kirika managed – barely – to hold back a pained groan, her assassin's instincts keeping her silent while her body screamed its agony. She'd come to a few minutes before as a couple of thugs hauled her out of some kind of vehicle. Judging by the sound of the tires crunching, she was fairly sure it was a van on some kind of stone-laid driveway. Not that she could open her eyes to see; at the moment, even breathing was a painful chore, and her head felt like it was splitting down the middle. Apparently, whatever they'd given her was designed to make sure she was docile and easy to handle. Which mean no more than half conscious, limbs twitching and weak as a newborn kitten. "Yup." This one's voice had a British accent. He was the one who'd grabbed her from the van, his muscle-bound arms slinging her up and across his broad, rock-solid shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Pain like jagged glass exploded through Kirika, her head dangling down his back to throb in time with her pulse, and she couldn't help the small, agonized gasp that escaped her lips. Luckily, the man didn't seem to notice, striding along as he continued his conversation. "Guess she saw him with her, but she didn't know who this one was." He added a shake of the young woman's prone form for emphasis. Kirika wondered if she was going to throw up. She was fairly certain that would cause problems with her pretending to be unconscious. "Thought this was gonna be just another notch in his belt." "Too bad for them." His partner cackled. Working to keep her breathing slow and even, Kirika felt a fresh stab of anguish to her heart. So Lisa wasn't Alexander's cousin after all. Not that she should have been shocked, he had lied about everything else. No, her pain was more because she'd been taken so easily. But of course, Alex was a master manipulator. He'd used the blonde girl as a prop, just like his moped. An excuse for him to have a helmet in her size and a way to make her more at ease. Breffort's little bitch – she wondered dimly if that meant Lisa was related to Remy Breffort. Her mind was going hazy again, thoughts going dull and unclear. She almost felt sorry for the poor girl. If she ever learned she could have stopped this and didn't, she might feel a bit guilty. A burst of laughter drew the remains of her attention back to the conversation, but they weren't really speaking, just making fun at her and Lisa's expense. They'd entered a house or building of some kind; she could feel the shadows falling over her, the air cooler here than in the direct heat of the sun. Judging by the slant of the sunlight, it seemed to be a few hours later, the beginnings of sundown. Evening. Darkness. How could she escape in darkness, torn up like this? How would Mirelle – No. She couldn't think of Mirelle, not now. Her eyes stung suspiciously, giving a lie to her stoic attitude. It made her heart hurt to even think of the blonde Corsican. She just prayed Mirelle didn't think any of this was her fault. Even if Mirelle hated her now, the blonde might still feel guilty, and Kirika couldn't stand the thought of Mirelle blaming herself. While her mind had been slowly threading through her emotions, they'd somehow ended up in a large room, steps echoing. She could hear several voices, more than a dozen, a chaos of sounds that made her tenuous grip on consciousness fray even further. Dimly, Kirika could feel her body being tossed down, a thick hand grabbing at her wrists and hauling her upright again. Her wrists were being tied, she was hanging – The sudden ups and downs were too much for her. Kirika's thoughts faded away once more, falling into the dark place where there was nothing and nothing could hurt her. The warehouse district was deserted in the golden red light, cold and almost threatening. Mirelle pulled up slowly, the dark green four-door she'd just purchased rumbling like a leashed beast. It suited her mood almost perfectly. Parking smoothly by the curb, she shut the engine off and slipped from the air-conditioned interior, thumbing the electronic lock before stuffing the keys in the pocket of her jacket. Two hours had been just enough time to change clothes, pack herself some firepower and buy the souped-up car. Taking a taxi was out of the question. They'd need to be mobile to get out of here, and she didn't want to bring any innocents into this potential firefight. Although she'd have preferred to purchase a motorcycle, circumstances dictated that a real automobile was the more intelligent way to go. There was no way to know what Kirika's injuries might be, or even if she was conscious. A car would give her a place to lay her wounded partner down if she needed it, space for first-aid supplies, and it would probably protect both of them from any stray bullets better than a bike. Of course, in keeping with the rest of Mirelle's usual gear, the auto was both stylish and deadly. Painted in dark green, its body had been upgraded – siding and glass – with bulletproofing, while the tires were reinforced to prevent them being shot out easily. The interior was brown leather, the gears automatic, while the engine had been tinkered with to near street-racer caliber. It had cost quite a bit of money, but Mirelle couldn't really have cared less. If she and Kirika were going to use it, the thing had damned well better be good enough for them. Tossing her hair back over one shoulder, Mirelle shifted her black leather jacket to a more comfortable position, sapphire gaze scanning the deserted area coolly. She felt strange, distant, as though whatever was happening was far removed from herself. As though her brain had been wrapped in layers of cotton, keeping her insulated against everything around her. But there was a faint, hidden sharpness buried in those hazy clouds, a glint of jagged danger waiting to be called into life. Mirelle strode across the parking lot, a small leather backpack hanging off one shoulder. The outfit she'd chosen was her favorite; black leather skirt, black leather belt, dark red sleeveless shirt, and knee-high black leather boots. Her coat, bag and shoulder rig matched perfectly as well. The Walter was tucked inside its holster, while four or five extra clips were tucked in the backpack itself. She didn't expect to keep any of it long – these bastards were well-trained and organized, if nothing else – but she refused to go into the situation unarmed. Kirika, Kirika, Kirika – her partner's name repeated over and over again in her head, a mantra that pulsed in time with her sharp footsteps as she turned the corner to a wide, box-strewn alley between the two massive warehouses. The younger woman's face hovered like a vision just behind her eyes, shifting between the small smile Mirelle so treasured and the torn, destroyed look she'd worn before running from the apartment. Mirelle's lips thinned. I'll save you, Kirika. I swear. "Wow, someone doesn't look too happy." The young man's voice she already loathed came from the other end of the alley. Alexander stood leaning against a large metal shipping container, his arms folded and an unbearable smirk coming over his lips. As though his presence were a cue – and for all she knew, it was – the shapes of more than a dozen thugs materialized in the early evening shadows, a semi-circle of menacing silhouettes all cocking automatic handguns in her direction. For a moment, Mirelle debated pulling the Walter and taking her chances to put a bullet through his smug face. It would be so easy – "I wouldn't do it." Alex smiled easily. "If I don't report within the next two hours, Kirika will be out of the country by nightfall, if not simply dead. And it won't do any good torturing us for the information, either – I have no idea where she is, and neither do any of my men." Bastard. Mirelle's teeth gritted. She knew Alexander was telling the truth; it made sense, just like the rest of this well-designed plan. He had to make sure anyone that came to meet her didn't simply get killed. It was a calculated risk, but an intelligent one. Seeing her realize her position, the young man smirked. "Sorry to call you out," Alex continued, not sounding very sorry at all, "but you know the drill. Gun and ammo, lose them." Mirelle lifted her hands, palm out, then carefully slid the miniature backpack from her shoulder and swinging it away from her. The bag landed with a muffled thump several feet away, its cargo of clips clicking faintly. Reaching slowly into her jacket, she withdrew the Walter and dropped the clip from it, then tossed it away, too. That done, she returned her hands to their earlier position and waited, the picture of casual patience. This was early in the game – she would have all the time in the world to play soccer with his head. "I suppose you'll want to search me now, too?" "You read my mind." Alexander flashed her a look of mock surprise, eyes widening for a moment before he smirked again. "Though I'll let Aaron do the honors. Aaron?" One of the thugs on her left came forward, eying her cautiously. Mirelle stood still and calm as he patted her down. She'd thought briefly about bringing some of her other firearms; the Firestar was small enough to go in her boot, and she had the holster for it, after all. Not to mention the throwing knives she'd taken to learning with. But she'd known she would be checked, and it might get Kirika hurt if they thought she wasn't abiding by their orders. No, for this, she would have to play by the rules. The thorough search didn't take very long, and a few moments later, the brute stepped back, nodding once to Alexander. Mirelle clamped down on an urge to throttle the insolent bastard as he sauntered closer, ignoring the rest of the goons that melted farther into the background. It wasn't necessarily a bad move. They weren't going to interfere, at least not right now, but they were thugs; by their very nature, they weren't going to do anything without orders. They were still near enough to put a bullet in her brain if she decided to go after any of them, of course. Mirelle kept her attention on Alex, raising a mocking eyebrow. "Are we done with this song and dance yet?" She inquired, voice full of scorn. "Or do you need me to strip too?" Alexander's smirk grew, eyes twinkling coldly. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy it, but I don't think it'll be necessary. You came just the way we expected." "I'm so glad I'm predictable." Mirelle shot back. Lowering her arms, she fixed her turned-out pockets, doing her best to keep her professional mask in place. It was all she could do to keep the scowl from her lips. This absolute sonofa – She paused, her mental rant halted before it really began, as Alex burst into laughter. "Of course you're predictable. How do you think I got Kirika to come with me willingly?" Mirelle blinked, rage darting through her like a tongue of purest flame. "What?" The hostile word came out before she could stop it. What the hell did he mean? "Oh, come on." Alexander kept chuckling, his handsome face full of cruel amusement. "She's an incredibly intelligent person, and extremely perceptive besides." His eyes flicked to the blonde Corsican with a taunting gleam. "Without your help, I could never have snatched her. At least, not without losing a few dozen men and causing quite a stir." "I would never help you hurt Kirika!" Mirelle snarled, unable to keep herself silent at the barbed comments. His mocking voice cut straight through her mental cloud, stirring it in the beginnings of a fierce storm. She glared, pulse pounding as Alex laughed again and shook his head. "Of course you did. You reacted just like I knew you would." He sounded so unbearably smug, Mirelle longed to pummel him to paste. A bullet through his head was too good – he deserved to suffer for taking her Kirika. Once again, the primal scream tore straight through her. He hurt mine. Mineminemineminemine. She's mine, and he hurt her! "Oh, I haven't hurt her." Alexander's dark smirk again caught her off-guard. For a moment, she thought she might have actually said that last bit out loud before she realized the emotion was probably written on her face. "Derrick got a little rough with her to get your number, and the drugs aren't any fun, but she's still alive and mostly sound." Drugs – the word set more fury to smoldering in her chest. The indifference was burning away rapidly, leaving her feeling strange and slightly dizzy. She had known they would probably drug Kirika, that they'd have to drug the younger woman to keep hold of her, but hearing it still made her body pulse with rage. Her throat was tight, painful, voice a low growl. "You drugged her?" Alex rested his weight on his back foot and folded his arms over his chest, still laughing quietly. Wicked pleasure glowed beneath his casual façade. Throwing Mirelle off-balance was probably dangerous, but it was ever so much fun. "It was rather required." He commented, lips twitching. "How else was I ever going to get her to agree to my little kissing scheme? Not that she minded the attention." Pay dirt, he thought in amusement, watching the Corsican's lips tighten and her eyes flash. She was so very easy to manipulate. Just as easy as Kirika, in her own way. "She would have known if you used the usual types of drugs." The words came tight and strained, part question and part statement. Alexander nodded cheerfully. "It's a special new mix my Master's been refining. Similar to alcohol intoxication – mostly an inhibitation blocker, with a few special modifications. Seems to cause an excess of emotional outbursts. The second one came later. It'll keep her under for a few hours while we have our little chat." Oh, Kirika. Mirelle's heart contracted, despair making her fury helpless. He gave you things, he put things in your body, and I didn't even notice. How stupid am I? She wanted to scream in rage, to tear him apart at the seams – No! Practical training intruded, though she knew the young man saw her hands twitch. Find out what he wants. You can kill him once you know what this was planned for. "So what do you want?" An undercurrent of snarling anger growled beneath the question, and Alex smiled smugly. "Patience is a virtue, miss Mirelle. So is common courtesy, I believe." Mirelle just glared at him. "Fine, fine, if you insist on getting down to business." With a mock-sigh, Alexander shook his head again before fixing her with a serious gaze. "My Master knows of your skills as Noir, and he's decided that he requires your services. As long as you complete the jobs I give you, Kirika will stay unharmed. If you make a mistake or get caught – " He shrugged. "We'll wash our hands of the whole thing." And Kirika dies. The words were unspoken, but Mirelle could hear them just fine. Her heart thudded painfully. Forget dizzy – she was starting to feel like the entire world was spinning just out of sight. Something was shifting in her head, everything shading distant and shadowed. Somehow, her words came out sounding completely natural, only laced with the fury prickling through her veins. "Noir is a name for two. Kirika and I work together." Alex nodded once, slowly, as though he had expected the comment. "Yes, but both of you have worked alone when the situation requires it. It's possible." He seemed offhand, abominably casual. "You're actually quite interchangeable, when you get right down to it. Both of you are incredibly trained, more than capable, the very best in your field. Kirika just doesn't quite have the – social skills, I suppose you'd call it. She doesn't do as well with situations that require working with people." "So that – " Mirelle breathed, eyes widening in shock. The revelation was surprising enough to pause whatever was going on in her mind. That was why he'd taken Kirika instead of her? Because she could do better with people? Seeing the expression on her face, Alexander's Cheshire Cat grin widened, gaze twinkling once more. "Of course. Master needs someone who can get close to their targets in a public setting without raising suspicion. Though I must admit, your current situation with Kirika made everything much easier. Still, we want to make sure this is done right, especially the first targets. They're a bit – delicate, and you have unique in with them." "Delicate?" Mirelle repeated, faintly questioning. The world was still spinning, and now her legs and fingertips were tingling. Vaguely, she wondered if she was having a stroke. What the hell was wrong with her? Alex's features flickered with an ugly flare of satisfaction. "You know them better than most people. Remy Breffort and his niece, Lisa Breffort." Breffort? She couldn't help but be stunned. That someone wanted her personal pain in the ass dead wasn't surprising, considering the world they both dealt in. Still, to get someone like Noir to kill both Remy and Lisa, this had to be big. The earlier conversation with the silver-haired Soldat flashed through her slowly-splintering thoughts. "So your Master is another bastard Councilman?" "My Master is a great man!" Alexander's voice was sharper than usual, his eyes flashing with anger. Pale satisfaction touched Mirelle; apparently, she'd scratched a nerve. The emotion must have been visible on her face, because the glare Alex turned on her could have peeled paint. "If it helps to ease your conscience any, Lisa deserves your rage. She saw me the day I went after Kirika for the first time. Thought your partner was another of my conquests." He snorted a vicious laugh. "Not that I would mind having a try at her. With you turning her down like you did, she'd probably be grateful for some attention." Mirelle's heart stopped for a moment, every part of her frozen. He couldn't – he wouldn't – Kirika couldn't – what the hell was he talking about, turned her down? From the expression on his features, Alexander knew he'd gotten to her. Still slightly stiff, he forced himself to relax backward, almost a slouch. His voice was casually cruel. "Oh, come on. You did exactly what I knew you would. Poor Kirika loves you so much, but you're too much of a coward to admit you love her." "Shut up." Mirelle whispered. Her throat was tight, muscles trembling beneath her skin and thoughts reeling. Everything in her body seemed to be rebelling, mind poised on the edge of some dark, unknown chasm. It was the oddest feeling – as though she'd been to the entrance of this shadowed place before, but never entered until now. She would have sworn she could taste metal on her tongue, smell the lingering echoes of cordite and gunpowder in the air. Something was rising inside her, taking over – Alex didn't notice, his smirk turning into a low, full-blown laugh. "Does it hurt to hear the truth? You were too afraid to tell her you loved her, so you hit her. Slapped the one person that cares about you more than anything else in the world, and did it hard enough to make her cry." He shook his head, laughing again deliberately. "I should have taken advantage of her earlier. Bet I could have gotten at least one good rebound fuck before the Master needed her." His words were a razor-sharp spike driven through her very core. Her thoughts shattered into sparkling, crystalline fragments; her body jerked once, then went absolutely still, hardly even breathing. The world had shifted, twisted into distant shades beyond anything a normal person could ever comprehend. But that was okay. Her head bowed, eyes shadowed, welcoming the darkness into her. That was okay, because she wasn't normal. She was Noir. "You didn't touch her." It was her voice that first alerted Alexander that something was very, very wrong. Leaning back, his arms folded across his chest, the young man paused to stare searchingly at the tall blonde Corsican before him. She stood motionless a few dozen feet away, head down, arms loose at her sides, only the soft rise and fall of her chest indicating that she was alive. If he hadn't known for a fact that she was the only female within four blocks, he would have doubted the words were even hers. It wasn't the fact that she made it a statement rather than a question that sent his internal alarms on high alert. He'd expected that, actually; Mirelle may have been many things – brash, intense, confident bordering on arrogant – but she knew her partner, and she knew Kirika would never have sex with him willingly. And it wasn't the tight, leashed rage he knew was smoldering somewhere beneath the words. He'd expected to hear something like it, had been hearing and seeing something like it since Mirelle had appeared at the mouth of the alleyway. That had been the point of putting her off balance, after all. Aside from being a dangerous thrill for him, rattling the blonde made it harder for her to focus on a decent defense or counterattack of her own. No, it was the flat, measured calm of her statement that sent a flare of fear through him. There was no real emotion at all in the words, nothing more than the bare facts. Her stance had somehow become easy and assured, shoulders back and breath soft, different than the young woman who'd stood there only seconds before. It was as though all the vibrant light that made Mirelle so alive had simply disappeared. No, not disappeared. Shoved aside. Alex frowned, pulse picking up just slightly. The bright light was gone, but there was something else in its place, a dark coil of smooth, ready tension that was almost superhuman in its intensity. She looked regal, feral, a shadow given substance for the moment. There was something oddly familiar about it all, like a picture he couldn't quite place. "Awwww, you don't believe me? I'm hurt." He spoke sarcastically to cover the sudden flash of nervousness, his voice biting. She wanted to unbalance him? Fine, then. He'd stop pulling his punches. "She's so sweet and soft – and with those muscles, I bet she's a wonderful lay. Though you wouldn't know about that, would you?" There was no response, not even the twitch of her pale, elegant hands he was so looking forward to. Mirelle seemed to simply be waiting for whatever random nonsense he felt like spouting to end, calm as if she had all the time in the world. Anger made Alexander's jaw tight. What the hell had happened? Where was the fire, the fierce flare he'd seen when he studied her for these last few weeks? Mirelle Bouquet wore her sharper emotions on her sleeve – except this time, she wasn't. He didn't understand – And then she lifted her head, and he saw her eyes for the first time, and he understood just where he'd seen that attitude before. Oh, my God. They were the eyes, the eyes he'd seen in pictures of Altena's bitch Chloe and a few brief shots of Kirika at her most deadly. For a moment, Alex's mind flashed back to the moment he and his Master had first put together the plan, to the rush of gratitude he felt that he would be kidnapping Kirika. If he was forced to deal with one of them as an assassin and unwilling ally, he would rather it be the blonde Corsican. Of the two, she was safer – the superhuman abilities that were showcased in those terrifyingly intense eyes had always been absent in Mirelle. She wasn't as strong, didn't have the darkness and death in her blood. Except apparently she did, and now that very same type of eyes were staring back at him, merciless blue orbs flat and cold as a sheet of glacial ice. With her head held high, golden tresses highlighted a bloody crimson in the setting sun, she looked positively inhuman. An immortal death goddess come to take vengeance on those who had done her wrong. Even the air around her was wound tight, crackling with purpose and intent. She was unarmed – at least for the moment – but she needed no weapon. Her very body was enough. A rush of horror and terror made Alexander take a step backward, shocked into an instinctive prey-like jerk at the predatory knowledge in those eyes. His arms unfolded on their own, half rising with the palms held out as though to ward off the inevitable blow; his mouth opened, ready to order his men to open fire, shoot her, shoot her now – The gasped words never got past his half-parted lips. Mirelle was suddenly in motion, her movements so swift and fluid Alex could hardly track them. Her left hand had hold of the barrel of the gun on that side, jerking it farther away from her while her boot heel shattered the knee of its owner. Eric, Alexander remembered distractedly. A split-second later, her right hand had jammed the cartilage of Eric's nose into his brain, and the body dropped lifelessly to the pavement as she darted forward. It had all taken less time than an eyeblink. Alex saw her scoop up the unloaded Walter from the ground and turn in a smooth spin, fist whipping out to crush the throat of the still shocked thug across the circle – Franz, he realized in some far corner of his brain. She had just killed Franz, and used his gun to shoot Jean-Michael when the other man recovered enough to lunge the few feet towards her. Her leg moved forward, toe stomping on just the right spot, and the fallen clip flipped upward end over end to land with a smack in her waiting palm. Another flash of movement, and Dante's body joined his comrades on the ground while Mirelle reloaded and racked her weapon back with practiced ease. Alexander took another step away, then a third and a fourth, hearing the zinging whine of automatic bullets all around him as the men he'd stationed on the warehouse rooftops joined in the fray. Mirelle dodged the half-stunned shots easily, several more men on the ground falling prey to their own comrades as she got them to hit each other. A rapid flurry of gunfire from her swift-moving form took only a few more minutes to silence the sentry snipers. Alex yanked his own Glock .9 from his waistband, startled to see his hands were shaking. She had made short work of twenty-four of the twenty-six men he'd brought with him. It was insanity. How could anyone do such a thing? The sudden bang of another blast came as he flicked the safety off his piece. His hand rose, and another shot sounded. Alexander blinked, numb and shocked, his gun spinning away across the alley while blood blossomed from his fingers. Pain shot to his brain and jangled there. She had shot through his hand. From more than a dozen feet away, turning away from the man she'd just killed, all in the space of ten seconds. It was impossible! Alex gasped for air and jerked to the other side, eyes finding one of the many automatics scattered across the pavement. His body dove for it, unwounded arm outstretched. He was fast. This time, he heard the bark of the Walter at the same moment his knee exploded in agony, dumping him unceremoniously to the dirty cement since his leg could no longer support him. The same distant part of him that had named his men as they died noted the absolute perfection of her aim; the bullet had gone straight through his kneecap. Desperately, he kept reaching for the weapon. If only he could touch it, grab it – His wrist shattered with a third expertly-placed shot, and Alex's heaving, ragged breaths became a shuddering, tortured moan, body curling in to cradle his now useless arm. Blood oozed – no, poured from his wounds, spreading on the ground around him. His mind was a haze of agonized, creeping horror. A lean shadow fell over him, and Alexander looked up to see Mirelle backlit by the crimson sun, her eyes still that terrifying darkness. He tried to leer at her, to smirk, something that would get a reaction. She was completely expressionless as her foot impacted with his face, splitting both lips, cracking teeth and pulping his nose. Alex's head rocked back, gagging and choking on his own blood. Another kick, and a new wound opened on his forehead, spilling more scarlet liquid into his rapidly-swelling eye. A third strike cracked something in his ribs, leaving him even more breathless. After a few moments of hacking and gasping, his blurred gaze rolled upward, focusing with difficulty on her impassive features. "You're – a bitch." He wheezed, coughing up more blood. Without so much as a twitch or flick of her eyes, Mirelle brought her heel down again, this time grinding his wounded hand flat against the ground. Alexander tried to scream, the noise little more than a loud gurgle of blood. Instinctively, he tugged his arm, trying to free his injured palm from the pain and howling-gargling in renewed agony as the movement tore his bullet wound further. "You won't get to her from me." His voice was a hoarse rasp. "I don't know where she is. You'll never find her." Mirelle bent slightly, enough that she could look him full in the face, and Alex saw the fierce anger and determination raging beneath the flat coldness. "I will tear this city apart brick by brick, burn it to the ground if I have to." Her voice, her narrowed eyes were death itself. "We are Noir. She is mine, and I will find her." Her gun shifted to point at his head. Staring up at into that terrifying gaze, Alex had one second of complete epiphany. No one had ever seen Mirelle as the True Noir, and so considered the blonde Corsican as the weaker of the partners. But no one had ever threatened anything she would not give up. Even trying to take her life was expected in her work. A strange, twitching smile, inane as it was, touched his split lips. He had finally found the line in Mirelle which could not be crossed. One did not mess with her woman. The Walter barked once more, and Alexander rolled onto his back, a neat hole through the center of his forehead. Mirelle stood silent and motionless for a moment, staring down at his battered body, those wide open eyes. Then, without even a shrug, she turned away. She wouldn't bother to close his eyes. She didn't care that much. Meanwhile: Please, God, let us find them. Lisa Breffort fidgeted for the possibly the millionth time, jeans sliding with a whispered hush across the leather of her uncle's limo as she scanned the streets. She was not prone to praying – her Soldats training and the odd church service aside – but as the massive car hummed along, the blonde young woman found the plea whispering through her thoughts like a mantra. They had to find Mirelle and Kirika, they just had to. Kirika – a flare of shame smeared through her, guilt battling with her worry. It was her fault Alexander had managed to get close to the younger Noir, her fault that Kirika hadn't been put on her guard in the very beginning. If either of the women died, the blame would be hers. She should have realized what he was planning. If only she had realized it sooner – She and Alexander were walking away from the art store, his arm casually around her waist. Lisa waited until they were far enough down away from the shop to be out of sight before pushing him off. "She's not looking at us anymore, you can get off." Turning, she glared at him, arms folded in annoyance. "So what, is she another notch in your belt?" Alex smirked, amused. "Something like that." Leaning back, he appeared completely at ease, which irritated Lisa to no end. She'd hated that about him ever since they were children, his ability to act like nothing in the world could bother him. Of course, he'd pissed her off and driven her crazy since they were eight – it wasn't as though the years had changed him any. His voice was calm, thoughtful. "So that's what's bothering you. Poor baby. I thought you were living in England." "America. I came home two weeks ago." She scowled as he grinned. "You don't have to act so pleased. I came to help Uncle, not to see you. You're an unpleasant bonus." "And you dragged me away from a nice, stimulating conversation because - " His voice trailed off, one eyebrow raised, and Lisa longed to kick him. "Because she's too good for you." She retorted, still frowning. From what she'd managed to see of the young woman, the girl was shy, beautiful and sweet – everything Alexander loved to sully, and everything Lisa would do her best to keep out of his hands. Alex burst into laughter, and Lisa socked him in the arm. Still chortling, he held up his hands, palm out. "Awwww, how sweet! You want to keep the innocent away from the big bad Alex, huh?" "You're an ass." Lisa glared, knowing it wouldn't do a damned bit of good. If Alexander had set his sights on the young woman, she wasn't going to be able to stop him. Not short of hiring a hit, anyway, and in spite of her hatred, she wouldn't be starting an inter-organizational war because the brunette young man was a jerk. Her upper lip curled viciously, and she spun around, stalking off and ignoring his smirking chuckles. That self-smug, piece of shit, pain in the ass bastard – She'd seen them a few days later, sitting on the bank near a small boutique mall, sketchbooks spread out on the grass and chattering eagerly. It was just like him, she thought angrily. Artist, his ass – he'd gone through two years of art school long ago, but his pictures were all technical, no heart and no soul. Hell, he had only gone to the school in the first place because his 'Master' wanted to keep tabs on her as Remy Breffort's niece. It pissed her off to no end that he could sit there and pretend to know anything about art. Still, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the young woman seated so unknowing beside him. He would break her heart for sure. "Uncle, you should at least have some tea." She pushed open the door to her Uncle's "war room," the massive wood-paneled study that had been designed for intelligence gathering and situations just like this. A large, dark wood table took up most of the center of the room, comfortable leather chairs arranged around it while smaller countertops and banks of computer equipment lined the walls. On the far wall, a giant television-style screen was connected to the projector hanging bolted from the ceiling. Her Uncle had been working in here for most of the day, taking only enough time to meet with Mirelle. The last of his men had left a few hours before, but as usual, Lisa knew he hadn't had anything to eat or drink since then. Typical Uncle. Slipping the tray of tea things onto the table beside her uncle, she shook her head wryly, glanced up at the images with interest. And promptly felt the floor drop out from under her, the world freezing to a shocked, razor-sharp point. "Lisa?" Uncle turned, his brow creased with concern, standing as she tripped slightly over a chair and grabbed shakily for the arm rest. Lisa couldn't answer, staring riveted at the two headshots situated on the screen. One she recognized as Mirelle Bouquet, smiling in the warm sunlight, her golden hair spilling down her back and sapphire gaze turned to something outside the picture's borders. And the second? The same sweet, dark-haired Asian young woman she'd seen with Alexander, turning to look over her shoulder with a soft smile. There was no mistaking those incredible eyes. Lisa sank into the chair she'd grasped, pulse pounding, gaze never leaving the picture. "Uncle, who – who is that?" "Who – oh." Still puzzled, her uncle took her hand, stroking it gently. "I had forgotten, you've never seen her. That's Kirika Yuumura, Mirelle's partner." "The other half of Noir." Lisa spoke numbly, overwhelmed. Of course – Kirika was a Japanese name, but it hadn't registered that this girl might be Japanese. There were so many other possibilities . . . . . . no, she thought, remembering Alex's smirk. There was no other possibility. She should have known. "Alexander." She said softly, seeing her uncle start in shock. He knew Alexander – after all, the young man had grown up with her and several other of the high-ranking Soldats' children. "Alexander is here in Paris, and I've seen him with her. If he has Kirika, Mirelle – she would do anything he asked." Remy Breffort swore under his breath, snatching up his cell phone from the table and hurriedly punching in numbers. The phone on the other end rang for a few minutes without anyone picking up, and the Soldats High Councilman cursed again. "There's no answer." A low hum of a call interrupting cut through the taut air. Breffort thumbed another button, bringing the cell back to his ear. "Yes?" Listening for a few seconds, he gave a soft, violent exclamation. "Keep looking. We need the limo brought around front. That little bastard was working on them right under our noses." He dropped the phone into his pocket and hurried for the door. "Come, Lisa, quickly." "Uncle?" She leapt up automatically, falling into step just behind him. Outside the door, she could hear the limo's engine already revving up. "Mirelle's left the flat and gone to purchase a car." Breffort motioned, and Anderson leapt to open the manor's front door before taking up a position at Lisa's side. "Some of the extra troops have been on the move as well. It's likely Alexander's arranged a meet." "We have to find them, now." More than an hour later, the limo was still cruising through the warehouse district, one of Alex's favorite old haunts. Lisa wondered if they'd run out of prayers. No one had seen Mirelle or her new car, and there hadn't been any reports of firefights breaking out or dead bodies popping up. With a sharp sigh, she glared out the window once more. This was ridiculous – "Driver, stop!" Her uncle's voice suddenly broke through her dark reverie, and the limo nearly stood on its grill as the driver slammed on the brakes. Lisa's head whipped around, momentarily too surprised to brace for impact; by the time she had stopped bouncing across the back seat, Remy Breffort was already out of the car, door left open as he limped-ran toward whatever it was he had seen. Lisa took off after her uncle, sneakers thudding as she tried to keep up. Closer, she could make out what he had seen. The distinctive muzzle flash of a single semi-automatic pistol. A Walter PPK, to be exact. Mirelle's trademark weapon. A few minutes more, and she skidded to a stop several steps behind her uncle, awed at the carnage littering the alleyway. Counting the bodies slung over the warehouse rooftops, there were at least twenty-six dead, maybe more. It looked as though they had all died within moments of each other, some before they could even get off a single shot. And standing in the center of the ravaged masses? A tall, lean form in black leather and crimson velvet, pale skin and golden tresses highlighted bloodily against the bloody sun. The Walter held in one hand, a clip in the other as the owner reloaded her weapon with brisk efficiency. For a moment, both Soldats froze, unable to move. Lisa was shocked. This was Mirelle? The young woman she'd argued with and teased only hours ago? "Mirelle?" Her uncle's voice was low, hesitant, almost unsure for the first time in Lisa's memory. The goddess-like figure turned slightly, her face now visible, and Lisa gasped. Those eyes. There was nothing human in those brilliant sapphires – or perhaps, too human. Even as she looked at the young woman before her, Lisa had no way to describe the awesome, terrifying power radiating from that gaze. It was regal and yet primal, almost feral, a supernatural darkness so deep there was no way for anyone not connected to it to ever comprehend. Those were the eyes of a goddess, an immortal harbinger of death, lovely and deadly as a viper. Or perhaps, Lisa thought after a breathless pause, the viper was better compared to her. The blonde Corsican looked at them calmly, and Breffort had the momentary impression of a lioness judging whether or not they were worth the trouble of killing. It was a slow, almost negligent look, but blazingly intense. He spared a moment of regret that he had dragged Lisa along on this errand of foolish mercy; if he was about to die, he didn't want his niece to be destroyed with him. Then Mirelle blinked once, recognition entering her face, though her eyes stayed the same flat coldness. "I want to know where she is." "You mean Kirika?" Remy paused. Alexander would not have brought Kirika with him, of course, it wasn't intelligent. But finding out where he had put the young woman was going to be difficult. Even if they had all the time in the world, which the silver-haired Soldat was very sure they did not. "We're not sure yet – my men are working on it at the moment." Mirelle watched him for a moment more, absolutely silent, her face impossible to read. "The old Manor house in the Chez district." Lisa's voice was even softer than her uncle's, but it had an unmistakable ring of truth. She really didn't want to call attention to herself; she knew for a fact that if Mirelle decided to kill her, she might not even see the attack coming before she died. "He used to live there when I knew him, and its where most of the guards has been moving. There's forty or fifty of them by now, maybe more." The Corsican assassin watched them both for a few more seconds, then nodded once, slowly. Silent, she turned toward the street where her car must have been parked. Lisa hesitated, then called out again. "Noir?" Not Mirelle – whoever, whatever this person was, she was not the Mirelle that Lisa knew. This was one half of Noir, the deadliest assassin in the world. The taller blonde turned, one eyebrow rising, and caught the two long, black rectangles Lisa tossed her way. "It was all the ammo we had for a Walter." Lisa explained, almost shyly. Something that might have been a faint echo of Mirelle's trademark smirk curled at the corners of the Corsican's lips, and she nodded again, turning back toward the car. Lisa and her uncle watched her go, each stalking stride a flowing example of liquid grace. Breathless, the Soldats young woman shook her head slightly, overwhelmed with too many emotions to name. "I hope she finds Kirika." She whispered, almost to herself. "If you have to wonder, my dear, you do not know them as I do." Surprised, Lisa looked up at her uncle as he patted her shoulder softly. Breffort's smile was deeply sad. "The two of them belong to each other. There is nothing to fear." Nothing to fear – Lisa glanced at the lifeless bodies littering the ground around them and shuddered, remembering the terrifying power that had stared from Mirelle's eyes. Such pure, bloodsoaked darkness, without morals or emotions or any humanity – such a thing was unthinkable. And the High Council had deliberately made Mirelle and Kirika into these weapons? "How – how could anyone do something like that?" The words exploded from her in a low hiss. "How could anyone make another person into something so monsterous? A child!" She met her uncle's eyes and saw the deep, gentle understanding there. "Now you know, my darling. You know why I would do anything I can to take care of them." His voice was quiet, solemn. "Years ago, I was relieved that Altena refused to allow your blessing by the High Priest. She refused because she feared it would give the Council more power over the Saplings." "And you?" Breffort sighed. "I didn't know myself. Not until the day I saw those two incredible young women limping from the Manor, and Mirelle herself told me that they would always seek the light. If they forged in the fires of Hell itself could show kindness or find love, who are we to stop them?" Silence hung heavy for a few more moments before Lisa nodded, slowly. "So what do we do, Uncle?" "For now, we get the cleanup crew here." Breffort smiled, ruffling her bangs affectionately before reaching for his cell phone. "Then we go home and get back to work. When the girls are ready, they will need to know who was behind Alexander, and we will have that information for them." Lisa nodded again, wandering through the bodies as her uncle began dialing the required numbers. Soldats had their own private clean-up detail, of course; by the time any police got here, there wouldn't even be bloodstains to mark the ground. Breffort's voice murmured quietly in the background, and Lisa noticed a familiar body sprawled on the pavement, slightly beyond the rest of the corpses. Alexander. He lay on his back, dead eyes open and staring sightlessly up at the sky, a mess of blood and bruises punctuated sharply by a hole in his forehead. She supposed she should close his eyes, show some respect for the dead. It was the proper thing to do, after all. His body made a meaty, shuffling thunk noise as she kicked him in the groin. "Bastard." She muttered, turning away. She strode back to her uncle's side, not even bothering to look back. They had work to do. Did I mention I love Lisa too? xD
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