Carly Shawn has known stealth all her life. She has known secrecy, determination, and, most of all, no mercy. This is her most important, high-paying job yet: Follow 6 male celebrities. Follow them, spy on them, and, ultimately, kill them.
She has 2 months.
My Mom, the Assasin
The only person my mom has not killed who has been in the same room with her for over a month is me. Carly Shawn. Her daughter. She's too proud of me to kill me. When I was four, I was sent to a summer camp my great-great grandma set up herself, which taught me at least 400 ways to injure, terrify, or kill a human being.
When I was five, my mother sent me to persuade the president of a country to give her something she wanted.
When I was seven, an anonymous group of people hired me to steal a document from a certain country's classified files. They didn't know I was seven.
When I was nine, I had successfully completed 49 jobs, killed 27 people, and decapitated around 13 dogs.
Presently, I am frying an egg.
"Number 4? Do you want an egg?"
We had assigned eachother numbers, so that if the house ever got bugged, the eavesdroppers wouldn't know our names, or how we were related.
"No, 7. I already had breakfast."
I turned around, still holding a frying pan, and saw mom standing there, fully dressed. "Where are you going?" I said, knowing she probably wouldn't want to answer.
"Nowhere, silly," she replied, strolling over to the kitchen table and taking a seat. When we weren't off doing others' dirty work, we were doing whatever. When you were an assassin, you didn't have to do anything else. We were probably richer than Bill Gates and the President of the United States, put together.
"Hmm," I mused, looking over her attire. "All dressed up with nowhere to go, huh?"
She shot me an annoyed glance, and I shut up. My heartbeat shot up a little, and I poked the yolk of the egg with my fork, suddenly impatient. It wasn't done cooking, but I ate it out of the pan anyway, eager to find out which one of us had been hired. Maybe both of us!
Glancing down at my clothes, I groaned internally. Still wearing pajamas. I was getting too lazy these days, with nothing important to do.
I slid into my seat at the table, a tell-tale sparkle in my eye. Veretta laughed.
"Getting restless, aren't we?" She smirked. I shrugged. "It's been a while."
There was a slight bulge in the pocket of her pants. A paper-thin bulge. I knew, right then, that something was going on.
"Do you need to use the bathroom?" I inquired. Veretta caught what I was staring at, and shrugged. "A little."
My face flushed. So it was my mission, then. The bathroom was our code for a job.
"Come on," Veretta said, still smiling. "Upstairs."
We hadn't used the upstairs room since... since, well, my last mission. It was about the size of three coat closets back-to-back, and completely bug proof. My mom's just paranoid like that. She has a right to be. Others who graduated that camp I went to when I was four were tracked down by the government. being one of the best comes with great caution.
Once in the upstairs room, she silently slid the files across the table. I read it. There were several pages, along with two photos and a list of contacts.
My eyes were as wide as two moons, before I'd gotten past the first line. "One billion euros? "
She didn't answer, but was watching me intensely. "Continue."
I scanned the rest of the paper, and froze.
Risky, very risky. But worth it.
"Six people, all at once," I muttered. Talking aloud to yourself was dangerous, Veretta always said. I was still getting a hold on the habit.
"Number 7!" Veretta hissed. I immediately went silent. Hmm... That's a very short time frame. Could I do it? I though to myself. In reality, I knew I would. I had to.
Risky and difficult, yes. But also fun. Very fun.
I grinned. The old feeling of being on the job again seized me.
"You're very lucky I don't happen to like these people, number 4," I whispered. In fact, I wasn't a fan of any celebrity.
She didn't smile. "The employer has requested to meet you briefly before you begin."
I frowned. They obviously weren't informed of how to go about this business. That, or they were so good, they didn't care. I shivered. Meeting the people who wanted someone dead wasn't high on my bucket list. All the same, I nodded. "When?"
"Right now," Veretta replied, tossing me the car keys. I wasn't exactly old enough to drive, but that camp had taught me everything. Everything.
I snatched the keys, stuffed the files in my pocket, and went out the door. The GPS blinked to life, already pointing me in the right direction. I narrowed my eyes. Did number 4 know they lived so close by?
I pulled out of the driveway, careful to look older and taller. I didn't have to try hard. Already, I was constructing an alternate personality in my head. I was Brenda, 17 years old, with blue eyes (colored eye contacts were in the glove box), and an obsession with make up. The celebrities would be all over that.
Parking in the employer's drive way, I snapped my hair into a pony tail. For him, I would be the all-business, very blunt, and slightly deaf assassin. Nobody, absolutely nobody, Veretta always said, should know your real identity.
I rang the door bell. A girl that was at least 2 years younger than me, probably 12, opened. I hid my surprise behind a mask of indifference.
"Oh, hello, are you the--"
I came inside, putting a finger to my lips. "Please, not in the open, miss Blodd."
She nodded. So this was the employer. Odd. Although I hadn't met any of my previous employers. For all I knew, it had been this little girl every time.
"You're a girl," the girl said blankly. I nodded in annoyance. If she wasn't the employer, I might be tempted to kill her. Who knew who had this place bugged?
She pursed her lips. "This is interesting. You're not a fan of One Dir--"
I shushed her. "Of course not!"
She nodded. "I was sure you'd be a male. I don't know why. Well... Daddy told me I should give you 2 months. Bring me anything you find. Clothes, money, er... yeah."
I frowned. So she wanted their money too, huh? No extra pay, then.
"Daddy?" I inquired. Suddenly I was curious.
The girl glowered at me. "He's rich. Rich enough to pay you. That's all you need to know.
I nodded. She was willing to say specifics about me openly, but not about her. What a little...
I put my hand on the doorknob. "Anything else?"
She looked distressed for the slightest, slightest moment. I doubt she knew I noticed. "No. You may go, now."
I furrowed my brow. "Are you sure?"
She didn't seem to like that. "Positive. Go away."
I got back into the car, and drove to the airport. There was no time to contemplate the strange girl. I had two months to kill six celebrities.
Watxh out, One Direction and Justin Bieber. Here comes Carly Shawn.