Three of a Kind

Act One: An Unexpected Visitor

Nabra slunk through the streets of Asluagh like a rat, her golden eyes darting around madly. If she had a coat, she would have pulled it closer, but it was an uncharacteristically warm day for an Aivintian winter, and the cold had never bothered her much anyway, so she wore a simple brown crop top and flared blue jeans. Having green skin meant having to match it with clothes. It felt like spring already. That was the Tiefling blood, she figured. One of the Ademar-forsaken inheritances from dear ole deadbeat. She frowned at the thought. She should focus. It was a dangerous part of town.

Her family was poor, which meant the police didn’t investigate when someone got shoved to the cobbles and had their wallet or purse stolen. At least, that’s how it was before. According to August Byrne, things were different now, but she struggled to believe it. She’d gone to the market on 24th June, and again on 1st July, and nothing looked different to her. The same underpaid teen worked at the cashier. The same ground beef sat in the freezers. What the Constitution said didn’t change that.

She clutched four grocery bags tightly in her hands as she walked, though she let her grip lighten as she stepped out of the side street where at least one mugging a day must occur and into a main street that likely only had one a month. If she thought about it statistically, then, there was really only a 3% chance, approximately, that there’d be one that day. An even smaller chance that she’d be the target. She felt right relaxing, and so she shifted all the bags to her left hand while she brushed her long purple hair behind her long, pointed ears with her fingers.

Unfortunately, it was not her lucky day. Someone she must not have seen in her darting looks grabbed her shoulder from behind and pulled her back. In seconds, a switchblade was at her throat. Her assailant had a hairy, meaty hand that looked human, and he breathed heavily when he spoke, as if he had just run a marathon with asthma. He must have been very close behind her. Slowly, so as to not grab their attention, she bunched up her prehensile tail to be a little above her tailbone. Another genetic gift from dad.

“Drop the bags and slowly take out your wallet. One wrong move and I slit your throat.” The voice was masculine, gravelly, and middle-aged.

Nabra rolled her eyes, though whoever was trying to rob her clearly couldn’t see it. They were just so dramatic about it. She’d only been accosted by two other muggers in her life, but even by her small sample size, it seemed like they were all this dramatic. Annoying, ugly, and dramatic. Those seemed to be the only three traits they all shared, other than masculine-presenting features. If there was an organized force behind it, she’d ask them to mix up the group every now and then, just to keep things fresh.

She complied with the first request, of course, but only because she was really going to need to use her hands. When the bags hit the pavement, she struck with her tail, hitting the mugger directly in their stomach. They dropped the knife, taken off-guard, and she kicked it away with the toe of her black boots just before she grabbed the mugger’s arm and twisted it behind the human’s back. From there, it was a simple thing to kick the back of his knees and pull his arm up as he fell.

Her attacker winced.

“Grow the fuck up, dude,” she scolded helpfully. She knew the maneuver was painful, but he could have been at least a little tougher about it. She didn’t fault her siblings when they complained about it, but they were sixteen. This was a grown ass man, and a knife-wielding mugger at that.

“Let me go,” he demanded, which she thought was quite stupid.

“Are you daft?” she asked rhetorically, shaking her head in disbelief.

He mumbled something. Rolling her eyes again, she struck the back of his neck hard. Orc heritage meant she could build muscle more easily than humans, but that didn’t mean she didn’t try just as hard. When the bearded man crumpled, she wondered if she’d caused lasting damage. She hoped so. With a smile, she leapt over his unconscious body and picked up the bags.

She was about to leave when she paused, gently placed the bags back down on the pavement, and rummaged through the man’s pockets for a wallet. There was one, but all it had was cash. She pocketed the crowns and dropped the wallet on his face before picking up the grocery bags again. She looked around. Somehow, the street was nearly empty, and, by the grace of Ademar, no one had seen their altercation. Either that or they were minding their own damn business. Now that she thought about it, probably the latter. She pushed her hair behind her ears again.

Now that the odds had played out, she was more relaxed as she walked. After all, it wasn’t like the street had two muggings a month. No, no, no, it didn’t seem that way at all. So Nabra swung the grocery bags a bit, and proceeded at a leisurely pace. It was only two more blocks before she crossed the street and headed into the neighborhood where she lived. Her and her two siblings. In actuality, it looked almost exactly the same as the shady side street she had thought would have a mugging a day, but crime in Asluagh is strange. Residents of a neighborhood might get their apartments robbed, but they’re rarely mugged on their own street.

Nabra slipped into the building – unlocking and opening the door in one fluid motion. Though there was a rickety old elevator, they only lived on the fourth floor, so she took the stairs more often than not. She did so, climbing quickly while carrying the groceries in both hands, now. Once she had reached the fourth floor, she walked at a brisk pace down the hallway. Faster than she did in the street, despite the setting sun of the late afternoon and the tendency for crime. She’d rather face a mugger than make small talk with Darla from 402.

Luckily, Ademar was on her side in this. In fairness, He kind of owed her after her odds before. She accepted the attempt to make up with gratitude, shooting a thankful look towards the dingy ceiling. After all, everyone knew the prophet lived in the shitty fluorescent lights of lower class housing in Asluagh, Aivintis. The holiest pilgrimage one could make was to floor four of the uncreatively named Oak-Willow Apartment Complex on Poenaru Lane, just between apartment eleven and thirteen, in the center of the hallway.

She filed away her inane and likely blasphemous musings as she came across Apartment 17. She used another key for this door, and swung it inwards. “I’m back!” she called out, as if that wasn’t painfully obvious. But it was one of those things people did. It was like saying “Bit rainy, innit?” to someone holding an umbrella. No one’s actually surprised to hear it, and no one actually cares that you said it. Usually. Nabra’s siblings, however, cared very much to hear that their sister was home, or rather, that their sister had brought food. She locked the door behind her, and put up the small gold chain that served as a cheap second line of defense.

Telar was sitting at the table already, resting his head on his right knee, with his foot on the front of his chair. His dark turquoise hair was slightly messier than usual, befitting a Saturday of not leaving the apartment – he still wore his pajamas. If she kept her hair like that, it’d get tangled in her horns, but his curled ram horns were much longer than hers, and spaced further apart. Even now, they almost touched the table. From Nabra’s clear line of sight, it looked as if he was watching something on his phone when she had come in. He was always doing something like that, when he wasn’t reading in his room before bed with some worn book he had procured from the school library.

“Hey,” he said.

“You seem ready,” she remarked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

He shrugged and nodded to a spiral notebook she hadn’t noticed before, sitting closed on the table directly to his left. “I just finished some homework. Figured you’d be back soon.”

“I ran into a little delay,” she informed him, placing the grocery bags down on the other side of the table and beginning to take out the food. There was some stuff with which she could cook a meal, but it was beginning to near dinner time, so she chose three boxes of mac n cheese and began to follow the instructions for the microwave. Between their sharp Tiefling teeth and Orc physiology, Nabra’s family diet tended towards meat, but they ate what they got.

He tilted his head slightly. He did that often. “Cops?” The police would sometimes head to the streets and harass someone at random just to prove they’re doing something with their massively inflated budget. It didn’t change much when August Byrne cut that budget.

She barked a laugh. “Opposite.”

“Another mugger?” he asked with a grin. “How’d he go down?”

She turned towards him and smiled playfully. “Like a wimp. Reminded me of you.” Then she turned back to her task.

“Hey!” he said, offended. “You can’t bully me, I’m your dependent. What if I run away?”

“You’re right, if I drive you off, I can’t get any of those sweet tax cuts I keep you around for,” she mused. “Where’s Nala?”

“Guess,” her brother said, and she strained her ears. Sure enough, the low sounds of punk music spilled out from one of the two small bedrooms the apartment afforded – the one the twins shared. She had slept there, too, until their mother had died, but it was cramped even now, so she didn’t take much time to let the room lie empty out of respect. They were too poor for that.

Nabra sighed. “When it’s time to eat, you’ll go get them. I don’t want to yell, we’ll get another noise complaint and they won’t hear me anyway.”

Telar sighed. “Fine.”

“Can you put the rest of the groceries away for me?” she asked, and he complied. He didn’t complain about that sort of thing. She bought it, and the twins put it away. That was the deal. Of course, it was Telar more often than not, but that wasn’t Nabra’s fault. Before long, the groceries were away, the food was ready, and it was time to fetch their absentee sibling. “Go, please,” she reminded Telar, and he only dragged his feet a little when he went to fetch them.

Only a few sentences of inaudible conversation came from the other room before Nabra was faced with two siblings rather than one. Like Telar, Nala’s horns were long and wild, but that’s where most of the resemblance stopped. Nala was taller – not by much, but by enough – and wore more colorful clothing compared to Telar’s grays and earthy tones, which were even seen in his remarkably bland sleepwear. Nala already had a nose piercing to match Nabra’s own, and their hair was a bright pink. Their frame was fuller than Telar’s as well.

“Didn’t realize you were back,” was Nala’s only greeting.

“Food wasn’t ready yet. You know I could hear your music from out here, right?”

Her sibling sighed. “I turned it down since you last asked, I swear.”

“Thin walls,” Nabra reminded them. “Just keep it in mind, please.”

“Fine.” Despite the sighs and complaints, Nabra’s siblings tended to listen to her when it mattered. Keeping the noise down mattered a fair deal, since they already had a noise complaint from when Nala blasted the latest Phantoms album on its release. The landlord was not a generally understanding person.

Eager to change the subject from their potential rules violations, Nala asked, “Where are your new earrings?”

Nabra’s hand instinctively went up to touch the studs that were in her earlobes. She had recently been gifted a pair of dangles for her birthday – which she could never have afforded on her own – by her girlfriend who, though not rich by any standards, had a lot more disposable income than her own family. “Didn’t want to take them outside in the wrong neighborhood,” she explained.

“Shame, they look good on you.” Coming from Nala, who had a better fashion sense than anyone Nabra knew, it meant a fair deal. “Are you going to wear them to work?”

“Probably,” she replied. “Get to take the train to that. Safer than walking.” She spoke like that – leaving off pronouns – because it was how her mom always talked. “Don’t need to say ‘I’ when everyone knows who am talking about,” she would say. Nabra pushed her hair back.

Before she could ask about school, there was a knock at the door. The twins were confused, but Nabra went stiff. Something seemed wrong. She didn’t know what it was, but she had the sudden feeling of impending danger. She stood up quickly. “Telar, Nala, head to your room. Lock the door.”

“What is it?” Telar asked, suddenly worried. They both were.

She shook her head. “Don’t know. Let me deal with it, okay? It’ll be fine, I promise. Probably just Darla trying to borrow our salt shaker or some crap. Okay? Don’t worry.” Her voice was calmer than she thought it’d be. She could tell Telar didn’t believe her, that he wanted to argue, but Nala grabbed his forearm and tugged on it until he followed them into the room. Nabra heard the lock slide into place and relaxed slightly.

The tief-orc took a step towards the door, then paused, and reached into the back of a drawer, closing her fingers around a small black object. She withdrew the taser and held it at her side as inconspicuously as possible as she walked cautiously towards the door, pushing her purple hair back in a nervous gesture. She unlocked the door but left the chain on, opening it slightly.

“Hello?” she asked, peering around the door. What she saw shocked her. It wasn’t anything crazy, but in her neighborhood, a man in a black suit, a bowler hat, and a briefcase was a very uncommon sight indeed.

“Nabra Raknss?” He asked, pronouncing it ‘Rack-ness.’

“Rak-Ni-Es,” she corrected without thinking. She was used to it at that point. Another of her father’s legacies, bearing down on her. She’d taken some forms from the nearby courthouse on name changes. She was thinking about taking her mother’s last name. She’d been meaning to ask the twins for a while, but had never worked up the nerve, “Who’s asking?” she added gruffly. That was something people said to sound intimidating, she thought, but the man just smiled.

“The name’s Cezar Muresanu. I am at your service, Ms Raknss,” he said, this time pronouncing it right. His cadence sounded…old-timey.

“I’m afraid soliciting isn’t allowed in the complex, Cezar Muresanu,” she said, pushing the door to close it. Quite frankly, she didn’t know how he even got into the building.

The man stuck his hand in it and held it open with surprising strength. “Please, Ms Raknss, I will only take a moment of your time, and I’m certainly not a solicitor.” He actually sounded a bit indignant.

Wait. “How do you know my name?” Nabra asked, suspicion creeping into her voice while she gripped the taser tightly. Cezar Muresanu was strong, and potentially dangerous.

“I can explain everything to you, Ms Raknss, but I’d prefer it face to face. I assure you, everything will make sense in time. It’s just difficult,” he said in an exasperated voice, “to convey information through a door.”

“I’m not interested,” Nabra said, and tried once again to close the door. This time he pushed back hard, and the chain broke. Cheap piece of shit. The man in the bowler hat pushed the door open and held up a hand to pacify Nabra while she struck with the taser, her arm moving like a venomous snake.

The man blocked her attack with the briefcase. “Please just listen to me, Ms Raknss,” he said, blocking yet another strike with ease, “I mean you no harm.” Understanding the taser wasn’t working, Nabra went to sweep his legs, but he stepped back. When she began to attack again, he sighed, and her eyes widened as he pulled a silenced pistol out of his jacket and pointed it directly at her. Survival instinct took over, and she held her hands up, dropping the taser.

“Hey, now, I’m unarmed.” She’d been on the business end on more than one gun in her time. Mostly, overexcited police officers. Once, an armed robber. But he’d held it weakly and with poor form. Cezar Muresanu held his gun like an expert.

“Sit down, please, Ms Raknss,” he said, indicating one of the chairs.

Slowly, she did as he said. It was instinct more than anything else. When a cop held a gun to your face, you did exactly what they said when they said it, and not a second late. Though, this wasn’t a cop.

“Now, as I said, I mean you no harm, Ms Raknss, and I do not wish to endanger your siblings, either, who I know are here, likely behind one of those closed doors I see. If I had it my way, Ms Raknss, I would not have drawn my gun, but you were being quite uncooperative.”

“I think you have me confused for someone else,” Nabra tried.

“Ms Raknss, do not insult my intelligence. Now, I would like to have a conversation with you. If you would be so kind as to not charge at me when I turn to close the door, I will be spared the displeasure of having to strike you across the face with the butt of my gun. May we agree to forgo the mutual inconvenience, Ms Raknss?”

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. Her mind was racing through ways to get out of the situation. If he got close, she could kick away his gun, grab his briefcase, and maybe overpower him. It’d be an effort, but it had to be possible. She refused to believe the alternative could happen, that this man could kill her and her family as easily as she could take down a mugger in the street.

He did what he said he would, locking the door for good measure. The chain was fully broken. When he turned back, a strand of hair had fallen out of his hat. It was black. As she studied the man’s face, she realized there was nothing remarkably memorable about it. It looked as if someone had taken every male human face in Aivintis and superimposed them over each other, and this was the result.

He smiled. “Thank you. Small victories, Ms Raknss. Now, I’d like to put my gun away. Will you attack me if I do?”

“What do you want from me? Money? Food? Take it.”

He laughed. “Ms Raknss, I do not want or need your items of personal value or significance. I am perfectly satisfied with my own earnings in life. I appreciate the offer, though, born of desperation and a poor misjudgment of my objectives here though it was.”

“Why do you talk like that?”

“Talk like what, Ms Raknss?”

“Knowing my name doesn’t intimidate me.”

He nodded and smiled. “Right, of course, Ms Raknss, forgive me, I assure you, that is not my intention by any means. I intend to speak to you as equals, Ms Raknss, is that something you are willing to accept?”

“How old are you?” She meant it sarcastically, but he answered anyway.

“Thirty-four, Ms Raknss. I’d ask you in turn, but I know you are twenty years old as of last Tuesday. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she said drily. “The gun to my head is a great gift.” She knew she shouldn’t give him snark, but it was difficult to resist.

“Right, I do apologize, Ms Raknss. As I said, I do not wish to cause you distress, nor harm. I simply wish to speak plainly and clearly.”

She bit her lip to refrain from joking. “So why are you here?”

“Ah,” he said, with a smile, “I am glad you are willing to listen. You see, Ms Raknss, I am afraid your father has returned to Aivintis, and I wish to work with you to find him, and ensure that he does not stay here for very long at all.” Her face fell, and her eyes widened. He turned the gun to reveal an obsidian ring adorning his index finger. “Do you know what this means? Your father had one just like it before . . . you know. Well, I’d hope you know. How much did your mother tell you?”

“. . . enough,” she said vaguely. Then, suspicion entered her voice. “How do I know you’re not working for him?”

“The ring,” he said, genuinely confused. “Your father turned against our organization. I thought you said you knew about it? You’re going to have to be clear about what you know, Ms Raknss, if we have any hope of working together on this.”

Her eyes darted to the closed bedroom doors. Cezar Muresanu raised an eyebrow, but then understanding dawned on him. “I’ll tell you what, Ms Raknss,” he said, nodding towards the window. “It’s getting late, and I understand you were in the middle of a meal. I’ll leave you to it, but I would like you to meet me tomorrow at noon sharp, in the Templar District. There’s a Cukish cuisine place two blocks from the Palace – sorry, the Mansion – which is really good. We’ll meet for lunch, the two of us, and we’ll speak plainly.” He put his gun away slowly, eyeing her, and then withdrew a wallet from his left pocket. Withdrawing three crisp hundred crown bills, he handed it to Nabra. “Take it, please, Ms Raknss, for the chain.”

“The chain doesn’t cost this much,” she said, refusing it.

Cezar sighed and put the money on the table, next to a cooling dish of mac n cheese. “I don’t care, Ms Raknss, it’s yours.” He turned to leave, but he stopped when his hand gripped the door handle. “Ms Raknss, would you like us to place security in front of your building? If your father finds out where you live . . .”

“We can handle ourselves,” Nabra said brusquely.

He nodded. “Very well. Ms Raknss?”

“Yes?”

“If you do not show up for lunch, I will come back, and I will speak to you here or I will drag you to our headquarters. Do not test me, Ms Raknss. This is a matter of great importance to my organization, and we will not take no for an answer. Your father must be found.”

She nodded curtly, frowning deeply. He left without further words. She sighed deeply. “He’s gone,” she called. “He’s gone,” she repeated, softer now. Her siblings slowly, cautiously came out, Telar first, looking around suspiciously, but then Nala, too. Once they were both sure the coast was clear, they swarmed her with questions and fearful looks.

“Let’s just eat, okay? Get our minds off it.” She could tell they didn’t want to, but the food was getting cold, and Nabra wouldn’t budge, so before long, they sat around the table and quietly ate.

After they were finished, Nabra began cleaning up the dishes, silently. She shook her head when Telar tried to ask another question, and he relented. That night, it took Nabra almost four hours before she fell asleep, and she only managed to sleep five before her alarm sounded. She rose reluctantly and dressed with a white button up, tucking it into a nice pair of tan dress pants. She wore her nicest shoes, and put on a little makeup. She even wore the earrings her girlfriend got her Someone like her didn’t go to the Templar District in their usual attire; they dressed up. Otherwise, it would be very clear who belonged and who did not.

Telar and Nala were sitting at the table, talking in lowered voices, when Nabra left her room, brushing her hair back. They fell silent, staring at her. She raised an eyebrow. Telar and Nala were fully dressed, and they were actually dressed nicely. Telar had even styled his hair. It gave a clear message. They wanted to go to the Templar District.

“No,” Nabra said.

“Um, good morning?” said Nala. Telar hid a smile.

“Um, good morning,” Nabra mocked in a high pitched voice. Speaking normally, she added, “You’re not coming with me. This guy’s dangerous. He pulled a gun on me.”

“Yeah, we know,” Nala replied, “but if this is about our dad, we have a right to know. We’re sixteen. We graduate secondary in four months. I have a job. We’re not children anymore.”

“Well maybe if you both had jobs, I’d be more inclined to tell you,” Nabra said.

“Oh come on,” Telar complained. “This isn’t funny. A man with a gun came to our house asking about Dad. He seems to think you know something about why.”

“I do. But as long as there are men with guns involved, you two are staying out of it. You’re not adults for another year, and besides, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“But you can endanger yourself?” Nala asked incredulously.

“Well, someone has to, and I’m the eldest,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Please, Nabra.”

“No. That’s final. When I’m gone, bar the door with the table, keep the windows closed, and stay in your room with the door locked until I call. Do you understand?”

The force of her voice made them relent. “Yes,” they said in unison.

“Let’s have a codeword for trouble, too. How about Darla? She’s certainly trouble.” Her attempt to keep the mood light was unsuccessful, but her siblings nodded their agreement, which was all that mattered to her.

“Nala, keep your taser with you two. Get along. Keep it quiet. Be smart. I love you. This should be quick and easy, we’re just overprepared. I promise.”

They mumbled their understanding, made sure to add an “I love you, too” into their replies, and before they knew it, their sister had grabbed her phone off the counter and left the apartment.

She walked briskly in the streets. It was broad daylight, and based on her odds the previous evening, she doubted she would be targeted again by a mugger. That said, she always felt vulnerable when she dressed up – it was like broadcasting wealth to the unsavory crowds of her neighborhood. She walked quickly, though, and kept looking over her shoulder, until she came to the dirty, old train station and could finally relax.

The train took her deeper into the city, a screeching, rusted metal beast which would she could only imagine would have inspired wild legends if heard or seen by a medieval peasant. She spent the five-stop trip on her phone, scrolling through Pigeon and a few other social media apps – trying not to dwell on her fears for the meeting – before she had to get off, walk two or three blocks, and switch trains – after all, the same line that took a poor minority such as her to work couldn’t be the same one that took her to the place where the rich lived and dined. How absurd a thought for civilized Aivintian society.

It was like entering a different world. The streets were clean, there were no homeless people crowding the streets, and best of all there was a distinct and refreshing lack of grimy criminals threatening to injure or kill you if you didn’t hand over what little cash you had. It even smelled good, although that was most likely the result of the restaurants that lined the street. The very street George Whitcher had marched the army down in 2013. The same one that military parades used.

Now, however, no soldiers or tanks occupied the road. Instead, civilian cars crowded it, honking away. Many contained tourists. Many contained upper middle class citizens moving about their everyday lives. Many contained government employees, from lowly janitors to generals, ambassadors, and interim senators. That was the nature of the Templar District. Pretty and crowded. Everyone wanted to be there. So unlike her home. She was unsurprised to see police officers around, even with Acting Chancellor Byrne’s defunding of police forces across the country.

The restaurant was called the Cukish Prince – a very common name for such establishments. However, the white tablecloths and dressy waiters made her glad she had dressed up. When she arrived at the hostess, she even assumed Nabra was the kind of person who would dine there. Which she supposed she was, at least for the day. She checked her phone to see that it was 12:03 PM. She asked if Cezar Muresanu had made a reservation.

After checking the computer, she replied, “Yes, ma’am, Mr Muresanu is already seated. Allow me to take you to him,” the hostess said politely, putting on the same customer service voice Nabra herself tended to use at her job as a waitress, at a much lower end diner much closer to her apartment.

She mumbled a thank you, and then began to think about what was to come. She highly doubted he would try to kill or kidnap her, considering it was one of the most public places in the country, with a police precinct that responded to such crimes. If he wanted to do that, he’d have done it back at her apartment. She wondered if he was working with or for her father, but figured that if he knew his children’s location, a very different scene would have played out already. No need for such games. There was also the matter of the ring, and what her mother had told her before she passed.

She decided, tentatively, to trust him, right when the hostess gestured to a booth where Cezar Muresanu was seating, with a smile on his face. He wore the same attire as the day prior, minus the bowler hat. He looked smug, and a bit uncanny, but not unkind. He gestured as well, and Nabra sat down, thanking the hostess once again. She didn’t have time to start talking to Muresanu before a member of the waitstaff came by.

“Hi, welcome to the Cukish Prince! Is there anything I can get you to drink?” they asked in a chipper voice.

“Hi, thank you. I’ll just have a water, please.”

“Great! Are you two ready to order?”

Cezar gave Nabra a questioning look. She shook her head. “No, thank you,” she replied. “I just need a minute.”

“No problem! Take your time.” And then they were off.

“Welcome, Ms Raknss,” Cezar said.

“Mr Muresanu,” she replied.

“I wasn’t sure you would make it,” he said.

“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

“I apologize for my inelegant approach to this matter. I assure you, I don’t mean you or your family any harm. However, this is of paramount importance. I trust you understand.”

“I have heard things about my father.”

“Then you understand the gravitas, I trust,” Muresanu replied.

“To some degree,” she countered vaguely. “How did you know where we were – me and my siblings, I mean? We were very careful.”

“Your mother told us.”

“She did?” Nabra was shocked. She wasn’t even quite sure she believed him.

“Did she not mention that?” He narrowed his eyes. “What do you even know?

“I know he worked with the mafia, had some sort of falling out, and left the country. I know he’s dangerous, and I know I won’t let him anywhere near my siblings.”

“Heh. Mafia.”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Well, don’t get me wrong, we’re not completely independent of them. But no. I don’t work for the mafia. I work for the Black Hand.”

“Fuck’s that?” she said, while he took a sip of his iced tea.

“Okay, time for a short history lesson. Once upon a time–”

“In Ademar’s name,” she groaned.

“Listen,” he scolded. “Once upon a time, there was a man whose name was Tha– actually let’s just call him Mr T. You know what, no, that’s terrible. Just T. So back in the early Lerasian Empire, this T fellow starts a murder cult. When T dies – because eventually, everyone has to, even him – the cult kind of fractures. Part of it stays a cult and part of it continues to kill people. Except for money. The cult calls themselves the Church of the Evergloom. The killers, we’re the Black Hand. We take high profile assassinations as well as lowly murders for hire. We work with the mafia sometimes, if they need someone dead so much they can’t trust their own low quality thugs. Otherwise, we worked for businessmen, government officials, and angry people with major grudges. Used to be that the murder cult dipped their hands in some black fluid or other. Sounds gross, so we did away with that once we stopped being led by freaks. However, we still have these black rings that we wear, to show our allegiance.”

It was that moment that the server decided to come back and ask if they had decided what they were eating. Cezar raised his eyebrow at Nabra. “Um, I’ll just get whatever he’s having.”

“Alright. And what are you having?” they asked, turning to Mr Muresanu.

“I’ll have the calamari sandwich!” he said cheerfully.

“Any sides with that, sir?”

“No, thank you, just the sandwich is more than enough.”

“Two calamari sandwiches, then.”

“Thank you very much,” Nabra said.

“Yes, thank you,” Cezar echoed. When the waiter had left, he added, “So? Do things make a little more sense with my explanation?”

“Not really. Whether you’re a hit man or mafia thug doesn’t really matter to me. For starters, I’d like to know why my father left, and what he wants. Does he have anyone on his side?”

“He violated the Law of the Black Hand, and fled to escape justice. He’d been embezzling for years, but we didn’t find that out until we caught him killing outside of designated contracts. As for allies, not really, but he had some personal contacts from when he worked with us. That’s where I’m headed once I’ve secured your cooperation.”

“My cooperation?”

“Your siblings are minors and as such it is strictly forbidden to put them in any sort of danger. You, however, are a free adult citizen. Tane Raknss clearly has some interest in remanding you and your siblings back into his custody. If we put your siblings up in a safe house, we may be able to leak your address and use you as bait. I’ll lay in wait with a gun. When he comes in, I’ll kill him.”

“You’ll kill him?” Nabra was shocked.

He frowned. “I don’t know what you expected. We’re the Black Hand. We started the First Civil War. Besides, your father is very dangerous. Prison would not be able to hold him, not forever. I mean, have you met the police? It’s not a risk we want to take and I doubt it’s one you wish to take, for the safety of your family.” He spoke so surely that she couldn’t help but be convinced, and yet another thing bothered her.

“I’m not one to shy away from a fight, Mr Muresanu, but if I die, I risk leaving my siblings alone with no one to provide for them. I refuse to do that. Not when there are any other ways.”

“I understand your concern,” the assassin replied. “I can think of something else. Of course, you retain your autonomy. I hope, however, that you will consider it if I exhaust every other possibility and your father remains elusive.”

“We can maybe have that conversation when we need to. Until then, however, I’ll help you reach out to his contacts. That is, if that is still part of whatever plan you come up with.”

He made a ‘hmm’ sound, and paused for a bit. “Okay, I have another plan.”

“Sorry?”

“I have another plan. You can join me. We’ll talk to the contacts, see if they know where he is or at least where he was in the near past. We can find out what he wants, maybe, and see if we can anticipate where he will be. I’ll see about staging an ambush. You can stay on to make sure I prioritize the safety of your family. Maybe before we go, you look through your mother’s things, see if there’s any clues there. Perhaps you could offer some unique insight. I doubt she would have kept something from us, but family secrets and all. Do you know how to fire a gun?”

She stammered, “Uh yeah, my mom taught me just before she died.”

“Good. I’ll get you one.”

“Really? Is that . . . wise?”

He laughed. “If I did what was wise, I wouldn’t go after a killer so brutal that organized crime couldn’t keep him. Nine millimeter?”

“Yeah, that’s what I learned with.”

“Good. I have a couple spares. We’ll have our meal and then I’ll hand you your gun, you can go back and get ready, and then call me when you’re ready.” He slid a small flip phone across the table. It might have been as old as Telar and Nala. “My number is preprogrammed. This phone is solely for contacting me. No one else. If you’re in trouble, send a text. Any text at all. Otherwise, we only communicate on a call or in person. You can keep your other phone, but if you’re captured, you should destroy it. I can fund replacements. Any questions?”

She sook her head, just as the server returned. “Two calamari sandwiches,” they narrated as they slid the plates in front of Nabra and Mr Muresanu. “Now, will there be anything else you two need?”

Cezar raised an eyebrow. Nabra shook her head. “No,” Mr Muresanu said for the both of them. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Nabra threw in.

“Enjoy!” the server said, disappearing.

“Alright, we’ve spoken business. Now, let’s just eat,” Mr Muresanu said.

“No complaints here,” Nabra said.