Shaedes of Gray: A Shaede Assassin Novel

samurai, as deadly a weapon as there ever was. It could slice a body in half with surgical precision. I estimated the blade at two and a half feet in length before the tang disappeared into a hilt wrapped in old, oiled wood and black fabric. It bore an impressive forging pattern, the darker gray rolling like the ocean’s waves along the brighter and much lighter steel below it. I traced my fingers along the symbols engraved in the metal, obviously the signature of its maker. A note, written in flourishing script, had been placed inside the case.

Edo 1681—made by Yasutsuna. It is called Bright Death.

This was no bouquet of flowers or twenty-dollar box of chocolates. From the look and condition of the blade, I estimated its worth somewhere in the range of tens of thousands of dollars. I took the sword from the case with reverence. A weapon worthy of its name, I was sure. Warriors of the ancient world often named their swords, a practice as out-of-date as sword use itself. I hadn’t even been a living human in the year 1681. My immortal existence began somewhere closer to 1910, but the ancient weapon connected me to all those who lived and fought before I had been made into what I am now.

My cell rang, interrupting the awe of the moment, and I dug it out of my pocket to read PRIVATE NUMBER on the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Did the box arrive?” Xander’s smooth, smug voice said on the other end.

“How did you get my number?”

“That saber of yours is an unfit weapon.” Then he asked, “Do you like the katana?”

Leave it to His High and Mightiness to totally ignore me. “Exactly what do you want in return for this . . . token?” I’m not stupid; nothing in this world comes without a price.

Xander’s answering laughter said, Aren’t you quaint? “I don’t want anything at all. If you’re going to work for me, you’d best have the right tool for the job. Enjoy.”

Before I could get a word in, he hung up. I stared at the sword, gleaming blue in the light of my kitchen. I wanted to keep it. It was the most magnificent sword I’d ever seen. I just hoped that by doing so, I wasn’t biting myself in the ass.

I don’t know why, but aside from feeling very manipulated, the katana made me feel very, very purchased.

Chapter 8

When I showed up at the warehouse, Raif examined the katana with jealous eyes. I couldn’t help but show it off. I pulled it from the scabbard, savoring the ringing tone as the blade slid free. A wicked smile curved my lips as I pictured my teacher flat on his ass and me standing over him with the shining steel hovering over his heart.

“How did you come by that blade?” His almost accusatory tone belied his envy.

“Xander gave it to me,” I said, giving it a few practice swings.

Raif turned, and with a swing that took two hands to maneuver, struck my back with the flat of his own sword, knocking me face-first to the floor. I cried out—the blow stung like hell. I pushed my palms into the cold concrete and tried to propel myself upward, but my progress was stayed by the sole of Raif’s heavy boot.

“Who gave you the katana?” he asked in a tone colder than Death itself.

Several quips leapt to the tip of my tongue. But I thought better of putting my voice behind the words when I pondered the painful consequences. “The High King Alexander gifted me with the blade,” I said, glaring at the concrete inches below my eyes. I hated humbling myself to anyone. Raif demanded respect, and I had no choice but to oblige or else learn respect the hard way. Considering his not-so-gentle tactics thus far, I didn’t think I’d like the hard way.

Raif spent the better part of six hours teaching me a painful lesson. He used every opportunity to lay his blade against my skin. I paused to survey a new gash, realizing this was punishment. I would not be permitted to speak with a loose tongue in regard to Xander again. It didn’t matter that I thought of him only as a client and didn’t regard him as king of anything. He was Raif’s king a thousand percent, and in his eyes, my king by virtue of my very existence. Let me just say that didn’t sit well with me.

I ducked as Raif’s fist swung for my face, turned and swept my leg in front of me. I managed to knock him off his feet, but he scattered in a cloud of dark air, reappearing behind me. His dagger at my throat signaled the end of another embarrassing training session.

“You’re improving,” he said. “But don’t let your head get too big just yet. You’re far from ready.” Raif inspected the tip of his dagger before sheathing it at his waist. “He’s stronger than you, faster than you, and a thousand times more deadly.”

I opened my mouth to ask the million-dollar question: Who’s the damn mark?

But he’d vanished, leaving me alone. Again.

As I stood in the shower, allowing the water to cascade down my battered body, I regretted having no real confidant. Ty could have filled those shoes, but he was human and probably couldn’t relate to my unusual existence. But I needed advice, or, at the very least, an outside opinion. This job, if that’s what it still was, had become a little more complex than what I was used to.

I thought of Azriel. He’d been my confidant, listened to me talk for hours on end. Though he’d never answered any of my questions. I hadn’t become a proper warrior in his care, but he’d taught me stealth and how to slide a blade along a target’s throat. He’d taught me how to lie low. It’d been his idea, killing for money, though he was less discriminate as to our clientele and marks. In his opinion, we were perfectly suited for that particular line of work, and it paid well. Enough to keep us more than comfortable. He’d lined up the jobs and did most of the legwork. I’d been nothing but an apprentice, someone he brought along for amusement. Until he vanished. Then I had no one but myself to rely on. My mind wandered to one of many kills.

“Shh,” he whispered against my ear. “He’s nervous tonight. Knows someone’s following him. You need to wait and pick your moment.”

“He’s human,” I whispered back. “Shouldn’t be hard.”

His low laughter rumbled in his chest, making me tremble. It never took much for him to get a rise out of me. “True. But you won’t be worth a dime to anyone if you can’t do a job without remaining completely unseen. Humans can be insufferably curious. You never know who might be watching you—watching him.”

I nodded slowly, tucking a stray piece of hair up in my cap. I hated the fact that I couldn’t just wear the pants, button-up shirt, and vest, and leave my hair down. But Azriel said it would draw too much attention. Women just didn’t wear pants, and there was no way I could work in a dress.

“He’s coming this way,” he whispered.

Our mark for the night had been a poor slob who’d gotten in deep with the mob. He’d raped the bookie’s daughter and gambled a little more than he could pay back. Now his creditors were taking payment out on his hide. And I was the debt collector.

Obviously a little on the drunk side, our man stumbled and swerved, crashing against a trash can. Looking around, he opened the front of his pants and turned to the wall. Lovely. Just what I wanted: to kill the guy while he took a piss in the alley.

“Do it now,” Azriel whispered.

Melting into glorious shadow, I appeared, poised and ready, the dagger gripped firmly in my right hand. I leaned toward my mark and whispered the words I’d been paid to deliver with the death blow: “Jimmy the Shark says, ‘This is for Maggie.’ Now he’s paid in full.” My movement blurred from speed, a merciful action, I hoped, and the blade slid across his throat.

He didn’t even have time to be surprised.

“That’s my girl,” Azriel said, appearing beside me.

“Too easy,” I complained. “It’s not even interesting anymore. I want to learn how to fight, not how to sneak up on people and kill them like some kind of coward.”

Azriel’s cold laughter bounced off the brick walls of the alley.

“Have you ever fought another Shaede?” I ventured. “When there were others?”