Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies) by Laura Pauling Page A

that’s right, coward.”
    Then he took off back through the door and disappeared into the neighborhood. I stood, trembling amongst the rubble. Smoke lingered, carrying with it the sting of the attack and my cowardice. The bodies didn’t move. A lamp lay in pieces. The truth of the situation and what happened weighed on me. Minutes ago I was eating breakfast with a friendly family of assassins and now they were all dead. My legs buckled and I fell to my knees.
    “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Silence filled the room. It felt like a tomb. Why did he spare me? Why did he run?
    “No worries, dear.” Janelle lifted her head and pushed off the floor. Her hair lay in tangles around her face. She smiled weakly.
    Edith groaned. “Someone can at least help an old woman to her feet. I’m not quite as spry as I used to be.”
    Janelle moved to her side.
    “I’m so sorry,” I whispered again, glancing at Bartholomew. Tears rushed, no holding them back.
    He grunted and waved his hand. “I’m alive!”
    Relief whooshed through me.
    “Will.” Janelle spoke sternly and helped Edith to her feet. They both turned on him. “This is coming directly out of your bank account. All this damage. I want it cleaned up and everything replaced by dinner tonight.”
    What? How could they talk to their son like that when he was half alive?
    Will wiped the blood from his face and smirked. “It was rather theatrical, wasn’t it?”
    Janelle’s stern look broke up and she giggled. “Your best yet.”
    Thoughts entered my head. Theatrical? His best yet? “Are you people crazy? Your home is in ruins and you were just attacked.”
    “Will.” Bartholomew spoke sternly as if his son were a toddler scribbling on the wall with a crayon.
    “Fine, fine.” He approached me. “This was officially your second training session. Planned by me for your benefit.” He bowed.
    Understanding dawned. My fingers trembled and one by one they curled into a fist. The whole thing, the smoke bombs, the attack, it was a set up. For me. For my training.
    “Now I just need some hash browns to go with this fake blood.” He licked his fingers.
    The entire family cracked up. They relived the scene moment-by-moment, applauding Will for his work. Anger pulsed and it built in my fists. I stepped over the lamp and kicked Edith’s cane aside. The family took one look at me, and their laughter died.
    “Hey, Will.”
    He turned with a cocky grin, full of himself and congratulatory for pulling one over on me. My fist met his face. The impact sent pain rocketing back through my arm.

 
     
     
Fifteen
    I stomped out through the jagged door and ran to the garden. The smell of the hyacinth mixed with the various smells of blooming flowers clashed with the rage welling within me. I stomped through flowerbeds and whirled around, wanting to shred all the tiny purple and yellow flowers. I breathed deep, trying to grasp everything that just happened.
    Water trickling into the fountain pool broke through the haze of thoughts rapidly shooting through my brain. I moved toward the fountain, then dipped my throbbing knuckles into the pool, running them back and forth across the surface. First it was just my fingers drinking in the cool water but I sunk my hand lower and lower, the water a distraction from the horrific memory and my brain trying to wrap around the fact that it wasn’t real. Not the blood. Not the gunshot. Not the attack.
    I dropped to my knees, the gravel digging into my skin. I cupped my hands into the water and splashed my face. Once, then again. I scrubbed, erasing the memory of Edith falling to the floor next to me, croaking out for help; Janelle falling, and then the gunshot. And Will, his face, ash gray, and the blood coloring his skin like a three year old drew a long angry red line down his cheek. And it was all an act. I scrubbed harder. Splashed more.
    And then a light touch was on my back.
    “Don’t touch me.” The words shot from my mouth. I scrubbed