Chapter 15

The funeral was held Friday, at Shannon’s home in Connecticut. No one bothered going home for Thanksgiving—there was nothing to be thankful for this year. As custom at every assassin burial, they all wore gray suits, but with a claddagh pin over their hearts. Gray stood for the ambiguity of the life they chose to live. The claddagh gave respect to Shannon’s Irish heritage and represented the friendship, loyalty, and love they had for their fallen comrade. Perry held a dozen red roses in his hand, a gift for his lost love.

“Thank you for coming.” The phrase was said over and over by everyone of Shannon’s family. Keara was on assignment in Ireland, and could not be reached. An empty seat was left for her at the ceremony.

“Aeron?”

Aeron looked up toward the voice. She had taken a seat after the ceremony, and had yet to move. Shannon’s mother was standing next to her and Aeron stood to leave.

“No, please—stay,” Mrs. Gale said, placing a hand on Aeron’s shoulder. “I want to thank you for bringing her home.”

“Of course,” Aeron said her voice hoarse. It was the first words she had spoken in days.

“I would have died next to her, before I left her.”

“I know you would have. All of you would have. It has been many years since the

Institute has seen a team as strong as yours. Many others would have left her behind.”

They sat together, staring at the fresh grave of the most extraordinary person either of them had known. The sun was setting before a butler came and interrupted their vigil.

“Mrs. Gale, Keara is on the phone.”

“Thank you, James,” she said. She stood and patted Aeron on the shoulder before leaving. “Aeron, please do not be a stranger. You are as much a daughter to us as Shannon.”

***

They took a limo back into the city, no one wanting to head home just yet. Aeron blindly followed Decius, her thoughts replaying those final moments over and over. It wasn’t until she felt the tug of her necklace did she even realize they were not at the apartment, but at their secret room beneath the school.

Decius was at the wall and Luke at the door with her key, letting them in. Aeron plopped down on the black leather chair, staring into the small fire someone had managed to build.

“It’s been days,” Luke said, passing Aeron a water she wouldn’t drink. “Decius look at her. She hasn’t eaten. I barely got her to drink anything. And I haven’t heard two words from her, except her screams when she finally sleeps.” They were talking about her, Aeron realized.

Had she really been that bad? She did too eat…but she couldn’t think of what her last meal had been.

“Aeron,” Lesley said. She was perched on the arm of Aeron’s chair. “Will you please drink this?” Lesley swapped Aeron’s glass of water for a mug of steaming liquid. The warmth of the mug seeped into Aeron fingers. “It won’t make you feel better, but it will make them.” She nodded toward Luke and Decius.

The warmth was working its way up her arms, and she slowly brought the mug to her lips. It was a hot cocoa concoction which seared Aeron’s throat. She let it. The pain felt good, and she chugged the entire thing. She chased it with the glass of water Lesley handed back to

her.

“Thanks,” Aeron said, and Lesley smiled—it was a sad smile. Aeron looked around, the cocoa giving her enough energy to focus. Decius and Luke stopped their conversation, anxiously watching her. Alicia and Justin were consoling a haggard looking Perry—his eyes were blood shot, and he was unshaven, unkempt.

“I told you she was fine,” Lesley said, getting up. “I have to get back home before tomorrow morning. Decius, do you mind?” She gestured toward the door.

“Yeah,” he said, going to unlock the door. “See you in January?”

Lesley nodded. “Or sooner. I may be back in December.”

“Wait up. I’m going to go too,” Justin said.

“And I’m supposed to be watching my brothers and sisters,” Alicia added, wiping her eyes. It suddenly dawned on Aeron that Alicia had lost more than just Shannon—she had lost Ben too.

“What about Perry?” Luke asked. Aeron looked at Luke’s cousin. He was nearly passed out, with a bottle of Jack clenched in his fist.

“I’ll take him home,” Decius said. Justin and Decius heaved Perry off the couch and half dragged him to the door. Decius tossed the two keys to Luke. “You take care of her.” He nodded toward Aeron.

Luke nodded back. Aeron watched the group leave. Waving and hugging just didn’t seem appropriate, so she sat in her chair and waited.

“Ronnie, can you come help me lock this?” Luke asked, dangling the two keys in front of him.

Aeron stood up, and wobbled slightly. She looked down and saw her ankle wrapped heavily in ace bandages.

“You wouldn’t let us re-cast it, or even look at it,” he said, moving next to her and giving her a hand. “I was surprised how well you were walking on it, but Jason said you were probably still in shock.”

“Is it re-broken?” Aeron asked, feeling foolish she had to ask someone else this.

“No,” Luke said. They locked the door, and Luke scooped Aeron up and carried her back to the couch where he sat with her on his lap. “You’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

Aeron shifted her weight, and Luke let out an involuntary hiss of pain. “Your thigh!” she said suddenly, and tried to jump off his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held fast.

“You were shot too. Oh, I’m such a fool. Are you okay?” she asked.

“It wasn’t as bad as it looked. The bullet just grazed me.”

Aeron ran her hand along his thigh, feeling the bandaging. “This was all my fault,” Aeron

said. “If I had been one hundred percent, I could have gone on that yacht. Perhaps I could have seen it going wrong…I could have—”

“There’s a lot of could have, should have, would have’s of that night,” Luke said, pulling Aeron’s chin to look her in the eyes. “And you are not the reason the mission went wrong. You are not the reason you weren’t one hundred percent.”

She wasn’t. But there was someone—a single someone who was solely responsible for Shannon’s death.

Aeron did not wait for Luke’s unexpected kiss this time. She leaned in, capturing his lips with hers. His warmth spread throughout her body further and faster than the cocoa ever could.

He gently laid her back on the couch, his kisses moving from her lips, to her neck, to her ear. “I love you, Aeron Seward,” he breathed, sending a tingling sensation through her. “I always have.” Her breaths were becoming shorter, and his hands sliding from her shoulder to her waist was not helping. He kissed her again.

Aeron tugged at his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt, urging it off his shoulders. She ran her hands down his chest and abs. Luke shivered, standing. He grabbed a blanket from the loveseat and scooped Aeron up, laying them both next to the warm, flickering firelight.

He resumed kissing her, starting with each finger and working his way up her arm. He kissed across her chest, and back to her lips.

“We can wait,” he said.

“No,” Aeron whispered. “I want you, Lulu. I need you.” She let out a soft moan, tugging at his trousers as he kissed her, hard and passionate—his hand sliding up her thigh, beneath her skirt.

***

Aeron had been back in the manor two weeks. Most days were spent haunting the library, or sparring with Decius. She preferred the latter. It kept her mind off Shannon and Luke—both who she missed like a phantom limb.

Decius had wisely not asked what happened after he had left them alone, and Aeron did not volunteer the information. The only person on the earth she would have told was Shannon. It was uncanny how closely tragedy and ecstasy entwined.

The clock in the library chimed midnight, breaking Aeron out of her thoughts—another day wasted away in memories. Why Figg had terrorized them, or why the Institute killed rival school kids no longer mattered. She just wanted to cling to the memories of Shannon—her laughter and loyalty. It was easier to do when she could hide away in a corner. Aeron got up and stretched, walking gingerly toward the door. Her ankle was healed, but sore.

Light shone from under the study door, and Aeron’s anger burned inside of her as she crept by. She had not seen her father since returning home, and wished to keep it that way. The thought of seeing him alive, blood still flowing through his veins, infuriated Aeron beyond

comprehension. She was just passing the doors, when raised voices caught her attention—she paused.

It was her mother’s voice, soft but stern, “I will not allow it, Andrew. She is only seventeen!”

“Seventeen or seventy, she is my child and I shall decide what she does and what she does not do.”

“She is ours,” her mother retorted sharply. “They are ours. They are seventeen. If he wishes to follow in your footsteps, then I will not stand in his way. But she is not a pawn for your disposal! I will no longer allow this. She is grieving for goodness sake!”

“That is the problem right there!” her father shouted. “The girl died over two weeks ago. She should have been over it the next day.” She had never heard her parents argue before. She inched closer.

“And I’m sure she will when it comes to your funeral. Stop punishing her for Susie’s mistakes.”Aeron’s heart began to pound, the memory of her father’s attack crashing down on her at the mention of Susie.

Then, the sound of a sharp slap and a soft intake of breath had Aeron through the study doors and pinning her father to the desk, before she realized what she was doing. Her mother stood staring, holding her cheek.

The combination of sheer adrenaline and surprise had given Aeron the advantage over her father, but it didn’t last for long.

“Stupid girl!” her father yelled, enraged. He tossed her off and swung a paper weight, catching Aeron in the head. She stumbled into the chair she’d occupied on so many occasions.

“You will never lay another finger on her,” Aeron spat. “It is one thing to hate me, but you will not touch her.”

“How’s that ankle of yours?” he asked, advancing on her—cane in hand. Instinctively she flinched back, anticipating the blow to the head. Instead he stumbled into her and they crashed to the floor—her mother was standing over them, a fireplace poker in hand.

Aeron took advantage of the moment and flipped her father over. He reached up and seized her throat, squeezing with both hands. She clawed at his hands, but he held fast. Aeron could hear her mother rummaging around, but could not yell for her help.

“Don’t worry, darling daughter,” he said, breathing heavy since Aeron was squeezing his ribs as hard as she could with her knees. “I should have done this years ago, when I knew you would be a disappointment, just like Susie. You will be joining her and your red-headed friend soon enough.”

She was losing air quick. Aeron abandoned his hands and reached into his belt, grabbing his knife. He rolled her over, gaining leverage from above. Just as Aeron took the chance to plunge the knife into his chest, a gun shot went off—covering her in blood. Her father looked down, wide-eyed, and collapsed on top of her.

Aeron struggled out from beneath him, and ran to her mother’s side. The gun was still smoking—trembling so violently Aeron was surprised she hadn’t been shot by accident.

“Mom,” Aeron said, placing her hands on top of her mother’s and lowering the gun.

“Mommy,” Aeron said, her voice trembling as badly as the gun. “Give me the gun.”

Her mother nodded and released the weapon into Aeron’s hand. It was a small revolver— a gun Aeron had never seen in the house. She pocketed it, and guided her mother to a chair by the fireplace. Aeron return to her father’s body and rolled him over. The dagger was lodged to the hilt, right through his heart, and the bullet had pierced his right lung. It would be hard to say which had happened first.

Aeron left the dagger in place, not wanting to add to the pool of blood around him. She went to the nearest window, ripped the drapery down, and covered her father’s body before returning to her mother. She could hear somebody running toward the study.

“Mom. Are you all right?” Aeron asked, kneeling in front of her. “Did he hurt you at all?”

Her mother placed a hand to her cheek, looking at Aeron, and seemed to wake from her daze. “No, he did not hurt me, and he will never hurt you, ever again.” She stood from her chair and walked over to the body. Aeron followed, and Decius burst through the door, breathless. He paused—looking from Aeron covered in blood to their mother lifting the drapery off their dead

father.

“Decius,” their mother said, covering the dead body again.

“Mom! Aeron, what…”

“He’s dead,” their mother said, and Decius rushed to catch her as she collapsed. He sat her on the floor and looked to Aeron.

“What happened?” he asked, and Aeron explained.

“I don’t know which one killed him first—the dagger or the bullet,” she finished. Aeron removed the small revolver from her pocket and placed it on the desk. “Where did this come from?”

“His desk drawer,” she answered, still sitting on the floor. “I knew he kept it there as a precautionary.” She placed her hand on the drapery covering her dead husband’s body.

“It was—” Aeron began, and then paused. What was she going to say? It wasn’t your fault? It was about time? He deserved to be killed, and probably in a much slower manner? This was the man her mother loved.

“Would you like me to call Mrs. Gale?” Decius asked, saving Aeron.

“No,” she said, regaining her composure. “Aeron, are you alright?”

“Yes, but there is something I don’t understand,” Aeron said, taking a seat on the desk.

“Who is Susie?” Decius gave her a strange look, but Aeron shook her head slightly.

It took a moment for her mother to answer. “Your father was never a violent man growing up—besides his missions. When we met, he was carefree and enjoyed the Institute, much like you do, Aeron. He and his cousin Susie were just a year apart and inseparable—you would have thought them twins, and she soon became like a sister to me. But our Susie was not dedicated to the curriculum like your father—she wanted to go to college, and experience the world.

“When your father was in his final year, Susie was pulled into an undercover assignment. He tried to get her out of it. He even volunteered his own team to take it instead, but it was no good. She was killed in action. Her team was made up of four girls, and single boy. He blamed his father for taking Susie in, and making her attend the Institute. Then he blamed himself, for not pushing her harder. Finally, he placed the blame on Susie—for not being strong enough, quick enough, or smart enough. He even ripped her portrait from the wall, declaring her un-Seward enough to hang there. Aeron, you are her spitting image.”

The silence which filled the study was deafening, and Aeron was glad she was sitting down. Years of torment, explained in just a few short minutes. She avoided Decius’ gaze.

“Perhaps we should get you to bed, Mom,” Decius offered, helping her off of the floor.

Aeron continued avoid Decius’ eyes as he helped their mother up and guided her out of the study. She paused in the doorway, looking first to Aeron, and then back at the drapery. “I am so sorry, Aeron. My Andrew was always driven, but never cruel. It was this business. This business created that monster, but I allowed him to hurt you—blinded by my love and ignorance that it was to keep you alive, and not end up like our Susie.”

Aeron met her mother’s gaze. “It’s not your fault,” Aeron said, giving her a smile as Decius ushered her out of the study, muttering, “Let’s go get you in bed, and we will give Mrs. Gale a call.”

Aeron stared at the doorway long after they had left, sitting in the silent solitude of her dead father’s company. There was much to do: call Mrs. Gale to come take care of her mother; clean up the study and alert the Board of Elders that her father was dead; call Luke and tell him her father was dead; mourn the loss of her best friend—her sister; mourn the loss of a childhood, stolen by unlucky genetics and a tragic loss which Aeron understood all too well.

She stood, looking around the study—it was a mess. Papers littered the desk and floor, and Aeron picked up a few up files before settling into her father’s high-back leather chair. The phone calls could wait—her father wouldn’t become any less dead. She pulled the chair closer to the desk, and jammed her knee hard.

“Damn,” she muttered, pushing the chair back and looking for what had assaulted her. In the struggle with her father, a secret panel was either knocked open, or he hadn’t gotten the chance to close it. She reached inside, and pulled out a book. Aeron turned it over, and the golden honey badger glared at her. It wasn’t a book; it was a journal—his journal. She pushed the remaining papers to the floor, and hesitated—just briefly—before cracking it open.