Chapter 3
Lincoln
Seventeen Years Ago
“Quinnly.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, not used to chatting with my mentor on our hunts.
“My granddaughter’s name is Quinnly.” Cicero says to me as we sit on our perch waiting, and watching.
Like always.
At twenty years old, I’ve been shadowing Cicero Sage for almost a year and he has never uttered the name before.
Still, he continues to tell me all about his granddaughter. She has the same urges to hunt, to hurt, to kill, just like him.
Like me.
I immediately want to meet her, because as he talks about her, I can’t help but feel… enchanted. I’d like to put a face to a name, but he says she is always with her parents, and they keep her close even at the age of fourteen.
He didn’t say much about his daughter or son-in-law, only that they’ve decided to move in with him because apparently they think Cicero is a bit lax in the head.
Little do they know he’s a mastermind.
“Paps, that’s what she calls me,” he doesn’t smile like it’s a fond memory, his face is solid stone, always set in a determined fashion. “Always has.”
“You’re her grandfather,” I nod, letting him know that I don’t find it odd that she would choose a special name for him.
“You don’t know Quinnly,” his eyes slide to mine, “Someday, though. Someday I’ll need you to watch out for her.” Cicero says, almost to himself, and for a split second I think he’s going to smile.
When he doesn’t, I focus back on what we came here for. Usually when we stalk prey we don’t speak and I like it that way, it gives me time to observe him. Cicero’s an expert at his craft, and one day I will be too.
My own parents were somewhat notorious in this circle. Guns for hire usually work alone, but they had a whole network waiting to be used.
“She’s moving,” I note out loud.
Cicero doesn’t move to follow the woman he’s been hired to take care of, instead he stays where we are, along one of New York’s busiest streets outside a café.
He lifts his cup to his lips and takes a sip.
The coffee’s hot, the steam visible because of the cool September air being chillier than normal.
His jacket’s tailored to his body, as if he’s just another businessman enjoying his morning before breaking souls in the office.
Little does anyone know he’s doing more than simply breaking souls.
I’d classify it as more, harvesting them, really.
I don’t know how many bodies he has under his belt, but I imagine it’s a lot.
He’s been a hitman for hire for a long time.
If he can’t accomplish your end goal, I’m convinced no one can.
He’s a craftsman, and his work sends chills down spines.
I was surprised the day he chose to take me on as his apprentice of sorts.
“She’s changed routes,” I tell him and this time he does smile. A ghost of the ends of his lips tipping up, before it's back to straight.
“She’s paranoid,” he answers, as if I should have known. “Do you see the man behind her?”
“The homeless man?” I ask, noting how his clothes are a bit too large for his body, and the shagginess of his hair. The cap he’s got on has frayed and there are stains galore on it.
Cicero arches a brow, which usually means I’ve gotten something wrong.
Watching, cataloging, my eyes widen when I realize my mistake. A mistake that would have gotten me injured, or killed.
“He’s her bodyguard, disguised.”
I should have seen it sooner, should have known. If our mark has an undercover bodyguard it means she’s scared, and I do love when they’re scared.
Cicero doesn’t say anything, only nods and lifts from the table.
He’s a lithe man, tall and slender, no one would think twice about him if they bumped into him on the sidewalk.
He’s objectively handsome, clean shaven–which makes him appear younger–proud straight nose, and lips that give his otherwise pale complexion color.
He’s your average guy, nothing special or worth remembering.
That’s why he says going unnoticed is one of his special talents.
To me, he’s larger than that. He’s a beacon for people like me and his granddaughter. Someone proud and accomplished, but still humble.
“Have you ever taken Quinnly hunting?” I ask, though I don’t know why since he doesn’t answer.
Cicero isn’t forthcoming with loads of information.
He instead likes for you to do your own research.
If you want it bad enough, you’ll do what it takes.
That’s his motto, or maybe it’s not, but that’s how I see it.
Everything Cicero says I’ve cataloged in my brain. You don’t simply become your predecessor because you want to. You surpass them because you learn.