The Grimaldi Archives

Chapter 1

Fleur Grimaldi sat by the window, the rain plinked and drizzled down their panes, she sighed. This is super boring. She slammed her book shut and twisted her dark hair into a pleat. She rubbed her temples, trying to soothe the pain. Macbeth hurt her head. It was as if a nebula had exploded in her head, and she wasn't retaining any of the knowledge from this bloody book. A knock sounded at the open door and a maid stepped in, "Ms. Grimaldi. Your father awaits you in his office." What've I done now. It's not as if I'd allow that measly farm boy to kiss me, why else would I have kicked him in the nether regions. "Miss, he summoned you." She sighed and followed the maid to her father's office. She waited outside bouncing on the balls of her feet to calm herself down. She heard the sound of his heels nearing the door, and stood at attention.

"Fleur, how are you doing?" She squeaked not planning to see his outward appearance in such a disarray. His grey hair sticking every which way, and his eyes red from staying up far too long. 

"Such an odd question, father. Since you've asked, I might as well tell you. I've botched Macbeth! I can't understand what in the bloody hell is going on!" She roared, cursing like a sailor. Her father laughed, tears sparkled at the edge of his eyes.

"Come in sweetheart." Oh how she loved the comforting timbre of his Scottish brogue, leaping off his tongue. He left the door open, she remembered how he had always respected her wishes. Not closing doors with her in a room was one of them. She loved her father for that. "Papa, I'm serious."

"As am I sweetheart, I've decided to send you to a school. For studious and troublesome ladies. It's a finishing school. For something that is quite desired among supernaturals of all sorts and people in high places, assassins." She was unsure if he was kidding, and laughed. "Why would you, you of all people send me to a school to finish people?" He paced around the room, a deer in the headlights.

"It is highly unlikely for a lady to be caught in this occupation Fleur, and I think it would suit you. You leave on Sunday, go get your things ready."
"Papa..." She looked down at her hands, looping her fingers back and forth in a rhythmic pattern. "I don't want to go."
"The best things, sometimes, are the things you don't want to do." Her father said sternly. 

She walked out of his office and regarded him. Everything he had said, was a comfort to her. Even when he had lost his wife, he hadn't grown bitter, and he had kept loving her. His first wife had died a few years after Fleur had arrived at the MacGowan household. Mrs. MacGowan was kind, stern, and sincere, just like her father. She helped Fleur get associated with her new life. Had taken her out on the town for her firsts. Her first dress, corset, undergarments, and the like. She was like a mother to Fleur, even though they didn't share the same physical attributes they got along quite splendidly. During the winter season's they had baked cookies, her favourite being snickerdoodles, and had sat by the fireplace reading.  Mrs. MacGowan had comforted her when Fleur had nightmares, and when the general wasn't home Fleur was allowed to sleep in Mrs. MacGowan's bed, her sheets had smelled like vanilla, Fleur's favourite scent. Yet when Mrs. MacGowan had died, Mr. MacGowan had dug himself a hole of work, and he never left the office. Yet he was never bitter, he just requested solitute life most widower would. Mrs. MacGowan had died giving birth to their stillborn son; she had died with him.

Fleur went to her room, and started packing for her adventure on the aircraft.