The residence of 12 Clove Garden was a stunning brick manor floating atop an adequately sized sea of emerald grass. No lights shone from the wide windows, leaving the manor adrift on the verdant waters. The brick steps were swept of leaves. A weeping willow dominated the grounds, its thin branches weaving in the coastal breeze. Ivy crept along the southern walls. In the moonlight, the manor was an eerie but beautiful sight to behold.
Located in the affluent Winfield neighborhood of Verweald's western residential district, 12 Clove Garden sported five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a two-car garage, a bricked drive, a modern kitchen, and a detached guesthouse opposite the pool with its own private garden.
Of course, Janet Ling knew the precise specification of the manor because she owned it. And because she had killed for it. Literally.
Janet sat in her vintage Jaguar outside the garage. The garage was vacant; Hu wasn't home yet. The house remained dark as it patiently awaited the return of its tenants, and Janet blew smoke out the open car window before snubbing her spent cigarette. The blue ambiance of her cell phone illuminated the flawless beauty of her face and glittered in her narrow eyes. Janet drew a manicured nail along the swell of her lower lip, perfecting the smudged gloss.
Like her boss, Janet Ling was all about appearances.
"The authorities are scouring K.I.I. files for discrepancies, convinced the motive lies within the corporation's business dealings," Grace Amoroth said, her words humming with ferocity through the static on the line. "Naturally, they won't discover any of those potential discrepancies, but the company's, ah, extracurricular retainers will have to conduct their business with extreme delicacy. Do you understand me, Janet?"
"Yes, ma'am," Janet said, frustrated and frowning. Even with her numerous connections within the hitman community, Janet didn't know the identity of the Klau Killer. No one did—and the bastard was cutting into Janet's bottom-line. As a low-profile retainer on Klau's payroll, Janet and her activities were coming under scrutiny. Everyone was, but not everyone was a white-collar assassin like Janet.
"Good. Take a vacation. I'll call when your services are needed again." Klau's CEO hung up. Disgusted, Janet chucked the phone into her designer bag. If given the opportunity, she would gut the Klau Killer for jerking business out from under her heels.
Janet exited the car and made her way to the back entrance through the yard gate. She lit another cigarette, exhaling thin clouds as she walked and admired the velvet reflections of moonlight upon the pool's placid surface. The smell of jasmine floated across the water from the guesthouse garden. She finished smoking and headed inside.
She went into the kitchen without turning on the lights, plopping her purse onto the island counter. It hit the granite with an unexpected thud. Janet began to open the refrigerator before remembering Hu was supposed to bring takeout home with him. She sighed and rubbed her stiff neck. Her husband was late. As usual.
A thump sounded upstairs. Janet's eyes snapped open as her body tensed. Though the noise was subtle, it came again, echoing from the room above the kitchen. Janet's office. She went to her purse and unclipped the clasp as she stared at the ceiling, gaze fixated on the faultless surface. She retrieved the small .22 caliber pistol without looking away.
The foyer opened onto two mirrored halls and two separate sets of stairs. The mezzanine above overlooked the foyer and the chic chandelier hung from the open space above. From the ground floor, Janet could crane her neck and see the door to her office. It was open. She never left it open. Janet shed her spiked heels and swiftly maneuvered through the dark house, her feet silent upon the polished hardwood. She held the gun up, prepped and ready. She had forgotten the silencer in her haste but would have to make do without.
There were two entrances into Janet's study; the French doors on the landing and the bookshelf in the lounge in the next room over. The bookshelf was, naturally, hidden from prying eyes, perfectly sealed. The contractor had thought it strange when Janet had requested such an odd addition. After all, secret doors hardly added to property values, especially one that was more of a hatch than a door. But Janet had insisted for just such a reason.
The sound of shuffling papers was more pronounced on the upper floor. Janet eased from the hall to the lounge, careful to avoid the boards prone to creaking. She climbed the leather sofa to squat upon its top, running her careful fingers along the bookshelf's seam until her nail caught the clasp. The portal slid inward on silent, well-oiled tracks.
Janet's office was an immaculate space. Her glass desk held no drawers and no papers, only a sleek laptop. A low chaise against the opposing wall was cream colored, selected to match the carpeting and Janet's embroidered bamboo screen. Above the chaise were numerous built-in shelves holding books and items Janet found during her travels, including a section of the wall dedicated to her collection of antique oni masks.
A dark-haired man bent over Janet's desk, oblivious to her presence. He thumbed through various folders and clipped binders he must have extracted from Janet's filing cabinet. She nearly gasped when she realized what the intruder had gotten his hands on.
Shit, Janet internally swore as her heart began to race. How did he know where to find my contracts?
Janet decided it mattered little. Still crouched on the ledge of the pass-through, she aimed her gun and fired.
Details of the scene were lost in the dark. The bullet struck the man in the head and he collapsed. Black misted the air and splotched the gathered reports in an inky film. Listening intently, Janet dropped from the hidden pass-through as the droplets pattered upon the window. The gunshot had been loud, but it was not yet late enough for her neighbors to be in bed. It was possible they hadn't heard it, too busy listening to their televisions or computers. She heard a dog barking from the estate next door.
Janet quickly began tidying the sensitive documents from her desk. It was improbable the police would overlook the incident if a call reporting shots fired near the home of a Klau employee came in, so even as important as they were, Janet nevertheless needed to destroy the documents. Hu would help her dispose of the body, and she knew the number for a fabulously discreet cleaner she'd used in the past—.
A grating chuckle lit up her spine, spiraling fear through Janet's heart.
"Well, well. How enterprising."
Disbelieving, Janet turned. The man was behind her, his grin amicable as the moonlight shone across his bloody face. There wasn't a wound. Janet didn't understand. How was there no wound?!
"I didn't have the chance to hear you enter," Balthier said as he pressed two fingers to his cheek. He drew those fingers downward, carving a path through the fresh gore. "You're not what I expected from one of Amoroth's bumbling lackeys."
He grabbed Janet by the throat and lifted her before the woman had a chance to speak. Her sharp nails dug at his skin, desperately trying to break the man's grip.
"Twenty-two lay dead at your feet, human. Twenty-two lives burned in the name of corruption. You are the left hand of a demon, you know. The glove upon which their blood bleeds, the glove which Amoroth can quickly strip from her hand, leaving it clean as ever." Vitric color seared through his eyes. "And they call me a monster. You are hardly worth my effort."
He threw Janet toward the hall. She sailed across the floor with alarming speed, twisting as she crashed into the oak railing. The rail split and she slipped between the silver balusters. Janet's leg caught the edge of the mezzanine, and she hung inverted above the quiet foyer, dazed and breathless by the sudden and intense violence.
The curtain of her black hair swayed to and fro. Warm liquid trickled across her chin and touched her mouth. Janet licked her lips—baffled by the taste of salt and iron. Iron?
Her numb arms fumbled until they discovered one of the balusters lodged in her abdomen.
As Janet Ling screamed her lungs raw, Balthier returned to the desk and shuffled together the necessary documents, the papers splattered with his own blood. Their insidious contents made for an interesting read, but Balthier was bored of this place and was needed elsewhere. He gathered the evidence of Janet's murderous affiliations for his host and slipped it into the front of his suit.
The woman moaned as she bled out, and Balthier wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He grimaced at the fresh blood—when he happened to glance upon the far wall. Curious, the Sin of Envy paused to observe the collection of fiendish masks interspersed along the expanse. There were seven in total, all bearing different deformities or snarling, snapping fangs. Amused, Balthier touched one, leaving red fingerprints upon the aged wood.
Seven demons masks within the house of 12 Clove Garden. A woman hung by her ankle in the house of seven demons.
Balthier knocked the mask off the wall as he laughed. It slipped behind the chaise and vanished.
A door opened and closed somewhere below. Balthier heard the dull thrum of electricity power the lights. "Honey!" echoed a male voice accompanied by the crinkle of paper sacks. The scent of something citrusy rose through the vents. "Janet, I'm home. I hope you like your kung pao extra spicy!"
Balthier plucked another mask from the wall and slid it over his grinning face.
The Sin of Envy loved spicy kung pao.
* * *