If she had not known what to expect, she never would have seen them coming. Under the light night drizzle and the tall stone buildings that cut the moonlight before it could illuminate the necessary corners, it was hard to follow people. Doubly so, when they scuttled around silently close to the walls wearing the blackest set of robes to ever exist. Until the last year, she hadn’t even given thought to the fact that in some remote corners of the city, people still chose to wear cloaks.
That was when the first order came in.
Her latest order had come in as usual – An envelope delivered to her room in the middle of the day, and even though Kat had stayed by the window the entire day, she had seen no one cross the gate. But like clock work, the letter had arrived with a gentle swoop through the gap in her front door. It bore no return addresses and certainly no stamps. The edges of it were sealed with red wax and bore a coat of arms she did not recognize. Not that she could recognize most coats of arms spread across London anyway, but something told her that even history enthusiasts would find it hard to place this one.
She had diligently torn through the left edge and the paper slipped out, an ugly yellow sheet that had been neatly cut into a square. Emerald green scribbles ran across it, all neatly numbered so that no information could be missed –
- N0.6, Lexington Avenue
- Midnight
- Two suspects, armed. Black cloaks.
- Check for the mark and call.
That had been everything. That was always everything. The only detail that changed every time was the address, and there had been only one other moment where the call had not been required. A former friend probably, Kat had thought to herself. Every once in a while, it had to be done.
She stood behind two oak trees that were conveniently there to give her watch over the house. No one had come in or gone out since the moment she had taken position, a good two hours before the appointment. Kat liked being early, and she did not like any surprises. Every time she heard a report in the papers of a murder attempt being foiled, she shook her head and bury her head in her hands. Amateurs, she would mutter under her breath, and then log onto her website and increase her prices by another 100 pounds. Fucking amateurs, she would say and thank her stars for them. Nothing helped a business more than people showing the world exactly how many things could go wrong.
They had spoken once on the phone before.
“Is this K?” the woman on the phone had said.
“Yes, ma’am,” she had replied.
“I saw your prices. Quite high.”
“Have you seen The Dark Knight, ma’am?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The Christopher Nolan movie. Batman?”
“I’m afraid not, dear,” she answered, with the faintest of giggles. “I’ve not caught up with the movies yet.”
“Oh, never mind then. The thing is that they prices are high because of how good I am. I can guarantee you, you won’t have to put up the same order again.”
“I was hoping you’d say something along those lines, Miss K.”
“Just K, actually.”
“Oh. Alright then, K. I’ll wire you the money and then mail you the details.”
“Sure, ma’am. My email addr…”
A loud chuckle cut her short.
“That won’t be necessary, dear. Wait for my letter.”
“Letter? What le…”
The line dropped without warning.
One of the figures paused at the corner of the street and fiddled inside the clothes, while the other kept watch carelessly. This was another thing that bothered her, when people did not come in prepared. Why, just why would anyone think that it is acceptable to pause in the middle of a would-be crime scene and fish for tools? 9 times out of 10, when someone escaped a shot, it was because the shooter spent too long trying to unholster their gun. She stood there now, a single pistol tucked safely in one of her pockets, loaded and cleaned the previous night and the silencer already screwed on. She only had to point and shoot.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the figure pulled out whatever it had been searching for. Through what little light illuminated the scene, she saw what resembled to be silvery lighter. Another one.
She knew what was coming now. She ducked a little, squinted her eyes, and waited for it. With a pop, the street light at the farthest corner of the road went out. Three more clicks, and the road was pitch dark.
Overhead, the owls seemed to have sensed it as well, and the silence took over the night. A small wooden gate creaked open, and two pairs of worn-out shoes shuffled in.
Kat edged forward, cloaked by the night for protection. With her black coat neatly tied around her waist, her jet black hair tied neatly into a bun and tucked into it, and a scarf wrapped her face until only her eyes were visible, this was the closest it was to having a cloak of invisibility.
She heard the front door being kicked in. With a crash it landed on the floor, and a scream from upstairs pierced through the night. This is where things could turn bad, provided they were an absolute idiot. More often than not, they would shut their doors from the inside, and hide under the bed. Idiots decided rushing down the stairs was a good idea.
A door banged shut.
Smiling to herself, she put in one last sprint before pouncing on to the larger of the two figures. She must have done this a hundred times before, and she would be doing this a thousand times later, and every single one of the moves was perfect. The pair went rolling and at just the right moment, she sprang to her feet and grabbed the other by the throat. Before the partner could even realize what had happened, Kat was in the room with her gun pointed and a human shield for company.
“Raise your hands in the air,” she called out calmly.
“Who are you?”
“Do it. Hands out of your cloak.”
“You don’t know what you are doing.”
“You don’t know what you are doing,” she said and emptied one round on the floor. “How long were you two imbeciles sightseeing?”
“Filthy m–” the one closer to her whispered.
“I don’t remember telling you to talk. You,” she pointed to the other. “Arms in the air, bitch.”
Reluctantly, his arms came out of the robes and up into the air. The sleeves drooped a little, revealing a pale alabaster skin and the tiniest portion of what she was looking for.
“Pull down your left sleeve,” she ordered. “And drop that excuse of a stick to the ground already. That the best you could pick up?”
Her eyes followed the man as he dropped it, and then flinch. He bit his teeth, closed his eyes as tightly as he could, and with a heavy heart, pull the sleeve down.
There it was, just as ugly as the first time she had set eyes on it. A skull, and a serpent protruding from its mouth like a snake. She had seen her share of tattoos before, and she could think of several more tasteful than this abomination. Was there anything as cliched as a skull to threaten people? Again, amateurs was all she could think.
“I suppose you have the same matching style,” she whispered to the one dying in her arms, and checked just to be sure. On his olive skin, it looked somehow even uglier, if that was even possible.
“Alright now,” she said, and emptied out his pockets. The lighter must have dropped somewhere in their scuffle, and he had nothing other than a similar stick, snapped into two now. “Reckon this would be even less helpful than the other.”
She threw it to one end of the room, and pushed him towards the other.
“Stay there. This will only take a minute,” she commanded and took out her phone.
“Hello?” the woman answered.
“Ma’am, this is K.”
“You’re early, dear. Weren’t there two?”
“Physically, yes. Mentally, about three-quarters, I’d say.”
The woman let out an honest laugh, and took her time.
“Honey, would you mind putting me on speaker phone?”
“Yes, ma’am. Hold on.”
“…”
“You’re on, now.”
“Avon, you there?” she asked.
The larger of the two stared intently at Kat in disbelief.
“Avon, speak up! This is a phone. It’s like a howler you can reply to. Fascinating, isn’t it? What the muggles can get up to if you would only leave them alone. I suppose it is Mister McCarthy with you. You two must have thought of yourselves as so clever, breaking out of our little holding cell and everything. Well, Mr. Avon, there is something worse than the dementors. Death. Death at the hands of a muggle, at the orders of someone you so hatefully call a mudblood should be even more so. Take them away, K.”
Hermione Granger stayed on the line until she heard the shots ring out and the bodies hit the ground, and not a second more. The wizards understood a lot of things, but the muggles knew a lot more about swift justice. She was the best of both worlds.
Gone Quiet 