Costello - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Stopped

Cato, 2nd dimension, present

The wind was bitter against Cato’s skin. He squinted against the winter sunlight, his ears deaf to the screaming of the crowd.

Cato held a knife at his side, his hand loose on the sleek handle. The throwing knife’s blade was dull and damaged, speckled with brown and red spots of rust. He strode to the center of the execution ring, his next victim tied with his hands behind his back. A wooden pole stood between the man’s wrists and shoulder blades, and his face had been gagged so he couldn’t scream.

The execution ring, built of thick beige blocks, rose from the dirt, and people packed tightly together, their cheers for Cato, and for their kingdom, echoing into the rest of the city.

Cato stood a few feet away from the man. He glanced up at him and his eyes focused on the man’s chest. Cato shifted, stretching out his neck and rolling out his wrist.

He threw the knife.

It landed in the man’s heart. Blood gushed from his chest. The crowd around them erupted into cheers and applause. Cato turned and walked away, brushing back his hair as he ducked under the metal gate and left the ring.

<<<>>>

Cato’s mother sat across from him at The Pedigree. He traced the cracks between the gray and blue tiles pressed into their regular table’s surface. The window beside them had the name of the coffeeshop in old, fancy script, and it cast crisp light and angular shadows on him and his mom.

Fans stood outside the shop—most of them young, unmarried women. They pointed and muttered, either unaware or uncaring how stupid they looked.

“That one looks pretty,” his mom said. She nodded, but whichever person she was talking about was unclear.

Cato rolled his eyes. His mother smiled and gave a glimpse to the other patrons in the shop. The blender whirled, droning above the calm, instrumental music. Most of the staff and patrons were used to the assassins’ presence, but some of them, young and out of place, ogled at the two of them. His mom’s smile faded as she looked back to her hands and fiddled with the ring on her finger.

As much as his mom liked to tease him about finding a partner, Cato and her both knew that assassins didn’t have the best luck when it came to finding life partners. Professional murderers were few and far between, and it wasn’t easy for a loved one to deal with the conscience behind the killer.

“She saved his life once.” His mom took a sip of her coffee. The plastic cup had a scribble that spelled her name, Undine, and it was partially obscured by her calloused fingers.

“Who?”

Undine’s eyes wandered from the fans outside to him. “Coralline.”

Cato blinked but tried not to show his surprise. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” She took another sip of her iced mocha, drizzled with caramel and chocolate syrup, and topped with an extra helping of whipped cream. She leveled her eyes with his, and they gleamed with a bit of mischief.

Cato drew back. He recognized that look in his mom’s eyes, but why was she bringing up Coralline Costello? It wasn’t the anniversary of his father’s death, and Cato couldn’t remember a time when she had ever mentioned her husband’s killer besides then.

“I just think you should know that she saved Ezra.” Undine placed her mocha on the table. “And you, once.”

Cato’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Undine faced the window. Her eyes, the same dark brown and almond-shaped ones Cato had inherited, seemed unfocused. He looked most like his mother, he knew, with the same tanned beige skin and sharp jawline, but he’d inherited his father’s thick black hair and his smile, apparently.

Undine lowered her chin. “In that street—You ran out, your father ran after you, of course, and Coralline stopped the car that would’ve hit you both.”

Cato looked into the street, watching as people in fashionable coats and suits hurried across it, clutching briefcases and leather messenger bags. They shoved through the puppy-eyed fans on the sidewalk who were still waiting for Cato and his mother to leave.

“Stopped?” Cato repeated. Coralline was infamous for the magic she’d wielded when she was alive. Stopped could have meant a dozen different things, depending on the rumors of her magic one chose to believe.

Cato’s stomach twisted at the idea that Coralline would willingly save the innocent man she later murdered.

Undine nodded. “I rushed into the street, and she stood in the center of it just staring at the car as it…” she shook her head, pursing her lips. “It was like the car had hit a light post, but there wasn’t a light post there. Either way, it didn't hit you or your father.”

“Is that why you wanted to meet me here today?” Undine didn’t usually ask to get coffee with him on the days he killed, since he was typically in a bad mood afterward. “To tell me that story?” He wasn’t sure he cared to know anything good about Coralline, not after all the other terrible things she’d done.

“I just wanted to tell you that.” His mother took another long sip of her coffee, the whipped cream slowly descending to the bottom of the cup. “It might be important for your next job.”