Snow the Assassin Read online

  Snow the Assassin

  Wonderland Guardian Academy Book 4

  Pauline Creeden

  Snow the Assassin © 2019 Pauline Creeden

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Fairest of them all? What a joke. More like phoniest of them all.”

  Giggles followed the snide remark said quietly behind me, but just loud enough for me to hear. It wouldn’t be any fun for them if I didn’t hear it right? So, I got in the habit of putting my earbuds in during lunch whether I was playing music through them or not. I hadn’t yet pushed play on my phone, so it was hard to miss the harsh words my peers laid out behind me in the cafeteria.

  I sat alone in the sunny, well-lit room with a full wall of windows to the front and sides, while the service lines and kitchens remained on one side of the dining hall. Wonderland Academy had a large campus, making it easy for the kids who stayed there to have full access to their every need. At eighteen, I was one of the oldest students on campus, and I stood out a bit too much with my dark hair, striking blue eyes, and tattoos. I’d gotten the tattoos when she was home over the summer in New York. They had been a gift from my handler, signifying my assassin tribe. Assassin was a bit of a misnomer, as it wasn’t the only thing my tribe did. We were spies of a sort, more like ninjas were in Japan. But in the U.S., it would be facetious to call ourselves ninjas, as our Japanese counterparts were often trained to an extreme degree, making them even more fearless and tolerant of pain than my tribe.

  But I had trained in those techniques, too. Sticks and stones could break my bones, but words could never hurt me. With my pain tolerance as high as I’d trained for it to be, it was the words that often hurt me more than the sticks and stones. With a sigh, I pressed the shuffle button on my phone, the music blaring into my headphones as I sat in front of the chicken and cheese quesadilla that I’d ordered with extra sour cream. Beside my tray sat my favorite drink, diet Mt. Dew. I tended to chug about four to five 1-liter bottles per day. I preferred the taste to coffee, and it kept me alert no matter whether I was in class or on a mission.

  I enjoyed listening to alternative music from the 1990’s. Even though most of my classmates probably wouldn’t know the joys of listening to Nine Inch Nails or Pearl Jam, that’s what my father had listened to while raising me up, and I’d grown used to the sound even though it was all created more than a decade before I was born. I chewed through my meal in the beat of the music.

  The sudden ring in my ear made me jump, interrupting Eddie Vedder’s vocals. I pressed the button on my earphones to answer the call. “Hello.”

  “Snow, glad I caught you. Are you somewhere private?” My handler, Hunter’s voice came through the line.

  “No, I’m in the cafeteria. Let me call you back in five minutes.” I peered around. Though it was unlikely anyone would be listening to my conversation, there was still the possibility that someone might.

  “Do that,” Hunter said and hung up the line.

  I shoved one last triangle of the quesadilla in my mouth and then stood, picked up my tray and set my bottle of Mt. Dew into the crook of my arm while I carried the tray across the room to one of the trash receptacles. Still chewing, I shoved the trash in the can and set my tray on top with the others. Then I washed down the last bite with a swig from my soda. I peered around the room to be sure I wasn’t being followed and then stepped outside. Some people tend to think that hiding around the side of a building or behind bushes would be the best way to ensure that they were alone, but the reality was that going into an open field where all directions are easily seen is the better place. There’s nowhere for a spy to hide and listen to your conversation. With that in mind, I stepped out into the quad and stood between two of the large sidewalks that went across the area, standing more than thirty feet from each sidewalk. Because it was still lunch time, almost no one walked across the area. If it was warmer, there might have been some who would picnic in the grass, but no one would be stupid enough to do that on this breezy midwinter afternoon. I pulled my phone from my pocket and hit redial.

  “Snow, is it you?” Hunter’s deep voice asked.

  “10-4.” I continued to move in a slow circle, keeping an eye on all directions while not obviously turning to look each way. The only way someone could be listening to my conversation was with a listening device, and even then, they were unlikely to catch more than just my side of the conversation. And I always kept my tone clipped. “What’s up?”

  “How are classes going?”

  I sighed. I hated small talk. “Fine.”

  “Good,” he drew out the word as though he wanted to ask more, and paused after it, but then eventually, he continued. “We’re going to need you to head into D.C. There’s a political target the tribe wants you to finish off. I’ll text a picture. Your phone is still secure and you clean it every day, right?”

  “Without fail.” I put as much power into my words as possible, but I didn’t feel them. Instead, I felt weak in the knees. This would be my first true kill. And it was a political target? Were they really trusting me with something so important? My heart raced.

  “You’ll meet up with your partner at 1700 hours in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt. Your keyword is ‘blue.’ Your partner’s is ‘bird.’”

  “10-4.” I suddenly realized I’d stopped spinning when Hunter started to explain my assignment. I peered over my shoulder quickly to make sure there was no one nearby.

  “Black attire. Bring no weapons, understood?” Hunter’s sharp tone left no room for debate.

  “Understood.”

  I barely got the word out before Hunter hung up the line again. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still spinning on the spot, though the world seemed to tilt on its axis without me adding to the spin. A real assassination. The tribe was based in New York, but because they sent me to the Wonderland Academy in Crystal City, Virginia, I was merely a dozen miles from the heart of the nation’s capital. Because I often had missions there, I explored the city on my weekends to make sure I knew the environment well enough to complete any missions that came before me. They’d mostly been deliveries and stakeouts up until this moment. I’d had one spy mission to retrieve a thumb drive, but that was mostly just pick-pocketing. Now they were sending me on an assassination. Most likely I would be support for the true one pulling the assignment—whoever my partner was. But I was satisfied with that. The January breeze blew through my coat, and I p
ulled it closer to my body. Somehow, I hardly felt cold. The excitement for my mission heated me up. I peered at my phone to catch the time. I had only three hours left of school, and then two hours to get to the Grand Hyatt. Plenty of time.

  After hitting the play button on my phone and resuming Pearl Jam, I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed toward my next class.

  Chapter 2

  Mondays always moved too slow. And now that I had my mind on the mission I had in the afternoon, the rest of the day dragged on. I entered my last class, History, and peered around the room. My stomach sank as a frown tugged my lips. The desks had been arranged into groups of four. I groaned aloud. Just what I needed to make my day even better. A group project.

  I was a loner, not an outcast. Loner was an easier word to describe myself with, since I chose to be alone rather being forced into the position. When I started freshman year at the school, there were girls who wanted to be my friends, guys who wanted to date me. But I wasn’t interested. The tribe had taught me from the beginning that they were the only ones I could trust. And time and again, it had been proven as fact when my first friend at school betrayed me... and then the second.

  Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me. I’d learned my lesson.

  Rejection did funny things to people. Nice people turned harsh. Friendly people turned mean. And after being rejected by me, the classmates who’d wanted to be friendly with me soon turned into my biggest naysayers. So, needless to say, group projects weren’t the best times for me. I sighed and knew I had one of two choices. I could choose a desk in an empty cluster and those who wanted to sit with me could, or I could wait until all of the groups had filled and there was only one desk remaining for me to choose. Because I was one of the first few people to reach the classroom, I chose option A. I sat at an empty desk and opened my notebook and began drawing tribal symbols. Most people in class wouldn’t know what they meant unless they studied native cultures.

  “Mind if we sit here?” a female voice asked from my right.

  Without looking up, I answered, “Suit yourself.”

  Both she and another person sat down in two of the desks, filling seats earlier than I thought. Slowly the din around me grew more oppressive and I finally closed my notebook and looked up, straight into the eyes of Belle Parisi and the dragon shifter, Bastian. This wasn’t a bad outcome. Bastian had been an outcast, just like me, because of the beast form he took on and the superstitions surrounding it. And Belle was likely to become valedictorian of our graduating class. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for better group partners if I wanted a good grade and no drama. Which was exactly what I wanted.

  Belle smiled at me. “Snow, right?”

  Feeling a little rebellious and a lot contrite, I answered, “That’s what people here call me.”

  Belle lifted a brow. “And what do you call yourself?”

  Snow shrugged. “My full name is Thunder Snow.”

  Like most people, Belle responded with confusion. But the flicker of it doesn’t last long on her face. “That’s a powerful name. I can see why the staff here at Wonderland Academy would soften it to just Snow.”

  A smile tugged at my lip. It was the first time that someone truly understood the oppression I suffered with my name change. Although many in my tribe used Snow as a nickname for me, too, it was another to have it forced upon me. I nodded.

  “So,” Belle said, leaning in conspiratorially. “What would you prefer that I called you?”

  Laughter bubbled up. I shook her head, offering a self-deprecating smile. “You can just call me Snow. I was only having a grouchy moment. If you went around calling me Thunder Snow around here, people would either look at you like you’re crazy or find some way to mock me for it.”

  Belle leaned back and nodded, her lips turning down as she shook her head. “You’re right there. Drizella would probably jump right on that bandwagon and find some way to take the fear she feels from your name and twist it into something more manageable for her cold heart and small mind.”

  “How is it that we’ve never became friends before now?” I asked, narrowing her eyes at the girl. This was the most we’d spoken to each other, and Belle had an observant, uncanny way of expressing exactly what I had always thought but never spoken.

  Belle shrugged. “You keep to yourself and your sketchbook. I mostly keep to reading and studying. We’ve just never had this opportunity, I suppose. But we should absolutely rectify it.” She tapped on Bastian’s shoulder. “Could you please hand me my bag on the other side of you?”

  Bastian nodded as another boy sat down next to him. The boy’s eyes widened as Bastian leaned toward him to retrieve Belle’s bag. I wasn’t even a shifter, but I could smell the guy’s fear. I shook my head. People were much too superstitious. Without a word, Bastian handed the bag to Belle, who promptly pulled out her cell phone. She pushed her fingers across the screen a few times and then handed it to me with a “new contact” page open. “If you don’t mind, fill in your info and then I’ll send you a quick text. Then we’ll have each other’s numbers. Don’t worry. I’m not much of a talker, more of a texter, and I have manners. I won’t text you before 9 a.m., after 11 p.m., and never without actually having something I want to talk to you about. I’m not much for the ‘watcha doin’ text.”

  The smile that tugged my lip before pulled harder. This girl really was after my own heart. I punched in my contact info and handed Belle her phone. Belle typed in just her name in a text and then sent it to me. I picked up my phone and then added her info as a contact, too. Then the teacher headed up to the blackboard and started explaining just what it was that he was having us do in this group project. I peered back to the couple who sat across from me. Bastian seemed extra shy, like he knew why people were leery of him, but decided not to plaster on a smile just to make others comfortable. I could totally respect that.

  Together we started on the project, and by the end of class, we’d made plans to meet up again at lunch time in the cafeteria the next day, since we only had History on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and the project was due on Monday. The other boy’s name was Tom Thumb. He was a short kid who slowly got used to the rest of us dominating the conversation and just seemed happy to join the group and be told what to do. Total follower—but that was fine, since having too many leaders in a group is a bad thing.

  When the bell rang, we said our goodbyes and headed opposite directions. After popping in my headphones, I rushed across to the other side of campus where my dorm room was and slipped in quickly. The tribe opted me out of a roommate when they sent me to the academy. At the tribal grounds in New York, I lived in a barracks through middle school, so here, it was a pleasure to finally have a room of my own. I threw down my back pack and headed toward my attached, personal bathroom. My tribe paid extra for me to have the convenience of not having to use a group one. The main reason for this is so that I didn’t have to deal with other people’s scented toiletries. My soaps and shampoos were unscented. The last thing an assassin needed was for a target to smell them coming. It was also the reason I had to shower before my mission.

  Once I came out of the shower, I dried my hair quickly and spread concealer over my tattoos. Then I grabbed my mission clothes from the zipped dry cleaner bag. I had several bags of mission clothes, including evening gowns. The tribe bought me outfits and sent them to me, so I could have whatever the assignment called for. This was an all-black outfit that included both a black halter top and black zip up hoodie to cover my arms. Once dressed, I checked the time on my phone. Then I set my phone on silent and slid it into the back pocket of my jeans. After grabbing the keys to my car, I headed out the door.

  The tribe chose a nondescript, two-door coupe for me to drive. It was a common car, in a common color. The last thing they wanted was for me to stick out. I hit the unlock button as I approached and then hopped in and pressed the start button. I let the car warm up for a moment while I chose a playlist on my phone for the
drive. Satisfied with my music, I slid into drive and started for the beltway.

  Chapter 3

  I arrived at the Grand Hyatt but chose not to let the valet park my car. I found a parking garage across the street that charged by the hour and parked the car myself. This way, if the assignment went south, I knew where my vehicle was and could get to it without waiting for someone else to retrieve it. I pulled off my hoodie and bared my shoulders in the halter top. My number one goal was always to fit in as much as I could and not stand out. The best way to avoid eye contact with anyone was to hide behind sunglasses. There was just enough sun left in the day to not look strange wearing them. I headed into the lobby and found that there were several wing-backed chairs in the waiting area. I made the best choice among them, a chair in the corner with its back and one side protected by walls, that gave me full view of the room. On the wall sat a large analog clock that told me I was ten minutes early.

  I sat in the chair and crossed my legs. Then I scanned the room to see if I might recognize my partner. Our tribe only had three members in the D.C. area that I knew about. But that didn’t mean that they were the only ones. Often, we worked without knowing if there were others on assignment to watch us and make sure we kept to the assignment and didn’t go rogue. The tribe was our family and our friends. They were all that we needed.

  A moment later, a hand landed upon my shoulder. I wanted to jump out of my skin and spin around, but the last thing I needed to do was play my hand. I had no reason to be nervous if I was just your average woman waiting in the lounge of the hotel. So, instead, I slowly raised my gaze to meet the face of the man touching my shoulder. Then I truly blinked in surprise. “Hunter?”