The look on Drew’s face fills you with fear. She’s unconstrained by morals, willing to do almost anything, and right now it seems like she’s about to kill Bea. You told Hilda that Bea knew you would keep her safe from the people that killed her father. You’re not about to let that be untrue.
You motion to Imogen and Malaika to stay in place. Malaika nods in assent immediately, she’s grown up with the Stellae and knows when to do exactly as she is told. Imogen is a little more fearful, but you drown her worries in Eldibria’s power till she nods with a grim resolve. Moving away from the girls will probably lift your cloaks protection from around them, but the three mercenaries are now far too focused on Bea to spot Malaika and Imogen.
Relying on your cloak to hide you, you move towards them briskly. You move right up behind the three, still not quite sure what to do. No, that’s not true – a simple use of your knockout sigil will render the three mercenaries unconscious. Then you save Bea and let the rest of the Stellae deal with them.
That’s when your eye catches on Gustavo’s side arm. He has a pistol like the one Drew is pointing at Bea holstered at his hip. You’ve never used a gun before – never needed to use a gun before – but your blood is boiling. They’ve threatened Bea. She’s practically your daughter.
Before you realise what’s happening, you’ve undone the holster and pulled Gustavo’s pistol from it. The gun wavers in your hand, you don’t know how to use it…
“If you aint goin’ to follow youah ordahs Gustavo,” says Drew. “I am.” She checks her aim, lining up a shot at the cowering Bea. The little girls is paralysed with terror.
…but you know someone that does know how to use a gun. You touch a finger to the back of Gustavo’s neck as lightly as you are able. You neither take his physical form, nor knock him out. Instead, a lifetime of marksmanship skills flow into your mind. It takes less than a second to tap into those skills. Slightly longer to flip off the safety and assume a relaxed firing stance. You point the gun at Drew’s unprotected head and squeeze the trigger gently.
The gun gives a sharp little retort as it fires, not what you were expecting at all. At such a close range Drew stands no chance. The bullet penetrates her head with ease and passes straight through her brain, leaving a bloody mess on the far side of her head as it exits. Blood splatters everywhere, the walls, the carpet and even onto Bea who can only whimper in terror.
Drew’s body stands for a few seconds before it collapses, robbed on any controlling impulse. Her corpse folds up as it falls to the floor, the ruined head lolling just inches away from where Bea is hiding.
The shot immediately alerts the two remaining mercenaries, they spin round the room, looking for the source.
“What the fuck,” shouts one. He spots Malaika and Imogen, now that they are out from under the protection of your cloak, and aims his gun at them. “Where’d these bitches come from?”
“Hold your fire Rice,” shouts Gustavo. There’s more than little hysteria in his voice. “Do they look like they’ve got a fucking gun?”
“Someone offed Drew,” he spits. “I say ice these cunts before I get whacked too.”
“Nobody’s shooting anyone Travis,” replies Gustavo. He looks down and spots the empty holster. “Shit, my sidearm’s gone.”
“Fuck this shit,” screams Travis. Imogen and Malaika tremble as he as he waves his gun at them. “I say kill ‘em.”
You give him no chance to follow up on that sentiment. One step forward puts you right beside him. You lift Gustavo’s pistol and press it against Travis’ forehead. He never sees you pull the trigger. Travis’ body joins Drew’s on the floor. Fitting punishment for threatening your family.
The one remaining mercenary, looks round frantically, trying to spot the hidden force attacking his teammates. Whatever cool veneer he projected as he entered the room is gone. The copy of his own memories in your head tells you he’s panicking: His grip on his gun is loosened, he’s not scanning the room thoroughly and the blood has drained from his face. He isn’t thinking clearly and you don’t want him doing anything stupid like firing wildly round the room – that would put the girls at risk. You raise the pistol one last time and pull the trigger twice. Gustavo’s corpse falls besides his comrades.
You flip the safety on the gun and drop it beside him. Then you purge his memories from your collection. The last wisps of your cloak float free of your grasp as you stand there unmoving.
Bea is the first to move. She crawls out from her hiding place and jumps to her feet. Then she runs to you and buries her head in your side. “You killed them,” she says, her voice muffled. Is there an accusatory tone there? You aren’t sure.
“They were going to kill you,” you say flatly. “You and Imogen and Malaika. I would not let that happen.” You surprise yourself, such is the venom you put into that last statement.
“I know,” whispers Bea. You rub her back with one hand.
Imogen joins you and you find yourself hugging both girls tightly. Malaika, though, does not. She walks round the room slowly, almost as if in a trance. She takes in the scene, the three dead bodies, the blood splattered everywhere, the gun so carelessly discarded and you, standing amidst it all. Malaika kneels besides the remains of one of the mercenaries, Gustavo, and dips a finger in the blood pooling beside his corpse.
“Was is necessary to kill them,” she asks slowly and deliberately, staring right at you.
Was it necessary? You find yourself suddenly regretting your actions. Though you are no stranger to death, you’ve seen it many times since you joined the Stellae, you’ve never been so directly responsible for someone’s death as you are today. Guilt bubbles up within you.
“I couldn’t let them hurt you,” you answer. “Not you, not Imogen and not Bea.” Malaika says nothing, she just stares at you wordlessly. The sense of guilt builds, reaching higher and higher. Malaika is right, you could just have easily knocked the three soldiers out. “It made me angry,” you admit. “Knowing that they were going to hurt Bea. I wanted to hurt them back.”
The admission makes you feel better. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but Grandma Shabbleman’s imago shifts uncomfortably within you.
“Maybe you should see Imam el-Bayoumi,” says Malaika. Of course, she’s lived nearly half her life in Europe and knows the Egyptian Lurga better than Father Ed, or Frank for that matter. She’s right too, you realise. The thought of Ed cawing at your momentary weakness does not appeal.
The door from the function suite opens before you can reply to Malaika. Rosalie steps falteringly into the room, her poise shattered. Half her hair now hangs loosely down the side of her face and her white dress is ripped and torn. Blood is splattered across it and it is not her own.
“You’re safe Siobhan,” says Rosalie, her voice weak. It is as if she has suddenly aged ten years since you saw her last. “Thank the stars.”
Joe follows in behind Rosalie. His face is uncharacteristically hard. “We heard shots,” he says grimly. You nod in reply, lifting one hand from round Imogen and pointing at the bodies of the mercenaries. “Rick and Frank dropped a group of them coming in from the kitchen. Miko dealt with a team in the garden. You got them yourself?”
“Used my cloak and shot them with their own pistols,” you say tiredly.
“That’s not like you,” frowns Rosalie.
“I’ll speak with Ed before I leave,” you say quietly. Rosalie acknowledges your reply with a short nod.
“Is everyone ok,” interrupts Malaika. Rosalie hesitates for a few seconds and glances at Joe. “Everyone is ok, aren’t they,” repeats Malaika, her mouth quivering.
Rosalie stares at the floor. “I’m sorry Malaika,” she says. “Hilda is hurt pretty bad. I don’t think she’s going to pull through.”
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