Chapter 1: Chapter 0: Who Is It You Want to Kill?

Gerard squeezed his ceremonial coin as he read The Heimilis Sentinel’s headline on his computer again. The Restitution Controversy: Narcissa Richmond Refuses to Return The Maker’s Tear to the Dilmurid!

Waves crashed one after another behind his eyelids. Why…? They had done as she asked and collected half a million crowns. So why? Why did she reject their offer? What was the point?

He scrolled down, revealing a picture of Narcissa flaunting the tear-shaped diamond necklace which dangled around her neck. Its red shade glistened with the verdant fur coat she sported and blended with the wine-red color she had dyed her shoulder-length curls.

The beauty of it all left a sour tang in his mouth. How could she of all people wear one of The Tears? It was a gift from The Qirik, a reminder of why they practiced nonviolence. It was not some overblown celebrities’ trinket!

He lowered his gaze to the statement Narcissa issued. “I find myself more attached to this necklace than I thought I’d be. I can’t give it up for half a million crowns, but maybe a full million?”

She’s just moving the goalposts.

Worst of all, there was nothing they could do. The law was on her side – the precedent having been set the last time they tried to use the courts to retrieve one of The Twenty Tears. The fact they only lost them because of The Great Upheaval didn’t matter.

His grip around his coin tightened and its skull engravings dug into his skin. There had to be something they could do! But what? Stealing it was the only option left. However, The Qirik forbade theft.

But would it count as theft if they were taking back what was theirs?

He unfurled his hand, glimpsed at the gold coin, then averted his gaze from The Qirik’s skeletal image. The rules were clear; a theft was a theft, no matter the intent.

If he acted on such feelings, The Qirik would deny him once his soul was freed from his current shell. If he were denied, he’d have to reincarnate and deal with all this misery yet again.

I must endure this. I must act as I would recommend.

If someone came to him while he performed his duties, he’d tell them that it was unfair, but that retaliating would only bring them down to the adversary’s level and perpetuate the problem. How could they expect to spiritually rise if they couldn’t morally?

More importantly, he’d tell them the unfairness was proof that the spirits who rebelled against The Qirik, who founded Oreda and brought about the dawn of civilization, were mistaken. The unfairness was proof that The Qirik’s way was the only way if one wished to exist in eternal peace and prosperity.

Not being able to do anything is for the best. Thinking about taking back The Maker’s Tear was nice, but that is where it had to end if The Qirik was to welcome him back into paradise.

---

Nine months passed, during which time Gerard divorced his thoughts from The Maker’s Tear and Narcissa Richmond. Whenever she appeared in the media, he ignored her. Whenever The Maker’s Tears came up, he told himself it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Day in and day out, he acted as he was supposed to. Everything went the same as it always did until the day a bespectacled girl with a caramel ponytail visited his church and requested to speak with him.

He found her in a pew, a brown satchel by her side and scripture in her hands. She noticed him as he approached then rose, revealing her shortness, and bowed her head.

“Good day to you, Mr. Turner,” she said, her voice as subdued as her wardrobe. Her flannel shirt – light pink, long-sleeved, and loose – concealed whatever figure she had while blue jeans and white sneakers covered her lower body. She seemed more wholesome than most teenagers, assuming she was a teen. Her smooth creamy skin and freckled face suggested as much.

“Likewise,” he said. “Though I’m sorry, I haven’t caught your name.”

“Athena. I’m Athena Whitwick.”

“Well hello, Miss Whitwick. It's a blessing to meet you. Can we be of help to you?”

“Actually, I'd like to be of service to you today.” She rummaged through her satchel, plucked out a black cloth, and smoothly unwrapped it. She extended her hand and revealed a tear-shaped, red diamond necklace.

His brows sprung up. “It...it can't be! How did you get this?!"

“It's a family heirloom. I don't know how my family got this, but whatever. I'm sorry if we hurt your people.”

The pendant mesmerized Gerard, but he shook his head, breaking its spell. “We'll have to get this verified first. If it is one of The Tears, there's a reward of—”

She pushed the pendant into his hands. “I don't care. Righting an injustice is reward enough.”

Gerard began to open his mouth, but then stopped and peered at The Maker’s Tear. This can't be real… He clenched it and its polished, oily surface pressed against his hand. It was real. It was real and the girl was real. Everything worked out.

He touched her shoulder with his free hand. “Thank you. You've no idea how valuable this is.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“If there's ever anything I or the church can do for you—”

Her lips flickered into a frown, but then she arched them back up. The smile, however, paled when compared with before.

“Is something the matter?” Gerard asked.

“Not at all,” she said as her gaze flitted over to the doorway.

“If there's anything troubling you, we are here for you. Please don't be afraid to lean on us.”

"…Is it true that if there's something someone wishes to get off their chest, you all promise absolute confidentiality about anything shared?"

"We won't betray your secrets.” He smiled. “And I'm happy to lend my ear."

"I…" She dropped her head and sighed. "I'm sorry, but can I have a moment?"

"Take all the time you need."

She crumbled back into the pew, clasped her hands around her head, and stared at the spiral pattern which lined the carpet. The church’s clock tower clicked and clacked as Gerard waited for her decision. Once the clock reached the minute marker, she poked up her head.

"There is something I'd like to discuss, but is it alright if we do this elsewhere? In a few days from now?"

“Why do you want to speak somewhere else?”

“Never mind.” She snatched her satchel and stood. “I won't bother you—”

“It's not a bother! I was curious, nothing more. If you don't want to talk, don’t worry. This situation isn’t unheard of. We just need to register where it’ll happen and have a background check done on you.”

She appraised him. “Here.” She pulled out a piece of paper and pen from her satchel and jotted down a number. “Call me when you're ready.”

---

Three days passed after Athena Whitwick exited the church, during which Gerard turned over The Maker’s Tear to their high priest, who contacted their HQ, who confirmed its authenticity and whisked it off to their central temple. Afterward, the church hired an outside service to inspect Athena Whitwick. She passed every test.

Gerard contacted her without any worries, and they made a deal to meet at a lounge bar in Himitus’ entertainment district called The Crooked Warden. When the night came, he changed into his casual wear and drove into the city.

Once he pushed open the heavy door to the bar, a storm of babble struck his ears while colognes, spices, and beer assaulted his nostrils. A crowd of people packed the building; some huddled around the counter – where an attractive male bartender performed stunts – while others dined in front of the televisions mounted on the wall.

Gerard traversed between the occupied booths, skimming each for Athena.

"Gerard Turner?" an aloof voice asked.

He spun around to a suit-clad man with light bronze skin, gray eyes, and crow-black hair which he had groomed back. A pair of sunglasses atop his forehead capped off his appearance.

Gerard squinted. Aside from his face appearing as smooth as marble, the man revealed nothing about himself. He had a medium height, a slim yet powerful build, and wasn’t particularly handsome or hideous. Had the man never said anything to him, he would’ve blended with everything else.

"Gerard Turner?" the man repeated.

"Um, yes I am, sorry. And you are?"

"Here to escort you. Athena’s waiting in the VIP room upstairs." The man pointed towards a carpeted stairway. "You first."

With the black-suited man, Gerard hiked up the stairs. He cast a glance and forced a smile back partway through, but not a flicker of emotion surfaced on the man's face. His eyes exhibited nothing but a mechanical focus.

Upon reaching the hallway at the top, the suited man clutched Gerard's shoulder. "Wait." He passed by Gerard and positioned himself in front of the crimson padded double door which resided at the end of the corridor. "Athena has two requests before you enter. First, turn off your phone and leave it with me. You'll get it back when this is over. Second, you let me check you with this for any bugs."

He drew out a chrome block from his jacket pocket and extended an antenna from the top.

"Uh, if you don't mind me asking, why all the secrecy?" Gerard asked. "Her background check didn't say anything about all this."

"She'll explain everything if you go inside. It’s your call if you go any further. I just can't let you pass until this is taken care of.”

Gerard peeked back at the stairs. Would anybody blame him for backing out? None of this was what they agreed on. Nor was it too late to turn back. Then again, he had given his word. And she had given them The Maker’s Tear, free. Even if she hadn't, she had asked for help. What kind of priest, let alone person, would he be if he turned away? He removed his cellphone from his pocket. "Do what you must." 

The man collected the phone, ran the device up his body from toe to head, and then studied the results. "Alright, you can enter. Just don't try anything."

The man stepped to the side, out of the walkway. Gerard trudged to the door, pushed it open, and crossed the threshold.

Silence and the sweet fragrance of strawberries replaced the blather and odors of below. Bright lights showered down from the ceiling to reveal a spacious room with a coral carpet, crown-gold walls, and framed television monitors which transitioned between various artworks, none of which he recognized.

The projected paintings weren't the only thing he didn't recognize. He also couldn't recognize the lady who lounged opposite the entrance in one of the beige club chairs which furnished the room.

Gerard's breath stopped and his mouth moistened as he gawked.

She was as much a work as the paintings: she possessed clear creamy skin; a well-formed, moderate-sized bosom; a diamond-shaped face; longbow lips which were painted pink; a long, straight nose; feline jade eyes; and long, straight red hair which she stylized with a front fringe and side locks which spilled down her shoulders.

Like her ally, she boasted a predominantly black suit. Hers featured a choker necklace, a jacket which harmonized with her white blouse and red tie, a skirt which reached her knees, stockings, and heels. The ensemble melded with her lithe figure as well as two interlocking puzzle pieces would one another.

"Good evening, Mister Turner,” she said, her voice smooth and articulate. “Thank you for coming. I offer my sincerest apologies for the cloak and dagger routine. My circumstances forced me to tread with caution. May I interest you in a drink? I can conjure up whatever concoction you desire, so long as it's non-alcoholic."

"You're… not Athena Whitwick…"

She had a grace about her Athena lacked. She sat with perfect posture, legs crossed, her hands folded on her lap. She wore a smile which could disarm an army.

"I am, depending on how you perceive things. Athena Whitwick is one of the guises I assume whenever I conduct fieldwork which requires anonymity."

"Then who are you? And what do you want?"

She tilted her head and propped her chin against her palm. "You don't know? Peculiar…" Her lips bent into a tiny grin. "My name is Cassidy Cain. I am heiress to the Cain fortune and all which lies within its reach."

His eyes widened. How could someone live in The Republic of Heimilis and not recognize her last name? Her family’s conglomerate broadcasted it everywhere they did business. Telecommunications, television and movie productions, internet services, journalism, publishing, video game systems – all those and more were connected to Cain International in some form or another.

"As for what I seek, I've been forthright from the onset. I wish to speak with you in private and the church failed to offer the same solace as this bar. Would you please take a seat?"

She beckoned Gerard in, but he remained still, his legs locked. How could he just walk in and sit down with her? How could he go any further without knowing what was going on?

“W-why did you need to disguise yourself?”

"Anonymity," she said playfully, "as I stated twenty seconds ago."

"But why? What's so different about this than anything else you—"

A light touch pressed against Gerard's back and shoved him forward. He stumbled in, caught himself, and twisted around to spot the black-suited man drawing the double doors shut. They came together with a clunk.

You are reading story The Confessions of Cassidy Cain (Grandmaster of Theft #1) at novel35.com

Cassidy sighed. "I apologize, he can be… protective."

Gerard looped back to Cassidy, who pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Well, I pay him to protect me, so I suppose I shouldn't complain. Regardless, the seat is still on the table, so to speak." She gestured towards the armchair across from her. "It's more comfortable than the doorway."

Gerard swallowed hard. He couldn't allow himself to be intimidated. She hadn't even done anything worth being intimidated by yet, beyond the secrecy – which she must have had a good explanation for. He had to go along with things and see how it went. He advanced into the room and eased into the seat. Its soft cushion absorbed him the second he touched.

"See?" she said. "I told you so."

"Y-yes, you did.” His back sank deeper into the chair. "So, uh, before we begin, is there anything you prefer I call you?"

"Cassidy should suffice, seeing as it is my name." She leaned in closer. Her lips edged into a smirk. Her voice sank to a whisper. "I wouldn’t mind you calling me The Grandmaster of Theft either, so long as it’s in private.”

His mouth gaped. The Grandmaster of Theft was a boisterous vigilante who made a spectacle out of targeting the upper echelon, institutions, and other criminals. “Y-y-you can’t be serious.”

She snickered as she melted back into the cushion. “I suspected you might not believe me. Peek beneath your chair. It should make the truth abundantly clear.”

He did as she instructed and found a small, white cardboard box.

“Open it,” she said.

He popped the top off. Then his breath hitched. Two items occupied the box. The first was a white business card with The Grandmaster of Theft’s insignia – a red fox head and wavy fox tail beneath the head. The second, next to the card, was a tear-shaped red diamond necklace.

“Please return that before you leave. I’ve a potential buyer lined up for it.”

“How could you—” Gerard clutched The Maker’s Tear. “Do you understand the value of this? The true value?”

She stroked her chin. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but they’re a symbol for peace, a byproduct from ‘the universe’s creator’ attempt to preemptively slay their twin, for fear they’d destroy their creations.”

“If you understand that,” he said, his voice sharp, “why wouldn’t you want to return it? It’s true significance becomes lost when people reduce it to trinkets.”

“I doubt you’ll appreciate that necklace as much as I do, seeing as it’s not one of The Twenty Tears.”

“…What?”

Cassidy covered her mouth and suppressed a laugh. “Need I remind you that I already returned the actual Maker’s Tear? That is a replica. A well-constructed replica, but a replica nonetheless.”

He swallowed the lump that came to his throat. “Why do you have a fake?”

“I already told you why: I’m The Grandmaster of Theft.”

He took her in as if she was an abstract painting. Although everything she said made sense, it didn't add up. The Grandmaster wouldn't just up and admit she's The Grandmaster. It wasn't thief-like. Or was it? It's not like he knew her or how she thought. Plus, the confessional did protect her from any danger, so she didn’t have any reason to lie.

"But how?” Gerard asked. “How can you possibly be a master thief? Especially at such a young age?"

"I thank you for your compliment, but I don't consider myself a master. The Grandmaster of Theft is a title I conceived for psychological warfare. As the saying goes, reputation precedes.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

“You’re incorrect. It answers part of the equation. People perceive me as a master criminal, which enables me to perform in ways I otherwise might not. Perception is power.”

"Can't that only go so far? You have to do something to back it up."

"Being fortunate in ways which extend beyond my, well, fortune helps. For instance, the man who escorted you here is one of my accomplices. His name is Augustus Wynn. Should you ever speak with him again, please address him as Wynn and Wynn alone. He's not particularly fond of his given name. Anyway, on the surface, he's my bodyguard and chauffeur. In the criminal underworld, there are numerous names for what he does: heavy, muscle, hitter, enforcer, troubleshooter. You can select whichever you prefer. The task is fundamentally the same."

His toes curled. There was one word to describe what he did which she didn’t use: thug.

"But why do you do it?” he asked. “How…"

A shiver slivered up his spine.

Cassidy frowned. "How…?"

His heart hammered harder and harder. What would happen to him if he said the wrong thing? Would she send Wynn after him? Did she have a plan to make him disappear? His hands trembled. What would’ve stopped her from going so far?

“Do you wish to have that drink now?” she asked.

He closed his eyes, shook his head. He couldn’t be in danger. Why would she return The Maker’s Tear, arrange this meeting, and share her secrets if she planned to hurt him? She was up to something but hurting him wasn’t her goal. "I don't understand how you can bring yourself to do this."

She placed her hand to her jaw, closed her eyes, and hummed. "Mr. Turner, if you don't mind me asking, why are you a priest? Why are you a Dilmurid?"

He blinked. “To help people, of course.”

"Then we’ve common ground. I too wish to help others. What's more, I possess the power to help others. I possess the power to make a difference other people cannot. And what's the point of possessing this power if I fail to wield it?"

“But why must you be a criminal? How does being a criminal help anyone? If you want to help people, there are other options out there. Especially for someone like you.”

Her lips puckered. Had he hit a nerve? If he had, what would she do? Would she call her thug back in?

She curled her lips back into a smile. "How familiar are you with The Ciyabal Purge?"

His brows rocketed. "What about it?"

"Are you familiar with how your people's pacifism came into conflict with King Maik's mandatory military draft?”

He clenched his teeth together. "Yes."

"Then I needn't go on about how Maik outlawed the worship of The Qirik, how he had your people slaughtered, your temple ransacked, and how the survivors fled? Or the aftermath? Oh! Have you read Legacy Lost—"

"Stop! I don't need to hear anymore…"

"You’re correct about me being born lucky. I possess alternatives. The same cannot be said for those I aid. Case in point, how well were your people fairing without me?”

Gerard averted his gaze. She clearly wanted him to acknowledge her methods and her “benevolence.” That wasn’t going to happen. First, could her actions really be called benevolent if she did it so she would be recognized as a hero? Second, forcing one’s will on another was wrong, no matter the reason. The Twenty Tears existed because that truth was ignored. By stealing The Maker’s Tear from Narcissa, Cassidy had violated the very ideals it stood for.

But at least she did something, a part of him said.

She had acted when nobody else would. She didn't let Narcissa get away with her antics. She had brightened his and many other disciple’s days by returning The Tear. How could he not at the very least acknowledge her intent? How could he not feel some measure of gratitude?

“If it’s any consolation,” she said, her voice wistful, “I wish your way was fruitful. However, it's a naive fantasy. Strength recognizes strength. If one wishes to contend with predators, they mustn’t wield philosophy or love. Those mean nothing to them. The only thing they care about, the only thing which can keep them in check is power. Of course, not everybody is suited for the role. It requires a mindset which I suspect is foreign to the common man. Luckily, as you stated, I’m anything but common. I’m…well, I suppose you could say I’m a predator with distinct tastes.”

Beads of sweat formed on Gerard’s forehead as he wondered if she was his fault. He had wanted something like this to happen. He wanted The Maker’s Tear returned. Worse, he wanted Narcissa hurt. He wanted everybody like her hurt. He hoped for someone else to take the actions which he never would. Now that someone had, was he to blame for their manifestation?

"I'm sorry,” Gerard said, “but I’m not sure I can be of any help."

He rose to his feet and his regard flew to the door.

“Please wait a moment," Cassidy said, her voice smooth once more. “I didn’t disclose all that for the sake of disclosure.”

Gerard – his back towards Cassidy and his front facing the door – stopped and twisted his head towards her.

“I simply wished for us to be on the same page,” she continued. “It’s imperative for my request.”

“Please tell me why you went through all this trouble.”

“There's a role I wish for you to assume in an upcoming operation."

He hastened to the door. "I will not be an accomplice to any crimes."

"I'm not asking you to. Quite the opposite; I wish for you to convince me to not commit a crime."

He faltered then spun back around while saying, "What?!”

"My grandfather once told me that sometimes the best approach to overcoming a problem is to introduce someone who possesses an alternate perspective from those already embroiled. They might possess an idea which would have otherwise gone unnoticed. I've such a dilemma and you see the world in a way I do not. Ergo, you might possess the answer I seek. So, would you be so kind as to help me?"

Her eyes, in contrast to her self-assured aura, pled for him to stay.

Gerard swallowed back a lump. He couldn't leave. Not when she was genuinely trying to do good, even if her methods were suspect. “I'll need to know what the crime is first.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Murder."

"You're planning to murder someone?!"

Her smile broadened, though her lips remained tightly closed. “Although we are in a private room, I'll thank you to not scream anything else we discuss. Or at all.”

His heart thudded.

“And for the record, I've yet to plan the deed. I'm simply entertaining the idea.”

“What's there to even think about? Why would you think about it?”

“There's this… calling them a person is generous, but it'll suffice. I recently encountered a person who has forced me to contemplate taking their life. It's perplexing, to say the least. On one hand, I rather not kill anyone. These lives we lead are, to the best of my knowledge, all we have and will ever have. To take a life is to take everything. I'm not comfortable with that.”

Gerard furrowed his brows. “If you are against killing, why even think about it?”

"…Because there are some things in this world which cannot and should not be tolerated or absolved."

Her nails, which bit into her chair's arms, betrayed her composed demeanor.

"Before I continue, allow me to make one thing clear: I will punish this person for what they've done. Do not squander my time with any attempts to persuade me to do otherwise or try to interfere with my operations. While I've no desire to harm you, I'll do what I must if you force my hand. Do you understand?"

Gerard's legs jellied. Her voice was as sweet as ever, her face as serene as when she welcomed him. If she were bluffing, how would he know? Even if she was, she didn't seem worth testing.

"I guess it's a good thing you're trying to think of alternatives to murder at least…" He returned to the chair. "So, who is it you want to kill? You’ve been talking around them."

"You're going to wind up raising all sorts of questions if I simply tell you who they are and what they've done. What's more, I’d rather you understand why I feel as I do before you pass judgment. If I'm to do this any justice, I'll have to share with you all the details surrounding how I acquired The Maker’s Tear.”

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