Appearances

            The main question on Rachel Hirosawa’s mind was how her cousin was able to survive this long in d’Auvigne territory.  According to her briefing notes (which were much too brief for her taste), Trent had rented Château Iolanthe in St. Verde for the past several months, yet somehow managed to stay off their radar.  Rachel was growing anxious for an explanation; the d’Auvignes were an highly prescient family, with the uncanny ability to smell their enemies from miles away.  Trent must have a set some sort of record, because for all intents and purposes, he should’ve died the very day he dared to set foot on their land.

            Then again…it almost made sense, not only that he’d lasted this long, but that he was the Hirosawa sent here in the first place.  Trent himself had the mind and methodology of a d’Auvigne; it was one of the reasons she preferred to keep minimum safe distance from him.  Rachel considered herself a soldier; like any true Hirosawa, she put her faith in her weapons first.  But with Trent, she was unsure of where his faith lay.

            In the Hirosawa family, one of the prime indicators of a man’s nature was his hair.  If he wore it short, stylish, and regularly trimmed like her twin brother Nathaniel, he was most likely a stoic, no-nonsense businessman…except in rare instances.

            Rachel shuddered slightly, momentarily thinking of her cousin Benjiro who came from a long-disowned branch of the Hirosawa family.  He always wore his hair short and was never seen out of a perfectly tailored suit.  He smiled like an angel and was almost always perfectly cordial in conversation.  Were it not for his necrophilic tendencies, Benjiro would’ve seamlessly passed for human.

            Rachel’s older brother Michael, however, wore his hair very long, and didn’t bother to smooth out its waves.  There were a few others in the Hirosawa family who did this; they argued that it was an ancestral look, but the truth was they were the wilder, more rebellious types who felt caged in their suits.  Like Michael, they tended to thoroughly botch missions and end up with all their familial privileges revoked.  Rachel had heard of a cousin in Britain whom the Elders never even bothered to send on mission before because his nature was so untamed.  Apparently, he sang in some sort of underground rock band now.  The mere thought of such a life made Rachel sick to her stomach.

            And this was why she was worried about this mission.  Trent’s mission here in St. Verde was quite similar to that of Michael’s back in Cherrywood, except on a much more important level.  In all their centuries of existence, Governor Thierry Juneau was the highest ranking politician the Hirosawa had ever acquired.  She didn’t know much about him personally, but the Elders had assured he was very compatible with their way of their thinking.  They said the Hirosawa mentality ran in the Juneau family.

            Normally, this would have relieved Rachel, but she remained skeptical.  The Hirosawa mindset was a rare and unusual one, and something told her that while Thierry and his father might have it, this Arienne woman might not.

            Which brought her back to her concerns about Trent; she’d never been able to read him very well.  He wore his hair stylishly cut, but it reached his neck, and though he was a seasoned businessman and consummate professional, he had Michael’s humor and gregarious personality.  She wondered if it was an act; after all, it would not avail Trent’s mission if he were a rigid, unblinking Vulcan like Nathaniel.  A cold demeanor would intimidate potential acquisitions, while a warm one would be more entreating.  And this was precisely where Trent reminded her of a d’Auvigne: he was charming, personable, and his lies were completely undetectable.

            Were his surname not so infamous, he would’ve made the perfect politician.

            Rachel decided to shove her concerns aside and focus on the task at hand.  Whatever Trent was doing; he was clearly good at it.  So good, in fact, that he was able to bring another Hirosawa onto d’Auvigne land undetected.  Rachel smirked; she’d been riding in her limousine for over three hours now and it hadn’t blown up yet.  So either Trent had mastered a new level of discretion, or the d’Auvignes were slipping.  Either way, she was grateful.

            She’d never been to St. Verde before, but it clearly lived up to its name; she’d never seen so much green in her life.  Even now, as autumn firmly took hold, the waters, bridges, and building walls were still covered in green.  Her fascination ended as soon as limo crossed town and approached the tall, austere-looking châteaux in the northernmost region of the valley.  The mists hung low here, shrouding the high rooftops and obscuring the mountains.

            Rachel suddenly missed sunny, bubbly Cherrywood with its busy streets and lively population.  Despite being a tourist spot, St. Verde was in the middle of nowhere, and this particular portion looked like something out of a demented Gothic romance, right down to the mute, grim-looking housekeeper who opened the front double doors and led her inside to one of several sitting rooms.

            With her form-fitting black suit and short, high-lighted hair, Rachel Hirosawa felt very much like a city girl exiled to the country.  She wondered if this odd place had affected Trent at all, made him any weirder than she remembered.  As it turned out, it had.

            Even though he looked the same, walked, talked, and moved the same, she could tell there was something a little off about him.  There was a strange, unfamiliar, yet still unreadable look to his slender dark eyes.  Though he was in his mid to late thirties, Trent appeared considerably younger, except in his eyes.  He’d stayed in shape; his shoulders were strong and his broad chest seemed solid, as did his arms and legs.  He’d grown paler, no doubt from prolonged sun deprivation.  Rachel inwardly cringed at the thought of her losing her sun-kissed golden skin in these mountains of the damned.

            “Rachel,” Trent greeted politely, wearing a suit even in the privacy of his own home, “I trust your journey was comfortable.”

            “It was,” she nodded warily, keeping her eyes on him.  Out the corner of her eye, however, she noticed something which bothered her deeply.

            Trent had decorated his home; in addition to filling his sitting rooms with comfortable furniture, there was art on the walls, statuary on pedestals, and crimson curtains and drapes throughout the house.  Red appeared to be Trent’s favorite color; every swath of cloth, every rug, and every cushion was some dark shade of red.  It reminded Rachel of blood.

            He’s a Hirosawa, all right.

“You’ve nested,” she remarked, keeping her voice neutral, as Trent gestured for her to take a seat.  He nodded to his gray-haired housekeeper who wordlessly turned away like a zombie and left.  “With a precarious mission like yours, settling in is impractical.”

            Trent smiled at her, seemingly amused as he took a seat opposite hers, lounging back and crossing one long leg over the other.

            “I’m in the business of politics, Rachel,” he reminded her, his voice as calm and steady as ever.  “Half of the job is keeping up the image.  I have…meetings here, and in order to gain my guests’ cooperation, it behooves me to make them feel as comfortable as possible.”

            Rachel allowed herself a tiny smirk.  “Even though you’re not supposed to be here, and technically don’t exist.”

            Trent bowed his head.  “Even so.”

            “How?” she demanded, finally giving into her curiosity.  “How have you managed to avoid detection this long?  The d’Auvignes should’ve mailed your corpse back to us months ago.”

            “As you know,” Trent chuckled, “the d’Auvignes are--in their own way--a deeply spiritual family.  They entertain countless superstitions.”

            Rachel nodded.  “I’m familiar with a few.”

            “Ironically, their superstitions protect me from their usually omniscient gaze; they think this region is haunted,” Trent mused.  “They bought these lands almost a century ago and then built these châteaux as a depository for their less tolerable kin.  Some were sent here for exile when they displeased the family; the old and sick were sent here to die.”

            “Either way, they got to do so in style,” Rachel snorted.  “These houses might seem dreary now, but in their heyday they were no doubt quite stunning.  They’re still stunning, in point of fact.”  As it was, Trent’s monthly payments were costing the family a fortune.

            Her cousin flashed his smile again, the polite, inscrutable one which didn’t reach his eyes.

            “Prison is prison,” he said simply, “no matter the quality of the confines.”

            Rachel remained unconvinced.  “Tell that to a prisoner who’s rotting in a hole.”

            “Touché,” Trent snickered.  “Speaking of prisoners and rotting…how’s Michael?”

            “He loathes Cherrywood,” Rachel replied honestly.  “He was quite furious the day he learned he couldn’t leave it.  But that’s the price he has to pay for failure.”

            Trent’s jaw tightened; there was a flicker in his eyes which she guessed meant anger.  He would not stand for being compared to Michael.  After all, Michael’s mission had been far less significant, making his failure that much worse.  To even imply Trent could suffer a similar fate was likely blasphemy in his eyes.

Rachel inwardly smiled; it would seem reading her cousin was not impossible after all.

Trent took pride in his work; that was good.  It seemed few Hirosawa did anymore.  He was dedicated and had admittedly accomplished a great deal with little direct help from the family.  That was outstanding.  But the once unreadable Trent was now showing his anger a little too easily, and Rachel wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.

“I have arranged apartments for you…not that you’ll need sitting rooms, studies, or libraries,” Trent said suddenly, and there was a leaden tone to his voice now.  “Second floor, eastern wing.  You’ll find a gown waiting on your bed,” he added with subtle relish.

Rachel laughed before she could stop herself.  “You can’t be serious.”

“I also scheduled a stylist to drop by this evening to do…something with your hair,” Trent continued, giving her the onceover.  Clearly, her chin-length cut didn’t appeal to him.  “We’re having dinner at Château Amaranthe with the Governor’s wife.  Arienne finally arrived today, and I don’t want her getting the wrong impression.”

She raised an eyebrow.  “So you want me to wear a dress and play the genteel lady…for Arienne’s benefit?  I don’t understand.”

“Image, Rachel,” he reminded her, and there was just slight tinge of impatience to his words.  He looked her squarely in the eyes, as though to further drill in his message.  “While the Governor and his wife are more than aware of what we are, Arienne is not; in order for this to work, she must never be.  So that means the suits, the silencers, and the stoicism will have to go on holiday while you’re here.  You will smile, sip champagne, make polite conversation, and look positively spellbound when she performs her aria tonight.”

Rachel blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly.  “Aria?  She sings opera?”

Trent’s face reverted back to its familiar unreadable state.  When he spoke, his voice betrayed nothing.

“Arienne’s not famous, but she has performed on some great stages.  Thierry has provided me with several recordings of her work; he even asked me to select the aria she’s singing tonight.”

First the gown, and now this.  Rachel blinked again, suddenly having trouble recognizing her cousin.  Just when she thought she was beginning to figure him out, he baffled her again.

“You mean…you asked for a performance?” she demanded incredulously.  “You could’ve set up a quick, quiet, simple introductory dinner, and yet you went and asked for her to sing us some opera?”

It was now his turn to raise an eyebrow.  “Again, Rachel, in order for this to work, we have to make some sacrifices.  Opera’s become…an acquired taste for me,” Trent mused.  “Once I learned Arienne Juneau was an opera singer, it seemed strategically sound to learn everything I could.  Would you like to hear some Puccini while you freshen up?  Tosca is perhaps his most famous opera; Arienne will be singing an aria from it tonight.”

“No, thanks,” Rachel snorted.  “I would, however, like to know my story.  I take it the Juneaus already know you have a cousin visiting you.”

“No,” Trent replied.  “You’re actually going to be a surprise.  And as far as they’re concerned, you’ve just flown in from Los Angeles where you were visiting relatives.  You plan to stay here for a few weeks before moving onto Europe.”  His eyes narrowed.  “Do not mention Cherrywood, Michael, or Nathaniel--those names will ring a bell for Thierry and I prefer for him to know less about me than I know about him.”

“Why am I really here?” Rachel asked finally.  “I mean, I know I’m supposed to assist you all, but…how, exactly?”

“Thierry is a black man married to a white heiress, and he’s managed to be elected Governor twice in a row,” Trent told her bluntly.  “To say he has a list of enemies longer than the River Nile is a gross understatement.  And we’re talking powerful enemies, Rachel, some of which need to be eliminated as quickly as possible.  Kathryn has already managed to arrange a few secret meetings with Thierry’s most dangerous opponents.  They’re under the impression she’s going to try to change their minds.”  He smiled faintly.  “When they start arriving in St. Verde, however, they will find themselves having dinner here…with me.”

Rachel’s blood chilled as she remembered Michael’s favorite joke about Trent.

Having dinner with Trent is like descending into the Greek underworld, he often said.  Don’t eat or drink anything you didn’t bring yourself.

“I see,” Rachel said quietly.  “I trust you have an incinerator installed in the cellar?”

Trent nodded, almost beaming.  “Put in just last week.”

“I’m still not clear on why you need me,” Rachel pushed.  “By now you’ve got the cleaners on speed dial.  No offense, cousin, but I’ve got better things to do than handle bodies.”

“Rachel, think,” Trent rolled his eyes slightly, growing irritable again.  “Not every opponent can simply be eliminated; were that the case, it would’ve been done long before Thierry even began his campaign.  Some of enemies will actually have to become allies.  We will, most unfortunately, need them to voice their support for Thierry.  As such…,” he trailed off, looking at her meaningfully.

“They’ll need convincing,” Rachel nodded, understanding at last.

“You’ll be provided with the names and whereabouts of all their family members,” Trent assured her.

Rachel had to laugh.  “And Thierry is…perfectly okay with this?”

Trent’s voice turned deeply serious.  “I’ve told you; Thierry is of our mindset.  When I say we’ve become friends, I mean it.  We are like twin souls, he and I.”

Rachel remained a cynic.  “And his wife?”

            “Kathryn doesn’t like me,” he told her honestly.  “And she’s going not to like you either, nor believe anything you say.  She’s not entirely partial to our involvement in her husband’s career.”

            “What’s she like?”

            “Typical old money,” Trent scowled.  “Privileged.  Entitled.  Though she doesn’t see it that way, of course; she equates spinsterhood to oppression.  When we first met she actually whined about being an heiress.”

            “How old is she?” Rachel queried.

            “Forty-six,” Trent snorted.  “Thierry’s thirty-eight, so naturally, Kathryn tries to pretend there isn’t a glaring age difference between them.”

            “I thought she’d be grateful for all you’ve done for her husband’s career,” Rachel blinked.

            “Her complaint lies with the fact that I’ve done nothing for her career,” Trent sighed.  “She has unrealistic political ambitions of her own, and refuses to be satisfied as First Lady.”

            “And yet you were the one who chose her for him,” Rachel pointed out.  “Already it’s coming back to haunt you.”

            Trent actually laughed.  “Kathryn is a pain, I’ll admit, but she’s not a problem, Rachel.  She has the name, the connections, and the bank accounts to serve Thierry’s purpose.  If I had to choose for him all over again, I’d still choose her.”

            “I take it she knows about your intentions toward Arienne?”

            “She doesn’t approve,” Trent said simply, “but she’ll cooperate nonetheless.”

Author's Note

Rough draft sneak peek.