Feodora

She didn’t always have a job. Not from lack of offers—Feodora was too good for that to be the case—but rather from uninspired ones.

Her reputation definitely proceeded her, but there were still some clients who always seemed to think that maybe through sheer luck or desperation she’d accept despite her numerous caveats.

Kill my ex-girlfriend, said one, she cheated on me. And Feodora tossed that offer right into the trash where it belonged.

Kill the mailman, said another, and Feodora wondered how someone could have a vendetta against their mailman before throwing that into the trash as well.

Assassinate the clan leader. Feodora paused before placing the letter in the pile to consider for later. Clan leaders could be corrupt, terrible people, but other times they were great people. She’d need more information before making a decision on that one.

And then at the bottom of the stack of letters, in between pleas to kill someone who spilled water on the table and another person who didn’t mow their lawn, Feodora found one that piqued her interest. A serial killer that had claimed the lives of dozens of innocents. He seemed to haunt these parts as well, terrorizing the local clans and making ridiculous ultimatums and killing the dissenters. He definitely fit the profile, not to mention he had a sizable bounty on him as well.

Some people who thought being an assassin was all fame and glory. Taking hits without trouble and accepting every offer that came her way. But it was a lot of investigative work that went on behind the scenes, figuring out where the victim would be and when. Figuring out how to dispose of them. Sometimes she made it look like an accident, a flick of her wand and they fell tragically down the stairs with no one the wiser. Sometimes it was to send a message, leaving them in a public place to be found. Other times it was to make them quietly disappear into the night, never to be heard from again. And so what if some of the things she did were unsavory, at least she had morals whereas the people she hunted certainly didn’t.

Abusers, psychopaths, serial killers, criminals; there had to be a line they crossed somewhere that put them on her list. A reason big enough to push her into action. Other assassins might take every offer that came their way, but Feodora would never stoop to their level.

Though admittedly, Feodora did have an easier time than other assassins, what with being a wizard and all. So maybe she could afford to be pickier where they couldn’t.

Feodora pulled out her scrying orb worn old from use and age, and set to work finding her target. It was always hit or miss with divination, sometimes she wasn’t specific enough, or someone hid themselves too well to be seen. But this particular one seemed overconfident, not even bothering to hide himself with the simplest of magic charms nor even used an alias.

Serial killers without aliases never lasted long. And it looked like this guy’s time was going to be drastically cut short.

Grabbing her pointed witch’s hat and plopping it onto her head—she always felt bereft going out without it—Feodora patted her pocket to make sure she had her wand on her and set off to find her mark.