The Summons
Another Sock Drawer Snippet
This little bit is from a messy novel about a tidy assassin:
The small manila envelope, delivered via special courier to my apartment, was blank on the outside – no return address, no destination, and no signature required. The man simply handed it over, nodded in acknowledgement, then turned sharply on his heel and walked away.
It was too late to turn back. I knew I could not, would not, turn back anyway. So much training and work and sweat were invested in this moment.
I laid the envelope on my kitchen counter and drew in a deep breath. I knew what would be in it. There was no need to open it immediately. I understood the possibilities. This envelope could be the first of man to come my way. It might also be the only one I would ever receive. Excitement danced through my brain. Uncertainty knotted my gut. My heart was stuck in between, feeling both sides of the moment.
With my favorite paring knife, I slit open the closure and slid out the contents.
Hmm, so that’s what a summons to the Society looked like. I picked up the square of heavy pearl-gray paper. It was textured, maybe handmade, with the faintest scent of something aromatic like sandalwood. A large formal ‘S’ was stamped into a blood-red wax medallion, right in the middle of the square.
A prickle of goose-bumps spread across my skin. The time for action had arrived. It was too late to turn back. Most definitely too late.