The sun was not up but Emily was. She blew into her chai tea to cool it down at the same time letting the steam rush into her nose, warming her up. Walking past the lamps and light switches her hand rested on the touch screen beside the floor-length windows. The cream colored curtains moved silently aside to allow the billions of tiny lights from the city below to pop. The sky was an undecided shade of blue. Emily fell into her large, red armchair. The legs of the chair scraped over the hard wood flooring but her tea stayed in tact. She took a sip, burning her tongue. "I'm sick of this," she muttered to herself. The weather seemed to pick up on her irritation and sent winds to match the mood. She was not referring to her burnt tongue nor, of course, referring to Katie Bishops; her arch nemesis for the past ten years who had twice tried and failed, thanks to Emily, to take over human kind with hopes of living forever as a dictatress. No, what Emily referred to now was the undercover work she was in the middle of. Customer service. It didn't seem right that a client should be allowed to pay late AND get angry at the underpaid, overworked secretary. It had only been three months but she had been ready to quit at three days. But this is how the world was and Emily was counting down the days until she could scrap that job forever.
Emily heard the refrigerator open then close and a few moments later the soft, gentle hand of her husband was resting on her shoulder. She listened to him swig an odd and awful concoction of energy drink mixed with cranberry juice. "Are you still making that weird thing? Your worst invention ever."
He positioned himself into the sofa across from her. "I got hooked on this in Japan."
"They never made that in Japan."
"They do now." He showed her a small glass bottle with a cute animated creature laughing beside some Japanese lettering.
Aaron had a knack. He made things, anything, and people lost their minds trying to buy it a reproduce it. Craft stores sold kits of rubber band and paperclip designs. An art museum in New York was holding a special exhibition for his hand painted film negative strips.
"That drink is gross," Emily said.
Aaron took another gulp. "It's disgusting."
"I suspect the manager."
"Is that because she is suspicious or because she told you that you need to pay closer attention to detail?"
"No one has ever accused me of not noticing details before."
"Not when it's something you care about, probably."
Emily huffed into her drink. Aaron had a way of making sense which drove her crazy. She only wanted to do what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it. Right now she wanted to put the manager in a headlock. "You're right. I need more evidence."
The quiet puffs of one or more silencers bounced off the outside glass windows. Emily flipped over the back of her chair and pushed against it until it crashed onto its side. Her mug and tea had gone flying out of her hands, shattering on the floor. Aaron leapt from the couch, crouching beside her in her makeshift barrier. They peaked over the arm of the chair as three assassins attempted to break through the already cracking windows.
"Damn, unreliable windows," Aaron grumbled.
"We just need to pay full price next time."
"And what about the alarm?"
"I guess we should get one."
The glass broke through and Emily and Aaron had to shield their heads from falling shards. Emily only had a moment to see the sleepy figure of their four year old son before she was up, blocking hits and knocking guns out of hands. Aaron didn't believe in guns but Emily was hoping she could get him to possibly reconsider. She glanced over to see Aaron giving him a thumbs up as Emerson ran back upstairs. "Is he okay?" She asked. She ducked a blow then threw out a sidekick before spinning around and grabbing the assassin behind her by the forearm, snapping his arm backward from the elbow.
"He's fine. He's going to go find his blue plastic bowie." Aaron jumped aside and swung around, striking a perfect roundhouse into the masked face of the third assassin. He then went to gather the lost guns while Emily temporarily undid three sets of consciousness. She breathed heavily as she stared down at the three villains. Aaron was working at disassembling the guns. The clicking sounds calmed Emily's running mind. "It has to be the manager," She whispered to herself. She bent over and ripped of the masks of each incapacitated assassin. "Eric from accounting!"
Aaron walked over to her with the shell of an assault rifle in his fist. He squinted at the man on the ground. "Oh yeah, I remember him from the office party three weeks ago."
Emerson reappeared with his toy knife in hand. "Ah man! I wanted to help." His lower lip protruded in a pout.
"Come on, buddy, we'll show how to tie them up so they can't get out."
Emerson's lip retreated and he raised his eyebrows. "Are they real bad guys or bad guys with good hearts?"
"We'll have to find out when they wake up."
"It's the manager," Emily whispered at Aaron as he tried to help Emerson bind up the wrists.
"Maybe someone wants you to think that."
Emily shivered and jumped up. I need to get ready for work.
TO BE CONTINUED...
