Spiders in the Grove (In the Company of Killers #7)(63)

Maybe I don’t even need clients. I truly am the only client I really need. Because the job isn’t about money for me—it’s about vengeance. And bloodshed. It’s about being a voice for those whose voices were stolen from them. And there is no shortage of people who deserve to die, that’s for sure.

Of course, I wouldn’t turn down money, either, if a job came my way.

“You’re a wolf in the chicken pen; you kill because you’re hungry, because it’s in your nature, and your remorse only goes as far as what you’re willing to let affect you. Because you secretly despise affection, companionship, and love. You crave power above all things, because up there, at the top where no one can touch you, influence you, or love you, you know you can never be hurt.”

Javier was right. But as I think back on those words he said to me with so much conviction, I realize something extraordinary—the same words can be said of Victor Faust.

I am more like Victor than I ever knew; maybe that’s why I’m taking our separation so calmly; maybe that’s why I’ve accepted it. Because we are the same person. With the same struggles and faults and ideas. The same strengths and weaknesses. The same bloodlust. We love and hate each other. We are equally encumbered, burdened by one another. We are the same. Therefore, I am Izabel Faust.

It began the day Victor thought it would all end—the new identity, the new name. Izabel Seyfried is dead along with Sarai Cohen. Seyfried was the apprentice. Faust is the Master. She is who I am now.

But my priorities have shifted—I will no longer hunt Vonnegut. He is Victor’s kill, and he can have him.

And since I haven’t heard even a whisper from Fredrik or even Niklas, I’ve had no other choice but to move with the waters of change and accept those changes for what they are.

Victor’s Order is broken. Disbanded. It no longer exists. I’ve checked every secret location, even the Safe Houses, and there’s no one in them anymore. I’ve tried contacting the remaining members, and only a few could be reached. James Woodard took his family and moved to Oregon. I traveled there to visit with him:

“When was the last time you saw Victor?” I had asked, sitting in his small living room surrounded by blue flowered wallpaper.

“It’s been a long time, Izabel,” he told me, “longer than the last time you saw him. I think it was right after you two came back from Venezuela.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know—anything?”

“If you mean did he tell me anything that might point you to his current whereabouts, then no, sorry but he didn’t.”

I nodded.

“Well, how’d you know to…move on from his Order then?” I had asked.

“I’m always here if he needs me,” he had said. “Had to get off the East Coast; my family is important to me, and I just felt like the longer I stayed there…” He didn’t have to finish; I understood.

The real reason I went to see James Woodard that day wasn’t because I’d hoped he would have information on Victor’s whereabouts—although I certainly wouldn’t have ignored it if he did. But I wanted to ask James if he wanted to work for me.

But before I left his house, I changed my mind.

James Woodard is, and probably always will be loyal to Victor Faust. And I can’t do what I intend to do with those ties still in-tact.

Nora Kessler, on the other hand, I did still intend to recruit. She never treated me like the ‘girl’; she never had any problem throwing me into a situation where I might die.

But at the last minute, just like with James, I changed my mind.

Problem with Nora is that Victor was the driving force that led her to his Order; she risked her life to be accepted into it, and…well, I still wonder to this very day—why?

I admire Nora, but in my heart, I’ve never really trusted her.

So, who was left?

No one.

Fredrik is gone—he could be dead, I don’t know, but I’m not going to go looking for him. It hurts, the last words he spoke to me. And just like with Victor, I’ve learned to accept that Fredrik meant what he said that night. And Fredrik has a lot of deeply disturbing, unresolved issues, that I could never even begin to know how to help him with.

Niklas? I don’t know why, but I thought that out of everybody, Niklas would be the one I could count on, that he’d be the one who would jump at the opportunity to work together, on our own, free from bosses and rules and procedures already set in place. So, I was surprised when I went looking for Niklas at the bar where he lived upstairs, and no one had seen him in over a week. I broke into his room; his stuff was still there; nothing looked like it had been touched; a thin layer of dust had settled on his belongings on the nightstand.

“He was paid up for three months,” the owner of the building told me, standing in the doorway with the keys after I’d already broken the lock. “But the rent was due three days ago, and I still haven’t seen him. I don’t really know the guy, but it’s a bit strange that he hasn’t been down at the bar. He’s always at the bar.”

I walked through his room, looking for anything that might give me an idea where he is.

“Who did you last see him with?”

“Jackie, of course,” the owner had said. “They were always hanging out here together—she’d always end up here in his room.” He paused, pointed at me briefly. “You’re not his wife or somethin’, are ya?”