2 1. His Tricks

I don't know what to do as the man – if Cordellus could be considered a man – looked at me with something akin to fascination on his face.

Why wasn't he killing me for firing at him not once, not twice, but three times?

"What is it?" I ask, partly worried, partly intrigued, and mildly scared.

"You have the eyes of a killer but you don't seem like the kind to kill for fun," the immortal man says. "What was the kill about then? Revenge?"

I remain stubbornly quiet and he seemingly can't help but go on, "If not revenge, was it a crime of passion?"

The desert is vast enough and empty enough to enable me to run for the hills... but I stand frozen in front of him.

What is wrong with me? I must subconsciously have a death wish. With all the targets I finished off in the span of ten years, my luck has run out, it seems, and it is now my turn. It is only fair that I die a non physiological – unnatural – death.

I accept my fate even though I don't believe in fate much.

It is a matter of cause and effect. I kill. I get killed.

"You seem to think that I want to kill you, Jeremy," he announces in a light tone, his lips stretching into a smirk.

"Why wouldn't I?" I retort immediately without thinking much.

And then, it dawns on me. I have never said my real name.

"How did you..." I ask as I back away a little bit, my fear suddenly getting the best of me.

If this isn't a coincidence – my encounter with him, that is – then that means I have been targeted by someone. I briefly wonder who sent him after me. It must be a relative of someone I killed. It could also very well be the organization that sent him after me for whatever reason they deemed valid.

"I read your mind." The way he says it make it sound like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

My eyes narrow some more. I then open my mouth to say something, anything, but the words evade me.

"I know it's hard to believe," he begins with the same unnerving smirk on, "but I really do read minds."

"Why didn't you stop me from shooting you then?" I challenge, an eyebrow jutted.

"Why would I need to? Fire guns are basically harmless to me," he shrugs.

The man makes a valid point, I guess. But I am not convinced. I cannot bring myself to believe him considering my background. I have been trained to kill from a very young age. And believing no one's word but that of the organization is a motto that has been engrained into my very being.

I do not trust anyone's word, immortal or not.

"You don't believe me, I get it. With everything you've been taught at the organization, it's no wonder."

This statement of his comforts me in my earlier assumption that he has been sent by the organization. I never knew the organization had immortal beings as allies. And I am mildly flattered that they didn't send an ordinary killer, I'll have to say.

"I was not sent by them," he rolls his eyes. "I told you I can read minds."

"What do you want?" It's my turn to roll my eyes.

"I want to be a part of your life," he smiles at me. I frown a little bit. "No, don't get any silly ideas. I don't entertain any romantic thoughts regarding you. I barely know you. And I don't swing that way anyway."

I snort.

"I mean that I want to be a part of the journey. You're an assassin. That sounds like fun. And I could use a little bit of fun in my life," he explains.

Is this man for real? Fun, my job? Yeah, right!

"Look," I tell him, "either kill me or let me go. There's no in between."

"You won't even notice I'm here," he cries out in a pleading tone of sorts.

I look at him doubtfully.

He is not someone one would easily overlook in a crowd. He stands at a height of about 6ft 6in. He has strikingly cold blue eyes that are hard to miss, and has an overall handsome face, I'd say. He is not the tall and lanky type, he is well-built. It is safe to assume that he works out.

"Work out? Me?" He snorts.

My eyes widen at that in both fright and astonishment.

He really can read minds.

What if he wasn't sent by anyone? I wonder.

"I truly wasn't sent by anyone." His tone is somewhere between bored and teasing.

"I guess I can believe you," I tell him with a little bit of a grimace. Considering the man has survived being shot point blank three times in a row, and looks hell-a healthy too – unaffected really – it was not that hard to believe that he could indeed read minds.

"Any other tricks I should know of?" I ask warily, ready to bolt at any given moment.

"Among other things, I am really fast," he smirks.

Somehow, I believe him. And there goes my hope to outrun him once I decide to run off.

I am about to tell him to go find some other type of entertainment when I remember that we are not too far off the hit scene.

"How about we take this somewhere else?" I ask instead.

"Sure," he agrees readily. "My place is nearby."

I stiffen and say immediately, "Nonsense. I am not going there."

How can I go into the enemy's den unprepared? That defies every damn teaching I learnt in the organization.

"Well, if you had listened, I wouldn't be in need of a change of clothes right now," he says, pointing at his shirt.

I click my tongue in dismay. "Fine, I'll go with you there but I won't go in."

"So you can run for the hills?" He taunts.

"I won't," I tell him earnestly.

He seems satisfied with my answer and we head out.