The Keymaker

It wasn't impressive in size but it wasn't small either. In fact, it was an average size. But the make of the key was unique.

Because the Keymaker made it.

I am assigned to protect the Keymaker.

I am a bodyguard. And this is the story of how I died.

He wasn't handsome, he wasn't cute, geez, he was hardly well enough to do any work. Thin, pale skin, long delicate white hands, but his dark brown hair and intensely dark eyes that seemed almost black made him look even more sick than he was.

"So," he said in a voice that seemed too deep for someone so frail, "You're my bodyguard." He didn't sound thrilled.

I shrugged. "More or less."

What a jerk. I was charged with protecting this guy and he didn't seem to understand what that meant. Even if he didn't like it I was going to ensure that he stayed alive even if it killed me.

"I was expecting somebody tough." He said looing me up and down. "And ugly."

Was that an insult, a compliment, or both?

I wasn't sure.

"You're stuck with me. I'll make sure you get to Calbu in one piece." I said to keep him calm.

"And if you don't?" He challenged his dark eyes locking with mine in a mental showdown.

"I don't get paid." I replied calmly, staring right back with equal intensity and potency. "I also lose my reputation. No biggy."

He didn't find that amusing. But then, he wasn't a bodyguard.

"What, I'm just a walking pile of unpaid cash to you?" he snapped.

"We'll be going as soon as you're ready, sir." I said, grinding my teeth in frustration.

"Charming. You say 'sir' as though the word was a poisoned dart." He retorted with smooth evenness.

I managed an ingratiating grin. "Thanks. It's an art."

He looked away, miffed. But his gaze kept returning to me. "So why are you a bodyguard?"

I rolled my eyes. Enough was enough. "My private life and feelings are none of your concern, just be ready in five minutes." I straightened and walked to the end of the hallway to give him a moment of privacy.

If I made it through this mission I would kill Dancy.

Dancy was the base of a small world that bodyguards lived in when they didn't work, waiting for their next mark to protect and the next fat paycheck to make for risking life and limb.

I'd been out of circuit for a few months; my fingers went to the scar on my wrist unbidden. I moved my fingers away. I wasn't going to go there. No.

Focus, I thought to myself, you're back on the job. Focus on getting the mark to safety. Think later.