The Woman in Red

She’s wearing red. She always does. She says it’s better for business that she never looks messy, that it comforts people to think hers is not a messy business. And she says the best way to keep the blood from showing is to wear red.

Her floor-length gown ripples around her feet as she glides across the room. Her left arm is stiff, hardly moving. When she gets closer to her next business venture, her left palm opens. A dagger slides out of her sleeve. No one notices the dagger falling into her hand.

Walking behind her target, she pretends to stumble. She throws out her right hand and catches herself on his back.

“Are you okay, miss?” Her target looks over his shoulder.

“I will be in a moment.” She presses her dagger to her target’s neck.

His mouth opens, and her right palm clamps over it. “It’s nothing personal, just business.” Her right hand falls to his shoulder, holding him in place. “In your next life, don’t cheat on your wife.”

She ducks behind his shoulders, shielding herself from arterial spray, as she drags the dagger across his throat. Before he can fall to his knees, she’s halfway across the ballroom, her dagger back up her sleeve.

The screams start as she opens the ballroom door. She shakes her head. They always notice too late.