Prologue - To whom it may concern

She’d been watching him for days but it could have been lifetimes; she wasn’t sure any more. The days blended into months into years into ….

Forever?

She wasn’t sure. It had been a long time since she rested. A long time since she had any sense of stability and certainty in her life.

They were across the street in an outdoor cafe; a place they frequented most Saturdays. It was a quaint place, the kind with 10 dollar lattes and artsy Swedish House music playing low over the speakers.

It wasn’t really him that she was interested in but he’d become a fascination of sorts. When you’re hunting big game, it’s good to know what kind of prey they like. And apparently this one has fairly good taste. Tall, dark hair, handsomely middle aged, good job, kind disposition. But also nice to a fault and ready to emotionally fold in on himself at a moment's notice.

Poor guy.

He never stood a chance.

She got up from her table at the bar across the street, paid the bartender, fixed the belt on her coat, and left on a trajectory that would carry her past their table. They all knew of each other, all the parties involved in this secret little war, but none had actually crossed paths with her; at least not in this generation.

Just as she passed their table she muttered an unintelligible word in a long forgotten language and a scrap of paper seemed to float mysteriously from her trenchcoat pocket. It flitted about in the air, drifting aloft and dancing back and forth in the breeze until, ultimately, it blew directly in and hit the seated lady in the chest.

A look of annoyed disgust on her face, she pulled the scrap away from her Valentino dress and looked down. In an elegant cursive script were the words:

To whom it may concern,

You’re next.