Why would anyone hire someone to kill something so sweet and innocent?
Why would I agree to carry the act of her murder out?
Why does anyone do anything?
Greed.
Lust.
Envy.
Revenge.
Those are the usual but not Sybil. She seems to do good deeds because she simply wants to. I’ve never met anyone like her in my life. None of it matters. At the end of the day, I have a job to complete. It’s none of my business why her stepmother wants her out of the way. Though I am sure it is purely greed. My reason is purely selfish. I have a vendetta to settle with Wrath. I will put him to the ground if it is the last thing I do. Sybil just happens to be a steppingstone in getting there. I can’t allow myself to care about her or see her as a person. She’s a means to an end.
Nothing more.
Chapter 4
—Sybil
Squinting from under the brim of my hat, I smile as my favorite person approaches.
“Like an apple from a tree I picked you, muñequita,” Sofia singsongs as she hands me a crate from the wagon. Sofia was my late paternal grandmother’s childhood friend and my godmother. She’s always called me her little doll. I’m not so small now though. My twenty-first birthday is approaching.
I take the wooden crate, and Jose hops down and collects the three I’ve filled. “Buenos Dias, Sybi,” he says with a toothy grin.
One would think with my heritage and four years of language lessons my Spanish would be better, though it hasn’t improved in the least. “Good morning, Jose,” I return. I continue collecting apples that have fallen from the trees in the orchard.
Jose doesn’t speak a lick of English, yet he smiles at me anyway. I come here to Sofia’s family farm when I need to get away. It’s been four years since my father died and ten since my mother passed away. Sofia has always been a constant in my life. Always watching out for me despite my evil step-monster trying to keep her away.
“What are you doing here? You should be out doing things young folk do. Not here sweating. Your skin is going to burn,” Sofia chastises me. I have my mother’s dark hair, but I inherited my father’s fair skin.
“I have plans,” I lie coolly, while trying to come up with something to do.
“Come on. You can help me start the pies for the festival.” I hook my arm through hers and start back toward the house. The Apple Festival is an annual event that Sofia lives for. She loves baking apple goods and she is phenomenal at it too. She makes the best homemade apple butter.
Back at the house Sofia’s grandchildren run through the house playing tag while the dogs chase them. Her ranch style household is in constant motion. Family coming in and out. This is what I wish I had experienced growing up.
Once my mother passed away and my father married Consuela my home tuned from bright and cheery to cold and dreary. The moment I turned eighteen I moved out, eager to get away from her. So harsh and controlling. She didn’t want me having friends or leaving the house. Though things have been better since I left for college. I rarely go home. Only showing my face when I am needed to make an appearance for Sybi Kids, my father’s children’s couture line. When I turn twenty-one, I will inherit the company—my legacy.
He started out as a cotton logo t-shirt manufacture. Sybi Kids was my mother’s dream and he made it come true.
He loved her more than life. I never understood what he saw in Consuela. Though I suppose he wanted me to have a
mother, although there is nothing motherly about that wicked witch. She doesn’t have a kind or loving bone in her body. I bet if I were to cut her, her blood would be black and like tar.
Jesus, Sofia’s youngest son brings a basket of the apples in and places it on the counter. I start washing and he hands the apples off to his mother to peel. “That band you like is playing at Rocky’s Bar tonight.” He grins at me.
I shove his shoulder. “No way. Get out.”
“Way.” He bumps his shoulder back against mine. Jesus is a few years older than me and like the big brother I always wanted growing up. I think Sofia has always hoped for there to be something more between us, but I just don’t see him in a romantic way. Not that he isn’t attractive with his obsidian eyes and dimples. “Thought maybe we could check it out.”
“Sure. Sounds fun.”
“You two should go out to a nice dinner and movie. You don’t belong in that trash bar,” Sofia complains.
I smile at her and Jesus shakes his head. “You worry too much, Mamá.”