Requiem slid onto her motorcycle, a Kawasaki Ninja H2, and pulled her small, silver MP3 player from her vest pocket. After watching it for a moment, she turned and left, closing the door firmly behind her. It bobbed against the dusty ceiling, casting an ominous glow over the room. Like the perfect stillness of a lake at dawn or the soft curve of a woman’s bare breast. They contained a resin that gave off a unique aroma. Requiem lit the flame and checked that each incense stick was also ablaze. A teepee of six long-burning incense sticks had been stuck to the bamboo frame, pointing toward the fuel cell. This lantern was made of light white paper that encased a bamboo ring with a tiny fuel cell in the centre. Together they had made a wish and watched it sail into the night sky, propelled by its naked flame until it disintegrated and fell back to earth in pieces. Her father had bought one for Requiem when she was a little girl. From it, she removed a Chinese paper lantern.
She crouched and placed a large box on the ground. With a measured step, she moved to the centre and studied the timber walls, which were as wet as the floor. The concrete floor was lit by a dust-filtered arc of moonlight streaming through the cracked window.
She adjusted her black leather gloves, ensuring they sat snugly in each indent between her fingers. A common misconception about those in her line of work. To say Requiem felt nothing was incorrect. To Milena, a music immortal whose dark genius inspired every word. Thanks, finally, to the wordsmiths Sheri and Blythe, who poked at and massaged my words until even the perfectionist Requiem would be impressed. I would not have stayed sane without my beta reader Charlotte filling me with encouragement at every turn.
She also helped find the key compositions that defined my cellist’s musical soul perfectly. My novel would not exist without my South African violinist mate, Milena, whose tales from the dark side of orchestras greatly enriched this book. Thanks from the bottom of my heart for that decision, which changed so much for me. Astrid at Ylva Publishing miraculously said yes, and allowed me to breathe life into Requiem. It takes a huge leap of faith to green-light a novel about a lesbian assassin cellist. If Looks Could Kill by Andi Marquette Acknowledgement Evolution of an Art Thief by Jessie Chandler
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