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I.
Julia knew a soulmark when she saw one.
She’d never seen one on any of her husbands, of course - not that she ever expected to. Husbands were useful only as far as they were wealthy and easy to kill. But she’d seen soulmarks a few times before, on other people: a matching constellation of moles on the necks of an oil baron and his wife; a matched set of port-wine stains on the arms of a young couple kissing on a bench.
Most times, a mole was just a mole. A patch of freckles, just a patch of freckles. Likewise, the birthmark on her wrist was probably just a birthmark… but every now and then she’d catch a glimpse of it, and wonder.
II.
After her parents' incarceration, Julia had been sent to live at St. Clotilde's Home for Girls. It had been there that she'd learned that she wasn't like other people. She was strong and vicious where others were weak and sentimental.
In her first year at the home, before she had learned to disguise her rages with smiles and honeyed words, little Julia was often placed on kitchen duty as punishment for violence. One of the kitchen staff had taken immediate notice of her.
"What did the other girl do this time?" asked Mrs Evans, a rosy-cheeked woman who had just shown her a better way to use the potato peeler.
"Disrespected me," said Julia, clumsily peeling another potato.
"The other girl will be in the infirmary for a week. Aren’t you sorry?"
Julia shrugged, and Mrs Evans gave her an indulgent smile. Julia liked Mrs Evans. She was the one employee at St. Clotilde's that she would never have tried to hurt.
"Hold on," said Mrs Evans. "What's that on your wrist, then? Let me see."
Julia gave the woman her arm for inspection.
"You've got one of them marks, hmm?" Mrs Evans rubbed the birthmark on Julia's wrist thoughtfully, and chuckled. "Lord help him, whoever he is!"
III.
When Julia first joined SCORPIA, one of her starting tasks had been to pressure a French diplomat for information. It was the sort of thing that she normally felt was beneath her, but she saw the wisdom in proving her value to the organisation.
Kidnapping the man's wife had been easy; keeping her alive, less so. Julia descended into the basement where the woman was being kept, only to find that she had choked herself to death on her own restraints. It was a minor complication, but still... it was irritating.
Afterward, she’d had to resort to less delicate tactics. There had been no other option but to kidnap the diplomat himself. He was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair. He was in decent shape for his age, but it only took a few hours in a stress position to break him.
That should have been the end of it. She was almost disappointed by how easily he had given up; she would have liked to play with him a bit longer. She released his bonds and allowed him to ease himself onto the floor. His period of usefulness was drawing to a close.
But then she noticed a peculiar raised mole on his temple, partially hidden by his hair. Her curiosity got the better of her. She leaned in and lifted his hair to get a better look.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.
The diplomat nodded faintly, still struggling for breath.
“I didn’t see one of those on your wife.”
“No,” he agreed.
“Did you ever find her? Your soulmate?”
“What do you care?”
“Answer the question.”
The diplomat sighed. “Him. Yes, I found him. And I let him get away. Biggest mistake of my life, now that it’s all flashing before my eyes.” He leaned his head back on the concrete pillar behind him and closed his eyes. “Go on and kill me now, if you’d like. There’s no point.”
Fair was fair. She drew her pistol and shot him clean in the head.
Julia knew she was stronger than the diplomat. If she ever met the man with a mark to match hers, she’d never let him go.
IV.
Julia had been on the executive board of SCORPIA for two years when the new recruit came along. There was something different about him, she thought. Something special. SCORPIA had given him the codename Hunter. He was a fair-haired Englishman about her own age, with a confident ease about him that belied his recent dishonourable military discharge.
She had invited him to a private dinner at The Sirenuse to discuss the tricky business of teaching at Malagosto. Hunter was a disciplined man. He had killed proficiently under orders, and he had killed of his own volition. He was more than qualified - and, she thought, very handsome.
After his second glass of wine, he leaned back and rolled up his sleeves, and that's when she saw it: a mark on his wrist that perfectly matched her own.
“I’ve got one too,” she said, trying to contain her excitement. She pushed up the sleeve of her blouse to show him.
Hunter froze for a moment. He looked perplexed, almost angry - but his confidence was back in a moment. He leaned back.
"You believe in that old wives' tale? Soulmarks? Come on, Mrs Rothman. I thought you were smarter than that."
"I told you to call me Julia."
"All right. Julia. It's just a myth. They're only birthmarks."
She leaned in close. "You can't tell me you don't feel it. The energy between us." It felt absolutely electric. Under the table, she took off one of her heels, and started sliding her foot up the inside of Hunter’s trousers. He sat completely still, as though she weren’t touching him at all. His eyes were still and calculating. She imagined he’d be very good under interrogation.
“You’re a very beautiful woman,” Hunter said, his gaze lingering on her lips. She had almost gotten to his crotch when he abruptly pushed his chair back out of reach. “But I can't. I’m married.” He held up his hand with his wedding ring, as though trying to use a talisman to ward off evil.
“That’s never stopped me.” Julia smiled and held up her own perfectly manicured hand, still wearing the ring given to her by her latest husband.
"We're different, then.”
"We're exactly alike. Can’t you see? We’re two halves of a single whole.”
"Julia, stop. I can't."
"What's her name, this wife of yours?"
"Helen." There was sudden steel in his gaze at the mention of her name.
"And do you love Helen?"
"More than anything in the world."
"She's a lucky woman."
“I’m a lucky man.”
He didn’t get up. They stared at each other for a minute, separated by the table. The waitstaff collected their empty plates and wine glasses without a word.
Julia dabbed delicately at her mouth with her napkin, and stood. “I have paperwork upstairs for you to sign,” she said. “If you’ll follow me, we can have it finished before the night’s end.”
He nodded and stood to follow, just a few feet behind. They entered the ornate elevator together, and rode it up in silence to her room on the eighth floor.
She went up to her room and put the key in the lock. His mouth was on hers before the door clicked shut.
V.
He was strong and vicious and perfect. Julia had never in her life wanted anyone more.
“This can’t happen again,” he said in the morning, buttoning his rumpled shirt. His hair stuck up at odd angles. “It’s not right.”
Julia only laughed. He’d come around again. She saw the soulmark peeking out from beneath his sleeve, and was certain of it.
VI.
It seemed impossible, at first. They were supposed to be soulmates, two of a kind. But all this time, he’d been a traitor. A filthy spy.
Julia nearly killed her secretary before he showed her the proof of Hunter’s complicity with MI6. There were photographs, decoded messages, snippets of recorded conversations. Even so, she hadn’t wanted to believe it, blinded as she was by superstition and lust. In a fit of rage, she destroyed everything in her well-appointed office before setting her sights on a proper revenge.
Lord help him, indeed.
When all was said and done, Julia had made plans for a bomb to be placed on Hunter’s plane to France with his wife. She wore long sleeves for a while. She made an appointment for a consultation with a plastic surgeon to see about birthmark removal, but cancelled at the last moment.
She decided to leave it there, as a monument to her own stupidity. A mark to remember him by. A warning.