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“Okay, anything else? Are we all set?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary yet,” said Balancia, “so probably. All the equipment’s working, Beau Weaver’s cooperating, Valerie and Adeline are still making a little progress at a time. The details… I believe Dr. Rode is writing everything up.”
Of course he has her doing that, Marcel thought. No surprises. He leaned over the table, the centrepiece of the commons in the Court’s temporary home away from home, both palms pressed flat against the wood.
The small, seemingly ever-present crowd around him had thinned out over the past few hours. The doctors were at the Weaver house, the Peaceguard they’d brought performing one last sweep around the edge of town. The only ones standing before him now were Erias Balancia’s group. Balancia himself, and Isme Mercure, shorter and tougher and with too many early grey streaks; and Victor, just Victor, tall and wiry, their smile sharp.
Marcel wasn’t sure what had stood out so much to him the first time he’d read that file. Half the immortals he knew only went by single names, for Lords’ sakes. And it wasn’t as if it was that unusual for non-immortals to go by whatever they pleased, either, especially those who already had other reasons not to distance themselves from old norms. He’d heard much weirder.
Balancia had acted apologetic about it when he personally slid that triply-signed transfer request to him, after he’d been handpicked by Marcel himself to work for the Court. How long ago had that been? More than a year, certainly. Two? More?
Why did it matter? Why was he concerning himself with years-old personnel decisions that he wouldn’t even remember making in another decade or so?
And yet here he found himself, fixating on the details. Now, of all times.
He shook his head slightly to cut the train of thought short and started running down his mental checklist. Also ever-present. Only growing longer. “Uh, somebody’s monitoring the wire? And the radio?” he asked.
“Yes. Nothing strange has turned up.” Balancia said, clear and concise. “Nobody has reported seeing Vienne or any of Emelde Idris’ other known associates in the area… including Mercier. No unusual movements around the capital. Everything looks fine.”
Well, of course it looks fine, he stopped himself from saying. He was more stressed than he thought, he neglected to acknowledge. “Alright,” he said instead. “Make sure everyone nonessential knows to be on the train home, and we’ll have the rest settle in for the night. We’ll probably be here through the evening tomorrow, too, at the earliest. And keep an eye on the Weaver house, obviously?”
“Of course,” said Balancia.
“Thank you. Go on, then.” He nodded, and the three of them turned to leave and stepped out into the dusky late-afternoon sun, tiptoeing over the mess of cables running through the doorway (hooked into the city-bound wire on one end and recorders in the next room on the other).
He stared down at the papers on the table in front of him, his eyes sliding off the words as quickly as he could try to focus on them; they weren’t that important, though. There were too many other things to worry about. Too many entries on the checklist. Too many faint auras interlocking in his sensory periphery.
The nearest of those belonged to Senna, who walked in sideways in one long stride from where he’d clearly been eavesdropping in the next room over, gazing nonchalantly at the door. He chewed on the end of a stick of cinnamon before lowering it from his mouth.
“I wonder what that trio’s situation is these days,” he said.
Marcel looked up but didn’t reply. Cocked an eyebrow trying to see where he was going with this. “They are very close for a Peaceguard team. Even for housemates,” Senna continued wistfully. “Practically inseparable. Never had a single complaint about one another. It makes one wonder…”
“It really doesn’t, actually.”
If he’d thought Senna would simply let that be the end of it, he was sorely mistaken. “They’re obviously your favourites, Marcel. Are you telling me that not once have you ever been hungry to understand? Tried digging a little deeper into their histories? You’ve had much longer than I to practice.”
“Is this really what you think is important to be discussing? Right now?” Marcel snapped, and immediately regretted it a moment later, but too late for that. He caught himself in a grimace.
“Oh, tell me how you really feel,” he lamented.
“...Sorry. It’s all this–”
“Yes, I’m quite aware,“ Senna interrupted, not harshly. “Hey, though. Change of subject, since I already know what Cherie and the old man think about it. I’m interested in your perspective.” Thank goodness; it wasn’t always predictable when Senna would himself fixate on something like this and when he would let it slide. And it wasn’t like Marcel was unappreciative of the distraction.
“Go ahead, then,” he sighed.
“Do you really think Emelde Idris would take the risk of interfering with such a delicate operation?” Senna asked, and his earnestness actually caught him off-guard. “The Reformists must know the stakes by now. Random sickness and disappearances are not an easily-kept secret. Why would they even want to pull anything?”
Marcel laid his pen down on the table and put his thoughts in order. “Our intent doesn’t matter if they can push us and spin it against us to get what they want,” he said carefully. “Face it, our work has not exactly been unimpeachable. We– I have made missteps. Mistakes. Especially… back in the beginning.”
“I think you’ve done the best you can. Can’t blame yourself for a lack of information.”
“I’m old enough to remember the end of the war, Senna, I think I can blame myself for a great deal,” he said, exasperated, then raised an eyebrow. “But what about you?”
Senna just waved him off. “Come on. Up against titans like the two of you what I do about all this isn’t exactly at the fore of public opinion.”
“Please, language. I don’t appreciate it, and you know Val doesn’t either.” But it seems that two can play the diversion game. “That’s not what either of us were asking about, though, was it?”
“Fair point. Perhaps I’m just a vocal thinker.”
“Hm. We’ll just have to see,” Marcel said. “Now that Mercier’s gotten away with heisting that damn pearl, for the time being, at least… maybe she’ll understand. But either way, Idris is anything but irrational. Everything is running smoothly, here, for now. From here on out it’s a matter of responsibility. We just need to be cautious, Senna.”
“And indeed we shall,” he said. He popped the cinnamon back into his mouth.
“...Speaking of responsibility, though,” Marcel continued, “I was serious about not showing off like this morning. The two of you jumping off the train. I don’t think introducing her to recklessness will be as fun as you seem to believe.”
“Oh, if you wanted to talk about her, you could’ve just told me so. I’m all ears.”
Aaaaand, he was already regretting this again. “What? I don’t– this isn’t about me. It isn’t even really about her, either.”
“She was nervous,” Senna countered with a smile, unflinching.
“What about?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I mean, Senna, what did you say to her?” Marcel said. Senna looked rather affronted, but he didn’t contest it. “I felt how she reacted when you two were out there.”
“Ah,” he said. “...I didn’t say much, but something spooked her. If I had to guess, she may have momentarily had an unwanted flashback, but obviously I didn’t want to push her on it. Hence putting her at ease.
“I admit that in general I’ve certainly contributed to her nerves, but the rest of you have too, so I’m willing to argue this is at least a little bit about all of us. I thought she could use a confidence boost; and from what I’ve heard just today about her progress with Renee I’m glad I was able to give it to her. Especially since you have chosen to heap all of this onto her shoulders.”
“You disagree with that?” Marcel asked. “With trusting the possibility that she might be able to do something to help break our impasse? With leveraging whatever rare chances at progress we have?”
Senna’s face remained placid, but the fun he’d been having messing with Marcel had clearly faded. He paused.
“...I didn’t say that. But I’m not afraid to tell you that conflating that with throwing her into the middle of things with only a shaky framework of support is dangerous. My meaning is that you should give her some slack, you know?” he said. “She’s only here temporarily after all. Let her live a little while she is.”
“If and when we find what she’s looking for, send her back, she’s not just going to magically forget everything that’s happened here. That barrier’s been broken. It’s not as if this is the only chance she has at… well, anything.”
“Oh, she may not even want to leave after the great time she’s been having. Though I don’t imagine anyone would want to stick around with us, do you?”
Marcel grunted, noncommittal, pushing the possibility from his mind. “Alright, your point’s been made. Don’t you need to be leaving soon?”
He wasn’t exactly a master of lightening the mood, but at least Senna seemed to take the playful jab as what it was. He made a big show of checking the watch he didn’t wear. “Train won’t be leaving for a bit. I’ve got time to spare to keep pestering you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Just don’t get left behind. I’m sure Cherie will be waiting.” As he carefully stacked up the papers spread out across the table, he reached out through the atmosphere around Roan, pulling his awareness along by the ley lines and picking out the burning core of activity he was looking for. The skein was just distant enough that it was more of an unpleasant notion than anything concrete; he’d made a few trips to check the glacial progress being made, but from here he couldn’t exactly tell. He still took pains not to focus on the knot too closely.
Around the same place, just as faintly, he picked out the two of them, precisely as they’d been ten minutes ago; the odd subdued presence of Adeline, just barely overshadowed in the field by the skein, and Val…
Val wasn’t there. Not at the house. He lost his other thread of concentration and crumpled the edges of the papers, and Senna, tipped off that something was wrong, straightened with alarm– he hadn't been bothering to stay aware of the fields, as usual. Marcel dropped them to the desk and sharpened his focus, searching for where Val had gone, because he couldn’t have just disappeared, but… but...
No. There he was. Of course. Val was making his way in their direction at a steady clip, totally calm, totally normal, because nothing was wrong and there were no surprises. Marcel almost wanted to laugh at himself for how worked up he’d gotten so quickly. He could only ignore the edge he was dancing on for so long.
He let the heat in his body flare for a moment, projected outward into the field through his aura, enough that Val was sure to feel it. A second later, he replied with two short bursts of his own. All clear.
Marcel made a last haphazard attempt at stacking the papers into some semblance of order and stood up, gesturing for Senna to follow, which of course he did.
They met on the street a couple of blocks away, between sparse orange streetlamps that were just flaring to life as the clear evening sky began to darken to a burnt gold. Val pulled one hand from his pocket to wave, coming to a stop as Marcel half-jogged to close the distance between them.
“Senna. Marcel.”
“Hi. Val, what’s going on? Did you leave Adeline down there? I was going to come check in shortly, you didn’t have to–”
“She’s with the subject. You’re aware of the progress we’ve made. I had to discuss some things with Dr. Rode’s team before she wired our preliminary data back to Solace. And I wanted to meet with you for a moment,“ Val said, calm and apparently unconcerned despite the circumstances. “I told her not to continue, but Adeline is perfectly capable of holding steady. Everything is fine.”
Marcel glanced at Senna, listening attentively. “Okay. Okay, as long as you didn’t just… leave her there. After last time.“
He was glad, of course. The situation was holding. But they could celebrate progress when every change in Renee’s condition, or indeed anybody else’s, didn’t feel like false hope at best and a grave omen at worst.
“I think now might be an ideal time for me to head over and meet Weaver myself. You two have been at it all day, you know, I’m sure both of you could use some relief, if we’re planning on being here for some time yet. I can try my hand at it for a while,” he said. “At the very least, one of us should be there, just in case… well. Just in case.” He trailed off. “...What did you say you came over for, again?”
“Mostly to clear my head,” Val said. “...If you want to take over for the evening you are welcome to. But I also came to check in with you personally.”
“Oh, you’re a big softie, Valerie.” Senna stepped over to him, nudging his arm with an elbow, though he didn’t react much outwardly, as he rarely did. Senna shot Marcel a look. “Before you complain on his behalf, Marcel, I promise you that was sincere endearment. But I think you should get a move on. Lend our guest a hand.”
“But there is one potential problem,” he said.
Marcel felt the heat rising up his neck. “What’s wrong?”
“The Weavers’ household has two bedrooms and two beds. They have no children. They have not, apparently, had any guests staying with them recently, either. ...But the bed in the guest room is unmade.”
“Were you… snooping through their house? Val, you can’t–”
“No, I wasn’t,” he said shortly. About the closest he ever got to sounding offended. Still, Marcel found it a relief. “I was just observant. If there were any more Reformists staying here until recently, however, I suspect they may have been in a hurry to leave. You know how sensitive this is. Just make sure everybody is being–”
“Cautious,” Senna interrupted. “We know. As Marcel and I have already discussed at tedious length, even if they are here, I find it very unlikely that they’d try anything.”
He was right. They already knew how likely it was that somebody would be watching; nothing had changed. All they had to do, Marcel reminded himself, was everything they could. Maybe it would be a start. But everything would be fine.
“Yes,” he said. “Well. We’re being very careful. Nothing should go–”
“HEY!”
That’s when he began to realize that several things, in quick succession, had already very much gone wrong.
The three of them turned in unison to look down the otherwise empty street, in the direction of the Weavers’ house, and though they had yet to meet in person, Marcel recognized the woman bearing down on them at once. Beau Weaver. Her heart was racing, but he didn’t need that to see what was written on her face. She was furious.
“Ms. Weaver,” he said, uncertain. “Good evening, I– I was–”
“Mr. Marcel,” she growled, coming to a stop a few feet away, the agitation in the grit of her teeth. “And Valerie. And Mx. Senna, too. I already know who you are, so I think we can skip right over the pleasant introductions, don’t you?”
Every muscle in his body was tense. Next to him, Valerie was even tenser. He didn’t move. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m sorry, I didn’t think–”
“Oh, didn’t you? Well, since you apparently don’t employ anyone with enough of a backbone to come bother you, I’m letting a little more pragmatism into my life and doing it for them.”
“If you could just explain what’s going on?”
“What’s going on,” Beau said, “is that Adeline, and Valerie, here, were doing whatever arcane shit has supposedly been helping my wife – and that was going just fine! Really, it was! – until he leaves, and then I step out for not ten minutes, and when I come back inside Adeline is laid out on my floor, passed out cold. Deeper than a fucking coma, as I am, at this point, pretty well fucking aware. So I would really appreciate it, actually, if one of you could tell me what exactly is going on?”
The three of them exchanged a look. Marcel felt the horror dawning on his face.
“We have to get there,” he said, and despite her justified anger, for a moment she seemed too shocked to register the urgency in his voice. “Now!”
The low, distorted roar of the skein built to a crescendo in Marcel’s head. Valerie led the charge, but he didn’t need to be guided; every step they took through the house felt inevitable. He knew exactly where they were.
The bedroom door was open. Val went inside and Beau pushed in past him, standing next to the bed and staring, shaken despite the singular determination she’d shown since he’d first seen her only a few minutes ago. Marcel and Senna at his side followed, moving past the bed where Renee Weaver still laid prone and hollow. Dr. Rode was already crouched over the second unconscious body in the room.
Adeline had collapsed next to her chair. Her limbs were contorted where she’d fallen, her skin slick, her breath coming in long, slow, shallow bursts– at least she was breathing. But she wasn’t like Renee. She was immortal. Which meant the thing he was looking for, the thing he knew he would find in her, was that much worse.
And it was there. Faint, grasping, just a slight warp in the fields around her heart, a scattering of crackling sparks of electricity in her brain; but it was there.
He hovered next to Rode, his mind racing, his thoughts scattered, no time to even consider the implications. They needed to get ahead of this. They needed to fucking do something, right now, because if the skein twisted its way deeper into her he didn’t know what could be done, if they couldn’t–
“We only brought one full set of equipment, and for a mortal, too, so one of you will have to be my eyes on her,” said Dr. Rode, as razor-sharp and quick as she always was, practically unperturbed. “One of my assistants will be back in a moment with everything I need to track her vitals, such as they are. She’s burning up, in case you were curious. Ha ha.”
Rode seemed to wait for a moment, looking between him and Val, before she added, “When I said one of you has to work with me, here, I thought the urgency was implicit.”
“I–” He froze. “Of course.” Letting his hands run on autopilot – he could feel himself shutting down, he needed something to focus on – Marcel reached down, letting his own body work as a sink as he rolled Adeline over and held her steady on her side, ignoring the steam rising where their skin made contact. “Valerie–”
“Yes,” he said, knowing what he was about to ask even better than he did. He was good at that. Marcel stepped back and Val took his place, reaching out to keep her temperature and her sway on the fields in check, relatively.
The tightness in his chest and the fog in his head were getting sharper. He wasn’t sure whether that was the skein or just regular panic. Probably both.
He stumbled wordlessly for a moment before getting his point in order, chastising himself for it as he turned to Beau, practically clinging to Renee’s slack arm across the room. “Ms. Weaver, you need to leave. Until everyone here is stable it isn’t safe–”
“I know how difficult it’s supposed to be to kill one of you,” she snapped back, “but if you so much as lay a finger on me trying to get me out of here I swear to god I’ll find out for myself. I’m not going anywhere.”
For the sake of time he chose to ignore the actual death threat she just gave him – him! – because surprisingly, she was now the least of his problems.
Valerie paused from his work, letting his grip on both Renee and Adeline slide for a moment, glancing up at Marcel. “...The train is leaving any minute,” he said under his breath. It took him a second to realize what he meant.
Evidently, Senna put it together at the same time. “Is that really the best idea? Now?”
“Extra men won’t help me take care of these two any better than I already can,” hissed Rode, “but if worst comes to worst I don’t think our Captain Balancia can handle it with only the handful he still has.”
Marcel considered it for a long time. Probably too long, for how much effort it took to smooth the grinding of the gears in his head, to look at the situation logically. It was dangerous, to bring the Peaceguard back, for subtlety and for optics but most importantly because he had no idea how any covert spectators might react. A choice he couldn’t make, and one he couldn’t afford not to. Again.
“Stop the train,” he said finally. “...Just make sure they’re ready.”
Despite his misgivings, Senna rushed out the door without another word. Beau glowered at him, but said nothing. As much as he knew she probably hated him and everything he stood for, there was a reason he and Valerie were in charge.
With a deep breath and one last survey of the scene, Marcel sat down next to Val, leaning against the bed, closed his eyes, and got to work. They had two patients now, one of them decidedly more volatile than the other. He avoided thinking about what would happen if Adeline… didn’t make it. He couldn’t.
He reminded himself that it could be worse. If it had progressed this far with Joseve there was no telling what might have happened, but as he was so often being reassured this was different. Adeline was strong. He told himself they had a chance.
And in that moment, the second thing that had gone wrong made itself known.
Somewhere outside, far enough to echo, but close enough to set the house shuddering in its foundations and to cast a brief, fiery glow through the rattling windows, there was an explosion. A calamitous crack of energy.
BOOM.
Halfway down the empty street Senna stopped to stare at the smoke rising from the edge of town, and he scoffed, the sound dead in his throat.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
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