Fate of Flames

by Sarah Raughley

  “AH, PARIS.” BELLE WINCED AT Lake’s affected French accent, wincing again when Lake twirled, her double-breasted red coat and polka-dot skirt swirling with her. “How I’ve missed you!”

  I couldn’t blame Lake for the enthusiasm. It was probably all in my excitable little tourist head, but even the air was different in France. The moment we touched down, I felt it, relishing the foreign air that slipped down my throat as we traveled through the chilled airport terminal.

  A van took us through the narrow, twisting streets of Paris. I rolled down my window, the late-afternoon sun a delight on my face. There was a different energy here. A nervous kind of excitement settled in my bones despite the lingering jet lag. I could hear wisps of French spoken by the women and children strolling down the sidewalks, by the waiters scribbling new menus on the chalkboards outside their cafés, and by the men who threw smoking cigar butts into the gutters outside bars.

  The narrow street emptied into the wider avenues of central Paris, tall buildings zipping in and out of our view. Taking out my cell phone, I leaned through my window and snapped a shot of the rolling river sparkling under the sun: La Seine, or so my guidebook told me. As we passed, a white ferry pulled at least a hundred tourists underneath a magnificent bridge carved in gaping arches.

  My lips parted. The bridge. The bridge itself was an antiphantom device. It must have been Paris’s equivalent of a Needle. Though the design was very different, I could tell it was an APD by the engine core cutting through the center. Electrical sparks flew from the motor’s heart, gliding down the tracks along the bridge as the core’s clockwork gears clinked and shifted.

  I checked my guidebook. The Pont Saint-Michel was outfitted as an antiphantom device in the early sixties, shortly after the Paris massacre of 1961. Maybe it was more a cathartic move than anything else—turning a site that had seen so much death into a monument to the protection of life.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” whispered Lake next to me. “Ugh, wouldn’t it just be the perfect place to have the photo shoot?”

  Chae Rin scoffed behind her. “The shoot’s tomorrow, right? Personally, I don’t really care where they take the pictures, just as long as they don’t put me in anything stupid.”

  Said the circus performer.

  We reached the hotel and went up to the seventh floor, once again bought out by the Sect for privacy. Thankfully, no one knew we were in town, and our hotel, being one frequented by the international elite, was well versed in the principles of discretion, so we didn’t need to worry about getting mobbed by the press.

  At any rate, now that we were in France, we were a step closer to fulfilling the plan, but there was one key part that still needed to be sorted: Belle. Steeling our nerves, Chae Rin, Lake, and I traveled down the hall and knocked on her door.

  “Belle?”

  Belle opened the door and let us in. In a white tank top and yoga pants, she looked ready to hit the gym, which probably explained the pair of little weights on the table next to the television.

  “What is it?” Belle flipped her ponytail out of her shirt and headed to the windows.

  Chae Rin pushed me forward a little too hard; I hopped three steps and nearly crashed into the bedpost.

  “Oh, I was just wondering.” I shifted my back painfully. “You grew up near Paris, didn’t you?”

  Without looking back, Belle stretched out her neck. “Why?”

  I darted a quick glance to Lake, who not-so-discreetly spurred me on. Damn, why was I the one who had to do it? “Since we’re close by,” I said, “I thought it might be . . . uh, k-kind of nice to visit your old foster home!”

  I giggled nervously as Belle stared at me. Clearly, this was going to be a tough sell, but I also knew it’d be much easier to get into a stranger’s home if we could use the old I used to live here, and I was just wondering if I could have a look around again con.

  “Visit my old home,” Belle repeated in a toneless voice. “All four of us.”

  I glanced at the other girls again before nodding. “Why not? We’re close by.”

  Belle rolled her eyes with a quiet sigh before turning her back to us.

  “Might be a good opportunity for a bit of Effigy bonding,” Lake tried as Belle began stretching her arms above her head. “I mean, since we’re all here?”

  Belle went very quiet, which meant that she was either really pissed off or lost in thought. Hopefully, it wasn’t the former. “And you’re all just so interested in my childhood.”

  “Not really,” Chae Rin mumbled under her breath before getting a sharp nudge in the ribs from Lake.

  “Maia wanting to go, I would have bought, but you two? Please.” Belle’s hands found her hips as she turned and leaned back against the eggshell-white curtains veiling her window. “You three should have thought this through a bit more, yes?”

  I deflated. She was right, of course, but the lie was worth a shot. So plan A was a bust. The alternative was definitely riskier, but we didn’t really have a choice now. We needed to get inside that house.

  I’d have to word this very carefully.

  “Look,” I said. “I know you didn’t want to hear about . . . about Natalya’s memories.”

  Belle’s hands slowly slid off her hips.

  “But,” I continued quickly, “we think she left something for you in your old foster home. I dreamed about it. We just want to know what it is. It seemed really important.”

  “She . . . she left something for me?” Confusion passed over Belle’s flushed face.

  I nodded. “In secret. Trust me, she really wanted you to find it.”

  Belle lowered her head but didn’t say a word.

  “Come on, Belle,” said Chae Rin. “I get that the whole Natalya thing is a sore spot for you, but do you really think you should ignore this?”

  Belle looked up and locked eyes with me. “Tell me the whole dream.”

  I did, explaining it in as much detail as I could recall. By the end, Belle was sitting at the foot of the bed, hunched over with her arms propped up against her knees.

  “The Castor Volumes,” she whispered.

  Lake cocked her head. “What?”

  “One of the last conversations I had with Natalya before she . . .” With a sharp gasp, Belle swallowed the next word. “A month ago, I planned on visiting the National Museum in Prague. It’s where the original Castor Volumes are kept. I know what’s in them, for the most part, but I’ve never had a chance to actually read them. There was one volume in particular I was interested in. I told Natalya I was planning to go during the last three days of March, but I never ended up doing it.”

  “So Natalya hid that message for you thinking you’d be there,” said Chae Rin.

  “Why not just meet me and tell me in person?”

  I remembered rushing through the museum in Natalya’s body, navigating the halls with a single focus. I remembered the rush of relief after leaving the note for Belle in the book, the kind of relief you got after crossing an item off of a very long, very important to-do list. And through it all, Natalya had known she was being followed.

  “It’s not that she didn’t want to,” I said quietly. “Maybe she couldn’t.”

  I hesitated. Chae Rin was right: We still had no idea how Belle would react if we told her about Natalya’s death. Belle’s pain was still too raw; it was there clear as day, darkening the confusion creasing her beautiful face. For now we had to focus on getting inside Belle’s old room, but convincing her was easier said than done.

  “I just don’t understand,” Belle said. “Why that house? Why there?” It was hard not to notice the slight tremor of Belle’s hand as she ran her fingers through her hair. “Why would she want me to go back there knowing . . . ?”

  Belle’s lips snapped shut. She shook her head and said nothing more.

  “Belle.” With cautious steps, I walked up to her. “I know there are a lot of questions right now. Let’s just go there first, and we can figure it out later.”
>
  “Who knows,” Lake added with a calming, sweet smile. “It could turn out to be nothing. But it’s worth a quick look, isn’t it?”

  Belle looked at the three of us for a long time. Finally, she straightened up. “Yes.” Sucking in a deep breath, she nodded. “It’s . . . it’s worth a look.”

  I would have felt a bit easier if I’d heard even the slightest bit of conviction in her voice. But maybe it didn’t matter. Now that we had Belle’s consent, all the pieces were in place.

  The plan was a go.

  • • •

  The sun was already dying. With the photo shoot scheduled for tomorrow morning, the clock was ticking. We had to go now, but Rhys wouldn’t be left behind.

  “Sorry, but Agent Langley asked me to look after you guys.” He zipped up his coat before shutting the door to his room. “Or did you guys think you could give me the slip?”

  “Never,” mumbled Chae Rin.

  “Hey, I’m giving up a decent night alone with my pay-per-view for this,” he said as he passed her. He sighed. “Why is it that every time I have a chance to watch Godzilla vs. Hedorah in French, it slips away? Am I cursed?”

  “Godzilla vs. Hedorah?” I whipped around. “Oh my god, I love that movie!”

  “Really?”

  “It’s literally a masterpiece!”

  “Right?” Rhys’s full lips quirked into a silly, boyish grin. “And people say it’s one of the worst ones!”

  “Fools.”

  “Excuse me, geek squad?” Chae Rin waved a hand to get our attention. “Save it for the car ride.”

  As Rhys turned around with a chuckle and left for the elevators, Chae Rin poked me.

  “Sect Boy coming along makes things a bit dicey,” she whispered. “We’re gonna have to keep him distracted somehow. Remember, we still don’t know where this is all gonna lead. The fewer people who know about this, especially Sect personnel, the better.”

  My smile disappeared. Not like I forgot my first disastrous attempt to broach the Natalya topic with Rhys. I knew he didn’t mean any ill, but I had to see where this went first before going to Rhys again . . . if I did at all.

  I responded with a solemn nod.

  We drove over to Gisors, a satellite town of Paris protected by the bridge. The Pont’s antiphantom signal wasn’t as strong out here. The town probably had a lower-level APD picking up the slack, not to mention a few Sect field agents living in town just in case.

  Belle’s foster home was one of the many town houses at the center of the community. I didn’t know what to expect when Belle knocked on the door, but I had assumed that Belle would at the very least say something once it opened to the emotional face of a middle-aged woman.

  “Belle?” The woman reached for Belle’s face, tears budding on her lashes.

  “Madame Duval.” Flinching at her touch, Belle said a few more words I couldn’t understand, but then I didn’t really need to; even in French, her greeting felt cold and emotionless. The woman smiled nonetheless.

  “These are my colleagues,” Belle said in English, gesturing to the rest of the group.

  Colleague. I hid a smile. Definitely an upgrade from internet stalker.

  Luckily, the woman’s enthusiasm extended to us, too. She stepped back with a welcoming sweep of her arms. “Please, please come in!”

  The house carried the faint smell of mildew. I could see its age in the worn plaster. Duval obviously hadn’t been expecting company—there were still filthy dinner plates in the sink, a dirty kitchen table, and a floor littered with broken toys.

  “I’m so sorry about the mess.” She dried her hands on the apron tied around her long waist. Her skirt swished as she scurried through the kitchen in old slippers. “And the noise,” she added because the television was blaring from the living room.

  “Madame Duval,” Belle started, but Duval was too excited to let her finish.

  “I cannot believe you’ve come back, Belle.” She cleared the kitchen table. “It has been so long. Please, all of you sit down. Let me make you something to eat.”

  As Belle stepped carefully across the rug, her gaze followed the framed pictures on the wall, all of them of children. I scanned them too, looking for Belle, but I didn’t find her.

  “Where is Madame Bisette?” Belle asked, her voice strained.

  In the living room, an old man watched television from his wheelchair. At the sound of the name, he gave a quick grunt, but didn’t turn. Duval, on the other hand, dropped the cloth in her hand and looked up, shocked. “You didn’t know? Belle, she died almost two years ago.”

  “Who’s that?” Lake asked as she unbuttoned her coat.

  “A friend of mine. She used to take care of the children here.” After stooping down to pick up the cloth she’d dropped, Duval went to the cupboards for plates. “Years ago, when I was still living in Paris, I would visit from time to time. When she died, Papa and I moved here. Oh, Belle, it would have been so wonderful if you could have seen her one last time. She always spoke so fondly of you!”

  Belle’s lips curled, and for a second I thought she might snarl a response. Anyone who could refer to her old foster home as “shit” probably wouldn’t have nice things to say about the lady who used to run things. Luckily, Belle followed the old dictum and said nothing at all, but she couldn’t disguise her anger; her stone grimace had already given it away.

  I heard soft footsteps coming down a flight of steps behind the wall. Three small children rounded the corner. As soon as they saw Belle, they latched on to Duval’s long skirt, speaking excitedly in French. Duval laughed brightly.

  “Ah, this is Charlotte, Claudine, and Jean. They’ve heard so much about you, Belle!”

  One of the two girls ran up to Belle and, grabbing her hand, began babbling in French. I didn’t have to know the language to understand that the girl was utterly starstruck. Her little body looked as if it would burst from the excitement.

  I grinned. The girl’s bright eyes spoke volumes.

  “Claudine is just saying that she sleeps in Belle’s room now,” said Duval. Chae Rin nudged me. “She collects everything about Belle! She is very happy to see her.”

  Despite the little girl’s zeal, Belle stood there awkwardly, listening but responding only with curt nods. She must have made a point to spend her entire life steering clear of the presence of children, because she seemed thoroughly unable to relate to the one in front of her.

  “This is a tad awkward,” Rhys said. He really didn’t have to. He checked his watch before tapping my shoulder. “How long are you guys planning on staying again?”

  The sun was swiftly retreating. We needed to get up to Belle’s room fast.

  “Madame Duval,” Belle said.

  “Oui?” Duval asked slowly, her voice vexed with apprehension. “Belle?”

  Belle stayed silent for too long. Then, finally: “Are you hurting this girl?”

  A sudden silence followed Belle’s shocking question. Duval almost dropped her cup.

  “Pardon?” sputtered the woman.

  Belle didn’t have to ask again.

  “I am not!” Duval looked utterly gutted. “I would never!”

  Belle knelt in front of the girl and asked her something in French. When the girl shook her head, Belle repeated the question to Charlotte and Jean, who responded the same. Each child looked genuinely surprised and confused, which made Belle and Duval’s elderly father, wholly uninterested in the world outside his TV, the only ones inside the house who weren’t.

  “Belle,” said Duval, frozen in shock. “Why? Why would you—”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Belle faced her. “Madame Duval, do you really not know? But then, Bisette never missed a chance to sell her lies. . . . I suppose you simply bought them.”

  Duval carefully set her cup down on the counter. “Belle, what . . . what do you mean?”

  Despite every interview Bisette had given the French media, Belle had never even mentioned the woman, even when asked. Her s
ilence spoke volumes, but I never imagined it would be this bad. And Belle still had so much anger stored up inside her. She shook with it.

  “Wayward,” “angry”—the words Belle had used to describe her pre-Effigy self. And now that she was here in this house again, she could barely stand the sight of the pictures on the wall: pictures of children happier than she ever was.

  Belle shut her eyes and turned from us. “I’m sorry. I . . . It was a mistake coming here.” Without a second glance to the children, she started toward the door.

  “Belle, wait!” I tried to grab her shoulder, but she evaded me with a quick shift of her body.

  “I’m sorry,” Belle repeated, more softly this time. “Whatever you need to do, I’m sure you can do it without me.”

  “That’s not what I . . .”

  “Need to do?” Rhys repeated.

  Chae Rin, Lake, and I exchanged a glance. We’d already made it inside the house. We couldn’t make our grand exit now, not before checking Belle’s old floorboards. As concerned as I was for her, I couldn’t get caught up in her pain right now.

  “We still want to have a look around, if that’s okay with you,” said Lake quickly.

  Rhys raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Belle lowered her head. “I’ll . . . be in town. Call me when you’re finished.”

  And then, to Duval and the children’s utter devastation, she strode out the door.

  As they stood there, stunned into silence, Rhys nudged me. “You really want to stay?”

  I thought fast. “We can’t just leave them like this.” Then, to Duval, “I’m sorry about Belle.” I walked up to her. “I guess she’s still working stuff out. It has nothing to do with you.”

  The woman nodded, but shakily.

  “We’ll stay for dinner!” Lake turned to me and Chae Rin. “Right?”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  Rhys looked baffled when Chae Rin nodded too. “I’m game.”

  “Also . . .” Lake bent over as she spoke to Claudine, her hands on her knees. “It would be really cool if you guys could show us around. You said you sleep in Belle’s old room, right?”