Liberté Foncée

Somewhere some girl is crazy
And some boy's half out of his head
Somewhere somebody's fearless
And someone won't wind up dead

Somewhere two hearts are pounding
And they don't care what's correct
Somewhere somebody's falling in love
Without a background check

-- Meat Loaf, Where the Rubber Meets the Road

CHAPTER TEN: MY OWN PRIVATE DEVIL

Ayden got home around - well, actually, he didn't know what time it was, as he was too tired to see his watch properly. All he knew was that it was far later than he cared to be arriving at his place of residence. He spent two minutes unlocking his front door, stumbled into his apartment, and collapsed onto his couch, falling asleep within seconds.

Not much later, he was awoken by someone prodding him in the side. Hard.

"Ow," he said sulkily, forcing his eyes open. Shane was standing beside the couch, giving him a judgmental look.

"Front door unlocked and wide open. Smart, Ryan, real smart."

Ayden groaned and sat up. "What the fuck are you doing here? Not that I'm not pleased to see you, mate, but I was kind of sleeping. Not to mention it's - what time is it?"

"About thirty minutes after Alena kicked me out into the worst rain storm we've had in two years." Shane nodded out of the window to the silver sheets of rain that looked as though they couldn't be falling fast enough. So that's why he'd been dreaming of visiting the Angel Falls. "The Muggles've all lost power, I heard a few yelling at their families for flashlights," he added.

"You mean to tell me you walked here?"

"There was some ministry bastard checking apparition licenses earlier this week. They told us at work to avoid it if we could."

"If you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain..." Ayden muttered.

"What've you got to drink around here?" asked Shane, ignoring him.

"Er," said Ayden as Shane poked through his cabinets.

There was a pause of a few seconds, broken only by a gentle clinking as Shane shifted the contents of the cupboards, a man on a quest. "Bloody hell, Ryan, ever heard of a liquor store?" he asked disbelievingly, picking up the only thing he could find - a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka - and taking a big gulp of it.

"Eh, you know, been busy at work," Ayden offered lamely. In no way does my lack of refreshments have to do with the fact that I am ecretly working for an evil overlord, no sir-ee.

"You know, you are a very inhospitable person, Ayden," said Shane thoughtfully, putting down the bottle.

"I am?"

"Yes. If you'd waltzed into my flat at two AM after being thrown out for the second time this week and having walked two miles in a storm that merits an ark and two of each animal, I'd at least have offered you some dry clothes and perhaps a bit of food by now."

"I wouldn't have gotten past the front door in the first place," Ayden said. "You would've cursed my limbs off and woken half the neighborhood before you realized who I was." He got to his feet and started rummaging around in his closet, trying to find something reasonably clean. Ayden Ryan did not, of late, seem to believe in laundry.

"Only if I was cranky." Ayden took the cleanest-looking clothing he could find and tossed it Shane's way. "Thanks."

"So what'd you do this time?" Ayden half-asked, half-yawned.

"Hell if I know," replied Shane, pulling off his shirt and dropping it in a heap by the front door. He glanced out the window again. "You know this morning's paper was calling for scattered showers? Thirty percent chance."

Ayden snorted. "Doesn't look like thirty percent to me."

"Supposedly they've got a Seer who does the weather for them. Doesn't look like she's done a very good job. They should make her take a walk in this, see how much it looks like scattered showers to her. And, damnit, what happened to making the person you're angry with sleep on the couch? Someone needs to talk to Alena about that. She shouldn't turn her back on tradition like that. It's got to be sacrilegious or something."

"Women these days, I tell you," Ayden said empathetically.

"Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." Shane sighed. "Are you sure you haven't got anything else to drink around here?"

*

Violet was not, in fact, dead. Appearances could be deceiving, it was one of the cardinal rules of modern world. In fact, she was alive enough to be, at that moment, bundled up against the cold weather, so unlike that of the previous day, and taking a stroll with someone who, save a few short meetings prior, was a complete stranger.

Braeden McKay had been called many things in the past few years, "insane" predominating. He had also, however, done his homework. He'd read everything he could on certain murders he knew a certain Miss Adrienne Cassada had participated in. He'd studied her style, he'd contemplated what he knew of her mind. He'd found links and followed a trail. He'd found her family, who they were and where. He'd found Violet, who currently presented to the world the name Katherine Blake, and in the past had gone by several others. The Fighters really did have some quite remarkable resources if one cared to explore them.

"I still don't believe you completely," Katherine Blake (as we shall call her for the time being) said calmly, pulling her fluffy purple earmuffs more firmly over her ears.

"Of course, why should you? I only know as much about your sister as you do."

That earned him a small smile.

"Say I do have a sister. I still don't understand why it's so important that you find her."

"Because she's a psychopathic killer who is currently running free and clear of the ministry, as they consider her dead."

"She's not the only one, there are a load of them. There's something else. And I would like to know why, if it truly is important, you need me."

Braeden shrugged. To tell this woman that he missed Adrienne would be stupid. She didn't care, and she would laugh. It sounded petty even in his head. The second part was easier. "Because you know the organization. You know how it operates. You were part of it." He glanced sideways to see her reaction to this.

Her face remained expressionless, if slightly strained. She lowered her head against the wind and kept walking, reaching up to take off her scarf and retie it more securely. "And, pray tell, how did you come to this conclusion?"

"I've told you, Miss, I've done my reading. You were part of the Death Eaters. Whether you worked as a double agent or not, I can only guess. But fact remains, you were a follower of You-Know-Who. You have or had contact with them. Something I need. I had a friend in the system, but now he's gone. You disappeared too, didn't you? They got close to realizing you weren't working for them alone, and so you died."

"Tell me, if I was dead, wouldn't I be lying six feet under rather than walking here?"

Braeden smiled. "You, better than anyone, should know not to accept death at face value any more. Especially considering your level of experience. What was it, three or four times?" There was a pause. "Really, if you need to count..."

"Three."

"Aha! So you admit I'm not just flying blind here."

"Perhaps."

"So, tell me." He adjusted his own scarf. "What happened? Each instance?"

"To explain in detail every single occasion would be to bore you, sir."

"I'm not easily bored."

*

Ayden had trouble getting back to sleep. Perhaps it was the storm, or perhaps it was the thoughts invading his head. He felt like a nostalgic idiot, remembering times when he didn't spend half his time worrying what would happen if his friends learned what he was doing. He remembered times when it was still uncommon for someone to come knocking upon his door saying they'd been kicked out of their own home again.

The strange thing was how little time had passed. Just a few months. Times and people changed, apparently, at lightning speed.

He sighed. Maybe Adrienne had a point, maybe it would be easier if he just vanished and didn't have to deal with it anymore. He certainly wouldn't mind. He shook his head. As if he would fool anyone.

He rolled over and closed his eyes, determined to sleep.

This didn't work out too well, he didn't sleep soundly in the slightest sense of the word. He had odd dreams, odd dreams that started with him walking through a thick fog. He didn't know where he was going, though his feet seemed to.

Suddenly, the fog vanished and he was standing at the entrance of a large maze. The walls three times his height were made of polished black marble and reflected him standing there, hesitant and unmoving. His reflections grinned at him, and it took several moments to realize he wasn't smiling.

He was alone, but quite suddenly, not anymore. New reflections appeared. Shane and Alena were over on that wall, shouting at each other. Ayden could tell, even though he couldn't hear their words. Rayne sat to his left, looking tired. She slid down the length of the wall, sat down, and put her head in her hands. Adrienne was nearest, at the first fork in the maze, beckoning him inward.

He took a step forward, and woke with a start.

Good devil, how much symbolism could his brain pack into one dream? And if dreams were just neurological junk, why did they have to make so much and so little sense at the same time?

He grumbled something sleepily and rolled over punching his pillow, irritated, as he did so.

*

"And that," Adrienne was telling Ayden the next evening, "is why relationships should be based primarily on sex and less on conversation and understanding. It works out fine when it's just insert part A into slot B and have fun, but the second you start to try and understand the other person, the whole thing snowballs out of control and you start to fight and things get complicated and people leave the country."

"At this point you're abusing the concept of a run-on sentence, Cassada. And no one's leaving the country."

"Not yet, anyway. Relationships built on meaningful conversations and love and mutual consideration are passé. They don't work any more."

"They do sometimes," said Ayden, thinking briefly of Violet and Mark. He smiled to himself.

"In apocalyptically rare case, maybe. But these two friends of yours are a prime example. They should've talked less and just screwed, and this Shane person wouldn't be waking you up at two in the morning begging for a shag."

"He wasn't begging for a shag, Adrienne, he wanted food and dry clothes," said Ayden. The tabletop in front of him was starting to look like a nice surface for potential head-beating. "And alcohol, but that's not a surprise, knowing him."

"Not the point." Adrienne waved him off. "They just blew it. Should've started off with sex from day one, and they wouldn't be miserable now. They're never going to fix it now. They'll arguing until it kills them."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Adrienne Cassada approach to relationships: shag now, shag later, and when you've broken your back from too much sex, try and get to know the person you're with."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Adrienne. Ayden gave her a look. "Trust me, it works a lot better and makes much more sense. More difficult to argue when you're fucking, that's for sure."

"Well, that's true, but can we not have this conversation?"

"No speaking of fairy tales, no discussing sex. What can I talk to you about?" Adrienne shook her head.

"You forgot no Teletubbies."

"Kill my next topic of conversation before I even start, why don't you?"

Adrienne glanced out of the window. They were sitting in a dingy pub somewhere near Ayden's bookstore, having met by chance while he was on his way home from work and she was on her way home from her latest murder.

She looked down at her salad distastefully. "Bloody Muggle chefs. Can't even make a proper salad. Honestly." She poked the wilted lettuce with her fork, sighed, took a bite, made a face, swallowed, and repeated the process. "Maybe I'll kill them before we go."

"Let's add murder to the list of forbidden topics, shall we?"

"You're no fun," sulked Adrienne.

"So I'm told."

Ayden took a gulp of his drink and glanced at his watch.

"So, had any more thoughts on killing yourself?" asked Adrienne, spearing a slice of cucumber with her fork.

"A few." Ayden sighed and put his glass down. "It'd be easier. But I've got a life, I can't just decide to--"

"One thing you have to learn," Adrienne said, putting down her utensils, "is that there is a difference between what you can do and what is the right thing to do."

Ayden shrugged. Easy for her to say. She was a murderous psychopath.

They paid the check, and Ayden made sure Adrienne didn't take a detour by the kitchens to kill the cook on their way out.

It figured that if Adrienne didn't kill someone else that night, her evening would be incomplete. It also figured that the person to die (or wish he was dead) would be Ayden. And, of course, Shane would have to be mixed into the equation somehow or it would be, as Adrienne was fond of saying, "no fun."

He greeted them with an eloquent, "What the hell?"

"We, um, went to get dinner after work," Ayden said, nodding to the pub a few doors down. Not exactly a lie. Neglecting to mention that they hadn't been working in the same place or under the same circumstances wasn't lying, was it? After all, omission was the sincerest form of... no, no, wait, that was "imitation is the sincerest form of plagiarism." Or something.

"Ah," said Shane.

"I vote we forbid him from using the phrase 'ah,' because it bothers me," Adrienne said to Ayden. Shane raised an eyebrow in her direction. Ayden fiddled with his wand inside his pocket, wondering if it would be difficult to curse the portion of the street he was standing on and causing a minor earthquake that would ultimately kill him and solve all his problems.

There was a long and awkward pause.

"I'm tired," said Ayden finally. "I'll just be off... Good night, both of you." He started to walk away. He got about twenty feet before he felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"So who is she?" asked Shane, glancing back to see if Adrienne was out of earshot.

"I've told you," said Ayden steadily. "We work together. You met her a few months ago, remember?"

"I remember," replied Shane. "Don't believe you any more now than I did then, but I remember."

"Does everything have to be suspicious?" Ayden asked bitterly, turning to face him. "Isn't it possible to make a new acquaintance at work and--"

"No one makes acquaintances at work anymore. Paranoia rules all. If she works with you at that blasted store, why have I never seen her there?"

"It's a big store." Ayden turned and kept walking.

"Big enough so that when I went to ask about her no one knew who she was?"

"So you asked someone new. This is ridiculous." Ayden tried to sound annoyed. All he could hear in his own ears was panic and a desperation to keep something quiet.

"Then explain why half the nights you claim you're working you're not there. Explain why you suddenly have to run out on your friends. Explain what you're hiding from us. You've been different, Ayden. Months now. I'm not as stupid as I seem to look. What's wrong with you?"

"You wouldn't understand. Just let it go."

Maybe he should have told him. Ages ago. But he'd be dead before he had a chance to explain. Shane would murder him with his bare hands as soon as he said the words "Death Eater."

What he had wanted to do had worked well enough so far. There were several instances where he'd managed to keep his loved ones safe against some Voldemort-induced disaster. Just last week there had been an attack on Diagon Alley, which Ayden had informed his friends of by saying he'd heard something suspicious from two shady-looking patrons at the café. He knew for fact Rayne and Alena had been planning a joint shopping venture for that same day.

"I wouldn't understand," Shane repeated.

"Correct."

"What's there to understand?"

Ayden shook his head. "Just let it alone."

"Since when am I judgmental enough to not understand? You've know me since we were kids, Ryan. Honestly. This is you we're talking about after all, how bad can it be?" he gave a short laugh. "Is it that girl? Something going on with her?"

"Her? You're off your rocker, she's a bloody psychopath. You know some relative of hers invented the Teletubbies?"

"Those mad, stuffed things with big ears and coat hangers sticking out of their heads?"

"Yeah, in the really bright colors that make you want to gauge out your eyes with something sharp."

"No shit?" Shane laughed.

"Apparently the lunacy is genetic."

"So if it isn't her, what is it?"

"Forget about it. It's nothing."

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't be this jumpy all the time. You'd sleep a bit more--"

"This coming from you? Since when is sleep important?"

"--and maybe you'd talk to the people you supposedly care about once in a while."

"This isn't talking? Funny, I thought that's what the moving of mouths with sound coming out to form sentences and communications was called."

"This is arguing and you avoiding the question."

"Don't you have anything better to do than torture me?"

"Nope, 'Lena still won't let me back in the house. I think she's put some sort of anti-me charm on the door, it won't give."

"Does this mean you're invading my flat again?"

"Looks like. Think there's anything open this late? The absence of alcoholic beverages at your place is appalling."

"'Appalling?' Since when do you say things like 'appalling?' Who the devil are you and what have you done with my best friend?" He felt grateful to be off the prior subject.

Shane snorted and gave him a sideways glance. "I wonder the same thing every day," he muttered under his breath so that Ayden could barely hear him.

It was only later that Ayden realized what he really meant.