Liberté Foncée

Satan is glad - when I am bad,
And hopes that I - with him shall lie
In fire and chains - and dreadful pains.

-- Victorian Children's Poem, 1856

CHAPTER TWELVE: GENERATION GAP

"It's been a month." Alena leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. Shane didn't look at her, just kept staring out of the window. "It's been a month," she repeated after a few moments, "and he's not coming back, Shane. Wherever he is." She sighed and then said, "He's probably dead."

"Aren't you just a bright little ray of sunshine," he snapped. He turned to face her. "What are you trying to say, Alena? I don't know if you've heard, but people capable of human emotion don't tend to give up on the ones they love quite so easily."

She glanced down, smoothed her hands over her skirt, just to give herself something to do. "How's Rayne?" She fiddled with the bracelet on her right wrist, twirling it around and around.

"You mean now that the catatonic phase that you missed while you God knows where is over?" Alena glowered at him. "Not much better. Still having some trouble sleeping. It was a hard blow." Shane looked back to the window. "First you, then Ayden... I think she felt closer to him than either of us realized. And nothing else is really sparkling in comparison either."

"But she's better."

"Not really. I'm worried about her, don't think she's really stable. But they're getting mad with me at work, I doubt I'll be able to watch her much longer." His gaze shifted to the closed bedroom door. "I don't want to leave her alone."

"Want to say that again with less subtleness? I don't think I got the hint."

Shane almost smiled. "You'll stay?"

"For her, yes. Not for you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

*

Shane was busy concentrating more on the sidewalk and not so much on the people walking on it and toward him. Several times, people ducked out of his way, only to roll their eyes when he swept past without so much as an 'excuse me.' Not that anyone ever did anyway.

The sun had almost set and the last pale pink and purple rays were disappearing into black. People turned to shadows, occasionally gliding into view as they passed under a street light.

Nighttime has always been more dangerous than other times, even when murder wasn't on the top ten most common fears list of most people.

Night is when the monsters come out from under the bed and vampires creep out of hiding to stalk their victims. Night is when the ghosts and goblins run free and all the other nasty things that don't go bump in the day show up. At least, that's what children's stories are like. But in this time, all of those were lurking, even in daylight.

However, the simple fact that it was dark at night and sunny - sometimes - in the day time made it more frightening. Evil operates under cover of darkness.

Shane wasn't the only person not looking where he was going, and no doubt that was what caused the collision that sent both him and the woman coming from the opposing direction to walk directly into each other and nearly fall over.

He cursed loudly, caught his balance, and then turned to mutter an apology before he stopped dead and wound up not saying anything.

The woman was tall and brunette and he knew her. He'd seen her twice, both times with Ayden, and he hadn't been fond of her at either meeting. She glanced at him and a slight frown crossed her face, as though she had seen him before and was trying to place a name with the face.

"Excuse me," she said finally after a few moments hesitation and started walking again.

It took a split second after she was behind him and he was heading for home again for "Hey, wait!" He spun around, as did the woman.

"Yes?" She sounded rather exasperated.

"You knew Ayden... Ayden Ryan, you worked with him."

She looked slightly surprised for a moment before she registered his face as well. "Ah, of course. What about him?"

"They don't tell you at work when your fellow employees die?" He didn't know why he was being rude, really. All he knew was he just didn't like her, whoever the hell she was.

She regarded him coolly. "Mr. Parker, it so happens I've long since stopped working in that café. I didn't have time for two occupations and I found I no longer needed the extra money."

Impressive, she remembered his name. Shane snorted. "Everyone needs money these days."

The woman frowned at him. "That depends on many factors. Now, if you'd excuse me, I have be going. Sorry for your loss."

Then, she disappeared.

*

Shane reached his flat ten minutes later, scowling inwardly. That woman knew something, he was sure. It had been in her eyes the whole time. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Rayne was sitting by the window, staring at a street light and watching the moths crowd around it one last time before they hid themselves away for the autumn and winter months.

"Hey," he said heavily.

"Hi."

She wasn't talking much lately, but at least she wasn't in hysterics anymore either. That was something.

"They asked about you at work today," he said after a bit of silence. "That new kid seemed 'specially concerned. I think you've got yourself a groupie."

Rayne smiled.

"You going to eat anything at all today?" Shane asked. The toast and coffee from that morning sat untouched on the counter.

"I'm not hungry. Haven't been for a while now... Have you ever thought what it would be like to be a moth?"

"A... what?"

"They're so strange... The light kills them off, but they go to it... they always go to it, as close as they can but sometimes they get too close and they get burned and they die." She turned her head to look at him directly and he realized how sickly pale she looked, how tired she seemed.

For the first time he really understood the toll Ayden's disappearance had taken on her. Not that it was just that, of course. That had pushed her over the top but Shane knew well that he and Alena were a big part of it. Not to mention how hard they all had to work because of the times and... Fuck, it was life and the world in general that had done this to her. And it seemed so strange, because she had always been a strong person. Five years ago if someone had told Shane one of the two girls would end up like this, he would've said it was Alena, no question. But now he realized that even so, Alena wasn't as strong as she was bitter.

Bitter. Now there was a good word to describe their generation.

*

It was a gray and rainy afternoon when the Muggle airplane landed with a sound thump! on the runway at Sofia's International Airport in Bulgaria. It was a nice airport, Alena thought as she glanced around once inside the gates and headed off to find her bag and her greeting.

It was clean, somewhat, and well lit. Alena had always been a fan of lots of light, shadows made her uncomfortable. It was, for all practical purposes, a normal airport. Most things seemed to be in both English and Bulgarian, and there was something lovely and foreign-feeling about the Cyrillic letters everywhere, of which she couldn't make heads nor tails.

Now, if she could find her luggage and then her aunt, things would be just peachy.

The luggage was easier. She only had one bag, with a few more things she'd brought with her. The things she'd left weren't necessary, mostly photographs and such. She pulled her bag off the rotating conveyor belt and looked around. No familiar faces. Sigh.

Fifteen minutes later, Alena became rather convinced she was stranded. This was bad, to some degree. She was stuck at the airport, with no knowledge of the language or of her Aunt's address. She didn't have a phone number with her, and... Bugger.

"Zagubena si, taka li, milichka?"

Alena whirled around and saw a kindly-looking old woman standing there, smiling pleasantly at her.

"Um," Alena said. "English?"

"Ot America?" the woman asked, smiled fading slightly.

"No! Er..." Alena looked around helplessly, as though a phrase book might suddenly materialize and come to life to help her out. She sighed. Her aunt had better have an excuse. Wah.

"Lena! Mila!" a voice called. A familiar-sounding voice, Alena amended in her head gratefully.

She turned and saw a woman who looked about forty-something, waving to her and shouting. She was short, no taller than five feet, and jumping and waving her hands to attract Alena's attention. People were starting to watch her and laugh.

"Aunt Lili," said Alena, relieved.

"I'm sorry I'm late," her aunt said apologetically, "but the drivers here are quite mad, as you know from your last visit. I don't like the roads much, and the bus broke down, and... well, things got complicated." She spoke with a slight accent, enunciating her words more than necessary, acquired after ten years of living here.

"No problem," said Alena, picking her bad up off the floor. She followed Aunt Lili outside.

"We will take a taxi home," she was informed. "It will be easier with your bags." At this point, Alena didn't care. She merely nodded. "How was your flight?"

"Late," Alena said truthfully. "But our pilot flew like a maniac, so we arrived on time anyway." Her aunt hailed a cab and the driver, a short dark-haired man with a bushy mustache and a crooked nose, hopped out to put her bags in the back.

"And your visit?"

"The funeral?" Alena shrugged. "Quick, I suppose. I saw him before I left the first time, you know? It's just a bit hard to believe he's gone."

"It's always hard, Lena," said Aunt Lili, patting her on the shoulder. To the driver, she said, "Do Godce Delchev, molya vi." The driver nodded, said something in Bulgarian, and turned out of the airport lot.

Alena fastened her seat belt (the driver gave her an odd look), and settled back, watching the scenery outside.

*

If he was supposed to react in any particular way now that the reality of what he had done hit him, Ayden certainly wasn't doing so. It was almost life as usual, actually. Apart from the fact that there was no Alena, no Rayne, no Shane, and a full-time Adrienne to fill their places.

There was a considerable amount of more guilt, most of it related to work, as he now gave all his time to, well, killing. Adrienne had gotten somewhat pretentious of late, and now readily scoffed at his performance of the Unforgivable curses, and laughed at his qualms over taking human lives.

"They're plebian fools," she'd said once. "Plebian fools who don't deserve to live. There should be no guilt."

But there was.

Ayden felt pity every time he looked down upon someone ready to die by his hand, he couldn't help think that next time it might be him lying on his back on the ground of a darkened alley, gravel pressing uncomfortably back, as someone stood over him and waved their wand.

He wondered if the Three Fates, or at least Artopos, spoken of in the Greek Myths had ever felt remorse, spinning and cutting a string too short. Or at least he would have wondered, if he'd been in the mood for any deep, philosophical thoughts of late. Which he hadn't.

*

Tonight was an off night, and Ayden was thankful for it. The past week had included three murders and one torture (which Betty had needed to handle, Ayden still couldn't hold the Cruciatus curse for more than a few moments - a fact Adrienne was increasingly amused by), including a slight girl not even Ayden's age whose crime he wasn't sure of, if there was one.

The Dead among the Death Eaters had their own quarters, a common room separated from the sleeping area (an array of tiny cots against a back wall) by a length of fabric hung from ceiling to floor. At the moment, Ayden was half-lying, half-sitting in the common room on a couch that looked suspiciously like his own, which had been stolen from his flat a few months prior ("Who steals a couch? Honestly," Shane had said).

"You know, I've read about what this place was like before," Adrienne said, gesturing around herself, not only to the room but to the organization itself. "As much as it's changed, I wouldn't be surprised if within a few years we welcomed anyone new by saying, 'Hello, and welcome to the Death Eaters. Here's your schedule, and a list of people you don't want harmed. You will be contacted about who your partner will be tomorrow. Have a good evening, please follow my assistant into the next room to receive your mark.'"

"So a lot's changed," he said.

"Only here. Ever notice how much the world is still the same in terms of technological advances?"

Ayden hadn't, but now he stopped to think about it, and he realized that she was right.

"Maybe we've just got nowhere to go from here."

"Nah. People are just too busy trying to stay alive and disagreeing with each other to invent anything new."

He pondered this. His knowledge of Muggle history was limited. He knew the world wars, rock n'roll, and football. Mark had been more the type who studied anything and everything, the real scholar of the family. He'd have had an explanation for slowed advances, Ayden was sure.

"Do many people join just to protect their families?" He prompted the conversation backward, trying to sound only politely interested.

"Most are interested in saving their own skins." Adrienne shrugged. "But yes, we do get a few loyal idiots who think that just 'cause they're here, we won't touch the people they're close to. Not that it helps. If the Dark Lord wants someone dead, they die. Doesn't matter who they are. Even if they're one of his own. Believe me, I know."

"You've killed Death Eaters before."

"I've killed friends before. Well, not that they counted as friends, traitors are hardly allies."

"Allies? You sound like you're fighting a war."

She fixed him with a hard stare. "We are fighting a war. Take a look outside; haven't you noticed that by now?"

It was the sort of thing Shane would have said, Ayden realized, and that thought made him squirm in his seat. He'd tried to avoid thinking of his friends, pretended he didn't have a photograph of the lot of them pressed between the pages of one of Mark's books, which he'd taken with him, acted like he didn't miss them.

Ayden Ryan had been told time after time that he was a pitiful liar.

*

By Indian River
The vows were said
In a red Devil's dress
I was wed

-- Laika, Black Cat Bone

Two floors below Adrienne and Ayden, Conlon Lloyd was panicking, something he did so rarely that it was almost reserved for Judgment Day. But then, Apocalypse Jameson was the only person that made him do many things that merited the end of the world.

"You sure 'bout this, Cal?" Conlon asked for the fiftieth time that morning.

Cal smiled. "Yes, I'm sure."

"You ain't built for this type of thing," said Conlon uncertainly. "You ain't the sort for killing."

"Hrrf," Cal objected in what most people called her puppy-dog growl. It had long been decided that if Apocalypse Jameson were a dog, she would be of the small and hyper variety - the sort that went to greet burglars with a wagging tail and lick their hands rather than barking and biting them in the rear.

"I don't like this."

"You don't like many things."

"It ain't for you."

"So I've heard."

"It's all murder and bad hours and... what have you ever killed 'fore, eh?"

"I killed my gold fish when I was three," Cal said cheerfully.

Conlon glared at her. "It's shady, Cal. Red light district, underworld type stuff."

"I tried to buy my friend a hooker for his thirteenth birthday, does that count for anything?" Glare, glare, glare. "I'll be fine," she said soothingly. "Come on, love, have a little faith. I'm not as wimpy as I look."

Conlon sighed and shook his head. A door opened at the other end of the room and a figured, tall, robed, and masked beckoned Cal forward. She gave Conlon a relaxed smile, kissed him on the cheek, and followed the Death Eater.

Late that night, once Cal had fallen asleep beside him, Conlon traced the mark on her inner arm, feeling it still burning lightly against his cool fingers. He watched her sleeping visage, so calm and innocent, and he worried.