Liberté Foncée

If there's a God or any kind of justice under the sky
If there's a point if there's a reason to live or die
If there's an answer to the questions we feel bad to ask
Show yourself - destroy our fears - release your mask

-- Queen, Innuendo

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: INNUENDO

Strawberries had always been Katherine Blake's favorite ice cream flavor, even since she'd been a little girl. She remembered summer back in France with her mother, buying a cone from the street vender in Paris on her way to visit Notre Dame, pretending she was a tourist - as she practically was, she and her sister tended to spend most of the year with their father across la Manche - her mother leading the way and making conversation.

"En français, chérie," she would say as her daughter struggled with a translation, turning to English for the word.

Now, walking out of the small ice cream parlor with a strawberry sherbet cone in her hand and Braeden at her side with chocolate, those summers seemed miles away, a time before traitorous family and fake death scenes and mysterious strangers who claimed to know her family and wanted her help to find them again.

"This really don't have any larger purpose, does it?" she asked casually as they walked down the sidewalk.

"What?"

"This--" She waved her hand at the both of them. "--You finding me, asking for help. You don't want to stop anything big from happening, you just want to see her."

"I, well... There are other factors, and..." he trailed off, and she gave him a look. "I'm a sap who misses her and likes bugging other people, yeah."

She laughed and he smiled sheepishly.

"Quite all right, surprisingly." She licked her ice cream thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind finding her myself. There are some..." She paused to find the right word, and a shadow passed over her face. "Unanswered questions, unsettled matters." She went back to her ice cream.

Braeden looked at her curiously but didn't pry, instead focusing on his chocolate cone which was dripping down his wrist, melting in protest at having been neglected.

*

"Food!" Adrienne announced cheerfully, dropping a paper bag down on the table in front of Ayden.

"Already ate," said Ayden, yawning. He had, after all, been asleep.

Adrienne snorted. "Ate the food they give you here. Which isn't really food, just a partly edible substance made to look like food."

"Not hungry." Yawn. He sat up.

Adrienne shrugged. "Have it your way." She opened the bag, drawing out a sandwich. "Do you ever eat anything, really?"

"Nope." Ayden rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times to clear his vision. "Bugger, I'm tired."

"You take the killing and torturing part of this job way too seriously," Adrienne said. She held out a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Ayden glanced at the contents, made a face, and shook his head. "And you need to learn to appreciate godly beverages."

"Ever thought that maybe you're just twisted with all the killing as a form of rest and relaxation thing?"

"Or you're just pathetic, either way works." She took a bite out of her sandwich. "I could teach you. Try, at any rate. You might not be beyond hope."

"Thanks?"

"Oh, like you don't know you're pitiful."

"I'm touched, Cassada. Really." Ayden attempted to sit up straighter, gave up, and fell back with a flump! He groaned. "Did you have to wake me up?"

"It's not my fault you're insane and do not appreciate real food and accept it as an appropriate excuse for doing so." She took a sip of her coffee.

Ayden snorted. "If I'm insane, what does that make you?"

*

"Everyone knows that the whole point of being French is to get at the English."

-- Dr. Boris Kovatchev

JANUARY, YEAR 2117

Belief is a funny thing. Some people believe in God, some people believe in the Boogeyman, some people believe in sixth sense. Christian Deveraux didn't truly believe in anything, which he was aware of, unless you counted the genetic French belief that food is sacred and wine that comes in a box or anything resembling one is hell sent.

Even in the current political scene, he simply didn't care. He did whatever it was he did for the highest bidder, that was all. He just didn't have those kinds of opinions, and it was easier to just work all sides of the battle field. Some people might've called him a double (triple?) agent, but he preferred to just think of himself as open-minded and available.

Now, he reached out and took the leather pouch the man standing across for him had offered, and tested its weight in his hand, nodding approvingly.

"Satisfied?" Braeden McKay asked, clearly irritated.

Deveraux smirked. "Oui," he said after opening the pouch and glancing inside, then tying it shut and dropping it in his pocket.

Braeden wondered briefly if it would be simpler to just join the Death Eaters and get information on his own. Except for that tiny little baby hiccup in the plan, where he'd already backed out once and if anyone who cared ever recognized him, he'd be dead in three seconds flat. Which would not be preferable at all.

Deveraux began to speak and pushed these thoughts from his mind, calmly naming names and locations and times. Braeden duly noted it all down in his mind and nodded, pleased, when the Frenchman was done talking. "Good," he said, almost to himself. "Very good."

"Same time next week?" Deveraux asked pleasantly.

"At the same price, I suppose," said Braeden distastefully.

"But of course. This information you ask for does not come easily."

The French, Braeden decided after a long moment's consideration, were bastards.

*

Card games were not Shane's favorite method of rest and relaxation. He found they wasted time that could be spent on more useful things, and anyway, he wasn't very good at them.

Every now and again, however, he found a game of Solitaire to be calming, but perhaps he was just odd.

He now glared at the cards laid out on the tabletop. The Jack of Spades stared back at him in what appeared to be a rather bored fashion. Shane really couldn't blame him. Nothing in the game had changed for at least ten minutes. With an irritated sigh, he collected the cards and began to set them up again.

"I thought you hated card games," Rayne said, coming up behind him.

Shane nearly jumped out of his skin. "What're you doing up?" he demanded. "You're supposed to be resting, you're not well."

"But I'm feeling better, Mummy, honest."

"See? You're hallucinating, even. You think I'm your mother."

Rayne laughed. "I feel fine, honest. A bit tired, but fine. And I haven't thought about fireflies today, not until now. Maybe I'm not mad after all. Hurrah!" She earned herself a frown, and ignored it. "I thought you hated card games," she said again.

"I do, I'm just being contradictory today. Drank my coffee with cream and everything."

"Impressive. Solitaire not going well, I see?"

"Not at all. And the bloody Queen of Clubs is giving me this evil look." He riffled though the deck and held up the card as evidence.

Rayne glanced at her. She really did bear a striking resemblance to Elizabeth Bathory, and her expression wasn't exactly cheerful. It was more of, "Hello, my pretties!" and then a homicidal cackle.

*

Even living in the magical world, Ayden had never met a vampire that he was aware of before. It wasn't as though they walked around flaunting their full, soulless fangy-ness in broad daylight (though really, considering the whole bursting into flame thing, he supposed they really couldn't), and he'd certainly never seen one with its game face on, so to speak.

Apparently, he reasoned, ducking out of the way as the Auror he was supposed to be killing lunged at him, they were quite good at hiding their undeadness. Ayden hadn't had the slightest inkling that the chap currently trying to rip open his throat was a vampire until a few minutes ago. His Avada Kedavra had plopped lazily down on the corner without having any effect whatsoever, and calmly told him that he was about to be in deep shit.

As he tried desperately to remember ways to kill vampires, Ayden failed to watch Betty out of the corner of his eye, though he could still hear her. She was being generally unhelpful, rummaging through her large, pink handbag (made of the same fabric as the dread sweater), and muttering under her breath things like, "I know I had a wooden stake in here somewhere..." and "Oh, dear, I hope I don't get blood on this jumper; those stains never come out!"

Once the undead Auror of doom had Ayden pinned up against the rough brick wall of whatever building was behind him, Ayden began to panic. Finally, as the vampire reached for his throat, it hit him--though that could've also been said vampire's first in his gut as an attempt to subdue him, making him double over and offer easy access to his neck. Fuck.

"Betty," he groaned, "your necklace."

The vampire wasn't paying any attention, but Betty had, thankfully, registered the sound of his voice.

"What?" she demanded.

Ayden kicked at the vampire feebly, trying to keep it from biting.

"Give me," he yelled, "your--fucking--cross."

Betty blinked once. Then again. Women were literally going to be the death of him, Ayden thought dully. Betty, almost painfully slowly, removed the crucifix from her neck and tossed it his way.

"Stake it, stake it!" she cried happily (and rather randomly).

Ayden didn't bother asking what the bleeding hell he was supposed to stake 'it' with. He was too busy focusing on the fact that Betty had pitiful aim. The crucifix was, of course, just out of reach.

The vampire, still holding Ayden firmly in place, seemed unconcerned.

Ayden struggled, as seemed to be his purpose in life at present. He only just realized he had his wand in his hand, and as the vampire took a hold of his throat, he managed a weak, "Accio!"

The cross on the ground wiggled for the longest moment of Ayden's life, then flew into his hand with some reluctance. In one violent move, Ayden shoved the symbol at the vampire's face. The creature growled and recoiled dropping Ayden with a thud! onto the pavement. It gave him a long, condescending look, then turned and glided majestically and all dark child-of-the-night-y away.

The two watched it go, and then Ayden breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, shaking, he got to his feet. That was when he saw the words painted in white block letters on the side of the building: JESUS SAVES.

"That," Betty said, still staring at the point where the undead Auror had disappeared, "was too easy."

Ayden gaped at her disbelievingly, tossing back her holy jewelry, too tired to argue.

*

"Too easy, she says," Ayden was grumbling later to Adrienne. "Too easy my arse. She wasn't the one about to get her blood drained, now was she?"

Adrienne patted him sympathetically on the arm. "Did she look as beat up as you?" she asked, pushing his head back to gain access to the scratches the vampire's claws had left on his neck. "I always was dreadful with first aide spells," she said thoughtfully, before she muttered something under her breath and then lightly tapped the wounds with her wand. "Ooh, look, I did it properly."

She caught the terrified look Ayden was giving her and grinned. "Ayden, I'm kidding."

He frowned at her. "I don't like you," he said firmly.

She shrugged. "I don't think anyone really does. Now hold still and let me see your hand."

Ayden held out his left palm, which wasn't really looking all that well, he had to admit. It seemed as though when the vampire dropped him, he'd landed at a rather inopportune angle, with his hand flat on top of a sharp and pointy something or other. He winced.

"Ew," said Adrienne conclusively after examining his hand several seconds.

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'ow,' but I suppose that works too."

"From your perspective, I suppose." She frowned, tapped his hand with her wand, and the cut cleaned itself obligingly. Another tap, and it healed, leaving only slight soreness behind.

Ayden poked the wound with one finger gingerly. "Much better, thanks," he said, satisfied.

"See? I'm not quite so pathetic."

There was a long and tense pause, which, after a moment, Adrienne seemed to decide would be best ending in one particular way.

She leaned forward, and caught Ayden one hundred ten percent off guard as she kissed him. He blinked. A few seconds passed and he made up for them by reciprocating without a word or a thought.

In fact, the first coherent notion to enter his mind came a few minutes later when he felt Adrienne's hand undoing the buttons on his shirt and the other slipping lower, bit by bit.

"Adrienne!" he hissed, pulling back. "We can't. Not here."

She raised any eyebrow at him, as if to say, Beg to differ. She took her own shirt off. "And why not?" she demanded.

Why not indeed, Ayden's head voice agreed. Adrienne had a point. The room was empty, everyone had long since gone to bed. But still. What if someone walked in? What if a house elf came around to tend to the fire or...

"Oh, all right then, if you insist."

*

Alena was quickly learning that she would most certainly not be able to get around this new country of hers without learning the language.

For example, grocery shopping. Here, it was still a matter of going to the market place, picking out the best looking foods, and haggling. Her Aunt had become an expert. Family had often said Lili West should've been a lawyer. She was a great negotiator, even with the most stubborn salesmen.

Now, she was examining a roll of smoked meat or sausage or something. "Dah," she said to the man behind the counter of the small shop. "Tova izglejda dobre."

Alena watched, mystified. The salesman smiled politely and picked up the roll, placing it on a scale on the counter beside him. A number came up, and the man began punching numbers on an old calculator.

"Izvinyavaite," Alena's Aunt said, smiling sweetly, "bihteli otryazali kraichetata?"

The butcher's smile faltered for a minute. "Razbirase, gospojo," he said bitterly. He picked a knife from a drawer beneath the counter and swiftly cut off the metal tabs keeping the roll together at the ends, then placed it on the scale again.

Once they'd paid and left, Alena turned to her aunt, expecting an explanation.

"These merchants," said Lili, shaking her head. "They think we're fools. Those tabs can up the price more than just a few knuts, and when money's tight..." She shook her head.

They walked down the sidewalk back toward the underpass when suddenly Alena's companion gave a cry of delight. "Oh! Fresh fruit! wonderful." She smiled brightly and stepped up to the booth. "Dobur den, gospodine, kolko suh presni tezi praskovi?"

*

"I'm a rogue demon hunter now."
"Oh, wow. What's a rogue demon?"

-- from Angel: the Series, season 1, "Parting Gifts"

"I've been what?"

"Reassigned, Ayden. You should be happy, you're not working with Mrs. Psychedelic Sweater anymore."

Ayden stared. "Wow. So... why the change?" No more fuzzy pink sweater... incredible.

Adrienne smirked. "Some higher-ups realized you make a pitiful murderer."

"Oi," Ayden objected. "I make a fine murderer. I... just don't... like killing people. Morals and ethics, see. I know they're a foreign concept, but--"

She snorted. "Morals and ethics aren't going to help me live past age thirty. But that's not the issue."

"Right. So I've been reassigned..." Ayden felt a sense of impending doom. Doom, doom, doom. "Dare I ask, what to?"

"Oh, you're going to love it. Demon hunting. You start later this week."

"Demons? Whose genius idea was that?" Demon hunting... brilliant, so instead of killing humans he'd be killing less vulnerable things that stood more of a chance of killing him first.

"Mine, actually. I thought it was funny."

"So your idea of amusing is seeing me ripped to pieces by something with big, pointy teeth and claws sharper than your nails, is it?"

"My nails are not sharp, you just have weak skin. Yes, yes, it is. But I rather hope you won't get yourself ripped apart the first day. I dated a demon hunter a few years back. Great body, really."

"So you plan to use me as a sex object and then have me torn to shreds when you get tired of me? Wonderful, love, just wonderful. I feel so much more comfortable with this whole situation now."

"Will you stop with the ripping to shreds talk? It's more than a little grotesque. You'll be fine. I liked you before you were just a sex object, too, you know. You've actually got an intellectual depth more complex than that of mayonnaise, unlike anyone else here. Girl has to have someone to talk to every once in a while."

"I'm flattered, really, I am." Somehow, Ayden found himself not loving this new occupation of his, and he hadn't even had to do anything yet. Okay, so there were perks. First of all, no more killing humans. That's what had been bugging him, wasn't it? So now he could do his job without feeling guilty about it. Second of all... well, okay, so there was really only one perk. This was seeming less and less an enjoyable change.

"Glass is always half empty." Adrienne shook her head. "You won't die first time out, I promise."

"Yet you make no guarantees for after that, do you?"

"There's no calming you down here, is there?"

"Not particularly, no. I'm not much of a demon fan, see." Ayden sighed.

Adrienne rolled her eyes. "That's why you'll be killing them and not taking them out to dinner. It's not like you'll be working alone. You will still have a partner to help you out if you get knocked down onto your arse with some thing ready to bite off your head."

"Fine, fine." Ayden scowled at her and slumped back into his chair. Adrienne could mock him all she liked, but he really wasn't the demon-killing type. Demons always made him think of that monkey-like hell beast that had tried to steal him from his mummy when he was a little kid at the zoo. Not that he was about to tell her that, she'd never let him forget it.