Liberté Foncée

Sometimes I get to feeling
I was back in the old days, long ago
When we were kids, when we were young
Thing seemed so perfect, you know
The days were endless, we were crazy, we were young
The sun was always shining, we just lived for fun
Sometimes it seems like lately, I just don't know
The rest of my life's been just a show

-- Queen, These Are the Days of Our Lives

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: RECENT DEVELOPMENTS

Usually when he had conducted a successful negotiation, Ayden would walk home with a sense of pride and satisfaction in knowing that his head had not been bitten off of his neck. Tonight was not one of those cases, and Ayden was feeling distinctly depressed.

It was no secret to him why: prior to seeing Rayne, he'd clung to a sort of delusional security blanket. If things got bad, he could always go back. I was cursed, I was lost, I don't know where I was. There were so many possible excuses, and his friends trusted him. They would accept it as a coup de grâce and that would be the end of it. It would have been so easy to abuse their good faith and leave it at that.

But not anymore. Now, whether he liked it or not, he was stuck. It wasn't even as though there had ever been real hope, but the rug had just been pulled from under his feet, and he was still falling.

Delusions were nice things.

*

Had she not been nearly attacked by Shane the moment she opened her eyes, Rayne would have thought the whole ordeal had been a long, detailed bad dream. She awoke on the couch, covered in a tattered blanket, confused as hell.

It took under four seconds for the questions to start coming. Where were you? What happened? How'd you get out? Why are you here? Are you all right?

"I don't know," she replied truthfully to each of these and it took a significant amount of badgering before she could calm Shane down enough to tell him what she really wanted to say.

"Ayden was there," she said.

He blinked. "I, er, maybe you should get some sleep. Here, I'll make you some tea."

"I'm not making this up," she said defiantly, sitting up even as he tried to force her back down.

"You've had a hard few days," Shane said uncertainly.

"I'm not crazy."

"Didn't say you were, did I?"

"You're thinking it." She chewed her lower lip for a moment. "I don't know how or why," she said after a moment, "but he was there. He... he was working for them."

Shane stiffened. "I'll go make that tea," he said in a would-be calm voice.

"Listen to me," she snapped. "Ayden's alive and--"

"Impossible," Shane interrupted brusquely, standing up straight and crossing the distance to the coat rack in two sharp strides. "You get some sleep. I'm going out. I'll be back in a few hours. I... have some work to do." He pulled on his cloak and before she had a chance to argue, he was out of the door and gone.

There was no work to be done, of course, but the argument was not one Shane was in the mood to take.

Clearly, Rayne was mad. More so than before. There was no way Ayden was alive. He was dead and buried - metaphorically speaking, as they had never found a body, but still - and the only people who faked their death were running from something, be it the law, a murderer, or a crazed exotic cheese salesman (Shane had read of a documented case sometime in the late nineteen hundreds in which precisely that had pushed a young man to go into hiding and fake his own death by way of poisoned kumquat).

Ayden had had nothing to run from, as far as Shane could tell. Nothing. It was just an unfortunate accident; a common burglary turned tragic. That was all.

*

"Oi, you, wake up." Someone was prodding him awake. A sharp fingernail jabbed him in the ribs, and Ayden opened his eyes with a groan.

"Be gone, devil woman," he grumbled and Adrienne snorted.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm tired too. Having a good dream, then?"

"Yes. You were in it," Ayden said. He moved over, making room for Adrienne on the couch he'd fallen asleep on the night before.

"Flattery gets you nowhere with me, you know," she said disapprovingly, but at the same time she sat down beside him, leaning back against him as he hooked his arms around her waist. "So, tell me about this dream of yours."

"It was summer," Ayden said. "We were on a beach together. Bright, sunny, warm."

"Sounds nice... haven't been to the beach in years, though."

"Neither have I. I remember once, I was a little kid. My dad took me and my brother."

"My brother and me," Adrienne corrected. Ayden ignored her.

"Haven't been on a beach holiday since. I was maybe six or seven at the time."

"Pity. Lovely places, beaches are."

Adrienne was obviously tired, or she wouldn't be acting this peaceful, sparing sarcasm and even being somewhat polite, considering she was still awake enough to grammar-bitch, and that never happened.

"Long night, Cassada?" he asked gently.

"Extremely," she replied, closing her eyes. "Two kills, though. That was fun." She yawned.

Ayden studied her face. In this state, halfway to dreamland already; she looked normal. Well, not that she was abnormal. But she seemed so different than the woman who told stories of cold-blooded murder with her eyes sparkling as though she were a six-year-old child speaking of Father Christmas.

Now, too tired to get excited at the thought of another homicide, she looked innocent, almost pure, not the type of person who'd find just casually washing blood off her hands in a public restroom.

It seemed to Ayden that he now knew two sides of her, two Adriennes. He wondered if she'd been like this more often before she became a Death Eater, years ago.

*

NEW YEAR'S EVE, 2116

Holidays were not something the Death Eaters emphasized. Holidays were expressions of joy, and there was little room for any such, particularly from the sides of the enemy, when a war was being waged.

Nevertheless, a small group had come to the conclusion that the birth of the new year was cause enough for minor celebration. A small pub on Knockturn Alley had been occupied for the occasion.

There were few less festive locations in the known world - and probably the unknown as well, Adrienne was sure. An old witch with no more than three teeth was half-heartedly attempting to play some cheery tune on a piano in the corner, which badly needed tuning. The liquor was plentiful, though of rather poor quality, Deveraux pointed out unhappily.

Adrienne patted his arm sympathetically and glanced at her watch. There were sixteen minutes remaining to the year 2116, and despite the fact she hoped that the next twelve months would be more interesting or bright, it was doubtful.

She looked up to see that Deveraux had left her side, and was standing by the bar, pestering the bartender, clearly attempting to extract some proper wine or champagne for the occasion. The bartender shrugged, reached below the counter, and offered Deveraux a cardboard carton of Chardonnay. The Frenchman shuddered in disgust and returned to Adrienne at her table.

"We," he said calmly, "are leaving. This is simply unacceptable."

Adrienne smirked. "What exactly did you expect?" she asked.

"This would never have happened at home," Deveraux grumbled.

"Not every country can be France," she pointed out.

"They could make an effort," came the disgruntled reply. Then, "Come." He picked up her cloak from the chair and fastened it over her shoulders.

Five minutes later, out on the cobbled street, Adrienne glanced up at the sky. It was a clear night, and the moon was a dazzling white. She checked her watch again. Three minutes.

"Interesting way to ring in the new year," she said.

"It is a matter of principle," said Deveraux seriously. "Boxed," he muttered under his breath.

"One would think you'd be used to it by now."

"This only proves," he said, "that this nation has no taste."

"Not necessarily," Adrienne said thoughtfully. "I had an uncle who studied at a university in Italy. They were served wine in cartons in their dining hall."

"I see."

There was a long pause and they kept walking. As they reached the border of Diagon Alley, there was a cheer from one of the pubs. At the same moment, a pair of drunken wizards engaged in a sloppy fistfight rolled out of the open door of a bar across the street.

The pair watched the scuffle for a moment, then Adrienne rolled her eyes and pulled her cloak around herself more tightly, looked at Deveraux who was frowning at the brawling wizards and said, "Bonne année."

*

Fumbling his confidence
And wondering why the world has passed him by
Hoping that he's meant for more than arguments
And failed attempts to fly

-- Switchfoot, Meant to Live

Most people have experienced that moment of insecurity when they walk to meet a group of people, only to hear all conversation hush in a manner that immediately puts the suspicion in mind that the topic of conversation had been oneself.

It was a feeling Ayden hadn't much experience, having always been among small groups where there were few secrets and no need to hide such from just one person. This was why when he walked into the common area to see Cal, Conlon, and Adrienne engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument, he was surprised to see them stop talking as soon as he was spotted.

Conlon smiled amiably and greeted him normally, and Adrienne nodded to acknowledge his existence. Cal, however, gave them both an exasperated look of anger and annoyance, let out a sigh of extreme frustration, got to her feet, and stormed off. Conlon shook his head, and rose to follow her, giving Adrienne a knowing look.

As soon as both were out of earshot, Ayden took Conlon's seat and looked at Adrienne expectantly.

"Well?" he asked.

"What?"

"What just happened?"

Adrienne shrugged. "Hell if I know. Her Highness is having a crisis of some sort."

Ayden accepted this answer, but he was sure she was avoiding his eyes.

"I have a question for you," Adrienne said.

"Yeah?"

"I spoke with Dumont today. He said he'd done you a favor recently. Wouldn't tell me what."

There was a pause. "And your question is?"

Adrienne rolled her eyes. "Don't play coy. It has something to do with that girl, doesn't it? The prisoner."

Ayden glanced down and picked at a bandage on his wrist from the night before. Flesh-eating demons were worse than vampires. "No," he said, "nothing to do with her."

"You know her."

"No."

"You asked him to help you save her."

"No, I didn't."

She snorted. "How noble."

"You never studied your maths, did you? Our teacher was always telling us assumptions were trouble."

"I don't have to assume, Ayden; you're a horrid liar." She settled back into her chair. "Tell me the truth."

Ayden looked over to the corner where Cal and Conlon were standing. The redhead still looked angry, arms crossed, shaking her head as Conlon tried to calm her down, speaking softly, a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and glared at him, said something abrupt back.

"I knew her," Ayden admitted. "She... she was a friend of mine. A close friend. From before."

"You were boinking her, then?"

"Could you not put it that way?" Ayden asked irritably.

"You asked Dumont to help you get her out of here, did you?"

"No. Yes. Sort of."

"I see," Adrienne said. "And like the idiot he is, he agreed."

"Idiot?"

"Ayden, do you realize that she can identify you now? She can link you to us. The world thought you were dead. Now they'll know. What's worse, she can take everything she heard here. Who knows how many of us she could identify?" She shook her head. "And what about me? What if I get caught and locked up and it's all your fault? You're a very selfish person, you know."

"Woe," Ayden grumbled. "That won't happen."

"How can you be sure? Do you think she'll still remember you fondly? She knows you were lying to her before now. Any other friends you've still got out there, they'll know too."

"Trust me." He sighed and looked back to his bandage, plucking at it again. "It won't happen. She won't get a chance to tell anyone."

*

It was just barely dawn when the pounding on the door came. Shane, whose walk had ended after several hours, two drinks, and half a pack of cigarettes, had only reached home and fallen asleep an hour or two ago. He grumbled an oath as he got to his feet and stumbled toward the door, still half asleep.

The sight when he opened it, combined with the frozen morning air, jolted him awake slightly more roughly than he would have preferred.

"Good morning," one of the two people standing on the doorstep said crisply. Shane thought he vaguely recognized both faces from Auror holiday parties to which Alena had dragged him an age and a half ago. The man's partner, a slim blonde woman, nodded by way of greeting.

"Morning, Shane replied coldly. Whoever these people were, they had woken him up, which was simply unacceptable.

There was a silence. The man frowned, then said, "Is there a Rayne Carlton present at this address?"

"Yes; she's my roommate." Shane glanced over the blonde's shoulder and saw that the sun was just starting to peak over the trees. Bastards. He put on his most official voice, straightened his posture, and said, "I'm afraid she's unavailable, however. She's been through a rather traumatic event and she needs her rest. Good day." He made to close the door, but the man stopped him.

"I'm sorry," he said coldly, "but that would be problematic." The woman reached for her wand and the man continued. "You see, she's under arrest."

*

Cal sat across from the fire, watching the flames dance. She didn't fully understand how people could be this selfish or this resilient, this wrong or this cruel. The truth was something everyone deserved.

Conlon came to sit with her after a while, but she didn't say anything. He tried to explain that it was all for the best, and that everyone would be happier. After all, ignorance was bliss.

"And the truth hurts. I know." She faced him. "Conlon, it's not right. You can't just keep people in the dark that way."

They fell silent again. Outside, it started to rain. Fat drops hit the window and rolled off. The fire cracked loudly, and a log snapped.

And then there was a hand gently stroking her hair and she didn't move, remained still as a statue, as Conlon walked around the couch from the back and sat down beside her. He spoke softly, words only she could hear, apologies, excuses, and still repeating that same thing: "It ain't that big a deal, Cal."

For once she was aware how different from both Conlon and Adrienne she really was. Because Cal knew that she could be a bitch - hell, she was proud of it most of the time - but she couldn't be that ruthless, that heartless. Because it wasn't nothing, and Ayden did have a right to know about it... but maybe they were right, he wouldn't take it well. Not at all.

With Conlon beside her, whispering, kissing, caressing, the redhead gradually began to tear her mind from the matter, telling herself they were right, telling herself she was being weak and stupid about the whole thing, forgetting the opposite.

*

Three floors below, Robert Dumont burst through a door and stumbled to the ground in a messy bow. "My Lord," he said hoarsely, "there's been a development."