The Better to See

Chapter 13: Vermeille

She couldn't close her eyes properly.

She was tired. She was thirsty and her head hurt, but mostly she was tired. And she couldn't close her eyes.

Across from her, Alain rubbed a pocket square over the pin he'd taken out of his lapel. The handkerchief was a pale patch over his darker clothing. The pin glinted every now and then, catching residual light from the headlights. He finished polishing it and shifted his attention to the window. His companions maintained a constant, heavy silence. She could feel them jammed up against her arms. They were warm, and she was cold, and she hated appreciating their warmth.

She hated a lot of things.

It was hard to tell the difference between hate and terror.

The car jerked and her head fell forward. No one lifted it up again. She stared at her lap, a darker swath between her white hands. She thought about Lucas and his ether, and her stomach turned over, but she still couldn't close her eyes.

"Ah," said Alain after another bump. "We are very close now."

Cold light splashed through the window onto Vermeille's skirt. The car stopped somewhere that smelled of gasoline and salt water. Ocean, said her brain, but she didn't remember what that meant. On either side of her, her handlers grabbed her arms and dragged her from her seat. Her head lolled and she caught glimpses of the sky turning dark red near the eastern edge over the black churn of waves and boats. Under her limp feet, the pavement was whole and smooth. The sound of her shoes dragging against it made her want to shiver. Alain's shoes clicked sharply behind them. Her captors made no noise at all.

They went through pools and pools of buzzing lamplight before she was dropped onto something that felt like a wooden crate. She was facing someone's legs and feet, and the floor underneath them was dull steel. Not far away, but too far to hear clearly, Alain was having a conversation with another man. Vermeille's cheek pressed against splinters and her arm fell asleep and she was cold and she could not think about a place on her body that didn't hurt somehow.

Something crawled over her arm, and she twitched.

Oh please oh please oh please. She tried to move her arm again. Nothing happened. She tried her eyelids. Close please close oh please please close.

She almost wept when they did.

Alain's conversation wrapped up, and his shoes clicked over steel to reach her. She opened her eyes again and hoped she would not move.

A military man followed him into her line of sight. He had an insignia she did not recognize on the breast of his uniform. She couldn't tell from the angle she lay at, but his square face showed either anger or boredom.

"Mademoiselle Chapeau," said Alain, and Gagnon's bruised and bloodied face was suddenly so clear that she couldn't see anything else for a moment.

"May I introduce," said Alain, "your caretaker for the foreseeable future. Magister Stephen Fox." The military man narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. "Mademoiselle Chapeau has had," Alain smiled, "a long night. Forgive her for not rising to greet you."

There was a long moment when Magister Stephen Fox stared at her and she thought about all the ways she could die.

"Fine," said Magister Stephen Fox. "You will be expected to be a fully participating member of MC12 as soon as the Tomes approve you. Until then, you are not my concern. Jeffrey, Patrick," he nodded to her captors and walked away.

Alain smiled that cheap, unpleasant smile and bowed before following Bull Stephen Merritt out of her sight.

Without warning, Jeffrey or Patrick hoisted her over his shoulder so that all she could see was his back. Whichever he was, her face became intimate with his shirt and she hated him a little more than the other one. It was hard to quantify hate when it was so thorough.