an unkindness of ravens

trente-neuf

— trente-neuf ; thirty nine —

HENRI WOKE MORE than a few times before he came around in any state of lucidity.

At least, he thought he had woken up. His whole body was burning up and his mind was finding it difficult to distinguish between reality and dreams. His parents loomed at the corners of the room, which couldn't have been real, but Jean was there too, and Henri knew he was very much real. The unfamiliar layout of the room he could make out through blurred eyes confused him and then everything else confused him. Where was he? Why was he here? Why did his body feel so heavy and drained? Then the pounding of his head too painful and he lost sense of any coherency in his thoughts. It was a muddle of colours and pain and bewilderment.

When he could finally think straight, he was aware of the dimness of the room and just how hot he felt. He struggled to shove off the covers someone had pulled over him and had just managed to push himself in a sitting position, sagging back against the wall as he caught his breath, when he saw he wasn't alone. His disorientated brain thought it was Soren for a second and then he wondered how he'd managed to believe that. This person, sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, looked nothing like Soren — his hair was dark and his smile wicked and his eyes a brilliant shade of cobalt blue.

"Hello," he said, his smile widening. There was nothing friendly or welcoming in it. "You don't recognise me?"

It took Henri far longer than it should have to identify the face. "You," Henri said, because it was another second before he had grasped the name. Jack Robinson. He considered whether he was still hallucinating for the Foxes rookie dealer to have appeared in his bedroom. "What...what are you doing here?"

"Nursing you back to health," he said, entirely serious. "I think you're pretty ill, Henri Moreau. Maybe they shouldn't have brought you here to hide in Abby's house but taken you to the hospital."

Henri had gathered enough of his wits to try and retain as much dignity as he could, which was difficult when he was feverish and weak in a stranger's house. "What are you doing here? Wait," Henri said, glancing around the room for a clock. "What's the time?"

"Around one in the afternoon."

Henri narrowed his eyes at him. "You should be at the banquet."

"You should be at the banquet," Jack returned. "Yet you're here."

"Do I look like I'm in any state to be at a social event right now?"

"Don't be stupid. The banquet is hardly a social event, is it?" Jack regarded him with those eerily blue eyes. "The Exy teams go to flaunt themselves as superior and to size up their enemies. At least, that's why the Ravens attend. Isn't it?"

"You're avoiding my question," Henri said, ignoring his pointless musings. "Why aren't you at the banquet?"

"Oh, the banquet was so dull. They convinced me to go yesterday, sure, but Abby's watchful eye was missing to keep me on court today. All Coach Wymack would say about her absence is that she had other matters to attend to. Naturally, I came to see what could be so important she had to stay away on the crucial weekend we were chosen to host! Sneaking in was easy. I have a key to all the most important places, of course, such as Wymack's flat and Abby's house. I found you in here without Abby having any idea I'm here."

Henri discovered a few things about Jack as he spoke. One, the most obvious, was that he talked a lot. He required no input or indication from Henri that he was interested in what was being said to continue with his own line of conversation. Then there was the fact that Jack spoke with the sole intention in reading Henri's reaction to what was being said. His casual way of speaking didn't betray how carefully he chose every single word yet Henri saw, in the way Jack's gaze didn't stray from his face even once as he talked, that he was more interested in how Henri would reply than what he was actually saying.