Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

good as it was going to get. If she wanted specifics, body of a broom, wig of a mop, face of a prune. And a personality salvaged from a butcher’s bin.

“Even Hitler? Not seeing it.”

“The way he looks is the very least of my issues with him. Bar the tache he’s... nondescript, there’s nothing to say, really. We haven’t got that long, I’d rather not spend the time dissecting Adolf’s appearance.”

“I was talking about ours when I said beauty, the two of us. The mask is a waste of time. Embrace what you are, use it. I certainly do. 87 Teutons sat transfixed unto death by this beauty.”

“Nobody’s disputing that – just the number.”

“They all died, believe me.”

“Okay. Where were we? I was talking about myself – habit of a lifetime. My life improved after school. I didn’t feel so hounded. I’ve been able to get a lot of time to myself at work and home.”

The singer returned to the stage, Florence’s first sighing of her, César having seen her earlier. Her confidence was shot when she realised the diners were paying very little attention to her. With food being served, the singer and the band were often just background noise. Tonight, they had moved even further back. Nobody even took to the floor. She declared that she had one last number and took more risks than she had earlier, performing as if nobody was watching or listening. César had tried to bolster her confidence earlier by giving her a standing ovation (which many others joined in with) after one of her later numbers. He could not help her now.

Florence moved her chair closer to his and said during the song, “Let me tell you what this public meeting is about. I won’t turn myself in, so you’ve done it for me. While we’re not allies, I still class it as a betrayal, Love Phantom. Maybe your powers do work on me a little, as I’m not going to kill you. As compensation, I will be taking your group from you and will use them better.”

“Not happening.”

“You sound very sure of yourself for someone whose life is hanging by a thread, reliant upon my mercy, a contradiction in terms. Me and Hilaire have all the power but lack information. A takeover is the obvious solution. You give us your intel and your troops. I lead them to glory. Everybody wins.”

“I speak for the group when I say...”

“Before you speak, let me tell you about your merciful fate. You get to walk away. Most traitors won’t be that lucky after the war. You were a soldier, right?”

He nodded. “Until my capture and early release from the POW camp. They chose to let me go, I didn’t engineer it. I didn’t question it either.”

“That’s what I was getting to, how it ended. I don’t blame you for getting captured. Your power is not combat based like mine. You were doing things right up to that point. You should have used your power upon your return to galvanise our people. Your Resistance group could have been doing the things I do. You talk and people listen and follow. You could have more of a following than Hitler if you went into politics or higher in the army. You could maybe even pull off that moustache.”

“It looks like it would peel off in one go,” he said glibly, still feeling in control as he was ready to correct her misconceptions when she stopped talking.

“I’ll let you know when I see him. You could have been the big leader that we needed. Fuck Helen of Troy. César of Paris could have had men fight for you but really fight for you too, beating their breasts, not just going through the motions and capitulating when the going gets tough.”

“You say I should be leading the way – though the reference suggests to liberate myself – but you want to take my small group from me?”

“Penance, dear boy. That’s what you should have been doing. I’d have served alongside you then if you’d asked nicely. You chose another path. The coward’s way out.”

César knew he was a bit of coward in that he felt fear. That was natural, just survival instinct. And vanity too, fear of his body being damaged on a superficial level rather than just fear of pain. But he proved he possessed at least a semi-solid spine in putting the group together and another way, which he shared with her. “I like the good life without pain, yes. Still, I can’t be quite as yellow as you make out. Look who I’m sat facing.”

“Isn’t that the point of this tete-a-tete? Supper with Judas. You thought taking off that mask would protect you – and I dare say it has for me to allow you to walk away. It’s also exposed you as a traitor. I understand the maths of it, 1 life for 87, but treachery is not about sums. So slink away and see out the rest of the war, that good life without any pain, in shame while I show you how it's done. When the war is all over, I will come back to see you again, and you will acknowledge my triumph, César of Paris.”

César disputed this with a raise of the brows that raised her ire.

“You don’t have a choice.” She made her point by turning to face the singer, who suddenly struggled to hold a note.

“Point made, hear me out,” César said, holding his hands up to stop her and get her focus – but not to surrender, that serpentine smile premature. She was getting an explanation, not her own way. “I guess I would deserve that dark mercy if not for one minor detail. You’re wrong. I’ve not turned you in at all. I dine here regularly, I’m known here. Your image is known everywhere. This will get back to the Germans. I’m turning myself in, not you. They’ll arrest me and I’ll use my powers on