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

most of her adult life. She chose to look in the mirror now without her glasses on, the blurry image less offensive that way.

“Don’t be gone too long.” That was probably a warning. Hilaire had no personal possessions in their new home, so it didn’t matter too much if Florence created another spectacle that wrote this one off. She’d let this matter go for too long due to babysitting her.

Hilaire knocked on the door that the livewire who called himself Scrambler answered for her last time, the refuge of the free members of the Foundation. Florence would know if they were still there. Hilaire didn’t, not until the Love Phantom’s lover answered the door. She eyed her up cautiously, Hilaire saying to her quickly, “She’s not with me. Not yet. She may show up. I apologise if she does.”

“Don’t apologise for other people. Come in.”

Hilaire followed her to the sitting room. Hilaire made the mistake of asking where the others were – that wasn’t really her business. It was just small talk, the Love Phantom’s lover less inclined to speak to fill the silence so Hilaire rushed in. She didn’t need to know where they were, though Patience’s presence would be beneficial as she was more directly involved in her reason for coming.

“Patience is in the bathroom. She won’t be long. There’s no hot water.”

“Oh dear.” It had been cold the night Hilaire came round previously. It wasn’t too bad right now for her, but she’d raced round, warming herself up in the process. Plus, it was midmorning in summer – winter here would be an experience.

“I might tell her you’re here.”

“Thank you,” Hilaire said, remaining seated as she left her alone. She noticed a couple of pictures she’d not seen on her previous visit, family of the resident here from the look of them. It was a big house, bigger than any she’d been in since the Marseille squats. She was nostalgic for those stressful times. They had made some waves down there. They had here too, hence why they’d needed to get out of town for a while and why she came back looking so different. Florence berated her for letting her war end quietly. It was not entirely true. She was conserving her energies for the right time. She’d be around for the pitched battles. Until then, she wasn’t going to expose herself needlessly. Hilaire Poirier was considered missing, last seen last year in Marseille by Bleich’s troops. That element of surprise was crucial and had to be preserved if possible.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Patience said, now dressed in a high-belted floral dress, her wet hair wrapped up in a towel. The Love Phantom’s lover was with her, the two ladies sitting together on the couch, their legs touching as they sat down. They were very close, Hilaire pleased to see such sisterhood. Happy memories.

“I’m sorrier.” To the Love Phantom’s lover, “You told me not to apologise for Florence, but she is a total nightmare. Before this, our only physical contact was nigh on 40 years ago. We were at each other’s throats then.” Hilaire felt like she was badmouthing Florence behind her back because that was precisely what she was doing. Still, it had to be said for Florence had been rude to them and made an absolute tit of herself in the process. Hilaire knew exactly what it was that riled Florence up so much about these young people: how little she meant to them. At worst a nuisance, she was not even a menace to them. She was irrelevant, her attempts at using their tenuous intersection point as a connection coming across as desperate. For all that Florence (and this applied to Hilaire too) had vast power and a considerable body count, she was also old. As such, she was automatically uninteresting to the majority of the younger generation, certainly to this Youth Club (Hilaire felt this name would suit them better than the Foundation, but she was grateful they were giving her the time of day and wasn’t going to push her luck).

“You did well to survive her. Better than those Germans did,” Patience said.

“They stood no chance. I’m tougher than any German I’ve ever met. Bar one, actually, but my sister beat him. I’m not here to brag, that’s not my way, but I do have power which I would like to use to help. I respect your decision to stay here, Patience. I’m not here to talk you out of that. We got derailed other times. I didn’t get round to asking you about the other mourner. I can’t make you tell me his name. I just personally feel he’ll be in danger. Florence and I have our flaws, but we can keep him safe.”

“I trust you. You’re definitely not working with them. Maurice Cassard. I don’t know where he lives. He was a magician, a silent one. That was his gimmick. I heard good things about him,” Patience said tenderly.

“That’s great. Anything else you can think of that’ll help, however small, I’m keen to hear.”

Patience didn’t have much else she could tell her, though she gave her the scraps. Maurice had escorted her to the Metro and saw her on the train. Patience had seen him perform as a young girl; this was something she was told had happened rather than a direct memory. She’d only seen him on one other occasion, her father’s funeral.

“Do you think they have him?” Patience asked gravely.

“I don’t know,” Hilaire replied. She didn’t know, she’d only be guessing. Her guess would be affirmative, though. She’d torn down dozens of posters of Patience she’d seen across the city. She’d seen none of poor Maurice. This was her problem, not Patience’s, Hilaire offering hopefully, “Magicians are slippery dev... characters. Don’t count him out yet.”

“The oven here is just for decoration. We tend to have sandwiches and cold soup. Do you want some?” the Love Phantom’s lover asked. As unappetising as that sounded, Hilaire accepted the