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

threat, Chablis only able to tell her the name of the factory, not its actual address. Whether the drinks were flammable like alcohol, she had no idea about.

Florence gave Hilaire earache as they left them, refusing to wear the shawl Hilaire tried to give her. It was more important Florence was disguised than she was.

“You owe me a better explanation than you gave me in there. Sneaking off to see them behind my back is very poor,” Florence twisted. Her criticism particularly rankled with Hilaire because it was justified. That didn’t mean she was going to take it because she’d held back on criticising her as much as she could have for her extensive misbehaviour.

“I told you I was going shopping. I was going to do that too.” Hilaire toyed with offering a one-word apology, delaying it for the moment. Florence’s whining would almost certainly deter her from saying sorry.

“Yet you only mentioned the shopping. It’s a lie by omission. I’ve let you go and see them by yourself before.”

“Let me? Don’t even... I don’t have to justify where I’m going or what I’m up to to you or anyone.” Hilaire had endured years of that from Rollo in her teens and early 20s. Never, ever again. “You saw the Love Phantom by yourself.”

“So have you. He asked to see me alone, remember? I’d have had you come. I thought we were in this together.”

“We are. I just don’t understand why you’re so clingy and can’t let me do something by myself. We hadn’t seen each other for 36 years, no letters...”

“I didn’t want you to feel bad for having nothing interesting to write.”

“I was in a Resistance group raising hell with the son of Death, a dís and a poor Nazi experiment victim who could read men’s minds by fucking them. Is that interesting enough?” Hilaire should not have talked about Luc or Kass like that (Mayfly wouldn’t care), but Florence had riled her up. Her life had been very dull in parts in the 1910s and most of the 1920s. She knew that and accepted it and didn’t like Florence looking down on her for it.

“And your undead sister. That’s moderately interesting too.”

“Don’t go there. You say I’ve lied by omission. You’ve lied straight to my face. ‘I won’t go out’ – what happened, did you get claustrophobic each time I left?”

“We’re not all equipped to be alone, maybe I just wanted to mingle.” Changing tone from playful to sharp, Florence said, “You knew I’d go out, the way I said it made it clear.”

This was just a game to Florence, a game of life and death, but as she felt at no risk, it had no personal consequences for her. She’d lied, and Hilaire was to blame for pretending to believe her when she knew it was a lie. There was some distorted logic to that.

“You’re right, I did. I had no choice because, back when I still had my job, I needed money to look after you and keep you safe until this was over. You effectively spat in my face.”

“That was a shit life, the job was beneath you. We’re getting by fine without you working. You were wasting your energies which should be put into what we’re doing now. Resistance. I’m coming with you on this stakeout.”

“Good, I want you to.”

“That awful power of mine is useful sometimes, isn’t it?”

“I want you to come with me. I don’t need you to. Your choice.”

“Of course I’m coming, I want to be with you,” Florence cooed soppily. “Plus, I need to get my figures up, I seem to have stalled at 110.”

“I thought it was 101?”

“At the theatre, plus the policemen, yes. What, you think I’ve not eaten since? Less obvious, don’t get into a panic and end up joining them. Heart attacks in bed aren’t so strange.”

“Their ages might make it so. What do you mean, in bed? Has this been done from afar or...”

“Does it matter? We can say it was done from the sidelines, from outside their abodes if you like. If you prefer them to have seen the whites of my eyes in their death throes, we can say that.”

The yellows of her eyes was the first correction Hilaire wished to make but refrained from. When had she done this, how had she known who to target? Was it when she was still working, was she sneaking out at night? It was for the best Florence was coming with her where she could keep an eye on her.

Chapter 17

Dr Death

Gehring’s free time was now spent almost exclusively researching César Vadeboncoeur. He utilised his position in acquiring information whilst doing his best to maintain complete secrecy. Nobody was asking him to do this. Kretschmer would want to know why, thinking he still harboured a grudge. He did, yet it was not strictly personal. Vadeboncoeur posed a grave threat to them, their minds, their free will, the crucial choices they were about to make. A French devil was on their collective shoulders filling their heads with his claptrap. Gehring was deaf to it and looked for ways of freeing the others.

Emmanuelle had said that César visited the doctor frequently when they were together. That was a potential weakness. What was his malady? Some form of venereal disease was Gehring’s guess, hopefully one that caused maximum discomfort. Gehring tried to access his medical records, a mission which required visits in person. One of his former doctors, Friese, proved resistant to revealing anything about César even with Gehring standing over him slowly putting his leather gloves on. Threats failed so he tried honey. Medical infirmity could go in precious César’s favour, mitigation for his undisclosed behaviour that saw him arrested.

Dr Friese provided medical records up to April 21 ’39. That was when he referred César to Dr Karlson. Everything prior to that was nondescript stuff. No broken bones, only one bout of hospitalisation as a boy, a precautionary measure from