Harsh Lessons (12 page)

Sighing, he gave up trying to scold her.  Then, after a little thought, queried the Bureau's databank.  He sent the lights down again as a flat picture appeared on the wall screen.  The scene was a little jumpy, and Leeth realized it must have been shot from something like a lapel camera.

'This footage is classified, you understand?  It's what happened when seven highly trained men, including two very strong mages and a powerful shaman, attempted to arrest Melisande d'Artelle.'

At the hiss of her indrawn breath, he turned to her, pleased he didn't have to explain the identity of the former Enemy of Mankind.  Indeed, Leeth's attention had locked on the woman with more focus than he'd ever seen from her.  But was there something more, there?

Something about her expression disturbed him.  An element of… satisfaction? 
Ownership
?  Half his attention stayed on Leeth as the playback continued.

In a large office, with a view down onto the Empire State Building, a woman – Melisande d'Artelle – dressed in an elegantly-tailored cream suit and tasteful jade necklace, faced seven dangerous-looking men.  All wore Interpol uniforms; all were heavily armed and armored.

Between the men and the woman, a huge simulacrum of an office copier-thing rolled ominously forward, buckling the ceiling as it came.  But with a casual brushing motion of one of D'Artelle’s hands, the bizarrely-animated device collapsed, shattering into pieces that flew across the room and out of sight, with the sound of a metal river crashing into a bus shelter.

James paused the action.  'That was a
very
large office spirit she so casually dismissed.  But watch.'  Leeth didn't look at him; merely nodded as if she'd expected no less.  After a moment, frowning, he continued the playback.

The wearer of the camera started to speak, over the sound of still-falling pieces of equipment.  Strangely, everyone in the room was acting like nothing at all had just happened.  'Madam d'Artelle, I am placing you under arrest-'

Ignoring the speaker, d'Artelle simply looked at the two mages, who exploded back across the room in flames.  The other men's guns jumped as if they were about to fire, then suddenly, amazingly, all relaxed back again into simple alertness.  The shaman alone looked confused, shaking his head and seemingly trying to focus himself.

James glanced across at Leeth, who sat hunched forward now, her hands like claws, looking like she wanted to throw herself into the scene.  Her lips moved, and his analysis software told him what she'd whispered: “She's tricking them.”

But despite feeling there was something
more
behind Leeth's intensity, he couldn't help but be sucked back to the horrible scene.

Although light from the two burning men reflected off the large picture windows, no one seemed to notice.  The woman licked her lips and turned, smiling, to the shaman, while the speaker continued sternly on, apparently unaware of the deaths around him.

'-on the charges of treason, mass murder,-'

A strange light flared around the shaman before it collapsed inside him.  An instant later, the man screamed as flesh flowed like syrup down his bones.  Once more the weapons twitched, but again only for a moment.

James watched Leeth's lips move, and saw her nod. 

'-illegal genetic experiments,-'

Another man silently fell to the floor.  No one reacted, unless you counted the small smile that twitched at the corners of d'Artelle's mouth.

'-kidnaping,-'

An instantly-silenced scream sounded from the next man, as his shotgun flew from his hands.  Limbs snapping tautly outward as if racked, his spine bent backwards, each jerking movement matched by the sickening sound of tearing gristle.  At last, as if released by an invisible force, he slid to the floor.

'-use of mind-altering magic,-'

The irony of that statement was an added cruelty, as the speaker remained oblivious to the slaughter around him.

The last man in camera shot simply vanished.

At that,
finally
, James saw Leeth startle, then pale.

'-and making ecologically damaging bargains with Greater Inorganic beings.'

The woman smiled graciously, rising and stepping daintily from behind her large desk.  'If I am so dangerous, monsieur, should you perhaps not have brought some men with you?'

She had a faint French accent.

Several seconds of silence followed, the camera panning from side to side, strongly suggesting confusion.  But it didn't linger on any of the corpses around the room; as if the camera-owner couldn't see them.

'I- I am quite prepared to use this weapon, madam.'

She smiled and bowed her head, and something red and black flashed out from her a moment before the clip ended.

-

For a while, neither of them moved; then Leeth exhaled deeply and James spoke.  'As I said, that was Melisande d'Artelle.  The woman who made the World Storms, the Red Plague, and orchestrated the Melt virus.  Who caused, indirectly, two
billion
deaths, a hundred million minds ruined, fifty million mutations.'

Leeth’s eyes met his briefly, then slid away.  'Yeah.'

Familiarity
.  That was it.  That was what her expression told him.  Goosebumps prickled across his skin, but he forged on.  'We only have that footage because it was being broadcast.  By the time the backup teams got into the office, she was gone.' 
How could Leeth be familiar with d'Artelle?
  There was very little footage of the witch, and she'd been killed fourteen years ago.  Leeth would have been scarcely a child.

'She didn't kill them herself though, did she?  Not personally.  It was the storms and the plague that killed most of them.'

James looked at her strangely, realizing she wasn't talking about the grisly magical slaughter she'd just seen, but about the indirect deaths.  It wasn't the reaction he'd expected.

'Didn't Lord Lao Pi Shen, um, kill her in the end?' she asked.

'That
is
what he's supposed to have said, just before he closed off China to the rest of the world.  Which was six months after his dramatic return and rise to power.  Some people think he was hunting her, that entire six months.'

'Yeah.  Him, and Godsson, and the monk.  It must have been some hunt,' she sighed, eyes dreamy.

James frowned. 
Goddson?  I wonder
….

«Emma?»

A secure channel opened.

«She
did
react to the picture of Benson from sixteen years ago, just before his disappearance.»

«Dear god: so Benson
is
at the Institute for Paranormal Dysfunction. But what about her familiarity with
d'Artelle
?»
  The depth of Emma's horror came clearly down the Link, an overtone of black dread.

For a long time, neither spoke.

«
Eagle
had her brought in»
James offered, at last.

In the tones of a prayer.

Chapter 13 

Leeth sat in the cosmetologist's chair in yet another tucked-away room inside the Department.  Watching Emma in the brightly lit mirror with interest.

'Are you sure?' the auburn-haired woman asked, scissors in hand.

Leeth shrugged.  'It's too long.  Dojo said so.'

Emma ran her left hand under the heavy black hair, the silken threads slipping through her fingers.  She sighed.  'It seems such a shame, that's all.  When was the last time you had it cut?'

Leeth shrugged again.  'I don't know.  When I was little.  Uncle cut it for me.'  She frowned.  'He stopped, when I got bigger.'

What else changed as you got bigger?
Emma wondered.  With a grimace, she began cutting.  Laying each sheaf of hair along the benchtop before them with care.

As Emma brushed at Leeth's shoulders, the girl giggled at her own reflection.  The straight fringe across the top, the simple bowl cut of the rest.  She tugged her eyes up at the corners.  'I already look a bit Japanese, don't I?'

'No, not yet.  Now,
please
sit still for the skin dye.'

'Oh.  Wait a minute.'  Leeth unpinned the sheet from around her neck, refastening it around her waist.

'What-' Emma stopped as the girl stripped off her top, smiling, bare breasts now jauntily exposed.  Emma swallowed.  'What on earth did you do that for?'

Leeth flashed a grin.  'I've a
special
dress to wear for James, tonight.  So don't stop at the neckline!'

Taking a deep breath, Emma gloved up and dipped the soft sponge into the solution.  Leeth, eyes shut, shivered as the first cool touch slid up her neck, her lips parting at the contact.

Emma glanced down despite her resolve not to.  Yes, both nipples had hardened and now stood erect.  She ignored them with a wry smile.  She was supposed to be
teaching
Leeth.

'It's important to apply the solution quickly and evenly.  If you leave it too long it can streak.'

'Mmm,' Leeth purred.

'You have to apply the dye before sculpting on the pseudoflesh, so the colorizing agents properly seed.'

'Mmm.'

Emma did Leeth's face, ears, and neck, then her back.  Once more between her and the mirror, she began working her way down the subtly-muscled shoulders.  'This will last about two weeks, if untreated.  But you'll be using a bleaching agent before then.'  Emma frowned at the breasts before her.  'You're getting to see more of James than I am, these days.'  She imagined his hands, stroking those firm breasts.  She wasn't jealous.  James was just… a convenient friend.  Not really a lover.

Leeth opened her eyes, scowling.  'Opera!  Why does he always take me to the
opera
?  I hate it!

'Plus, he starves me!'  Leeth recalled the first night, and the wonderful steak.  She'd planned to order it again the second time, but James had stopped her.  And last night, too, he'd let her eat only a tiny amount of food.  Sure, she was practicing her disguises and acting, but who'd recognize someone by their healthy appetite?

'Two different women with the same enormous appetite, especially if they order the same food, cooked the same way?  Derek would realize at once they were the same person.'

'Then I'll order something different!'

'Certainly.  And only a small portion, too.'

'But I'm hungry!'

He shook his head in disbelief.  'If you're really still hungry later, eat something when we return home.  You don't eat that amount normally, do you?'

'Well, sure.  You think I'd eat more just because the food is tastier?'

He looked at her doubtfully, which only intensified her annoyed expression.  He shook his head.  'If that's true, I really don't know where it all goes.'

She preened, then shrugged.  'It just does go, that's all.  If I don't eat enough, my stomach starts to hurt.  And I get all sluggish.'

He shook his head again.  'Then in future, eat before we leave.  So you only pick at your meal here.'

'But the food here's better!'  At James's expression she'd turned, to see Derek listening: looking intrigued.  She lowered her voice.  'Plus, that's wasteful.'

'Leeth….  Never mind.  The Department can afford it.  Consider it part of the expenses for your training.'

Emma wondered what Leeth was thinking.
Probably food
.  She looked miffed, and Emma decided to direct her mind back to her training.  This wasn't a game.  'You really don't like the opera?'

Leeth scowled.  'No.  I really do hate it.  I don't know why he has to take me there all the time!'

Emma shrugged, taking a faintly malicious pleasure in her reply.  'You know very well why: we're teaching you how to appear to be different people.  We have to test each disguise, and the Maitre'd at the opera's restaurant is a trained observer, good at remembering faces.  By making a bet with him, James focuses attention on his companion while providing a plausible explanation should anyone realize you're in disguise.  Besides, it's hardly "always."  You've only been doing this the past three nights.'

Leeth fell briefly silent.  'Do men really have bets like that?  I mean, who cares if a guy takes a different woman out each week?'

'A different
gorgeous
woman, Leeth.'

'Do you really think I'm gorgeous, Emma?'  Leeth opened her eyes wide, batting her lashes as she'd been taught.

Emma laughed.  'Don't try to change the subject.  You've been attending the Doctor's lessons with us.  How does it apply here?'

Leeth grimaced.  Practical Psychology – Psychology as a Weapon.  It
sounded
good, but having to sit there for an hour… it was more fun trying to distract Uncle than to actually listen to what he was saying.

Leeth realized Emma was watching her, one eyebrow raised.  Her expression was a mixture of accusation and amusement as she leaned back, half-sitting on the bench top facing her.

'How are you finding your lessons?' Emma asked.

'Learning how to handle guns is chill, and so is the stuff you and James are showing me.  But Nelson and his computers….  I mean, he's shown me simple stuff, and I can see how that'll slot, but-'

'Young ladies don't say “slot,” Leeth – it has crude connotations.'  She waved the correction aside, though, when the girl looked ready to argue.  'And the Doctor's lessons?'

She rolled her eyes.  'Bo-or-ing.'

Emma leaned forward, deadly earnest.  'It's an
edge
, Leeth, and in our business, whenever anyone offers you an edge, you take it.'

'Huh.  That's what Father always says.'

'Because it's true.'  Emma looked at her.  How to make her see the importance of this?  'Think about this: knowing what motivates your enemy, knowing how he'll react – sometimes that's the only way you'll get close enough to… do whatever you have to do.'

'Kill him.'

Emma tried not to wince.  'All right, let's say you have to kill someone.  Don't you see the
value
in what he's teaching us?  Just learning to use your own body language consciously – that alone is an amazing weapon.  But your original question – James's bet with the Maitre'd – apply what the Doctor has been teaching us: identify the active participants.'