Chapter 3

Prokhorovka Memorial, Belgorad Oblast, February 17^th

Stepping through the portal was no different to walking through a door, but Gabriel was yanked off-balance was it became clear that pulling Giselle through behind him wasn’t going to be so easy. She continued to move forward, but he was having to drag her as though pulling her through treacle. Unable to see her, he reached back and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, worried about dislocating her wrist or shoulder with the force needed to move her, and kept his eyes out for the lithe, distorted figures who’d surrounded the gate when he’d left.

The sun was lightening the sky in the east, but at ground level it was still dark; the immediate surroundings were clear, although he thought he could still hear movement in the surroundings. Giselle’s hair appeared, her head slumped forward as it came clear, and as the footsteps in the dark moved closer he forced himself to keep calm and continued his slow, steady pressure to bring her through. Along the plane of the portal where her body was emerging there was a flickering of sparks, presumably whatever magic was required to form a physical body in action. Finally, her legs were pulled clear, her feet swinging free to drag on the ground. She was a dead weight in his arms, and he couldn’t make out her face in the dim light, but he didn’t have enough time to make a proper inspection and scooped her up before trying to warp to the nearest rooftop.

Whatever had been happening as he’d pulled Giselle through the portal - or, perhaps, his time in the place beyond - had drained him, and he aborted the attempt to shift before it could properly start, feeling the strain was beyond him. Physically he felt nothing more than a little overtired, having worked through the previous day and, it seemed, the entire night, but holding the limp body was no real struggle, and so he slipped off into the darkness, sneaking from shadow to shadow between the tanks and the statues and the prowling, figures.

Again he heard the distant, somehow familiar voice barking orders into the morning that he couldn’t quite place, but he didn’t have time to investigate and finally cleared the monument’s surroundings and came across the police vehicle that had pulled up the night before. The previous occupants hadn’t returned, and presumably by now weren’t going to, so he eased Giselle onto the back seat, flicked a brief electrical spark through the ignition circuit, and pulled the car away with the lights off. The sound of the engine drew attention, and by the time he’d turned around he could make out the quick, lean figures springing over the elements of the memorial towards them, and forwent stealth in favour of speed. Easing his foot down to avoid wheelspin, though he wasn’t sure the police saloon had the power for it, he quickly managed to pull away and flashed through the small cluster of buildings past the hunched, wizened figure that clarified the voice he’d recognised.

Dr Roffmai.

Two days - and two cars - later, Gabriel finally eased into the garage of one of his houses in northern Italy, drained from lack of sleep and worry. Giselle had improved only slightly, sitting upright if placed in the car seat, but vacant and occasionally drooling, unresponsive and unable to move on her own. He’d managed to get some soup, yoghurt and fruit-pulp desserts into her, but she wouldn’t chew and anything more liquid just dribbled out her mouth. He’d elected to avoid the more heavily travelled major roads and to skirt most of the border checkpoints as he made his way across Ukraine, Slovakia and Austria, until his concern for Giselle started to overtake his diminishing concern about being followed and he joined the A2 to the Italian border, skirting close to Slovenia before pulling into the hills overlooking Tolmezzo.

Night was falling beyond the metal garage door, and he went ahead to flick on the lights before returning to lift Giselle out of the car. She seemed thinner, more frail, even than when she’d first returned, and he laid her in the narrow bed and hurried into the living area to fire up the computer, easing the door to but not quite closed in case she called out. She hadn’t yet, but there was always hope.

Two more days passed, and his internet research - perhaps unsurprisingly, given the limitations on what he could reasonably search for - was proving fruitless. Most of the lines of enquiry ended with neurological scans and assessments, and whilst that was an option it would make it difficult to remain covert.

“Charisma?” he muttered, slumped on the high-backed chair in which he’d awoken that morning.

“I am here. Have you reconsidered my suggestion?”

“We’re supposed to be leaving them to get on with their own lives,” he reminded her, though he was beginning to think it the best solution they had.

“Arguably this is Dr Barthez life, she is a neurologist after all.”

“In France, though. We’re in Italy, Giselle is Italian and British, I’m British, we live ... we’re supposed to live in...” he trailed off, staring at the half-opened bedroom door.

“Have you looked over the other information?”

“I don’t have time to go fight my father’s creations right now.” He sighed, reaching out to click the window closed as Charisma opened it on the screen, but pausing when he noticed it was a newspaper headline.

“The sightings are becoming more frequent, mainstream outlets are starting to report on them. Attacks have been reported across the Balkan states, northern Greece and Italy, throughout France, as far north as Ghent and as far west as Bilbao and Zaragoza.”

“They aren’t hiding?”

“No. Sightings are increasing around some of the major urban centres; Budapest, Zagreb, Graz and Munich have put out official statements on the matter.”

“I’m focussed on Giselle.”

“As am I. Dr Barthez is in LeHavre, the direction of travel of the sightings is generally westward, and will either reach northern France or cut you off from it soon. If you do not seek her out soon, you may not be able to.”

“What if this isn’t medical?” He turned off the monitor, rubbing his eyes as he leant back. “What if it’s magical. Where’s ... where’s Caerys?”

“Unlike you, she appears to be headed towards France.”

“What?”

“She was recently in the US, but landed in Germany last night, and appears to be booked on a flight to Charles de Gaulle this morning.”

Paris, February 22^nd

Caerys strolled through the arrivals hall showing more confidence than she felt, but unable to completely keep the slightly smug smirk from her face. Flicking a glance towards the security cameras she felt a quiver of concern that her glamour might fail her, but it was a minor concern. So far as she knew no-one was actively looking for her, the glamour served only to make it difficult to track her later if she did something in the meantime to draw official attention. The skin at the back of her neck still itched from the new tattoo, but she resisted the urge to scratch it - partly on the instructions of the artist, partly to avoid drawing attention, and made her way to the passport control desk.

With the skills she’d been learning in the past week she was reasonably sure that she could probably charm her way through the faster EU arrivals line, but she’d also been learning restraint and rather than risk depleting her reserves or be caught in an awkward situation she chose to wait in line and rely on the good work Gabriel and Charisma had done with her American passport. Waved through without issue she spared the French border control agent a smile as he tracked her walk away, taking the opportunity to glance at the security monitor at his desk which showed the curvier, darker toned image she was projecting. If he thought the smile was for him rather than her own abilities, so be it.

Out of the secure areas of the airport and into the arrivals lounge she took a seat towards the centre of the baggage reclaim area and pulled out her tablet as she waited for the signs to update with her flight details. She’d managed, with some input from Gretchen and Karina, to turn the screen into a simple scrying device - to an onlooker it simply seemed as though she were watching a film, of course - and she rested her fingers gently on the frame to bring the vision to the surface.

Sophie drove in the darkness, Caerys could feel the direction but had no guide or point of reference as to what it meant. Christophe slept fitfully in the back seat, his head rocking with the motion of the car. Caerys pulled the image back, but the road was an unremarkable, three-lane blacktop, the car a boxy red-metallic little European hatchback. She looked up and her flight’s baggage still hadn’t been signalled, so she waited with the image of the road flickering by in a sequence of long white lines against the dark tarmac until an overhead gantry sign came into view. It flashed past, but she recognised the familiar name of Le Havere, and waved the image away with another smile for herself as the digital display flashed up and she could make her way to the carousel. Her distinctive orange rucksack didn’t quite match up to the well-dressed image she was projecting, but if any of her fellow travellers thought it odd none of them could be bothered enough to say anything after the long flight, and a few moments after she’d slipped the straps over her shoulders it appeared nothing more than a large handbag as she made her way along the walkways to the train station.

The last train for the night had already departed, and a quick check showed that although she could start a journey in the early hours by bus, it wasn’t a pleasant journey, and she was as well waiting a few hours more for a simpler journey by train all the way. Turning back she checked into one of the airport hotels, wincing slightly at the price but safe in the knowledge that her money wasn’t being depleted particularly quickly; Gabriel might have been content to send them on their way, but he’d ensured they were well provided for.

Despite the long flight, the half-day layover in Iceland, and the time difference, she didn’t sleep well, equal parts concerned and excited at the prospect of seeing Sophie again. Eventually she did drop off, and was awoken gritty eyed a few hours later by the TV turning on as an alarm. The weather and celebrity news was of little interest, and she forced herself into the shower to wake up, coming back to the financial markets which were of even less concern as she rummaged in the pack for something to wear. She could, of course, wear whatever she wanted and simply glamour something more appealing, but that felt off for meeting Sophie, although on the third run through the limited options she had - even including the pieces that really could have used a wash - she was beginning to reconsider whether the magic would be that bad an idea. The news presenter shifted over to the international desk, and she turned away from dressing to listen in to the ongoing rumours of dangerous, twisted figures spreading through European cities. Paris was mentioned, though it was the first time she’d heard anything had come this far, although it seemed they were spreading across Southern Europe, reports had started to come in from some of the middle-eastern nations. Official sources were vacillating between outright denials and attempting to put the reports in the same light as Bigfoot sightings and Nessie, but the growing number of missing people was concrete evidence that something was going on.

When the coverage moved on to preparations for the Olympics, she returned to the clothing options, picked out the cleanest pair of black jeans and a wide-necked top - it was an outfit for going out in of an evening, the jeans tighter than day-wear would usually be, but it was nearest thing to a clean top she had, the only pair of trousers that would come even close to going with the top, and she was too late to go shopping for something more before her train was due.

Pulling a brush through her hair she smiled at the warmth radiating from the bristles, turning it over to eye the angular runes carved into the back - it wasn’t pretty, certainly it didn’t have the elegance of the magic she usually worked with, but it was the first example of pulling something from another tradition, an expansion. She wasn’t just a Seer, now, she was spreading her magical wings. Of course, that had started back in Oregon, and as her thoughts drifted that way she slipped the brush back into her pack with a frown, and wriggled into the jeans and the top and headed out the door.

The train was busy, clusters of commuters mainly sitting in silence, a few small groups talking overly loudly in French. She managed to predict the platform before the signs changed, although many of the regulars were alrady there, so she did get a seat for the few hours, although by the time they’d gone through Paris the bulk of the seats had emptied out anyway.

Le Havre was cold and grey, and she dug out a coat for the ten minute walk to the hospital. She bypassed the main reception, walking through the staff car-park to one of the badge-access rear doors, timing her approach to coincide with one of the porters who held the door for her. Despite the weight of the backpack, she declined the lift and climbed the stairs slowly, suddenly second-guessing her decision to come. She was sure Sophie was there, was sure the Tarot had guided her to come back here, but suddenly wasn’t sure of what to say or how to approach this.

She was still trying to decide when she turned into the corridor she though Sophie’s office was in, and came face to face with her.

“Hi, Soph...” she managed, after an uncomfortably long moment. “I ... did you want to grab a coffee?”

Le Havre, February 22^nd

“Caerys!” Sophie stopped abruptly, almost spilling her folders as the taller woman came around the corner.

“Hi Soph,” she smiled, casually, slouching against the wall with a grin. “Did you want to get a coffee?”

“Qu’est que ... sorry, uh, what are you doing here?”

“I ... I came to see you.”

“How did you find me? Did Charisma tell you where I was?”

“You work here, you spoke about it...” The smile faded, and Sophie realised the confidence was a front. “Would you like me to go?”

“No, sorry ... you surprised me, that’s all, and it’s...”

“Tough day at the office?” she chuckled, and Sophie managed a weak grin.

“Something like that, come on, we’ll go down to the cafe on the corner.” She glanced both ways around the corner, mindful that she hadn’t seen Ramage for a few days, and when she started to walk on she realised Caerys wasn’t following.

“You ashamed to be seen with me?”

“Zut! ... NO!” Sophie hissed, coming back. “I’m avoiding someone, yes, but I was avoiding them before you got here...”

“Oh...” Caerys at least looked abashed for a moment. “Come on, then, introduce me to a proper French cafe...”

Sophie set off again, turning into the more populated areas of the hospital - partly to ensure she wouldn’t see Ramage, and partly to assure Caerys that no-one at the hospital could care less who Dr Barthez might be meeting. She paused briefly at one of the hallways to post the files she was carrying into a series of holders on a wall, and then dusted her hands off.

“Are you hungry, or just a drink?”

“Just some company, for me.” Caerys muttered. “Although I’ll take the drink.”

“Are you alright?” Sophie paused, shrugging out of her white lab-coat and folding it over her arm. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine, it was just a long flight.”

“Where have you been?”

“I went ho ... I went back to my father’s house, in Oregon.”

“Looking for some mementos?”

“No, looking for him.” Sophie slowed, turning slightly as they exited the reception.

“He’s dead.”

“He was,” Caerys confirmed, “but he isn’t any more.”

“But he ... I...”

“I know, I don’t understand it, either, but it was definitely him.”

“Merde.”

“What of the others?”

“Gilgamesh and Camael?” Sophie nodded. “I don’t know, it might be possible. I’ve not been looking for them.”

“With these ‘daemonettes’ I could almost believe it.”

“Daemonettes?”

“You’ve seen the news reports of figures like Gilgamesh’s?”

“Are they like that? I’ve seen some stuff about figures in the night across Europe.”

“Yes, they’re similar to Gilgamesh and Georg’s work ... Camael’s work, but not exactly the same. These are all women, I think, and the changes aren’t as drastic.”

“You’ve been looking into this?”

“I’ve been ... when I came back, the security forces wanted to know what I’d seen. I told them.”

“All of it?”

“Most of it,” Sophie assured her, patting her hand gently as she gestured towards the bistro. “Let’s sit inside, it’ll be warmer.” GIven the thin top, Caerys didn’t argue.

“So ... daemonettes?” Sophie slipped into a seat near the window, far from the sparse collection of customers near the counter, and pushed the menu over towards Caerys as she slipped the coat off.

“I didn’t name them, that’s what the internet boards have started calling them.”

“I’d have thought you’d be trying to avoid this sort of thing.” Caerys realised, as she picked up the laminated menu and realised all the options were in French. She made to pass it back, then smirked almost to herself and waved her hand across the text, watching the letters waver like a heat-shimmer before resolving into plain English. “I think I’ll just stick to a chai latte.” Sophie waved to the woman at the counter, and turned back.

“I’d have liked to, but they already knew I was involved. I’ve been helping, as much as I can.” Caerys leant back, a whistful look appearing on her face. “It’s not dangerous,” Sophie assured her, “I’m not hunting them down. I’m just ... consulting.” Sophie’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she held up an apologetic hand as she put it to her ear.

“Barthez.” she confirmed. “Oui. Oui. Mais, les autres scanne? Hm-hm. Et les resultat histologique? Oui, quand? Une demi-heure, peut-etre. Bien.” The hostess arrived, and Sophie smiled up at her as she stood. “Une chai latte pour m’amie, et une the a la menthe poivree a emporter, s’il vous plait.” The hostess nodded and returned to the counter, and Sophie wrapped her lab-coat around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Caerys, I have to get back, they need me to advise on a surgery.” She managed not to sound bitter that she was only allowed to advise, and still wasn’t cleared to return to surgery herself. “Where are you staying, we can meet for dinner? I know Christophe will be happy to see you.”

“I’ve not found a place, yet,” Caerys admitted with a shrug, “I only got here this morning.”

“Oh, well here’s my mobile,” she grabbed a pen from her pocket and scribbled on a sheet from a small pad in the lab-coat. “Text me after five o’clock and we’ll come find you.”

Sophie dashed out, clutching her lab-coat about her and her tea to prevent the cold from getting in to either of them, and tried to put Caerys’ arrival out of her mind to focus on the surgery. Despite herself, though, she found herself conflicted about whether it was a good thing or not. On the one hand it was good to see Caerys again; after all they’d gone through Sophie had hoped it was over with, but recent events showed that it wasn’t going to be so easy to rid herself of the aftermath. Caerys would be able to help deal with the daemonettes, and with the investigations, perhaps enough to get the authorities to leave her alone.

But that would just give Caerys another tie to her, another reason to stay, and she wasn’t sure she wanted that either. It had been a strange time, and it was still a strange time, was the time they’d spent together significant in the longer term, or just another facet of the strangeness of those days? The fact that she didn’t have the first clue how Caerys felt about the way Sophie had just up and left, or what she’d think about the fact that Sophie was pregnant seemed significant; if there was anything there she’d have a good idea, and yet somehow she thought she probably did know how the redhead would react, even though she couldn’t explain how. They’d seen things and been through things that most people couldn’t imagine, maybe that gave them insights, but she didn’t feel that she’d be able to be as confident about Gabriel...

Still conflicted, she hopped up the steps to the hospital reception, and finally got her mind into the groove for the surgery. There were complications - but there were always complications - and she finally got out theatre just after eight o’clock, perfectly timed to pick up Christophe and get a meal in town. She sent a message as she crossed the footbridge to the other building, wending her way down to the creche, when Caerys’ response came back.

Already eaten, bedding down in a hotel now. I’ll catch up tomorrow.

Le Havre, February 23^rd

Caerys laid back on the overly-hard hotel bed, wondering if lunch meant anything. Dinner the previous night had come and gone without a message from Sophie, who’d finally sent something at past eight o’clock saying she was ready. Partly tiredness and partly pique, Caerys had sent back that she’d already eaten and was getting ready for bed, and that she’d see Sophie in the morning.

Having second, third and fourth guessed her response instead of actually getting the sleep she could have benefitted from, she did finally manage some sleep and woke up mid-morning refreshed and more eager to talk than she had been the night before. She was, though, wondering how keen Sophie was - it had been late, but she’d still made an effort when she, presumably, got out of surgery. It should have been obvious that Caerys would have eaten by then, though...

The thoughts flitted round for a while, and realising she wasn’t going to resolve them Caerys sent a quick question that couldn’t be misinterpreted as too much or too little: Lunch?

The reponse had come back almost instantly, Yes, outside the hospital at 1, I know a place :). The speed caught her by surprise, and she flopped back, but quickly realised she was trying to read too much into a simple text, and pushed it aside.

What was needed, regardless of whether lunch was rekindling something, or starting something, or just two old friends meeting, was appropriate clothing. It was grey and overcast, and threatening to rain, and while she did have some clean clothes they weren’t up to the standard for lunch at an honest to God French cafe; looking at the best clean options she had they weren’t up to the standard of lunch at a Wendy’s in a pig-farming town.

A pleasant late morning in the town’s shops yielded some results, and she strolled into the open area in front of the hospital conveniently between rain-showers a few minutes ahead of schedule to find Sophie and Christophe already waiting.

“Caerys!” Christophe hopped an excited step and dashed off the stairs towards her, Sophie smiling along behind him.

“Bonjour, Christophe, ca va?” she asked, as he skidded to a stop in front of her.

“Tu parle Francais, Caerys, quand as-tu appris ca?”

“Oh. uh ... plus lentement, Chrisophe, s’il vous plait, ma Francais ne tres bien pas.”

“ ... n’est pas si bon.” Sophie corrected, gently, as she drew close. “I’m impressed, though.”

“I’ve a way to go to catch up to your English, though?” she pointed out, as she drew Christophe in for a hug.

“I’ve been practicing longer, so has Christophe. It doesn’t matter how good anyone else is, you’re having a go.”

“Well...” for a moment she thought about explaining why she’d started to learn, then thought about coming up with some other excuse that didn’t put any pressure on Sophie, then decided to just change the subject. “So, you had place in mind for ... Soph?” Sophie was staring over Caerys’ shoulder, and she turned to see a middle-aged, suited figure leant back against a car watching them. “Someone you know?”

“I’ll explain over lunch,” Sophie said, a little wearily, and linked her arm into Caerys. “I suspect you’ve got some stories to tell as well, I have a few hours until I have to be anywhere, and there’s a new Chinese restaurant opened up, I thought we could have a relaxing lunch and catch up.”

“Sounds good.” Caerys smiled, and tried not to lean in too much as Sophie reached down with her other hand to hold Christophe and they headed off across the car park. Unable to resist, Caerys glanced at their watcher, shifting her senses slightly, and felt a cold shudder as she failed to penetrate the disguise even slightly.

“Are you alright?” Sophie asked, as the approached her car.

“Your watcher,” Caerys nodded her head back in the direction they’d come, “not sure what they look like under the glamour, but it’s strong enough to stop me looking.” Sophie’s expression flickered, briefly, as she looked back towards the hospital entrance.

“Somehow, that doesn’t really surprise me.” She gestured into the car, and they pulled away quietly, studiously ignoring him as they went. “His name is ... well, he calls himself Ramage, I don’t know if that’s his real name or not. He claims to work for a Europeant government agency looking into Marduk and Georg’s experiments.”

“Why does he want to talk to you?”

“He knows that Georg took me to Paris, knows that I was with you - well, with someone. He’s probably presuming it was you, now. He knows that we saw something, but he doesn’t know how were were involved or what we did, just that we were witnesses.”

“Maman, qu’est-ce qu’une ‘Daemonette’?” Christophe queried from the back seat.

“In English, please, Christophe,” Sophie reminded him, “we have a guest.”

“Oui, maman. What are a daemonette?”

“What is ... Or, what are daemonettes.”

“Maman!” Caerys just glanced back and forth between them for a moment.

“Yeah, Soph, what are they anyway?”

“Christophe, you remember the bad people that were chasing us before Christmas, and they had those people who they’d operated on.”

“Yes.”

“Well, the daemonettes are like that, only they’re all women.”

“I didn’t think we were talking about that?”

“We aren’t with other people, ma puce, but Caerys was there, it’s not a secret from her.”

“Bien.”

“Anything else you’ve found out?” Caerys asked, seeing as that seemed to have satisfied Christophe.

“Not much,” Sophie said after a moment gesturing at another driver, tapping the horn as they drove by with another gesture. “They’re all women, all of them. I think the others were all men, I don’t remember seeing any women. They’re thinner, probably not as strong. The reports sound like they’re more agile, and maybe more clever, but I’ve not seen anything in the bodies.”

“Bodies? Have you ... they...”

“Oh, no. Ramage led me to one to see if I could learn anything.”

“And you did, or you didn’t.”

“Part of the process is an injection of some sort, I have a sample I got from one of them, but I’ve not been able to analyse it.”

“How come?”

“How? I don’t have a laboratory.”

“You work in a hospital, right?”

“And I have to submit paperwork for any tests, and the results have to go on a patient’s records...”

“Can you not do them yourself?”

“I don’t have access to the laboratory, I’ve not been trained on how to use those computers ... it’s not just put the sample into a magic box and it tells you what you want to know. I don’t even know what tests to run, I don’t know if it’s hormonal, or an actuator for something else, or a byproduct of an implant...”

“They have implants? What like...” Caerys cupped a pair of imaginary breasts much bigger than her own, and Sophie couldn’t help but giggle.

“No, not like...”

“Maman, what is ‘implants’?”

“Never mind, Christophe, they are for adults to talk about.” Christophe’s face turned sulky as Sohie negotiated a tight turn across a heavy flow of traffic, eliciting a few beeped horns herself which got an off-hand, distracted gesture in return. “Not implants like that, not, but ... I don’t know, maybe hormone pumps or something, and adrenaline dispenser maybe. Like that ... the one with the pipes in his neck?”

“Enkidu?”

“Was it ... yes. Him ... that.” Caerys recalled Sophie’s face when she’d unloaded the shotgun into Enkidu’s back, and laid a comforting hand on her arm.

“Did you find anything like that?”

“I didn’t cut her open, Caerys, I’m a neurologist not a pathologist, and it wasn’t a mortuary or a theatre, it was in a customs inspection warehouse.”

“Ooh, secret facility?”

“No, really a customs warehouse. The body washed up from La Manche.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, let’s talk about this later, let’s go and eat, and you can tell me how you’ve been.” As interested as she was, the idea that Sophie would rather talk about her genuinely made her smile.

Le Havre, February 23^rd

The dark was closing in as Gabriel swung the hire car into the hospital car park, easily finding spots with the majority of the day’s visitors already gone. Pulling into a space near an abandoned wheelchair he slipped Giselle out of the passenger seat, dried off a tendril of drool from the corner of her mouth and slipped her into the chair gently. She half held herself up, staring vacantly into the middle-distance, and Gabriel trundled over the slightly uneven surface to the directory on the wall.