“Then you’d be in a whole lot of trouble for releasing me, wouldn’t you?” The boy let out a roar of laughter much deeper and gruffer than one would ever expect from such a scrawny body.
“Is this a joke?” Marcellus asked outright.
“No,” the boy replied while nodding his head.
Marcellus sighed. This was pointless. But he knew if he gave up now, he’d never hear the end of it from Chacal. Or worse, Chacal would get on his TéléCom to Limier and report back that Marcellus was being soft on a criminal with suspected ties to the Vangarde. And Limier would definitely tell his grandfather.
Marcellus needed to play along and keep up this charade until he could figure out how to get the boy released.
“So,” Marcellus said, lowering himself into the chair across from the boy, “you’ve been working with the Vangarde?”
The boy stared hard at Marcellus. His gaze was so intense, Marcellus felt the urge to look away. As though he were the criminal under investigation. Not the other way around.
“Like I’d tell you, if I was,” the boy finally said.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me? You can trust me. We go way back to the Marsh, remember?” Marcellus leaned forward and offered the boy a kind smile.
“Because you’d send me off to Bastille with the rest of them,” the boy said, pointing up toward the moon. “Although I guess you’re going to send me there anyway. That’s how it goes, right? Doesn’t really matter what happens in here. Once you’re marked, you’re marked.”
Even though Marcellus couldn’t have agreed more with the boy’s shrewd observation, he didn’t respond. Instead, he pointed to the boy’s arm. The boy rolled his eyes but didn’t hesitate to offer up his Skin for Marcellus to scan. Marcellus aimed his TéléCom at the small implanted screen in the boy’s arm. The TéléCom elicited a soft beep before reciting the statistics of the boy’s profile into Marcellus’s audio patch.
“Roche. Last name unknown. Homeless. No known parents.”
“Homeless?” Marcellus repeated with concern.
“Well, I wasn’t,” the boy said, “until you came and knocked my house down.”
Marcellus blinked at him, confused.
“Thibault Paresse. Giant bronze man in the Marsh. Founder of Laterre. Any of this sound familiar?”
“You live in a statue?”
“Lived,” the boy corrected. “Past tense.”
“And your name’s Roche?” Marcellus asked, lowering the TéléCom.
Roche gave a comical salute. “Aye, aye. How very perceptive of you, Officer.”
“And you’re an orphan?”
“I’m not an orphan,” Roche shot back. “I’m a free agent.”
He took a big bite out of his carrot and chewed noisily.
Marcellus almost laughed but managed to contain it. “So, Free Agent Roche. Can you tell me why Sergent Chacal brought you in here?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be figuring that out for yourself, Monsieur Officer? That’s why they gave you the uniform and nice polished boots, isn’t it?”
Marcellus ignored him and asked, “What do you know about the Vangarde?”
The boy took a few more raucous chews on his carrot. “They killed the Premier Enfant, didn’t they? They’re up to no good.”
Bitterness rose in Marcellus’s throat at the reminder of poor little Marie. He quickly swallowed it down.
“Chacal says you were bragging about delivering messages for them.”
The boy laughed, as though this was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “I was on painkillers. I also bragged that I was the Patriarche’s uncle. Did he tell you that part? Probably not. Those drugs you got there in the Med Center are whacked. You should just give those to your suspects and you’ll be able to ship them all to the moon.”
Marcellus smiled. He admired the boy’s gumption. He was smart. The way so many of the Fret rats were. He clicked on his TéléCom, bringing up a live AirLink feed of the monitoring room. He was hoping to get a look at Chacal’s expression so he could figure out how much longer he would have to keep up this farce.
The room was filled with deputies, but Chacal wasn’t there.
Had the wretch just up and left? He clicked on the view of the Precinct’s foyer and that’s when he saw them.
Both of them.
Chacal had his strong, rough hand wrapped around the arm of a frail, wispy boy in an oversized black coat and scuffed-up boots. Marcellus’s heart leapt into his throat.
Théo.
What was he doing here? What had he gotten himself into now? It was as though trouble followed that boy.
Chacal was dragging Théo through the foyer, presumably to another interrogation room. As Marcellus watched, something hot and primal growled in the pit of his stomach. He felt a deep-seated urge to protect the boy. From everything. And especially from deputies like Chacal. He clicked his screen to activate the sound.
“I swear, I’m not pranking you, Chacal!” Théo was saying. “I’ve seen him with my own eyes. His name is Jean LeGrand and there’s a reward on his head.”
“It’s ‘Sergent’ to you, déchet,” Chacal spat back. “Now get in there.” He kicked open the door to an interrogation room and wrestled Théo inside.
“Everything okay, Officer?” Roche asked, pulling Marcellus’s attention away from his TéléCom. Marcellus glanced up to see an amused look on Roche’s face. And suddenly an idea came to him. A perfect solution.
Marcellus leapt to his feet. “Wait here,” he told Roche.
As he pocketed his TéléCom and raced toward the door, Marcellus was reminded of what the Patriarche liked to say when he was out hunting in the Palais gardens and was able to line up the perfect shot, bringing two helpless pigeons plummeting to the ground.
“And that, mon ami, is how you shoot two birds with one bullet.”
- CHAPTER 54 -
CHATINE
STUPIDE! CHATINE REPRIMANDED HERSELF AS she collapsed onto the chair in the dingy interrogation room. Stupide! Stupide! Stupide!
Why on Laterre had she decided to waste her time chasing after a twelve-year-old reward that was probably no longer valid? She should have been focusing on her task for the general. She should have been tracking down Marcellus and doing everything in her power to find the Vangarde base. This was what she got for trying to be crafty. For thinking she could find another way out.
Chacal shut the door behind him, looking delighted to be alone with her. Thankfully, he didn’t know she was a girl. Otherwise, she was sure this meeting would go differently. She didn’t trust most of the Policier, but she trusted Chacal least of them all. Even less than Limier. At least Limier was a cyborg. His integrity was programmed in.
Chacal had none.
“So,” he said, pacing in front of her. “What’s the littlest Renard doing at a Policier Precinct?”
Chatine sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you. I came for the reward on Jean LeGrand, the escaped convict. It’s supposed to be twenty thousand largs.”
Chacal nearly choked. “Twenty thousand? For a convict? Now I know you’re pranking me.”
“Look it up. You’ll see.”
Chacal cocked an eyebrow, clearly trying to decide whether or not he believed her. Finally, he pulled out his TéléCom and ran the search.
“Just as suspected,” he said, returning the device to the pocket of his uniform. “A lie.”
Chatine sat up straighter. “What? No, it’s not.”
“LeGrand died twenty-five years ago. There is no record of an official Policier reward for his capture.”
“B-b-but,” Chatine sputtered, feeling more desperate and confused by the second. “That can’t be right. It came from Inspecteur Limier himself. He came to Montfer looking for him and that idiot daughter of his twelve years ago. I was there. I heard it with my own ears. He offered—”
The door to the interrogation room opened, cutting Chatine off from her ramblings.
&nbs
p; “That’ll be enough.” She recognized the voice, but not the tone. Her gaze swiveled to see Marcellus standing in the doorway.
Chacal flicked his gaze at him and scoffed. “Don’t worry, Officer. I’ve got this under control.”
Chatine fully expected Marcellus to back down, bow out of the room with a mumbled apology. But he stood rigid in the doorway, looking more severe than Chatine had ever seen him.
“I said, that’s enough,” Marcellus repeated. “I’ll take this from here.”
Chacal groaned like this was all a huge inconvenience to him. He turned and looked up at Marcellus. “Go back to interrogation room two. This is nothing you need to concern yourself with. Just another lying déchet trying to—”
“Don’t call him that!” Marcellus fired back, startling both Chatine and Chacal. Sols, even the officer himself looked a little surprised by his own outburst.
Chacal studied Marcellus as though trying to figure out whether to take him seriously.
Chatine watched the face-off between the two men with fascination. The way Marcellus was holding himself, with his shoulders pushed back and his chin jutted out slightly, made Chatine’s stomach do a small backflip. She did not like the sensation one bit.
“I will continue this investigation,” Marcellus said, standing his ground. “And you, Chacal, are free to go.”
The sergent continued to glare at Marcellus, and Chatine wondered who would back down first. She would have placed largs on Marcellus. Big largs.
She would have lost.
The sergent’s cheek quivered as though he were chewing on the inside of it. And then finally, with a grunt, he tore his eyes away from Marcellus and stalked out of the room.
“Vive Laterre,” Marcellus called after him.
“Vive Laterre,” Chacal muttered in response, slamming the door behind him, and then he was gone.
And Chatine was alone with Marcellus.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time they’d been alone together. It wasn’t even the second time. But it was the first time Chatine was aware of this thrumming sensation inside of her. Like her heart had grown to the size of a Sol and was pulsing wildly in her chest.
Marcellus began to pace the room. Chatine watched him with a mix of curiosity and annoyance.
What is he doing here?
Had he come just to save her from Chacal?
The thought made the thrumming grow stronger.
Marcellus stopped and turned toward her. He was fidgeting, as though whatever he was about to say was weighing on his nerves. His right thumb and forefinger found his left hand and rubbed absently at his pinky. Then he flinched and glanced down at it, shaking his head. “I keep forgetting it’s not there,” he murmured, as though speaking to himself.
Chatine instantly knew he was talking about the ring. The one that was currently sitting at the bottom of her coat pocket.
“My ring,” Marcellus went on. “It went missing a few days ago. I feel sort of lost without it.” He looked up and caught her eye.
Does he know?
Does he suspect me?
She reached into her pocket and rubbed her fingertip against the cool metal. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “Was it very . . . um . . . valuable?”
Marcellus dropped his gaze to the floor and laughed. “No. It was worthless, actually. Made of fool’s titan. It just had sentimental value. It belonged to my mother.”
Chatine threaded her finger through the ring in her pocket. This was the perfect opportunity to get on the officer’s good side. She could say she found it on the floor of the cruiseur. She could swear she hadn’t known it was his until now.
Marcellus steeled himself, as though coming to a decision about whatever he’d been debating in his head. He pulled out his TéléCom and began tapping the surface. Chatine craned her neck to see the screen. In a small window, she saw herself, sitting in this very room. She glanced around to look for the microcams, but they were invisible. Hidden in the walls. When she looked back at Marcellus’s TéléCom, however, the window had gone dark.
He’d disabled the security feed.
Why had he done that?
Then, suddenly, Marcellus was beside her. Closing the distance between them in two long strides. He crouched down next to her chair, his head just coming up to her shoulder. She could smell his hair. It smelled like the scent of fresh fabric wafting out of the vents of the garment fabrique.
How annoying.
Chatine tried to breathe through her mouth.
“Théo,” Marcellus’s voice was a rushed whisper, as though he were afraid of the walls listening. “I need your help.”
Marcellus placed a hand on her arm, and Chatine tensed.
She tugged on the ring still looped around her finger, drawing it slowly to the edge of her pocket. She wondered what he’d do when she gave it back. Would he thank her? Smile that gleaming smile at her? Hug her?
Chatine suddenly felt breathless at the thought.
“I heard you mention Jean LeGrand,” Marcellus went on. “What do you know about him? What about his daughter, Alouette? Did you find out anything else about her?”
Chatine let the ring slide off her finger. It plummeted to the dark corner of her pocket. She glanced down at his hand, still clutching her arm like she was his lifeline. And suddenly she became angry.
Very, very angry.
She didn’t want to be his stupide lifeline.
She didn’t want to be anyone’s lifeline but her own. She didn’t want to be the one Marcellus Bonnefaçon came to for help with his love life. She wanted to be the one he came to for . . .
Well, it didn’t really matter what Chatine wanted.
It would never happen. Nothing she ever wanted would ever happen. And how could it? He didn’t even know she was a girl! He still looked into her eyes and saw Théo. The wily Fret rat. His errand boy.
She launched out of her chair, moving to the other side of the room, as far away from him as possible. “Yes, I did, actually.”
Marcellus appeared confused by her sudden movement, yet annoyingly still hopeful. “You did? What? What did you find out?”
“Her name is not Alouette. It’s Madeline.”
Marcellus stood back up, his expression inscrutable. “Madeline,” he repeated the name in a daze, and Chatine despised the way it sounded on his lips. Like a song.
“Yes. Just as I suspected, she’s been lying to you this whole time. She’s a liar.”
And a murderer, Chatine added in her mind. She waited for her words to trigger a reaction. A flash of disgust on the officer’s face. She’d settle for even a flicker of irritation. But she saw none of that.
Marcellus immediately tapped on his TéléCom and started speaking into the screen. “Search Madeline LeGrand.”
Chatine watched his expression fall with disappointment as he stared at the flickering screen.
And that’s when she knew. That’s when she finally understood.
Marcellus was fascinated by that girl, liar or not. He might even be falling in love with her.
“Will that be all, Officer?” Chatine snapped.
Marcellus glanced up from his TéléCom and blinked at Chatine, as though he couldn’t remember who she was or why she was there. “What? Oh, no. Wait. What were you saying to Chacal about a reward?”
Chatine sighed. She really didn’t want to be here any longer. But she had a feeling Marcellus wasn’t going to let her go until she told him everything she knew about the girl. “Madeline used to live with my family in Montfer. Until one day her father—Jean LeGrand—came and took her away. A few days later Inspecteur Limier showed up looking for him. He offered twenty thousand largs for information leading to his capture.”
Marcellus’s forehead crumpled, as though these details didn’t add up.
“Twenty thousand?” he repeated. “For a criminal? That’s way too high. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yup. That’s what Chacal said. You two really cracked this case
wide open.” She walked over to the door. “So, can I go now?”
Marcellus hurried to the door and put his hand on it. “Wait. I have another favor to ask you.”
Chatine groaned. She really regretted coming here. “What?”
Marcellus ran a hand through his thick, wavy hair. His previous confidence had vanished, and he was back to looking completely unsure of himself. “I need you to interrogate a suspect for me.”
- CHAPTER 55 -
MARCELLUS
THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT THÉO that wasn’t adding up for Marcellus. The boy was hiding something. Every time Marcellus looked into his fierce gray eyes, he could see something buried underneath. A secret. A concealed layer.
The problem was that Marcellus had no idea what that layer contained.
He supposed everyone who lived in the Frets had secrets. Dark secrets that kept them alive. But he didn’t have time right now to go searching for this boy’s secrets. He had too many other people’s secrets he was trying to deal with.
Alouette had lied to him.
About her name. About living with an escaped convict.
What else? Marcellus wondered. What else is she hiding from me?
“Why would you need me to interrogate a suspect for you?” Théo asked, his question pulling Marcellus back into the room.
Marcellus tapped at his TéléCom, bringing up the security feed for the Precinct. “We can’t get him to talk,” he explained to Théo, trying to reclaim that confidence he’d walked into this room with. “I thought maybe you’d have more luck.”
He placed the TéléCom down on the table in front of Théo so he could see the screen.
Théo bent forward and Marcellus watched his dirty face pale.
“His name is Roche,” Marcellus began. “He’s allegedly been—”
“He’s innocent!” Théo shouted, startling Marcellus. “Don’t believe anything he says. He’s just a kid. He’s playing around. Trying to feel important. Please. You have to let him go.”
Marcellus felt his heart warm at the protective quality of Théo’s voice. “So, you know him?”
Desperation flashed in the boy’s eyes. “Yes. I know him from the Frets. Believe me, whatever he’s told you, he’s lying.”
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