44. Angélique
44
Angélique
I t turns out that I didn’t shift overnight. I did get an idea, though.
I can’t hide my wings, which means I’ll be a disappointment to my father in any case, so I might as well go all in.
Softly, I shake Cassiopé’s shoulder from where she fell asleep, half on her chair, half on the desk.
“Angie, it’s too early,” she mumbles, not even bothering to open her eyes.
“I know, but I need something for the wedding,” I answer in a whisper.
I’m already dressed and ready to go, since there is no way I can work out today with the state of my body. The medicine did wonders, but I still feel the beating that those bullets imposed on my body.
“The wedding?”
Cassiopé’s body reacts as if it has been built on springs, with the speed with which she gets up from her sleeping position, suddenly wide awake.
“What do you need?” she asks, now boiling with impatience at the idea of doing something for me today.
We don’t have much time; the wedding is in about four hours, so I hurry to explain what I have in mind, and she nods a few times to show me she understands. By the time I’m done explaining, she’s smiling at me.
“I think I know the perfect place to find what you need,” she says with a cheshire cat’s smile.
And she does.
She doesn’t ask to go on her own. She doesn’t even ask anyone to leave Notre Dame. No, we just walk through the double doors leading to the parvis as if nothing is amiss, and I’m a bit shocked.
It’s one thing to know I’m not a prisoner, but it’s another to see it with my own eyes.
No one stops us, no one asks to accompany us, and I’m dumbfounded.
I’m shaking my head as we cross to the river la Seine docks.
“What is wrong?” Cassiopé asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I’m just surprised you didn’t ask for us to have a guard or something like that, with the way Elhyor behaved and got all protective yesterday.”
Cassiopé looks at me with big eyes.
“You’re serious?” she asks, at a loss for words—not usual for her, for sure.
“Well, yes, he went all growly with his ‘she’s my wife, touch her and die’ rendition.” I try to mimic his voice as best I can, but it’s more comical than realistic.
Cassiopé burst into fits of laughter at my words.
“Angie, you’re amazing,” she manages to say when she’s back to normal. “But you’re also delusional. I’ve seen you fighting. Hell, everyone in ND has seen you fighting. You missed that, but once Elhyor went out, everyone stuck to the doors or went on the roof to watch. No one missed your fight yesterday. And girl, you can fight. I think half of ND is scared that Elhyor is going to let you fight with the warriors, and the other is hoping to learn something. So, no. No one felt the need to accompany us because between Elhyor’s threats and your demonstration on the parvis , everyone trusts that we’ll be alright.” She pauses before adding with a cheeky smile, “Worst-case scenario, I’ll play the damsel in distress and you’ll save me.”
It’s my turn to laugh at her antics. Somehow, her words relax something in me I didn’t know was making me tense since we left.
By reflex, I pat my last dagger at my side. I forgot to get the other two from Elhyor’s office before leaving, and I almost feel naked.
It’s very early in the morning, and the sun hasn’t completely risen, so we don’t see many people outside except for those who are still drunk from the night before, or those who run at dawn to avoid the heat, so other than a few side glances, not many people pay us any mind.
But it’s not like I can do anything about my wings. I don’t know how to get them back inside my own body, and I can’t fly, either. Like a body, they need training to work properly, and even if they did bring me to the ground in one piece yesterday, I wouldn’t call that flying. They just slowed my fall so I could land safely.
I feel the burn of that single “workout” on them since.
It’s only when we enter the shop, hidden in a small street south of Notre Dame, that my wings being out in the open truly makes its impact.
The girl behind the desk counter screams in fear at the sight of me, before retreating behind the curtain that delimits the back.
“Can’t be that bad,” an elderly woman’s voice tells the girl at the back of the store. She holds the curtain open and enters the front of the shop. She stops right where she is, and I don’t know what she sees in me, but her kneeling and bowing to the ground at my feet is definitely not what I expected my morning to start with.
“My lady of the dark,” she says as she keeps her head low and her palms up.
“Where did you bring us?” I hiss at Cassiopé, who is muffling her laugh behind her hand as she watches the old lady dropping to the ground in a move that makes me think she’s about to kiss the ground or my feet.
“I should have known that she would believe you’re a goddess of some sort,” Cassiopé says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Hi Mariane, we’re just here for business,” she adds, a little louder, so the woman on the ground can hear it.
The old lady—Mariane—raises her head and watches at my side, still not willing to look at me directly.
“Oh, I didn’t see it was you, Cassie,” she says in a warm voice that makes me think she would give awesome hugs.
She’s small, smaller than even Cassie, and her back doesn’t stay quite straight from her old age. Her skin is tanned by the sun, as if she never stops enjoying its warmth on her. Her hair is completely white and tied up into a bun that looks so tight I’m not sure one could remove it.
Her light blue eyes are a stark contrast to her skin color, and I can see that, even though she is avoiding looking me in the eye, she hasn’t stopped studying me with a small, knowing smile.
She walks to Cassiopé, avoiding my wings as much as she can, and then she holds her arms open for Cassiopé to hug her.
Did I say Cassiopé was a hugger? She doesn’t lose a second before she’s in the old lady’s arms.
“Why are you bringing the devil’s daughter into my shop? Not that I mind. You know I still practice witchcraft, but warn a woman next time, would you? You don’t want to be the reason I have a heart attack,” she says in Cassiopé’s ear, thinking I can’t hear her, and I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous the conversation sounds.
Except… It's not so ridiculous, since the birds have set a dynasty of archangels, and no one really knew what I looked like until yesterday. For anyone who wasn’t on the parvis yesterday, and maybe even those who were at the back, for all they know, I could be Sama?l’s daughter—the devil’s daughter.
I could be wrong, though, because as much as I’m not used to using holos, someone could have been recording the fight yesterday.
“You didn’t see her on the TV last night?” Cassiopé asks, surprised.
“Why would I put that awful thing on? It’s full of bad waves,” Mariane asks, as she waves at a black surface on her wall. Is that her TV? It looks like it’s a hundred years old and doesn’t even belong in this life.
I wouldn’t turn that thing on, either.
“Well, you’d recognize Angélique if you did,” Cassiopé tells her with a pointed look. “You’d also know that she’s Micha?l’s daughter, and as much as I think that he’s Satan reborn, she’s not the devil’s daughter.”
Mariane huffs and finally looks at me directly.
“You look too dangerous for that name of yours, young lady,” she says after a moment, scrutinizing me.
“You’ll pick a new name for her later, Mariane. We have a wedding to attend in… three hours and twenty-two minutes exactly, and we have work for you.”
We explain what we want and then wait for a couple of hours, but the result is worth it, and I feel like I can breathe again.