She hated how strong he was, how tall he was. She hated even more that he still had the leveler.
“You’re a feisty kid, you know that?” Marcellus said as she began to lose energy and her thrashing slowed. “The Ministère should sign you up for informant duty.”
Now it was Chatine’s turn to laugh. It came out strong and bitter, like the weed wine her father’s gang illegally brewed from unwanted plants and sold to people in the Frets.
“I would never spy for the Ministère!” Chatine spat out the words.
“Too bad.” Marcellus shrugged. “My grandfather always needs fearless new recruits. Boys like you, who aren’t afraid to fight for their Regime.”
“You mean like you?”
Chatine noticed a slight twitch on Marcellus’s face before he slowly released her. She jumped back, out of his reach, but the sudden movement caused her dark hood to begin to slip from her head, threatening to reveal her long hair tied up underneath and the whole of her face—eyelashes, cheekbones, and all. She yanked the hood back into place.
“They would need to feed you up, though,” Marcellus added after a moment, cocking his head to the side to study Chatine. All of Chatine.
Heat rose, instantly and surprisingly, to her cheeks. She was blushing. Something that never happened to her. But no one had ever stared at her for this long before. Not her parents. Not her sister. No one. Her heart did a quick double beat behind her ribs.
Had he noticed something when her hood slipped?
She decided the best thing to do was to stare back at him, firm and fierce.
“What?” he said, raising his arms in mock surrender. “I was just saying you could do with some meat on your bones.” He ducked his head slightly. “Are you hungry?”
“I don’t want food,” she snarled, but even as she said it, she felt her empty stomach clench. She pointed at the leveler still in his hand. “I want what belongs to me.”
Marcellus looked from Chatine to the device and then back again. He was clearly thinking. But Chatine didn’t have the time nor the patience for his thinking.
“It’s mine!” she shouted. “Give it back!”
“Okay, okay,” Marcellus said in a tone that almost sounded kind. “Listen, I’ll offer you a deal.”
Chatine crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t do deals.”
Marcellus smirked and glanced down at the leveler again. “Something tells me you’re the kind of kid who does do deals.”
“Just give it back to me.”
Chatine was growing more and more agitated. How dare this guy swagger in here, wearing his dazzling white uniform, smirking his annoying smirk, and steal her stuff? He might be the grandson of General Bonnefaçon, but that didn’t give him the right to be such a pretentious, arrogant—
“If you come with me and let me get you something to eat, I’ll give this back to you.” He waved the leveler, taunting her. “That’s the deal.”
Chatine narrowed her eyes. It had to be a trap. He clearly thought she was a gullible sot. Typical arrogant Second Estate, thinking they could fool anyone with empty promises. Well, they couldn’t fool her.
“Go with you?” she asked skeptically.
“Yes.”
“And get food?”
He nodded. “Anything you want. Cheese. Salmon. Fresh-baked brioche. The Matrone has some gâteau she’s trying to get rid of.”
Chatine heard her stomach growl. She was so, so hungry.
Traitor, she reprimanded her gut.
But she couldn’t deny the fact that she was tempted by his offer. Very tempted. And for a moment—just a moment—she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to eat all those amazing foods. To taste real sugar on her tongue. To feel full for the first time in her life.
Then the moment passed, and she remembered who she was and, more important, whom she was dealing with.
Chatine let her hardened expression fall away and released a deep, grateful sigh. “Oh, monsieur,” she cooed. “Do you really mean it? You’d really feed me and take care of me and help me?”
Marcellus looked momentarily stunned by Chatine’s change of heart, but he quickly cleared his throat and replied. “Yes. Of course.”
“That is so kind of you, monsieur. So terribly kind. How would I ever repay your kindness?”
Marcellus fumbled for a response. “No need to repay me. I just want to help.”
Chatine took a small step forward and lowered her gaze. “I just . . . ,” she began to say, and then her voice broke and her next words were muffled by quiet sobs. “I just can’t believe anyone would do that. I can’t believe that you, an officer of the Ministère, would be so charitable and generous to such a poor, wretched boy like me.”
Marcellus chuckled uneasily. “Well, I’d like to think I’m different from my fellow officers.”
“Yes, monsieur,” Chatine said, sniffling, taking another step forward. “You most certainly are.” She lifted her head to meet Marcellus’s gaze with clear, focused eyes. “I’ve never met an officer as gullible as you.”
Then, before he could react, she snatched the leveler from Marcellus’s grip, spun quickly on her heel, and ran from the morgue as fast as her scrawny legs could carry her.
“Hey!” she heard Marcellus call after her, but she was quick. Too quick.
A moment later, she burst out of the Med Center and sprinted headlong toward Fret 17—the Capitaine’s territory. She had no doubt that pomp Marcellus would soon be calling for reinforcements, and she didn’t feel like dealing with any more droids today. She’d been waiting for this moment for too long.
This visit to the Capitaine would be her last. She was sure of it this time.
As Chatine ran, she thought about how easy that had been. How quickly the officer had believed she would actually fall for his pitiful little trap.
But more than anything, Chatine reprimanded herself for not taking advantage of the opportunity to steal something more valuable, like that titan ring she’d seen on his finger. It was a mistake she would be sure to remedy if she were ever to come face-to-face with Officer Bonnefaçon again.
- CHAPTER 7 -
CHATINE
BREATHLESS AND FATIGUED, CHATINE REACHED the top floor of Fret 17, the northwestern-most building in the Frets, and pulled her hood farther down her forehead. There were no couchettes up here. This was Capitaine Cravatte’s turf. She headed down the long corridor and knocked on the thick PermaSteel door at the end.
A moment later, the door screeched open and a tall, menacing figure stepped out of the shadows. Chatine lowered her gaze but kept her voice steady. “I’d like to see the Capitaine, please.”
“Again?” The guard sneered, revealing a checkerboard of missing teeth. “You don’t give up, do you, boy? What makes you think the Capitaine will want to see you again so soon?”
Chatine pressed her shoulders back, trying to appear taller and more muscular than she was. “I have enough this time. I swear.”
The guard looked skeptical. “That’s what you said last time. And yet . . .” He let the sentence hang but Chatine knew exactly what he was saying.