Nano Day 12 to 17: Chapter Four
The only reason it took this long for me to finish was because of the Mirage special issue I've been layouting. orz But also because I just feel so tired and boneless whenever I come home from uni.
Anyway, here's Chapter Four! /o/ Yey for new character!
---
CHAPTER FOUR
Club Sion, as Jeanne found out upon entering the underground restaurant, was actually a chain of special club for the privileged rich and famous. Great emphasis on the privilege, because it seemed that they didn't extend membership to just anyone with the cash or fame.
As to how Amadeo got one, Jeanne only found out when random hosts and waiters and bartenders would stop by their table greeting Amadeo multiple variations of "Good evening, boss." he reckoned one of them, an elderly bartender even called Amadeo a young master.
"What?" Amadeo asked when he noticed Jeanne's suspicious stare. "My brother owns this place. I manage it for him when he's away for his other work."
"Should have known," he heard Selene mutter darkly. Speaking of which, the girl had been in a terribly foul mood since he arrived. Well, Amadeo too but the blond boy didn't show it much. Selene had just oozed this dark aura of gloom.
"What happened to her?" he whispered to Amadeo who shrugged in turn.
"We had a disagreement. She'll be pissed soon, don't worry."
"I don't think drowning her with alcohol is a good idea. You don't know what she's like when drunk."
"Do you?" Amadeo returned with a pointed stare. Dumbly, Jeanne shook his head. "Then stop worrying. I'll take care of her."
"I'm more worried about that."
"Just shut up and enjoy the bloody food."
And so he did... really did. Conversation lulled to hushed murmurs, the three just talking about things general to academic. Jeanne didn't think of anything out of place in their setting nor the still present darkness in Slene's face until she finally snapped, slamming her fork on the table and causing a few heads to turn.
"I cannot take this anymore. I need to go," she said, curt and precise, hands already grabbing her coat and bag.
Amadeo stared at her rather incredulously, but Jeanne could sense the anger rolling off from him.
"You are being rude."
"And you have no idea how much of a prick you're being," Selene returned with a glare and rose from her seat. With a stiff nod at him then another glare at Amadeo, she walked away, whispers and disapproving heads shaking following her.
Whatever had happened before he had arrived but have been something big, for the lack of a better word. Question was if he will have the chance to know anything about this.
"Uh..." he tried to speak, defend Selene's action or something, but he didn't know what to say. And then he realized he never knew her, not good enough to know anything personal. He was not sure anymore if the personality he had perceived was even real or just something he had imagined.
Selene Rosenkrantz. What a mystery.
"She really is feisty as they say."
"What?" Jeanne turned his head to Amadeo, who was looking at the now empty seat in their table. "Said who?"
"Nothing."
"Hey..."
"I mean it," Amadeo turned his stare to him. Then he sighed. "It's just something I picked up from the grapevine, alright? Her family... is a bit famous in my... side of the society, let us say."
"Famous how?" Jeanne pressed on despite Amadeo's final tone. The blond humoured him though, so he supposed he wasn't crossing any lines yet.
"Nothing good. Notorious. Infamous, as my brother once said."
"Oh..."
He was silent for a while as they both returned to eating. And then the thought of Selene being part of some Italian Mafia crossed on his mind, making him choke on his pasta. Amadeo watched him worriedly, hand hesitatingly rising to call for help.
"I'm okay!" Jeanne wheezed in-between coughs until his pipes cleared again. It was possible, right? She said she moved from Italy, and Amadeo said they were from the same society. Amadeo was Italian and rich and famous in his own circle.
"Better now?"
Jeanne nodded.
"What was it?"
"What?"
"Don't lie," Amadeo snapped, slapping his arm. "I knew you thought of something to make you react like that. What was it?"
"Er..."
"Well, come on."
Honestly, he didn't know if he should ask, considering the sensitivity of it.
...was it?
"Are you guys part of the mob?" he asked, eyes playing the curious, wide-eyed look. But Amadeo was not fooled, his own expression impervious of emotions. Jeanne could tell though that the blond was deeply affected by his insinuation, which meant he probably hit some nerve- and perhaps the truth as well.
And when Amadeo's silence continued until the end of their dinner and the payment added to Amadeo's monthly tab, Jeanne figured he had definitely hit the truth. Now to come up with a plan on how to skate around the issue without falling on his arse.
-
Snooping around while being the campus' poster boy might not be as easy as Chris liked to think. For one, every corner he turned, someone would see him and greet him a loud good morning, which then would cause a chain reaction of greeting and fawning on the rest of the students presence. When it was already dark, it would be the night-shift janitors pausing from their work just to greet him a good evening and offering their services. Chris honestly didn't know if it was his bloody effeminate face doing the stupid allure thing again (Zide's words, not his) or if people here were just generally that magnanimous towards him. But whatever it was, for once he was not grateful for the show of kindness, not especially when every greeting raises the chances of getting caught by Shaila...
Which, he thought as he turned the corner and then found Shaila's thunderous face forcing him to a stop in fright, might be possible.
Correction: definitely possible now.
"Uh..."
"What. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing," she stressed each glare with a finger poking his forehead roughly. It felt terrible and ego-bruising; he definitely had not missed the giggles from the surrounding students.
"Shaila-"
"In the office, now!" Shaila barked with a painfully tight grip on his shoulder, his ponytail caught in-between. He yelped indignantly all the way back to the office, afraid he'd be kissing a few locks of his precious hair.
He spun out of her grip the moment they entered the office's sitting room (Shaila decorated it despite her initial reservations), retying his hair after fixing his coat. He scowled when he found his coat irreparably creased.
"For crying out! One would think you'd have understood me perfectly well. But no- you just have to go around my back and be an insufferable git. Just what are you trying to prove?"
He rolled his eyes, causing another rain of rants.
"Chris Balteisse, you will be serious now and listen to me!"
"Fine," he conceded reluctantly but enough to appease Shaila for a bit.
Shaila's eyes narrowed. Then again, when were they not?
"When I told you to be careful, I meant it for your safety. The coven is very cautious right now and any suspicious actions will be met accordingly."
Frowning, Chris crossed his arms and nodded to show she had his attention now.
Shaila continued. "Selene Rosenkrantz's arrival to Niebel High was unprecedented. The Senate doesn't know how she managed to get in after denying her the right to seek asylum here, but they suspect one of the major families went behind their back and smuggled her in."
"Without making it seem illegal," Chris added softly. Shaila nodded in confirmation. "Why didn't the Senate tell us anything about this?"
"Damage control, according to Mother. They didn't want to let anyone know someone went against their order and got away with it."
"I'm guessing then that our every move is being watched."
Shaila nodded again. "It's best for us to keep a low profile for now, although I suspect they will be asking us to mobilise soon."
"I don't know, Shaila." Chris shook his head, trying in vain to clear the impending headache already blooming. "She can't do much in here, right? She knows she's being watched here, and I doubt she's as dangerous as the Senate thinks. She's practically harmless to me."
Much to his consternation, Shaina suddenly smiled grimly as if telling he was wrong on so many levels.
"Selene Rosenkrantz is anything but helpless. Look at who she's hanging out with. She's trying to build a connection strong enough to ward off the Ægis, and she's starting with the blasted trio. Once she have those bastards on her side, we're doomed."
While he was still largely unconvinced, Shaila was dead set on her idea, and Shaila could be as stubborn as a bull.
Finally, he sighed and walked away, entering the office proper with Shaila following a pace behind. "I got it, but I'm still not convinced. As long as she stays within the walls of Niebel High and the dampeners don't turn off, she's harmless, and no one is to do anything to her, not on my watch."
"Does this watch includes spying on her?"
Chris paused in pulling out his chair to stare at her, mouth half-open in the middle of his speech. He shut it when he realised he didn't have anything smart against that. He couldn't be that obvious, could he?
Shaking her head, Shaila just waved her hand in a dismissing gesture and moved on to the next agenda.
"There's also a new development in the area you might be interested in?"
"Oh? What, another foreign student with delayed papers?"
"Not quite."
Chris winced. "I don't like the sound of that."
"He's foreign but not to the coven. I'm sure you've heard of him," Shaila answered. Then she quickly added, "And no, he is not a student, at least as far as I am aware."
"Who is he?" Chris sat down, rolling off the kinks in his shoulder.
The coven was a tight, interwoven connection of various noble families and their extensions around the world, connected through marriage, partnerships, or business, particularly the shady kind, which included the federal and political sorts. The students of Niebel High were from those families connected to the seven noble families- the core families.
They- that was, Chris and Shaila, and Rosenkrantz and Yamato- were from the core families, which left three other families for him to guess who their new visitor was. Shouldn't be such a hard task if he knew who was from what... the keyword of course being if. They might be a very close-knit coven, but that didn't mean everything was out in the open. That was why Chris needed Yamato's Intelligence Service very bad. They were the only one who knew everything.
"I don't think you know him well enough to identify him, but you should have heard of him."
"Was he at the leader's summit last Easter?"
Shaila nodded. "Representative of the Rosenkrantz."
Dumbfounded, Chris stared at her in confusion. "What? But- I mean, isn't he- What?"
Grinning, Shaila sat down on the chair across the Council president's desk.
"He's here as the ambassador of- and here's the shockin bit- the Romanov-Rosenkrantz family."
"What!" Chris jumped from his seat. He could already feel the rising and clashing of fear and anger inside him, like a blend of coffee gone wrong. "Shaila, if this is some sort of joke-"
"It's not."
"-not funny!"
He stared at her in apprehension and disbelief, suddenly feelin out of sorts. To say that he had a bad affiliation with the Romanov would be an understatement.
"Oh, God," Chris moaned. "How could this even..."
"However it did, it did. What we should be more concerned about is this new partnership. I don't know what he wants from us, but it's not bound to be favourable for us."
Sighing, he looked at Shaila tiredly. "When did you hear this?"
"Just this morning. The partnership will be officially announced later by the Romanov. For now, it's just us."
"And what was the Lord's reaction?"
Shaila snorted, so unladylike it made Chris smile a bit. "Went completely ballistic. Never seen him throw a fit of that magnitude. You should have been there."
"Yeah, for him to throw something at," Chris added wryly. "It must have been a great show."
"Of course. All the greenhorns enjoyed it."
Standing up, Shaila fixed herself before turning for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow. Remember my warning, alright? I don't want to see you in trouble. Your state is already precarious enough."
"Alright, alright."
He waved her away in jest. When the door closed, he instantly fell back, shoulders slumped in mental and emotional fatigue. Reviewing everything Shaila had told him, he had all the more reason to believe Selene Rosenkrantz's delay was deliberate, and somehow, somewhere, in some dastard move, the Romanov was involved. But the question was: why?
-
Searching for Michael shouldn't be such a difficult task if it wasn't for their polar opposite timetable. It was terribly annoying that it was so easy for Michael to find him, but when it was him doing the searching, it became so bloody difficult.
He went up the stairs to the fourth floor where Michael should be having his Advanced Physics class with the seniors. They didn't make it a habit to pull one another out of a class, but then their education was just a joke so they couldn't really care much. This was all a cover, after all.
Students were piling out of the classroom when he rounded the corner to the hallway of classrooms. He could already spot who were the ones to go on to college and who to stay within the grounds of Niebel High and play repeat students, but he was more concerned by the long, worried faces of the seniors,
"Deo?"
Michael was standing by the doorway, devoid of bag or books. Amadeo frowned and approached his friend in swift, long strides. Class wasn't over yet then, which meant there must be a disruption of some sort.
Michael quickly pulled him aside and away from his classmates. The gloom in Michael's face stopped Amadeo from asking who died. Chances were, and knowing their history, someone might have.
"What happened?" Amadeo asked instead.
Michael shook his head and mouthed, "Not here."
Something definitely happened, Amadeo concluded mentally. "Will you be alright?"
Michael nodded.
"Alright," Amadeo said as he squeezed Michael's hand. When Michael squeezed back more firmly, Amadeo let out a breath he wasn't aware he was keeping. "I'll see you at home, then. There's something I need to tell you."
Skiving off the rest of his afternoon classes, Amadeo headed off to the library and hoped the Reaper would be around.
The Reaper was their librarian- and also that one individual whose knowledge rivalled the Yamato Intelligence Service. But to ask for the Reaper's help was like asking Yamato treat them out for dinner, informant's rule and all that shite.
He found the young librarian between two towering shelves in the Humanities section, returning books to their proper places. As if noticing him, the Reaper smiled welcomingly at him without turning away from the bookshelf he was stacking books into. His eyeglasses glinted, as if mirroring the sparkling mirth in those mischievous blue eyes.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Vicerra. Not here for trouble, I hope?"
"I can't reassure you that, sorry," Amadeo answered with a wry smile. "I want to ask you about a particular rumour I picked up last night."
"Oh, dear," the Reaper said in the same tone, clearly not surprised. He stowed away the last book of the pile before going deeper in between the shelves. Amadeo followed him until they reached an alcove hidden at the back.
Sitting down on a ledge, the Reaper took off his glasses and folded them before inserting them into his coat pocket. He went on to fix his hair, tying the thin, dark strands with a band. Amadeo refrained from rolling his eyes at the informant's blatant display of stalling.
"I can wait all afternoon, you know," Amadeo said.
The Reaper smiled. "That I am sure you can. But you won't."
"Huh."
"I know you, Mr. Vicerra. Perhaps more than you know yourself."
Scowling, Amadeo stuffed his hands inside his coat pockets. If only the Reaper didn't worth more shit than Yamato, he would have gone straight to Yamato for a confirmation.
"I need information about the Romanov-Rosenkrantz alliance."
The Reaper chuckled. He didn't know what was there to be amused of, and it irked him.
"Always so direct, just like your brother," the Reaper mused, much to Amadeo's increasing annoyance. "I would be more careful with my words, Mr. Vicerra, because who knows, you might end up just like him."
The Reaper's eyes narrowed, and now Amadeo can clearly see the gleam in them. Something in him bolted and snapped. He snarled, yet his foot unconsciously moved a step back.
"The Romanov-Rosenkrantz alliance is indeed happening; it already has, in fact. They only need to make it official in front of the Senate."
Pausing, the Reaper cocked his head slightly and regarded him with a curious look. "But I do not see how this concerns you."
"Of course it does!" he protested hotly. "The Romanov can't just decide things like this without notifying any of us-"
"Who do you think you are that you require to be 'notified' by the ruling head of the Families?" he Reaper cut in with a quirked eyebrow.
Amadeo faltered. The Reaper was right, unwilling he was to admit.
"There is nothing to be afraid of, Mr. Vicerra," the Reaper continued. "I can assure you that, at the very least. Everything is going as planned."
"And you know this?"
"Of course." The Reaper smiled brightly. "There is nobody else the Romanov trusted more than me."
Amadeo snorted. Were all informants inherently arrogant? It must have come with the know-it-all attitude. He was about to tell the Reaper off when the informant abruptly lost his smile and gave him a sharp look.
"It does not hurt however to be more watchful in the future," he warned. "This alliance will set the game afoot. We are all pawns in this game, Mr. Vicerra, and we need to play it to the best of our abilities."
"And our opponents?"
The Reaper grinned, a twisted grin ruining an otherwise kind face that made him shudder. "Who else could it be?"
-
Despite the awkward dinner the previous night, Selene didn't keep herself away as Jeanne expected her to. As usual, she approached him first, putting down her bag on the grass patch next to his dry and dusty one. It amazed him slightly how she had come to know his spots well enough.
"Whatever Vicerra told you was an exaggeration."
Jeanne blinked at her owlishly. "So you're not part of the mob?"
"What?"
"The mob," Jeanne repeated. "I asked him if you are part of the mob. He didn't say anything, but he did look serious."
"I- Jesus, what- I can't even..."
She looked like she was about to burst what with the very tight and taut manner she was keeping herself in check. Jeanne unconsciously braced himself for a rant.
"Vicerra did not tell you I was part of the mob?"
"No..." Jeanne stared at her, noting the wary eyes and furrowed eyebrows.
Wait. Rewind, Jeanne.
"Was?" he blurted out. Selene looked stricken now; okay, he had definitely hit the truth then. His heart beat wilder, suddenly feeling a thrill."You used to be in a mob!"
"I-"
"So that's why you're here! And in the middle of the term! It explains everything!"
"Jeanne-"
"Bloody hell, I knew it!"
Selene winced, looking away unpleasantly.
"It's not what you think it is, you know," she said, but it came out unconvincingly in the least. "My family is an old one. We've been part of the web for centuries. I'm practically born into it; not much I can do about it."
"Yeah, but you left."
Selene didn't answered. She just continued looking uncomfortable, as if reminscing an unpleasant memory.
"Right?"
Still no answer, but Jeanne swore he could hear Selene saying "I wish," as loud as if it was spoken loudly and clearly.
-
Darkness had already settled outside when Michael arrived home, drenched from head to toe, scowling.
Remembering the Reaper's words, Amadeo treaded lightly on the proverbial ground between them.
"Let's get you out of your clothes, yeah? You'll catch a cold."
Michael scowled even more, if that was still possible at all.
"At least someone cared. Zide found it funny," Michael grumbled as he peeled off one wet article of clothing after another until he was down to his pants, which were also unfortunately wet.
"Into the bathroom now, why don't you," Amadeo said, marching him into the bathroom upstairs. "I'll fetch you some dry clothes."
"Thanks."
Something in him always tingled in alarm whenever Zide was concerned. He still had some reservation towards Zide which only grew after what happened last Easter. As his brother once said, "Never trust the Russians once alcohol is involved."
He hoped nothing of the same sorts happened to Michael. That would be ten times more awkward.
"Does your being wet and angry have anything to do with what happened this afternoon?" Amadeo asked when Michael stepped out of the bathroom, already in a simple black sleepwear, toweling his hair dry. He passed the boy his glasses, his friend muttering a thanks in turn.
They went back to the drawing room, Michael dropping onto the couch with huff.
"Partly," answered Michael. "Zide was not satisfied with what happened earlier so he had to reenact it in grand gestures. With my rotten luck, you could already guess what happened."
A corner of Amadeo's lip curled upward. "I can see, yes. So what happened?"
Scowling again, Michael threw away the towel carelessly, earning a disapproving kick to the shin from Amadeo.
"Zide brought fireworks to class. Note: plural."
Amadeo gaped in shock. "Fireworks?"
"One of the crackers lighted in the middle of the class."
"In his pocket?"
"Oh, God, no," Michael quickly said. "They were in a bag, at the back. I don't know how it exploded but it did, and, well..."
"Set off the alarm, didn't it?"
Michael snorted. "Just the emergency sprinkler. Might have sent Professor Torris into a bit of cardiac arrest though, but that was just a slight casualty compared to what happened later."
"Which is where you got wet," Amadeo guessed. Michael nodded.
"Apparently, the fireworks were for Chris. Because they 'didn't set off as planned,' Zide piled the whole bunch up and set it off in a wild bang. Now imagine Chris doing that face he did when he found Tagore making out with that bloke from Class 2-B, only scared. And then the sprinklers turned on again and, well, there." Michael finished with a sigh. "That stupid prat found it immensely funny, and God knows what happened to Chris to find it funny either. I swear, Zide is rubbing off on him."
"Which should be exactly what he wanted," Amadeo mumbled. He froze when he felt Michael stiffen beside him and cursed himself for ruining an otherwise relaxed moment between them. Michael's face was empty of emotion, only the blank expression he wears when deep in thought.
Amadeo shifted in discomfort. So much for treading lightly. He could barely keep his own thoughts in place without running off like a wild bull.
"Sometimes I wonder if we're doing the right thing," Michael said softly. The sinking feeling in Amadeo's belly dropped it stole his breath away, and not in the good sort. "I wonder if this is what Dean would want from me."
He didn't know what Michael's brother would think, but he knew the arrogance of the elder Anderson would probably leave no arguments for Michael to step off the game.
It was rare for them to talk about their brothers who both died together two years ago. They didn't like it as much as it discomforts them. It felt like picking old wounds, only the wounds didn't feel old. Two years and Amadeo could still remember the burning chapel they were stuck in as clearly as it happened.
"Andrea would want me to stay away," Armand said in turn. "I think he would want me to stay safe. Not be this reckless idiot gambling with his life."
Michael scoffed. "That'd be hypocritical of him. They were the one who ran off like freight train straight into the middle of this shit. At least Dean wanted me to finish his job."
"Did he?" Amadeo asked.
"I like to think so."
Amadeo didn't say a word anymore. Instead, he leaned to his side, laying his head on Michael's chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart underneath the thin pyjama shirt.
"I talked to the Reaper today," he whispered. He noted the sharp spike in Michael's heartbeat before falling into a steady but faster rate. "He told me to be more careful." He opted not to disclose about the alliance; Michael already had too much in his plate, what with being caught in-between Zide and Balteisse's unwitting power struggle.
"What else did he say?"
Amadeo bit his tongue to stop himself from spilling the truth. For once in his life, he'd like to keep a secret.
Michael must have felt it as well; he could never miss a change in his demeanor. But oddly enough, Michael let him be.
They lay on the couch like that until sleep caught them and together, they fell into a restful slumber.
Anyway, here's Chapter Four! /o/ Yey for new character!
---
CHAPTER FOUR
Club Sion, as Jeanne found out upon entering the underground restaurant, was actually a chain of special club for the privileged rich and famous. Great emphasis on the privilege, because it seemed that they didn't extend membership to just anyone with the cash or fame.
As to how Amadeo got one, Jeanne only found out when random hosts and waiters and bartenders would stop by their table greeting Amadeo multiple variations of "Good evening, boss." he reckoned one of them, an elderly bartender even called Amadeo a young master.
"What?" Amadeo asked when he noticed Jeanne's suspicious stare. "My brother owns this place. I manage it for him when he's away for his other work."
"Should have known," he heard Selene mutter darkly. Speaking of which, the girl had been in a terribly foul mood since he arrived. Well, Amadeo too but the blond boy didn't show it much. Selene had just oozed this dark aura of gloom.
"What happened to her?" he whispered to Amadeo who shrugged in turn.
"We had a disagreement. She'll be pissed soon, don't worry."
"I don't think drowning her with alcohol is a good idea. You don't know what she's like when drunk."
"Do you?" Amadeo returned with a pointed stare. Dumbly, Jeanne shook his head. "Then stop worrying. I'll take care of her."
"I'm more worried about that."
"Just shut up and enjoy the bloody food."
And so he did... really did. Conversation lulled to hushed murmurs, the three just talking about things general to academic. Jeanne didn't think of anything out of place in their setting nor the still present darkness in Slene's face until she finally snapped, slamming her fork on the table and causing a few heads to turn.
"I cannot take this anymore. I need to go," she said, curt and precise, hands already grabbing her coat and bag.
Amadeo stared at her rather incredulously, but Jeanne could sense the anger rolling off from him.
"You are being rude."
"And you have no idea how much of a prick you're being," Selene returned with a glare and rose from her seat. With a stiff nod at him then another glare at Amadeo, she walked away, whispers and disapproving heads shaking following her.
Whatever had happened before he had arrived but have been something big, for the lack of a better word. Question was if he will have the chance to know anything about this.
"Uh..." he tried to speak, defend Selene's action or something, but he didn't know what to say. And then he realized he never knew her, not good enough to know anything personal. He was not sure anymore if the personality he had perceived was even real or just something he had imagined.
Selene Rosenkrantz. What a mystery.
"She really is feisty as they say."
"What?" Jeanne turned his head to Amadeo, who was looking at the now empty seat in their table. "Said who?"
"Nothing."
"Hey..."
"I mean it," Amadeo turned his stare to him. Then he sighed. "It's just something I picked up from the grapevine, alright? Her family... is a bit famous in my... side of the society, let us say."
"Famous how?" Jeanne pressed on despite Amadeo's final tone. The blond humoured him though, so he supposed he wasn't crossing any lines yet.
"Nothing good. Notorious. Infamous, as my brother once said."
"Oh..."
He was silent for a while as they both returned to eating. And then the thought of Selene being part of some Italian Mafia crossed on his mind, making him choke on his pasta. Amadeo watched him worriedly, hand hesitatingly rising to call for help.
"I'm okay!" Jeanne wheezed in-between coughs until his pipes cleared again. It was possible, right? She said she moved from Italy, and Amadeo said they were from the same society. Amadeo was Italian and rich and famous in his own circle.
"Better now?"
Jeanne nodded.
"What was it?"
"What?"
"Don't lie," Amadeo snapped, slapping his arm. "I knew you thought of something to make you react like that. What was it?"
"Er..."
"Well, come on."
Honestly, he didn't know if he should ask, considering the sensitivity of it.
...was it?
"Are you guys part of the mob?" he asked, eyes playing the curious, wide-eyed look. But Amadeo was not fooled, his own expression impervious of emotions. Jeanne could tell though that the blond was deeply affected by his insinuation, which meant he probably hit some nerve- and perhaps the truth as well.
And when Amadeo's silence continued until the end of their dinner and the payment added to Amadeo's monthly tab, Jeanne figured he had definitely hit the truth. Now to come up with a plan on how to skate around the issue without falling on his arse.
-
Snooping around while being the campus' poster boy might not be as easy as Chris liked to think. For one, every corner he turned, someone would see him and greet him a loud good morning, which then would cause a chain reaction of greeting and fawning on the rest of the students presence. When it was already dark, it would be the night-shift janitors pausing from their work just to greet him a good evening and offering their services. Chris honestly didn't know if it was his bloody effeminate face doing the stupid allure thing again (Zide's words, not his) or if people here were just generally that magnanimous towards him. But whatever it was, for once he was not grateful for the show of kindness, not especially when every greeting raises the chances of getting caught by Shaila...
Which, he thought as he turned the corner and then found Shaila's thunderous face forcing him to a stop in fright, might be possible.
Correction: definitely possible now.
"Uh..."
"What. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing," she stressed each glare with a finger poking his forehead roughly. It felt terrible and ego-bruising; he definitely had not missed the giggles from the surrounding students.
"Shaila-"
"In the office, now!" Shaila barked with a painfully tight grip on his shoulder, his ponytail caught in-between. He yelped indignantly all the way back to the office, afraid he'd be kissing a few locks of his precious hair.
He spun out of her grip the moment they entered the office's sitting room (Shaila decorated it despite her initial reservations), retying his hair after fixing his coat. He scowled when he found his coat irreparably creased.
"For crying out! One would think you'd have understood me perfectly well. But no- you just have to go around my back and be an insufferable git. Just what are you trying to prove?"
He rolled his eyes, causing another rain of rants.
"Chris Balteisse, you will be serious now and listen to me!"
"Fine," he conceded reluctantly but enough to appease Shaila for a bit.
Shaila's eyes narrowed. Then again, when were they not?
"When I told you to be careful, I meant it for your safety. The coven is very cautious right now and any suspicious actions will be met accordingly."
Frowning, Chris crossed his arms and nodded to show she had his attention now.
Shaila continued. "Selene Rosenkrantz's arrival to Niebel High was unprecedented. The Senate doesn't know how she managed to get in after denying her the right to seek asylum here, but they suspect one of the major families went behind their back and smuggled her in."
"Without making it seem illegal," Chris added softly. Shaila nodded in confirmation. "Why didn't the Senate tell us anything about this?"
"Damage control, according to Mother. They didn't want to let anyone know someone went against their order and got away with it."
"I'm guessing then that our every move is being watched."
Shaila nodded again. "It's best for us to keep a low profile for now, although I suspect they will be asking us to mobilise soon."
"I don't know, Shaila." Chris shook his head, trying in vain to clear the impending headache already blooming. "She can't do much in here, right? She knows she's being watched here, and I doubt she's as dangerous as the Senate thinks. She's practically harmless to me."
Much to his consternation, Shaina suddenly smiled grimly as if telling he was wrong on so many levels.
"Selene Rosenkrantz is anything but helpless. Look at who she's hanging out with. She's trying to build a connection strong enough to ward off the Ægis, and she's starting with the blasted trio. Once she have those bastards on her side, we're doomed."
While he was still largely unconvinced, Shaila was dead set on her idea, and Shaila could be as stubborn as a bull.
Finally, he sighed and walked away, entering the office proper with Shaila following a pace behind. "I got it, but I'm still not convinced. As long as she stays within the walls of Niebel High and the dampeners don't turn off, she's harmless, and no one is to do anything to her, not on my watch."
"Does this watch includes spying on her?"
Chris paused in pulling out his chair to stare at her, mouth half-open in the middle of his speech. He shut it when he realised he didn't have anything smart against that. He couldn't be that obvious, could he?
Shaking her head, Shaila just waved her hand in a dismissing gesture and moved on to the next agenda.
"There's also a new development in the area you might be interested in?"
"Oh? What, another foreign student with delayed papers?"
"Not quite."
Chris winced. "I don't like the sound of that."
"He's foreign but not to the coven. I'm sure you've heard of him," Shaila answered. Then she quickly added, "And no, he is not a student, at least as far as I am aware."
"Who is he?" Chris sat down, rolling off the kinks in his shoulder.
The coven was a tight, interwoven connection of various noble families and their extensions around the world, connected through marriage, partnerships, or business, particularly the shady kind, which included the federal and political sorts. The students of Niebel High were from those families connected to the seven noble families- the core families.
They- that was, Chris and Shaila, and Rosenkrantz and Yamato- were from the core families, which left three other families for him to guess who their new visitor was. Shouldn't be such a hard task if he knew who was from what... the keyword of course being if. They might be a very close-knit coven, but that didn't mean everything was out in the open. That was why Chris needed Yamato's Intelligence Service very bad. They were the only one who knew everything.
"I don't think you know him well enough to identify him, but you should have heard of him."
"Was he at the leader's summit last Easter?"
Shaila nodded. "Representative of the Rosenkrantz."
Dumbfounded, Chris stared at her in confusion. "What? But- I mean, isn't he- What?"
Grinning, Shaila sat down on the chair across the Council president's desk.
"He's here as the ambassador of- and here's the shockin bit- the Romanov-Rosenkrantz family."
"What!" Chris jumped from his seat. He could already feel the rising and clashing of fear and anger inside him, like a blend of coffee gone wrong. "Shaila, if this is some sort of joke-"
"It's not."
"-not funny!"
He stared at her in apprehension and disbelief, suddenly feelin out of sorts. To say that he had a bad affiliation with the Romanov would be an understatement.
"Oh, God," Chris moaned. "How could this even..."
"However it did, it did. What we should be more concerned about is this new partnership. I don't know what he wants from us, but it's not bound to be favourable for us."
Sighing, he looked at Shaila tiredly. "When did you hear this?"
"Just this morning. The partnership will be officially announced later by the Romanov. For now, it's just us."
"And what was the Lord's reaction?"
Shaila snorted, so unladylike it made Chris smile a bit. "Went completely ballistic. Never seen him throw a fit of that magnitude. You should have been there."
"Yeah, for him to throw something at," Chris added wryly. "It must have been a great show."
"Of course. All the greenhorns enjoyed it."
Standing up, Shaila fixed herself before turning for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow. Remember my warning, alright? I don't want to see you in trouble. Your state is already precarious enough."
"Alright, alright."
He waved her away in jest. When the door closed, he instantly fell back, shoulders slumped in mental and emotional fatigue. Reviewing everything Shaila had told him, he had all the more reason to believe Selene Rosenkrantz's delay was deliberate, and somehow, somewhere, in some dastard move, the Romanov was involved. But the question was: why?
-
Searching for Michael shouldn't be such a difficult task if it wasn't for their polar opposite timetable. It was terribly annoying that it was so easy for Michael to find him, but when it was him doing the searching, it became so bloody difficult.
He went up the stairs to the fourth floor where Michael should be having his Advanced Physics class with the seniors. They didn't make it a habit to pull one another out of a class, but then their education was just a joke so they couldn't really care much. This was all a cover, after all.
Students were piling out of the classroom when he rounded the corner to the hallway of classrooms. He could already spot who were the ones to go on to college and who to stay within the grounds of Niebel High and play repeat students, but he was more concerned by the long, worried faces of the seniors,
"Deo?"
Michael was standing by the doorway, devoid of bag or books. Amadeo frowned and approached his friend in swift, long strides. Class wasn't over yet then, which meant there must be a disruption of some sort.
Michael quickly pulled him aside and away from his classmates. The gloom in Michael's face stopped Amadeo from asking who died. Chances were, and knowing their history, someone might have.
"What happened?" Amadeo asked instead.
Michael shook his head and mouthed, "Not here."
Something definitely happened, Amadeo concluded mentally. "Will you be alright?"
Michael nodded.
"Alright," Amadeo said as he squeezed Michael's hand. When Michael squeezed back more firmly, Amadeo let out a breath he wasn't aware he was keeping. "I'll see you at home, then. There's something I need to tell you."
Skiving off the rest of his afternoon classes, Amadeo headed off to the library and hoped the Reaper would be around.
The Reaper was their librarian- and also that one individual whose knowledge rivalled the Yamato Intelligence Service. But to ask for the Reaper's help was like asking Yamato treat them out for dinner, informant's rule and all that shite.
He found the young librarian between two towering shelves in the Humanities section, returning books to their proper places. As if noticing him, the Reaper smiled welcomingly at him without turning away from the bookshelf he was stacking books into. His eyeglasses glinted, as if mirroring the sparkling mirth in those mischievous blue eyes.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Vicerra. Not here for trouble, I hope?"
"I can't reassure you that, sorry," Amadeo answered with a wry smile. "I want to ask you about a particular rumour I picked up last night."
"Oh, dear," the Reaper said in the same tone, clearly not surprised. He stowed away the last book of the pile before going deeper in between the shelves. Amadeo followed him until they reached an alcove hidden at the back.
Sitting down on a ledge, the Reaper took off his glasses and folded them before inserting them into his coat pocket. He went on to fix his hair, tying the thin, dark strands with a band. Amadeo refrained from rolling his eyes at the informant's blatant display of stalling.
"I can wait all afternoon, you know," Amadeo said.
The Reaper smiled. "That I am sure you can. But you won't."
"Huh."
"I know you, Mr. Vicerra. Perhaps more than you know yourself."
Scowling, Amadeo stuffed his hands inside his coat pockets. If only the Reaper didn't worth more shit than Yamato, he would have gone straight to Yamato for a confirmation.
"I need information about the Romanov-Rosenkrantz alliance."
The Reaper chuckled. He didn't know what was there to be amused of, and it irked him.
"Always so direct, just like your brother," the Reaper mused, much to Amadeo's increasing annoyance. "I would be more careful with my words, Mr. Vicerra, because who knows, you might end up just like him."
The Reaper's eyes narrowed, and now Amadeo can clearly see the gleam in them. Something in him bolted and snapped. He snarled, yet his foot unconsciously moved a step back.
"The Romanov-Rosenkrantz alliance is indeed happening; it already has, in fact. They only need to make it official in front of the Senate."
Pausing, the Reaper cocked his head slightly and regarded him with a curious look. "But I do not see how this concerns you."
"Of course it does!" he protested hotly. "The Romanov can't just decide things like this without notifying any of us-"
"Who do you think you are that you require to be 'notified' by the ruling head of the Families?" he Reaper cut in with a quirked eyebrow.
Amadeo faltered. The Reaper was right, unwilling he was to admit.
"There is nothing to be afraid of, Mr. Vicerra," the Reaper continued. "I can assure you that, at the very least. Everything is going as planned."
"And you know this?"
"Of course." The Reaper smiled brightly. "There is nobody else the Romanov trusted more than me."
Amadeo snorted. Were all informants inherently arrogant? It must have come with the know-it-all attitude. He was about to tell the Reaper off when the informant abruptly lost his smile and gave him a sharp look.
"It does not hurt however to be more watchful in the future," he warned. "This alliance will set the game afoot. We are all pawns in this game, Mr. Vicerra, and we need to play it to the best of our abilities."
"And our opponents?"
The Reaper grinned, a twisted grin ruining an otherwise kind face that made him shudder. "Who else could it be?"
-
Despite the awkward dinner the previous night, Selene didn't keep herself away as Jeanne expected her to. As usual, she approached him first, putting down her bag on the grass patch next to his dry and dusty one. It amazed him slightly how she had come to know his spots well enough.
"Whatever Vicerra told you was an exaggeration."
Jeanne blinked at her owlishly. "So you're not part of the mob?"
"What?"
"The mob," Jeanne repeated. "I asked him if you are part of the mob. He didn't say anything, but he did look serious."
"I- Jesus, what- I can't even..."
She looked like she was about to burst what with the very tight and taut manner she was keeping herself in check. Jeanne unconsciously braced himself for a rant.
"Vicerra did not tell you I was part of the mob?"
"No..." Jeanne stared at her, noting the wary eyes and furrowed eyebrows.
Wait. Rewind, Jeanne.
"Was?" he blurted out. Selene looked stricken now; okay, he had definitely hit the truth then. His heart beat wilder, suddenly feeling a thrill."You used to be in a mob!"
"I-"
"So that's why you're here! And in the middle of the term! It explains everything!"
"Jeanne-"
"Bloody hell, I knew it!"
Selene winced, looking away unpleasantly.
"It's not what you think it is, you know," she said, but it came out unconvincingly in the least. "My family is an old one. We've been part of the web for centuries. I'm practically born into it; not much I can do about it."
"Yeah, but you left."
Selene didn't answered. She just continued looking uncomfortable, as if reminscing an unpleasant memory.
"Right?"
Still no answer, but Jeanne swore he could hear Selene saying "I wish," as loud as if it was spoken loudly and clearly.
-
Darkness had already settled outside when Michael arrived home, drenched from head to toe, scowling.
Remembering the Reaper's words, Amadeo treaded lightly on the proverbial ground between them.
"Let's get you out of your clothes, yeah? You'll catch a cold."
Michael scowled even more, if that was still possible at all.
"At least someone cared. Zide found it funny," Michael grumbled as he peeled off one wet article of clothing after another until he was down to his pants, which were also unfortunately wet.
"Into the bathroom now, why don't you," Amadeo said, marching him into the bathroom upstairs. "I'll fetch you some dry clothes."
"Thanks."
Something in him always tingled in alarm whenever Zide was concerned. He still had some reservation towards Zide which only grew after what happened last Easter. As his brother once said, "Never trust the Russians once alcohol is involved."
He hoped nothing of the same sorts happened to Michael. That would be ten times more awkward.
"Does your being wet and angry have anything to do with what happened this afternoon?" Amadeo asked when Michael stepped out of the bathroom, already in a simple black sleepwear, toweling his hair dry. He passed the boy his glasses, his friend muttering a thanks in turn.
They went back to the drawing room, Michael dropping onto the couch with huff.
"Partly," answered Michael. "Zide was not satisfied with what happened earlier so he had to reenact it in grand gestures. With my rotten luck, you could already guess what happened."
A corner of Amadeo's lip curled upward. "I can see, yes. So what happened?"
Scowling again, Michael threw away the towel carelessly, earning a disapproving kick to the shin from Amadeo.
"Zide brought fireworks to class. Note: plural."
Amadeo gaped in shock. "Fireworks?"
"One of the crackers lighted in the middle of the class."
"In his pocket?"
"Oh, God, no," Michael quickly said. "They were in a bag, at the back. I don't know how it exploded but it did, and, well..."
"Set off the alarm, didn't it?"
Michael snorted. "Just the emergency sprinkler. Might have sent Professor Torris into a bit of cardiac arrest though, but that was just a slight casualty compared to what happened later."
"Which is where you got wet," Amadeo guessed. Michael nodded.
"Apparently, the fireworks were for Chris. Because they 'didn't set off as planned,' Zide piled the whole bunch up and set it off in a wild bang. Now imagine Chris doing that face he did when he found Tagore making out with that bloke from Class 2-B, only scared. And then the sprinklers turned on again and, well, there." Michael finished with a sigh. "That stupid prat found it immensely funny, and God knows what happened to Chris to find it funny either. I swear, Zide is rubbing off on him."
"Which should be exactly what he wanted," Amadeo mumbled. He froze when he felt Michael stiffen beside him and cursed himself for ruining an otherwise relaxed moment between them. Michael's face was empty of emotion, only the blank expression he wears when deep in thought.
Amadeo shifted in discomfort. So much for treading lightly. He could barely keep his own thoughts in place without running off like a wild bull.
"Sometimes I wonder if we're doing the right thing," Michael said softly. The sinking feeling in Amadeo's belly dropped it stole his breath away, and not in the good sort. "I wonder if this is what Dean would want from me."
He didn't know what Michael's brother would think, but he knew the arrogance of the elder Anderson would probably leave no arguments for Michael to step off the game.
It was rare for them to talk about their brothers who both died together two years ago. They didn't like it as much as it discomforts them. It felt like picking old wounds, only the wounds didn't feel old. Two years and Amadeo could still remember the burning chapel they were stuck in as clearly as it happened.
"Andrea would want me to stay away," Armand said in turn. "I think he would want me to stay safe. Not be this reckless idiot gambling with his life."
Michael scoffed. "That'd be hypocritical of him. They were the one who ran off like freight train straight into the middle of this shit. At least Dean wanted me to finish his job."
"Did he?" Amadeo asked.
"I like to think so."
Amadeo didn't say a word anymore. Instead, he leaned to his side, laying his head on Michael's chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart underneath the thin pyjama shirt.
"I talked to the Reaper today," he whispered. He noted the sharp spike in Michael's heartbeat before falling into a steady but faster rate. "He told me to be more careful." He opted not to disclose about the alliance; Michael already had too much in his plate, what with being caught in-between Zide and Balteisse's unwitting power struggle.
"What else did he say?"
Amadeo bit his tongue to stop himself from spilling the truth. For once in his life, he'd like to keep a secret.
Michael must have felt it as well; he could never miss a change in his demeanor. But oddly enough, Michael let him be.
They lay on the couch like that until sleep caught them and together, they fell into a restful slumber.