Red Rainbow by G Johanson (best e reader for academics txt) 📕

week before working again, she didn’t know. That was a lie, she did know why. He asked her. She said no to him sometimes. Case in point, Marcella refusing his offer of moving into a flat of his choosing in the early days of their relationship. Her apartment preceded her first meeting with him. It would outlast him if things went wrong. She’d found it herself. She could pay for it herself – which would not be the case if he put her up in a fancy flat, the more traditional kept woman quarters.

This resistance was not the norm, Marcella usually giving in when he was persistent, as was the case regarding her working during the first week of her stay (she was returning to work on Saturday, which would count as eight days after). Her coming and going out of Scrambler’s house was a red flag. His second objection was that working would be more of an inconvenience for her than usual due to her not being able to tell what time it was for the duration of her stay with Scrambler. She’d be guessing when to set off before every shift. She gave in to his wishes and it pleased him, which obviously pleased her too, getting to please the Love Phantom, her mesmeriser. He didn’t like jokes like that, not that it stopped her.

She loved him and whether that was from her heart or from some hoodoo, what did it matter? Being loved meant so much more than being in love. Love was almost like a spell, anyway – at least she was aware she was under one, and it removed any blame from her if – when it all went wrong like all the others. César still had a huge upside over her previous lovers even with this giant question mark. And over her family too, Patience’s talk of her older brother bringing back memories of Marcella’s older brother and her miscarriage, the two linked in a fashion.

Marcella had managed to keep the pregnancy secret. She didn’t tell a soul, not even her closest friends. Gossip like that was too juicy, and she feared the consequences. It was only when she was in hospital recovering that her parents found out, marching to her bed with faces like thunder. They had been mortified with embarrassment, promising the doctor that delivered her dead baby that this would never happen again. Too right it wouldn’t, not with the train wreck of a womb she was left with after the miscarriage. The doctor did not overtly side with them – he was professional enough in what he said, though wholly unsympathetic in manner.

Marcella hadn’t expected their support upon learning of the pregnancy and the miscarriage. Lack of support was one thing. Outright hostility was even worse. The miscarriage was a punishment from God, they claimed, on numerous occasions. She didn’t fire back at the time, too broken to do so then. It was only years later when her brother died repelling the Nazis that she found herself longing to launch a belated riposte. She knew it would be misinterpreted by all and used against her by her parents to alienate every last family member and acquaintance, but she could not stop herself. She knew in advance that what she was doing was ludicrously cruel and still did it with premeditation. She returned home under the pretext of reconciliation at this tragic time before asking what her parents had done wrong to deserve God’s punishment as she had all those years ago. She grieved for her brother too but still had to say this to highlight the absurdity of the original judgement. People died all the time, it was not the result of God passing sentence on them.

The estrangement was now irrevocable. Marcella had only seen one family member since then, an uncle appearing in the crowd of a club she was stripping in. She didn’t back out of her performance, he didn’t leave. Worst of all, neither were surprised by the other’s choice. She did not feel any deep sadness at the schism. The restrictions had been so rigid the last few months at home that leaving for the streets was an upgrade. Not in comfort, but just for the freedom – freezing and starving was better than staying with them. Contrary to their beliefs, she had not got pregnant to spite them. Perhaps if she’d felt more love at home, she’d have not had to search for it elsewhere, but she took some personal responsibility for what happened too. She rolled the dice and it didn’t work out, an expensive mistake to make at 14, but it was done and nothing would change it.

The streets lived up to her fears. Dangers lurked out there, especially for solitary teenage girls, the streets populated by corrupting and destructive people. There were plenty of kind souls out there too, but it took bitter experience for her to discern the difference as it was not always clear-cut.

The first Resistance group she was affiliated with had nothing of the paranormal about them. They were the dictionary definition of earthy. She was already stripping and was used in this capacity, the group having her infiltrate private parties of the Nazis. She remembered one of the group saying it was a pity they couldn’t hide a recording device on her, prompting her to comment that there was no need. She was there as a witness, Marcella learning German as quickly as she could. A spy with eyes and ears didn’t need any accoutrements. Even though they had female members, she was never invited to formally join. That turned out to be a blessing, sparing her when they were uncovered. They went down and went down hard. Hector dodged the cull too – she had been the one who brought him into the Foundation before he met the Love Phantom and she got the joy of feeling like chopped liver. And not for the first time.

Marcella met