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

worse than spirited criticism ever could. She added parting shots at the door, turning past Hilaire to say to them, “Are you French or what? Mount the fucking barricades.”

Scrambler showed them out and then sat down on his chair, the energy he had before having left him. “She offered to kill the Gestapo for us and free the Love Phantom. Isn’t that good?”

Worded like that he had a point. But Marcella knew that Florence wasn’t making the offer to be helpful. She just wanted to take what was César’s and to have something to hold over him. Clearly, the meal did affect her. Marcella had been wise enough not to go at her full force – which would be nothing in any case – but she was volatile, in tone and in her stare, bringing the conversation to an early end. Marcella had the measure of her. She was a good judge of character. Florence was rotten to the core, the cruelty in her veins rivalling César’s captors. She killed to suit her own purposes and then tried to put a fancy cap on it, bloodlust disguised under the cloak of patriotism.

As for Marcella having no powers, that was correct, but while she let the Love Phantom take the lead, there was no dance without her. Her job brought her into contact with all walks of life, granting her that information that Florence lacked. She often sat amongst them after her routine and let them buy her drinks and brag to her about what they’d been up to and what they would be getting up to. Half of them gossiped worse than old women, seeming to think the more they told her, the more impressed she’d be.

Florence underestimated Marcella just like so many others did. She was not part of the group because she was César’s girlfriend. There was no group before she came up with the idea. César talked to her of how he knew two people with abilities more useful than his in aggressive capacities but had no idea if there was anything they could do to help the war effort. She had been the one who talked him into forming the Foundation, using the intel she possessed and persuading him to use his power to infiltrate higher up in the German ranks. All they needed was a little more knowledge and they were good to go. She was used to more aggressive resistance, bombs and such, but they were still effective saboteurs, through technical faults, mass outbreaks of illness, or subtle manipulation. Whether the damage was done under the surface or was more explosive, it was still damage, one step closer to a Free France.

Chapter 15

The Fiancée

Gehring was lost during his ‘recommended’ leave. It wasn’t quite an order, just a suggestion so heavy that he’d not fought it. They thought he was getting personally involved with César, blind to the fact that he was the only one who was immune from doing so. He could no longer truthfully claim to be impartial. He had been once before he became aware that it was not charisma that drew them in but some dark power. There were already several things about this whole saga that were not of this world, not least the fact that they acquired 14 eyewitness statements of the events at the theatre post-mortem. This highly classified information came from Berlin, the accounts similar enough to be considered credible despite the incredible nature of the claims. Florence Pascoe was confirmed as a demon, and this was the company César kept, perhaps because he had something in common with her.

Killing César could potentially break his hold over them. To do so would mean going against his orders, the ultimate no-no. If the spell remained, they’d tear him limb from limb for killing their idol. It still remained difficult to let it go. Paris was exhausted; Gehring had seen everything he wanted to, done the tourist things long ago, the usual places, nothing off the beaten track. He’d just been ticking boxes: Eiffel Tower, check, Palace of Versailles, etc., etc. They looked just like the images he’d seen in postcards, film and print, which was hardly surprising. He had nothing to do without his work. His colleagues were busy. He was not.

César Vadeboncoeur was untouchable, a pampered prisoner. Gehring could not get to the man. His immediate family all left for Switzerland before the Fall of France and were living comfortably, supplemented by César’s income, which stretched to cover his parents, siblings and their families. César’s extended family remained in France; there were loads of them, uncles and aunts and cousins, a glut of half-brother’s from his father’s first marriage, but Gehring felt this wasn’t a viable avenue to explore. It sounded as if he’d never had anything to do with his other brothers so threatening them seemed pointless, and the other relations were getting too distant. As for friends, César had a legion of them from different circles, too many for Gehring to track down and interview in-depth. He’d talked to eight of them so far, one of them offering to swap places with César. Martyr fuck. What was he even looking for? This was a strange way to spend his time off, but curiosity was a strong motivator.

Further digging revealed there was one person left in France who César had been very close to. Emmanuelle Chapelle. They had been engaged from ’41 to ’43 until César ended it. It had been a messy split, Emmanuelle publicly threatening suicide, though she did not follow through. She lived with her father outside Paris on a country estate befitting their status as one of the nation’s better families. Gehring took a drive over to see what she had to say about him.

Her father had been out pottering in the garden with a crony (Gehring didn’t have to know them to be able to tell the pecking order) and wanted to send him away