There were no bars on the windows, no heavy mechanical locks on the door in and out of the small suite that was spartan but comfortable; it was more than Alain DeMuer wanted to afford Sonja Rhovnik's killer, but he knew where true revenge lay. It was not in Morana's blood, but in the Architect's head. Morana remained the key to finding the Architect and stopping him...
Why was she still alive?
She was a construct, and the Architect was her master. With a snap of his fingers she would disintegrate, and yet he wasn't willing. Constructs were replaceable by nature; their creators cycled through them as needed, and the length and depth of Morana's experience was very startling for her kind. At first Alain assumed she was meant to give them false leads, but the slivers of knowledge she had surrendered had been by accident. Angel or demon, god or mortal, no being in Alain's experience could tell an impenetrable lie.
Why was she still alive?
Alain clicked the door shut behind him, and runes whispered their complex magick as the lock clicked. Similar spells, layer after meticulously interwoven layer, guarded and enchanted the window and the entire suite. They had isolated Morana from the outside world, and yet left her comfortable. She was even allowed a small wardrobe, and a collection of novels and vinyls that seemed suited to her tastes, for her sanity's sake. Each of these accommodations needled him, but he remembered how unimportant it was to find the man whose hand had killed Lisa in December, and how very important it was to murder Howe. All a matter of perspective.
He removed his sunglasses and gave Morana the smallest of smiles, always more in his eyes than his lips, but his eyes were otherwise engaged in a cool study. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Dark brown eyes looked up from the pages of what was, on inspection, a romance novel. One finger, nail bare of polish, marked a place in the book as Morana smiled faintly. The high cheekbones and strong, straight nose were far removed from the form she had taken so frequently in her freedom; they also hadn?t changed since the final layer of wards had been put in place weeks before. There wasn?t much change to the richness of her voice, however. ?Of course not. Do make yourself at home, Alain.?
Deliberate familiarity in the name, along with an elegant gesture toward the room?s other chair. ?I?m afraid I can?t offer you a drink, but you are welcome.?
"Thank you," Alain said, taking a seat. Calculation continued to win out over any sign of genuine good humor in his features. No matter how he justified it, she had murdered a dear friend, and she was capable of doing so again. This next move was critical.
The Baron appeared healthy, as tan as his Norman blood would allow from plenty of travel over the summer, and as fit as usual. "You've been our guest here for a very long time, Morana."
?Ah.? It was more an exhaled breath than an actual word. Finger removed from the pages of the book, she set it carefully aside. Faint smile even deepened slightly. ?You?ll pass on my thanks for the loan of the books and such, then?? It wasn?t, quite, resignation that tainted the words. Fingers laced over one knee as dark brown eyes watched the Detective?s reaction. ?Courtesy is the heart of manners, after all.?
It would take sharp eyes to catch the rim of white skin around fingernails, and the utter stillness that went with it. Fear wasn?t an emotion she much cared to display.
Alain's eyes were sharp, and he let it be known to her that he saw her fear. He removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then offered one to her. "It's the very least we could do."
At that she laughed, and it was unchanged, throaty and full of good humor. ?Oh, no, Alain, I?m quite sure it wasn?t the least you could do.? The cigarette found a home between her lips. She started to gesture with the free hand ? a twist of fingers that utterly failed to produce so much as a spark. Soft, a real sigh did escape. ?Do be a dear? I?d quite like to enjoy this.? Unspoken, since I expect it to be my last, hung in the air.
"Of course," he replied, already working on the match. He struck it off of his scarred right palm and lit her cigarette, then his own, and smoked for a while. Gave them both some time to think. "We realize you've told us as much as you ever will. Forgive the lack of courtesy, but... you've lost your use here, Morana."
Blue smoke rose into the room and then swirled, pushed by pursed lips blowing out air slowly. A dark eyebrow lifted and brown eyes studied the cigarette held between her fingers. After a moment, Morana looked back at the Detective. No more fear, nor resignation, just acceptance. ?I?ve lost my use everywhere, Alain. I imagine the only reason I still exist is because your wards are good enough to keep me hidden. But I am glad those tiresome sessions with the very polite and very boring men are done.?
"Tax auditors make the very best interrogators... You're more than welcome to that advice in your future work." At first it would seem like a cruel joke, a taunt, but Morana had made it her job before to study Alain DeMuer, and that was not his style. He finished his cigarette, held out the ashtray for her to put hers out, too, and set it aside. "You're free to go."
?My future ? what?? From half-curled on her chair to bolt upright. Alain DeMuer couldn?t have given her more of a shock if he had been trying; then built-in suspicion and the certainty of betrayal took hold. After all, it was what she would do, what the Architect had done. ?I didn?t take you for a cruel man, Alain. Vengeful, wrathful, but not cruel.?
Reproach in her voice as she stood, crossed to the door. Blue-white glow lit as she neared, tracing the shapes of the inner wards. Holding her hand near to one glyph, her skin seemed to absorb the light for a moment before the hand was forcefully pushed back.
Alain smiled thinly and rose from his seat. He crossed the room directly towards Morana, and reached right past her, to the door. Words left his lips in rapid succession, guided by Kael, and the wards faded out -- all of them.
He waited patiently to see if the Architect would change his mind and vaporize her at the renewed opportunity, but of course it never came. The construct was still alive, and Alain planned to discover why she had been allowed to live. "Forgive me. I forgot I'd locked the door." He looked down at her, and in his gaze was a steely warning. She was free to go, but not free to make a fresh attempt on his life. The Baron had more skills than leadership alone... He did not fear her lethal powers.
Morana had paled when the Angelic words crawled through the wards and dissolved them. A hushed whisper, ?Who -?? was bitten off, cut short. Chin tilted up with resolve; if there was one thing that this Abyssal construct could do well, it was find information. The faint smile reappeared as the uncertain look dissolved into an expression of utter confidence. ?Thank you for your hospitality, Alain DeMuer. I hope you understand if I try to avoid it again.? There was even a hint of tease in her voice.
The suite opened to a foyer, and on the other side of that foyer was the outer door of a very nondescript building. Fresh air ? relatively fresh air, this was RhyDin City after all ? swept into the room when Morana opened the door. Looking back over her shoulder, her smile was brilliant and warm. ?I?ll assume that someone will try to follow me, shall I?? She even sounded friendly. But then, for Morana, lying wasn?t just a skill; it was the fabric of her construction. She could lie with her whole being.
"I'd call it reasonable," Alain replied as he let her out; exiting the building with her caused quite a stir, and the building's few guards rose and stared. "I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."
?Mmm. Then do take care, Detective, I should hate to miss it.? High heels clicked on cobbles as she crossed the street without a further look back. Fingers wiggled at the guards, who flinched ? they had seen the results of her capture ? and she laughed delightedly. A blown kiss at the youngest, a sweet ?Farewell, darlings!?, then she stepped into an alleyway. Crackle of black-laced red light left the smell of ozone sharp on the air and no trace of Morana.
Sir Malcolm approached Alain from the shadows. He hesitated before asking -- "Sir, can we even track...?"
"Without a doubt," Alain replied, and smiled at the knight beside him. "You didn't think G.A.M.E. was making engines all this time, did you? Come on," he added, moving off and waving Malcolm after him. "There's work to do at S.P.I."
((Adapted from a live scene with Alain DeMuer's player, with thanks and kudos!))
