Page 57 of The Mask Falling

The logistics would be very delicate. I would have to put Frère back to bed under the pretext of her migraine. Since she had been asleep when I possessed her, she would have the impression of waking up for the first time—except she would have lost about an hour. I would have to hope that nobody asked her about her discussion with Auclair, since she would have no memory of it.

I almost left the room before I remembered how much Frère liked to adorn herself. I added pearl earrings and a dab of lipstick. Finally, I spritzed her with the first perfume I saw.

Dealing with Kotzia had been relatively easy. Meeting one-on-one with a minister was my next test.

The east wing was connected to the main building by an antechamber. As I crossed it, a portrait of Irène Tourneur, the celebrated First Inquisitor of France, seemed to judge me from on high.

I was now a mere two walls away from the study that might hold everything I needed.

On a marble-topped desk, a lamp gave off a tawny glow. Gabrielle Auclair, Minister of Internal Security, was waiting in a wing chair, her dark curls scraped into a ponytail. Seeing me, she tucked her phone into her suit jacket and stood. Freckles sprinkled her brown face.

“Luce.”

“Gabrielle.” I kissed her on both cheeks. “Have you been offered something to drink?”

I hoped Frère was usually this gracious. She had spoken cordially enough with Scarlett Burnish.

“Yes,” Auclair said. “Coffee is on the way.” She smiled at my stomach. “How are you both?”

“The little one is very well.” I touched my temple. “I wish I could say the same, but I’ve woken with quite the migraine.”

“Oh, Luce—you mustn’t worry. I had one or two with Nora.” Auclair squeezed my elbow. “Why don’t I come back later?”

“I have a full schedule today.” I went to the chair on the other side of the desk. “And I understand this is urgent.”

Auclair returned to her seat. Sweat pricked my scalp as I clasped my dainty new hands in front of me.

“Luce,” Auclair said, “you told me to keep careful watch for the fugitive, Paige Mahoney.”

So Auclair knew my execution had been staged. It made sense. If anyone needed to know the secret of my survival, it was the Minister of Internal Security.

“Mahoney.” I dredged my own name with scorn. “And?”

“I ordered my teams to take note of anyone who seems to be avoiding the cameras. There are no small number, but none matched Mahoney.” Auclair pushed her data pad across the desk. “Until this was captured near the Pont des Arts. Ten days ago.”

Shit.

The data pad showed an image of me on the morning I had ventured out with Arcturus. It had been taken at a distance, and my face, obscured by my hair and lenses, was tilted away from the camera.

“Ten days,” I finally said. “Why was this not brought to my attention earlier?”

“There was no recognition alert. Accuracy decreases when the face isn’t captured head-on, and as you can see, this individual has covered their facial landmarks,” Auclair explained. “An operative spotted it last night by chance, while reviewing footage in relation to a reported assault. I arranged to see you at once.”

The attendant entered with the coffee, and Auclair stopped. I kept hold of my composure by a thread until he left.

“All estimable biometrics tally with the data we have on Mahoney,” Auclair said. “I consider this a strong potential match.” She breathed out. “You saw her in the Archon. Is it her, Luce?”

I pretended to take my time studying the photograph.

“Impossible to tell,” I said at last. “But nobody is safe if she has brought her violence here.” I handed back the data pad. “Find this person, whoever they are. I will have two additional squadrons of night Vigiles posted to the area. Our resources are at your disposal.”

“Glory to the anchor.” Auclair hesitated. “Will you alert the Archon?”

I waited a moment, considering my response.

“I suppose I must,” I said.

I had struck the right chord. Auclair shook her head in disgust. “Unbelievable that they let a terrorist slip between their fingers. They’ve created the greatest security risk in decades, and now they expect us to clean it up for them. As if we don’t have enough to do.” With a sigh, she slid the data pad into her handbag. “I’ll call you with any developments.”

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