Sarah glanced around at the doorway, then, satisfied that no one was watching, slipped into the linen closet next to Bonnefoy's bedroom. It wasn't used for linens anymore; Jeanne-Marie had turned it into a hideout from which she and her friends could monitor the cameras they'd installed around the house.
It was no secret that gay porn was one of Hungary's major exports. The badly-kept secret was that some of it (rarely exported) came from this house. And the secret almost no one knew was that Sarah and Jeanne-Marie recorded it, for their boss's amusement and the occasional blackmail operation.
That their boss was the human personification of Hungary said a lot about their work. And that Bonnefoy was France, and that he'd watched Yaoi Team One install the cameras, said a lot about French culture.
Sarah settled into a chair between her fellow Team One members: the party's official hostess, blonde ex-model Jeanne-Marie Renard, and a Japanese manga nut and tech wizard named Amanda Toyoda. "Sorry I'm late," she said. "How's the new guy?"
"Not France's best choice," Amanda replied, tapping the desk idly. She had trouble sitting still. "Cute, but no stamina. He's in the bathroom, you just missed him." She pointed on the screen to the bathroom door, which opened—and a tall redheaded woman in a sky-blue jumpsuit came out and sat on the bed beside France, who began hunting eagerly around her collar for a zipper.
Jeanne-Marie cursed quietly and bitterly in French. Sarah was simply bemused. "Where the hell did she come from? Mandy, is there a camera in—"
"I've got it," Amanda cut her off, typing some command that split the computer screen in half vertically. On the right, France continued cavorting with the redhead.
On the left, the bathroom was empty.
"What the fuck?"
Where did he go?"
Jeanne-Marie, who had been very carefully not watching the redhead, looked back at the screen. "There is no way out except through the bedroom," she said. "No trapdoor, no loose panels in the walls. We would have seen him if he came out."
"Maybe he did," Amanda said, and got questioning looks from her teammates. "He looks like someone I saw in a manga. A shapeshifter."
"That is impossible!" Jeanne-Marie declared. "How could someone from a book be here?"
Sarah was thinking the same thing, but there were no other answers. "Maybe there are demons that can do that. England would know; I'll call him and ask."
"You don't really believe all that fairy shit your boyfriend tells you, do you?"
"Just because you can't see the Flying Mint Bunny doesn't mean it's not there." Sarah caught herself getting defensive and paused. "Anyway, England knows more about the fae than anyone. If it's a demon, he'll know." She stood up. "Keep an eye on him, and record everything."
Sarah left the mansion by a side door. It was almost midnight; the air was chilly, the moon setting, and the glow of downtown Paris obscured the stars on one horizon. The breeze smelled faintly of strawberries as Sarah leaned against the wall and speed-dialed England.
He answered gruffly on the third ring. "Yes? Sarah?"
"Hi, Arthur," Sarah said. I hope I'm not interrupting—"
"Hope, my ass," England began, and was cut off by excited shouting in the background.
"Hey Iggy! Is it Sarah? Hi Sarah! Can I talk to her?"
Yes, it's Sarah; no, you can't talk to her; and don't call me Iggy!" England snapped back.
Sarah chuckled. Alfred, who personified the United States of America, was one of the least mature Nations. He was a nice guy, but sometimes it took real willpower to put up with him. "Tell Al I'll call him tomorrow," she told England. "Arthur, my team and I have a question for you."
"I'm not signing your bloody contract! Damn you girls—"
"No, no, it's not that at all, Arthur. It's demons."
That got his attention. "Demons?"
"Yeah. What can you tell me about succubi?"
They were standing at the foot of a gravel driveway. The road was behind them, and a large house was some way in front of them. It was late at night, and the stars above them were unfamiliar.
"Are we in another world?" Alphonse wondered. His voice echoed more than usual inside his helmet.
"Looks like it," Edward muttered. The street was deserted, but there were lights on in and around the house. "Maybe someone up there saw the killer." He started up the driveway; Alphonse followed cautiously.
The driveway led them around to the side of the house, where a yellow electric light hung over a door. Next to it, a woman in a white dress leaned against the wall, talking to herself in a language neither brother recognized. As they approached, she slipped something into a purse and greeted them with a wave of one hand. She was a little taller than Edward, dark-haired and pretty, but disappointingly civilian-looking.
Yes, succubi were shapeshifters; yes, England had summoned one once (but hadn't fucked it, he promised!); no, he didn't think any such demon would lower itself to offer that bloody frog his twisted idea of pleasure—Sarah chuckled at that last one, then left the Special Relationship to its own devices.
As she hung up, she noticed two people coming up the driveway. She hailed them, then realized she didn't know who they were. One was a boy about her height, with blond braided hair and determined gold eyes, wearing a long red coat, white gloves, and black boots. Handsome, but at least five years too young for her.
His companion was harder to describe, since he (most likely he) wore a full suit of armor. Could be a bodyguard—so who was the kid?
They stopped just down the driveway from her, and the boy bowed slightly and said something that Sarah almost understood. "Um…hello," she said, while racking her brain for the language it reminded her of. She was fluent in four, conversational in six more, and could recognize another twenty or so; it had to be in there—
Japanese. That was it. Maybe—the boy's greeting wasn't quite what Amanda had taught her. But she replied anyway, and he seemed to understand.
The following is how the conversation would have gone had all parties involved been speaking the same language. As it was, Sarah was far from fluent in Japanese, and the newcomers spoke what sounded like a bastard daughter dialect. The actual conversation was full of repetition, explanation, and incoherently excited noises from Sarah when she figured something out. But the substance of it went like this:
"I'm Edward Elric, state alchemist," the boy said, "and this is my brother Alphonse Elric."
"Sarah Armstrong," Sarah replied, wondering what exactly a state alchemist did.
A strange look crossed Edward's face when he heard Sarah's surname, but it was gone before she could figure out what it meant. "Could you tell us, ma'am, if you've seen anyone come this way before us?"
Sarah shrugged. "Lots of people have come and gone; there's a party here tonight."
The man in the armor—Alphonse—interrupted, and his voice sounded oddly like a small child's. "What my brother means is, have you seen anyone strange around here this evening?"
"I have, as a matter of fact," Sarah said, fishing her phone out of her purse. She showed them Jeanne-Marie's photo, and Edward's jaw dropped farther than she would have believed possible. "He's here?" he muttered. "Shit."
"Who is he?" Sarah asked.
"He's called Envy," Edward said, "and he's a murderer on the run from justice."
It was Sarah's turn to swear. She did so in about five different languages. Then she called Jeanne-Marie.
