IV
Adrien
Marinette wasn't at school the next day. Or the following day.
I wasn't really worried, though. I'd put my feeling of foreboding to rest. Marinette was always missing school for some reason. She probably just got sick a lot.
I sat through English, missing her perky pigtails and shy smarts, but when I caught myself daydreaming about how Ladybug also wore pigtails, and usually a smile, and was sexy smart…
Well, I got a bit distracted.
"Adrien?" Ms. Bustier demanded, "Are you with us?" My head had been drooping on my arms as I closed my eyes and imagined those skylight, bluebell eyes…
"Yes?"
A few people snickered from behind me.
"I asked you a question. What's Hamlet's motivation?"
Reluctantly, I forced myself to focus on my teacher, who had somehow moved up a grade with her students almost every year. "…Love?"
Behind me, Kim laughed outright.
"Oooooh, Adrien's in love with someone!" Rose squealed from the back of the classroom.
I rubbed the side of my face, an apologetic smile in place. "Uh…" I guess that wasn't his motivation, then…
"It had better be me," Chloe sniffed from across the room.
"Students!" Ms. Bustier scowled a little. "Focus! Finals are in a little over a week."
I was secretly thankful she had rescued me from that situation.
She relaxed her expression, continuing. "Really, now. You are all leaving high school at the end of the month. Just hold it together for a little while longer!" Her smile was back, but it fell slightly. "Speaking of which…attendance. Marinette is absent again? And Mylene is, as well?"
"Mylene's sick," Ivan volunteered from his position hunched over his desk.
"And Marinette?" Ms. Bustier prompted.
Silence.
"Alya? Do you know where Marinette is?"
I looked curiously at Alya, anticipating her answer. I had tried to ask her that very question yesterday, but she had brushed me off with a glare.
"I haven't heard from her," she replied stonily, staring intently at her desk.
"Nino?" I whispered to my seat partner. "What's going on with Alya and Marinette…?"
"Dude. Don't ask," he muttered back, out of the corner of his mouth.
I fell back in my chair, frustrated.
Ms. Bustier was still talking. "…ensure that Mylene and Marinette get their homework for the past few days?"
"I'll give it to Mylene," Ivan promised.
"Great! Alya, will you—"
"No," Alya answered, her arms crossed, her voice final.
Before I knew what I was doing, I'd raised my hand. "I'll do it!"
"Thank you, Adrien. Ivan and you can collect the assignments after class. Now, returning to Hamlet's motivation…"
Alix raised her hand. "It was revenge."
"Yes, Hamlet—"
I couldn't focus on the rest of the lesson thanks to the din of the alarm bells I had been trying to ignore since I had seen Marinette's dark balcony. Cat instincts were probably correct. Something's not right.
I had figured out Alya and Marinette weren't talking. That much was obvious. I just didn't know why, and I couldn't get an answer. And I knew she hadn't been having a good day by the time she had tripped and ended up on top of me…her shirt and pants were splattered with a black stain, and her eyes had dark circles underneath them. Like she hadn't been sleeping well.
I didn't think she was just sick. She had missed school before, but not three days in a row. And she just hadn't seemed okay when last I had seen her. But I held back because I knew how embarrassed she had been…
Dropping off her homework would give me a good excuse to find out what was going on.
…
I don't think classes had ever gone by so slowly. By the time Fencing Club wrapped up, I was so anxious I ran out wearing my fencing attire and still bearing my rapier.
The Gorilla was perfectly on time, as usual. He grunted as me as I yanked the door open, threw my books and bookbag and foil in with a clatter, and demanded breathlessly, "I need to make a stop at Marinette's…the bakery…to drop her homework off."
I received another grunt—this time of assent—as he started the car and began driving in that direction. She lived across from the school. I leaned forward in anticipation as we hit the red light.
After what seemed an eternity, the old woman finished crossing and we continued, pulling up in front of the bakery. I opened the door and skidded out, carrying her assignments, but…
"Cheese, Adrien," Plagg moaned from underneath my jacket.
"Plagg!" I scolded. "Later. We have bigger problems."
I was looking at the sign on the boulangerie-patisserie door, which read closed. The inside was dark. Hesitantly, I raised my hand and knocked.
Nothing. No answer.
"Princess isn't home, eh?" Plagg was peering from his hiding place. He had taken to calling her Princess sometimes, ever since I'd shown up as Chat Noir to plan to crash Evillustrator's birthday party.
I frowned, more convinced than ever that something was wrong. "I'm worried," I admitted in a low voice.
I stood there for a minute, then I knocked louder and more insistently.
Another minute slipped by. Nothing. I listened for footsteps, but heard none.
A horn blared. The Gorilla—renowned for his patience.
I gritted my teeth and called through the open window, "Just one more minute, okay?"
The honking stopped.
I continued to wait. Still, no one came to answer the door.
"Maybe she went on a trip?" Plagg suggested, who until now had been uncharacteristically quiet.
Finally I stared at the darkened counter and tables inside and was forced to admit defeat. My mind swirled with questions as I backed away and climbed into the car, dropping Marinette's homework on the seat with a thump.
"I don't have a good feeling about this," I muttered to Plagg, who had been telling me to chill out for the past few days.
"I agree with you there," he said, surprisingly. "Before, it was just her being absent, but now we know the bakery's shut down…if something's happened to that girl, though, we're in trouble…"
"What?" I kicked the empty front passenger seat, trying to release a little frustration. "Why?"
"Nothing, kid. Just the fact that you'll be moping more than usual."
I scowled, but subsided into thought. We were silent the rest of the way home.
…
I was sitting at my desk that night, staring blankly at Hamlet, open on my desk, when I heard the news bulletin.
"Don't be amused, it's just the news! Hi, I'm Nadja Chamack. There's great cause for concern this evening in Paris. A Parisian teenager has gone missing—"
I hadn't been paying attention—in fact, I definitely wasn't paying attention—daydreaming about Ladybug—when the name jolted me out of my stupor.
"—Marinette Dupain-Cheng has been confirmed missing after two days. She did not come home after school on Tuesday. No foul play is suspected at this point, but the police are ruling nothing out."
I leaned forward, my mouth open.
Plagg zoomed into my face. "Haven't you been listening? That's your princess." He looked majorly worried.
I shook my head and leaned even closer.
"Marinette is seventeen years old, with blue eyes and dark hair usually worn in pigtails. Later, we'll be joined by her parents, the owners of the Tom and Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, and her best friend, Alya Cesaire, also the founder of the Ladyblog. For now, here to provide more information on the case is Clara Contard with our [BC1] very own Roger of the police force. Over to you, Clara."
"Roger, what can you tell us?" Clara asked, shoving her microphone in Roger's face. He was standing outside the bakery, looing pale and sweaty.
"It's still early on in the case," Sabrina's father said, twisting his police cap nervously in two large hands. "But rest assured, we will find Ms. Dupain-Cheng and bring her home safely, whatever has happened."
"And have Ladybug and Chat Noir been called in?" Clara pressed.
"Not as of yet," Roger admitted, fidgeting. "They're superheroes, and they're amazing, of course, but this is a police job. It's a disappearance. Ladybug and Chat Noir have never handled robberies or kidnappings or anything of that sort before. Crime isn't really the area of Ladybug and Chat Noir's expertise."
"It is now," I said grimly. I pushed back my chair and stood up.
Plagg floated nervously as my right shoulder.
From the screen, the broadcast continued. "But you said there was no guarantee of foul play," the reporter objected.
"Well yes—no!" Roger bumbled. "I meant, it's too early to rule anything out. And now, if you'll excuse me…" He muttered something about paperwork back at the police station and strode away from the bakery.
"Officer!" Clara tore after him. "Officer, there's more questions I need to ask you!"
Roger didn't return, and I'd seen enough.
Resolutely, I grabbed the remote and stabbed the button. My window swung open.
"What are you doing?" Plagg asked apprehensively, a piece of camembert forgotten on my desk.
"What does it look like?" I shot back. "I'm gonna find Marinette."
"Whoa, whoa, wait, Adrien! You don't even know—"
"Claws out!"
The transformation ripped Adrien away with a starburst display of green light, leaving Chat Noir—slit-pupiled, lean, and dangerous—in his place.
I gritted my teeth. "I expect I'll figure it out." Without a second thought, I exploded out of my window in extreme turmoil for the second time in two nights.
