29

Afterwards, they strolled through the streets, making their way back to Éponine's flat at a leisurely pace. There was no rush, and they had both begun to discuss the mystery novel series they had both been reading.

"I enjoyed the last one, but I thought that – that it was missing something," Combeferre said, gesturing with the hand that wasn't holding his books. "Also, the story was too fantastical for my liking."

"Too fantastical?" Éponine snorted. "You live in the afterlife where you can materialise things at will, how can it be too fantastical?"

"I'm not a big fan of fantasy, that's all," Combeferre smiled.

"Éponine!" a woman's voice called from behind them.

Éponine stopped walking and turned, looking over her shoulder. It hadn't been a voice she recognised, and was surprised when she saw Inès' housemate walking towards her. In the light of day, she saw a pretty face, big eyes, and slender hands; once more there was a shawl draped over her head, and tufts of blonde hair poked out from beneath.

"Hello," Éponine said, feeling uncertain as to what the woman wanted.

"No need to look so nervous, Éponine," the woman said. "I just wanted to thank you for spending last night with Inès. It isn't often I see her have fun or smile, and it made a lovely change. So I what I'm saying is, thank you for being – a friend, I suppose. Inès doesn't have many of those."

"You know, it doesn't add up," a snide voice drawled. "A Thenardier, being someone's friend? I didn't think Thenardiers had friends, just people they liked to piss on."

Douvillier, a man she had never wanted to see again, emerged from the mouth of an alleyway. The last time she had seen him, they had been in the dim light of another alley, but the light threw the cross-shaped scars over his face into sharper relief. He stared at her with dark eyes, as cold as ice. The focus of his gaze was intense, so intense she was convinced he hadn't truly noticed that she had company. It was as if he only had eyes for her.

"You won't outwit me this time, Thenardier," Douvillier spat, before lunging forwards.

Éponine stumbled backwards, dropping her books. They hit the cobbled ground with a dull thud. She threw her hands up, expecting him to hit her, but Combeferre moved faster and positioned himself in between Douvillier and Éponine. His own heap of books fell from his arms, and he grabbed Douvillier's wrists with his hands.

"You will not hurt her," Combeferre said in a sharp, hard voice.

"Get off me," Douvillier snarled, and then his head jerked forward, his forehead slamming into Combeferre's nose. Combeferre released him, and Douvillier shoved him aside and grabbed Éponine by the throat, one hand knotting in her hair. He began to drag her towards the alleyway.

She clawed at his hands, nails biting deep, twisting his flesh. She cursed the fact that no one felt pain here, and groped up his arms. Letting out a small shriek, she flung herself forward, putting all of her weight into the lunge so that Douvillier was forced to bear it. He staggered backwards and they both hit the ground hard, him on top of her. The force of it knocked the breath out of her lungs, but she didn't let that stop her. Her legs kicked out instantly, her knee driving into his stomach. She tried twisting away from him, but the weight of him was suddenly relieved as Combeferre hauled Douvillier away from her.

She lay on the ground, panting, and felt the woman's hands touching her shoulders. "Are you okay?" the woman said, as Combeferre delivered a short, sharp punch to Douvillier's jaw.

"I'm fine," Éponine muttered, regretting the curt edge to her tone. She scrambled to her feet as Douvillier tackled Combeferre around the waist and pinned him to the ground.

She ran forward and launched herself onto Douvillier's back, wrapping her arms around his neck and locking her hands around her wrists. Her mouth fixed on the point where Douvillier's neck turned into shoulders, and she drove her teeth in as deep as she could. She ignored the unpleasant taste in her mouth.

He stood up, spinning around, his hands wrenching at her arms. She folded her legs around his waist and hips and, keeping one arm wrapped tight around his throat, let go with her other arm to yank on his hair. She released his throat with her mouth and bit the side of his face.

"You bitch!" Douvillier screamed.

Combeferre jumped towards them, grabbing Douvillier by the front of his jacket and hauling him forwards. Éponine let go of him, allowing herself to drop to the ground. She rolled up onto her feet as Combeferre punched Douvillier in the face once more, this time keeping a tight hold on Douvillier's jacket.

But the other man just wrestled himself out of his jacket, revealing a grubby shirt that had probably once been white underneath. He swung in a circle, his fist coming out and connecting with Éponine's nose. She let out a small grunt as she hit the ground hard, but she was barely lying on the round for more than a few seconds before Douvillier had grabbed her and dragged her to her feet. Once more he tried forcing her towards the alley.

"Get away from me!" Éponine screamed. "Just go!"

She placed her hands on the middle of his chest and shoved him, with all her might, and that was when it happened.

Something opened behind Douvillier; it was like a tear in the scenery behind him, a black gash that became wider and wider. It seemed to Éponine she was watching it open both very slowly and incredibly fast at the same time, and then the tear was glowing a faint blue around the edges.

Douvillier's eyes widened. He was still in the middle of a stumble, and he flung his arms out to try and right himself. He became shadowed by the tear, and then fell deeper inside. The glowing edges knitted together and then the gash, along with Douvillier, vanished.

There was silence. They were all still. Combeferre looked at her, and she looked at him.

The woman, who had watched the entire scene kneeling on the ground where she had tried to comfort Éponine, was the first to move. She stood, covered her face with her hands, and then turned on her heel and walked off.

Combeferre moved next, planting his hands on Éponine's shoulders. He swallowed. "Éponine, are you okay?" he said.

"I'm fine," she said, more than a little breathless. She couldn't take her eyes off the spot where Douvillier had been, where that odd tear in the world had been. "What…What was that?"

Combeferre glanced over his shoulder, staring at the same space she had been. "I don't know," he said. "But we're going to deal with it, Éponine. We're going to see Éléonore and tell her what happened."

She looked him in the eye. She felt, then, like she was moments away from falling apart.

Combeferre drew her close, hugging her tightly. She clung to him, her fingers knotting into his coat.

"It's going to be all right, Éponine," he murmured. "He's gone. That man is gone. And even if he wasn't, I wouldn't let him hurt you, Éponine. I would have stopped him."

"I know," Éponine mumbled in a watery voice, and pressed her face deeper into Combeferre's chest, wishing that this entire episode had never happened.