Chapter 18: La Ville-Lumiere

Claire awoke to ashen light. Opening her eyes, she was momentarily disoriented. It took a moment of staring at the crackling propane stove to remember exactly where she was and what she was doing here. Fully awake now, Claire felt a soft weight on her head, something gently moving through the strands of her hair. She was lying sideways on the couch, her head pillowed on… oh, God, was she really in Wesker's lap?

Claire hastily craned her neck to look up at him. Wesker smirked at her, continuing to lazily stroke her hair. "Sleep well, dear heart?" he asked, amusement shimmering in his voice.

Claire knew her cheeks had to be somewhere close to glowing. She sat up with as much dignity as she could muster and felt a troublesome flash of regret. Having him run his fingers through her hair had been dangerously pleasant, and she wished he'd keep doing it. No! Bad brain! Bad!

"Morning," Claire muttered, brushing her snarled hair back from her face.

"Morning," Wesker answered, stretching a little. Claire heard a peculiar crackling noise as his spine realigned itself. He stayed with me all night, she realized, stunned. She'd expected him to slip away as soon as she was asleep. Pulling out his phone, Wesker began to check his messages, giving Claire an opportunity to use the bathroom. Splashing her face with water, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The cut on her cheek had scabbed, but it still hurt, as did the one on her arm. Lifting the sleeve of her t-shirt, Claire examined the puckered red gash, wondering if it was going to leave a scar.

Dirty bastard, she thought, clenching her teeth, but contrary to the bruise-like smudges under her eyes, she'd slept through the night without a single nightmare. Thinking about Wesker and how he'd been stroking her hair, lovingly almost, a feeling of warmth spread outward through Claire's stomach. Shutting off the water, she noticed her necklace draped over the towel bar. She'd taken it off last night, not wanting to get it wet. Picking it up, she refastened the pendant around her neck, realizing that she'd missed its weight. While combing her hair with her fingers, Claire left the bathroom. In her absence, Wesker had moved from the couch to the desk. The top drawer was open, and a box of bullets was sitting on the blotter.

Claire watched him replace the rounds he'd expended the previous night, pushing them into the clip with his thumb. She'd always known he'd carried a gun, having felt it under his jacket on numerous occasions, but this was the first time she'd actually seen it. Finished reloading, Wesker pushed the clip home with a well-oiled snick. He obviously took excellent care of his firearms, and Claire couldn't say she was surprised. What surprised her was the make and model of the gun.

He still carries that, even when he could have any gun in the world? Claire looked at him, stunned, but as Wesker turned to her she hastily shut her mouth, knowing that it would be better not to bring it up. A moment later, the gun was safety stowed in his shoulder holster.

"What are you going to do?" Claire asked faintly.

"First I'm going to check on the repairs being done to Red Queen," said Wesker, understanding what she meant. He put the box of bullets back in the drawer. "Everything from here on in is going to be a serious matter of time and effort. "

Coming around the desk, Wesker approached Claire until she had to tip her chin back slightly to keep him in view. He was a good seven or eight inches taller than her, but for some reason the height difference didn't feel like a challenge today. "In either case, dear heart," he continued, "the island won't have power for several days, so going to the greenhouse would be a waste of time."

Claire nodded. She suspected as much. Thinking about the few hundred people on the island, she wondered what kind of cover story Wesker was going to concoct to explain the power outage. Four-day weekend for everybody? Hiking up her borrowed pants, Claire was just about to ask him when the door burst open and something blue rushed into the room. Wesker's hand flashed beneath his jacket.

"Uncle Albert! Have you seen Claire? She was supposed to be down in the labs, but she's not in her room and the power's still out and… Oh!"

Sherry's pretty face was distraught, her cornflower eyes filled with panic. Seeing Claire gaping behind Wesker's outstretched arm, obviously wondering how the man had gotten in front of her so quickly, the younger girl ran forward and caught her in a hug. "Oh, Claire, I'm so glad you're all right!" she gasped. "I was scared somebody had eaten you!"

Eyes wide, Claire awkwardly patted the younger girl's back. Wesker let go of his gun, his expression somewhere between irritated and amused. "As you can see, Sherry, Claire is quite safe," he said dryly. "Thank you for remembering to knock."

Sherry hastily sprang back, leaving Claire gasping for breath "I'm sorry, Uncle Albert! I didn't… I mean I forget… I'm sorry." The teenage blonde went pale save for two scarlet blotches of color high on her cheeks.

Chuckling, Wesker moved towards the door. "Well, considering the circumstances, I think I can excuse you. Make sure you take an injection as soon as possible, dear heart," he said, switching his attention to Claire. "Your infection may have been aggravated by last night's little fiasco, and I don't need a relapse taking up my time. Is that clear?"

Claire nodded. She'd given herself a few injections under his supervision, but the prospect of doing it alone made her nervous. She mentally told herself to suck it up. Wesker's gaze lingered on her face for a moment, and then he turned to leave. When they were alone, Sherry turned back to Claire, her mouth a round O of surprise. She looked as though she was about to press the subject, but then she saw the ugly gash peeking out from beneath Claire's sleeve.

"What happened to you?" she exclaimed, eyes wide.

"A monster," said Claire, covering the stitches with her hand. They left Wesker's room so she could pick up some clothes. Wearing her familiar velour tracksuit, Claire went into the bathroom where Sherry couldn't see and pulled out the syringes Wesker had put in the medicine cabinet. Uncapping the needle, Claire hesitated. Inside the reservoir, the serum was quivering.

"Claire?" Sherry voice came through the bathroom door. "You okay? Do you need any help?"

"No. I'm good," said Claire. Locating the vein on her arm, she carefully forced the needle in. To her surprise, it wasn't much worse then when Wesker was wielding the syringe. Draining the serum, Claire recapped the needle and disposed of it, pulling her sleeve back down. Feeling better now that it was over with, she went out to rejoin Sherry. Holding a flashlight in the dimly lit room, the girl looked understandably worried. "You okay now?" she asked.

Claire nodded, her stomach gurgling audibly.

"Let's get something to eat," said Sherry. "The power's out, but we don't need it to make noodles." She smiled nervously. "Or we can try grilled cheese if you don't like that," she added.

Feeling famished, Claire assured her that even dog kibble would be acceptable. Eyes wide, Sherry stared at her for a minute, obviously trying to figure out if the older girl was serious. Claire knocked Sherry's headband askew. "Noodles would be great," she said, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, you don't even have a dog."

Sherry looked relieved.

The girls made lunch and spent the rest of the day either playing board games or making paper dolls, complete with paper dresses and jewelry. While Sherry tore apart her desk looking for a set of markers, Claire went to the window and opened the curtains. The storm had finally blown itself out, but the ocean continued to churn against the island. The seagulls that normally congregated on the ramparts were nowhere to be seen.

"Found 'em, Claire!"

Turning away from the window, Claire went back to sitting on the floor. Coloring her doll's hair with a red marker, Sherry was alternating between being frustratingly passive and constantly asking Claire for her approval, to nearly bursting with enthusiasm. Claire knew it would probably get old before long, but for now she was just thankful for the company. Around noon, Birkin staggered in looking exhausted. Sherry jumped up to ask questions, but they were gently dismissed. After freshening up in the bathroom and waving distractedly to Claire, Birkin visited the kitchen just long enough to throw lunch together and grab a can of Pepsi. With the haphazard sandwich clenched in his teeth, he was gone again within ten minutes.

Sherry looked at Claire. "Did things really get out down below?" she whispered. "I know the "official" reason for why the power went out, but… well, you know."

Claire snorted without humor. "Yeah, I know. There's the reason and then there's the real reason," she said. Especially around here.

"Well? Did they?"

"Not now, Sherry. Okay?"

Sherry hastily closed her mouth. "Okay," she said quietly, averting her eyes. "You don't want to talk about it, I get it."

Claire sighed and went back to giving her doll a blue dress. There was more to the problem than just not wanting to talk about it. Until yesterday, she'd been so sure that she'd worked everything out in her mind – Wesker, his island, her outlook on all of it – but despite smiling for Sherry and laughing at all the right times, Claire felt confused, maybe even a little sick deep inside. Last night she'd actually let herself think about what it would be like to work at Umbrella, to earn the respect falsely lauded on her head, but today the idea made her feel hollow. Worse, it made her feel stupid.

What would Chris think of me? Claire blanched, knowing exactly what he would think. But… but he didn't know everything, did he? Umbrella was capable of some truly terrible things and Wesker's moral compass was decidedly rusty, pointing more northwest than north, but here was some good here. Like those blurry red-and-blue 3D pictures, the effect only became clear if the viewer was wearing special glasses. Of if you have the dubious honor of being a moth that's fallen in love with the fire.

Claire picked up the scissors and began cutting her doll out with short, angry strokes. Thinking about Wesker caused a mixture of feelings to rise within her, a muddied torrent of confusion, fear, and growing desire. She thought about what he'd told her about snake venom, how it could be used to stop trauma victims from bleeding to death. The road to hell was lined with good intentions, but some part of her wanted to say that is wasworth it.

Great. Now I'm starting to sound like Wesker. Claire picked up a yellow marker. Bastard.

She felt like she was floating in a vacuum, a lost astronaut surrounded by the infinite mystery of space. In between the glittering stars and multicolored planets lay endless darkness, filled with mysteries she didn't have the answers to. Claire thought about everything she'd learned about Wesker and Umbrella – the good and the bad – and she clung to that thin filament, gripping it tight with both hands. She wasn't ready to let go, but wasn't ready to pull herself towards the shuttle, either.

Heaving a sigh, Claire looked down at the doll she'd been making, frowning. It wasn't that he was only slightly more evolved than a stick-man, or that his left arm was slightly longer than the other, it was the fact that without even knowing it she'd painted him with blond hair and two tiny pinpricks of red for eyes. Sherry glanced over from where she was working and sniggered. "Looks like Uncle Albert."

"Whatever," said Claire dryly, but when Sherry wasn't looking she quietly picked up the doll with red hair and pushed the two together. If love was blind, Claire had a feeling she was never going to see properly again. Because I do love him, don't I? Oh, God, I am in so much trouble.

The day dragged on. Outside, the sky turned from slate to pitch as the sun set. Birkin came back late and went into the bedroom to crash. Through the open door, Claire could see him lying facedown on the bed, his feet hanging off the end. He was still wearing his shoes. Sharing a look, she and Sherry got up as quietly as possible and left. The girls took up residence in Claire's room instead, where Sherry decided that a sleepover was in order. They ate a quick supper and, with little else to do, went to bed. Claire was just as glad.

The next day passed in much the same way, as did the next. The oppressive weather cleared, leaving the ocean blue and chilly. With the power still out and people temporarily laid off work, the island slipped into a state of dormancy. Claire saw Wesker very little, but on the fourth day from the incident, he dropped by her room late in the evening.

"I hope all this inactivity hasn't gotten to you, dear heart," he drawled, but Claire knew what he really meant.

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking," she said quietly, her chest tight. Looking at Wesker, she couldn't help but think he looked a little haggard. She held the door a bit wider. "Want to share a salad?"

Wesker looked at her, and while he hesitated at first, he was soon seated at her tiny bistro table. Claire made him a cup of instant coffee and started making that salad. She didn't know what he liked, but she figured he could just pick around what he didn't. She shredded some lettuce with her hands and added a lot of olives and cherry tomatoes, as well as what was left of the chicken she'd had for lunch the other day. Sitting opposite Wesker, Claire slid a bowl in front of him. He was staring into the far corner, obviously brooding, but the scraping noise seemed to bring him out of it. Shifting, he turned his attention to her.

"Thank you, dear heart," he rumbled, the ghost of a smirk darting across his face.

He's worried about something, Claire realized, picking up her fork. And twenty bucks says he hasn't slept in days. For some selfish reason, the knowledge made her feel better about the man's character, or lack thereof. She'd thought he'd brush the incident off as a minor setback, a hiccup in the otherwise smooth turning of cogs. However, this didn't seem to be the case. Picking the pot up off the stove, Claire poured herself a cup of coffee as well. She and Wesker ate in relative silence, exchanging only a few sentences, but the lack of conversation wasn't as awkward as it should have been. And Claire learned something interesting about Wesker.

He detested olives.

About a week from the incident, the day dawned bright and clear. Power had been restored late last night and Sherry was frantically trying to get several days worth of late homework done before Monday, so it was unlikely that she'd be back before nightfall. Left to her own devices, Claire was looking at her swimsuit, wondering if the pool would be habitable, when she heard a soft knock at the door. Curious, she got up to answer it. To her surprise, her visitor turned out to be Ada.

"Hey, there," she said, smiling. Today she was wearing a knee-length red sweater over clingy black leggings and stiletto heels in red patent leather. "Some week, huh?"

"What? Oh. Yeah, some week," said Claire, wondering why the Asian woman was here. Not that she didn't like Ada – in fact, she liked her well enough to tentatively call her a friend – but that didn't mean she completely trusted her. "I've been bored to death for the past two days," Claire added, inviting Ada into the room. "I can't tell you how grateful I've been having Sherry around, but she can get a little…"

"Overzealous?"

"I was going to say clingy, but yours works, too," said Claire. "So, uh… what's going on with you?"

"Actually, I came by to ask you something," said Ada, casually buffing her nails on her sweater. "How would you like to take a little vacation, get off this island for a few hours? Just you and me. It'll be a girl's day out."

Claire was surprised. "Run that by me again, " she said. "A vacation to where?"

"Paris," said Ada, relishing the look on Claire's face. "The ferries just started up again yesterday, and I haven't had my hair styled in over three weeks. It's a disaster!" Claire eyed the Asian woman's sleek black hair. She couldn't imagine it even getting a cowlick, let alone being a disaster. "I figured you'd be pretty bored, and I need an accomplice," Ada continued, her dark eyes twinkling with laughter. "So what do you say?"

The cogs in Claire's were turning furiously. A trip? To Paris? She been in the city three years ago, but she'd been on a mission then. It'd been nothing more than an objective, a goal. Paris was renowned as a city of romance, womanizing, and a destination for couples on their honeymoon – and least in her mind – and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it being offered so casually. That was another thing she'd yet to fully get used to. On Mont St. Michel, glamour was a part of everyday life. In spite of that, however, excitement bubbled past Claire's disbelief. She couldn't help but suspect that Ada had an ulterior motive, but she didn't think it was anything harmful. Ada was crafty and underhanded, but she wasn't a malicious person. And then there was Wesker. Claire wondered if he'd be angry if she left the island without his high-and-mighty permission.

Oh, who cares? She thought, grinning. Wesker wasn't the boss of her. She'd go where she liked when she liked, and she didn't care if he popped a blood vessel in the meantime. But then again…

Memories of his concern for her floated to the surface and Claire's grin faltered slightly, her belly churning. Okay, fine. She'd compromise. She wouldn't ask him for permission, but she would leave a note telling him where she'd gone. It was only fair. She did it for her brother all the time.

"You sure you're not going to mind?" Claire asked.

Ada laughed. "Why do you think I asked you to come along? Because I despise your company? Please. You're one of the few people on this island I would even consider spending a day with, anyway. Now," she glanced at her slim black watch, "the ferry leaves in about a half-hour. You want some help picking an outfit?"

Remembering the last time Ada had helped her get dressed – and on the suspicion that there was makeup in the Asian woman's purse, a sleek black thing that could easily have held a good-sized paperback – Claire shook her head. "I'll manage, thanks. You, uh… you want to wait outside, or do you want me to meet you somewhere?"

"I'll wait outside," said Ada.

Claire went to sift through her meager closet. After a few minutes, she'd picked out a pair of jeans and a soft sweater, figuring it was going to be a little chilly on the mainland. After brushing her hair and making an attempt to clean her sneakers, she sprayed a little perfume on her necks and wrists. Satisfied that she'd pass in the civilized world, Claire wrote Wesker a note and left it on the table.

Ada was waiting for her in the hallway, elegantly seated on the windowsill. Claire felt the Asian glance down at her sneakers, her eyes glittering as though she was laughing at a private joke. Claire frowned at her. "And just what's wrong with my shoes?" she demanded. "I don't like heels. They make me uncomfortable."

By her expression, Ada clearly thought this was pure madness, but she didn't press the subject. Following the Asian woman down the hall, Claire dryly wondered if she'd be comfortable traipsing through backwater European forests wearing nothing more than a red cocktail dress and heels. If so, it wouldn't surprise her. Going down a flight of stairs, they encountered a knot of people coming out of the cafeteria. Claire noticed Birkin trying to juggle a bag of chicken wings and a mega-sized cup of Pepsi.

"Hey, Mr. Birkin," said Claire, waving.

"Huh? Oh, hi!" said Birkin, hastily swallowing a mouthful of chicken. He had several bits of tissue paper stuck to his chin where he'd cut himself shaving. "How you been holding up? Good? I'm glad to hear it." Birkin sniffed the air and grinned. "And just where are you ladies heading off to today? You smell so good it should illegal."

"Paris," said Ada, dramatically rolling her voice so the name came out like Pear-ree.

A look of comprehension dawned on Birkin's face, washing away his momentary confusion. "Oh, right. Well, you two have fun. And Ada," he fixed the Asian woman with a look that was surprisingly stern, but not unkindly. "Keeps your wits about you. If anything happens to her, he won't have any qualms about pinning it on your head."

Ada grimaced. "You think? Come on, Claire," she said, resuming her walk. "Willie-B needs some quality time with his lunch."

"I heard that," Birkin growled.

"You were meant to," said Ada as they rounded the corner. Claire gave the Asian woman a quizzical look, confused by the odd exchange. "What was that all about?" she whispered.

"What it's always about: Wesker. Me, myself, and whatever belongs to me," said Ada. "Forget about it."

Claire wasn't sure that she could. Birkin didn't seem surprised that they were going to the mainland and that was a little odd, but it wasn't the only thing. Was Wesker worried about her being off the island with Sergei on the loose? Was the Russian really that sick? Claire shuddered and forced the thought from her mind. She'd never actually seen Ada in action, but the woman had survived Raccoon City, too, and that made Claire feel a little safer going out with her. If it came down to it, two against one, even against a bastard like Sergei, seemed like pretty good odds.

Ada led her out of the main facility and onto the cobbled streets. A cool breeze was blowing and there were puffy white clouds in the sky. Along the sides of the street, poplar trees shivered and danced. Their leaves had just begun to turn gold. Claire took the opportunity to soak up the sights. A gleaming trickle of water flowed through the gutters, swirling around fallen leaves and debris, and gurgling down into miniature storm drains. The clean, but heavy smell of wet dirt hung in the air like a gentle perfume.

After a five-minute walk, Ada had led them to the back of the island. Here the narrow street opened up, revealing a shallow bay. It was small and roughly crescent shaped, with a broad wooden dock. A knot of people – no doubt victims of cabin fever themselves– was boarding the ferry, a squat white thing with brass railing. Here and there, security guards watched the proceedings with hard eyes. Claire got in line behind Ada. The tide gurgled and slapped on the pylons beneath her feet. A few people were standing at the end of the dock, trying to entice the gulls with bits of sandwich. The large white birds were completely fearless, waddling straight up to their benefactors and eating at their feet.

The line moved steadily forward. Claire noticed a women standing at the gangplank. Potential passengers first had to show their ID and then submit to a quick temperature check. Claire was mildly taken aback. She realized that people infected with the T-Virus must show a higher temperature than normal, otherwise what would be the point? She'd scoffed at Wesker's security procedures when he'd tried to explain them to her, but upon seeing them for herself, she had to admit that they were good and responsible.

A few minutes later, she and Ada passed through the checkpoint and boarded the ferry. Going to the front of the boat, Claire rested her forearms on the railing. After a few minutes of waiting, a bell clanged, the plank was pulled back, and the graceful little ferry moved out of the bay, small engine chugging valiantly. They started out slow, but soon the front of the boat rode high in the water, leaving a rooster-tail of foam in their wake. Water sprayed Claire's cheeks, moistening her skin.

"So, where are we going first?"

It took them about twenty minutes to reach the mainland. Claire's first glimpse of the French shoreline was a sandy beach, and beyond that a prosperous town. At the docks, small fishing vessels were bobbing at the end of their moorings. As they got closer, Claire saw that they were actually heading towards the mouth of a large river. Ada took out a small compact and began reapplying her lipstick, a pair of large-frame sunglasses fashionably perched on her head. Claire rolled her eyes.

The ferry docked smoothly. Everybody was jostling to be among the first to get off the boat, so they hung back slightly, in no hurry to get pushed into the Seine. The town was very quaint, teetering on the line between modern and old-fashioned. Bringing them to a small parking garage, Ada strolled up the aisle until she came to a sleek red Jaguar convertible. Claire's jaw dropped.

"This is yours?" she demanding, gaping.

"What can I say?" Ada laughed, digging in her purse for the keys. "Umbrella pays me well."

Getting in the car, Claire almost groaned aloud. She was glad she wasn't driving. Starting the engine, Ada smoothly backed them out of the garage. The ride through town was short and uneventful. Looking out the window, Claire noticed that all the signs were in both French and English. Piloting through a traffic circle, Ada swung the car into the westbound lane and accelerated, following the course of the river. According to the signs, Paris was just over fifty miles away.

Claire leaned back in her seat, a dismal thought occurring to her. Ada almost certainly wanted to go shopping at expensive boutiques and salons, and having literally been abducted from her bedroom, Claire had regretfully forgotten to grab her wallet on the way out. Guess I'm not buying much, she thought, embarrassed. If she could find her banking branch in the city, then maybe she could retrieve some cash. If not, she wasn't letting Ada buy her anything more expensive than lunch. Things were bound to get awkward, as they always did where money was involved, but Claire resolved not to let it spoil her day.

Ada reached for the radio. "You like music?"

They cruised along the country highway, laughing and singing along to American hits like Alice Cooper and other bands that, while not familiar to Claire, were pretty popular in Europe. With her hair flung around by the wind, Claire was glad that she'd come. It was an immense relief not having to worry about her feelings for Wesker, or ponder the ethics of Umbrella. Miles of countryside flashed by, passing acres of farmland and rolling hills turned purple with an abundance of lavender. After over an hour of driving, however, the Parisian skyline appeared on the horizon.

It was just like Claire imagined it would be: cobbled streets filled with people on bikes, wine and baguette bread stowed in handlebar baskets, and tightly clustered buildings with brick facades. A multitude of old cathedrals dotted the city, all with worn stone gargoyles perching on buttresses far above the street, watching passersby with their grim, frightening stares. Everything was old and exotic, and Claire wished she had more eyes. She'd never considered Paris particularly special, but being here made it special somehow. The Jaguar swept through an intersection, passing a fountain in the middle of a circular pond, and into a massive park filled with tulips, the Tuileries Gardens, according to a nearby sign.

Claire sighed in unabashed delight. As Ada piloted them through a wooded section of the road, speeding southward, the Eiffel Tower appeared on the left, jutting skyward like a spear. Claire observed it with a mixture of interest and dry humor. Her brother had always regarded the Tower as an eyesore and she'd agreed with him, but now… well, how many girls got lucky enough to see the Eiffel Tower? Like the city, it was special just because she was here to see it.

"Having fun yet?" Ada teased.

"Oh, shut up," said Claire, grinning.

The Jaguar skimmed through another intersection, turning onto a wide cobbled road lined with picturesque little cafes and clothing boutiques. Claire felt another pang of mingled embarrassment and regret as Ada pulled up to the curb. Laughter floated down the street, the voices of passersby alternating between the warm, silky tones of French and English. Dumping the Jaguar's keys in her purse, Ada turned to Claire, opening her mouth to say something. Claire beat her to it.

"Now I just want to make one thing clear," she said, flushing a little. "You're not going to buy me anything more than lunch, okay?"

Ada threw her head back and laughed, leaving Claire feeling a little miffed. "I mean it," she said hotly. "I don't want you to—"

"You really are something, you know that? Do you think you came along just so we could get into an embarrassing conversation about who's picking up the tab?" said Ada, shaking her head. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a crisp white envelope. "Here," she said, handing it to Claire. "Compliments of Wesker and Umbrella."

Everything about the envelope screamed red alert. Claire didn't take it, knowing instinctually what was in there. "Ada, I said no and I mean no," she said, gritting her teeth. "It doesn't matter if it's your money or Wesker's money, I'm not spending it. It's going to be way too expensive!" She waved at the boutiques.

Ada choked back another laugh. "Well, it's a good thing that it's your money in here, now isn't it?" she said. "Now take the envelope before I wedge it up your nose and/or buy you everything on the boulevard. And you don't want that, do you?"

Claire leveled a scowl at her, realizing that she wasn't going to win this argument. Taking the envelope, she felt a familiar square of plastic inside. Great. Now the blond bastard's giving me his credit cards. She slit the envelope open with her finger. Well, I'm not going to use it. I'm… what the hell?

The debit card was obviously attached to Swiss bank account, but the name marked on the card wasn't Wesker's. It was Claire Redfield. The words glared at her, embossed letters winking gold in the sunlight. Oh, so now he's made me my own little spending account, huh? Indignant, Claire looked up at Ada, but the Asian woman cut her off.

"I know what you're thinking, Claire, and you're wrong," she said. "According to the ID card you've been wearing clipped to your shirt, you've technically spent two months as an employee of Umbrella. No, let me finish. And during that time, you engineered the most valuable flower in existence. I'm sure you know what the chairman's using it for, don't you?"

Ada smiled at Claire's horrified look. "That there," she pointed at the debit card, "is the commission a high-level biochemist would have received for the very same achievement. It's your money, Claire. Fair and square, no strings attached. Believe me, it doesn't even come close to making you millionaire, but it's not stingy, either."

Gobsmacked, Claire looked down at the card. What kind of money was attached to it? Five figures? Six? Seven? Claire felt as though she'd been electrocuted and melted to the Jaguar's expensive leather seats. It would have been so easy to believe that Wesker was just trying to buy her off, but instinct told her that this wasn't the case.

"Ada, that rose was an accident!" Claire managed. "I mean, I'm grateful and all, but I don't deserve it!"

Ada snorted. "No? Please, Claire, I've heard every rumor the island had to offer, so I'll tell you this much: It happened because you made it happen. No more, no less, so figure out where that leaves you and get it over with. I've known Wesker for a long time. Long enough to know that in his mind, you're either worthy of his time or you're not. Period."

Claire's stomach fluttered and began to ache. Before Mont St. Michel, her image of Wesker had been based solely on what Chris had told her, and before Raccoon City the messages had been somewhat mixed. On Monday, the captain of S.T.A.R.S had been a cold, unfriendly taskmaster who made his team to run laps until they were heaving their guts out in the bushes. On Thursday, that same man had firmly – and successfully – defended her brother against a firestorm of alleged police brutality when Chris had gone berserk on a serial murderer that preyed on redheaded young women.

"Of course, he told me that if I did it again in the near future, he'd suspend me so fast my head would spin," Chris had cheerfully reported, a Pall Mall smoldering absently in one hand. Claire could remember him telling her the story. Turning the silver debit card around in her fingers, Claire noticed small note was clipped to it, bearing a four-digit number in Wesker's narrow handwriting. She swallowed, acutely aware of the diamond resting in the hollow of her throat. S.T.A.R.S had been comprised of the best of the best, a force handpicked by Wesker himself, and his version of Umbrella seemed to adhere to the same credo. Why would the man's inner circle be any different? In fact, the standards for admission would be even higher, going beyond simple lust or desire, or any other short-lived measure of value.

Is that why he wants me over people like Ada? Because somehow I proved myself worthy of his love, not just his time? The thought made Claire feel deeply strange and achy.

"Now," Ada popped the Jaguar's door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, "are we going to sit here and debate all day, or are we going to go shopping? In case you haven't noticed, this is Paris!"

Her hesitation gone, Claire got out of the car. They went to a beauty salon first because according to Ada, trying on clothes was better when you looked your best. The Asian woman had her nails done dark metallic red with fashionable black and gold accents, while Claire – who really didn't care either way – got a simple French manicure. After getting their hair washed and styled, it was on to the boutiques and an endless array of clothing, perfumes, and shoes. Claire tried a few on just for the sake of it, but always put them back. As she'd told Ada, unless Wesker planned on carting her off to another fancy party, she didn't do heels. Ada shook her head as though she were a lost cause and went up to the counter to pay for no less than three pairs.

Just as they were leaving, however, Claire spotted a pair of heavily embossed cowboy boots at the bottom of the rack. Eyes shining, she hurried over to try them on. The hardened Italian leather slid over her feet and calves like butter, and Claire couldn't help a small gasp of delight. The boots fit perfectly, flexing with her as thought she'd owned them for years. Ada nodded approvingly. "Those are you all over," she said.

Claire couldn't agree more and, after several moment agonizing indecision, handed the clerk her card. She never felt so strange in her life, paying for something worth more than she typically made in a month. Walking out of the store into the bright sunlight, she sat on the curb and eagerly put them on while Ada stuffed her numerous purchases into the trunk of the Jaguar. The boots were so nice, Claire was almost afraid to wear them, but she did, carefully packing her comfy old sneakers into the box and putting them in the car. After that, the women visited a cosmetics store filled with rows of brightly colored, aromatic merchandise and sexy French underwear with about as much square coverage as a postage stamp. Claire outright refused to be talked into buying lipstick no matter what shade it came in, and she wasn't even going to think about the lingerie, let alone purchase it. She did buy a bottle of shampoo and a few scented bars of soap, however. That and the boots was all she wanted, and more then she'd imagined being able to buy.

Finally, they went to a small café and had lunch. Laughing along with Ada, Claire concluded that while the Asian woman was a fashionista to the core, she wasn't obnoxious or unpleasant to be around, not like the cheerleaders Claire had been forced to put up with in high school, or that stuck-up bitch Electra or Excella, or whatever her name had been. Sipping her coffee, Claire genuinely thanked Ada for bringing her along.

"Are you kidding me? I've had more fun with you than I've had in years," said Ada. "Seriously, though, it's a good thing you didn't buy heels." She smiled around her latte. "Picture a drunk giraffe and you'll know what I'm talking about."

"Oh, piss off." Claire flicked a wadded up napkin at the Asian woman's head. The woman laughed as she dug in her purse for a tip to leave the waitress. On the street, a snub-nosed red car zoomed by in a rustle of leaves. "I've got one more thing to show you before we head back, okay?" said Ada.

"Sure, okay," said Claire.

Getting back in the car, they turned onto the main street and headed deeper into the city. The buildings got steadily wider and taller, moving from quaint restaurants and tourist traps like the Louvre to large, high-end businesses and more industrial-looking edifices. Through the Jaguar's windscreen, Claire could see a lofty porcelain-white building in the distance and judging by the turns they were making, Ada was heading straight for it. Curious, Claire thought it was a museum or maybe a theater, but the building proved to be neither. As they navigated into the parking lot, she finally got a chance to read the sign posted out front, St. Michel's Hospital & Research Center. And if the familiar red-and-white archetype was any indication, the facility was owned by Umbrella lock, stock, and barrel.

Why is she taking me here? Claire felt a disturbing and all-too familiar ripple of dread.

A/N: Now you didn't really think you'd escape those pesky cliffhangers for long, did you? ;) Not much action in this chapter, but fear not. A major turning point in the story is coming very soon, but I need a few weeks to catch up in my writing. Sorry! I know you don't want to hear that, but work's been keeping me pretty busy. *cries* Anyway, I'll be back in two or three weeks, I promise.

THANK YOU so much for hanging in there with me. I truly appreciate your patience and understanding! You guys are beyond awesome. ^_^