Two

Magic in Action

They eventually reached a village. It was no more than a small collection of houses, really, and as it was night time the streets were more or less completely deserted. The driver pulled up outside a row of shops and stopped the car.

"Come on," the blond man said. "Let's get inside fast, you never know who might be lurking about."

Cosette opened her car door and eased herself out onto the street. Her limbs felt stiff, and the pain she was feeling was dimmed a little, forced to the back of her mind. She leaned against the car rather than try and walk. Grantaire climbed out behind her, still holding the gun in his hand.

The driver had got out as well. He was tall, Cosette observed, wearing a dark pair of jeans and a red plaid shirt. He gave her a slow grin as she stood there, but it turned somewhat manic when Grantaire wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Can you walk?" Grantaire murmured in her ear.

"I should be able to," Cosette said back, wincing as a particularly nasty bolt of pain shot up her leg when she tried moving it.

"You can lean on me if you need to," Grantaire said.

"Yeah, and you can lean on me too," the driver said, adding a wink for good measure. "I'm Courfeyrac, by the way. Your name is…Cosette, right?"

Cosette glanced at him. "How do you know my name?" she said curiously, doing as she was told and gently leaning her body against Grantaire.

"I know everything about you," Courfeyrac said, widening his eyes and waggling his fingers. Éponine appeared behind him and smacked him across the back of the head.

"Don't be a creep, Courf," she said, a note of affection in her voice. "There'll be plenty of time to hit on her when we're back at the compound."

The blond man was knocking on the front door of one of the shops. It had a large sign on the front that read MUSCIHETTA'S, and there were all sorts of odd little items in the front window, all arranged on what looked like a shiny red fabric. There were still some lights on in the window, little yellow fairy lights, illuminating some crystal balls, a selection of various ornate wooden boxes, a couple of mannequins wearing raggedy clothes with intricate designs stitched into them, and baskets of gems, and some books promising to teach the secrets of witchcraft.

"There'll be no hitting on," Grantaire said, firmly.

"You sure she's not your girlfriend?" Courfeyrac wondered as Grantaire began to help her towards the shop, Éponine walking just ahead of them.

"Absolutely," Grantaire said.

"That would be wrong on so many levels," Cosette added.

They heard the sounds of metal dragging against metal, presumably as the bolts on the door were pulled back, and the noise sounded like gunshots in the quiet village. There was a curtain draped over the door's window that concealed the interior of the shop, but a vague outline of a woman could be made out.

The door opened. A woman poked her head out, and then a second later, the door opened fully. "Come in," the woman said, standing aside.

Cosette and Grantaire found themselves ushered into the shop's interior. It smelled heavily of a few different types of incense. The shop was dark, but there were lots of shelves, filled with ornaments and books and boxes and souvenirs and beauty products, and rails of clothes, mainly dresses in velvet and canvas, and there were many mirrors of varying sizes on the walls, each with a different coloured frame. A rickety-looking spiral of stairs was behind the counter.

The woman shut the door behind them, and bolted it too. Then she reached out and flicked a switch on the wall, flooding the room with yellow light.

"The mission was successful, then?" the woman said, raising her eyebrows. Cosette thought she might have the loveliest face she'd ever seen; her skin was a rich, dark golden colour, and her eyes were shades of chocolate. Her long, curly black hair was arranged in a plait draped over one shoulder, and she wore a white silk dressing gown over pale pink cotton pyjamas. Her feet were bare, with both her toenails and fingernails were painted a deep blood red. She smiled at Cosette in a friendly, welcoming manner, that did a better job at putting her at ease than Courfeyrac's flirtatious grin.

"To a degree," the blond man said, folding his arms over his chest. "We ended up with an extra."

"I told you," the woman said, "When I gathered you the information, I told you she had a shadow."

"I am not her shadow," Grantaire grumbled. "I pay half the rent on that house. We're housemates."

"I didn't realise he would come with her, that's all," the blond man shrugged.

"Would you rather have left him to a hoard of Squalidus demons?" Éponine challenged. "Come on, Enjolras, that's harsh."

"I think I'm losing my mind," Cosette whispered to Grantaire.

"We can't hang about here for too long," the blond man, Enjolras, said, rather than acknowledging what Éponine had just said.

"No, because they're definitely tracking her," Musichetta said with a nod. "Or that's what I'd expect them to do, if they're anything near competent. Don't worry, Enjolras, I'll make sure to cleanse the place once you've left so they can't trace her. Have you left a car?" She turned and began to pad across the room towards the counter. She walked around it.

"Yeah," Courfeyrac said, fishing in his pocket and producing a key.

"Stolen, I assume?" Musichetta said. Courfeyrac nodded and threw the key across the room. She caught it deftly and tucked it into the pocket of her dressing gown. "I'll dispose of it later," she said. "What are you all waiting for?"

Enjolras strode towards the stairs and reached them just as Musichetta began to climb them. He was closely followed by Courfeyrac. Éponine hung back. She nodded at the stairs. "Go on," she said. "I'll follow."

Grantaire helped Cosette up the stairs. The stairs levelled out into a loft room. There was a large double bed up against one wall with a flowery duvet all on it, and a dressing table covered in all sorts of little glass bottles, tubs and bowls. There were odd symbols daubed over the walls in various colours and patchwork rugs thrown over the uneven floorboards. Across the back wall, next to the bed, was a small door painted white. Musichetta was crouched in front of it, dressing gown pooling on the floor around her. Cosette edged closer, dragging Grantaire with her. Musichetta had her hands pressed against the floor, palms facing downwards. Cosette could just about make out the sounds of the woman murmuring softly under her breath, and the floor beneath them began to tremble.

Musichetta lifted her head and twisted her neck to look at them. Something very odd had happened to her face – her eyes were glowing yellow, and her skin had taken on an almost green hue. "It's ready," she said, in a distant, echoing voice that didn't sound entirely like hers.

"Thanks, Musichetta," Enjolras said, and slowly, Musichetta straightened up. Those odd, glowing eyes were not blinking, and were just staring. She stepped out of the way, and Enjolras strode forward and put his hand on the doorknob. He twisted it and pulled the door open. Beyond it was what looked like silvery, swirling mist. He glanced over his shoulder, face expressionless, and then stepped into the mist and promptly vanished.

Cosette gasped. Grantaire's hand tightened on her waist.

"It always amuses me when humans see magic in action for the first time," Courfeyrac beamed, walking backwards towards the door. As he passed Musichetta, he reached out to pat her on the shoulder. "Until next time, 'Chetta. I'll send Joly your love, all right?" And then he was gone as well.

Éponine nudged them with her shoulder. "You next," she said.

"What – what is it?" Grantaire asked, looking apprehensive.

"It's just a door," Éponine said, unhelpfully. "I promise you it's safe, though. You just walk through it. But you can only go through once at a time so you'll have to let go of each other."

"Let me go first," Grantaire murmured, releasing her. She noticed he still held the gun in his hand, and as he stepped forward, he held it a little bit tighter, properly, like he was preparing to shoot at any given moment. She swallowed. She hated the moment that he slipped into the swirling mist and wanted to shout him to come back.

"Come on, it's probably draining Musichetta to keep this open," Éponine said, more than a little impatient.

Cosette stepped forwards. Her legs ached and it felt hard to move, but somehow, she kept on going. She was right on the edge of the door. She could reach out and touch the mist if she wanted to – test the waters, maybe – but then something shoved her from behind and she fell forwards.

She didn't know what she'd expected it to feel like, but it wasn't this. She'd thought it might feel cold, but instead it felt unbearably hot for a few seconds, her skin itching like she desperately needed to tear her clothes off her body. Her eyes were watering. Then she was thudding into the ground, a little shriek escaping her mouth.

"Fuck, Cosette, what happened?" Grantaire was there, helping her to her feet. She looked up just in time to see Éponine step neatly through what looked like an exact replica of the door they'd just come through – only the mist on the other side was gold instead of silver, and they definitely weren't in Musichetta's shop anymore.

Instead, they were in a large room with white walls. There were many doors set into the walls, all different sizes and made from different woods, some painted bright colours, some not. One of the walls had a large archway in it, which led into a different corridor.

"I had to push her," Éponine said. "She wasn't moving."

"She's fucking hurt," Grantaire snapped.

Cosette flapped her hands at him. "It doesn't matter," she said. "Where are we?"

"Our compound," Courfeyrac called, stretching his arms above his head. "Ah, it feels good to be home, doesn't it?"

Enjolras ignored him and instead narrowed his eyes at her. "We need to get you to a healer," he said. "Then –"

"You can tell us what the hell is going on," Grantaire supplied for him.

Enjolras scowled. "Not just yet."

Grantaire matched his scowl with one that was equally as ferocious. "You said –"

"Maybe," a calm, soothing voice cut in, "You two should take a few moments to calm down before the situation escalates. Enjolras, you should probably go and heal that wound on your head – Éponine, go with him. Courfeyrac…"

Courfeyrac turned to grin at the newcomer. He was another man – tall, broad-shouldered but slim, with a somewhat plain face sporting rectangular glasses and a mop of sandy hair.

The man cleared his throat. "You just make yourself scarce," he suggested. "I believe Bahorel's been baking cookies today."

Courfeyrac scampered off without further question, and Enjolras loped off after him. Éponine moved, too, but her walk was slower. Cosette realised the other woman had a limp.

"Can you heal your leg yourself?" the man asked, looking down at Éponine as she passed him in the archway. His face was very soft as he looked at her.

"Of course I can," Éponine muttered shortly, not looking at him as she passed.

Behind them, there was a slamming sound. Cosette jumped and spun on the spot – the door they had just come through was now closed. Grantaire, meanwhile, didn't budge an inch, instead staring at the unfamiliar man with a wary look on his face.

"My name is Combeferre," the man said. "I know you are Cosette," he continued, smiling in her direction. "But I'm afraid I don't know who you are…"

"Grantaire." Grantaire's response was short and harsh. "I'm her housemate."

"Ah." Combeferre nodded. "You have a gun. Is it yours?"

"I took it off Éponine," Grantaire said. "And I'm not letting go of it."

Combeferre had an understanding expression on his face. "I think I know why, but you must know you are not in any danger here," he said. "Not tonight, at least, and certainly not from any inhabitants of this building."

"I don't give a particular shit," Grantaire said, with a shrug. "I'm keeping it. And I stay with her until I know what's going on."

Combeferre bowed his head. "I can see there will be no persuading you," he said. "So I'll agree to those terms. Now, if you'd like to come with me –"

"I want to know what's going on," Grantaire interrupted.

"I'm sure you do," Combeferre said. "But, let's be reasonable about this."

Grantaire quirked his eyebrows. "How am I being unreasonable?" he said. "I'm sorry, but myself and my friend have just been dragged to who the fuck knows where by a bunch of people with guns and you think I'm being unreasonable?"

"No," Combeferre said. "Actually, I think you're being quite calm compared to how things could be going. You could have shot me by now, but you haven't, which is a bonus as far as I'm concerned. However, by reasonable I meant that you're going to be very tired, you've had a shock, and both of you are injured. I'll also hazard a guess that you haven't eaten in a while and will need food soon…"

"So what are you saying?" Grantaire said.

"I'm suggesting that you take one night to have your wounds seen to, bathe, eat our food, and then sleep," Combeferre said. "You can have your answers first thing in the morning."

Grantaire was shaking his head but Cosette answered for them both. "That sounds fine," she said.

"Cosette –" Grantaire began, but she shook her head.

"No, Grantaire," she said firmly. "I am in a lot of pain, I'm very tired, and I am hungry. I don't think my brain can process anything else today. I just need..." She felt horribly close to starting to cry, and Grantaire seemed to realise this because he suddenly backed off, his face smoothing out from being severe to being quite gentle.

"If you both follow me, I will take you to our resident healer," Combeferre said, smiling. He turned and began to walk through the archway, and down the corridor. Cosette reached down to wrap her fingers around Grantaire's, and together, they began to follow him.

OOO

The 'resident healer' turned out to be a man named Joly. He was thin, dark-haired, wide-eyed, and took them to a small, cramped room with walls lined with shelves. On those shelves were lots of bottles and tubs and bowls reminiscent of Musichetta's dressing table. There was a desk against one wall, with papers and books neatly stacked upon its surface, and a couple of metal chairs were in the centre. There was a cot in the corner, with blue blankets folded neatly at the foot.

"Please, sit down," he said, gesturing towards the chairs. "My, my, you do look like you've been through the wars!"

"They were attacked by Squalidus demons," Combeferre filled in.

"I hate Squalidus demons," Joly said in a pleasant voice, rooting through a walk-in cupboard. He emerged with a pile of what looked like clothes – two grey things, and two white things, heaped on top of each other. He paused and stared at them contemplatively. "I can see that one of you is more obviously injured than the other," he said. "Would you like me to see to…Sorry, I don't know your name," he apologised.

"I'm Cosette and this is Grantaire," Cosette said. It was nice to sit down, she thought, even if the chair was hard and uncomfortable.

"And in answer to your question, help Cosette first," Grantaire said.

"Okay," Joly said, giving them a grin. "Just wait a moment."

He put the pile of clothes down on the desk and crouched in front of her. He reached out and put his hands on her head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were glowing a brighter blue than they had been before. His hands were cool at first touch, but then got colder and colder until it felt like he was holding blocks of ice against her cheeks.

She just felt like pulling away when he let go of her. "Right," he murmured. "I see what I'm dealing with."

Then he whirled away, back into the cupboard, and emerged with a blue gown. "I'm going to need you to change," he said, handing her the gown. "I'll need to be able to access your injuries properly." He straightened up and stared around the room, turning in a circle. "I, ah, seem to have misplaced my screen," he said, with a small frown.

At that moment, a bald man wandered past and called in, "I think Bahorel and Feuilly borrowed it."

Then he disappeared again.

Joly muttered under his breath. "Um, unfortunately, Cosette, you might have to get changed in the cupboard," he said, apologetically. "Unless you don't mind getting changed here. I won't look – I'll even turn my back –"

"I can deal with the cupboard," Cosette said, easing herself to her feet. "I'll be back in a second."

Once she had changed into the gown – and it was relief to get out of her sticky, bloodied clothes and get the fabric off her wounds – she went back into the room. Grantaire was drinking from a plastic beaker with a disgusted expression on his face.

In the next fifteen minutes, Joly had picked out glass from her wounds with a pair of tweezers, and then slapped a variety of different coloured pastes onto her legs and arms and hands and neck, wherever she had any cuts. All of the pastes smelled different and the resulting stench was not a pleasant one at all. It felt incredibly uncomfortable, and only served to feel more tired than she had done before. She was instructed to sit there and watch as Grantaire (who had put on the gown whilst she was treated) was covered in the same collection of pastes. He had less of them on his skin, though, because he had fewer injuries.

Whilst she watched, she was instructed to drink a pale pink liquid from another plastic beaker. It looked pleasant enough, but tasted like roast beef and burnt toast. It helped to take away some of the wooziness in her head and the ache that was deep set into her bones.

After half an hour, Joly ushered them down the corridor and into a shower block. All of the showers were separated into cubicles, and he left them there with the piles of clothes.

Cosette had never been more grateful to shower before, immensely enjoying the constant stream of hot water over her aching limbs. The paste washed away, and she was amazed to find that all of her cuts had shrunk to no more than tiny red pinpricks, and the bruises little dark dots. She still ached a little, but by the time the shower was done she felt a lot more relaxed. She dressed in the clothes provided for her, wished she had shoes or even just a pair of socks, and found Grantaire waiting outside the shower cubicle, sat on the floor next to the sinks. He, too, had been given a white T-shirt and a pair of grey jogging pants. His were a little too tight, whilst hers were a little too baggy. She wondered whether they'd put on the wrong set, but then he was up on his feet and hugging her.

"You look more like Cosette now," he murmured into her damp hair. "Shit, Cosette, I don't know what is going on but I am going to help us through this –"

"We both are," she corrected. "Both of us."

There was a knock on the door. It was Joly. "Hello," he said, cheerfully. "If you're both feeling up to it, we've prepared you some food. Nothing fancy, just some sandwiches, but…"

"That sounds lovely," Cosette said, linking arms with Grantaire, and shooting him a look that definitely said keep quiet.

OOO

The kitchen was down a flight of stairs. The kitchen was all steel surfaces and sleek lines, with a black tiled floor.

Courfeyrac was sat at the island in the middle, munching on cookies, and the sounds of cello came from a radio on one of the counters.

"Hello," Courfeyrac said, waggling crumb-coated fingers in their direction. "You two look a lot happier than when I last saw you."

There was a crash at the far end of the kitchen and a door banged open. A man barrelled out. He was tall, well over six feet and probably nearing seven if Cosette had to guess. He had dark eyes and high cheekbones, and a shock of blue-black hair. He was wearing a blue apron dusted with what looked like flour.

"Sandwiches," he said, pointing to the island. Two plates, bearing a sandwich each, sat at the far end, near Courfeyrac and his plate of cookies. "Just cheese, because I don't know what you like but I thought, hey, everyone likes cheese." He paused, bracing his hands on the edge of the island. "You do like cheese, right?"

"I'm so hungry I'd probably eat a horse right now," Cosette said, trying to give him a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure I could manage that," the man said. "My name is Bahorel, by the way."

"And he's joking," Joly said hastily. "He doesn't feed us horse."

"No, but I do have some crocodile if you fancy it," Bahorel said.

Cosette sat on one of the stools, and Bahorel pushed the plates closer to her. Grantaire sat on her other side.

She hadn't realised just how hungry she was until she took her first bite. It wasn't a particularly special sandwich, but it tasted like heaven, and she devoured the whole thing in a matter of minutes. Bahorel had an amused expression on his face when she was done, and Courfeyrac slid the cookies towards her.

Grantaire was picking at his sandwich, a habit she'd seen from him before when he was having a bad day. He'd pulled the crusts off and was nibbling at them, nose wrinkled. His hands were also shaking, and she knew why.

Sighing, she reached out and pulled the crusts out of his hands. "Aren't you hungry?" she murmured.

"I don't feel like eating," he said. "I just…"

"At least try to eat the actual sandwich," she suggested, pointing at the main body of the sandwich that lay discarded on the plate. "Rather than just the crusts." She dropped the crusts onto the plate as she spoke and gave him a rather pointed look.

He sighed. "You're not going to let me leave until I eat something, are you?" he said.

"Nope," she confirmed, helping herself to a cookie and biting into it. It was good – crunchy on the inside but gooey and soft in the middle, with more chocolate chips than actual cookie. It was the type of biscuit she aspired to bake but never quite pulled off. "These are good," she said, licking some stray chocolate off her lower lip.

"Thanks," Bahorel said, smugly. "Took me a while to perfect the recipe."

"Can I have it?" Cosette said, taking another bite. "I think my father would love these."

Grantaire let out a huff and threw down the remainder of his sandwich. "If you ever see him again," he muttered.

"I will," Cosette said, refusing to look at him. "Just eat your sandwich. Then you can have a cookie. I swear, they're almost better than sex."

Bahorel's grin grew wider, and more pleased. Courfeyrac broke off a bit of his cookie and threw it at Bahorel's head.

"She said almost," Courfeyrac said.

"Almost is good enough for me," Bahorel said happily. "Now, I'm going to go and finish cleaning out the fridge."

Grantaire only had a few other mouthfuls before he declared himself full. Cosette didn't believe him, but short of shoving the sandwich down his throat there wasn't much she could do.

"Where should I put these?" she said, lifting the plates.

"Oh, leave them," Courfeyrac said. "Bahorel will deal with it. He's cleaning anyway."

He slid off his stool. "We only prepared one room," he said. "After all, we only expected one guest. But I think Combeferre has made up a bed on the floor for you, Grantaire, if you don't mind sleeping…"

"The floor is fine," Grantaire said shortly.

The room that Courfeyrac showed them into was soulless, just concrete walls and concrete floors with a metal cabinet and a metal bed in the corner with green sheets on it. Sure enough, there was a bed on the floor, too; a quick prod from Grantaire told them it was an airbed.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning," Courfeyrac said, beaming. He had chocolate around his mouth, Cosette noticed with amusement. "Then you'll have your…ah, explanation. I hope you have a good night's sleep."

"Thank you," Cosette said, as he shut the door and left them to it.

She clambered into her bed. The mattress was hard and the top blanket was rough and itchy, but the one beneath it was soft enough. She crawled beneath them and pulled them up to her chin.

Grantaire shucked his T-shirt off and let it drop to the ground at his feet. He yawned. "You all right, Cosette?" he said, walking over to the light switch by the door. He paused a moment and frowned at the door itself. "Huh, no lock," he murmured.

"I'm just really, really tired," she whispered. She saw that the gun he'd taken from Éponine was in his pocket, the handle hanging out. She wondered if that was a safe place for a gun, but just hoped Grantaire knew what he was dealing with. "I kind of hope I'll wake up tomorrow and it's all just been a horrible, horrible dream."

"Yeah," Grantaire said, flicking off the switch. She heard his feet padding over the floor and then the rustle of fabric as he climbed into bed. The room was completely dark with no windows to let any light in. "We can hope, right?" he said after a few moments, but there was no conviction in it.

Instead of responding, she closed her eyes and fell asleep with in minutes, her body no longer able to resist sleep.