A/N: I've changed the formatting of this story slightly so that when it jumps to someone's POV it will say their names as a divider. The first name given will be who is actually 'narrating' this part of the story, and names after it will be the other characters in the scene. Names in brackets are characters who feature briefly, but will not always be named if it gives away part of the plot :) Let me know if this makes reading it a bit easier!

Twelve

Wanted

Enjolras and Courfeyrac (+Grantaire)

Enjolras could feel Courfeyrac's eyes burning into the side of his head as they watched Grantaire limp into the changing rooms.

"What?" Enjolras snapped, whipping his head around to glare at his friend.

Courfeyrac smirked and held up his hands, palms outwards. "Nothing," he said. "I just don't remember the last time you showed that kind of concern for any of us."

"Rubbish," Enjolras said, dismissively. "I'd give anyone the same instructions –"

"You're not Combeferre," Courfeyrac said, grinning. The doors to the changing rooms opened and Grantaire limped out again. There was water dripping from his face and clinging to the hair around his face, which looked a little flushed. He nodded at them both as he passed them and then climbed up the stairs, slow and careful as he minded his leg. When he was gone, Enjolras began to speak again.

"Speaking of Combeferre," Enjolras said, folding his arms over his chest, "He and Éponine are staying in the human world for the night. They found Gavroche –"

Courfeyrac's eyes lit up. "Did they say how he was?"

"Combeferre said he was looking thin," Enjolras said, chewing on his lower lip. "But he's not budging on coming to live here. He's looking for the seer, so they're staying where he last saw them – it's easier."

"Is there a safehouse nearby?" Courfeyrac asked.

"No." Enjolras sighed. "No, there isn't, and neither of them are particularly...good at spells. But, they don't think anyone is following them, so they've checked into a hotel."

"Sharing a bed or separate beds?" Courfeyrac's eyebrows waggled suggestively. Enjolras returned the look with an unimpressed one of his own.

"Why would that matter?" Enjolras asked.

"It might push Combeferre to make a move, or something, I don't know."

"Make a move?"

"Oh, Enjolras. Come on. I know you don't do the relationship thing, but you must have noticed –?" Courfeyrac's eyebrows now raised in a pointed manner.

"I don't do the relationship thing for good reason, as you know," Enjolras said, sharply. "This isn't a conversation I want to have, either."

"You never want to have this conversation." Courfeyrac shook his head. "I know what you're worried about –"

"Are you programmed by your very race into making people fall in love with you against their will?" Enjolras interrupted.

"No," Courfeyrac said, "But I do accidentally enchant people, which isn't pleasant." He sat down on the ground, heavy as a heap of bricks, and stared up at Enjolras until he felt compelled to sit down opposite him. Enjolras wondered, briefly, whether Courfeyrac had just enchanted him to do that but dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

"It isn't the same," Enjolras said. "I know your magic can be powerful, but I doubt that anything is quite on the same level as making somebody actually fall in love with you."

"You'd be surprised." Courfeyrac looped his arms around his knees, drawn up against his chest. "Take Grantaire."

"What about Grantaire?" Enjolras immediately thought of dark hair, surly eyes and his gruff voice, and pushed the components to the back of his mind where they belonged.

"We got talking. I'm really curious about him," Courfeyrac said.

"So am I," Enjolras found himself saying, which he hadn't even realised was true up until he said that. "So?"

"I asked questions, and I found I was getting answers," Courfeyrac said. "Which seemed really out of character for him. Then I realised my magic was making him tell me things. I mean, fuck, that isn't good, is it? Everyone has the right to keep secrets."

"What did he say?" Enjolras asked, curious. He was dying to know something about Grantaire; they knew so much about Cosette (not really through her choice, to be fair), but they knew next to nothing about Grantaire aside from Valjean had taken him in a few years ago and he seemed to worship the ground Cosette walked on.

Enjolras also knew he packed a punch and was more than capable in a fight – but he didn't seem to like it.

He shook his head, as if shaking water out of his ears, and awaited Courfeyrac's answer. Courfeyrac looked as if he was chewing it over in his mind.

Then he said, "I can't tell you. I promised I wouldn't. I seriously get the impression that he really doesn't want anyone to know about his past."

Enjolras cleared his throat, embarrassed and a little ashamed that he'd even ask. "I know you can't," he said. "I shouldn't have asked you to."

"You probably shouldn't have," Courfeyrac agreed.

"He just makes me –" Enjolras cut himself off, frustrated. When he looked up, Courfeyrac looked too smug for Enjolras' liking, so he finished off by saying, "Angry."

"Hmm," Courfeyrac said, with raised eyebrows and a twist of his mouth. "Sure."

Enjolras scowled.

Éponine and Combeferre (+Gavroche)

Éponine and Combeferre found themselves staying in an old-fashioned, rundown hotel ran by a rather glum, grey looking woman who was chewing gum. Their room came complete with chipped mirror, peeling wallpaper and cracks in the ceiling. Combeferre let her take the double bed, and she was asleep within minutes of putting her head on the pillow.

The next day dawned watery and pale. When Éponine woke up, Combeferre was sat in the threadbare armchair in the corner, reading through a bible with a furrowed brow.

"Good morning," he said, turning a page.

"Hmm." She pressed her face back into the pillow for a moment before sitting up, yawning. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Any news?"

"No," he said, still not looking up from the bible.

"You can read that?" Éponine asked, nodding at the bible even though he wasn't looking at her.

Finally, he raised his head, a small sigh escaping his lips. "It amazes me that so much human mythology has made its way into the demon court," he said. "Religious symbols, items, et cetera don't harm demons of my race any more than they hurt yours."

Éponine shrugged. "Just a question. Montparnasse used to be really obsessed with human vampire novels. He used to fancy he looked like one." She stood up, stretching out the kinks in her back.

"I'm going to pop in the shower," she said, slipping into their en suite.

The shower was exactly as she'd expected it – not particularly warm nor powerful, and she didn't have anything aside from complimentary soap to wash with, but it woke her up a little bit. She donned the same clothes she'd had on the day before, rushed and in a hurry as she heard voices in the room outside.

She burst out of the bathroom, her clothes damp and sticking to her skin, to find Gavroche sat cross legged on the bed. There were snowflakes clinging to his hair and his shoulders, and he was shuddering, the blanket from the bed draped over his legs. Combeferre hovered over him.

"I found her," he said, through chattering teeth. "She's living in Germany."

"Germany?" Combeferre frowned, and turned away, sliding a demon equivalent of a phone (she'd long suspected that Combeferre had designed and created it himself) out of the pocket of his trousers. His fingers began to tap over the screen. "Address?"

Gavroche reeled it off.

"You're freezing," Éponine said, coming to sit beside him on the bed. She took the blanket and draped it around his shoulders. "Fuck, Gavroche. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't drag you back to the compound –"

"I don't want to?" he suggested, scowling at her. "I have my own commitments, Éponine."

She raised her eyebrows. "You're like, twelve," she said.

"I'm fourteen!"

"What commitments can you possibly have?" Éponine said.

"I have friends now," Gavroche said. He lowered his voice. "Other demons. Kids. They have nowhere else to go, just like me."

"You have somewhere else to go," Éponine said. She could hear the note of desperation in her voice. She mentally began to calculate whether or not they could get Feuilly to add more rooms onto the compound so that Gavroche's new friends could move in, too. She knew he'd be happy to do it, they all would, it was partly what they were there for.

"Éponine." Gavroche's voice was gentle. "We've had this conversation so many times."

Let us have it one more time, she thought to herself. For whose benefit, she wasn't certain.

"There are three portals in Germany," Combeferre was saying now. "One in Berlin, one in Bremen, and one in Stuttgart. The closest one to where Favourite lives is Bremen, but that would still require a train plus buses..."

"Money isn't really a problem for us," Éponine pointed out.

"No," Combeferre said, "But the Bremen portal is only accessible from the Court Market portal."

"Shit," Éponine said.

"Shit indeed," Combeferre concurred.

OOO

The Court Market was one of the busiest places in the demon realm. Slap bang in the middle of the Demon Court, it circled the Demon King's palaces, and was home to all manner of different demons from all walks of life.

It had been a few years since Éponine had been there; she'd been in the realm the day before, but that had been a relatively quiet spot and no one had seen them.

The Court Market was different. It was teeming with life. She felt an odd sort of twisted affection as they emerged from the portal, taking in everything around her. Rows and rows of stalls selling all manner of things; one sharp-toothed demon sold necklaces of human fingernails and teeth, another a variety of bottled powdered bones; one stall sold cuts of meat, arranged on ice, another silks, velvets and satins in all the colours of the rainbow. A huge demon with lumpy, dark red skin and sharp horns protruding from his forehead was shouting about the books he had for sale; they were all thick volumes he promised were bound in leather made from human skin, and she had a suspicion the cover of one book bore a face with holes where the eyes should have been. Everywhere, demons scuttled about, from ethereally beautiful succubae to vampires sipping blood from milkshake glasses, to Squalidus demons with blood-encrusted fingernails scrabbling in the dirt.

"I hate this place," Éponine muttered under her breath, inching closer to Combeferre as they made their way down the filthy, cobbled street.

"Don't say that too loudly," Combeferre said, his voice equally low, as they were passed by a gang of the Court's guards, in their dark blue uniforms.

"Whereabouts is the portal?" Éponine and Combeferre ducked against the wall of a building as another group trooped past them, the heavy thud of their boots dulled somewhat by the grime on the cobbles. Her hands flattened against the wall behind her, and came away sticky with something when she and Combeferre stepped away.

"Down here," Combeferre replied, taking her by the elbow and tugging her down a narrow alleyway. It was dark, with no lights, and she could make out the faint shapes of people lurking in the shadows. One of them lurched at her, eyes glowing red, but Combeferre adjusted how they were stood so that his body was between them.

They had not yet reached the end of the alleyway when somebody hissed at them. Éponine felt for her gun and her knives, but then Combeferre had pushed her out of the alleyway. When he emerged behind her a second later, he was not alone, but was accompanied by a familiar figure.

Mabeuf was an elderly earth demon, whose talent was manipulating plants. His skin was mint green and papery, and his veins stuck out as a darker, emerald green, wending their way over his skin. His hair was flecked with dirt, changing it from snowy white to a pale grey.

Today there were vines twisted around his arms and stuffed into his gnarled fists. He beckoned at them with his knotted fingers.

"I can help," he whispered, then held a finger over his mouth. "You have been seen. They are looking for you. Come." The news didn't surprise Éponine, but the sick feeling in her stomach got worse.

He hobbled in front of them. "You need to go to Bremen, yes?" he said, his voice low. He was moving his hands in front of his face and above his head, the vines twisting out from his hands. Éponine felt one brush the top of her head.

"Yes," Combeferre confirmed. "We thought you were dead. You didn't reply..."

"Reply? Oh, yes." Mabeuf frowned. "Someone has been intercepting your messages."

"One got to Paloma," Éponine said.

"Paloma has different magic on her side," Mabeuf said. He lowered his voice even further. "I'm being watched."

Éponine and Combeferre stopped walking at the same time. "Is it wise that you help us?" Combeferre asked.

"My magic is keeping you concealed right now," Mabeuf said. "It should see you safely through the portal, if you keep following me." Éponine realised they had almost gone out of the reach of Mabeuf's vines, and they began to walk again, almost jogging to follow the older demon.

"I see them, every day," Mabeuf said. "They think I can't – they think I'm too old – but I'm not. I don't know how much longer I..." He trailed off and turned suddenly down another alley.

"You're always welcome at the compound," Combeferre said.

"Thank you," Mabeuf said. "I shall think on that." Another sudden turn, this time onto a wider street were the stalls were selling hot food. Éponine's stomach growled despite herself – even though she knew she wouldn't actually want to eat anything these demons were selling, she hadn't eaten in a while. They passed a stall selling fingers on skewers and one selling eyeballs from all manner of creatures; another little bar selling blood for vampires, this time in tankards rather than milkshake glasses.

"Not far," Mabeuf said, out of the corner of his mouth.

"Mabeuf!"

Mabeuf came to a sudden halt, as did Éponine and Combeferre. She gripped the back of Combeferre's shirt as she stumbled, but continued to cling on, as she recognised the voice that was speaking.

"Montparnasse," she hissed into Combeferre's back.

Montparnasse worked for her father. Although most of his gang were shifters just like him, Montparnasse was an incubus. He was beautiful in a manner that was almost disturbing. Enjolras' race was a distant relation to the incubi, but their beauty was soft and enchanting. There was nothing soft or enchanting about Montparnasse as he strode towards them now. His cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass, his eyes humourless, his mouth a blood red slash across his lower face.

"Montparnasse," Mabeuf said, his voice almost a wheeze. "Can I help you?"

"Éponine has been spotted," Montparnasse said. Éponine's heart almost stopped. She'd never been more grateful for the presence of the old demon now, carefully working his magic to keep them hidden from view. "In the market. Minutes ago. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Éponine? Who is Éponine?" Mabeuf replied.

"Don't play the fool. She's one of Enjolras' lot." Montparnasse practically spat the name out. Éponine inched closer to Combeferre. "She's Wanted by the King. You know that."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Mabeuf insisted. "I'm just on my way home."

Montparnasse's dark eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer to Mabeuf. "Are you sure?"

"Very." Éponine couldn't see Mabeuf's face, but she had no doubt that he was staring unflinchingly back at Montparnasse.

When Montparnasse spoke again, his voice was low, almost imperceptible.

"I can tell you're lying," he whispered. His eyes flickered over Mabeuf's shoulder. "Be careful," he added, before stalking away.

Mabeuf resumed his slow shuffle. The vines had stopped growing now, but were tangled around Éponine and Combeferre.

"We don't have long to go now," Mabeuf said, quietly.

"Who saw us?" Éponine hissed into Combeferre's shoulder blades. His body felt tense beneath her fingertips.

"It could have been anyone," Combeferre said. She could hear the frown in his voice, even if she couldn't see it. "We should have been more careful. Used a different portal..."

"You're here now," Mabeuf said. "Down here."

They turned down another alley, which largely appeared to be empty. At the end of it was a large hole in the ground. Mabeuf turned to face them, and he drew his hands towards himself. The vines pulled in with the movement, writhing and disappearing back into his hands.

"Go quickly," he said, eyes darting about. "I will try to be here when you return."

They thanked him, and turned to jump down the hole.

OOO

Favourite the seer now lived in a flat above a hairdressers. Éponine did not know what day of the week it was, but the hairdressers was closed, the blinds drawn and the lights off. The curtains on the windows of the flat above were drawn. There was a balcony, but the blinds on the doors leading onto it were closed as well. Overall, it gave off the impression that there was nobody inside.

Éponine hoped this wasn't the case.

"The stairs must be around the back," Combeferre murmured. His voice was subdued. He'd been this quiet ever since their arrival in Bremen, on the train and bus. She knew it was because of Mabeuf, their encounter with Montparnasse – choosing to go through that portal was possibly the stupidest decision they had ever made.

They walked around the side of the building, and found a short flight of steps leading up to the front door. There was a mat on the floor outside, encrusted with dried mud.

Combeferre climbed the steps ahead of her and knocked on the front door.

They had to wait for almost ten minutes before the door creaked open. A pale, tired face peered through the gap. It was Favourite – Éponine had seen her before – but she looked nothing like Éponine remembered. Her face was gaunt, her eyes drawn deep into her face, and there looked to be something sickly about her.

She said something in what Éponine assumed was German and then tried to close the door. Combeferre stopped her, and responded, also in German. When Favourite spoke again, she was no longer speaking German. "Please, leave," she bit out.

"We don't mean you any harm," Combeferre said, holding out his hands with his fingers spread wide, as if to reassure her. "May we come in? We just want to talk."

Favourite studied them for a little longer and then stepped back. She left the door open and disappeared.

Combeferre pushed the door open and stepped inside. Éponine followed him closely. The flat smelled of cigarettes with an underlying sense of muskiness. There were muddy footprints over the wooden floorboards, and dust over the empty bookcase.

Favourite stood in a doorway to their left. "Quick, shut the door," she hissed, flapping her hands. "And lock it. All the bolts."

Éponine did as she was ordered, and then followed Favourite and Combeferre through the doorway. This next room had brown walls and was sparsely decorated; there was a sofa, and a large table shoved to one side. The shelves on the walls were empty, the kitchenette bare. A single grey blanket lay in a tangled heap on the arm of the sofa. Éponine wondered what Favourite did with her time.

"I don't know what you want, but I can't help you," Favourite said, dropping down onto the sofa heavily. "I am cut off from our world. If I make one wrong step, the King will have me killed." Her eyes glistened with tears. "I can't be seen to associate with rebels." She whispered the word, as if it was dirty and she was expecting the King himself to jump out from beneath her table.

"And yet, here we stand," Combeferre said. "We can help you. You know that."

"What do you want?" Favourite asked, her voice wavering.

"You made a prophecy recently," Combeferre said. "That's what people are saying."

Favourite's face hardened. "What about it?"

"Was it genuine?" Éponine said.

"Of course it was. At that point it was more than my life was worth to go to the King with a false prophecy." Favourite sucked in a breath, her thin cheeks ballooning, then she let it all out in a rush. "Not that it did me any good. But he spared my life, which is more than I expected."

"You were lucky," Éponine murmured.

"I know. I caught him on a good day, obviously." Favourite's hands scratched at her skinny, bare arm. "Is that all you wanted to know?"

"We'd like to know what the prophecy said," Combeferre said. "If you don't mind."

Favourite hesitated for a moment, and that was when there was a banging on the front door. The banging was so hard it made the door rattle in its frame, and what little colour there was in Favourite's face drained away. Wildness crept into her eyes. "This is your fault," she hissed, and slid off the sofa. She crawled past them and into the hallway. "Get down," she threw over her shoulder. Éponine dropped instantly. From the hallway there came a high pitched wailing sound.

"They're Guards!" Favourite was shrieking. "What have you done?"

More banging. Combeferre was back up on his feet, and he was unlocking the doors that led onto the balcony. "Quick, grab Favourite," he hissed. "Before she lets them in or something stupid –"

But Favourite had come crawling back in, almost on her belly. "I can see them," she sobbed. "They've come for me. To kill me."

"Unlikely," Éponine muttered to herself. "They're after us. We're actually Wanted..."

Seeing that the seer was verging on hysterical, Éponine slid one of her knives out of their holster and brought the hilt down on the back of Favourite's head. She was grateful when the blow knocked Favourite out immediately. "Combeferre," she said. The banging was louder. "I need – I can't carry her –"

Combeferre shot forwards, scooped up the seer and threw her over his shoulder. Éponine scrambled to her feet and followed him as he ran out onto the balcony. He used a grimy table that was outside to jump up onto the edge of the balcony and drop down over the edge, onto the street below.

The glass on the front door shattered just as Éponine made it through the door. She didn't have time to second guess the jump she was about to make – if she had thought about it she might have shifted, that might have made it safer – but as it was she followed Combeferre's path up onto the table and up over the edge.

She hit the ground and rolled. The impact sent shocks of pain through her body, and one of her ankles felt like someone had shoved a knife through it. Wincing, she ignored the pain to roll up onto her feet.

"Let's go," Combeferre said, and he began to ran. She followed him, yanking her gun out of its holster.

"Where are we going?" she yelled.

"We need to get back into Bremen – portal back to the Market, then we need to get back to the compound," Combeferre called back.

"That's easier said than done," Éponine ground out. Up ahead was a bus stop and a bus had just wheezed to a halt at it, the doors rasping open. Éponine glanced over her shoulder – she couldn't see anyone, but then again, they only had Favourite's word for it that they had been demons at the door. What if it was just Favourite's human landlord?

Then again, she had reacted very badly if it was just someone looking for rent.

Éponine stopped thinking for a moment as Combeferre jumped onto the bus. Wondering what on earth he was playing at, Éponine joined him.

Combeferre was speaking rapidly in German, and then thrusting money at the bus driver and a ticket at her.

He shifted Favourite then so that she was cradled in his arms rather than over his shoulder, and then moved down the bus. He didn't stop until he was at the back, where he laid Favourite out across the seat. Éponine sat on one of the chairs in front, the ticket fisted in her hand, and twisted to glare at him. The bus pulled away from the kerb.

"This is your great plan?" Éponine hissed. "Catch a bus?"

"I told the driver that my friend is sick," he said. "This route doesn't go past a hospital, but –"

"Catching a bus," Éponine repeated. "Seriously? A fucking bus?"

The bus was going past the flat. As they neared it, two figures came around the corner of it, both wearing blue uniforms Éponine recognised from the demon realm.

"That's not even subtle," she said, more to herself than anyone else. Then she rounded on Combeferre again. "A bus?"

"It was the quickest thing I could think of," Combeferre said, and slid his demon phone out of his back pocket. "Now, I just need to check some things as I don't think we're on the right route. And put that gun away, it's a miracle nobody has started freaking out over it yet."

Éponine had forgotten her gun was still in her hand. There was only a handful of people on the bus and none of them were looking at her, so she put the gun away and pulled her jacket down so the holster was obscured better.

"I can't believe we're escaping from guards on a bus," Éponine muttered under her breath, sliding down in her seat.

"Stranger things have happened," Combeferre replied.

A/N: As some readers of my other stories might be aware I've recently been going through some personal troubles as my grandfather has passed away. That's why I haven't updated in a while. I go back to university at the end of this week as well so unfortunately my updating may slow down even more but I will try my hardest to update as often as I can.

Also, as well as the new dividers I'm thinking of doing a recap at the beginning of every update so everyone is clear on what is happening. Would that help anyone in reading it? Let me know if you think it'd be useful. Thanks for reading :)