63

Éponine spent the next day keeping to herself. She had a pile of books from the library she had not yet read, and she began to read the first, a romantic mystery novel that was apparently set in the future. The characters were living in a giant metal contraption that flew through the skies, an image Éponine could barely comprehend. She had just reached the first murder when there was a knock at the door.

She had been lying on her back, feet propped up on the arm of the couch, with her back to the door. She was alone; Inès had gone out in the morning to do her work for the Guardians, and Gavroche was out taking Hyacinthe for a walk, so there was nobody else she could call on to get the door for her.

With a sigh, she rolled off the sofa, placing the book down on the cushions once she was on her feet again. She smoothed out her dress. There was another knock at the door, louder this time.

She opened the door to find Enjolras stood there. He was frowning, which didn't bode well.

"Hello," she said. "What's the matter?"

"I've just come from breakfast with Clémence," Enjolras said, voice a little stiff. "She asked me to pass on a message."

"How was it?" Éponine asked, ignoring the last statement. "How was she, with you?"

"I received a stern lecture," Enjolras said. "Do you want to hear the message?"

"Is it by any chance come to lunch?" Éponine guessed, resting her shoulder against the doorframe.

"No, I think she's done with meals today," Enjolras said. "She said that you need to help Joly."

"Joly?" Éponine said, surprised.

"Yes, Joly." Enjolras looked impatient. "You know how he has been lately –"

"Of course I do." Éponine thought back to the Portal she had seen, of damp eyes in a usually happy face. "And that is what she told you?"

"No, I'm lying," Enjolras said, in a flat voice.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, thank you for passing on the message," she said. She paused. "I want to say thank you, as well, for..."

He knew what she meant. "You said thank you yesterday," Enjolras said, softly. "You don't need to thank me again."

"Then I won't," Éponine said. "This will be the last you hear on the subject, I promise."

"You don't mean that," Enjolras said, taking a step towards the stairs leading to the street.

She didn't respond, and just closed the door.

She gave a longing look towards the book she had been reading and knew she wouldn't be reading any more of it right now. Now the seed had been planted in her head, she felt like she had no other choice but to seek out Joly and talk to him. She was under no illusions about the seriousness of the task at hand; she knew she wouldn't have won him over by the time this day ended, whenever that may be.

But still, it could not hurt to start now.

She changed into her dark brown dress and picked out a green flowery shawl to wrap around her shoulders. Casting one more glance towards her book, she left her flat and walked to Joly's.

She had been there a handful of times, but not since they had moved in to their new home, so she spent a while trying to navigate her way. She found it eventually and knocked on the door.

It was Prouvaire who answered, wearing a white sheet wrapped in a complicated manner around his body. She didn't have the energy to question it, however, and instead said, "Is Joly here?"

Prouvaire shook his head. "He isn't. But Bossuet is," he replied, as if this made any sense at all.

"Well, I really wanted to speak to –" Éponine began, but she was cut off by the sound of Bossuet's voice floating down the corridor.

"Éponine, I'm glad you're here," he said, appearing at Prouvaire's shoulder.

"You are?" Éponine said, surprised.

"Yes, I've been wanting to speak to you," Bossuet said. "Please come inside."

Prouvaire stood aside so she could step into the flat. It smelled of baking cakes, sweet and warm, and she could hear humming from one of the doors to her left which sounded like Bérénice.

"Come with me," Bossuet said, leading her up one flight of stairs and then up another. He showed her into a sitting room, rather plain compared to the rest of the house. She stood awkwardly for a few moments until he directed her to sit down.

"What is this about?" she asked.

"You wanted to speak to Joly," Bossuet said.

"Is he hiding in a cupboard?"

He shook his head. "Of course not – he's gone out for a walk. That's all he seems to do lately...walk. He's not himself anymore."

"I had noticed," Éponine said.

"I'm very worried about him," Bossuet continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "I went to speak to the Guardians about him. They weren't particularly helpful, except for Éléonore, and I think that's only because of Combeferre. He's been looking at Portals, Éponine – that's supposed to be dangerous."

"It can be," she said. "If they become addicted. I know he has, by the way – I caught him watching a woman?"

Sadness flitted across Bossuet's face. "His mistress," he said. "Our mistress," he added, as an afterthought.

"You had the same mistress?" Éponine said.

"Yes, but it was complicated. It still is, I suppose." Bossuet buried his head in his hands. "I loved her. He loved her. She loved us, but I always felt like she loved him more, and maybe, that he loved her more than I did. I missed her when I came here, and I worried about her. But then I met Bérénice, and...I love her."

"Joly doesn't like that, does he," Éponine said, softly.

"Not at all." Bossuet raised his head from his hands. "He thinks we're betraying Musichetta. That's our mistress."

"Do you feel like you're betraying her?" Éponine asked.

"No," Bossuet said. "I know Musichetta would want us to be happy."

"But Joly disagrees?"

"I don't even know what Joly thinks anymore," Bossuet said, with a heavy sigh. "He won't talk to me properly anymore. I worry there is more to it than just that, but..."

"Do you think he'd talk to me?" Éponine linked her fingers together in her lap.

"It is possible," Bossuet said. "But I'm not feeling particularly confident about it."

"I've been asked to help him," Éponine confessed.

"By who?" Bossuet demanded with a frown.

"Her name is Clémence," Éponine said. "She's – she's been here for a very long time. Do you know about my...talents?"

"Your talents?" Bossuet said, confused, but then his expression cleared a little. "Oh, yes, I remember now – you can go to the living world, can't you?"

"Yes, and travel between this place and others, and I can create and end Portals...Well, Clémence has been teaching me about this, and she's asked me to help Joly to...move on," Éponine said.

"Move on?" Bossuet said. "Move on in the sense of, I don't know, accepting what has happened, or moving on as in...leaving? Because people can leave here, can't they?"

Éponine swallowed. "They can, yes. And...I suppose either. I don't know."

"I have a confession to make." Bossuet's eyes darted from side to side like he was expecting someone to come jumping out of the cupboards. Éponine hoped that Joly had indeed gone out for a walk and was not waiting to jump out at them. Suddenly, Bossuet's fingers were pulling at his shirt, opening it at the collar to reveal his chest.

She looked away. "Bossuet –"

"No, look," he insisted. "Look."

She did look. There were marks on his chest, marks she recognised almost from the gaping hole that still existed on her stomach when she cared to look. But it was different; it was paler, and almost closed, somewhat smooth looking. Almost like it had begun to heal.

She looked up at him, met his eyes.

"I've started to heal," he said, his voice soft and filled with wonder. "Bérénice, she died of an illness, but she says she feels different, and so do I. I feel lighter, and I feel as if..." He trailed off. "I mentioned it to Éléonore," he said. "She promised she would tell no one. But in her opinion, Bérénice and I will leave here soon."

Joly would not like that, Éponine thought to herself. "Are you happy about that?" she said instead.

"Yes," he said, simply. "I don't know what it will bring, but I am looking forward to it. I just wish that Joly could have the same sense of peace."

"I will try to help him," Éponine promised.

"Thank you," Bossuet said. "I don't know why, Éponine, but I really feel like you can."

"Do you know where I might be able to find him?" Éponine asked.

"I'm sorry." Bossuet shook his head. "Joly has never confided in me about where he goes. I just know that he walks."

Éponine felt disappointed. She had no idea where to start.

"I'm sure I'll manage to find him," she said, with a sigh.

Neither Prouvaire or Bérénice could shed any light on where Joly might be, so Éponine decided she would walk around and see if she could find him that way.

She had not been walking very long when she ran into a familiar face, but it was not Joly. It was Feuilly. He was stood on a corner where two streets bled into one another, his easel in front of him. The canvas upon it was stark white, untouched by paint, even though there were smudges of paint on Feuilly's hands.

That was not, however, the most unusual thing about the scene. What was unusual was that he was surrounded by sunflowers, of all different heights and sizes, apparently sprung out of the cobbled ground beneath his feet, somehow.

"I've never seen flowers do that before," she called, in greeting.

"I thought I might like to paint them," he said, hands braced on his hips.

"Without paint?" she said, smiling.

"Ah, you've caught me there," he said, returning her smile. "I was just about to conjure some."

"I don't suppose you have seen Joly today, have you?" she said, coming closer. One of the sunflowers brushed against her arm.

"I haven't seen him since the party," Feuilly said. "Why do you need to see him?"

"I just need to –" She stopped herself. "It's a long story."

"We are not exactly short on time here," Feuilly pointed out. "We are dead, after all."

"True – maybe one day I will tell you," Éponine said, "As you said, we have endless days for stories. But right now, I would like to find Joly."

"As I said, I haven't seen him since the party. But I know he sometimes goes away from the river – deeper into the city, I suppose." Feuilly began to conjure a palette in his hands, fashioned from wood.

"We're quite close to the river here, aren't we," Éponine said.

He nodded. "Yes. So you need to go in the opposite direction."

"Thank you," Éponine said. "I hope you have fun painting your sunflowers."

Feuilly bowed his head. "I hope you find Joly," he said, in return, and they smiled at one another before Éponine continued on her way.

A/N: I'm so sorry this took me so long to update! I've been very busy recently. I hope to update sooner, I go to Germany for six days on Thursday so after that I'm going to be writing as much as possible :)