Hare of Misfortune

Jeanne was sharp, somehow catching a twitch from her ear. Rachel’s eyes fell to the road, integrating the detail. France must have their eye on her due to her priority treatment, but there were hidden layers to this conversation.

Sure, in a situation like The Oscillation, many high-level people would be flying in to speak to the US President, so why single out Arthur and the UK compared to other foreign visitors to DC? It could have been blind luck, but given the prickly misfortune vibes she got from the saint, she knew exactly what the blonde was doing. France had insider information about her.

Ticking off boxes in her head, Rachel’s narrowed eyes lifted to the smiling blonde. Immediately, her mind went to possible leaks: Saint Barbara, a saint, which was unlikely given her screening, or Astra, the hacker for hire who happened to insert themselves into the operation and disappear soon after. They knew about the UK, Relica, and her Hellish origins, which would be a hot topic for a saint, as Barbara, or even Maria, had already demonstrated.

When Rachel didn’t pursue the topic, Jeanne slid right past it, instead choosing to chat with Barbara. The bright and bubbly blonde kept the discussion light until they were escorted into the elevator to reach the Situation Room.

Holding her hand behind her back, the woman hummed, and a subtle, intimidating pulse of pressure locked the air in Rachel’s lungs. ”Your outfit has a certain way of drawing eyes... I’m surprised you’d allow her to wear that while meeting your President, Saint Barbara.”

Rachel eased out the tension in her chest, maintaining a cool cadence; the Secret Service members gave each other uncomfortable looks, thinking it was fashion-related, but Barbara knew it was the potent, hellish force stored within that drew Jeanne’s attention.

The Marine officer gave a short chortle. ”Personally, I think Rachel’s attire is quite acceptable. There is a change of clothes in the works. Is this where we part ways?”

”Haaa.” Jeanne’s pressure flipped off like a switch as she gave her a curious smile. ”It seems so. And I hope I didn’t come off as rude, Rachel. You certainly do look quite nice, all things considered.”

”Well played, Jeanne...” Rachel weakly chuckled as a stern, black-haired man met them as the doors slid open. ”If you or Ambassador Charlemagne want to discuss things later, I’m sure you’ll find me. Have a good evening.”

”I appreciate the open invitation,” the man said, offering a nod as they passed into the underground hallway. ”Saint Jeanne, thank you for waiting. Why don’t we find somewhere to have dinner?”

The doors slid shut, and Barbara let go of a pent-up breath. ”Politics is not my favorite arena.”

Rachel let out a dry chuckle, her attention wandering to all the people bustling about, busy compiling or browsing reports from all over the globe. ”I think I’m beginning to see the appeal.”

Dropping her off into a well-guarded, triple-security checkpoint room, one of the Secret Service agents took her to her first, and hopefully not last, live audience with the United States President and the four-star general.

Wheeled into the expansive underground conference room underneath the White House, she tried to sit a little straighter as she caught sight of the white-haired, fifty-eight-year-old leader of the United States of America. His feathery hair was parted on the left side, swept back, and neatly cut.

He sported a rather defining white beard, thick and trimmed in a way that framed his weathered face—if word was to be believed, he used to be a farmer out of Kansas in his younger days. His perfectly fitted suit showed that he kept up with physical exercise, as well. This was what she’d been mentally preparing for.

”President Capell, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The older man’s narrow eyes shifted from a massive whiteboard, with Tom clearing it of data as she entered the space. Projecting a deep, weathered tone, he promptly moved to shake her hand as she was wheeled forward, not wearing a smile.

”Call me Leo; this isn’t the time for formalities and flowery language. Tom tells me you’ve got vital intelligence that could change the scope of this crisis. I hope there are some bits of good news in that report.”

Leo’s grip was firm and strong, but it eased as she grimaced, ears twitching at her far weaker pressure. ”How is your condition?” He motioned to a bed set up in the corner. ”I have a medical team always on standby, and if you need to rest, I prepared in advance.”

Tom chuckled as he finished wiping the data clean. The guard returned to his post and closed the door behind them, giving them privacy. ”I suspect rest is the last thing Rachel wants. I’d say the woman has her sights set on public office if she wasn’t so damn invested in fighting.”

Pumping her hand a few times to stop the tingles, Rachel cleared her throat and let out a nervous laugh. ”I...don’t think I have a choice at this point. As to how I feel, I’d say I’m at peak physical condition for a five-year-old girl and on the up.”

Her focus drifted to the massive whiteboard and the colorful dry-erase markers for organizing data. It didn’t take long for her tone to lower, her vision locking onto the general. ”Before we get into anything else...”

”Relica?” Tom sighed, rubbing the top of his bald head and moving to one of the many cream folders spread all across the table. ”I wondered if she or Saint Jeanne would be the first topic you brought up.”

Leo pulled out one of the cushioned chairs and sat down, settling into a comfortable position. ”France knows quite a bit about the Miami incident; you did well there, by the way. Charlemagne even knew about the UK’s involvement. As for the names, it seems many European nations are adopting the name of their legends to hide their previous identity or spark interest from the public.”

”I’m sure the opposite is true,” Tom muttered, moving to another folder. ”Relica is still MIA, but we’re certain she hasn’t left the country. A submarine that small couldn’t make the journey, and we had some potential sightings in South Carolina. Agents are on the ground working on it, but I’m of the opinion that with the myth or legend of Merlin, we’re not going to find them unless they want to be found.”

Rachel leaned against the arm of her wheelchair and rubbed her forehead. ”I figured as much. You won’t know more until you speak to Arthur. Ugh. Is that his real name? No, I guess it doesn’t matter... Dammit. If only I hadn’t been so arrogant and just killed her when I had the chance. I suppose that could be a product of the Hell Moon...”

”Hell Moon?” Leo repeated, stroking his beard.

Figuring she had to start somewhere, she began with their previous topic of France’s high levels of intelligence on their Miami Beach mission.

”Well, on that note, why don’t we get right into it...because, for only a few days, there is a lot to discuss. How did France know enough to take an interest in me? My educated guess... Astra was working for them.”

”That snake,” Tom hummed, adding his name to the board with Charlemagne, Jeanne, and France, each potentially their own interest group. ”We don’t have any technology in here to hack, but we have our own security expert who’s now locking everything down; it’s probably why he hasn’t made contact yet.”

Rachel rubbed between her eyes before taking a more comfortable position. ”Astra is hired out and has their own agenda. I suspect they were probably captured by the French before The Oscillation, and maybe went rogue after; still, there’s a history with them, so Astra reached out to get access to resources they didn’t have. We can’t be sure if Astra isn’t actually a group of people, either. I can’t think of any other way they would be in direct contact with France this soon, but...why don’t we go back to the beginning.”

Taking on a more serious note, she looked into the President’s intelligent, brown eyes. ”Let’s start with The Oscillation, where Cerridwen, the Celtic goddess, blessed me.”