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Nathalie Sancoeur had developed a stress migraine.
Nathalie knew there were four sequential stages of a migraine: prodrome, aura, headache, and postdrome. Her left eye twitched as she surveyed the interrogation room in front of her. Earlier in the day, she’d rocketed through the prodrome and aura phases--changes in mood and tunnel vision, respectively--and careened straight towards headache.
Splitting pain assaulted the left side of her head, taking up residence behind her eye. Her temple throbbed, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. The effort to keep her head still strained her neck. She licked her dry lips.
She was one of the unlucky six million French citizens who suffered the condition. Usually, mentally reviewing statistics like the incidence rate of migraines in countries across the world comforted her.
Not today.
Today, she sat stiffly in a nondescript folding chair at a nondescript table, being grilled by Paris’ most bumbling cop as a murder suspect. Gabriel had asked her to ‘take care’ of the statements for him. “Yes, sir,” she’d said. Even though he was giving a simultaneous statement recounting the events they’d seen, it was her job to clear his name.
Today, she had to figure out how to convince Officer Roger Raincomprix that her employer and his son were innocent bystanders, hopefully without sacrificing herself.
Roger tapped his pen on his yellow legal pad. “Other witness statements have said that Gabriel and Adrien Agreste were angry at each other during the twenty minutes during which the event occured. Why is that?”
Today, Nathalie stared neutrally at Officer Roger. “The Agrestes were angry with each other before they left the car, long before they arrived at the museum, over something innocuous,” she said tonelessly. “Adrien Agreste was most certainly not upset at anything his father did in the room.”
***
Her two charges had barely spoken a civil word to each other that day, ever since Gabriel had reprimanded his son in the sedan for spending too much time with his friends.
“They’re bad influences,” Gabriel had said, lip curling with a sneer that Nathalie, sitting in the front seat, caught in the rear view mirror. “And I’ll not have you corrupted.”
“Your standards,” Adrien had said, rearing back as much as the padded seat would allow, “are impossible to meet.”
It wasn’t the first time Adrien had spoken back to his father in recent times. All things considered, his impudence was fairly tame, with minimal sass.
Gabriel had still taken his son’s words as a personal affront. Of course he did, Nathalie had thought, holding back a long-suffering sigh.
As the Agrestes and Nathalie had exited the car at the Louvre, Gabriel scolded his son. “Right now, you must comport yourself with the dignity befitting an Agreste. I will not be shamed by the misguided audacity of a child.”
Adrien, practiced model that he was, smoothed his face so it looked like he was… fine. Everything was fine. Completely and totally fine, which was good for Nathalie because it meant she wouldn’t have to manage Adrien’s feelings on top of his father’s.
***
“What happened when you arrived at the Louvre?” Officer Raincomprix asked, making a note on his pad of blue-lined papers.
“The curator, Mr. Kubdel, gave a long-winded speech,” Nathalie said simply, sipping her water the officer had given her, wishing that he’d also offered her some ibuprofen as well. “Then he revealed the statue, and left for twenty minutes to address the public.”
“That is the exact twenty minutes we’re interested in,” Officer Raincomprix said. “Please, continue.”
***
Before Mr. Kubdel had left, he’d raised a hand in a dramatic gesture, thanking each of the group’s members individually for coming. “Thank you, especially, to my lovely children, who have been the pillars of my success,” Mr. Kubdel said. “I love you, Alix. I love you, Jamil.” The curator embraced his kids.
Nathalie couldn’t tell if she was nauseated from her headache or the saccharine display of familial affection Probably the migraine, she thought, wondering when she’d turned into a bitter old spinster.
Probably around the same time she'd recognized that she and the two Agrestes she loved would never make a happy family. Or any kind of a family at all.
She tried very hard not to think about that.
Mr. Kubdel then decided to talk about everything but the statue that they were all here to see. He droned on and on, thanking them for their continued support of the arts and their sizable donations to the museum itself. He told Nadja Chamack that he was looking forward to seeing her story about the statue on the news.
Nathalie was ready to die. Searing pain assaulted her head, and she had to forcibly unclench her jaw before her molars cracked.
Mr. Kubdel finally dropped the name of the sculpture’s artist: VAL.
Nathalie perked up. She was familiar with Goutard’s work. The woman was no Rodin, but she’d won awards for her light, contemporary bronze sculpture work. Her pieces were playful and simplistic, representing humans and the space around them.
Nathalie herself possessed one of VAL’s early works, a relief piece of a mother embracing her child. Nathalie was saddened to hear of the sculptor’s untimely death in 2016.
Nathalie turned her head to let out a ladylike cough. The action of looking to the right nearly floored her. She turned her head back to face Mr. Kubdel, who was attempting to build excitement for the statue’s reveal, as he had been doing for the past thirty minutes.
“Finally, the reveal!” Mr. Kubdel had said.
Finally, Nathalie thought. She would kill for an ice pack. Before she could stop herself, she pictured Gabriel expressing his concern, asking whether the pain had stopped splitting her head wide open. She closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Nathalie,” he’d say, and then place a warm, heavy hand on her shoulder. She’d lean into his touch, lingering just a smidge longer than was appropriate for his assistant. She dreamed of what she could be doing, rather than what she should.
She opened her eyes.
Gabriel was in Adrien’s face, whispering. “I already told you: no, that boy, your friend, is not welcome here. Inviting such riff raff to a high-society function such as this is wholly inappropriate. Do not dare speak out of turn in dignified company again.”
From the tightness around the boy’s eyes and the way he set his jaw, Nathalie knew he was struggling to repress tears. She’d never seen Adrien cry before, but this… this was close.
In an uncharacteristic fit of pique, she named her migraine Gabriel. She loved the man, but the way he treated his son… Nathalie shook her head and instantly regretted the action. She saw stars.
Mr. Kubdel removed the sheet.
The statue was, as Nathalie had suspected, an edition of Inéquilibre, a bronze sculpture inspired by the ruined temples under restoration at Angkor Wat in Cambodia. The piece questioned the place of mankind, the search for harmony within the imbalance that is offered to each person.
Out of the twelve editions, only one was currently placed publicly within SkySuite, the highest residential tower of Singapore. This edition was small enough to fit into a purse. VAL’s early works were all small, Nathalie remembered.
The statue was transcendent. Gazing upon the dappled, interlocking bronze squares, Nathalie almost forgot her headache.
Almost.
No one else seemed as rapt by the statue as she was. Chloe Bourgeois scoffed. “Squares?” she said, displaying a remarkable lack of culture. “That’s what we came here to see?”
“Yes!” Mr. Kubdel said, and began to rattle on about the statue’s intrinsic mischievous qualities and its ability to make one question the very fabric of--
His wristwatch beeped. “My, my, is that the time?” he said, eyes widening as he checked the digital screen. He wiggled his wrist, as if by shaking the timepiece he could change the result. “Ah! I need to depart. Please make yourselves comfortable during my absence. I should only be a few minutes. Excuse me.”
Blustering, he left.
The fourteen occupants stared at one another. Then the room erupted into noise.
Gabriel and Adrien continued to snarl at each other, each radiating tension by the set of their shoulders, despite the plastic smile fixed on Adrien’s face. The signs of their spat would be invisible to anyone else, but had been clear as day to Nathalie.
Nathalie had wished she could don the Peacock miraculous at that moment--a fact she did not impart to Officer Raincomprix. “Doosu, spread my feathers,” she’d command, and endowed with Mayura’s super strength, Nathalie could pick up the Agreste boys by the scruffs of their necks and shake them.
Not that she would ever do that. The three of them had been in public, and she always supported Gabriel in public. And technically? A father-son spat was none of her business.
At least, that was what she’d tried to convince herself of, as her searing migraine made her want to drop to her knees and scream.
The Bourgeois parents sniped at one another. Chloe smirked at her father, who was currently being flayed alive by his wife, Audrey Bourgeois. She already looked drunk off of the refreshments being served; a wine stain spilled down her pantsuit, and she slurred her words. She gripped her wine glass in white-knuckled fingers. Jean, the butler, left the room, presumably to find something.
Jagged Stone, guitar in hand, fended off the advances of Lila Rossi, who was gushing about how she used to be a roadie. Nathalie wondered why the girl was even here. She’d claimed--loudly--that she was representing Prince Ali. Nathalie made a note on her tablet to look into it. If Gabriel wasn’t going to keep the mademoiselle on a tighter leash, that unpleasant duty would fall to Nathalie.
Nathalie directed her gaze away from Lila Rossi, only to land on her and Gabriel’s enemies. Chloe Bourgeois--Queen Bee, Nathalie’s mind reminded her--had crossed to Ladybug and was attempting to get a selfie with her.
Ladybug stalked away from Chloe, glaring at the floor. She spotted Adrien, and gave him a soft smile, which he didn’t see because he was too busy pretending to look at the statue to avoid looking at his father. Nathalie logged the superheroine’s expression away.
Nathalie despised Ladybug. The woman--child?--constantly thwarted Gabriel’s schemes. All he wanted to do was to revive Emilie. Was that really too much to ask? But no, Ladybug and Chat Noir were always in the way. Nathalie dreamed of the day Gabriel would be happy. She loved the man, and therefore his goals were her own. She would do anything to achieve those goals that would lead to his happiness.
Nathalie still didn’t know what her role would be when Emilie returned. It was distinctly possible that the man Nathalie loved would… dismiss her. He wouldn’t need her once he was happy, right?
She tried very hard not to think about that, too.
Lila Rossi left the room. So did Ladybug, narrowing her eyes at the path Lila had taken. Nathalie wondered why they’d left. She turned her head to let out a ladylike cough, once again regretting the action.
“But dear,” Andre Bourgeois begged his wife, “we’re a family!”
Nathalie noticed how Adrien jerked at the word family. Poor kid. If Gabriel was further annoyed by Adrien’s uncharacteristic slip in demeanor, Nathalie couldn’t tell. Her headache pounded between her temples, shifting to cover her forehead.
Gabriel and Adrien were still carefully not touching each other. They stood exactly as close as was needed to give off the impression that they were getting along. Gabriel shifted on his feet, and Adrien mirrored him, copying his father as if they were part of some intricate dance.
Which they were, Nathalie surmised.
Her eyes wandered around the room. Near the Bourgeois family, another fight was breaking out, this time more physical. Alix Kubdel used one of her skates as a weapon to bludgeon her obnoxious brother, Jamil. She threw the skate at him, but it missed and slammed Audrey Bourgeois in the stomach, shattering her wine glass and spilling even more red liquid down her pantsuit. The woman screamed hysterically, forcing Nathalie to squint as the noise increased her headache.
Nadja Chamack was approaching the siblings, speaking rapidly into her microphone, as if she were on camera. She wasn’t trying to break up the fight, merely reporting on it--and possibly egging them on. D’Argencourt was waving his sword around, demanding that Alix and Jalil stop fighting right this instance--unless they’d like to take on a more formidable opponent, such as himself.
Audrey Bourgeois snarled at Alix, and advanced on the girl in a drunken stagger, murder in her eyes. Her pitiful husband tried to soothe her. Chloe cheered her on.
Alix Kubdel stood firm, one skate on and one skate off, her fists clenched at her sides.
But Audrey Bourgeois made a detour to Nadja and D’Argencourt. She knocked the microphone and sword out of their hands. “Stop making fools of yourselves!” she slurred. “Andre! What… What was I just doing? It was something important.”
“Um, you were…” Andre started. Nathalie didn’t bother listening to the rest.
Lila returned, sans Ladybug.
Jean the butler, surprisingly calm in the eye of the storm, served Nathalie a drink. She took it, and sipped from the edge of the glass, enjoying the burn the alcohol gave her. She knew she shouldn’t drink, not on the job, and not with her headache. Alcohol triggered migraines. She might end up with a hangover. But it was only polite, wasn’t it, to enjoy the refreshments?
And God knew, she needed a drink.
Nathalie knocked back her drink in one gulp and handed the glass to Jean.
The group snapped to attention as Lila Rossi crashed to the floor, tugging on Jagged Stone and bringing him down with her. His guitar landed underneath them. The instrument snapped in half, and he, too, screamed. Nathalie winced at both the high-pitched shouting and the childish display before her.
Lila had fainted. Or, Nathalie amended, as she caught Lila peeking, pretended to faint.Interesting, Nathalie thought, wondering what Lila could possibly gain by faking that. Attention? Possible. Sympathy? Also possible. Potentially backing up her claims of various diseases? Nathalie bit back a scoff, annoyed at being unable to guess at the girl’s motivations. Usually she’s more targeted in her manipulations.
***
Nathalie cleared her throat. “I find it important to mention here that Lila Rossi is a compulsive liar.”
“On what evidence?” Officer Raincomprix asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” Nathalie said. She had no intention of explaining her incontrovertible proof, as that would implicate Gabriel in the influence of a minor to harass other minors. Not a crime, necessarily, but the insinuation of wrong-doing would be bad PR.
Nathalie was excellent at managing Gabriel’s image, and she wasn’t going to stop that now.
And she was sure Officer Raincomprix would forget to press about Lila. The man wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.
Nathalie sipped her water. “For now, I’d like to tell you about what happened next…”
***
The group--including Adrien, and sans Gabriel, who hung back with Nathalie--crowded around the insensate girl.
Out of the corner of her eye, Nathalie noticed Ladybug reentering the room. She surveyed the scene, and ran over to the unconscious Lila and the teary-eyed Jagged.
“Give her some air,” Ladybug said, spreading her arms to hold back the crowd. Adrien gently touched her arm, and then pulled back. He beamed at his hand. Nathalie wondered if he would ever wash it again, and logged away his reaction.
“Give her some air!” Ladybug sounded oddly bitter about having to run interference between Lila and the crowd. Nathalie logged that reaction away, too.
“Let’s get out of here, Nathalie,” Gabriel muttered, and Nathalie snapped to attention, raising her tablet as a shield. “These juvenile antics bore me. Let’s go back to the manor and get some work done.”
“We can’t, sir,” she said tonelessly. “The museum is locked.”
Gabriel scowled. Nathalie looked at him impassively.
She wondered why she was so good at schooling her features into an expression of neutrality, especially around the Agrestes. Impassivity was a certain form of armor, Nathalie knew; if she didn’t react to other people’s rampaging emotions, she’d be better able to protect herself.
And impassivity made her more efficient at her job. That was the most important reason, Nathalie decided.
She had to support Gabriel. She loved him.
And Adrien, too.
Gabriel stomped his way past her. “I need some air."
***
Officer Raincomprix spoke up. “So Gabriel Agreste left the room during Mr. Kubdel’s speech to the public?”
“Yes,” Nathalie said, resisting the urge to incline her head. She didn’t want to move at all. “But I was with him the entire time.”
“Please continue, Miss Sancouer.”
***
Before following Gabriel, Nathalie had spared a glance at Adrien. He was talking to Ladybug, rubbing the back of his head. His cheeks were cherry red, and his smile was gentle. As loathe as she was to leave him in the superheroine’s company, Nathalie determined that he was safe. Ladybug wouldn’t do anything to Adrien Agreste in public.
“Yes, sir,” Nathalie said to Gabriel. Head throbbing, she left with him, and watched as he stalked around the art pieces in the room. He moved, panther-like, prowling around the sculptures and reliefs. She took a moment to admire the graceful way he walked, and could almost imagine him donning the mask. She’d witnessed his transformations into Hawkmoth several times in the past--which she did not explain to Officer Raincomprix. Transformations both literal and figurative.
Gabriel was whip-smart and determined. Controlling akumas and bending other people to his will was child’s play for him. He was obsessed with reviving his wife, the ultimate expression of love. Nathalie admired him more every day. He’d truly come into his own.
He looked at Nathalie and her heart sang. Squinting from her migraine but ignoring it, she watched him walk up to her. “Feeling better?” she asked, licking her lips. If she leaned closer, she could almost catch the scent of his subtle, musky cologne.
“Yes,” he said, and turned back to the original room without another word.
Nathalie turned to follow him too quickly. Nausea kicked her in the throat. She paused, collecting herself, and then caught up to her employer.
The moment she returned, something felt off. It took her a minute to realize what was wrong: the room felt too open. Nathalie wondered what caused the change. And then she realized the imposing presence of the work of art was gone. All that was left on the dias was a sheet. Nathalie felt a stab of regret. She would have liked to view VAL’s work again.
No one else seemed to notice the statue was missing, too distracted by the hurricane of activity taking place. Nathalie nearly copied Lila and fainted herself as the cascading noises slammed into the assistant’s head.
Ladybug was doing stupid yo-yo tricks, her bright eyes fixed on Adrien. Pink dusted her cheeks, and her smile was tender and meek.
Audrey Bourgeois was leaning on Andre and Chloe. Vomit stained the front of her pantsuit in addition to the wine.
Jagged Stone was still whining about his broken guitar. “Oh, man, how am I going to replace Daria? She was practically a family heirloom! If I had a family…”
Alix and Jamil Kubdel were slapping each other, each blaming each other for something related to their father, who apparently played favorites. D’Argencourt was waving his sword around, challenging the twins.
Nadja Chamack was crawling around on the floor, presumably searching for the microphone she had apparently lost.
Lila still appeared insensate on the floor. Jean the butler was standing next to her, hands clasped behind his back.
D’Argencourt whipped his sharpened sword forward, but he accidentally let go of the dangerous weapon. It hurtled towards Adrien. Nathalie’s eyes widened, and a shriek built up in her throat. But before she could let it loose, Ladybug leapt in front of Nathalie’s son and smacked the sword away with her yo-yo.
The blade whipped away from Adrien and embedded itself in Jean’s neck.
***
“Wait!” Officer Raincomprix interrupted. “You’re saying that Ladybug is responsible for the victim’s death?”
“I am,” Nathalie said coolly. “If she had been more careful…”
“B-But she’s a hero of Paris…”
“She is,” Nathalie said, repressing a frown. “But if she were really a hero of Paris, don’t you think Mr. Jean-Beau Bassett would be here today, with his family?”
Officer Raincomprix scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Continue.”
***
Jean stood stock still for a moment. The group sucked in a collective breath. Then he moved, clawing at the sword. Fisting his hands around the weapon, Jean tore the blade out of his neck.
Patterns of injury to the carotid include dissection, formation of pseudoaneurysm, and thrombosis, Nathalie thought, recalling a journal article she’d once read on recognizing and managing traumatic neck injuries. Prompt action is required to preserve life.
Blood spurted from the wound, staining Jean’s white undershirt. He whipped around in circles, leaving a pattern of blood spatter on the floor that Nathalie thought was most curious.
In cut carotid arteries with 100 milliliters of blood through the heart at each beat--at 65 beats a minute--a completely severed artery will spurt blood for about 30 seconds, Nathatlie thought, as the scent of Jean’s gushing arterial blood punched her in the nose, and the blood will not spurt much higher than the human head.
“Ccrrrggh!” Jean gurgled, and dropped to the floor. Chloe squawked.
Jean twitched and remained still. The group stood, watching him, stunned.
Nathalie stared expressionless at the body that used to be the Bourgeois butler. Jean… Beau? Jean-something was laid out on the floor. Despite all the dirty laundry she had taken care of as an executive assistant, Nathalie had never seen a dead body before. She felt curiously detached from the scene as the people around her screamed and spoke expressions of disbelief.
***
Officer Raincomprix interrupted her narrative once again. “You weren’t disturbed by seeing a dead body?”
“I didn’t say that,” Nathalie said. “I was clearly in a state of shock.”
“Please continue, Miss Sancouer,” Officer Raincomprix said.
***
Adrien looked green, his eyes blown wide. He gagged, covering his mouth. Nathalie wondered if he’d thrown up a little. She and Ladybug stepped towards him, but Gabriel got there first. He placed a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder, offering him the care that Nathalie had wanted for herself earlier.
Chloe Bourgeois burst into tears. She wailed, throwing her head back and raising her sharp-nailed hands in the air in the shape of claws. Nathalie wanted to kill her instead to get the excruciating noise to stop.
Audrey Bourgeois slapped her daughter on the back. “Chloe, dahling,” she slurred, “he’s just a servant. There’s no need to get so upset.”
The mayor frantically steered his wife away from their daughter as she howled.
“I loved Jean!” Lila’s voice called from the floor. She stood, her eyes wild and wounded. “He was my cousin!” Jagged Stone awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.
Ladybug spun to face Chloe. The superhero slapped her own cheeks. “Oh, my gosh!” she said. “I didn’t mean for this to happen! I was only trying to protect Adrien!” She paced in circles, hugging herself and panting.
Nathalie watched impassively, wondering if she would panic as much if she had just killed someone. Probably not.
Adrien approached her cautiously, as if she were a wounded animal, and took her shoulders. Her eyes whirled. “Hey,” he said, and her gaze refocused, searching his face. “It’ll be okay--”
Adrien was interrupted by Gabriel grabbing his shoulder and dragging him back. “She’s a murderer. Stay away from her.”
Ladybug gasped. Adrien snarled at his father, pulling away from his grip. “She’s just saved my life!”
And now they were glaring at each other again. Nathalie wanted to smack them both.
Nathalie noticed that Mr. Kubdel chose then to reenter the room. He surveyed the scene, and then paled, turning white as a sheet. He fiddled with his tie and looked like he was about to choke. “The b-butler. He’s dead! What happened?”
People shouted over one another, all trying to explain. Nathalie screwed her eyes shut.
Mr. Kubdel looked torn between scrambling to get away and staying rooted on the spot. His eyes darted towards the doors, and he worked his mouth like a fish. “E-Everyone stay here!”
***
“So you see, Officer Raincomprix,” Nathalie said, sipping on the water the precinct had offered her, “that is what I saw. Mr. Jean-Beau Bassett is dead, and Ladybug is at fault.”
“You’re all suspects, Miss Sancouer,” Officer Raincomprix said, clicking his pen shut. “Maybe. Wait here. I will be back for more questions in a bit.”
Officer Raincomprix stood and exited the room, slamming the thick, metal door. Pain knifed the back of Nathalie’s skull, and she winced.
She glanced to her left. Adrien had been held in an adjacent room. All that separated them was a pane of glass. He was alone, holding his head in his hands.
Nathalie stood, and approached the glass. She tapped on it. “Adrien,” she said, despite knowing he couldn’t hear her.
Adrien jumped. He scrambled to his feet immediately and came over to her, pressing his palms on the clear barrier keeping them apart. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d been frantically combing through it with his fingers and the products he used weren’t enough to keep the strands in place. Nathalie frowned.
He was saying something. Probably her name. Despite her massive headache stabbing her eyeballs, Nathalie focused on his mouth. He seemed to be saying, ‘are you okay?’
“Yes,” she said, nodding. The tiniest of smiles tugged at Nathalie’s lips. Nathalie had already decided that protecting him was worth any cost, but the reminder of why she adored the boy was nice. She hoped--with a deep and abiding hope--that she would one day be able to restore his family to him.
Adrien spoke again. “I’m worried about you.”
“Thank you, Adrien,” Nathalie said, placing her hand on the glass to meet his. “I’ll be fine.”