The story behind how General Cross Marian of the Black Order, renowned debtor and playboy extraordinaire, ended up with his eighteen-year-old, former idiot apprentice Allen Walker blue-faced in a corset and propped upon the General’s knee is a rather interesting story indeed.
Let’s start at the beginning for the sake of clarity, and Cross’s slowly but surely deteriorating sanity.
It all began with the European Branch’s very own chief, Komui Lee…
m e m o r i a e .
“You’re going on a mission,” Komui said. Cross tipped back his head, red hair spilling over the back of the luxuriously-cushioned chair he sat in. He regarded the supervisor with his single lidded, scarlet eye. A pregnant silence settled between them, until finally Cross sighed.
“So soon after my manumitting? Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Cross asked, tilting his head back up and bring a half-empty glass of wine to his lips He took a sip, swirled around the liquid in the glass, and then up-ended it to drain the wine down his throat. “After all, I could still be a threat to the Order. A General like me, with years of undocumented work abroad, one hand savvy in science and the other in sorcery—and to top it off, an obscene trail of unpaid debt and lost virginity. If I were you, I would think I was too unpredictable to let loose so soon after my discharge.” He gazed back at Komui.
The supervisor brought a hand to his head. “Right. As soon as you’re done trying to avoid your responsibilities, I’ll read you your mission briefing,” he said. Cross couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Alright, alright. What is it?” he asked. Komui handed him a clipboard with papers that he pretended to sift through.
“There’s suspicion of Innocence in Marseille, France,” the Asian man began, but Cross didn’t let him get any further.
“Marseille?!” Komui blinked and nodded, and Cross lifted a hand to his face. “Of all the places, of all the people, why—”
“Because you’re the most familiar with the area out of our available exorcists. Actually, you’re the only one, aside from just one other,” Komui said. The General peeked through his fingers, eye narrowed.
“And I suppose you’re going to tell me this mission is a two-man job?” he asked; Komui nodded.
“Allen Walker will be accompanying you. Right after his promotion ceremony, that is.”
Cross made a dismissive noise, rubbing at his face some more. It was only when Komui turned to leave that the redhead realized what he had said.
“Promotion?!”
Promotion.
Allen Walker, his idiot, Noah-bearing apprentice, was officially a General of the Black Order, and he took the title of the youngest General right out of the hands of Yu Kanda. The two were clearly distraught about the congratulations Kanda was obligated to give, but that was the least of Cross’s concerns.
When that head of silver-white hair finally stood in front of him, barely reaching his shoulder in height, Cross had adorned the nastiest look he could muster without appearing downright bitter. Allen narrowed his lavender eyes in retaliation, and the two stared down one another for a solid minute at least, garnering a stomach-churning silence from the gathered members of the Order.
However, Allen’s Poker Face broke first, although Cross didn’t doubt that it was intentional. If there were one thing Allen could do consistently and proficiently (aside from consume colossal amounts of food in one sitting), it was maintain any expression for as long as he pleased. Therefore Cross didn’t suffer a great loss of pride when his lips twitched up in response to Allen’s stretching ear-to-ear.
“I suppose I really can’t call you my stupid pupil anymore,” the redhead said. Allen gave him a pointed look.
“You’d still call me a number of things regardless of whether or not they’re true,” he said. Cross nodded.
“At least you’ve still got your wits about you.” He put a hand on the newly-appointed General’s shoulder and wasted no time or effort on the pretense of stiff approval as he pulled the boy to his chest. Allen’s arms wrapped around his back, and the gesture had become far less strange to them over the course of their absence from the Order than to those looking on with wide eyes around them.
Afterwards, Allen ate his weight in Jerry’s cooking, bickered with Kanda, and somehow Cross got into a drinking match with Reever. And then, after he’d thrown up in a waste bin, Komui kindly reminded him that he and Allen would set out on their mission first thing in the morning. Cross flipped him off, puked again, and sat on the floor until someone—Allen—helped him to his chambre.
Timcanpy stayed with him in his room that night.
The next morning, Cross fell out of bed, got dressed, and gladly accepted the bottle of wine Reever awarded him after confessing that he had passed out long before Cross had lost the ability to hold his liquor any longer. Cross didn’t necessarily remember it all that well, but he wasn’t going to say that. The crippling hangover was proof enough for him.
And then they were off on a train to France. It was only after they had taken their fill from the food car that Allen asked where they were even going. Cross stared at him.
“You mean nobody told you?” he asked; Allen shook his head. Cross sighed and rubbed at his scruffy face, wondering how he always ended up the one in these situations. “We’re going to Marseille.”
Allen choked on a sweet bun. Once his coughing fit passed, he stared at Cross with wide eyes. “Marseille?” Cross nodded silently, and Allen held his head in his hands, pushing back his hair. “Master, I—”
“I know. Nothing to be done about it, though. We’re grunts of the Order once again,” the General said.
“But Master, she’ll be there,” Allen said. Cross threw down his suitcase with enough force to shake the entire car, and efficiently stun Allen into silence.
“I am well aware what we’re getting into here, stupid pupil,” he said, his tone alone enough to make Allen sink down in his seat. “But I’m not willing to hear Sister Complex bitch and moan at me for putting off yet another assignment in favour of personal gain. I absolutely will not stand for it with this migraine.”
Allen lowered his eyes. “...What are we looking for there?” he asked after a moment, dropping the previous subject. Cross opened his suitcase and rummaged through his belongings for the mission briefing he’d stuffed in there.
“Innocence, of course,” he said in the meantime.
“I know that, stupid Master! But what about it?” Cross pulled out the file and skimmed the information for real this time.
“It looks like there have been reports of suspicious activity in…” He trailed off with a frown, eye narrowing.
“In…?” Allen watched him with a guarded expression, and Cross sighed without answering. The boy’s face slowly fell. “No.”
“Yes.” The redhead crunched the papers in his hand.
“We’ll never get in there,” Allen said, leaning against the side of the car.
“There is one way,” Cross said, but he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Allen furrowed his eyebrows in question. Cross hesitated, but decided it couldn’t make this suck any worse. “She told me that if I could get a wife, then…” He let his former apprentice fill in the blanks, and while it was amusing to see how fast those pale eyes widened, it didn’t make him feel any better.
“With all due respect, Master—”
“Spare me.”
“—There’s no way you could get a wife,” Allen finished. Cross nodded in agreement. “So we’re still screwed.”
The two sat in the train car silently, both hanging their heads. After a while, Allen finally noticed that Cross was staring at him?
“What?” he asked, shifting in his seat under the redhead’s gaze. Cross tilted his head to the side, pondering.
“Have you ever worn a dress?”
“I despise you and everything you stand for, and I hope you drink yourself straight into the most brutal circle of Hell.”
Allen’s voice droned in Cross’s ear as he picked at it, glancing over the dresses in the shop windows without lingering on any for too long.
“Are you even listening to me? Of course not. You don’t care. How could I forget? I bet you’re actually enjoying this.” Allen swung his arms about, tossing the luggage around with him.
“I can promise you that I most certainly am not enjoying this,” Cross said, sneering at the sheer amount of frill assaulting his eye.
“Well, that’s reassuring.” Allen rolled his eyes.
“Will you shut your trap and pick somewhere already?”
“Me? You want me to pick somewhere?” Allen forced a sarcastic scoff. “But you’re my husband! You’re supposed to help me! Isn’t that what husbands do?!”
Cross lashed out and grabbed Allen’s shirt collar, dragging him into the closest dark alley. He shoved the boy forward once out of sight of the street, and Allen stumbled, but he had enough grace to steady himself.
“If you don’t cut your incessant prattling, I swear that I’ll leave you in a dumpster and tell the entire Order you ran off to be a prostitute at some brothel. Is that clear?” Cross asked, cornering Allen against the eroded brick wall. The boy shrunk in on himself and nodded silently, and Cross could tell that the boy didn’t doubt his threat, but he was probably more concerned about the dumpster part than Cross spreading rumours. “Good. Now you can either suck it up or suggest whatever brilliant idea you must have if you’re so against this one because, otherwise, this is all we have.” Allen looked away, swallowing. “Well?!”
The young General flinched. “I don’t have a different idea, Master,” he said quietly. Cross straightened up and regained his distance from the boy.
“That’s what I thought.” He adjusted his exorcist coat and started out of the alleyway. “Now come on. We’re going into the next store we see and you’re picking out a dress. And then you’re going to swindle some dirty bastards out of their money so we can get a ring.” He didn’t look back to see if Allen were following or not. As stubborn as the brat was, Cross knew that Allen would always follow him.
As it turned out, the next shop they came to was full of more frill, lace, and silk than all that Cross had seen walking down the street combined, but he would be damned if he went back on his word now. The current trends seemed to favour corsets, and unfortunately for Allen, those dresses were the only ones that Cross would ever agree to have his former apprentice wear in public with him. All the others were too modest or plain, and where they were going, that just wouldn’t cut it.
Of course Cross was lenient in letting Allen choose the specific dress. He tried on many without the shop owner saying a word, and even offering her assistance in Allen’s choice, much to the boy’s apparent relief.
When Allen emerged from the dressing room in a black high-low dress with silver beads littering the corset in a floral pattern, Cross stared unabashedly. Allen turned this way and that in the viewing mirrors, looking rather stiff in the back, but Cross noticed that he didn’t have the corset laces tied all the way. That was going to be fun.
When Allen caught his eye, the blush was as spontaneous as it was satisfying, and Cross twirled his finger once without saying a word. The redness creeped down the boy’s exposed neck as he lowered his eyes and complied, turning slowly in place so that his former master could get a proper view. Cross let his eyes roam, taking in every curved inch that the dress emphasized all on its own. Aside from the chest area, Cross came to the conclusion that Allen would fit in very well where they were going if he wore that.
They checked out of the store with the dress and a complimentary pair of high heels the storekeeper threw in upon realizing they were foreigners, and with the silk gown tucked safely and secretly away in a black carrier bag, they set off to find the nearest inn. After disengaging from the usual conversation with the clerk they seemed to get more and more often these days (“No, we’re not together; no, I’m not his father; and no, we’re not interested.”), they holed away in their shared room and took the opportunity to relax for a bit.
“When should I go out then?” Allen asked, putting his suitcase next to one of the two twin beds in the room and laying the dress bag along the mattress. Cross retrieved the bottle of wine Reever had given him from his own bag and sat in the singular armchair in the room.
“Sometime tonight. I don’t want to be woken up if you get back late,” he said; Allen nodded. “I expect you won’t need more than one night, correct?” Again, Allen nodded. “Good. Then we’ll find you a cheap ring tomorrow and go to Doux Bisous at night.”
The white-haired boy slowed his movements at that, fingers lingering over the bag the dress was in. “Do you think she’ll believe us?” he asked. Cross hummed, popping open the bottle in his hand and sniffing the contents. Not bad.
“She either will or she won’t. No use worrying about it until then,” he said. He tipped the bottle against his lips, glancing over as Allen touched his hair.
“Won’t she recognize me?” he asked. Cross sighed as he lowered the bottle again.
“She hasn’t seen you since you were a child. Besides, with some makeup you’ll just look like an exotic woman anyway.” Allen shot him a glare.
“I don’t look that much like a girl,” he muttered, but Cross only chuckled.
“I don’t know what you saw in that mirror, but I know what I saw, and what I saw would make a very fine young lady,” the redhead said. And just like that, the blush returned. This time Cross watched his former apprentice carefully, intrigued by the sudden bashfulness he seemed to carry. “You could swindle more people that way, you know.” When Allen gave him a confused look, he went on. “If you dressed up like a woman and hung around pubs to draw out the desperate low-lives looking for a good time.” Allen’s face went blank.
“Master, aren’t you a desperate low-life looking for a good time?” This time Cross laughed aloud.
“There’s a difference. I have my standards,” he said. Allen rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, right. And I can list those standards on one hand.” As if to prove his point, he started counting. “Two legs, and a beating heart. Does that about sum it up?” he asked, and Cross returned the eye roll.
“Very funny, stupid pupil. Don’t you have a card game to rig?” Allen smiled.
“Yes, I do. I’ll be back by sunrise at the latest,” he said, grabbing his coat.
“What’re you planning to do? Hit every pub in town?” Cross asked, raising a brow. Allen just shrugged.
“Some games take a while, others not so much. Just depends. See you, Master,” he said as he slipped out the door. Cross just grunted in response.
Left alone to his own devices, the redheaded General pondered in silence as he nursed his bottle of wine. He couldn’t help his mind wandering back to the dress store; from behind, Allen really did look like a woman. None too shapely, but slim and delicate, although Cross knew from first-hand accounts just how much “delicate” could not be used to describe Allen Walker. His heart was one thing, but the punch he packed was another matter entirely. Regardless, Cross couldn’t deny that Allen could indeed rake in the cash if ever he decided to take up prostitution as Cross had so helpfully suggested. Not in a brothel, certainly not; Allen could hike up his prices far higher on his own, and nobody would object once they got an eyeful of what they were paying for.
At that thought, however, Cross frowned. Images filled his mind of filthy ne’er-do-wells and street rats eyeing Allen in anything more revealing than that dress, and for some reason it brought the taste of bile to his throat. The thought of Allen encouraging and even responding to those looks nearly made him want to wretch, so he drowned the thoughts from his mind with another swig of wine. And another, and another, and another…
The bottom of the bottle only left him with a good buzz, but he wasn’t going to complain. His head still throbbed from his hangover this morning, and the less disoriented he was tomorrow the better. So he discarded the bottle and lay in bed, then, in a tipsy daze, jacked off to thoughts of pale, creamy legs, skimpy black lace, and a single hand in a red glove that did wonderful things to him in his fantasies.
The next morning, he awoke the smell of fresh coffee and perfume. At first he reached out to feel around his bed in groggy half-awareness, expecting to find the bearer of the sweet, floral scent that filled his nose. However, when he was met with nothing but empty sheets, he blinked open tired eyes and yawned. Sitting up, the bed sheets fell away from his bare chest, and the worn cotton felt nice against the skin of his thighs, but he didn’t allow himself much time to appreciate that.
Pushing himself out of the bed, he took a moment to make sure he was steady on his feet before moving to find his clothes. He noticed his uniform was already washed and freshly-pressed, but he disregarded them. Today he would wear a white, frilled blouse tucked into black pants, his crucifix necklace hanging over his chest. He donned a pair of boots and then finally regarded the single cup of steaming coffee waiting for him on the nightstand. He sipped from it without question, then headed toward the bathroom so that he could fix his hair. When he noticed the door cracked open and a light from the inside, however, he paused, lingering just outside the door.
Sure enough, the perfume he’d smelled wafted from inside the bathroom, and he could see just far enough inside to watch Allen dolling himself up in front of the mirror, seemingly unaware of the other General’s presence.
Even with the minor progress Allen had made with the makeup so far, Cross was already speechless at how different he looked. He’d covered his curse mark scar with foundation that matched his skin tone exactly, and his lashes were curled and thick with silver mascara. He was currently applying a light, blue-ish purple shade of eyeshadow to his eyelids, glossed lips parted just a little as he focused on the tricky application. Cross also noted that his nails were also painted in a similar lavender colour. He continued to watch Allen as he put on the minimal but oddly transforming makeup, sipping his coffee all the while. Only when Allen finished and turned to open the door did he even know Cross was standing there, and he jumped back with a gasp, holding a hand to his chest.
“Don’t scare me like that,” he hissed as he slipped past the chuckling redhead.
“It’s not my fault you go into some sort of trance when you’re crossdressing,” Cross said. He could hear the eye roll behind him as he entered the bathroom without bothering to close the door. He grabbed a brush and began to manhandle his hair whichever way necessary to get it how he wanted it.
“It’s not a trance,” Allen said from the main room. “You have no idea how hard it is to put on eyeshadow evenly. And—ugh, don’t even get me started on the eyeliner. How do people do that on a daily basis?”
“Perseverance and a tinge of madness,” Cross said, emerging from the bathroom momentarily to fetch his hair care supplies before returning. “Don’t wear that dress just yet,” he called as an afterthought. “Save that for tonight.”
“I figured you’d say that,” he heard Allen say, “so I went and bought an outfit last night for the meantime.”
He appeared in the doorway to the bathroom a moment later, and Cross glanced over from geling his hair to see what he was wearing. The vest of the dress was white and had black frill dangling from the collar, and a black piece extended over the top part of the bell that was shaped with a semblance to the tails of a tailcoat, and the bell itself was frilly, but not outrageously so. Allen’s hair was styled back with a single braid along the left side of his head—he must have gotten advice from some stylist while he was out last night.
“I suppose that will do,” he said, turning back to his own hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Allen put his hands on his hips.
“What? Am I not ‘up to par’ with your ‘standards’?” he asked.
“You look like a rebel nun,” Cross said, eliciting a sudden snort from the boy.
“That was funny so I’ll let it slide. Now hurry up. I found a pawn shop while I was out last night and I think we can haggle them down to something reasonable,” Allen said. Cross combed through his hair.
“I hope by ‘reasonable’ you mean unreasonably cheap,” he said.
“Exactly.”
“Wait in the lobby.”
They did get a ring at an unreasonably cheap price, leaving a very confused and mildly ticked off shop owner in the wake of their conning, and by the time the evening rolled around, they were back in their inn room. Cross was re-styling his hair while Allen struggled into the first dress he bought. When Cross emerged from the bathroom, Allen was still fighting with the laces in the back, and the redhead sighed.
“You’re not going to fill that out on your own, you know,” he said, walking over. Allen glanced over his shoulder and gave the elder a helpless look.
“You try tying up a corset without a mirror. It’s not as easy as it looks,” he said.
“It didn’t look easy to begin with. Let go.” Cross swatted away the boy’s hands and undid what little progress he’d made on the laces.
“Hey!”
“Shut up. I know what I’m doing.”
Turning Allen around, he tugged down the corset to reveal Allen’s chest. The younger swallowed and looked away, but didn’t question it when Cross pressed his hands to Allen’s pectorals. With a muttered incantation, he felt the flesh swell beneath his palms, and Allen gasped as he looked down to see the supple mounds forming on his chest.
“What the bloody hell are you—Wait—!” He didn’t get a chance to finish his complaint as Cross squeezed the abnormal breasts together.
“Now pull the corset back so they’ll stay in place. Unless you happened to get a bra while you were out?” Allen shook his head and fumbled with the laces as he tugged the corset back up. There was no hiding his laboured breathing or the rapid beat of his heart while Cross’s hands were pressed against his chest, but neither commented as Allen managed to tie enough laces to keep the fabric in place. Cross ensured that the breasts were situated properly before withdrawing his hands, fingers brushing the boy’s nipples on the way up and causing Allen to bite his lip. Cross just smirked as he turned Allen around again, tightening the laces.
“...I can’t believe you arranged my breasts,” the young exorcist said as the elder tugged and tied.
“Shouldn’t the fact that you have them at all be more outstanding to you?” Cross asked, but Allen couldn’t answer seeing as he was tightening the laces that began to hug his chest now. He gasped for air when the General pulled particularly hard, placing a hand on his abdomen.
“That’s tight,” he said, voice strained.
“That’s the point.” The air was forced from Allen’s lungs when Cross finally tied off the top, and his chest heaved for shallow breaths. “Try not to faint. You’ll be expected to be used to this sort of thing.”
“Easier said than done—” Allen groaned when he tried to move, stumbling a little. “This is impossible.”
“Not impossible,” Cross said. “Just extremely uncomfortable.”
“Was this really necessary?” Allen asked, putting his hands to his enlarged chest. “I don’t think this was necessary.” His voice was breathy, but at least it made him sound more feminine.
“Trust me, it was. We’ll find a fan for you on the way. Put on those heels.”
By the time they stood in front of Le Jardin d’Eden, Cross was more or less supporting the entirety of Allen’s weight. The hand-held paper fan seemed to help for a while, but it was a particularly warm day in Marseille and it hadn’t taken long for sweat to accumulate on his flushed face. The heels, black shawl, and gloves Allen wore to hide his anti-Akuma weapon and scar were the opposite of helpful, Cross imagined, but there was nothing to be done about it. At least it would be cool once they got inside.
The club was dark with colourful lights illuminating the corners and stages. Deceitfully classical music played, allowing the dancers some innovative leeway with their performances. Skin flashed all around with the occasional sliver of fabric, and while Cross was more than interested in staying to watch for a while, his stupid not-pupil had other ideas.
“Come on, Master,” he said, tugging the redhead along. “You can ogle all the half-clothed women you want after we finish this. Remember, you’re a married man right now.”
The reminder made Cross sigh and tear away his eyes from the dancers. He hooked his arm around Allen’s and let the boy lean on him again as they headed toward the back of the club. A bouncer stopped them at the door that led to Doux Bisous.
“Majestatis,” Cross said immediately, remembering the “magic word” even after all these years. The bouncer narrowed his dark eyes and grabbed Cross’s arm, yanking him closer.
“Cross Marian,” he said, upper lip curling. “You’re not welcome here.” His French accent was thick, but it seemed that Noémie had prepared her club’s guards for his inevitable return. How flattering.
“I have a wife,” the General said, pulling his arm from the bouncer’s grip to wrap both arms around Allen just as the a lover might. The other man glanced over the undercover exorcist.
“Congratulations, now leave.” Cross grabbed the bouncer’s wrist before he could shove them away.
“Tell Noémie. She’ll let us in,” he said, holding the man’s gaze. He jerked away his arm and made a noise that sounded vaguely like a growl.
“Stay here,” he ordered before slipping through the back door.
Cross was patient, and he returned his hand to Allen while they waited. Allen’s free hand rested overtop his as he fanned his face rapidly. Cross interlaced his fingers with the boy’s, in part to play the facade, and partly to offer some form of reassurance. Allen leaned back against his chest.
When the bouncer returned, he held open the door for the two, watching them with wary eyes. “She’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Thank you.” Cross nodded and helped Allen down the dark hallway past the door. They came to a small, dimly-lit room that Cross distinctly remembered as Noémie’s “receiving room”. His spine tingled at the memory, but he squashed down on the feeling before it could get out of hand. He had to convince her that Allen was his wife, so that meant no wandering eyes or offhanded comments on Noémie’s appearance or references to the last time he was here. He pursed his lips as he realized the entirety of what this little rooze would entail.
They stood in the centre of the barren room for a few minutes, during which Allen dropped all pretense of fragility in favour of batting air against his face with the fan. Cross kept his distance for the time being in order to minimize the heat Allen was taking in.
When the other door opened, however, they clung to each other again, but this time Cross rested his hand on Allen’s hip, the same hand that bore a ring that could pass for one of commitment. Noémie appeared in the doorway, and it took a lot of willpower for Cross not to let his eyes roam. Her face kept his attention well enough, though. Pounds of makeup hid her years, and her blue eyes were sharp as ever. Those eyes gave them both a once-over, and Cross subconsciously pulled Allen closer to his body. The boy’s free hand wrapped around his lower back.
“A wife,” Noémie said slowly as if testing the words on her tongue.
“I realize it must be disappointing,” Cross said, and that was as far as he was willing to let his innuendos go. “But it’s official. I believe we had a date for Romanée-Conti?” he asked with a sly smile. If only looks could kill, Noémie would have him drop dead then and there.
“We did,” she said. “Your timing is impeccable as always. I just finished with a client.”
“Oh?” Cross’s eye flickered over as a figure appeared behind Noémie, and she stepped aside to let him through. Allen leaned into his side as his stifled desperation for breath came to a halt.
“Tyki?” he said with a gasp. Cross stared at the Noah blinking back at them.
“Ah—? Oh.” Amber eyes settled on Cross instead. “Well, this is a little awkward.”
“Is your wife quite alright, General?” Noémie snapped. Cross looked down at Allen, who was having an even harder time breathing now.
“No no, I’m—I’m alright I just—I’m not feeling so well today. Forgive me,” Allen managed to pant out.
“Now that is interesting.” The Noah’s voice brought Cross’s gaze back to Tyki, and it was clear he’d recognized Allen.
“Excuse us. Shall we, Mademoiselle?” Cross said, hurriedly pushing past Tyki and shuffling Allen into the room, grabbing Noémie’s arm and dragging her in behind him before he closed the door on the Noah.
“What is the matter with you?” Noémie asked once they were inside.
“There’s Innocence here,” Cross said, helping Allen into one of the chairs in Noémie’s “office”. It was more of a professional bedroom, but he couldn’t be bothered with the specifics. “What did that man want from you?” he asked, turning back to Noémie.
“That’s none of your business,” the broad said. Cross stepped toward her.
“We’re here on behalf of the Order. That man was a Noah. It is my business,” he said. Noémie raised a thin brow.
“On behalf of the Order, huh?” She gestured to allen. “And I suppose you picked her up on the way here just to get in here.” Cross frowned and moved to stand beside the younger General.
“You’re wrong. This is my wife,” he said. Noémie crossed her arms.
“And you really thought it was a good idea to bring her to a strip club? On exorcist business no less. Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
“She insisted. She’s an ally of the Order.”
“Are you even going to tell me her name?”
“I would think the Innocence is more important than introductions right now.” Cross clenched his fist. A whispered “Master” made him look down at Allen, and he knelt and took the boy’s hand to give the impression of concern. He looked back up at Noémie. “My wife is ill. I need to get her home as soon as possible, so please cooperate if you really give a damn about the Order,” he said, hardening his gaze. Noémie pursed her lips.
“Stay here,” she said, and then left through yet another door. Cross turned back to Allen as they waited.
“You going to make it?” he asked quietly. Allen nodded, taking as many deep breaths as he could.
“He knew who I was,” he whispered. Cross nodded with a grimace.
“But at least we know for sure there’s Innocence here,” he said. “That makes our job easier.” Allen leaned back against the chair.
“I can make it,” he assured. “It’s easier now that it’s not so hot.” Cross chuckled.
“You’d never make it as a woman here,” he said. Allen managed a smile.
“Let’s never come back here after this,” he said. Cross nodded, then brought Allen’s hand to his lips. Confusion sparked in the boy’s wide eyes as a blush spread across his cheeks, but a look of understanding flashed on his face as Noémie returned. Cross stood again when Noémie brought a glass of ice water to him.
“Breathe through your nose, dear, and exhale through your lips,” she said as Allen thanked her and gulped down the water. “Slowly.” She turned to Cross. “I suppose you didn’t think to inform her of the rigors of French fashion when you smuggled her over the England borders.” Despite her words, her eyes were light for once, and Cross was reminded how gentle she was to her fellow women, if not her clients.
“No one ever accused me of being thoughtful,” the redhead said. Noémie scoffed.
“Hell would sooner freeze over,” she said. “Now—” She gestured for Cross to sit, and he took the other chair, pulling it next to Allen’s on second thought. “That man from before, you said he’s a Noah?” she asked; Cross nodded. Noémie sighed. “He was asking about one of my girls. He said he was one of her clients, but...now that I know the truth, the way he spoke was strange.”
“What did he say?” Cross asked.
“He mentioned innocence, but at the time it sounded like he was talking about something obscene,” she said.
“Tell me about the girl.”
“She’s new. She just started working here a week ago,” she said. Cross and Allen looked at each other. That was when the anomalies began. “She’s had about ten clients already.” Cross’s eyebrow shot up.
“How might I contact this woman?” he asked. Noémie gave him a look. “I’d like to ask her some questions,” he clarified.
“Right.” She didn’t seem convinced. “Well, I’ll be hosting a party to celebrate our business’s anniversary tomorrow night. She’ll be there,” she said.
“How convenient. And how might one obtain an invitation to this party?” Cross asked.
“Well-known clients are always welcome, of course.” The redhead grinned.
“I hope it doesn’t exactly matter what those clients are well-known for?” Noémie rolled her eyes.
“Just be there by six. My place,” she said. “I trust you know how to get there.”
“Like the back of my hand,” he said.
“Good.” Noémie turned an apologetic look on Allen, who was faring much better. “I hope this won’t be a bother to you, dear. You’re very welcome to accompany him to make sure he stays out of trouble,” she said. Allen smiled.
“I’d love to. And not to worry, I have utmost faith in my dear husband,” the boy said, turning a gentle smile on Cross that he could see right through.
“Well, you’d be the first. Now, out you go. I’ll update you on anything new I find out between now and then,” Noémie said.
“Lovely. Dearest?” He held out his hand for Allen, who took it with a gentle grip. Cross helped up the boy and held him close.
“And Cross.” The redhead looked back at Noémie. “Don’t think that this means you’re forgiven. I have my eye on you,” she said. Cross smiled.
“Of course, Mademoiselle. We’ll see you tomorrow night.”