She rolls into town the day before Christmas Eve, and it’s Beatrice waiting for her at South Station, not her father.

Gemma’s not surprised by this. It’s Beatrice who is interested in her, for the power inside her chest if nothing else. Christopher is uninvolved as ever - and he’s currently at work, her stepmother explains as she loads Gemma’s suitcase into the back of her minivan. Her coat is dark, dark wool, with none of the ornamentation or luster she wears as a general but all of the menace, and Gemma shivers. Beatrice must notice how she trembles, because she announces, “It’s freezing out here! Get into the car. I have the heater running.”

Gemma gets in and buckles her seatbelt, and she watches the buildings fly by as they drive. She waits for Beatrice to say something.

Beatrice says, “You must be hungry after such a long train ride,”

“I guess,” says Gemma. Her stomach grumbles traitorously.

“I know just the place,” says Beatrice. They go to a little cafe where she greets the owner by name, and they sit down at a back table beneath a huge fish tank. It’s stocked with jellies, their tendrils twisting in the artificial current, and just as she begins to wonder, Beatrice says, “Carlo’s a member of the cause.”

Gemma nods into her water.

“Those silly boys they keep placing you with could stand to learn a thing or two from him,” continues Beatrice, with such boldness that Gemma can’t help but glance around and wonder if there is anyone in this establishment, from the diners to the waitstaff to the guy who makes the salads, who isn’t a member of the Negaverse. Beatrice clears her throat to draw her attention back. “Bischofite is dead,” she says casually, like she’s announcing that the forecast calls for snow.

“He - he is?” Gemma asks. Her heartbeat has quickened at the news, although she cannot properly explain why. If Bischofite is dead, she thinks, then he can never hurt another lieutenant the way he hurt her, the way she thought was training but she now knows was wrong. “How?”

I hope it hurt, she thinks, and feels faintly sick at her own impulse. I hope he suffered.

“The details haven’t been made public,” says Beatrice, smiling to the waitress as their soups are set down. Gemma looks up at the girl. She is pretty, college-aged. She wonders who she is - someone’s lieutenant? A captain? A general, serving soup and handing out silverware? “He’d already gone and turned himself into a dreadful abomination - it’s better that he be put out of his misery.”

“Yeah,” Gemma agrees faintly, unwrapping her silverware. The soup smells… wonderful, honestly, but this whole establishment makes her faintly uneasy. Can they smell that I’ve been talking to senshi and knights, she wonders. That Chaos scares me and I want to leave?

“If any more news comes my way,” says Beatrice, her voice too kind for the subject at hand, “I’ll let you know.”