Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,70

madame let out a bitter laugh. “And it worked! I felt sorry for her. Which is exactly why I didn’t chase after her to collect the four months of rent she owed me … and the fifteen-hundred-larg advance I gave her on her next extractions.”

A woman in green scrubs appeared beside the madame. Alouette vaguely remembered her introducing herself earlier as Clodie. She examined the tube twisting out of Alouette’s arm before cranking a dial on a nearby control panel. The big silver machine let out a vicious roar as its pumps began to whir faster. The blood from Alouette’s veins continued to snake and coil its way up the clear plastique tube.

“But now,” Madame Blanchard continued with a heavy sigh, as though this whole ordeal were fatiguing her, “fortunately, I know exactly how to get back what she owes me.”

A shiver passed over Alouette as she suddenly understood why the other stations in the room were empty. This wasn’t just an extraction. This was a violation. They were stealing the nutrients right out of her veins.

Alouette tried to fight. She tried to sit up. She tried to move. But her muscles were held hostage.

“No,” was all she could mutter in her weak, groggy voice as she watched the blood flow out of her body, into the ravenous, whirring machine.

“You see?” Clodie said with another one of her artificial smiles. “It’s really not that bad, is it?”

Alouette wasn’t sure if it was the medicament flowing through her, or the blood flowing out of her, but she felt herself start to drift away again, the clouds pulling her back in.

“That’s a good girl,” she heard Clodie whisper in her ear. “Just a few more—”

“Arrête!”

A voice rang out across the extraction room, crashing through the clouds in Alouette’s mind and causing a flurry of panicked footsteps around her. Clodie yelped and jumped back from the machine that was still spinning and churning with Alouette’s blood trapped inside.

Through her hazy vision, Alouette saw two male figures approach, both dressed head-to-toe in glistening white.

Pristine white.

Ministère white.

“You are commanded to abort all extractions,” One of the men announced. “I am Officer Leclair and this is Officer Sauvage. We are shutting down this facility.”

In that moment, it felt as though every molecule of Alouette’s blood shot out of her vein and into the monstrous machine.

Officers? Of the Ministère?

Clodie scuttled to the corner of the room like an insect. But the madame looked unfazed by the disruption. She strode toward the uniformed men, her sleek gold dress fluttering around her slim calves. “Officers, how nice of you to stop by.” Her voice was coy, playful. Nothing like the vengeful tone Alouette had heard only moments ago. “How can I help you today?”

“Your establishment is being shut down,” said Officer Leclair. “With immediate effect.”

Madame Blanchard’s face remained unwrinkled, unlined, and unmoving. “I see. How much will it be this time, Officer?”

Officer Leclair ignored the question. “You and everyone inside this facility are under arrest. We have already detained the girls in the reception area.”

“Your price has gone up, I take it,” Madame Blanchard said with a tight smile.

Officer Leclair stepped forward. “You don’t seem to be hearing me, madame. This is not a joke. Laterre is currently in a precarious state of instability, and it is a known fact that illegal establishments like this one are breeding grounds for rebel activity.”

Rebel activity. The words slammed into Alouette. The officers knew. They knew who she’d been living with for the past twelve years. They were looking for her.

“Rebel activity?” the madame scoffed. “Here? Are you serious?”

“I am very serious,” said Officer Leclair. “If everyone complies quietly and promptly, I will not be forced to call in the droids.”

He snapped his fingers at his colleague, and Officer Sauvage leapt into action, coaxing Clodie out of her hiding place with a wave of his rayonette.

The smile instantly vanished from the madame’s face, and where there was once a flawless brow, lines started to appear. “I’m sure we can figure this out, Officers,” Madame Blanchard pleaded. “I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement. If you just speak to Sergent Langlais at the Montfer Policier Precinct, he can tell you that—”

“This is not a Policier matter,” Leclair snapped. “This is a Ministère matter. We’ve been sent here by General Bonnefaçon himself.”

The madame closed her mouth, looking chastised and defeated.

Alouette’s brain fought to break through her drug-induced haze. General Bonnefaçon? Marcellus’s grandfather. Had Marcellus turned her in? No, he would never