Anna paused outside the forgotten theater on Oak Street. If thing were as bad as Fred had said and the Assembly was considering a change in protocol, the blonde Legionnaire wasn’t sure if she wanted to enter. This old theater had housed the Assembly for a hundred years; it was long forgotten about, run down and ugly on the outside but the inside was timeless. The marble walls glittered in the traditional candle lit chandeliers; the golden staircases were blanketed in bright red velvet rugs.
Anne had been in the old theater many times and its timelessness always gave her the creeps. Like the legion itself, the theater never changed. Somehow it managed to stay exactly the same even after the earthquakes in 2011. Not a single candle had tipped out of place or did one picture sit askew on the wall. Anne had a theory that the theater was somehow in a dimension of its own—existing outside of time and space entirely, impervious to mundane disasters. But of course her handler Fred continued to tell her how preposterous that idea was every time she brought up the idea.
With a deep breath, the blonde gathered her wits and turned the rusty handle of the grand wooden theater door. Almost instantly the air turned stale; the tension of the assembly was almost suffocating and she still stood in the entry way.
“You’re late,” said a voice. Fred, her annoyingly ordinary looking handler peered down at her from the second floor of the atrium with a disapproving but amused look.
“I’m not late; I just didn’t want to come.” Anne replied as she approached the grand staircase.
Fred crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s that attitude that keeps you in trouble.”
“You can thank my father for the attitude,” the blonde told her handler, “I’ve been told it’s my best quality.”
Anne’s handler only shook his head. He walked over to a golden door just above the staircase. “Your mother is waiting for you.”
“How bad is it?”
“It’s bad enough,” her handler breathed. “You know she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Madame Eveline Chevalier was the Legions Imperial Legate, or general. Though she had only accepted the position less than a year ago, the Madame had been running the legion’s defenses for years. She was an expert at shielding the supernatural world from the fragile reality bubble the humans had wrapped themselves in. By submerging herself in the human world as a famous fashion designer and blogger she was able to poke her nose into things without raising suspicion. She had contacts in every country, had high ranking officials on speed dial and could con the greatest con artist into giving up his tricks.
Anne’s mother was a hard person to talk to. Nearly everyone who worked for her feared her. Eveline Chevalier was a tough and stubborn woman who often thought she knew better than everyone else. Though sometimes that were true, it was hard for the Madame to admit to being wrong. As terrifying as she was, she was compassionate in her own way, after all she had been raised to put others before herself. She came from old family money so most of her earned revenue went to charities. Donations also helped keep the people’s opinion of her high, making it easier to cover up incidents. There was a method to her madness, believe it or not.
Though she was in fact Anne’s mother, the woman didn’t posses a single motherly trait. Not once did her mother take her to school, frame a picture she had drawn or sing her to sleep as a child. In fact, Anne never even knew she had a mother until she was thirteen. Since then, Anne’s mother had been more like a supervisor than a mother. Pushing her to train harder than the other chosen children, criticizing her wardrobe choices and the social life Anne refused to give up.
None the less, Anne loved her mother—though she had never admitted it to anyone but Dan.
“Ah, Annalise, so glad you could make it.”
“I wasn’t given much choice, Mother.”
Anne plopped herself down on the old chaise lounge by the windows that over looked the main stage. Her mother had been sitting at her desk, fondling her glasses and staring at an old piece of parchment.
Madame Chevalier, known mundane fashion guru and fearless Legionnaire leader, pushed herself away from her oversized desk to sit across from her daughter.
“The assembly is considering a change in protocol,” Madame Chevalier began.
“I was informed.”
“We’ve been monitoring recent cracks in the wards, more and more are popping up in the city though nothing has come through.”
“What do you need me for? There are better trained Legionnaires to handle this change in protocol.”
“You are the change, Annalise.”