The Girl in the Shadows. Katherine Debona

a shaft of sunlight to illuminate stained floor tiles.

      ‘What do you want?’ Heavily kohled eyes stared at Veronique from under a long fringe, dark shadows against marbled skin.

      ‘Giselle?’ Christophe came around Veronique.

      ‘Christophe?’ The girl’s head tilted upward. ‘Is that you?’

      ‘Oui, c’est moi. Can we come in?’

      ‘Of course.’ She opened the door wider, light from the curtainless window showcasing her jutting collarbones and slight frame. She stood a little straighter as Christophe passed, a softness to her otherwise gaunt features that Veronique recognised as affection.

      ‘We’ve missed you at the clinic,’ Christophe said, peering out of the window to the pavement below. The sill was covered in a thick layer of grime, on top of which rested an ashtray and empty syringe.

      ‘That’s not mine,’ Giselle said. Fine hairs stood up on her forearms, wrists so slight they made Veronique think of newborn babies in hospital with their plastic name tags.

      ‘We were hoping you could help us with something.’

      Giselle snapped her head round to stare at Veronique. ‘I didn’t do nothing.’

      ‘No one’s accusing you of anything.’ Veronique held her hands up as she took a step closer.

      ‘A girl’s gone missing,’ Christophe said.

      ‘What girl?’

      ‘Mathilde Benazet.’ Veronique showed Giselle a photograph of Mathilde. ‘Apparently she worked for Valentine.’

      ‘I’d stay away from him if I were you.’ Giselle shrank towards the makeshift kitchen in one corner of the room, fingers finding a scrap of tin foil on top of the counter and smoothing away tiny creases. ‘Valentine is like a demon, tempting the angels from above and dragging them down into the same filthy pit he’s dug out for himself below Montmartre.’

      ‘All the more reason we need to find Mathilde.’ Christophe rested a hand on her shoulder and she sank under its weight. ‘Have you seen her?’

      ‘I can’t go back there, Christophe.’ Giselle shook her head, staring up at him with bloodshot eyes. ‘Please don’t make me go back.’

      ‘I don’t want you going back there either.’ Christophe took the photograph from Veronique and handed it to Giselle. ‘Can you take a look for me, tell me if you remember her?’

      Giselle wiped the back of her hand across her nose and went to stand by the window. ‘Someone do that to you?’ She eyed Veronique’s scar in the reflection of a mirror hanging lopsided on the wall next to her, a crack running from one corner to its centre.

      ‘Fire.’ Veronique expelled the word like an insult, dirty on her tongue.

      ‘Fire can be beautiful. As is everything the devil decides to create. No,’ she said, dropping the photograph on the windowsill.

      ‘You’re sure?’

      ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Giselle crossed her arms over her chest.

      ‘How often have you been using?’ The air shifted as she came closer.

      Giselle glanced at the syringe. ‘I told you that wasn’t mine.’

      ‘Maybe not, but the track marks on your arms tell a different story.’

      ‘Get out!’ she roared, picking up a filthy cup and throwing it across the room at Veronique. ‘You think you’re better than me? You think you know what it is really like in this city? You know nothing; you are a fool.’

      ‘Giselle, please.’ Christophe came between the two women. ‘We never meant to insult you.’

      ‘I said get out!’ Giselle pushed against his chest, unable to make him move.

      ‘We’re going.’ Veronique tugged at his arm.

      Christophe took some notes from his wallet and laid them on the countertop. ‘Get yourself something decent to eat.’ He looked back at Giselle, at the shadow of a girl who once was. ‘If you ever need any help, you know where to find me.’