Leta
Leta was late for work the next day.
Aren was still snoozing away in bed when Leta slipped out from under the covers, her silent phone alarm flashing light into her face- she'd forgotten to charge it last night, and the battery was almost dead. She gathered her purse and got dressed as quickly as she could. The day was bright, early morning light telling her it would be a warm day, so she left her still-damp jacket on the back of their one rickety chair and hurried down the steps of the attic.
Sector Five hadn't yet woken- it was scarcely six in the morning, though some breakfast stalls were already beginning to open. Leta stopped for a coffee at a corner store and practically sprinted the rest of the way to the fortune shop, her heels clacking hard against the metal walkways between skyscrapers.
"Sorry, I'm late." She called, throwing the door open. The bells jingled again, Cyrus looking up at her from where he was already seated at his desk, his lips turned in a frown.
"Boo!" Miss Talia said, sticking out her tongue from the receptionist's seat. "I'm docking your pay for that!"
Leta rolled her eyes, tossing her bag onto the sofa that she'd spend the majority of her day in. "I bet you just got here too. I'm barely ten minutes late. Blame Aren."
"You can't keep blaming Aren for everything," Cyrus chided as he sipped from his mug. "You suck, Leta."
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, emptying her coffee cup and tossing it in the trash. "Okay, who's first?"
Miss Talia squinted at her ancient computer screen. "Uh, some lady's scheduled for six-fifteen. Amani…Bellange?"
"Amani…" Leta mumbled as she climbed onto the sofa. "Why does that sound familiar?"
Cyrus snapped his fingers. "Oh, shit! It's the lady from yesterday's sister! Aurelie Bellange! Remember her? Rude as hell?"
Leta groaned, throwing a hand over her face. "Are you telling me this entire family is full of nutcases and they all show up here? Speaking of which, did you ever get the money out of her, Miss Talia?"
Miss Talia smiled threateningly. "I will, don't worry. Your next paycheck is safe and sound."
As if on cue, the bells jingled again. A nervous-looking woman poked her head into the shop.
"Hello? Is this Mystic Talia's Mysterious Delights?"
Miss Talia brightened, her smile stretching from ear-to-ear. "Why, yes it is! Welcome in, you must be Miss Bellange! I'm Mystic Talia. Please, have a seat!"
The woman sat in the old plush armchair in front of Cyrus' desk, her cheeks slightly flushed at the wink he sent her. Leta internally rolled her eyes. She looked exactly like her sister, down to the butterfly tattoo on her neck- the same sleek black chin-length hair, the same round brown eyes.
"Um, I'm here because my father recently passed away," she began, fiddling with the straps of her clearly expensive purse. "He promised me some things that were originally meant to go to my sister, but the Delvers that my family uses told me he never left me anything. I just… wanted to double-check."
"Of course, Miss," Cyrus said dramatically, sweeping his pale hair out of his forehead in a way that he probably thought made him look cool. "We'll do our best to help you out. I'm Cyrus, Mystic Talia's assistant. Miss Leta here is our main attraction!" He seized her hands and met her gaze with mock sincerity. "There's no problem we can't solve. Miss Talia and Miss Leta here have quite the… third eye."
Amani Bellange's blush deepened and she looked away. "A-ah… thank you…"
"I'll have you place a belonging of your father's here," Leta interrupted just as Cyrus opened his big dumb mouth again. She gestured at a small velvet-lined tray on the desk. "Anything will do, as long as it was his."
Amani Bellange reached into her purse and carefully extracted an expensive watch. Cyrus whistled as he examined it. "Wow, that's luxury."
She smiled lightly. "Yes, it was his favourite piece. He wore it everywhere. My grandfather gave it to him." She set it on the tray carefully, adjusting it so the watch face was peering up at Leta.
Leta put on a pair of disposable gloves and picked up the watch, turning it over in her hands. On the back was an engraving done in elegant script: To Adrien, from your loving father Claude.
"The process will be fairly quick on your end," Miss Talia explained, sliding a few pieces of paper in front of Amani Bellange. "I'll just have you sign these intake forms here and this waiver."
She examined the forms nervously, but under the indomitable force of Miss Talia's too-bright customer service smile, she signed the forms. Immediately, Leta put on her best friendly expression.
"I'll get right to it, Miss Bellange!" She exclaimed, fastening the watch onto her gloved wrist. "I'll lie back on this sofa and get into your father's memories. I should be back within five minutes, and if something goes wrong Cyrus will issue you a full refund."
Easiest money she'd ever make. Going through the same memories twice would be boring, but both sisters showing up scarcely a day apart? It was laughable.
Cyrus powered up the computer in front of him and helped strap Leta into the familiar too-tight visor and helmet. She laid back against the sofa, taking a deep breath.
"Process begins in three," Cyrus began, his voice steady and serious for the procedure. "Two, one. Delve."
Leta gasped, her vision going dark. Reality tore itself away from her and she fell down, down, into the familiar void of absolution.
"I told you, Aurelie. If you keep this up, you won't get anything."
Adrien massaged his temples. The sickness was getting to him- he couldn't even get out of bed anymore, and still, Aurelie refused to leave him in peace. Just a few short days ago he would've been overjoyed at the presence of his beloved older daughter, but her angry face vexed him today.
"You can't do that," she demanded, her dark eyes flashing with rage. "I'm your daughter! You can't leave everything to her!"
"She is my daughter too," he said, sighing. "You two are twin sisters, why can't you just get along? As long as you are reasonable and good to each other, you'll both get your fair share. Now get out. I'm done hearing you wish for me to die sooner so you can get my money."
Huffing, she turned on her heel, swishing her hair over her shoulder, and stormed out of his room, slamming the door as she went. Adrien gasped, his chest going tight. He erupted into a coughing fit, grasping for the edge of his bed as he doubled over.
Distantly he knew he didn't have much time left. He could feel the fuzziness creeping into the edges of his vision already- so soon? No doubt his argument with Aurelie had drained him.
He thought of Amani, his younger daughter. His children both had strong personalities, but he worried for her- she'd always been naive, at least compared to Aurelie. He didn't think Aurelie would try to hurt her when he was gone, but he wasn't sure she'd be able to fend for herself.
He missed his wife, his dear Elisa. She'd always been a rock in his life, but she'd died giving birth to Amani- Aurelie had never forgiven her little sister for it. He didn't begrudge her her grief, but he'd spent his whole life wishing his daughters wouldn't hate each other.
The pearls would go to Amani, he decided. The fan, too, and the house. Aurelie would be entitled to her money, but he couldn't bear having Elisa's favourite treasures go to her- she'd probably sell them.
He could practically hear Elisa calling for him. He gasped, and for a second his head hurt like it was on fire-
Then he felt nothing.
Leta blinked awake with the same dizziness she always felt. Cyrus was watching his computer screen with the same attentiveness he always showed. Flighty as he was, he took his job seriously, at least.
"Leta, you're back," Miss Talia said. "How was it?"
Leta forced herself upright, shaking her head to clear the nausea away. "Fine as usual." She turned her gaze on the woman sitting across from Cyrus, still looking nervous. "Well, Miss Bellange, I'm happy to report that the misunderstanding has been cleared up."
She brightened. "Really? Thank you so much!"
"Yes," Cyrus murmured, clicking past the footage Leta had experienced, his red eyes sharp. "Before we proceed, Miss Bellange, would you recommend to me the name of your tattoo artist?"
The woman blinked in shock. "My- my tattoo artist?"
Cyrus shot her a smile. "Yes, I've been meaning to get my first tattoo, and I couldn't help but notice your butterfly was quite beautiful."
The woman touched her neck absentmindedly. "Uh- I can write their address down for you, if you'd like?"
"That's fine." He dug out a sticky note from the desk and the woman scribbled a Sector Seven address down. "Thank you very much."
"How long ago did you say your father died, Miss Bellange?" Leta asked, carefully taking the watch off her wrist. The woman frowned. "He died two nights ago." The familiar whirr of their old printer started as the finalising documents began emerging.
"Would you mind enlightening me," Leta said smoothly as she dropped her used gloves in the garbage can. "When did you receive a haircut since your father's death?"
The woman laughed slightly too loudly. "What?"
Cyrus sighed. "She's such an amateur, Leta. Go easy on her." His voice was amused as he settled his chin on his hand, peering at the woman like he would a particularly interesting stray dog. "It's almost funny to watch."
The woman's face went a blotchy red. "Excuse me-"
"Aurelie Bellange, in your father's memory, had shoulder-length hair," Leta said calmly. "Your sister happened to visit us yesterday night. The both of you now have the same hairstyle. When would she have the time to go get her hair cut without you noticing and mentioning it to your family's Delver, which would have been suspicious enough to warrant a full examination?"
"Unless, of course," Cyrus cut in, his smile lethal, "You are not Amani Bellange. You are Aurelie Bellange, and you cut your hair last night or the night before to impersonate her."
"What are you talking about!?" The woman yelled, her fists balled. "This is incredibly unprofessional! I will report you!"
"Go ahead," Miss Talia said, amused. "Your documents are incorrect too." She held up the intake forms the woman had signed. "Both you and your sister sign your name the same way- A. Bellange. On our reservation software we have a clear privacy policy posted that during the appointment, we only refer to customers with their last names, so you used your sister's identity card to book this appointment, and amended her appointment with your identity card." She tapped the ancient computer on her desk. "I can see amendments and cancellations to our bookings, you know."
The woman was red with rage. "This is preposterous! Do you even know what you're accusing me of?"
"Miss Bellange," Cyrus said, yawning. "Mind telling me why you and your sister have different butterfly tattoos?"
She paled. "What?"
"Your butterfly looks very similar to your sister's," Cyrus said, pointing at her neck. "Same orange and black butterfly. However, there is a black stripe along the hindwing of your butterfly. It is a viceroy, not a monarch." He grinned. "When the two of you got the tattoos, I bet they were meant to be matching. You added the line later to feel different, right?"
"You couldn't make your sister grow her hair out overnight so you could pretend she was you," Leta surmised. "So you decided to make it look like she was the one who got a haircut by changing your own hair. The cuts along your temple and the back of your head are jagged- clearly an amateur job, whereas your sister's hairstyle is much neater, obviously done by a professional. Moreover, the butterfly tattoo in the memory was a viceroy, not a monarch." She reached behind her and pulled the finalising documents out of the printer, warm and fresh.
"Here is the Delve report," she said, smiling. "Thank you very much, Miss Aurelie Bellange. The one in the memory was you. I should apologise to your sister for giving her the wrong reading- in fact, the pearls, fan and estate go to her, not you. You thought we wouldn't notice details like your shoddy haircut and your tattoo- that is precisely why your father didn't leave you your mother's treasures." Leta slid the papers across the table. "You don't think."
The woman was frozen in place, staring down at the Delve report, where Cyrus and Leta's findings were written out plainly in black text. Then, she stumbled to her feet, grabbed her purse and ran out the front door, nearly tripping in her haste to wrench the door open.
Leta whistled under her breath. "Look, she left the watch. How much do you think it'll go for?"
"Really!" Cyrus grinned, picking the watch up. "Shit, we're rich!"
"How are people so stupid?" Miss Talia said, sighing. "I can't believe we're stuck with this type of clientele!"
"Hey, you think we should call the Peacemakers for this one?" Cyrus asked lazily, sticking a lollipop in his mouth. "I mean, he left like, four million credits to the Amani lady. That's a lot of money."
"Nah," Miss Talia said, her nose wrinkled. "Aurelie won't get her money. Remember what she said? Her family Delver didn't believe her. We don't have to do anything. And guess what?" She grinned, holding up the intake forms again. "She paid upfront!"
Leta whooped, thrusting her fist in the air halfheartedly. "Yay. Make sure we get Amani's payment out of her too. Her old man made sure she could afford it. She's about to be a hell of a lot richer."