“He’s under my protection, jackass. He’s not your pawn anymore.”
“He was never a pawn,” Donald sneered indignantly. “How dare you. I made him a hero, time and again, until he began to resent me. I never should have let that filthy Gypsy witch touch him.”
“You abandoned Alex!” Rachel gasped, taken aback by the gall on display. “You abandoned him and you abandoned me!”
“Who do you think unlocked the door to that chapel?” he protested.
“Yeah, and then you ran like a bitch! You left him there on his own when you should have helped him.”
“Alex showed me none of the fire and prowess of his earlier lives. How was I to know how that fight would have turned out?”
“So you just pissed yourself and bailed. I know this story.”
“What would you have had me do? Expose myself? Like you did?”
“I’d have had you do your fucking job, asswipe! I had no control over being in that chapel! You know that! Those assholes had magic that worked on angels!”
“And I had no right to expose yet another angel to it!” replied Donald, jerking his thumb at his chest.
“Oh, you seriously expect me to believe that’s why you ran away? Have you even convinced yourself?”
“It all seems to have worked out for you quite well regardless,” Donald huffed. “You and Alex both walked out of there and right into a bed with that demon whore.”
Rachel’s fists clenched hard enough for her knuckles to crack. Donald blinked and took a step away. “Hauser,” she seethed. “You’re here as Hauser’s guardian, and he’s after vampires… but you know damn well he doesn’t need you empowering him with a rosary just to take on vampires…”
Donald swallowed hard. “I have my duty!”
“Yeah. Duty.” She stepped forward. “What did you call her again?”
Donald stared into her eyes. He then blinked, took a deep breath, and fled through the window.
* * *
“How long do we sit waiting in the car?”
“You realize that telling you anything now is kind of a problem for me, right?”
The question would have drawn a frown out of Amber, were one not already entrenched on her face. “Does it mean anything if I tell you this sucks for me, too?”
“What, sitting in a car in your own handcuffs? Yeah, I bet it does.”
“That, too,” Amber muttered. “I meant what I said before. I feel awful about this. And about hurting you.”
Jason looked back over his shoulder at her. “Believing anything you say now kinda has the same problem as answering any of your questions,” he said.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does,” she sighed. “It’s true, though. For what it’s worth. And I’m not mad at you for this. It’s just that I didn’t want to see you both make so much more trouble for yourself. Especially you.”
“Especially me? What, did Lorelei do something to you to make you feel less bad for her, too?”
“Lorelei isn’t the one who made me feel special,” ventured Amber.
Jason felt that one. “Wow,” he winced. “Yeah, you’re not making me feel any better with this. Kinda makin’ it all worse, actually. And-“ he turned back to look at her again. “You kissed me.”
“Yes,” Amber nodded.
“Like, a lot.”
“Yeah. I liked it.” Her eyes flicked up at his, then down again. “Sorry.”
“How’s that-how’s that even legal? I mean how are you supposed to build a case on that?”
Amber’s frown returned. She was genuinely tempted to tell him how likely she was to lose her job over it. Training and dedication held on. “How’s anyone build a legal case about a demon and her boyfriend fighting vampires? You’d be surprised what my group can get away with.”
Jason sat back in his seat, facing forward and feeling glum. He glanced through the trees and saw three people in business attire, one woman and two men, all approaching with guns drawn.
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Jason grumbled, but put his hands up on the roof of the car as instructed.
Chapter Fourteen: Ugly
They left her alone in the room, chained to a chair and flanked by cameras and lights. One set of her chains was made of cold iron. Another seemed to be inlaid with silver. The sole decoration of the room was a crucifix set in the wall beside the door. She considered, absently, that the mortals employed every plausible myth and superstition that did not explicitly cross the boundary between Judeo-Christian faith and sorcery.
Lorelei would have preferred the latter. Sorcerers could present significant challenges, but it was a rare practitioner indeed whose power and guile matched hers at every level. It had been a long time since Lorelei had crossed a vessel of faith that could genuinely harm her, though-and never had she faced one like this. Had she not been at full strength, the encounter might have ended her.
Moments after Hauser and the rosary in his pocket left the room, Lorelei felt the chains constrict. Her normal visage steadily reasserted itself. Lorelei slowly grew back into her usual statuesque figure and height. For a brief instant, Lorelei felt a wave of relief. The effects of Hauser’s rosary were only temporary, or perhaps contingent on his presence. He cut her powers and muted her enchantments, but he did not completely unravel her. She was weakened, but that would pass.
That understanding did not erase her feelings of humiliation.
Half the city turned out in the market that hot summer’s day. Anyone free to leave their homes or their duties came from villages far and near. Only so many men came to participate in the auction, and few of them had the wherewithal to bid upon the greatest prize. Some came knowing they would be outbid, but wished to make a valiant go of it. Some knew that they would profit from the overreaching of their competitors. But most came simply to watch, and to dream.
The beauty, Amata, was finally of age to marry.
“I do not know how my voice will hold out today,” said the crier, an older man in a robe with a graying beard and a kindly face, “but I will do my best. My son will take over for me if I cannot last the day.” His eyes swept the group of young women, all of them freshly bathed and primped as best they could be. Amata was not the only lovely girl, but her flawless skin and her shapely figure stood out even among the other pretty girls waiting near her. Some were excited. Many could not hide their trepidation. A few could barely hold back tears.
“Remember to smile,” the crier told them all. He turned to the gaggle of prettier girls, all off to one side from the rest. “Wealthy men have come today. Very wealthy men. Shine.” The crier held out his arm, gesturing for the girls to walk out into the open space cleared for the auction. Amata led the group out, plainly being the prettiest of the bunch.
The crier’s smile remained as the passing girls-one by one, two dozen this year-became less and less comely. Then came one with her large nose. One with her ugly scar and her limp. He smiled at them all.
And then came the last, shuffling, older than the rest. Her head hung low.
The crier took her thin hand and smiled encouragingly. “This time, Beletsunu,” he told the small girl. Her lazy eye refused to look at him, but the good one met his gaze. The other girls had helped with her black hair, sweeping it back and around to cleverly help it look thicker on her scalp. They used powder to smooth out the pox scars on her cheeks. Nothing could be done for the crook in her nose, or the crook in her posture, or the shape of her jaw. She knew better than to part her lips when she smiled.
“You are kind, sir,” she told him, and meant it.
“No, Beletsunu. I am not kind. I am certain.” He squeezed her hand again. The other girls could put all the powder and flowers on her they wanted, but he knew that nothing could do more to help an ugly girl shine than hope.