Guy rose from the table, almost knocking his head on the chandelier. “I'll expect an update tomorrow”
“Of course.” Xavier followed him to the door. “Oh, and what about the girl?”
Guy turned casually. “What about Emma?”
“I ask purely out of academic interest—since her kind is relatively new—how is she adjusting to the news of being a demigoddess?”
Guy shrugged. “It's hard to say. She's had to face more than her fair share of shocks this week. Who's to say how she'll truly feel when the dust settles.”
“And your plans for her?”
Keep her. Maybe forever. And find a way to bed her. Yes, I’d definitely like that. “She will go home. We may, perhaps, even erase her memory, though I’m not sure it is possible. She’s got a lifetime of them with me.”
“Erase her memory?” He scratched his gray beard. “Oh. How unfortunate. I'd so hoped to study her.”
“Well, we'll make the final call when we return from Mexico.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Xavier responded. “Well, in that case, could I have some time with her while she's still here? Perhaps interview her?”
Guy nodded. “As long as she has no objections.”
“Good, it's settled then. I'll see you tomorrow. Will you be bringing the girl to the dinner?”
“I plan to, yes. She deserves a little fun,” Guy said.
“Good. I'll introduce myself then.”
Guy nodded and reached for the door, pausing. “Xavier, one last thing,” he said, facing the door. “I'd like to learn how she was made.”
“Excuse me? Made?”
Guy took a deep breath. “Yes. How my brother, whichever one it was, managed to make a child. Specifically, sleep with a human.”
Xavier's face blushed as he cleared his throat. “Um—I will let you know what we come across.”
“Naturally, this is not to be discussed with anyone, and all information should be brought to me first.”
“As is our protocol.” Xavier nodded and closed the door.
Chapter TWENTY- SEVEN
The next morning, I sprang out of Guy’s king sized bed, feeling like the previous day—all five of them, in fact—had been nothing but a nasty dream. Sadly, they weren’t. But at least now I had “options” with the new bond-breaking chant Tommaso gave me. Not that I would release Guy, because my life was on such shaky ground. But just knowing I could helped me see the light at the end of my surreal little tunnel. Thank you, “options.”
Wanting to see how they felt, I began trying on the possibilities as I meticulously brushed my teeth in the ostentatious bathroom. I could go with a pack of armed Uchben to retrieve my parents, take them somewhere safe—like Rome—tell them what happened, and live happily ever after. Maybe even go on a date with Tommaso to see how I really felt.
I rinsed and spit into the sink. Or, I can become an Uchben and fight Scabs—Emma the Exterminator. “Yeah, right. Emma the Delusional.”
I quickly showered, threw on my last clean outfit, jeans and yet another t-shirt and flip flops, wrangled my wet curls into a knot at the nape of my neck, then headed out the door. I expected to see a particular guard waiting for me, perhaps reading a book about the history of the Ninja or Armani. But instead of Tommaso, there were two blond men dressed in plain khaki cargoes, tee-shirts, and dark blue fleece vests. Old Navy warriors? I guess it worked. “Where’s Tommaso?”
The taller of the blond men shrugged. “I think he had some stuff he needed to do.”
Stuff?
“His chief asked us to fill in and take you shopping.”
“Shopping?” Usually, nothing brightened my day like shopping, but given the situation, that sounded mildly absurd; clothes just didn’t feel important anymore—except for the obvious reasons like modesty, warmth, and hiding the fact I’d gone two days without shaving. “I’m really not in the mood. Besides, I don’t have any money.”
As if I’d said something foolish and naïve, they both gave each other a look. “Not an issue,” said the taller blond. “Mr. Santiago will take care of everything and said to let you spend as much as you want.”
“Is this some strange consolation prize?”
“Sorry?” the taller man asked.
“Never mind. Let’s go.”
I caught a glimpse of a gun holstered underneath one of the men’s vests. “Won’t people be concerned if they see you wearing a gun?” I asked.
“That’s the point,” responded the taller man.
So true.
As we walked to the car, I got my very first glimpse of where we were. The compound was more like the Oxford campus, not that I’d been there, but there was a huge central courtyard, fountains, walkways filled with people going in every which direction, and dozens of gorgeous gray stone buildings that looked like pieces of old Italian castles. It was more like a small city.
“How many people live here?” I asked.
“Maybe a few hundred. Then there are the dorms for those staying for meetings and training. During the day we have another thousand or so who work here.”
“What do they all do?”
Again, both men looked at each other. Had I spoken Martian or duck? “What?” I said defensively.
“We’re surprised no one’s told you all this.”
Apparently, I hadn’t received my Uchben welcome package. “Sorry, I’ve been a little preoccupied since my arrival from the massacre at Guy’s villa.”
Both men suddenly looked solemn. Had any of the dead been their friends?
“Not to worry,” said the shorter man. “We’ve got all day. We’ll fill you in.”
They took me to a quaint little plaza tucked away from the center of the city in a quiet neighborhood. I begged them to drive by The Coliseum, but they insisted on keeping their heads attached to their bodies. Guy made it clear that would be the penalty for putting me in any danger.
In between buying shoes, clothes, make-up, and a really gorgeous, little black dress they said I needed for some dinner that night, the two men—Robert and Michael—explained all about the Uchben. Surprisingly, they held nothing back. I guessed because of my half-breed status.
The most shocking thing I learned was that the Uchben had existed for a thousand years or so, concealing their existence from the world, while most lived and worked in normal jobs. They were like some elite Rotary Club, except they had their own 401K, owned their own country—two actually, but they wouldn’t tell me which ones—and had their own army.
By the time we returned, two thousand dollars later, I’d learned all I ever wanted to know about the Uchben. But the answers I needed most were still missing. Did the Maaskab kill my grandmother like Guy said? And why did they want me? If I broke my bond with Guy, would I really be safe? Would my heart ever heal?
I opened the door to the suite, finding it empty, but I saw an envelope on the table by the door.
Dear Emma,
Do not be angry, my sweet. I care for you more than you could possibly imagine. Give me a chance to explain and make it up to you.
See you at eight.
G.S.
I read the note three more times. Was he for real? And why did I suddenly feel like I was being buttered up? It was bad enough that he’d rejected me. I could understand why—I was a child in his eyes—but it was insulting that he didn’t trust me enough to ask if he wanted something.
Questions whirled through my head. The more I thought about it, the more I needed to extract the truth from him, once and for all. What was I to him? His duty? A friend?
If I didn’t find out, I’d never be able to move on, even if I released him.
***
For once, my hair decided to play the role of ally. My strawberry curls hung past my shoulders in perfect spirals. My skin was smooth and soft from the hour-long sauna, and since I’d barely eaten in the past week from nerves, my little black dress couldn’t possibly look better—it was the only consolation I had, so why not enjo
y it? I’d even managed to buy a fantastic black satin bra during my spree that made my respectable B’s look and act like very naughty C’s. Thank you, underwires.
I didn’t have any fancy jewelry, so I just wore Tommaso’s necklace and tried not to be angry at it. It wasn’t the necklace’s fault that he’d ditched me for “stuff” all day.
By eight o’clock, I looked like a new woman. Complete with shimmery pink lip-gloss, smoky eye shadow, and thick black lashes. It seemed silly to take time out to play dress up, but I sorely needed to have a break from the drama. So, as the saying goes, when in Rome…
Right on cue, Guy entered and time seemed to move in slow motion. He wore a tailored black suit—Italian, no doubt—with a turquoise shirt and tie that matched his iridescent eyes. His hair fell in loose black waves, framing his high cheekbones and perfect full lips. All of it sensuously complimented his cinnamon dusted skin. Even for a man his size, he looked lean and elegant. A refreshing change from deadly and annoyed.
He gave me a hungry look and mouthed a word—was it “mine”?—while his eyes lounged over my body. “You look absolutely lovely tonight,” he said, then swallowed.
“Thanks for the dress.” I said coldly. Just because he looked mouthwatering, didn’t mean I wasn’t still angry at him for rejecting me so coldly the night before, or for the years of torment.
“So?” I said, raising one brow, expecting answers.
“I’d hoped we could have dinner first and then talk. I don’t want us to be interrupted, and unfortunately, the dinner begins in ten minutes.”
I resisted kicking his shin. More waiting? “You must really hate me, or really want me to hate you.”
“I promise, it’s neither. I’m ready to tell you anything you want to know, but after we eat.”
I could see that the stubborn man had made up his mind and wasn’t going to change it. “Fine. What’s the dinner for anyway?” I asked.
Guy stared appreciatively at my chest before answering. “We will honor the dead with a celebration feast. The Uchben do not believe in funerals.” He held out his arm. “My return is also being toasted. Shall we?”
“Fine. But when we come back, you and I are having a long talk, and I want answers.”
“You, my sweet,” his eyes ran down the length of my body then looked at my face, “can have anything you want.”
***
Dinner was held in a giant medieval-looking ballroom on the compound. The open room was dimly lit by several wrought-iron candelabras and rustic sconces mounted in between life-sized portraits of men who apparently earned their places of honor by looking or being virulent and brutal.
There were paintings of a blood-spattered redheaded Viking standing on a cliff, an Attila the Hun looking guy, and even one of a bare-chested Aztec wearing a feather and jade headdress, gripping a severed head in his hand.
Classy. Where could I get prints for my living room?
Speaking of heads, the headcount easily exceeded two hundred tuxedo-clad men of all ages and their dates. So naturally, Guy and I were precariously seated smack in the middle of a long, U-shaped table where we could be easily seen. And stared at. And talked about like live centerpieces or animals on exhibit at the zoo. Awk-ward.
After the nerve-wracking meal, which Guy ate none of with the exception of dessert—cookies, oddly enough—there were toasts and cheers, ceremonies and songs for the recently deceased. It was like a giant antediluvian frat party.
Somewhere between the wrap up dinner speeches, I noticed Tommaso enter through the side door and take an empty seat. He shot a tiny twitch of a smile my way when he noticed me glaring at him.
Not surprisingly, he looked fashion-shoot unbelievable. Tailored dark gray suit, black shirt and tie, and hair combed neatly back. Absurdly, I found myself wishing they’d had an Uchben Ken doll like him when I was little; my Barbie would have been way happier.
I noticed he too was trying not to stare, but it was almost impossible not to look my way; Guy was at my side being the boisterous center of attention, laughing and playfully heckling the speakers with his deep velvety voice that filled the room. When Guy stood up and told one final story about his time with Buddha—I had a hard time with that one—I had to admit, even I was fascinated by this new, crowd-pleasing side of him.
Afterward, everyone moved into the larger hall next door for after dinner drinks and music—compliments of the live orchestra. I think an additional five hundred or so showed up, and Guy was obviously the guest of honor. I was clearly his arm-candy since he kept me pinned to his side. I tried to keep up, politely nodding and shaking hands with face after face, but it was impossible to remember everyone’s names, except for the Alexanders. There were at least fifty of those.
“Why so many?” I asked Guy.
“I asked the chiefs the same question when I reviewed the new soldier roster,” Guy explained. “Apparently, he is—was―our most famous Uchben.”
“What did he do?”
“He killed Hitler,” he whispered.
“Oh. I thought Hitler committed suicide.”
Guy practically glowed with pride. “The Uchben are impressive. Yes?”
What an odd yardstick this man carried. “Hey, since you and the other gods have been locked away, who’s been giving them orders?” I asked.
“They have directives they follow at all times,” he replied. “That’s what the chiefs’ roles are for, enforcing them. It’s a very efficient system. We only provide occasional oversight, and the directives can only be change by a unanimous vote of the gods.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. This world was so different than anything I ever could have imagined. And I still had so much to learn.
While Guy was busy telling yet another story to a crowd that had gathered around him, I slipped away to the bathroom. I was almost to the doorway when I heard a deep voice say, “Going somewhere?”
I turned to find Tommaso leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, smiling at me.
“Hi,” I said and kept walking.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.
“Did you enjoy your stuff today?”
“What ‘stuff?’”
I perched one hand on my hip. “It was your ‘stuff,’ why don’t you tell me?”
“Oh, I see. Did Mr. Santiago tell you that?”
“Maybe. Or maybe your stand-ins, Robert and Michael, who had time to take me shopping all day did.” I was seriously annoyed he’d ditched me.
“Emma, I don’t know what kind of garbage they’ve fed you, but that’s not what happened.” His face turned red. He looked like he was ready to explode.
“Then?” I asked.
“I spent the day getting a physical and outfitted for my new assignment. Siberia.”
Figured. He was trying to run away. And why shouldn’t he? I was no prize for any man to look after, considering the kind of lifting that would be required. All that baggage I came with was heavy. “Sounds fun. When do you leave?” I said dryly.
“I was supposed to go tonight, but my visa won’t be ready until morning.” He didn’t look happy.
Can’t get away fast enough, huh? “What’s the rush?” I said.
“Emma, there’s no rush. I was given a choice: leave the Uchben or take this new assignment.”
“Why?”
“I’m pretty sure you can guess.” His eyes flickered across the room toward Guy who was busily chatting with a large, redheaded man wearing a kilt. He sort of looked like the bloody Viking in the painting. Maybe a descendant?
“He’s forcing you?” I asked.
“Apparently.”
Well, as the great band Placebo once said, “Someone call the ambulance.”
“Why? Is something wrong?” Tommaso asked, confused.
“Because, there’s going to be an accident.” I turned and started pushing through the crowd toward Guy who was about to have a deep conversation with my knee.
“Emma, wait!” Tomm
aso called, but I was determined to bulldoze my way to Guy.
Then a thinly built older man with a grayish beard stepped in my way. “Emma, it’s so nice to meet you!”
“Excuse me, but I have to talk to someone.” I stepped to one side, and he matched my move. I stepped again, and he followed. It looked like we were doing a bad box step.
“I just wanted to introduce myself and ask if we could have coffee tomorrow?”
“Who are you?” I asked, my eyes looking past the man and hatefully zeroing in on Guy.
“I am Xavier. Votan—I mean, Guy—told me about you, so naturally I’m eager to study you while I have the chance. I’m what you’d call the in-house historian and spiritual guidance counselor—a long story—but your help could assist others of your kind acclimate to their situation. If we find any.”
“I’m sorry, what? Acclimate?” I tried to focus on the quirky little man, but all I could think about was punishing Guy.
“Yes,” he said. “I realize my request may seem callus after everything you’ve been through, but I figure a few questions wouldn’t bother someone as strong as you. After all, you’ve been the constant companion of the God of Death and War.”
“Yeah, interesting.” I nodded, while glaring across the room.
“But we’re so pleased you’ve brought him back to us, my dear,” he rattled on. “Things tend to spiral out of control without the gods’ help. For example, have you seen that terrible show, The Real Housewives? That wouldn’t have existed if the gods hadn’t been locked away.” He chuckled.
“Sorry?” my attention bounced back.
“I was making a joke, but—uh—I guess old retired priests aren’t so funny these days.”
“No. I mean—sorry, can you repeat that part about God of Death and War?”
Accidentally in Love With a God (2012) Page 17
