Chapter 10
"You bastard," Wil snarled at Azrael as soon as Elizabeth had closed the dining room door. "You did that on fuckin' purpose - you just broke her fuckin' little heart."
"Yeah," Azrael replied thoughtfully, "and it was disappointingly easy." He smiled at her broadly. "It is so sweet how you care though. I didn't know you had it in you."
"You must be shitting me. She means nothing to me." Wil sat up, put her hands on the table and leant slightly in Azrael's direction. "Let her go - she has nothing to do with this."
"Pathetic, Murray. I can see straight through you. I saw the way you looked at her - you wanted to see that she's all safe and sound. Being stuck inside that flesh sack with her has left you silly." It was Azrael's turn to lean forward toward Wil. "And I may be the one who broke her 'fuckin' little heart', but you're going to be the one that rips out her fuckin' little soul."
Wil stared aggressively at Azrael, a half-snarl upon her lips. It seemed to be some time before she replied. "You're fucked in the head." She shook her head slightly as she said it.
Azrael laughed warmly at her, as one might laugh at an old friend's gentle humor. The sound was cut off abruptly. "No, Wilhelmina, that's you." He tilted his head to one side slightly. "I thought we'd been through all this? I thought we'd clarified what you are?"
Wil stared at him, her face slowly beginning to twist into a dark mask of emotions. Then she relaxed, returning to her former sullen self, as though this was an argument she did not consider worth having, and looked away. "Wil," she corrected. "You know I hate that stupid name."
"True. I do know that. In fact, I'd never heard anyone call you that without you correcting them. Until dear Elizabeth did it just then." He rose from his seat; the heavy wooden chair emitted a scraping sound as it moved backwards. Azrael moved toward the seated figure. "Isn't that a coincidence?"
"Don't come near me."
Azrael continued to approach, until he was only a few feet away. "Why's that?" he said, softly, gently. "Are you afraid you won't be able to control yourself?"
Wil leapt to her feet, the chair toppling backwards with a crash. She began to back up as his large frame continued to advance. "Stay the fuck away from me!"
"Oh dear, Wil. You are frightened aren't you?" He smiled wolfishly.
"Bullshit." Wil gave a startled gasp as her back met the dining room wall unexpectedly. And then Azrael was upon her.
He pressed himself along the length of her body, crushing her against the wall with his weight. His hands found her wrists and pinned her arms down by her sides. Azrael breathed her in, sniffing delicately as one might with a flower; he sampled her scent from her shoulder, up her neck, to her ear. Wil tried to twist away from his attentions unsuccessfully. Defeated, she went still, resignedly submitting to the indignity.
"Oh, how I have longed for this moment - when we are together like this. And you are home. Where you belong."
"I am not beautiful. This is not my home. You are fucked."
"Yes you are. Yes it is."
"No! You're trying to mess with me again." Wil looked at him, breathing heavily through her nose and struggling ineffectually against his weight once more, like a fly would in a spider's web. "You fucked with my mind! You made me do..." she struggled to express herself for a moment, "things that weren't me."
"Oh no, beloved Wil. You're all confused again. Like you were when I found you. And I thought we had spent all that time clarifying your thoughts, helping you to find who you really are. And now you say these things about me? It's hurtful, baby, truly hurtful."
"Shit! You're full of shit! You messed with me then, but it won't work again - I've got my eyes wide open this time. I'm not going to let you do that to me again."
"Silly, Willy!" Azrael laughed playfully, releasing her wrists and beginning to stroke her short, dark hair. "How could I have tricked you into being what you already are? The truth is, and you know this is the truth, that you and I together just stripped away the layers of pain and self-doubt that you wrapped around your beautiful soul. And revealed what lay underneath. Together we made you powerful. And holy. And special." He leaned close and whispered in her ear. "We made you something to be feared. We made you into a god."
"No." Wil's reply was equally soft-spoken, almost plaintive, and she swallowed heavily afterward. Azrael moved back, no longer pressed against her but still very close, and looked upon Wil's face with an almost reverential expression. "I love you, Wil. I'm the only person who ever had. Remember that."
"No you don't."
"Shush, my love," Azrael said gently as he continued to stroke her hair. A half-smile crept upon Wil's mouth, and her hands rose uncertainly up his sides to rest upon his shoulders.
"Can it be true, Azrael?"
"Of course, my..."
Wil's hands moved with lightning speed, her fingers stabbing toward Azrael's eyes, a twisted snarl instantly disfiguring her pretty features. Azrael moved even faster. His hands snapped to Wil's wrists with a crushing strength, stopping the attack inches from its target. He squeezed. Wil gasped, her eyes immediately beginning to water from the pain. Her jaw clenched as she refused to cry out.
"You are pathetically predictable, Murray." Azrael began, his tone hard. "Do you really think I am going to fall for your old tricks? I who know you intimately? I who have explored every fiber of your being?"
A squeak escaped Wil and she fought to resist the pain. But another cry came as she felt a bone crack in her forearm. "F...f...f...fuck you." She half cried it, half spat it out. Her knees began to buckle.
Azrael released his grip and Wil screamed as the blood flowed back into the constricted flesh. He held her around the throat - preventing her from falling.
"You will come to understand my love for you once more. You will rediscover your love for me in return. After all, I have an eternity to remind you."
"I...I never loved you. You were a good lay and that's it. And now I hate you, you piece of shit." Wil punctuated the rebuff by spitting in Azrael's face.
Azrael squeezed her throat and watched as she struggled - her fingers clawing weakly at his grip. He watched her impassively, the spittle running slowly down his face, as Wil began to turn first red, then traces of purple appeared in her cheeks as her eyes bulged. Now he began to lift her body up as Wil's vision began to gray around the edges from the oxygen starvation.
"It seems that we must also re-instill a sense of respect for your Master." Azrael gripped her at her waist and hoisted Wil's long body above his head with an unnatural effortlessness. She was powerless to resist his preternatural strength as he carried her across to the dining room table and slammed her down upon it with all his strength.
The table was an inch and a half of solid oak, and it cracked clean in half under the impact of Wil's body. She lay there on the floor amidst the shattered wood; inside her skull an intense white light of agony blazed that only slowly faded, and allowed the pain from her crushed, broken back and ribs to seep into her mind.
Azrael looked down upon her as she lay there, her limbs twitching slightly - whether the movement was from conscious desire or reflex action was unclear. He twisted his head from side to side as he watched her feeble movements, as though seeking to examine her suffering from every perspective. His expression was a mixture of impassiveness and curiosity - contrasting with Wil's sightless look of stunned disbelief and pain. Azrael knelt down beside his victim and scooped up her hand, kneading it gently with a concerned expression.
"Wil? Look at me, Wil."
Wil did not respond, instead continuing to stare upward, breathing laboriously. It appeared she was going into shock.
"Wil? Did you know your back is broken, Wil? I'm sorry about that, but you were being very naughty." Azrael paused as he ran his hand down her forearm. The limb seemed so tiny in his large hands. "Look at me, Wil. It's important you do." Wil's head lolled drunkenly as she turned her eyes to him.
"A...Az...Az..." she gasped, then paused to take a pained swallow. "W...why?"
Azrael smiled patronizingly, "You will call me Master."
Wil's eyebrows rose just a fraction as her shock-numbed brain struggled to comprehend what he was saying, and in response Azrael broke her forearm with a casual pressure.
Wil's eyes went wide with horror - staring fixedly at the sharp piece of bloodied forearm bone that protruded from the ripped flesh in front of her. Blood pumped from the gaping wound and over her torso as her mouth moved to form a scream - but no sound would come.
"Ooops. Clumsy me." Azrael dropped the mangled piece of bone and flesh onto her chest and reached for the other arm. "Now, let's try again, shall we? How do you address me?"
Wil found her voice. A long ululating scream began to fill the great emptiness of the dining room.
Elizabeth sat up on her bed and tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. The stream of liquid grief only slowed reluctantly, but she was tired of crying and determined to stop. She had been lying there sobbing for an age and it was enough. But the thought of that rotten, duplicitous swine Azrael and how he had.... The tears began again as she sat on her broad bed, hands over her face, and wept anew.
What a fool I am, she berated herself! She'd really believed Azrael had feelings for her, that he was the one. She had been waiting so long for a handsome stranger to come and sweep her off her feet, and then it had seemed her dream had come true, and...and...he'd turned out to be a right rotter! The swine had been after Wilhelmina the entire time. Why, oh why had she been so stupid?! Surely she should have seen that? It seemed so obvious now. Come to think of it, Wil had tried to dissuade her of the honor of the swine's attentions, but she had been so wrapped up in her romantic notions she hadn't...
"Oh, bugger it all!"
With an effort Elizabeth quenched the flow of tears and sat there, legs hanging over the edge of the bed, hands in her lap and looked forlorn. The two of them probably were off somewhere now, having the most frightfully good time, and laughing at her, at how simple and easily deceived she was - just a nobody from the colonies who knows nothing about life.
Elizabeth felt numb, she felt empty. Her grief and sorrow had hollowed her out and she waited for something to fill her again - to make her feel human and alive once more. Rather than this hollow shell.
She must look appalling. That thought was enough to move her to action; she slid off of the bed and moved to her dresser while sniffing prodigiously. The news was bad indeed. The mirror revealed her red-rimmed and puffy eyes with a merciless clarity. And her hair was a mess. Oh to have it all short and boyish like Wilhelmina's.
That thought lead to thoughts about Wil. She did cut a fascinating figure - she looked exactly as she might for such a strong, take-charge personality. No wonder Azrael was so enchanted by her. Elizabeth felt a stab of jealousy. Then she remembered how subdued Wil had been - she hadn't exactly returned Azrael's amorous attentions, that was for sure. Perhaps Wil had been just too polite to carry on with her lover while Elizabeth was there? Could be, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought that something wasn't quite right there.
Elizabeth busied herself with her hair and makeup, now that her emotions were coming under control. She thought about Azrael and how he had acted since she had met him. He was a scoundrel, she decided, and she would make sure to pop in on Father O'Connel when she got back - just to make sure he was getting better.
With that thought she was immediately homesick. Strong, redolent sensations and memories flowed over her as she remembered her dear Ma'ma and Pa'pa, her warm house - and her real room, she thought as she cast an eye over the simulacrum she was in now. And of course there was dear Fluff, who would be stalking about at this time, angling to be petted then fed. And then petted, then fed.
Elizabeth felt saddened by the memories now, aware of her isolation and the artificial nature of her setting. She was consumed by this awareness and these thoughts for a time. Then a resolution came to her. If Azrael did not want her then she would leave as soon as practicable. It was the only way to retain her dignity and give Azrael and Wil the privacy they so obviously sought. Having made this resolution, Elizabeth commenced to act. She finished attending to her appearance, rose and gathered her dress about her, and made her way out of the room and down the corridor. A rumbling vibration ran through the floor as she stood wondering which way to go. Elizabeth paid it no attention as she made her decision and set off.
Fletch stood respectfully as he delivered his report to Azrael. They stood in the corridor, not too far from the double doors leading into the dining room. Azrael was a mixture of attention to Fletch's words and frequent distraction as he repeatedly glanced down the corridor leading to the right. It was as though there was somewhere he really wanted to be. And indeed there was.
Fletch resumed his report after halting to pay attention to a rumbling vibration that had been easily detectable under their feet. He looked at Azrael, who shrugged dismissively, before continuing from where he had stopped. "...and Morlock's force is holding the Perathine gates with ease, and thus is in need of no reinforcement. Vlachok reports pressure from the enemy is building, with probing attacks building in intensity. However, it is impossible to discern at this stage if these are the prelude to a major offensive, or merely diversionary demonstrations. Reinforcing his position at this stage may be unwise."
"Oh, right." Azrael looked down the corridor again, appearing deep in thought. Then he looked back at Fletch. "Huh? What? Oh - that's true. They could be faking it. Yeah. Sure, no reinforcements for Vlachok. He can handle himself - if he really needed help he'd ask for it, right?"
Fletch inclined his head in agreement.
"That's what I thought," Azrael continued. "And Xerxthos? How is her command?" He immediately looked down the corridor again.
"The forces of the mighty Xerxthos are rested and resupplied after their recent glorious victory over the enemy. She is ready to be committed whenever you desire, Master. Fletch hesitated a moment. "Might I enquire as to the state of the Instrument?"
Azrael glanced at him only briefly. "She is coming along nicely - after the initial disappointment of her confused mental state. How was I to know being stuck in the body of that body would affect her so? Remind me to think of some particularly unpleasant torture for the blonde later on, Fletch."
"Of course, M'Lord."
"Anyway, I had to deliver some..." Azrael looked at Fletch and smiled slowly, "shock treatment. To snap her back to reality, as it were. I had to make it clear to the Instrument where she was, and who is in charge here. It was for her own good, you understand. Naturally I did not enjoy it in the least - unpleasant but necessary."
"Of course, M'Lord."
"Now is it just a matter of time before the Instrument is ready, and willing, and mine. With the defenses holding as well as you describe we have plenty of time for that. Why we can..."
"Azrael! Oh, Azrael!" He was interrupted by the high-pitched cry from the end of the corridor. The pair of them turned to see Elizabeth closing on them, having just rounded the corner. She approached at a fast walk, her long dress gathered in her small hands to expedite her progress.
Azrael smiled a broad grin at the petite blonde. "By all the Lords of Hades!" he muttered furiously out of the corner of his mouth at Fletch. "It is the infuriating woman! I can't talk to her - or torture her - right now. Next time I am near her I need to have a red-hot poker in my hand. You take her - give her whatever she wants. I have to be there when the Instrument wakes up." He began to back up.
"Of course, M'Lord. Whatever she wants?"
"Yes, just occupy her for a time," he hissed, then louder to Elizabeth, "Elizabeth darling! So lovely to see you! Sorry but you've caught me at a bad time - I really must dash." He was backpedaling as she approached, keeping the distance between then constant. "In the meantime Fletch will take care of you, Darling. Love you! See you soon!" With that he turned and half-ran, half-walked away - soon disappearing around the corner.
"Azrael! Azrael!! Where are you...?" Elizabeth progress was brought to an abrupt halt as the broad frame of Fletch stepped into the middle of the passageway.
"Miss Chalmers. Delighted to see you. How may I be of assistance?"
Elizabeth's surprise when she had rounded the corner and spied Azrael in conversation with his manservant has caused her to cry out in spite of herself. The sudden rush of pleasure that overcame her system gave lie to her earlier anger with Azrael. Perhaps she had been mistaken, perhaps he was worth forgiving for his earlier intemperate behavior - perhaps she had been too hasty with her earlier judgment? With this resolution for clemency decided upon, Elizabeth increased her gait - eager to seek confirmation of her revised opinions of Azrael.
How quickly those hopes were dashed. He was clearly avoiding her; fobbing her off onto the servant as he retreated with some alacrity.
"Azrael! Azrael!! Where are you...?" Her voice died as his immaculately dressed form disappeared from sight. "How could you...?" Elizabeth said in a quiet and disconsolate voice, almost grateful as Fletch's chest blocked her view of the painfully empty corridor behind him.
"Miss Chalmers. Delighted to see you. How may I be of assistance?" Her eyes traveled up that chest to the polite but blank expression on the man's face. The perfect expression for a servant, she thought.
"Why did Azrael leave like that?" she demanded with uncharacteristic bluntness.
"Regrettably, the Master has pressing business to attend to at this time. Doubtless he will attempt to accommodate you when he is not indisposed. In the meantime, I have been instructed to give you whatever you want. How may I be of assistance, M'Lady?"
There was something about his manner in those last two sentences that gave Elizabeth pause for a moment. There was something about this fellow that she couldn't quite put her finger on. He seemed such the perfect servant - polite, respectful and entirely proper. Not to mention rather handsome. But then he would go and do something odd or unsettling out of the blue.
Elizabeth blinked the thoughts away and smiled politely. Perhaps he was just a fraction daft in the head. Best to be gentle with him, she thought.
"My dear fellow," she began, trying to keep her emotions cool as thoughts of Azrael and his behavior returned, "I was intending to enquire of your master when would be a convenient time to return me to my home. I really don't care for this place. I don't care for it one bit. I want to go home." She hoped that hadn't sounded quite so pleading as she suspected it did.
Something flickered about Fletch's face and was gone almost as quickly. His eyes went down and up her body, pausing briefly about her chest before continuing on, as though he were appraising her.
"Unfortunately, it is impossible to speculate when the Master will be finished with you. And it is beyond my power to influence him in that regard. If you wish to escape, you will have to do it yourself."
Elizabeth's mouth was half-open now as she stared at him. He had gone from the occasionally odd, to the downright unsettling. First he had looked at her...assets, as it were, with no attempt to conceal the fact, and then he had used the word "escape" in a sentence.
"Oh. Oh, I see. And why, perchance, would I need to 'escape' this place, as opposed to leave?"
He looked at her, still blank, reserved and politely in his perfect servant manner. "Do you really want to know the answer to that question? Is that what you want?"
Elizabeth nodded, mute for a moment, a feeling of foreboding within her. Fletch leaned slightly closer and tilted his head to one side as he regarded her. "Because my Master will never let you out of here alive. You are destined to spend the rest of your existence here - suffering a myriad of agonies the likes of which you cannot begin to comprehend." Aside from his change of posture, Fletch delivered the news with the same neutral expression that he invariably possessed.
"Oh." Elizabeth stared at him blankly, utterly unable to form an effective response. Instead she pursed her lips and said "Oh" once more. She was really starting to hope she would wake from this dream soon. Because it had to be a dream. Fletch had returned to his former position, and was regarding her impassively.
"Are you mad?" It was all that Elizabeth could bring herself to say, and it wasn't profound or insightful.
"No."
Of course he would deny it. It seemed her next action preceded conscious thought, because it happened so quickly and was a much a surprise to her as it to him. Elizabeth grasped Fletch by the elbow and maneuvered him toward the doors to the dining room with a "follow me". He moved easily under her guiding pressure in spite of the relative differences in their bulk, a look of surprise crossing his face for several seconds before he regained control.
They were in the dining room in a moment - it was exactly as when she had left it earlier. Elizabeth rounded upon the large man and looked up at him with a determined set to her jaw.
"Now, errr, Fletch, isn't?"
He thought for a moment before replying. "Yes."
She ignored that strange delay and ploughed on. "What the devil do you mean by all that 'trapped in here forever' nonsense?! It is in very poor form for a servant to amuse himself with a guest like that. I could get you discharged from your duties for such conduct. What is there to stop me from walking out the door of this mansion right now, hailing a cab and returning to my home forthwith? Well, speak up, man!"
Fletched looked confused. "You are marked. You are his."
Elizabeth stopped. "I am sorry?"
The manservant bore the air of one who was attempting to explain the self-evident to an ignoramus and cannot believe they are unable to see things for themselves.
"You have accepted the brand of the Master. Surely you remember accepting the collar?"
Now Elizabeth went inexplicably cold. How had he known? "Uhhh, I remember something about a collar. I thought it was somewhat plain in appearance, but I understood that Azrael was not a rich man. In spite of this failing however, I still hold him in the highest regard. But I don't know what became of it; I seem to have lost it somewhere. Frightfully embarrassing really. I wonder if that is the reason he's been acting so.... Ooooh!"
Elizabeth had given a startled cry as, while she had been talking, her hands had unconsciously gone to her neck to where the collar had been - and felt the leather band under her fingers.
"Oh, good Lord! I can feel it!! But it wasn't there before!"
"Hmmm, our Master has been a tad remiss in not explaining these things to you. It's traditional to sign a contract so that both parties are clear on their obligations."
"Obligations?"
"Yes, obligations. That which is owed in exchange for the soul."
"For the soul?"
"Yes, for the soul. That which you received in exchange for your soul."
"For my soul!"
There was a slight pause as Fletch took a calming breath. "Yes, for your soul. Such as illimitable riches."
"Illimitable riches?"
"Yes, illimitable riches. That means a lot of money."
"I know what it means! I didn't get any riches."
"I see. What did you get in exchange for your soul? I if I may be so bold as to enquire."
Elizabeth turned her back to him and walked away a pace, still fiddling with the collar she could plainly feel about her neck; the collar that hadn't been there before. Her brow was a furrowed mass of confused lines. "What did I get?"
Fletch's reserves of self-control were wearing thin, and he was in danger of sighing in exasperation. It seemed that brains and beauty did not go together.
"Yes," he said calmly, proud of his professional detachment and discipline. "What did our Master gift you in exchange for your soul?"
"Aaah, well..." Elizabeth couldn't believe she was about to say this, "I seem to remember we shared a romantic liaison at the time. For one night." Her voice went up in pitch as her throat tightened with shame. "It was very special."
There was a loud snort of surprised derision from behind her and Elizabeth rounded on Fletch, eyes blazing.
"I would ask you to remain civil, sir!" she shouted, glad of something to distract her from her embarrassment.
Fletch instantly snapped back to his impassive expression. "I'm sorry, M'lady. I was just clearing my throat."
"Oh, you rotten liar!" Elizabeth spun back away from him and clamped her arms firmly across her chest.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, M'Lady. It has happened before. Others have exchanged their souls for love." He paused for a moment. "I've just never met anyone who sold their one, immortal soul for a one-night stand!" Fletch descended into peals of laughter, unable to control himself any longer.
"Oh you swine! Everyone in this house is a swine! How dare you mock me in this way?!" Elizabeth stomped to the door as she ranted. "I will report you to Azrael, and I expect he will give you a jolly good thrashing and dismiss you from his employ for your insolence and insanity!" She wrenched the doors open and shot back at the man. "And I assure you, sir, you are quite mad!"
Fletch spoke as she was about to leave, his laughter stopping abruptly. "If you do not believe me, M'Lady, I suggest you look first in your mirror, then try taking a nice deep breath of fresh air out of your bedroom window."
"Thank you for your 'advice', sir, and goodbye. I very much doubt that we will speak again.
And with that she departed, leaving Fletch alone and looking thoughtful.
Continued in Chapter 11
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