brings the sweet relief of blackness.
Coming to was like slogging through muck; she might as well have had an elephant on her shoulders they were so heavy. Still she wasn't stupid enough to show signs of being aware. That kind of naiveté was for the coddled and the young, the untried ones who slept in cozy beds with eyelet covers. Instead, Theda listened to the sounds around her, assessing her situation. This was not a street; no smoke or exhaust or outdoor sounds. She wasn't sitting at her derelict card table; her hands were tied behind her. She knew without opening her eyes that there was no old gent with pockets at her feet to rifle through for money.
It took seconds to assess and process then Theda knew exactly where she was; she knew exactly what danger she was in.
The blood in her mouth was her own, she knew that too. One of the men she heard talking around her had hit her at some point. It was the only explanation; there was far too much of the coppery tang on her tongue for her to have pulled it from Ezekiel's finger or to have accidentally bitten her cheek.
She ran her tongue along the front of her upper teeth. Testing. There was an abrasion on the inside corner of her top lip, and she could only imagine that there was a cut on the front. She thought of the packets in Ezekiel's pocket; things would go much easier if she didn't have to worry about the sweats and shivers. She might even lose the panic that even now began to tighten her chest.
"What did you see?"
At first she thought those around her--three men, she figured by the voices she heard--knew she was aware, but it slowly dawned on her that the man asking the question was asking it of Ezekiel and not her.
"Did you see something?" The voice was more insistent this time, as though Ezekiel had shaken his head, refusing to answer. Hope flared in the place of the panic. Maybe he had his own motives besides the bounty to track her, to bring her here, to bubble his blood onto her tongue.
"Nothing?" the voice said. "Or you just won't say?"
"Take your pick," Ezekiel said.
For a moment she wanted to kiss his feet, filthy cowboy boots and all.
There was a collective sigh before a second man spoke. "We can't accuse her without proof."
"Says who?" the mayor again.
"You mean just execute her?"
"No, you idiot. We just get a confession first."
"But--"
"But what? You think she won't confess?" The mayor snorted. "Wait a few hours."
"Do what you will," she heard Ezekiel say. "It's got nothing to do with me."
Bastard. She hated herself for holding out a tinge of hope. She should've known; he was a bounty hunter. There was no reason for him to involve himself further. In it for the money, get the money, get on his way with the money. Theda had to work at not groaning out loud.
"Good enough, then," the mayor said. "Your packet is on the desk. Take it and go. I'll be in touch if another zealot turns up." The mayor sighed, satisfied. "But I wouldn't hold my breath."
There was a shuffling sound, as though people were moving about before Theda realized someone was crouched in front of her. She smelled cologne, but not the day-old scent Ezekiel wore, the one that had a tinge of musk to make it a near pheromone in her nose. No, this was the stink of expensive, privileged freshness. The mayor.
"So, my little religion mongerer," he murmured almost affectionately. "What do you think of a confession? Save us some time."
He'd known she was awake, the bastard.
"I'd say go fuck yourself. I'm not a zealot. I could care less about religion; I told you. I just like to eat."
"Well someone is setting men to thinking they can evolve their souls. Souls, young lady. Do you know what that means? It means they think they still have one, and that is a purely religious notion."
"And you can't have that," she said, looking at him finally. He had a mole over his eyebrow that she fixed her gaze on. "Lest your boss decide you aren't doing your job. Lest he decide to replace you. Lest
Coming to was like slogging through muck; she might as well have had an elephant on her shoulders they were so heavy. Still she wasn't stupid enough to show signs of being aware. That kind of naiveté was for the coddled and the young, the untried ones who slept in cozy beds with eyelet covers. Instead, Theda listened to the sounds around her, assessing her situation. This was not a street; no smoke or exhaust or outdoor sounds. She wasn't sitting at her derelict card table; her hands were tied behind her. She knew without opening her eyes that there was no old gent with pockets at her feet to rifle through for money.
It took seconds to assess and process then Theda knew exactly where she was; she knew exactly what danger she was in.
The blood in her mouth was her own, she knew that too. One of the men she heard talking around her had hit her at some point. It was the only explanation; there was far too much of the coppery tang on her tongue for her to have pulled it from Ezekiel's finger or to have accidentally bitten her cheek.
She ran her tongue along the front of her upper teeth. Testing. There was an abrasion on the inside corner of her top lip, and she could only imagine that there was a cut on the front. She thought of the packets in Ezekiel's pocket; things would go much easier if she didn't have to worry about the sweats and shivers. She might even lose the panic that even now began to tighten her chest.
"What did you see?"
At first she thought those around her--three men, she figured by the voices she heard--knew she was aware, but it slowly dawned on her that the man asking the question was asking it of Ezekiel and not her.
"Did you see something?" The voice was more insistent this time, as though Ezekiel had shaken his head, refusing to answer. Hope flared in the place of the panic. Maybe he had his own motives besides the bounty to track her, to bring her here, to bubble his blood onto her tongue.
"Nothing?" the voice said. "Or you just won't say?"
"Take your pick," Ezekiel said.
For a moment she wanted to kiss his feet, filthy cowboy boots and all.
There was a collective sigh before a second man spoke. "We can't accuse her without proof."
"Says who?" the mayor again.
"You mean just execute her?"
"No, you idiot. We just get a confession first."
"But--"
"But what? You think she won't confess?" The mayor snorted. "Wait a few hours."
"Do what you will," she heard Ezekiel say. "It's got nothing to do with me."
Bastard. She hated herself for holding out a tinge of hope. She should've known; he was a bounty hunter. There was no reason for him to involve himself further. In it for the money, get the money, get on his way with the money. Theda had to work at not groaning out loud.
"Good enough, then," the mayor said. "Your packet is on the desk. Take it and go. I'll be in touch if another zealot turns up." The mayor sighed, satisfied. "But I wouldn't hold my breath."
There was a shuffling sound, as though people were moving about before Theda realized someone was crouched in front of her. She smelled cologne, but not the day-old scent Ezekiel wore, the one that had a tinge of musk to make it a near pheromone in her nose. No, this was the stink of expensive, privileged freshness. The mayor.
"So, my little religion mongerer," he murmured almost affectionately. "What do you think of a confession? Save us some time."
He'd known she was awake, the bastard.
"I'd say go fuck yourself. I'm not a zealot. I could care less about religion; I told you. I just like to eat."
"Well someone is setting men to thinking they can evolve their souls. Souls, young lady. Do you know what that means? It means they think they still have one, and that is a purely religious notion."
"And you can't have that," she said, looking at him finally. He had a mole over his eyebrow that she fixed her gaze on. "Lest your boss decide you aren't doing your job. Lest he decide to replace you. Lest
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