Natural Consequences (57 page)

“You stupid fool! How could you be so careless?” Ubar jerked with each blow, sobbing but too frightened to defend himself or flee—and now too injured in any case.

“Master!” came a voice. Milkilu spun, finding Hunzuu there on his knees. “Master, mercy! The boy made a mistake. He has been punished, and will learn better.”

The rage did not abate. Milkilu strode forward, swinging the shovel at Hunzuu now. “And who should have taught him?” he roared. He struck his faithful servant across the shoulder, and then in the hip, and more. “You know better! You know to have the feed sifted and checked!”

“I did, master,” Hunzuu cried between his gasps and grunts of pain. “I did! We both knew! We both checked! I am sorry, master. We are both so sorry.”

Milkilu struck Hunzuu again, breathing heavily as he tired from the exertion of beating his servants. The blow landed across Hunzuu’s ankle, awkwardly but painfully. Milkilu tossed the shovel aside, letting it fall across Ubar’s back. He stomped away, past the dead horses at the edge of the stable.

It occurred to him that Hunzuu should have been out in the fields. He wondered how Hunzuu even knew that Milkilu was in the stables, or that Ubar was being beaten. No matter. One more thing to discipline Hunzuu for later.

His intervention hardly did any good. Ubar would likely die from his injuries. Milkilu had seen it before. And now most of the other servants were gone on business. Hunzuu would not be running errands for a day or more. Milkilu fumed, striding through his home, wondering who could fetch—

She knelt in the kitchen, her head bowed to the floor and covered by the hood of a cloak. “Beletsunu,” Milkilu growled.

“Yes, master?”

“Do you know the way to Gemeti’s house?”

“Yes, master.”

He grunted. Subjecting Gemeti to Beletsunu’s face would not be the best way to summon her, but he could soothe any insult with more gold. “Take money. Go to her and tell her to come here tonight. Then get back here and prepare the bedroom.”

“Yes, master,” Beletsunu replied, and waited until he had passed to rise.

Milkilu let out a sigh. At least his wife was good for something. Convenient, he thought, that she was there in the kitchen when he needed her.

* * *

The wine was stronger that night. The incense, too. Milkilu failed to notice either change, consumed as he was by his company. In truth, both the wine and the incense had grown slightly stronger each night for months, bit by bit, carefully measured so as to escape his detection.

Milkilu didn’t notice. Nor did the whore, Gemeti. She stayed on her hands and knees as he required, moaning loudly at his magnificence. Their bodies gleamed in the candlelight from the scented oils that covered them both.

Even with the loss of the horses, Milkilu considered that he could practically buy Gemeti now. They could come to some arrangement and he could have her live here in the home with him, or at least come to him most nights. He gave it a moment’s thought, gulping down his wine while he held her hip with his other hand. No. Better to look into who might be available for marriage soon. He had the money for a sizeable dowry, should anyone desirable be offered.

At this point, he’d been married to Beletsunu long enough that an accident would not seem so suspicious. It was about time he got rid of the stupid, ugly cow, too. The thought of freeing himself from her drove him on. Gemeti’s moans became commensurately louder.

He never saw his wife until it was too late. The kitchen knife slid across his neck, cutting deeply, robbing him of his voice. He gasped and pitched forward, blood spraying all around as he collapsed on top of Gemeti.

Beletsunu grabbed the whore’s hair with her free hand. She stabbed the screaming, naked woman without a second thought. Beletsunu didn’t know what had driven Gemeti to prostitute herself and didn’t care. All that mattered was her silence. Beletsunu murdered the young woman on her husband’s bed, and then turned her attention to her flailing, gasping husband.

He tried to knock her away with one hand, keeping the other on his neck as if to stop his bleeding. Half-drunk and disoriented by pain, though, Milkilu couldn’t land much of a blow. Beletsunu ignored it. She stabbed him several more times, giving special attention to his legs. She jerked and carved with the knife, just to ensure that he could not run.

“Your servants will notice how your screams have ceased,” Beletsunu said as he collapsed back onto the bed. “Hunzuu or Ubar will come to your aid. They may be on the way now. But they will not move quickly tonight after the beating you gave them both.”

His eyes were wide with panic. He stared at his wife, gasping for breath that came now with a sick gurgling noise.

Her one good eye looked on without pity. “I will be distraught when I am told that you did not escape the fire,” Beletsunu told him, her voice entirely flat. “I will weep for you, husband. I will grieve. Everyone will see, and take pity.”

She slipped toward the table, and knocked over the decanter of scented oils onto the rug, and then the candle with it.

“Master?” called a weak and weary but concerned voice from outside.

The flames roared to life. Milkilu flailed weakly, pleading for mercy with his eyes.

“Hunzuu?” Beletsunu answered with a fearful voice. She scurried from the room as the fire quickly spread. “Hunzuu! Hunzuu, come quickly! Please!”

Milkilu saw her disappear behind the smoke.

* * *

She wept outside the walls of Milkilu’s burning home, driven to her knees by her grief. Everyone saw. Everyone took pity.

Most gave her space. There was little to do for her just yet. The immediate concern was for salvage of property and livestock. Two servants had already perished in the flames, and still more stood at risk. Such a simple, stupid accident. Such a tragedy.

“You weep with talent.”

Beletsunu looked up with shock. Her good eye and her mouth conveyed her horror. The fire illuminated the night outside her home. Standing over her was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark, rich tunic.

The dancing lights of the fire allowed her to see his handsome face and his short, well-groomed beard. The dark pools of his eyes would surely have unsettled her, had she not already been
so unsettled as she was.

“How dare you?” she gasped. “My husband is dead! Our faithful servants! You come here to mock me?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, her words punctuated with sobs, but her words carried.

“Excellent,” chuckled the stranger. “Most guilty women would immediately deny any implied accusation, but you know better than to show that you recognize it. You skip straight to indignation. Parry and attack. Very good indeed. Don’t worry. No one will hear us. Your secret is safe with me.”

“What secret?” Beletsunu asked, looking around to see if anyone could shield her from this cruel man’s taunting. No one seemed to notice them at all now.

“The knife hidden in your dress, for one. It still carries blood from your husband and his whore. You washed it from your hands quickly, but the knife is not yet fully cleaned. Should I go on?”

Beletsunu did not respond. She watched, waited, and listened.

“He had it coming,” the man continued. “Don’t worry. I will not expose you. I have waited some years for that one to die, and I appreciate the manner of his death. Killing the whore was a nice touch, though,” he smiled thoughtfully. “And the servants in the fire. I would not be able to speak to you openly had you not been so thorough. Though I have to say, it was the thoroughness that I appreciated most. You have talent.”

“You’re mad,” Beletsunu countered. “I am a small woman, and weak. I could not—“

“But you did, and we both know that you did,” he said, still smiling. “You are a small woman, and strong, and resourceful. And now a widow, all alone. Where will you go?”

Beletsunu’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“I am Baal,” the man told her as ashes began to fall around them. “I come to make you an offer.”

* * *

“Babe, are you okay?” Rachel asked.

Lorelei’s gaze drifted away. Regardless of her appearance, she did not feel fine at all. She felt Rachel’s hand on her knee, felt the angel’s pleading eyes on her, and
eventually shook her head. “No.”

“They’re not gonna hurt you again,” Rachel assured her. “I won’t allow it. I won’t leave you.” The succubus let out a bitter, skeptical breath. “I mean it, Lorelei,” Rachel said. “I can’t and I won’t.”

Only then did Lorelei look up, her eyes taking in the room once more in a practical assessment. There were cameras, which surely had microphones. They were not likely set merely to record. Someone was probably watching her, ready to sound an alarm if she did anything remotely suspicious. Speaking openly seemed unwise.

She hung her head again, considering her options. Mortal men watched her every move… but they were only mortal men. She knew languages that died out centuries ago. No one else understood her, but an angel might.

“These walls have ears,” Lorelei murmured in Beletsunu’s native tongue.

Rachel blinked, not immediately understanding. Then the light bulb seemed to go off. “Right,” she said. “Sorry. Good plan. Shit, I haven’t heard that language in forever. Lorelei, I’m so sorry.”

“You saw me?” asked Lorelei, still keeping her voice low. “You saw what happened?”

“Yeah, a little,” nodded the angel. “It wasn’t just the
rosary, or the guy. They aren’t special. There was another angel there, too. I separated them. Wish I had fucked him up a bit more, but he ran.”

“I thought I was safe from your kind,” said Lorelei. Her voice, even this low, did not come to her without effort.

“You’re supposed to be,” Rachel frowned. “I thought he’d never set foot in this city again. This shit is way deeper than I ever realized.”

“Who?”

The blonde did not answer immediately. Lorelei watched the brief conflict in Rachel’s eyes. “His name is Donald,” Rachel said. “He’s… he’s a guardian angel. For Hauser. And for Alex, before we all met. Yeah. Way too convenient, I know,” she added sourly as she saw Lorelei process the information.

“You
told Alex that his guardian abandoned him.”

“He did. He popped the lock open on the chapel where Alex met us, but even so, he ran before the action started. He’s got his own bullshit justification for it
. Nobody likes to admit cowardice, especially to themselves. The thing is, all this stuff with Alex and us… I think it blindsided Donald. He didn’t see any of it coming. He thought Alex was just a big old failure, but he’s clearly been investing in Hauser for a long time.”

Lorelei frowned. Her language didn’t have a proper term for that, so she repeated it in English: “Investing?”

Rachel sat back on her butt in front of Lorelei, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. It was rare that her young face held such a grim expression. “Guardian angels aren’t supposed to play favorites. They have rules, but they also have lots of autonomy. No guardian can be everywhere at once, so they have to make judgment calls and prioritize. Most of ‘em do it in good faith. Hell, normally I’d say that all of them work in good faith. They’re angels.

“But angels aren’t perfect. You know that. I know that. They fuckin’
hate
to admit that, but it’s true. Anyway, if you look at one given guardian and you get real critical and start peeling away every little decision and look at it, sometimes you see patterns that don’t exactly indicate complete impartiality, y’know? Like a parent who plays favorites.” She gave a little shrug. “Vincent got that way before he took on dominion here. It‘s one of the things that drove us apart.

“Mortals make their own decisions. Angels give hints and leave signs and sometimes they whisper encouragement or warnings or whatnot, but in the end it’s supposed to be all about the mortal’s choices. Free will, right?” she asked with a smirk, and looked up to Lorelei’s steady, piercing gaze. Her smirk faded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Anyway. I think there’s a good chance that Donald’s been giving a lot more guidance to Hauser than he probably should.”

“How do you know this?” Lorelei asked, reverting to far older words again. “Did Donald confess it?”

“No.
I couldn’t pin him down that long. I’m making an educated guess. I mean Hauser’s here, doing his thing, and he’s using a rosary, and…” Rachel’s words turned to a mumble. She chewed on her lip hesitantly. “And Donald has a pattern.”

“How long have you known Donald?”

“Only met him twice now. Once after the first shit went down with us and Alex, when he got held to account for it. And then just a couple minutes ago.”

“Then how do you know his pattern?”

“Because a friend looked into things she’s not supposed to,” Rachel mumbled. “You remember Hannah? She was Alex’s guardian once, a couple millennia ago. Then he had a new life, and a new angel… and then a pattern started.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath. “Guardian angels are judged on a lot of factors, but the biggest is a matter of how their charges live their lives. Whether they’re good people or bad, whether they’re brave or cowardly… whether they’re virtuous or if they’re corrupted.