The *** and the Parliament
Elliot
"I don't know how much you know about this, but it's not exactly the death sentence you think it is," I mumbled.
Her expression didn't change. "But how?"
I walked back into the stall that now lacked a door for a few seconds and returned with Real Demons: the Fourth Edition in my hand. I showed it to Lauren, and told her, "There are ways to escape just about everything. Demons included. Some of the methods in these books are very efficient... obviously."
Slowly flipping through the pages, Lauren muttered, "I can't believe we don't about this."
"We?" I echoed.
"My family, I mean," she clarified. "My ancestors watched countless people die from this, and, thanks to this book, you've survived without so much as a scratch." Her eyes drifted to my neck. "Figuratively, of course," she added, grinning slightly.
I smiled too, not so much at the joke as Lauren's beautiful smile. I felt guilty for dragging her into this, even though it was not my fault. My misfortune was already some part of Lauren's own family history, and, in a sick way, I was almost grateful for the connection between us.
"I thought the demonic plague had ended several centuries ago," Lauren said, still reading. "So how did you get it?"
I told her the whole story—reluctantly including every detail, even parts that demonstrated my lack of physical strength (not that any partially truthful thing could ever negate that)—about the mysterious man who approached me in the night and cut me.
"In my distant ancestor's time, demons marked their prey themselves," Lauren stated. "Do you think the fact that a man created your mark has anything to do with your ability to avert the demon he was working for?"
"I'm not sure," I said honestly. "I didn't know demons were ever the ones to make the marks. How do-"
"You keep squinting," Lauren pointed out.
"I dropped my glasses earlier," I shrugged. "I do it all the time." Of course, that was code for, "The jerk who was beating on me when you saved my ass for the second time must have punched them off my face," but I never liked to put it that way.
"Hmmm... Are you near-sighted or far-sighted?" Lauren asked, already starting to try on a pair of glasses she picked up off the floor.
"Wait, those aren't-"
Before I could get out the rest of my sentence, Lauren gasped.
Her expression didn't change. "But how?"
I walked back into the stall that now lacked a door for a few seconds and returned with Real Demons: the Fourth Edition in my hand. I showed it to Lauren, and told her, "There are ways to escape just about everything. Demons included. Some of the methods in these books are very efficient... obviously."
Slowly flipping through the pages, Lauren muttered, "I can't believe we don't about this."
"We?" I echoed.
"My family, I mean," she clarified. "My ancestors watched countless people die from this, and, thanks to this book, you've survived without so much as a scratch." Her eyes drifted to my neck. "Figuratively, of course," she added, grinning slightly.
I smiled too, not so much at the joke as Lauren's beautiful smile. I felt guilty for dragging her into this, even though it was not my fault. My misfortune was already some part of Lauren's own family history, and, in a sick way, I was almost grateful for the connection between us.
"I thought the demonic plague had ended several centuries ago," Lauren said, still reading. "So how did you get it?"
I told her the whole story—reluctantly including every detail, even parts that demonstrated my lack of physical strength (not that any partially truthful thing could ever negate that)—about the mysterious man who approached me in the night and cut me.
"In my distant ancestor's time, demons marked their prey themselves," Lauren stated. "Do you think the fact that a man created your mark has anything to do with your ability to avert the demon he was working for?"
"I'm not sure," I said honestly. "I didn't know demons were ever the ones to make the marks. How do-"
"You keep squinting," Lauren pointed out.
"I dropped my glasses earlier," I shrugged. "I do it all the time." Of course, that was code for, "The jerk who was beating on me when you saved my ass for the second time must have punched them off my face," but I never liked to put it that way.
"Hmmm... Are you near-sighted or far-sighted?" Lauren asked, already starting to try on a pair of glasses she picked up off the floor.
"Wait, those aren't-"
Before I could get out the rest of my sentence, Lauren gasped.