and effeminate young man wearing leather from head to toe. "Are you returning, renting, or buying?"
Ezekiel pushed past him, pulling Theda stumbling along in her bare feet. "None of the above, Sasha," he said. "I brought my own."
The use of his name made Sasha take a longer look at Ezekiel. "Ah, it's you, Eazzy. It's been a while." He sounded displeased but Ezekiel made no apology.
Theda peered into the smoky gloom. She could make out sofas against the wall, a few broad well-cushioned recliners. There were shelves along the walls that might at one time have been made to contain books, but instead were now filled with hookahs and liquor bottles. A few well-dressed businessmen lounged about, smoking and drinking. A handful of chicly dressed women sipped cocktails. So this was where the esteemed of the west end spent their free time.
"This way," Ezekiel jerked on her wrist, urging her to follow him behind the effeminate doorman, who looked back over his shoulder briefly.
"I take it you're looking for the den," Sasha said.
"Yes," Ezekiel responded.
Sasha halted midway down a long hallway in front of double French doors. There was a podium much like one would see at a high-end restaurant with a leather bound appointment book and feathered pen atop.
"Neck, wrist, or waist?" he asked and gave Theda an assessing look that sent her hands to her chest and hips at the same time, trying feebly to cover herself. "Neck, I'd say."
Ezekiel turned his green eyed stare on her and for a moment she felt even more naked. "Waist," he said, correcting the young man.
Sasha took a few steps to the left, just beyond the podium and pulled open an ornate chest.
"What is this?" she asked Ezekiel. "What did you mean by waist ?"
Ezekiel's charcoal brow lifted matter-of-factly. "He wants to know what kind of leash you'll be wearing."
Her mouth went dry, and she could feel the last of her buzz leaking out her ears. She could swear she shouted obscenities at him, but Ezekiel merely shrugged in that offhand way he had that made everything seem as though he'd just been offered tea.
The effeminate rattled around inside the chest for a few moments then held up a length of chain ending in a wide belt that came together into locking ends.
Theda flew at Ezekiel, fists landing wherever she could score. He gripped her wrist on her last punch and twisted just enough that she found herself pulled backward against him, chest heaving. His heart thudded against her back; his muscled thighs pinioned hers.
She felt his mouth caress her ear. "It's not what you think, minou . Trust me." His tone turned apologetic, but she realized as he spoke that the tone wasn't for her benefit; it was for Sasha's. "They say they'll do anything, until they actually get here," he told Sasha in a pained voice.
"I understand; it happens more than you know," the man said, eying her toe to head. "Pity you aren't selling her; she'd bring a tidy profit with that honeyed hair, ratty though it is." He combed through his own fastidiously as though to instruct her to do the same.
Theda twisted, trying to aim a kick at him. Sasha grinned. "I'll give you ten thousand for her. That sultry, haunted look, and that kind of spit doesn't show itself in her kind very often, if you catch the pun."
Several things ran through her mind, not the least of which the concern that she was actually being sold. Human trafficking stories rose after the god came and left, but she'd never known anyone who went missing, had just assumed it happened somewhere, just out of her sphere. She could imagine it on the eastern part of the city, but the west?
"I'm in a spitter's den, aren't I," she hissed. "You brought me to a spitter's den."
She felt Ezekiel nod. "Now put your leash on like a good slave and I'll take you through. Show you what you're missing."
"Fifteen thousand," Sasha--the owner, Theda now realized, said.
"I'll cut your throat in your sleep," she growled at him, but it only resulted in him upping
Ezekiel pushed past him, pulling Theda stumbling along in her bare feet. "None of the above, Sasha," he said. "I brought my own."
The use of his name made Sasha take a longer look at Ezekiel. "Ah, it's you, Eazzy. It's been a while." He sounded displeased but Ezekiel made no apology.
Theda peered into the smoky gloom. She could make out sofas against the wall, a few broad well-cushioned recliners. There were shelves along the walls that might at one time have been made to contain books, but instead were now filled with hookahs and liquor bottles. A few well-dressed businessmen lounged about, smoking and drinking. A handful of chicly dressed women sipped cocktails. So this was where the esteemed of the west end spent their free time.
"This way," Ezekiel jerked on her wrist, urging her to follow him behind the effeminate doorman, who looked back over his shoulder briefly.
"I take it you're looking for the den," Sasha said.
"Yes," Ezekiel responded.
Sasha halted midway down a long hallway in front of double French doors. There was a podium much like one would see at a high-end restaurant with a leather bound appointment book and feathered pen atop.
"Neck, wrist, or waist?" he asked and gave Theda an assessing look that sent her hands to her chest and hips at the same time, trying feebly to cover herself. "Neck, I'd say."
Ezekiel turned his green eyed stare on her and for a moment she felt even more naked. "Waist," he said, correcting the young man.
Sasha took a few steps to the left, just beyond the podium and pulled open an ornate chest.
"What is this?" she asked Ezekiel. "What did you mean by waist ?"
Ezekiel's charcoal brow lifted matter-of-factly. "He wants to know what kind of leash you'll be wearing."
Her mouth went dry, and she could feel the last of her buzz leaking out her ears. She could swear she shouted obscenities at him, but Ezekiel merely shrugged in that offhand way he had that made everything seem as though he'd just been offered tea.
The effeminate rattled around inside the chest for a few moments then held up a length of chain ending in a wide belt that came together into locking ends.
Theda flew at Ezekiel, fists landing wherever she could score. He gripped her wrist on her last punch and twisted just enough that she found herself pulled backward against him, chest heaving. His heart thudded against her back; his muscled thighs pinioned hers.
She felt his mouth caress her ear. "It's not what you think, minou . Trust me." His tone turned apologetic, but she realized as he spoke that the tone wasn't for her benefit; it was for Sasha's. "They say they'll do anything, until they actually get here," he told Sasha in a pained voice.
"I understand; it happens more than you know," the man said, eying her toe to head. "Pity you aren't selling her; she'd bring a tidy profit with that honeyed hair, ratty though it is." He combed through his own fastidiously as though to instruct her to do the same.
Theda twisted, trying to aim a kick at him. Sasha grinned. "I'll give you ten thousand for her. That sultry, haunted look, and that kind of spit doesn't show itself in her kind very often, if you catch the pun."
Several things ran through her mind, not the least of which the concern that she was actually being sold. Human trafficking stories rose after the god came and left, but she'd never known anyone who went missing, had just assumed it happened somewhere, just out of her sphere. She could imagine it on the eastern part of the city, but the west?
"I'm in a spitter's den, aren't I," she hissed. "You brought me to a spitter's den."
She felt Ezekiel nod. "Now put your leash on like a good slave and I'll take you through. Show you what you're missing."
"Fifteen thousand," Sasha--the owner, Theda now realized, said.
"I'll cut your throat in your sleep," she growled at him, but it only resulted in him upping
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