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“Centuries pass, and buffoons are still the same.” Beatrice’s voice was thick was irritation. “I so rarely go into the city unaccompanied. . .”
She sounded disappointed, but not surprised. I made another mental note to ask her about the world she’d known as a human—and the changes she’d seen in her many centuries.
“Come on.” I motioned for Beatrice to step in front of me. “Just ignore them.”
“Awww! You protecting your girlfr—” The man’s sugared mocking voice was abruptly cut off as my dear old gran grabbed his balls.
“Do not come to my city with your vile”—she squeezed and the man let out a yip of pain—“behavior. If you are here, you are subject to the rule of the city.”
“What rule?” one of his drunk friends said.
“Mine.”
They laughed. Obviously, they came from a city withoutdraugr.Beautiful, fast, angry woman who is not intimidated by a group of large drunk men? Oh, and walks through the city dressed like she’s an extra from a Renaissance Faire?
“Beatrice,” I started.
“Daughter?” Her tone matched mine.
“Daughter!” one of the echoed. “Man, were you getting busy as akid?”
“Maybe she had a lot of plastic surgery of that Botox stuff,” another drunkenly offered.
I sighed. “Or maybe she’sdead.”
They laughed—except the man whose balls Beatrice held captive. He was trying not to say a word. The rest laughed. Drunks. I drank a lot, but if it made me act like them, I think I’d be a teetotaler.
I gaped at them.
“Give me your words that you’ll be courteous to women.” Beatrice looked around at them. “That you’ll stop behaving like swine.”
I heard the intent in that question, the rushing threat, just as I felt a rush of magic.
“Simply say it, and I shall pardon you.” Beatrice gave them a chilly smile. “One word.”
For a split second I thought it was going to be resolved, but then two of them looked at each other. Both started snorting.
In the next moment, I was staring at five feral pigs. “Sweet mother of frog milk . . . you . . .seriously?”
People were staring. Cameras flashing.
Beatrice raised a hand, and I felt a surge of electricity wash over me. “What was that?”
“I believe it’s akin to what people call E. M. P.” Beatrice enunciated each letter with elongated pauses between them. “I have deleted their camera cards, phones, and the like.”
“You didwhat?”
Beatrice’s laughter was like the sound of warning bells. “Geneviève, how do think we have avoided photographs? Film? It is . . . like your octopus or squid or eel. We have a buildup of these charges for defense.”
She smacked the pigs on the hindquarters with the flat of her sword, sending them running into the crowd. A satisfied look came over her. “This is fun!”
“Wait. . . but so alldraugrcan delete photographic proof of their presence?” I asked, needing clarification as much as wondering if I could do such a thing. Society at large had discussed their existence because of photos and film of them a few decades ago.
“Of course.” She crossed her arms, watching the pigs run and get chased.
“So revealing yourself was . . .”
“The act of petulant children? Yes.” Beatrice glanced at me. “They were emboldened by years of books and shows and films of vampires. They thought we would be welcomed with open arms and veins. That the world was a tolerant place.” She shook her head. “As a woman, witch, and Jew . . . I didn’t share such faith.”
