No Such Pretty Woman

With no identification on him and a lie tucked into every word out of his mouth, the man's true identity was never established. Liam put him in his late thirties, but the beard made no difference as far as Davion was concerned — he looked exactly like a man of his own age.

The thug hung his head, his bound legs shivering uncontrollably. Urine mingled with cold sweat and trickled down to the floor.

Davion poured a bucket of ice water over his head, then smashed a fist into his cheek.

"Get up."

"Ugh……"

He dragged a chair over from the door and sat down across from the man. When he drew a black-and-white photograph of Cecilia from the inside pocket of his coat and thrust it under his nose, the thug's unfocused eyes stirred.

"You remember this woman?"

The man squinted at Cecilia's face for a moment — then bared his blackened teeth and snickered. Davion's fist slammed into his face again, hard.

"Look properly. Next time, it's your front teeth that come out."

Only then did the man stop laughing, stuttering out his answer between shudders.

"N-never seen a woman l-like that. If a girl that p-pretty had come through, I'd have ta-taken her first……!"

The sentence never finished — his head snapped sideways with the blow. Blood seeped between his teeth, but he was too far gone into withdrawal to feel any pain; he just kept grinning like a man with all his screws loose.

I suppose I have no choice but to wait until he's in his right mind.

Davion tucked Cecilia's photograph carefully back into his pocket and shook out a small plastic bag. The moment the thug saw the white powder inside, a light of hope kindled in his eyes.

"Answer my questions properly, and this is yours."

The man nodded eagerly, drooling blood-flecked spit down his chin.

"How many women have you sold so far?"

"I d-don't remember ex-exactly. Th-thirty, maybe?"

"And where do you sell the ones you abduct?"

"I d-don't know, I don't go th-that far. We're just the ones who f-fill the quota, g-get the numbers up. B-but I heard they're sh-shipped overseas."

"I'm curious how you abduct the women. Do you use a pimp to lure them in?"

"Wh-what?"

The thug's eyes went round, and then he threw his head back and began cackling.

"W-we just knock 'em out when they w-walk into our turf and d-drag 'em off! Girls like th-those are widows or whores anyway — no n-nobody ever comes looking!"

……

Davion let out a long breath, willing down the fury boiling in his gut. It was too soon to lose his temper.

"Once you fill your quota, you send them all abroad?"

"Th-that's right. F-fetches a h-higher price that way. Don't let looks f-fool you — our w-women are q-quite popular with f-foreign men, mister."

When the thug answered with a flourish of pride, a sickened rage surged up Davion's throat.

Which meant that was exactly what had been planned for Cecilia.

If she hadn't been carrying that snake…… he didn't even want to imagine it. Never before had the fact that she was a witch felt so desperately, so bitterly welcome.

When Davion pocketed the bag of drugs and rose to his feet, the thug scrambled upright on his haunches and shrieked after him.

"H-hey, a deal's a deal! You said you'd g-give it to me!"

Davion kicked the chair out from under him, toppling him to the floor, and drove a boot into his stomach.

"My wife is neither a whore nor a widow."

He lit a cigarette to burn away the foul stench clinging to his body, and walked straight out of the cellar.

Not a single constable was to be seen anywhere near the underground cells. Liam had carried out his orders to the letter. He was crouched beside the motorcar, stroking a gray cat that had just slunk past the fence.

At Davion's approach, the cat bolted off into the distance again. Now that he looked, it was a female.

"Any progress, my lord?"

Liam asked, rising to his feet. His appearance was immaculate once more, as though the last hour had never happened. Davion glanced at his own reflection in the car window and shook his head.

"I'll have to come back in three days. First, the information needs verifying."

"I'll assist with that as well."

Davion patted his shoulder in thanks. Then, on his way back to his office, he addressed the constables who saluted him in passing.

"Make sure he drinks at least four liters of water a day. If he won't open his mouth, you have my leave to force it down him. The only ability he needs left is the ability to talk."

"Yes, sir!"

The first thing Davion did upon reaching his office was draw Cecilia's photograph from his coat pocket.

But at the sight of it, a deep furrow creased his brow. Sometime — when? — the edges of the photograph had been crumpled, badly.

He slid the photograph carefully into the frame on his desk, then took out a cigarette and set it between his lips. Leaning back in his chair, he stared at Cecilia's face and sank into thought.

There's no such thing as a pretty woman, he'd said.

It was strange. Cecilia had always flushed and denied it, but hers was an objectively beautiful face. Not a legendary beauty, perhaps — yet not a face one could ever forget easily.

It was certain that Cecilia had been abducted by the trafficking ring. It was equally certain that she had escaped them, and yet……

How on earth did she manage it?

As Davion exhaled smoke through his teeth, the face inside the frame seemed to warp slowly out of shape.

Ugh, it stinks……

Somewhere, he could hear Cecilia's voice, thick with complaint.

A faint smile touched Davion's lips. While he wiped the fingerprints from the frame with the hem of his coat, Liam came in and set down a cup of coffee.

"Is it not possible, my lord, that my lady has already left the city?"

Davion's smile faded as he looked up at him.

Liam wet his lips nervously, hesitated, and then forced himself to go on.

"Even with checkpoints tightened, there are loopholes everywhere. I pray I'm wrong, but for one reason or another…… she may already be beyond our reach."

Without taking his eyes off him, Davion slowly turned the frame face-down. He wanted her to hear only kind words — even if it was just the her in the photograph.

"I beg your pardon. But my duty is always to assume the worst and plan for it, my lord. Given what happened with this incident, and given that my lady was never in the best of health to begin with……"

"Is the charity event coming along well? I should have been overseeing it myself, but my head's been too much of a mess."

Certain that he would end up shouting at Liam if he had to listen any longer, Davion rubbed at dry eyelids and changed the subject.

The House of Winterhall was on the eve of a large-scale charity event, the proceeds of which were to be donated in full to the city's orphanages and hospitals.

It was a venerable annual tradition, one that stretched all the way back to when he had been called not Count Winterhall but the second son of Duke Sisldown. He had no appetite whatsoever for parties, but with the hospitals' budgets running so thin, holding it had been unavoidable.

With Davion spending every waking hour combing the streets for Cecilia, one could say the event had been organized almost single-handedly by Liam. And Liam, catching the intent behind the change of subject, made no further mention of Cecilia.

"The preparations go smoothly. Ah — Lady Sisldown, the Duchess, has insisted that Lady Esmeralda be included on the guest list, but if it displeases you, my lord, I'll speak to her grace and have the name struck."

"No, there's no reason Lady Esmeralda shouldn't come. She takes such a keen interest in this sort of thing that people would find it strange if we didn't send an invitation."

He had heard that Esmeralda even ran a charitable foundation bearing her own name. Just last year she had startled the public by donating the entire proceeds of a benefit performance without warning.

"Oh, and add a note to the invitations — black is not to be worn. I will not have my wife's charity event turned into her second funeral."

"Yes, my lord."

Once Liam had left the office, Davion propped the frame upright and lit another cigarette. The conversation with Liam had planted a seed of unease, and it was burning black and slow through his gut now, too late to stamp out.

Liam was right. What if this went on, and he never laid eyes on Cecilia again?

Where on earth are you……

The fingertips tapping ash from his cigarette were trembling. Davion squeezed his eyes shut — and then knocked the frame he had just set up back down, face-first.

For now, at least, he could not bear to look at Cecilia directly.

Meanwhile, at that very moment.

Cecilia was a full hour deep into her earnest scissoring.