Page 63 of A Subtle Scar
“I am in the process of becoming very close friends with Lionel,” I said. “I attended his birthday party only a few days ago. I am also not weird, but a god.”
She nodded. “Right. You seem a little more full of yourself than Lucifer, but the weirdness totally connects you. Who did you say allowed you to be here?”
“Agent Chandler with the FIS,” I said, glad I remembered more about the office building Chandler worked at than the exceedingly aggressive squirrel that lived there.
“Check if this checks out,” she said to her male partner, and he nodded and walked off, mumbling into his walkie-talkie thingy.
“Do you know Sherry Macallan, like the drinks? She posted photos of me.”
“Sherry did?” the cop asked. “Well, that girl is trying too hard, and besides, I made a sharkomancer with a single post.” She pulled her phone out. “Sherry called you ‘hashtag pecs,’ huh.”
I gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah.”
Her colleague came back and gave a curt nod.
“Okay then,” the cop said. “Anything you need help with?”
“No, but would you two hardworking guardians of this site like a doughnut?” I opened the box and held it out to them.
Her partner nodded and immediately reached for one of the powder pink doughnuts.
“Out of my frame, Rogers,” the female cop said, and I gave her a warming smile.
I said, “Please, tag me.”
“You and Sherry both,” she said as she typed one-handed and reached for a chocolate doughnut. I liked this police person. Wasn’t it customary to assemble a crime fighting team in all the TV shows? Maybe we could give Chandler a crime fighting team if he didn’t want us to deliver the criminals. We’d put the right kinds of people on his team, and then he’d drop to his knees in gratitude.
I was zoning out again, but my phone’s ping pulled me back.
The photo of me, standing in the field with the pink doughnut box in hand and a dreamy look on my face, made me seem even more human-friendly and caring while holding the box brought out my biceps. “‘Doughnut delivery, extra candy.’ That is very nice,” I told her.
“Thanks, but I’m not doing it for you. I’m just showing Sherry how it’s done, and either way, all you weird types are candy with a stick, probably a ridiculously oversized stick.”
“Well. Yes.” I closed the doughnut box and ran a hand through my hair.
“Exactly. What’s really interesting to people isn’t just some overly attractive person, but someone like Lionel Hawkes who does his magic without flare and fanfare and in order to protect others. Like how Sherry told me Agent Chandler simply showed up to help after that incident they had earlier this year.”
“Still, nice pecs though,” her partner added, but I was barely even listening anymore.
I mumbled a thank you, pointed at the crime.
“Sure. We’ll be back over there,” the wise cop said and led her partner away.
And she was wise. I had not realized, but now that she’d pointed it out, it was clear as a polished window pane: everyone admired our boyfriend. It was why the people at the FIS office had resisted my attempts at getting into the building. It was why Detective Rice and that other witch at the evidence unit had listened to Chandler with such rapt attention. It even explained why Trony, whose heart was usually not moved by a bulldozer, was so fond of him.
Chandler, I realized, was unlike the normal fare I had been interested in before. Everyone wanted him, but they respected him more than they wanted him. In the human rating system, he was a solid ten, and I had not realized it.
Instead, I had assumed he would know to admire me, would eagerly do anything to please me. But the rules with him were quite reversed. If Chandler felt we didn’t treat him well, he could just turn around and pick any random human cock to satisfy his needs, and they would gladly do it.
“Fuck.” Trony had called it too, but I hadn’t realized.He’s too good for you, she had said.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Ronny.
“Hermes. I know that it’s you because my pocket phone shows your name when you call. I know it’s human technology, but it’s surprisingly close to magic, don’t you think?”
“Fuck, Ronny, you can absolutely not say shit like that where Chandler might hear it, I told you! And also, he’s a fucking ten.”
Ronny took a moment to respond. “A ten? What does that mean?”
