Abominations Read online

  She nodded, looking down briefly, still fighting not to smile. If this twerp thought that calling her names would derail her, he was about to be surprised. She'd been called almost every name in the book by people far more intimidating that this guy. Whore, of course, was a new one for her. No one having seen her old face had ever assumed her to be of easy virtue. Monster, freak, abomination and yes, even demon, all of those had come up more than once. Whore, however, was brand new to her. Yay, she thought to herself, I'm moving up in the world.

  “Oh?” She added, just as softly and sweetly as before. “So you really believe that there's no hope for you? That you're going to be like this forever? How sad. As for myself, I think that people can change, if given a chance and the proper motivation to do so. Don't you think so, Bethany?”

  On the other side of the man, Beth smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye as she regarded the man next to her.

  “Katherine, this man, I believe, is Mr. Martin Cardell. Most noted for his blind hatred of anyone or anything associated with the Westmorland projects. Quite famous for it actually. I'm a little surprised to see him here, much less having been placed next to me. Maybe they thought we'd have a lot in common, my being a Westmorland and that being a favorite topic of yours, Mr. Cardell. It certainly gives us something to discuss.” Bethany sounded sweet and conversational about the whole idea.

  At the head of the table – the whole room watching now, after the initial outburst from the man – the Vernors had both turned red. Mr. Vernor looked ready to kill someone, and Ethyl simply looked mortified. Her gaze went from Gwen to Bethany rapidly, as if not certain how to explain this.

  “I'm not certain that Mr. Cardell was on the guest list, dear. I certainly wouldn't have invited him. Perhaps he came as a guest of someone else, but even then, I can't imagine how he managed to have that seat...”

  Reaching over suddenly, Beth took the man's wine glass and sniffed deeply. She looked at the table briefly and nodded.

  “Given that he's drinking grape juice and the name plate on the table has had the chair number removed, I'd guess that he did manage to come as someone's guest and then traded places with the person that had been assigned this seat, in order to create a scene. Probably attempting to gain publicity for his cause by instigating a violent outburst from someone here. Most probably me. Interesting idea, Mr. Cardell, though I don't think it's really going to work very well. After all, if anyone else here thrashes you for insulting me, public opinion will probably go to their side, not yours, and I won't attack you based on words. I'm a Westmorland. If you think whore is the worst thing I've been called, you haven't listened to your own diatribe.”

  This caused the man to freeze in place. Having been caught out, he clearly expected to be violently ejected from the party, he'd come knowing he might have to take a small beating, probably from a girl, Bethany most probably, maybe Katherine Vernor. The anger from the men around him – many of them quite large – clearly had him thinking twice about his plan now that it seemed to be about to work in a slightly different fashion than he'd expected.

  He glanced about nervously, looking for some way to escape, planning to make a run for it, so Gwen put a hand on his arm gently.

  “Tell you what, you stop calling names and leave the rhetoric out of the conversation and I'll make sure that you get out of this relatively unharmed.” Whispering this into his ear caused him to stiffen, but he nodded, his mouth going into a tight line.

  “Ah, good then!” Gwen said more loudly, so that everyone at her table could hear at least. “Just a small misunderstanding. Well, let's not hold the party over it.” She tried to make her voice sound cheerful.

  Leaning forward a bit, she tried to use her face to apologize to Beth. Making her sit next to a well-known bigot who'd come to cause problems just for her and the Westmorlands felt like asking a bit much, all things considered. The other woman just raised her eyebrows and gave Gwen a wry look in return. She actually seemed tolerably amused by the idea of making the man play nice.

  The dinner turned out to be fabulous, each course better than the last, culminating in little confections, each person getting one, with four layers of a rich chocolate cake that felt almost like velvet in her mouth, with a very mild butter-cream frosting between each one, the outside decorated about as nicely as a wedding cake would have been on television, even though they were only about the size of a silver dollar and about an inch tall. Even the incredibly tense Cardell sitting next to her expressed his surprise.

  “These are incredible!” He whispered to no one in particular, blushing when he realized that he'd said this out loud.

  Bethany nodded.

  “Truly fine,” she added, doing her part to smooth things over.

  During the whole meal, Mr. Vernor had covertly glared daggers at Cardell, as if waiting for the party to end, so that he could have the man taken out back and beaten until he felt satisfied about it. Until Cardell felt satisfied about it, if she read the expression right. Gwen could understand the sentiment, but knew that the man needed to make it home in one piece, or else his being there would make the papers in a way that could possibly make all of them look bad. It didn't make her like the man any better, but he represented a trap that they needed to avoid. She swallowed the anger that rose within her then, trying to hold on and not lash out.

  After dinner, people moved back to the large ballroom they started in, drinks being provided for those that wanted them, and everyone being subtly urged to mingle and network, since at least half of them had come specifically for that reason.

  Gwen took Cardell by the arm, not needing to use any force to move him along she noticed, though she'd been prepared for it, and walked the man toward the back of the dining room, which had a glass door. Mrs. Vernor walked into the ballroom, throwing a worried look over her shoulder as she went. The detectives all followed Gwen, as did Winslow and Mr. Vernor. She didn't know what they thought her plan was, but all of them except Beth had at least one hand clenched into a fist.

  “Now, Mr. Cardell... I'm not trying to be a poor hostess, but perhaps it would make the evening go more smoothly if you were to leave now? Don't get me wrong, I can see your desire was to cause a stir and show the world how evil and dangerous the Westmorlands all are. But perhaps you might want to try again some other time? Or, even better, maybe you'll realize that no one here, especially Miss Westmorland, has harmed you at all, even after you came looking to start trouble for her?”

  She half hoped the fucknut would try something so she could justify beating him down herself. Being the polite and reasonable one in a group didn't fit her training or natural inclination, she realized. Still, Cardell looked more scared than she'd thought he'd be. Maybe he suspected that these men were going to beat him to death and dump the body out at sea. She entertained the idea for a moment, it was a good plan, no one would ever find it and they had all those airships. Then she had to let it go. Too many people had seen him making a fuss earlier.

  “So, Mr. Cardell, it's your call. Do you want to go now, peacefully and unharmed, or do we each get to take turns beating you for the next hour?” She noticed that her fake accent made that last sound far more menacing than she'd intended it to. As if she secretly wanted him to pick the second option, which of course she kind of did, but that didn't mean it should sound that way. She'd have to work on that as soon as possible. Otherwise people would think she sounded mean or something.

  Pulling out of her grasp with a sudden twitch of his arm and straightening his jacket, the man made his way toward the door. He didn't say anything, but Bethany did, as he pulled the door open.

  “We aren't your enemies you know. We're your servants, your protectors... please keep that in mind.”

  Casting a look over his shoulder, the man, not much taller than Katherine's body Gwen noticed, looked baffled for a moment, then turned and walked away.

  It took a few minutes to get Mr. Vernor not to follow the man himself and apply a beating, but he
finally calmed down enough to go back to the party. For the rest of the evening they all stayed on alert, even Wilbur, though he did it while still trying to make advances toward Beth.

  At eleven the party started to break up, everyone knowing that a gathering this large would stress the city's limited supply of hired cabs, so they began to take them as soon as they came back around for passengers. Gwen and Beth stayed until midnight, when Mrs. Vernor assured them that she'd be fine with just Robert and the servants to help them settle the rest of the guests and clean up.

  Both of the male detectives saw them to the lobby of their building, and left without so much as offering a hug. Gwen expected that from Daniel, his mind clearly on doing right by his betrothed, no matter what. It surprised her that Wilbur had given up so easily. She'd thought he'd at least go for a kiss and possibly more.

  After she'd crawled into bed, Gwen thought she heard a soft knock on the front door and then the door open a moment later. A short bit after that, the door to Bethany's room closed. She didn't hear anything else after that, so she went to sleep. She had a strange dream in which she had gone to the dinner party with Cardell as her date and been seated next to a clown that kept interrupting the meal singing dirty limericks. She'd tried to keep him quiet, but every time he did it he got a standing ovation.

  In the morning, when she got up – earlier than she wanted, but knowing that she needed to get breakfast going before they left for the museum – she caught sight of Wilbur trying to sneak out of Beth's room, his shoes in hand, so that he could move silently. Given the hard soles of the shoes here, she could see that as a good plan. He looked over at her, through the kitchen door, so she waved.

  “Good morning. Would you like breakfast? I'm making it now, so it's not a problem.” He looked incredibly uneasy, she noticed.

  “Uh, this isn't what it looks like, really...” He mumbled weakly, his eyes not able to meet hers.

  “Oh? Well, look, Wilbur, I'm no expert on things like this by any means. Heck, going to that party last night with Detective Chuan was the closest thing I'd ever had to a date. Which, you know, yay, I had a date. I know even less about sex, but I've watched a lot of television over the years... That's kind of like your telesar, but with moving pictures and plays on it. And really, much higher quality information in general. Anyway, one thing I've learned from that is that no matter how awkward you think it's going to be facing her this morning, it's going to be a hundred times harder if you have to do it at work on Monday. So, eggs, bacon, cereal... all of that OK? Not allergic to any of it?”

  Looking sheepish still, he shook his head no and asked if he could use the washroom. Grinning, she pointed toward the bathroom door.

  A few minutes later Bethany came out, her keen detective's eye noticing that there were three eggs on the stove that Gwen stared at, focusing on powering the thing as well as three plates on the table.

  “He's here? That's rather impressive. Most men try to sneak out early so that they don't have to talk to you the next day. It always makes the whole thing feel a bit cheap. Ah! Here he comes now.” Tussled hair and sleep puffed eyes aside, her smile made her face look radiant when she looked at the man.

  He'd washed his face, but not shaved, lacking the gear for it Gwen realized. His hair had been combed at least, and his tie put on straight, an improvement since he'd gotten it a bit crooked before. He looked up at Beth and smiled, it looked like a real one too, not something plastered on his face in panic.

  “Good morning! I wanted to say that before I took off. Gwen's offered breakfast and while I have to run home before going into work, eggs and cereal sounds much better than the stale bread roll I have waiting for me. Sleep well?”

  Beth grinned at him, her face relaxed and happier than Gwen could remember seeing it. The whole scene had distracted her from cooking, so the stove had been cooking the eggs on residual heat only, which was fine, but she needed to get the bacon on and that needed a higher temperature, she knew, at least if she wanted it to be crispy. Floppy bacon sucked, so she redoubled her focus on the metal sphere on the top of the unit.

  They all ate, the tiny portions and many courses drawing the meal out, Wilbur making eyes at Bethany a few times every minute, which amused Gwen, but she didn't let it show that she'd noticed at all. No need for her to ruin things for them if they were both happy with the situation, right? If anything, she realized, she felt more than a little jealous of her friend, which made sense, all things considered.

  She busied herself doing the dishes and cleaning the stove while they said their goodbyes at the door, avoiding kissing, but giving each other a long embrace before Wilbur left for work. Beth didn't help in the kitchen, instead she went directly to the bathroom as soon as he'd left.

  About five minutes later, she came back out.

  “I had to go the whole time, but I didn't want to leave, less he take the opportunity to run away. I hope he calls on me again. I mean, I know I could never be his wife or anything, but until he needs to settle down, it would be nice to spend some time with him, I think. He's a pleasant fellow.”

  This got a chuckle from Gwen, even though it made her feel a little sorry for her friend at the same time.

  “Are you... not allowed to get married? Being a Westmorland and all? I know you mentioned not being able to have children, but that shouldn't stop you from adopting or something. Not that I'm saying you should be thinking of marriage yet, but...” Copying the gesture she'd seen almost everyone else perform here instead of shrugging, she deliberately turned both palms up, leaving her shoulders in place.

  “It's not that, it's mainly people like Martin Cardell and his followers. They'd have at anyone I married until they destroyed the person, I think. Now that I've come into his personal view, I doubt that I could be with anyone for long before they'd go after us. It's hard enough to have a relationship when you know you can't have children, but those kinds of people make the whole thing almost impossible. Still, it doesn't mean that we can't have sex until they find out, right?” The gleam in her eye told Gwen that the other woman thought she was being wicked or something. Perhaps shocking, talking about sex so blithely?

  “Cardell is an imbecile. Still, I get the idea. People used to feel that way about interracial relationships back home. You people here don't seem to care about race too much though, do you? I mean, no one batted and eye at that last night – at least that I noticed.” A lot of the people hadn't been white at all and no one treated anyone any differently because of it really.

  Bethany thought about it for a second before saying anything.

  “Race? Not a big issue here. I mean, some people are different than others, but I can't imagine why that would be an issue at all. People are more concerned about high magic individuals having relationships with low magic types, to tell the truth. That's part of where the hatred against the Westmorlands comes from, we aren't just high responders, to get into the program you have to be in the top three percent of the top group. So the top one percent of the population. People like Cardell that don't have any real natural talent feel threatened by anyone that can do anything at all. Not that I blame them totally, it's a lot harder to get by in the world if you don't have any ability of note. You can't operate a lot of machines and can't power anything for yourself, most of the good jobs require you to have more than physical skills, so if you're in the bottom third of the pool, your prospects are pretty limited.”

  Gwen thought about this for a minute. In a world where the technology was all powered by the mind or magic, being unable to do that well would be an extreme handicap. Kind of like having only one arm or something back home, maybe worse than that, she figured. So those people were increasingly stuck, sinking lower and lower toward the bottom of the social scale, as technology advanced, creating more things that they couldn't use or understand.

  At least she'd lucked out, having enough power to run the stove here and having people that felt they owed her money and upkeep. What if she'd been like
she was before, and didn't have any power at all? She probably wouldn't have been allowed to survive long.

  She felt a little bad for Katherine, if she'd gotten her body in exchange, like most people thought. She'd have no one looking out for her and probably wouldn't be able to even figure out how to run the microwave on her own. The food in the house should hold for a while longer, since Gwen had always tried to keep about six months of food on hand, just in case she ever got into a situation where she couldn't go out for a while. Injury or harassment, natural disaster or massive depression mainly.

  There should be enough money in her account to keep the lights on for a while, and she owned the house, so no payments would be needed there. After the food started running out, she just didn't know how the pampered woman would manage to survive.

  She put this on the back burner, so that she could get ready for their trip to the Museum of Industry, whatever that would turn out to be. No matter how boring, she'd memorize everything she could. If she didn't get a handle on this place soon, she'd end up being caught out, or even getting killed, just because she didn't understand something that everyone else took for granted.

  Gwen could see it now, people reading the paper and shaking their heads... What? She looked left when everyone knows you have to look right? What a silly way to die.