The shower was like a tiny safe haven for Heather. While she knew that anyone could come in at any moment, it was something that hadn’t happened in years, so she took it as a small slice of solace in a world she often desperately wished she’d never stumbled onto. The water cascading down her body was as hot as she could stand it. Subconsciously, it was as though she tried to scald away the abuse, though it was never at the forefront of her mind these days.
Too much time couldn’t be afforded, as she still had to get dressed and made up, so after soaking in the hot water a few minutes, she quickly cleaned up and rinsed off, grabbing a towel after shutting off the water. By the time she stood in front of the mirror, her hair tousled from a quick dry and her body wrapped in a towel, she had repeated her mantra enough times to help her be steady and as prepared as she could be for whatever the evening held.
Heather stared at her reflection a moment. It rarely failed to amaze her on some level that she still appeared to be in her early twenties, though she was easily twice that by now. Her skin still had that young, wrinkle-free look, and was unmarred…mostly. Her hazel eyes took in her tousled honey colored hair before her focus turned to using the hair dryer and continuing her evening preparations. By now she was an expert at smoothing her hair and styling it simplistically as well as professionally. The same could be said for applying makeup.
With this routine complete, she went to her room to dress. She wasn’t permitted to wear much in the way of colors, and certainly not bright ones. As she sat on the edge of the bed, she was careful to not wrinkle anything, and she did her best to ignore the vicious scars on her thighs as she rolled on her stockings. Likewise, she ignored the feel of slightly raised, wrinkled skin from the branding on her upper arm as she pulled on a mauve colored blouse, buttoning up the long sleeves before pulling on her charcoal colored tube skirt and matching blazer. Slipping on a pair of kitten heels was the last touch before making her way out of the room.
The routine once she left the room was second nature by now – head to the common area and wait for the Master. Look at no one else as you do, do not speak unless one of higher station asks a question of her, and wait for the Master – however long it took. There were nights where this effort was very trying, and quite a number of times she was certain it was a test. To the best of her knowledge, she had lasted the longest of anyone that wasn’t a student. Not being a candidate for teaching was not a privilege, however. Not in this place.
Again, she wished she had never come to Texas; had never met Emmett.
Overall, she stood there and waited for just over an hour, hands clasped in front of her and eyes on the floor, before Ruth appeared. In many ways, Ruth was Heather’s opposite; where Heather had a fit build, Ruth’s was heroin chic; where Heather had light hair and eyes, Ruth’s hair and eyes were dark. They had only two things in common – both of them belonged to Emmett, and they both didn’t like each other, and knew it.
“The Master is ready for you.” she said. The contempt she held for Heather was palpable. In the past, she might have snapped back, but she learned relatively quickly that all that did was earn her punishment. It didn’t keep Ruth from trying to get her riled up.
The clacking of Ruth’s pumps across the hardwood floors grated, but nothing about it was said as they wound their way through the halls, deeper into the building until finally reaching Emmett’s personal library. Ruth knocked at the heavy wooden door; a sequence of short, measured rapping that elicited an invitation into the room once complete.
What happened next was also routine. Emmett walked over to where Heather stood, and examined her for any imperfections. If one were to liken it to a buyer at auction investigating wares, one would not be far off. He said nothing after his inspection, just nodded at Ruth, who then began to relay instruction to Heather, her tone full of superiority.
“I am being progressed in my studies, so it is now your job to assist Emmett as needed. You’ve behaved this long, so he’s willing to give you another chance. Do you understand?”
Heather nodded. “I understand.”
Ruth then looked at Emmett, who gave her another small nod, and dismissed her with a brief wave, so that she could tend to her next tier of studies. That left Heather and Emmett alone together, and that hadn’t happened in a long time. Not while he was placid at least. For a time, there was nothing but the ticking of an antique clock on the wall, and then he spoke; his voice rich with a hint of accent she’d never been able to properly place.
“Sweet Heather… I had such high hopes.” he said, looking her over. “Sadly, you’re ill-suited for the rigorous intellectualism of the craft.” Silence again filled the room, as he looked for something on his desk before approaching her. “Look at me.” he commanded, and once she complied, he continued.
“Your lack of talent and respect has dismayed you from any hopes of following in Ruth’s footsteps, as I have already mentioned. Truthfully, I have no need of you – you have no skill set I can make use of, no interesting qualities. You’re a liability. Be grateful I didn’t kill you years ago for what you did.”
Inwardly, Heather tensed, and ran through mental exercises she’d develop to ground herself. What had happened wasn’t her fault. None of that mattered to him, however. She’d lost her value to him after it happened.
“I’m going to trust you to make a delivery.” he continued. “I’ve had a request for loan of items in my possession, but I will not subject them to something so careless as a common courier service. Once I have the items gathered, you will transport them. And you will stay there. You are not to return here – not after you’ve delivered them, and not after the loan period is over. Consider yourself an offering. Understand?”
“Yes sir.” she said quietly.
“Good. Now carry on with your normal duties. Complete them in a timely fashion and the rest of the evening is yours. Now off with you.” he said, turning back to his work.
Heather watched him for a moment. Once again, she’d gotten cold confirmation that the man she had met twenty years ago had been just a farce; bait to lure her into an inescapable trap. She left though. To linger too long was to invite punishment, and she had no desire to deal with whatever he might come up with.
Her duties weren’t much. No one trusted her enough to work inside their libraries or labs, so in large part she merely played messenger, delivering messages to those outside the chantry – to those not Tremere. What no one in the chantry knew, however, is that she wasn’t as loyal as they thought. She was a rarity among ghouls, and could not be blood bound. It was a secret she had realized at least fifteen years prior, and a secret she kept to herself. Emmett would have killed her outright if he so much as suspected.
After the first few years of punishments for infractions, she had an idea, and quit resisting. She fell in line and behaved the way she was expected to. This did not dissuade her from watching and listening. Nor did it prevent her from developing loose associations with those of other clans. She just waited, watched, and gathered information against them as she bade her time, a time that looked like it would be soon.