Page 13 of Fallen Star
But first, she must learn to trust me, at least a little. Whatever a vampire did to her, it was bad. I can feel the hate coming off her in waves. It's almost painful.
I have a three-pronged strategy for building trust. First, a bath and food. Second, dazzle her with my collection of old books and artifacts. This strategy doesn't work with all women, but my gut says it will be immensely effective with this particular woman. And third, turn on the charm. I'd typically be a lot more optimistic about that third part, but with Dr. Alex Stone… well, let's just say I'm reserving judgment. If all else fails, I will show her the truth, if she's ready to see it.
"This way, Dr. Stone." I lead her through the palace and watch as her eyes widen at the splendid decor. The crystal, the tapestries, the original artwork dating back thousands of years, all of it would be wasted on anyone else. They would see the glamour of it all but wouldn't know the true worth. But I see in her eyes, she does.
She stops as we wind down a hall, her hand hovering over a crude figurine just over 11 centimeters tall. It is of a woman heavy with breasts, stylized in the extremities and face, made of oolitic limestone and tinted with red ochre. "Is this? It can't be. Is this the original Venus of Willendorf?" She looks at me, mouth agape.
"It is," I say, knowing there will be more questions. I wait for her to ask them.
"But how? It's supposed to be in a museum in Austria."
"That is also true. There were two figurines found in the dig in 1908. The one in the museum, and this one."
She shakes her head, disbelieving. "That's impossible."
"I assure you it's very possible. You see, I was there. I was the one who discovered them. In exchange for my particular talents, I was allowed to keep one."
"Bullshit," she says, her eyes still glued to the figurine. "Johann Veran, a workman, found it."
"My dear, human history is painfully easy to tweak. Your kind has such short memories and such greedy hearts. Enough money in the right hands, and anything you want can be reported as the truth. You can pick it up if you'd like," I say, knowing she's dying to.
She carefully removes it from its pedestal, cradling it carefully in her hands. Her eyes close, and a hum of magic pulses around her, the way it did when she touched the Mother Tree. Interesting. When she opens her eyes, the mistrust is gone, and a new accusation forms. With a sigh of regret, she places the figurine down. "It belongs in a museum," she says with judgment. But there's a trace of longing still there.
"Says who?" I ask, as we continue down the hall. "Who gets to decide what artifacts are meant for public display? Who chooses what pieces of history get ripped from their roots and tossed into museums? It smacks of white privilege, and usually only benefits western countries, leaving those places where art and artifacts are torn from none the better. It's colonialism at its finest, masked as service to the public." To be fair, I'm not anti-museum, but I have seen the abuses perpetrated by the system enough that I do not feel the least bit of guilt keeping pieces that wouldn't have been found otherwise.
She shakes her head, making no reply.
It's just as well, as we have arrived at her room. I open the door and gesture for her to enter. "Help yourself to anything you need. A servant will be here soon to help you get settled. There's a bath ready for you, and clean clothes when you're done."
The fire is crackling in the hearth, and I made sure that every detail of her room would be perfect. The softest sheets and blankets, the plushest pillows, a variety of clothing styles in her size, oils, dried flowers and scented soaps at her disposal. No need left unattended.
She looks around the room and then frowns. "How did you know I would be coming here?"
"I assumed you would need somewhere to refresh after you healed in the grove, so I sent my staff ahead to prepare your room."
"I noticed there are no mirrors in here, or anywhere else in the palace."
"Indeed. Mirrors are forbidden for security reasons," I say.
"You're going to need to give more of an explanation than that," she says. "Is it some kind of bad luck mojo or?"
"It's how we traveled here from your world," I say. "For vampires, mirrors are portals. Doorways. It's why we can't see ourselves in them."
Her jaw drops. "Really? How fascinating."
A knock at the door interrupts us as an older Fae walks in carrying towels. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I wanted to make sure the towels were warmed before bringing them up."
I smile. "Helda, this is Dr. Alex Stone. She will be our guest for as long as she's willing to stay. Dr. Stone, this is Helda, one of my most faithful servants."
Dr. Stone frowns, then holds out her hand. "Helda, you can call me Alex."
Helda smiles, using her free hand to shake Alex's. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. You're not the usual type the prince brings home."
I cough and glare at Helda, but she gives no mind to me, and Alex laughs. It's the first time I think I've seen her really laugh, and it does something to me that I don't want to think too hard about just now.
Helda notices, though, as she tends to notice everything, and she raises an eyebrow. "I'll leave you two alone. Just ring the bell if you need anything, dear. I'll be up here in a flash. This is a big place, and folks have been known to get lost in the halls, so don't hesitate to call me."
"Thank you, Helda. I appreciate it."