A Victorian Lady's Guide to Killing Gods and Monsters [ONC 2023]

Chapter V: Always ask about royal relatives

"For God's sake, Hattie," said a voice inside her head, "wake up right now."

Oh, Heavens, she wished she could obey. Every inch of her rosy skin was on fire. She blinked, one, two, three times. The only thing she could see was a blinding light shining above her face.

"You really are Atalanta Rayburn, huh?" a voice asked.

It was Mr. Swift. What was he doing in her dream?

Wait.

Was it a dream?

I am, she tried to say. What do you want me for? The sound that came out of her mouth was quite different.

"Merde."

"At least you're alive," Ben Swift said. "What are those manners, m'lady?"

"If I were you, I would not ask that at this moment. If I could move, I would shove a bunch of fives up your nose, Swift."

"Why, that's very unusual coming from polite and gentle Miss Raymond."

"Did I mention yesterday I wanted to put my parasol up your derrière, monsieur?" she scoffed.

The light finally went off. She still did not see quite well, but she could at least visualize Mr. Ben Swift. He looked just like the day before; messy raven-black hair, starving factions, thick, dark eyebrows, and... those demon eyes. The Mysterious Man's eyes.

"I'm still expecting a thank you, Miss Raymond," Mr. Swift snorted, "if that's your name."

"What for? Your presence is not as pleasing to me as you think it is."

"What the...?" Mr. Swift stuttered. "Miss Rayburn, do you know what I saved you from? You knew that woman was a goddess, right? Why in Hades did you go into that viper's nest for tea?"

"Viper? Mister, that is a very rude word to call an old hag like my auntie. She said strange things, I can confirm that, but she is no viper."

"Gods..." Ben shrugged. "Have you been told anything? Who your father is, for example?"

"Why do you know who my father is? I met you just yesterday."

"Because I was sent here by the gods."

"Mister Benjamin Swift, I will not take this nonsense."

She tried to get up from where she was—an armchair, perhaps, or maybe a fainting couch—, yet the look in Ben's eyes was too miffed not to ask the reason.

"Who told you my name was Benjamin? For you to know, I am Bellerophon Swift, son of... Forget it. You ain't prepared to know."

"Excusez-moi? I am nineteen years old. I am no child for you to tell me that."