Rabbit Blood

Chapter 16 - We, The UnderSigned

"'We the undersigned, Leslie Nicholson and Alastor, no-last-name-given, do solemnly swear, before such time as midnight on the 1st of December...'" Alastor read it with the bored, impassive tone of a professor looking over the umpteenth essay of the day, then his eyes flickered to Leslie across the desk. "And from there," he said, "you should describe the minimum you require of me, in exchange for the things I want from you."

Leslie sat back in the guest chair. Just thirty minutes ago, she was prepared to leave the hotel, and now they were completing paperwork together. First of all, she was amazed she'd got him to agree to a written contract, but she wondered if, perhaps, he would still have the upper hand. Alastor was a dealmaker, after all.

"What are the things you want from me?" she asked.

"I'll be detailing that shortly. First, I want you to write-"

"I know, I know." Leslie gazed at the intimidatingly blank sheet of paper which sat before her on the desk. "So... if I omit something, it won't happen, right? Or the other way - something could happen, when I don't actually want it to."

"You've used contracts before. Yes, I'm afraid this document will have to be quite graphic. But it was your idea, I'll remind you, and nobody will see it. It shall, however, be binding. Once we sign, I'll be compelled to do as the agreement says, as will you... but we can always leave some room for bargaining. It's more interesting that way."

"I want a lawyer," she said.

"Hell is full of them. But I think you have a good sense of what is reasonable and enforceable."

"Right," Leslie said. "And we can amend as we go?"

"That's right. Go ahead."

"Hm." She hesitated. "Well, there's no singular scenario in my mind. It goes different ways depending on my mood."

"Do I ever... hurt you?" Alastor asked. His eyes glimmered with possibility.

She couldn't lie to him. "A little," she said.

"Interesting."

"Well you know, a woman's heart is an ocean. Ha ha..." He wasn't laughing. "OK, I'm writing now."

"Good."

Leslie considered what she was prepared to write: the things she wanted to pass between them. "Hm," she said, not knowing where to begin.

"You're blushing, aren't you?" he said. "Poor baby."

"Can you let me make bad choices for five minutes without passing comment?"

To be fair, he stayed silent for some time, watching and listening to her write. She would glance up occasionally to make sure, and he never looked away, even for a fraction of a second. Leslie remembered every fantasy she'd ever conjured, every exchange, every scary, demonic fuck, and knew that he was about to read it, possibly aloud. It was a new and exquisite form of humiliation, but she persevered, knowing it would be worse in the long run to omit it from the contract, and live with regret.

Eventually, having clinically detailed her private, feverish imaginings, she set down the pen. She was finished for now, and her ears felt white-hot from the anticipation of what came next. He leaned forward and took the papers, then read what she had written - silently, thank God!

"Let's see here." His casual smirk stayed put for some time, until a later sentence caused his eyebrows to rise. "Hm. Not exactly what I was expecting."

"Which part?"

"This." He showed her, tapping his claw against the offending line.

"I thought you'd like that," she said. Didn't most men? He laughed quietly, biting his lip, and Leslie summoned the strength not to melt onto the floor and ruin the carpet forever. "Your move, Alastor."