Thankfully, the flash of light that struck Bella had further disoriented the LOST, and she was able to back away from them, very slowly, back up the corridor, looking behind her in case there were more.
So her power, apparently, worked on male ghouls as well as men. That was good to know. Though she didn't anticipate coming underground again anytime soon. Soon, though, she would be far enough away from them that they could no longer see her clearly, and her spell would lose its effect. Perhaps her pheromones would linger in the air, for a while.
She also, however, felt something warm and active lingering deep within her, as though a fire had settled in her stomach. It felt very odd, but not unpleasant.
"You stay back," she shouted at the ghouls down the corridor, in what her roommates had once termed "The goddess voice." She could no longer see them. That made her nervous. She was out in the metro tunnel now, which was full of smoke, but also (comparatively) of light. They probably, at least, would not dare to come out here during the day, but she did not want to take chances. Turning on the heels of her now-badly-scraped and filthy feet, she ran.
I hate this city, she thought, as she emerged from the tunnel, squinting green eyes, and noticing that, as usual, men within a ten-foot radius were staring at her, women frowning.
"Oh come on," she mumbled. "My feet are bleeding and black with dirt, nails broken, my dress is torn, and my hair is in a ponytail, for God's sake." What she said aloud was, "Uh...citizens...has anyone seen my shoes?"
After ten minutes of searching (they were her favorite pair), the heels were recovered, and she walked back toward her apartment, the warm glow still crackling inside her. Suddenly, she realized she was terribly hungry.
There's nothing in the fridge, she thought. Nothing good, anyway. Just vegetables, fruit, a few flavor ices. Milk. She would have to go grocery shopping, she realized with dismay. She felt so hungry she was trembling, a little, as she walked up her street now, which was wickedly slanted. And sitting there--on her own front porch--she suddenly noticed a young man. He looked up at her, expectantly, in the midst of fidgeting.
"Are you Bella Hauge?" he asked, looking up. He was olive-skinned and hairy, but had elegant cheekbones and long, graceful limbs, like her. He was not handsome--not conventionally, anyway, but there was a beauty about him.
"Um, yeah," said Bella. "Can I help you with something?"
"Herman O' Lymp," said the man, grinning a bit and looking her in the eye. "I wrote you on craigslist yesterday. Tried to call, but it went to voicemail. Are you still interviewing roommates?"
Bella was dumbstruck, because Herman didn't seem to be. Every man--EVERY man--with whom she had ever attempted conversation--save for her own father--every man, since she had turned fourteen--had been unable to utter more than a few coherent syllables in her presence. But this man had looked her in the eyes and answered, with perfect poise, "I wrote you on craigslist."
"Oh, shit," she said, "I'm--I'm sorry, I totally forgot. Hold on...uh...come in. She fidgeted with her keys. Sorry, what was your name again?"
"Herman," said Herman.
"I'm Bella."
"I know that," said Herman, smiling again. Shoot, she looked like an idiot. But a man was talking to her! Actually...wow.
"So, let me show you around. This is the living room, and..."
Her speech was suddenly interrupted by a terrific noise, issuing--to her horror--from inside her stomach. It had tried, hard, to be patient, but it could not endure any longer without nourishment.
"Oh shit--I mean, uh--excuse me, I'm just really, really hungry all of a sudden."
"Ah. So you're mortal, after all?" he said, graciously dismissive. "Are utilities included in the price?"
"Yes, except for--" Again, there was a loud growl, and she felt suddenly that she was about to pass out. "I'm so sorry, Herman, um...look, would you be okay having this interview for dinner--I mean, over--dinner?" She realized to her horror that she was asking him on a date.
"I was about to suggest that," said Herman. "I'm pretty hungry as well, don't worry."
"Okay, great. Um...I'm just going to go change out of this." She showed him the frayed end of her dress. "And wash off a bit. Just feel free to look around while I do."
She nearly ran to her room. What was wrong with her? More importantly, was there anything--anything at all--in her room to eat? She ransacked her portmanteau, her stomach crying like a baby all the while. This had never, ever happened. In a bottom drawer, mercifully, she came across her salvation in the form of a few oatmeal cookies, which trembled in her hands as she crammed them into her mouth. The acidic complaints in her stomach turned--for just a brief moment--back into the warm glow, which spread through her body. It felt--wonderful. She stripped off her dress, and looked--approvingly for a moment--at her golden skin and hair in the mirror. Her mother had been Italian, and her father, Norwegian-by-way-of-Minnesota, and the most desirable genetic traits of each race had blended beautifully to produce blonde ringlets, a honey-colored complexion, and a perfect body that was slender without looking barren. She had a single freckle on her shoulder, perfect lips, and eyes which were, at some times, piercing green, and at others, the color of coffee.
Relax, Bella, she thought. How could he not love this? She told herself she wasn't being vain, just honest. It was her power, after all...which didn't seem to work on him. That was very, very strange. She stopped thinking to wash her feet in the bathtub, arrange her hair, and pull on her favorite pair of jeans--low-cut, slender. Over her well-filled bra she slipped a lovely little green shirt that did not quite fall to her navel. She examined herself again, fastening earrings, but was disturbed, again, by another slight groan from her stomach.
She was indignant. "I just gave you some food," she said, aloud, looking down at her perfect navel. "And I let you out. You have to behave now."
She walked out of her room, to find Herman looking at a few of the pictures on the wall, and straightening them.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Absolutely," he said, looking at her, appreciatively but guardedly. "Where would you like to go?"
"Doesn't matter," she shrugged. Her stomach grumbled at this, and she almost slapped it.
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