Chapter Eight
“I feel ridiculous,” Isabel told Oz as they strode through the mall, in the direction of Nordstrom. He’d insisted that she wear sunglasses and a hat, that she pull her hair back under the cap he had given her and wear the most shapeless dress that she had brought to his mansion. It was nearly dusk, and she felt more conspicuous in the “disguise”.
“The sunglasses keep you from eye contact with people,” Oz explained. “The hat shields your hair. The clothes cover up your body. It was either this or try and order everything online without knowing what your new size is.” Isabel pressed her lips together and took a deep breath, following him still.
Two days since she had agreed to stay at his house, under his protection, Isabel had realized that none of her clothes – not even her underwear – fit. She had slimmed down at the waist, thighs, hips, and paradoxically had gone up at least one cup size in her breasts, almost overnight. If it weren’t for Oz’s patient explanations, she would have already rushed herself to the doctor.
Her irritation at the confused and frankly wondering looks she caught other mall patrons giving her was compounded by the fact that she could feel her hunger rising. Isabel had tried to eat two huge meals already: a big breakfast of eggs, pancakes, bacon, oatmeal, and yogurt, and then a lunch of pasta, steak, salad, and wine. But no matter how much she ate, it seemed, the hunger kept gnawing at her. Isabel glanced at Oz, a few steps ahead of her. She would have to “feed” again soon, and the fact filled her with resentment.
Of all the things that Isabel had tried to adjust to since she had started the transformation, the fact that she had to have sex regularly, that it was like eating instead of something she could enjoy whenever she could get it, was the most unfair. Isabel stared at Oz’s back, knowing that she was going to end up in his bed that night – and that she would enjoy it, that she would be a fully willing participant – and almost, but not quite, hating him for that fact. It wasn’t his fault, strictly speaking; Isabel knew that. But she knew she should be more grateful to him; that he was willing to take care of her, to finance her life and even provide her with the regular sex she needed to stay healthy.
They stepped into Nordstrom and Oz made a beeline for the service counter, reaching back without looking for Isabel’s hand. She put her hand in his, and felt a little tingle from her fingers to her shoulder, all the way through her spine. She had begun to suspect that things were different with Oz – not just because he was an angel instead of a regular human, but something more. But as quickly as things had changed, it was too much to try and evaluate.
“We need all female assistance,” Oz told the customer service manager at the desk. “We’re going to be spending quite a bit of money in multiple departments, but it’s imperative that all our customer service people are women.” The manager raised an eyebrow at that, looking at Isabel, and she gave him a wry smile from behind her sunglasses. The man frowned, peering more closely at her, and Isabel could see the brief flicker of confused lust on his face. Okay, so maybe the stupid, ugly disguise was a good idea.
“Of course,” the manager said. “If you can tell me which departments you’ll be shopping in today, I’ll make sure to have someone on hand in each one to assist you.”
“Intimates, women’s shoes, and jewelry,” Oz told the man. Isabel squeezed his hand reflexively at the last category, even as the manager nodded his assent and stepped over to the phone on his desk to make the arrangement.
“Jewelry?” she tilted her sunglasses down on her nose just enough to meet Oz’s gaze.
“My money, I can spend it how I want,” Oz told her.
“If you think that this is going to obligate me–”
“You already have to do what I say,” Oz interrupted her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Why would I need to obligate you?”
Isabel took a slow breath and exhaled sharply through her nose.
“Fine,” she said. “But don’t … don’t think that this makes me ... indebted to you. That’s all.”
“If I wanted to indebt you to me, I’d write up a contract,” Oz said. The manager came back to them.
“Would you like to start in Intimates? One of my best representatives is there, ready to assist in any way she can.”
“As long as you have a chain of female attendants for us to go to, I am happy to start wherever you like,” Oz told the man. He looked at Isabel. “Intimates, my dear?” Isabel almost started at the familiar name, but quickly realized that unless they played the part of a couple, they’d attract more than their fair share of unwanted attention.
“Sure, babe,” Isabel said sweetly.
The woman waiting for them in the Intimates and Sleepwear department was middle-aged, but Isabel could see that she had been lovely – probably even hot – in her younger years. Her skin was duller with age, and her hair had the look of salon processing to cover grays, but she had bright eyes in a well-made up face. She looked curvy enough to have learned the hard way the value of proper lingerie fitting. “Oh, my dear, new wardrobe?”
“From the bottom up, as it were,” Oz said.
“Let’s get started with some measurements, and go from there,” the woman suggested, dividing her attention between Isabel and Oz. “Do you have a budget in mind? I want to make sure to steer you towards the best possible value.”
“Money is no object,” Oz told the woman. Isabel thought the look that leaped into the attendant’s eyes was similar to the expression of someone on the edge of orgasm; the observation was the only point of real amusement she felt at the situation.
Isabel began to relax as she and Oz went from one department to another. She noticed how Oz exuded charm to the attendants they spoke to, but in the most unobtrusive way possible. He was endlessly patient. He was pleasant and smiling, and the women they worked with all responded to it immediately. Of course, they’re probably predisposed to like him on the grounds that he’s incredibly hot and rich, Isabel thought cynically. But it seemed like more than that, and Isabel thought – in the back of her mind – that there must be some kind of angelic magic, or persuasion, to it.
Almost before she knew it, Isabel realized that Oz had managed to rack up nearly a thousand dollars in purchases. He’d had to buy bras and panties separately, instead of in their standard sets, since – as she learned from the attendant – she had gone up two cup sizes to a size F, and down one band size, while her hip measurements had gone down enough inches to bring her to a size 6 panty. They had nearly had an incident while Isabel was trying on clothes in the women’s wear department: a man had strayed through, following in the wake of his wife. Isabel had taken off the hat and the sunglasses, and as she emerged from the changing room to get Oz’s approval of a dress, the married man stopped dead in his tracks to stare at her without any pretense or attempt to cover it up.
Oz had intercepted the man before he could do more than stare, getting in his line of sight and joking with him for a moment while Isabel scrambled to put her sunglasses and hat back on. That had underscored the fact that she had to be more careful about showing herself in public, at least until she had figured out how to control her “output,” as Oz called it, more than any of his warnings had managed to do.
The hunger gnawed at her stomach, and throbbed deep down in her hips, by the time they left Nordstrom; both of them loaded down with bags. Oz had taken his share without complaint or even comment, and Isabel thought of the men she saw in the mall every other time she had been there, glumly carrying their girlfriends’ or wives’ purchases, holding shopping bags out at arm’s length to prove their masculinity in some way. Oz didn’t seem to have any of those hang-ups at all, and Isabel wondered at that. “Do you have the energy to stop somewhere else before we leave?” Oz asked.
“You didn’t spend enough money at Nordstrom?” Isabel thought of the staggering totals from each department, the incredible charges that Oz had run up without batting a single eyelash, and couldn’t believe that he would suggest spending more money.
“You deserve a treat,” Oz said. He pointed out a storefront several spots down from where they stood: Lush. Isabel’s eyes widened; she knew the store well, even spent a good bit of her own money there.
“Why?” Isabel looked at him. Oz smiled.
“Maybe I want you to be comfortable, happy, and pleased if you’re stuck staying with me for the foreseeable future,” he said. “Come on. If you don’t see anything you like, I won’t buy anything.”
They started towards the shop, and Isabel tried to fight down her misgivings at the prospect of Oz spending more money on her. As they walked, she felt something – a frisson – deep down in the bottom of her spine. That’s weird, she thought; it wasn’t a feeling she had ever experienced before, and she thought that it must be some function of her new existence as a supernatural creature.
“Oz, you shouldn’t have thought you could keep her hidden from us,” a voice said. Isabel’s heart beat faster in her chest as a group of people surrounded them. All pale, their skin faintly shimmery in the unnatural light of the mall. They wore black suits, regulation-style; to Isabel they almost looked like officials, or some kind of law enforcement. Secret service? FBI? CIA?
“You’re coming with us dear,” a feminine voice said, near her ear. “Best not to fight it.” One of the suited figures did something to Oz; the angel struggled, but in a matter of moments, he was subdued. Isabel had no idea how to react as hands clamped on her wrists, icy-cold, like stone wrapped in velvet. “It’ll go easier on you if you just let it happen.”