I went unnoticed still. "Boy, describe." The Roman sneered.

"No." Lincoln said, his voice swelling with the same confident defiance he used whenever he was in trouble.

"Fine. I describe."

Then, there was Latin again. Lincoln was watching carefully, and I noticed the shift, subtle as it was from listening to calculating. He was ready for a fight.

"I no know English. You tell boy."

He gestured around, his eyes landing on C.C. He pointed, and Lincoln pivoted. None of the men noticed me, the way the looked at C.C keeping out of their line of sight, but Lincoln only saw that I wasn't there anymore. He scanned the room, and when he looked at me, he was silently pleading. That was two people who didn't want me to mix in. That was two people I was going to disappoint.

"A whip? Well, it's what you're holding, and it's used... I don't know. Just cut to the chase and do it, Paul."

"You ever seen it?"

Lincoln was looking back at the Roman's face, and the question had caught him off guard. Had he ever seen a whipping? Of course not outside of the movies.

"No. I haven't."

More Latin. I should have learned it, but maybe it was a good thing I didn't understand him. I got the feeling that Ancient Rome would not have been my cup of tea. Or Lincoln's. Or anybody's really.

"They want me do. I do now."

This was it. I wanted to hurl. I could try to get some force behind it or get close enough to do it on the Roman. It would be worth it. The men looked disinterested, but they still did whatever Paul said. He dropped the English entirely, only using English to directly address Lincoln.

They forced Lincoln's on his knees, and he let them. That was the part that got me. He didn't try to fight. I wanted to take him and hug him close to me, but the circle of men stood in between us. Lincoln craned his neck, still begging. I hope my look apologized and it must have because he seemed to understand. He couldn't expect me to act any differently than he would. I could see it in his eyes that for that moment, he wished I loved him a little less or was a little more selfish or something.

Lincoln shivered as his bare back was exposed to the room. They had a block, and he was on his knees, hands resting on it, his head bowed. C.C. was watching me carefully.

Don't get mixed up.

They both said that, but I couldn't. As they bound Lincoln in place, I thought I was going to snap. I didn't start moving until the whip was unfurled. I didn't start running until it snapped back. I only touched the edge of it moments before it would have collided with his skin, but I felt it ripple gold, and it froze in the air.

Lincoln looked up when his world didn't erupt in pain, and he looked up at me. Then his face exploded in a grin, that even an angry outburst of Latin couldn't wipe away. The Roman dropped the whip, and it still hung in midair. He moved towards me, and Lincoln's muscles all tensed as though he'd be able to do anything.

That was a day of firsts for me. It was the first day I'd ever been angerly cussed at by an ancient Roman. It was the first time I heard the beautiful form of Latin paired so scathingly with the cusswords I knew. Lincoln looked up, a rage burning in his eyes.

"Don't speak to her like that," he snapped.

"Boy, I in charge. You not."

Lincoln couldn't argue with that. He wasn't in charge, and I don't think any of us were. Whatever the Roman thought, he was still taking orders. They just weren't from us. He was standing in front of me, his face contorted in rage.

"Women used stay out men's business."

I looked at him. Had he honestly just said that? It wasn't necessarily his fault that he lived in a time when females had the same rights as male children, but something about the smugness of the way he said it enraged me.

"Or they just found men's business a waste of their talents."

His face seemed like it would start steaming, but I didn't care. He stepped closer, so his breath was in my face, hot and uncomfortable. I didn't step back like I wanted to. I didn't spit in his face like I wanted to. I was just there, petrified, but trying to hold my head high. I was physically stronger than him. I had to remind myself of that as he spat.

"You no right. Stay out, girl."

Lincoln was staring up at us, and when I looked down at him, he was trying to pull out of his restraints. It kept him distracted as Paul's hand went to his sword hilt. He stepped back and unsheathed it, the metal glistening brilliantly.

"Move."

I let the warmth flow through me again, to focused on the pleasure of it to enjoy how he scrambled backward. He spoke in Latin, quickly and rapidly, seeming to have awe take over him. Then, he bowed. More Latin tumbled out of his mouth.

The men all looked like they were holding back laughter.

"He thinks you're a goddess," someone whispered in my ear.

I could work with that. I could pull that act off. I didn't know what pagan gods did really, but I imagined that my glowing figures could impress him. I reached out my arm, and I felt the energy go into his sword, gently pulling it from his grip and sending it clattering on the ground.

I didn't know Latin, but the light didn't have a language to it. He looked afraid of me. That was good. I knelt by Lincoln, meeting his curious stare. I imagined myself holding a pocket knife, and my hand glowed, what I wanted forming on my palm. Lincoln was grinning at me.

The ropes snapped easily, falling away from his wrists. My weapon disintegrated, and Lincoln massaged his wrists, barely seeming to notice the way the rope had left lines there. Then, Lincoln's arms were around me, pulling me close.

"Thank you."

He let me go, and we both struggled to stand up. Lincoln put his discarded shirt back on, tensed as though he expected a fight. C.C. pushed his way back into the circle, and he pulled the whip out of the air, neatly coiling it.

"Forgive Paulus Caepasius Ulfila, goddess. Did not know."

I glanced oddly at him, glaring at the men that all laughed at his ridiculousness of worshipping me and his use of the third person. They tried to hold it in after that, but I still didn't know what to say, so I said the truth.

"I appreciate the thought," I told him impatiently, "but I'm not a goddess. You can stand up and go back to whatever miserable life you built for yourself here before you met either of us."

"You... no goddess? Me leave?"

"I'm not a goddess," I repeated, "and you are free to leave."

"You goddess," he disagreed simply. "You heal and free. You goddess."

I looked uncertainly at Lincoln who raised his eyebrows back at me. I tried to plead with him to bail me out, but he only shook his head.

"See, even boy think you goddess. I right. You lie."

I looked over at Lincoln again, nonverbal groveling with him to shut the man up, and this time he let his hand slip into mine.

"She doesn't know just how perfect she is, but she's not a god. She's an Angel descended from heaven. She's my Angel at that."

Paul looked at me. "No. She goddess. She live in heaven. Goddess.  Fall love with mortal. Goddess."

"Paul," C.C. said. "She's not some divinity for you to worship. She's an Angel who got to chose between heaven and hell and chose to hang out with the lot of us."

"I know Goddess. She Goddess."

Lincoln wrapped his arm around my waist and everyone was too preoccupied with the spectacle of the Roman to think anything of it. I rested my head on him, and we watched the Roman argue my holiness. Lincoln had said that I didn't know how perfect I was. He didn't see my flaws.

That was probably for the best. I don't think he'd have stuck around if he saw me like I thought he should. It was so weird to have someone arguing that I was worthy of worship. I let myself drift off to the point where I barely even thought it was real.

"She goddess."

The Roman moved towards me, kneeling at my feet. He took my hand off where it rested on Lincoln's and held it to his mouth. I didn't want him to kiss my hand. I don't care what respect it's supposed to show. His lips sent shivers down my spine, and I recoiled. Lincoln pushed himself in front of me, between me and my admirer.

"I not worthy." Then he spoke more Latin, seeming to apologize and berate himself. I put my hand on Lincoln's shoulder, moving next to him.

I bent down so my face was next to the Roman's. "You were going to hurt him, and I can't forgive you for that," I told him, looking at his nodding face with a bit of pity. Then, I caught sight of the whip again and that feeling didn't go away. I was repulsed by him, but there was a strange need to help him that kept me there. He reached out to grab my arm as I went to stand, and I brushed him off, letting the warmth flow between us.

His eyes opened wide, shocked by the sudden feeling, and then he grinned like a child on Christmas. He stayed still for a moment, reveling in the feeling, and then I watched as it drained away from him. He looked empty for a moment, and then his eyes lit up again. This time with a need for the same sort of high again. To feel that way again. I retreated into Lincoln, shrinking into his arms around me as the Roman advanced. The men stepped in between us.

"Paul, we're not allowed to hurt her. That's just a part of the job. The two of them stay together. The boy gets punished. Glowstick isn't hurt." C.C. stood in front of Paul, looking unafraid of him, and I doubted that was why Paul hadn't ever gotten a nickname. It was just C.C.'s little way of saying he didn't deserve that level of effort on his part.

Lincoln was tense. His arms were tight around me, and I knew he felt my fear. C.C. stood between me and the Roman, but I didn't know how much good he would do.

The Roman said something in Latin, to which several of the men disagreed in the same language. I had made a mistake. I hadn't helped him because he hadn't needed to be helped. I was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I, Skylar Flemings, only had book smarts which mattered for nothing down here.

Men crowded around the Roman, and he was outnumbered. They held him down and subdued him, but when he stopped struggling, they let him up. He gave me one last hungry look but didn't come any closer to me. He was more just promising me that he would come back later when the men weren't there to protect me. Lincoln pulled me in closer, and I let my arms rest, just sort of dangling there.