“All this sudden worry over me.” Bel narrowed his eyes and did not seem impressed with Nicodemus huffed but looked back. “If it can kill me, if can kill Alistair.”
Nicodemus jumped, knocking his napkin to the floor. “Is that supposed to reassure me?” he demanded as he picked it up.
“I have no idea with you.” Bel did not sound calm, no matter what his face did or didn’t do. “I’m hard to kill.”
“But it’s not impossible, is it?”
“Fuck.” Bel startled him with the heated exclamation. “You’re as stubborn as a Bureau bloodhound—now, there’s a wound to remember. Blasted dog took out a good chunk of my leg.”
“Where?” Nicodemus was already sitting up and leaning over to try to peer under the table. “When was this? You didn’t tell me. You’re lucky it wasn’t rabid.”
“Peace, Nicodemus.” Bel called his attention back up. “It was ages ago, when I was a youth and more inclined to do things like sneak onto Bureau property. I haven’t been hiding injuries from you. I hardly mind your tender ministrations.” Nicodemus met Bel’s stare, growing even hotter beneath his clothes for reasons he could not have named, except that they were connected to the idea of cleaning Bel’s wounds and the inevitable heavy silence between them as Nicodemus slowly rubbed ointment onto Bel’s skin or wrapped him in bandages.
“You don’t?” Nicodemus posed the silly question in a wisp of a voice. A needy whisper that made him cringe and then burst from his seat. He reached for his coat, although it was the last thing he wanted in that moment. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Nicodemus….” If that was exasperation in Bel’s voice, Nicodemus did not look at him to confirm it. He nodded to their waiter as he went around the tables, ignoring the attention from the drunken theater-goers when they noticed him, and only stopped once he was outside.
The air was cold, but it felt wonderful, and the wind had died somewhat for the moment, which meant people were walking more leisurely in the street in front of him, although they hung onto their hats with both hands.
“The Realm is not a secret,” Bel said from behind him, standing too far away for Nicodemus to feel his breath. Nicodemus half-turned to consider him and his odd choice of subject change. But he didn’t want to challenge it, so he said nothing. Bel stopped next to him, adjusting his hair, his coat, pulling the puff tie off to stuff it in a pocket. “But most are not going to tell you what they see or do there. Not even Holt. It changes you whether you will it or not. But it can also give you what you want, or you can make it do so, or you can turn parts of it into what pleases you. Although I suspect most do not realize that is what has happened until it’s too late. The clever and powerful ones can do it on purpose, if it occurs to them, but most muddle along in there.”
He stepped into the street, waiting for Nicodemus to join him before he continued. “They go into the Realm seeking something but are unable to imagine themselves having it. Or it wasn’t what they needed, but they keep trying. Imagination matters. Knowing yourself matters. Having a strong will. Even to visit, you must be sure of yourself, and too many are not. I can use the Realm as I please, and I think it’s because I try not to deny myself most of the things that I want, and I fully acknowledge the things I cannot have.”
“Learning the difference between want and need.” Nicodemus glanced up to Bel with riveted curiosity. “Most?”
Bel shot him a look, waiting.
“You said you try not to deny yourselfmostof the things that you want,” Nicodemus reminded him.
Bel faced the street. “Is that a question, little lamb?”
Nicodemus scowled, knowing it would be ignored. He clasped his hands together, then shoved them in his pockets. “What if…what if all you do is want?” He faced the street as well, at least for a few steps, until Bel held out the bag of nuts.
“Have to keep your strength up,” Bel remarked, setting Nicodemus’ heart to pounding. Nicodemus took the bag without daring to look at Bel, and could not bring himself to sputter any sort of question about what Bel thought he needed his strength for.
“Thank you,” he said meekly instead, putting the bag away. “So this creature,” he added, louder, “it lacks imagination…or will?”
“Or it got too much of what it wanted, and now it’s finding it harder and harder to feel satisfied.” Bel shrugged. “For some, that is torture and murder. I told you the Realm had monsters just as Earth does. But this is a human, I would say, or was once human. And those who live in the Realm or spend much time there are resistant, or too strong, or are no longer enough to please it. Now, that is all I will tell you, so that you might sleep tonight.”
Nicodemus snorted. “I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he said without thought, then swallowed. “I will sleep better knowing you are not alone,” he added quickly. “Someone else should be with you as you…hunt.”
He shivered, but the word seemed to please Bel. His brief grin was fierce. “The others are busy, or don’t yet understand the nature of the problem.”
“Or they don’t go into the Realm as much as you do,” Nicodemus realized aloud.
Bel grinned again. “Because they are still good people and I am a wild thing.”
“Not with me.” Nicodemus did not mean to say it, but he also did not take it back. “You rescued me, and you fed me, and you’re walking me home.”
Bel stopped, then turned to him, forcing Nicodemus to do the same. They were not beneath any lights. Bel’s face was shadowed, his eyes fire-bright. “If you gave the word, lambchop, if you ever dared to say yes, I would devour you.”
Then he walked on, leaving the words to carry through the air like the tremors from a belltower at midnight.
“Which is why it’s best that you never will.” Bel was a silhouette against the light. A large, graceful shape moving from lamplight to shadow, Nicodemus trailing after him with his pulse loud in his ears. “Now, I will see you home and ensure you stay there—at least until Holt makes his way back.”
Nicodemus’ feet moved him without any conscious direction. His breathing was heavy but there was nothing he could do about it. Under his clothes were stinging flames, a persistent heat that had only been stoked by words that should have terrified him.
What did Nicodemus know of being devoured? He had never even been loved, not in the sense that others had. He had been fucked, and permitted to touch, and methodically satisfied.To devourspoke of great want or possibly need, all the dangerous ways to hunger that brought people to the Realm, and sometimes, brought the Realm to them. It did not conjure thoughts of kindness or anything friendly. It brought to mind what Nicodemus had been avoiding all through his tea and his dinner enough to feed three people.
