Bel had a mouth that looked soft and a grin that was vicious. He soaked his toast in butter and dunked the pieces in honey—too much of it. Sometimes, he smelled of bourbon and tobacco. Many times, he smelled of perfume or cologne that was not his own. Constant, greedy indulgences that Nicodemus would never have dared to consider as an unwanted child who had grown up in someone else’s home, as an asterion with much to do, as someone who tried to pass Rings without looking into them.
He considered indulgences now, rejecting the alcohol and tobacco as Bel might have said he would, disregarding butter and honey, and knowing little of the kind of pleasures Bel chased—except for Nicodemus, whom Bel would not chase.
“You will leave me?” Nicodemus heard himself asking, querulous and yet indignant, his flush carrying all the way down to his throat and making him so warm he undid another button of his shirt.
“Once I am certain you’ll be fine.” Bel said it as if it was a promise. As if Nicodemus must want him to leave.
Nicodemus wanted many things, but not that. Not to be alone again, or to have Bel go and return in a week’s time with his face blank, acting as though this night had not happened. How was Nicodemus to bring it up then, after so many days and nights of hunger that Bel could satisfy?
“Oh.” The breathless moan slipped from him before he could stop it. Heat shot down his spine and curled through his middle. He stumbled, steadying himself against Bel and then pulling away from Bel’s back, which was firm and strong and warm even through his coat. “What does it mean to be devoured?” Nicodemus demanded in a whisper that was nonetheless audible to the human woman passing them, who gasped.
Bel stopped. Nicodemus bumped into him, then hurriedly inched away so they did not touch and he would not embarrass himself more. Bel smelled of his own cologne, and ginger and other spices, and perhaps faintly of the tobacco and whiskey scent of the bar he had been in; a half-dozen excesses to satiate his wants and yet he still wanted.
“Innocent,” Bel said, and it must have been meant to warn, but Nicodemuswasinnocent, and there was nothing wrong with being curious about this. “Nicodemus,” Bel tried again, “we are still in the street and I can…I canfeelyou.”
Nicodemus jerked back. He had no time to be mortified. Bel turned and held out a hand, signaling Nicodemus to be still.
“IfIcan feel you,itcan….” He trailed off, and then the hand in front of Nicodemus abruptly had a small red-purple flame hovering above it. It cast enough light that the street lamp was not necessary. Bel took a breath. “What do you do when you approach a Ring?”
It was a question taught to children, so Nicodemus answered as children did, singsong. “I do not listen. I do not step close, never closer than the length of my arms.”
Bel scanned the street ahead. “Do you look inside?”
That was not a question taught to children. Nicodemus hesitated.
Bel turned around to give him a wide-eyed, startled stare. “What do you see when you look into the Realm, Nicodemus?”
It was not an idle question, yet Nicodemus hesitated again over his answer. “Woods. Trees that are not like our trees, and yet I know that is what they are. Skies of indigo. Stars above.” It was ridiculous that Nicodemus, who rarely left the house, who had only lived in cities and towns, saw a forest when he looked at a Ring.
Bel might have thought so too. He regarded Nicodemus with the same surprise that had made Nicodemus blush across their shared dinner table. “You look often?” he finally asked.
“Some days…when I am at the manor, I glimpse the Ring through the windows,” Nicodemus confessed, then tried to minimize it so Bel would not stare at him with such pain. “I never look up close.”
“How much want could you—” Bel placed a hand on Nicodemus’ elbow and drew him closer without another word. Nicodemus could not breathe with him close, or could not breathe enough. He glanced up to Bel’s scowling face as he was hurried along with sudden urgency, but did not pull away.
“Bel?”
“If I would devour you, what would another creature do with you?” Bel snarled, and that or the magic flame above his hand sent anyone on their path scurrying in a new direction.
The wind picked up, pelting shop windows with leaves and pebbles. It whistled past Nicodemus’ ear, carrying a sound like footsteps with it, but he turned and saw nothing.
“You just have to look, don’t you?” Bel yanked him closer, nearly pressed to his side. He was furious or worried or fond, Nicodemus couldn’t tell. But he glanced behind them again, then back up to stare at Bel’s profile.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted, while the wind howled and made humans laugh nervously before they darted indoors.
“I know.” Bel turned to him again at last, said, “Stay close if you will not shut your eyes,” and then a dark circle cut from the world in front of them and Bel stepped inside, pulling Nicodemus with him.
The noise of the wind stopped. Nicodemus heard his heartbeat, his breathing, and inhaled the scent of dirt a moment before a branch whipped against his arm. Needles stuck in his coat, tearing him away from warmth and strength, and he tipped his head back in confusion and saw stars.
Something heavy landed on his arm, a shape he could not quite make out in mere starlight among so many trees, but he saw claws. He opened his mouth to shout—
And he was on the street again, breathless and parched, with the feeling that the wind had torn through his hair and left his cheeks ruddy.
He blinked several times, both to wet his stinging eyes and then to assure himself he was on Earth, if not the place where he had been a moment before. “This is a different part of town,” he said at last.
Bel took his elbow again, moving him on. “We can’t lead it to the house. Not anymore. Not with you unprotected there.”
Nicodemus opened and closed his mouth several times. “I would have been safe in the manor before, but not now?”
