Yes.
The quivering, unsteadyideaof a word did not come from Nicodemus’ mind.
Nicodemus slowed to a stop. He pushed up his glasses although they had not fallen out of place, and darted a glance to the side, hoping for once Bel would appear to call himlambchopand make him feel childish.
Yes, called the voice, a sharp echo in an empty pocket of the street.
Nicodemus tipped his head away from the sound, not looking toward it, not listening, and made a call of his own. “Bel?” he asked again, raising his voice a little.
A sigh was sweet against his nape. Nicodemus went so still he felt the pounding rush of his pulse in his fingertips.
People down the street grew louder, outraged or horrified as their number increased. Nicodemus did not so much as twitch his head to look at them, or at anything except the empty space in front of him. Leaves were swept up into tiny whirlwinds but Nicodemus himself was not a part of that or of the scene down the street. He kept his eyes down while his skin prickled and his cheeks grew hot. As he was studied.
He never knew what to do when that look was turned on him. He had not even known what that look was until this moment. It must have been hidden—a fact that hurt—or had never been, but Nicodemus had not recognized it. That hurt, too, because it felt unfair. But Bel had said things from the Realm wanted. He said Nicodemus was delicious—would be delicious, if only to them, and helooked, and now Nicodemus could feel breath at his neck and he felt as he had in the kitchen watching butter melt.
This was hunger, and it cooed in his ear.
“Bel!” Nicodemus snapped, high and quavering, willing to be a fool again if only Bel were there with him.
At his side, a circle cut from the darkness, a circle with a different shade of dark within it, like a cloud passing across the night sky. Nicodemus stumbled away from the Ring, which surely the circle was, but then spun around at the sound of his name.
Bel was out of breath. Some wisps of hair had escaped the ribbon at the back of his neck to curl gracefully around his face. He had one hand raised, gesturing for Nicodemus to be silent as he listened to something, or for something, his head cocked toward the street.
He was big and broad as usual, and unhurt anywhere that Nicodemus could see, and Nicodemus was barely more than a handsbreadth from him before he realized he was hurtling toward Bel’s arms and stopped himself.
He stood there, shivering and listening to Bel breathe, which was so much better a sound than a stranger’s knowing whisper. Bel’s lips were parted and looked soft—not a wise thought to have, and yet Nicodemus had it, and more, because he was looking.
Staring, to be perfectly honest, and was suitably shocked and directed his gaze elsewhere just a second too late.
Bel turned to him, frowning distractedly, his attention clearly still on the creature he was chasing.
Nicodemus curled his hands and kept them at his sides. “I think it’s gone,” he said, perhaps breathlessly.
Bel’s attention came to him so abruptly and so sharply that Nicodemus’ heart started racing again and he stepped back, only for Bel to follow.
“What did I tell you, little lamb?” Bel demanded, exactly as Nicodemus had imagined he would. “What did I say for you to do?”
Nicodemus’ chest was inexplicably tight. “I was near the street light. I wasn’t alone.” He gestured in the direction the crowd without taking his eyes from Bel’s furious expression. “I was going to return to the bar,” he added, and realized how quiet he was growing, how soft his voice was. “I was,” he assured Bel, fascinated by the slow easing of tension in Bel’s shoulders. Bel’s face was alive as it rarely was. Nicodemus could scarcely breathe with him so near and so angry. “You were right,” he offered. Bel stopped. Nicodemus stopped too and tipped his chin up. “But you came when I needed you, so I am safe.” He did not know whether to shout or sigh when Bel’s gaze met his and then, a second later, Bel’s expression went blank.
“I told you to go inside,” Bel said, as though Nicodemus had not just admitted this. He breathed for several more moments, in and out, staring at Nicodemus, and then seemed compelled to keep speaking. “It’s harder to want when you’re protected and fed and at least around people, if not with friends. I wanted you safe.”
They had just been over this. Nicodemus regarded Bel with unending amazement. “Are you worried for me?” Nicodemus did not know what to do with that or the storm it created in his chest, so he moved on. “Youran after it,” he reminded Bel, raising his voice because Bel had done exactly that. Recklessly, in Nicodemus’ opinion. “You were excited!”
“It’s hardly going to lureme, is it?” Bel answered as if this was obvious, then narrowed his eyes. Nicodemus wondered what his face had done to make Bel react like that and opened his mouth to explain himself without any clue as to what he should say. “Nicodemus,” Bel’s mysterious growly rumble had returned, “did you hear something?” Nicodemus shut his mouth. Bel stepped forward and Nicodemus skittered backward until he found himself against a wall or maybe a shop window. He didn’t turn to find out which. Bel was again before him. “Nicodemus,” Bel said again, observing him with renewed fury—which was, it seemed, a mask for his worry. “Did it try to lure you? Tell me.”
“I…heard something,” Nicodemus admitted. He brought his hands up but then was unsure where to place them. He let them fall back down. “Ifeltsomething.”
“And you wenttowardit?” Bel pressed in disbelief. Nicodemus shook his head but Bel didn’t seem to notice, as he must not have noticed how close they were. “You are supposed to have sense!” Bel chided him, and this time, Nicodemus frowned in vague offense. Bel ignored this as well, or chose not to see it whilehelecturedNicodemusabout safe choices, the absolute nerve of it. “Nicodemus, you always have sense. Even in the rare moments when you are involved in a case, you do what you should. I don’t understand why tonight you would stay when you should have run. Why you’d listen to a voice from the Ring. What did it….” Bel went quiet, as if Nicodemus was fragile and had to be handled with care. “Should I ask what it would give you? What it offered?”
Nicodemus dropped his gaze to Bel’s tie, noting absently that the pin was missing and the cloth was coming untucked from his vest. He had a strange urge to put it to rights. Bel had phrased the question gently. He wished to know what Nicodemus wanted and what he had found in the touch of a monster.
Nicodemus shook his head again, because he hadn’t found it, not really, and he didn’t want it as it had been offered. But his cheeks stung and he could not look up any more than he could explain what his body turned him into twice a year, and the toll of that when his life was already a solitary one. Bel would not understand, or perhaps he would because he knew the Realm, and he would continue being careful, and pity Nicodemus for his solitary life and twice-annual weeks of desperation.
The rest of it, the bright new revelation that Nicodemus was not daring enough to ask Bel about, was equally humiliating. Nicodemus must have been mistaken. It was not Bel’s hunger for him that he had failed to recognize. The idea was laughable, even if he did not feel like laughing. It was his own hunger, stirred by scraps of Bel’s attention, but just as much of a joke.
“Nicodemus?” Bel prompted, treating Nicodemus kindly to confuse him more.
Nicodemus swallowed although his throat was tight. “The manor can get lonely,” he said at last, then hurried on before further questions could be asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to listen. I won’t do it again. Did it…. I know it did something bad up there. Obviously bad. I didn’t look at that, either. I am sensible. You’re right, Bel. I am always sensible, aren’t I?” He tried to smile. “It was only that I’m….”
