When he stumbled to silence, Bel took a step back. “We should get you home now.”
Nicodemus raised his head. “But the creature!” he objected. “It’s hurting—killing people. You implied it couldn’t lure you, so you have to be the one stop it. I can get Alistair—wecan get Alistair to see me to the manor.” That Nicodemus had called for Bel in his moment of terror was simply something Nicodemus would never mention aloud to anyone ever. Even the memory made him tremble, and since it could mean nothing, he had no time for it.
“Alistair,” Bel exhaled the name hotly, then looked away. “He would not be a terrible choice,” he remarked, idle except that his voice was a rusted chain dragged over stone.
“I’m sorry for the trouble,” Nicodemus offered, though it pricked his pride a little to say. “I’m the foolish innocent again. But I’ll go home without any fuss, and send Alistair to join you once I’m there.”
“Alistair,” Bel returned with fire, “should stay with you.”
“Absolutely not!” Nicodemus argued immediately. Alistair would be as polite as Holt if Nicodemus went into rut with him present. It would be embarrassing and perhaps humiliating but tolerable, and yet Nicodemus shuddered. “He should go with you. Or will you force me to wait and wait more for days on end for your safe return while you indulge in some chase alone?” He scoffed. “Now, who is the dog with the toy?”
“Indulge?” Bel echoed, no less hot than before, only to pause as he fixed Nicodemus with a stare that was almost lost. “You’re very close to me.”
Nicodemus shook his head, confused, then looked down to his feet and was surprised that he wasn’t stepping on Bel’s toes, they were that close. He didn’t even remember crowding into Bel’s space. He put his hands to his warm cheeks. “I didn’t notice. I’m sorry.”
Bel stepped back again. Nicodemus had room and air to breathe. The night was getting colder although he was still overheated. He tried not to shiver, but Bel wouldn’t stop watching him and must have seen, because he gentled his tone. “Since when do you worry over my absences?”
“Don’t be mean.” Nicodemus crossed his arms over his chest. “Alistair will be down by the river, in the place he keeps so he can be alone with his special friends or when Donovan is vexing him.”
“Special friends,” Bel repeated in an amazed whisper before snorting. “Alistair will not do now,” he added, making not a lick of sense—something he continued to do. “There is a bench by the steps. I suppose I can set up there.”
The manor had a bench near the front entrance for those clients unwilling to spend much, or any, time in a house full of peculiari, or for the grieving or worried to have a place to calm themselves. Bel must have been referring to a different bench, possibly as part of hisgame.
Nicodemus frowned but Bel asked, “Have you eaten recently, Nicodemus?” before Nicodemus could pose any questions.
Someone had been murdered, Bel’s entire situation was dangerous, and Nicodemus was running out of time before he had to be home and safe in his room. He was hardly going to sit down to a large dinner now.
Nonetheless, at the reminder of food, he reached into his pocket for a cookie. “I’m fine,” he insisted before he could wonder why Bel would ask him if he was hungry.
Bel stared at the cookie with actual surprise all over his face, either because it had come from Nicodemus’ pocket or because it was a butter cookie, as round as the cup Nicodemus had used to cut the dough.
Nicodemus held it out for him.
Bel took it, pausing before he had a bite. “These are my favorite.”
Nicodemus watched him chew. “I know,” he admitted, then reached for another cookie and stuffed it into his mouth.
“You know everyone’s favorites, lambchop.” Bel took his time with his cookie while Nicodemus coughed around and then swallowed faintly lemony butter cookie crumbs. Percy liked gingerbread. Burton had a fondness for ratafia cakes. Donovan preferred the little plum or cherry tarts from one of the town bakeries. Holt loved pie, but if given a choice of cookie, he liked ones made with cocoa. So did Nicodemus, and molasses cookies too. The butter cookies were not his favorite. But he’d made them today.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Nicodemus?”
“I am quite hungry,” Nicodemus said to the darkness behind his eyelids.
“Then I had better feed you,” Bel answered after a silence.
Nicodemus opened his eyes. “Really?” he wondered softly, although he had been going to say that he could take care of himself. But he didn’t want to. Want was more dangerous than he’d ever imagined. “All right.”
Bel pointed at him sternly. “But then straight back to the house.”
“Where else would I go?” Nicodemus asked with faint irritation, but all the same slipped into step with Bel when Bel turned and began to walk back toward the brighter lights of the bars, hotels, and restaurants.
NICODEMUS HAD expected at least a few stares from the staff or customers in any of the nicer restaurants, and perhaps there were, but it was Bel’s watchful, considering stare that was far more unsettling. Anyway, although Bel hadn’t bothered to straighten his tie and Nicodemus was obviously inhuman, they were also sober and quiet, and the staff must have preferred that over the loud caterwauling from one of the tables where a sauced group had just come from one of the theaters.
Nicodemus also had quite the appetite and that likely appealed to them too.
He ducked his head when another bowl of soup was placed in front of him, and then glared at Bel, but Bel said nothing except, “Thank you,” which was to their waiter. He continued to slowly eat his own food while Nicodemus tore through his.
