Chapter Thirteen
ARCHIE TIED HIS cravat with cold fingers. The fire had banked low but he hadn’t bothered to ask one of the maids to stoke it back up, knowing he was about to head out for the evening anyway.
You are tired. Damaris’s voice was no longer a foreign presence in Archie’s mind now.
Perhaps it was because he was no longer scared of the demon or because Damaris spoke to him often now, but he was more attuned to the way the magic shifted the moment before he said anything, almost like the inhale of a breath.
I slept well last night. Archie frowned, patting the silk into place at the neck of his waistcoat. In return, he was getting used to speaking back at Damaris mentally, and separating such speech from thoughts meant to stay private.
I took too much from you last night. Damaris said ruefully. Your energy is depleted. I will refrain from feeding on you for a few days until you recover.
Archie blushed as the memory of last night’s romp rose in his mind.
In truth, he had never slept better than after Damaris had joined him.
Having the demon coax three rounds out of him left his body exhausted, yes, but he felt as light as if he were floating in water.
Most nights, he now drifted off with nary a second thought and slept deeply straight through to morning.
A few days! Archie was not pouting, as such.
It was just… slight dismay. Reluctance, perhaps.
Strange, how quickly he had become accustomed to regular pleasure.
The memory of the way he was before, furtively sneaking a hand between his legs or guiltily crushing any lingering thought of a man out of his mind, felt like the lingering dregs of a bad dream he was ready to forget.
In the back of his mind, Damaris swirled with the contentment of a smug cat.
You could take a little less each time, thought Archie, smoothing his face straight. People would look oddly on him if he were to stride down the corridors of the palace with a sullen face. Not every night needs to be three or four times.
Damaris replied, not in words, but with a thought that landed wholly formed in Archie’s mind, that this was Damaris exercising self-control.
That Damaris could suck him entirely dry every night as per their agreement, leaving him too weak to get out of bed, entirely at the demon’s mercy, to be fed on again immediately.
Archie’s legs wobbled, his body overwhelmed bearing the weight of Damaris’s full hunger for a moment.
He let himself drop onto the bed, his heart suddenly racing high.
He swallowed and surged up, staggering towards the door before he could let himself be tempted to roll over and give in to how good that would feel.
You ought to be grateful I am so considerate. Damaris purred, and Archie was reminded of the way he was when he first seduced Archie. He had been too quick to forget just how powerful Damaris could be.
Inside the carriage, on the way to the theater, Archie’s pounding heart finally slowed. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me.
The taste of your aura is particularly intoxicating when you deny yourself, agreed Damaris, perfectly cheerfully as he lapped it all up. There was no arguing with a demon who could see every peak of Archie’s desire.
Jeremy was already inside when Archie arrived, along with his new wife Sophia.
Archie bowed perfunctorily over her hand, thanking them for the invitation.
Although he had been at the wedding, Archie had only really met Sophia a few times until now.
He tried to evaluate her as other men might.
Curled hair arranged atop her head, though a few tiny wisps escaped the clutches of her pins.
Bright eyes and rosy cheeks that dimpled as she smiled and greeted him enthusiastically.
Archie faltered. Sophia was pretty, no doubt.
He wasn’t blind, he just didn’t understand the appeal.
Women were so… soft, like an overripe peach or a pile of oddly stacked cushions.
Not that he would ever voice such a thought aloud.
He was certainly old enough to know that other men found the shape of women desirable and they weren’t all just pretending for the sake of marriage.
And Jeremy seemed happy enough with it all, which was the important thing.
“Thank you for suggesting this, I had been quite hoping for something to distract Jeremy with to leave the house,” said Sophia, patting the chair next to her.
“You haven’t been leaving the house?” Archie asked, failing to hide his frown.
Jeremy grimaced over the top of Sophia’s head. “I’ve just been holed up with father and his troop of lawyers for days at a time.”
A subtle way of saying that family matters were worse than he cared to broach in public, so Archie merely nodded sympathetically.
As much as he disapproved of Charlie’s lackadaisical manner with regard to his responsibilities to the estate and their tenants, neither did he wish for Ollie’s role, slogging through the books and finding ways to make up the numbers.
A number of Sophia’s friends trickled in until the box was full, and Archie was glad to see that he recognized most of them.
He didn’t particularly enjoy small talk but he had at least enough social graces and prior knowledge to inquire about their family or recent trip or, failing everything, the weather.
Williem too, who seemed genuinely enthusiastic to see Archie again and had either forgotten the awkward parting or was exceedingly good at pretending it didn’t happen.
Thankfully, the orchestra started the overture before Archie ran out of polite questions to ask, and they settled in to watch the show.
Archie hadn’t counted on a curious demon watching over his shoulder.
What is this?
Opera. It’s like a play with singing.
What is a play?
Oh. It’s a story, told by actors. They’re pretending to be characters – see, the first man is called Jameson, the second is Roger, and the woman is Viviam.
All three are men.
All the actors are men, but the one in the dress is playing as a woman. Archie was struggling to keep up with the story at the same time as explaining everything to Damaris. Jameson was stabbed and collapsed to the floor, Viviam throwing herself to his side and starting a lament.
So he is not truly injured? asked Damaris.
The actor? No. The character, yes. The red handkerchief there is supposed to be his blood.
And she is singing, instead of helping him. Damaris sounded skeptical.
Yes, the music isn’t real. I mean, it’s real, he is singing.
But in the story, the music isn’t happening, it’s for us.
The audience. Stop asking me questions, I’m missing it.
Just listen and enjoy it. It was like going to the theater with a child for the first time, and Archie’s vision was going double as he tried to listen to both the music and Damaris in his head and think of a response at the same time.
Humans are odd. Damaris stopped asking questions, though Archie could still sense his confusion and the active presence that meant he was still watching.
It was a fun show, the actors charismatic and with swooping voices that filled the hall.
They held the audience well, eliciting gasps and moments of laughter, Archie right there along with them.
He suspected he’d missed a few crucial details explained in the opening stanzas, given no one else seemed surprised when Viviam’s missing brother turned out not to be dead and burst onto stage right before the end of the first act, but clapped at the reveal anyway.
Archie had almost forgotten to keep an eye on Damaris until there was a strange thundering sensation in the top of his chest and he realized that Damaris was copying the applause. It was strangely warming.
Noise broke out in the theater immediately, attendees turning to each other to discuss details.
Is that it? What of the inheritance? protested Damaris.
That was the first half. There’s more to come, Archie reassured him. It was strange, funny even, to see such a childlike wonder come from the demon.
It seemed that a common topic was all it took for the ice to break within their little box. Sophia’s friends all had many opinions and theories as to how the various plot lines would get involved, their conversation easygoing and allowing Archie to feel comfortable chiming in with his own thoughts.
If this was what regular conversation with a woman could be like, Archie would have been much more amenable to it from the start.
It seemed astounding now that all his experiences so far had been so stilted, so awkward.
He ended up in a particularly lively debate with Georgia, daughter of Lord Sumners, about Jameson’s motives, and Archie found himself grinning as she worked herself up, convinced that Jameson was possessed rather than evil.
Their conversation was cut off by the sound of the orchestra striking up again, and Georgia pointed her fan dramatically at Archie. “We’ll see who’s right now!”
I think she is wrong. Demons do not make humans behave abhorrently, we only enable humans who already wish to behave in such ways. Damaris chimed in loftily, though Archie could tell his attention was already on the stage again.
Damaris turned out to be right: Jameson was evil, it was Roger who was possessed, and the finale was Viviam trying to figure out whether it was Roger the man who professed his love to her or Roger the demon.
Archie was so engrossed in the twists that he didn’t notice anything odd until he leaned forward to get a better view of the fight moving towards the right of the stage and his stomach felt bloated.
Archie blinked. All the hairs on his arm prickled, and his limbs felt heavy. He was familiar enough with the feeling now, but it was best to check. Are you… feeding?
Yes.
On whom?! Archie snuck a glance around, but none of his box companions were writhing in repressed ecstasy in their seats.