21. Virgil #2
Kael, who wears layered silks that gleam in the orange glow, snatches the meat from Malrec's hand, tearing into it even as Malrec growls at him.
Then he nods at me. "Satan wants him, Virgil.
Wants the soul you guide. Now that he knows this one matters to you.
" A pause, heavy with meaning. “Our master passed through here only moments ago. "
I'm quiet for a beat too long. My mind wheels like a mill with no grain to grind. Satan wanting me, wishing to spend a few decades tormenting me and worming into my thoughts? That was one matter. But he wants Dante?
Malrec's eyes are dark, filled with hunger. "There's a solution, you know. You know how you could strengthen yourself. Stand a chance, should it come to that. It’s rumored you’re nearly as strong as him when you’re at your full strength.”
"No." There's no hesitation in me on that point. I will never feed on another soul again. "As I said, the soul I guided fled after Malrec sampled him. Likely frightened off."
Serina tosses a bone across the flames, and Malrec ducks it, growling. She only laughs. "I would flee as well if Malrec put his hands on me."
At this, Malrec steps so close to the flames he's nearly within them, and his voice drops to a purr. "If you let me put my hands on you, I can promise you won’t flee. You’d forget why you ever wanted to, though.”
She only scoffs, but Yuki—silent until now, her plum and gold robes incongruous against the hellfire—addresses me. "If you wish to stand any chance against…” Her voice softens. “Him, then you must strengthen yourself, Virgil."
This snares Malrec's attention. "Yes. We could find an unworthy soul. Some monster who spent his life preying on others. It would be a service for you to end such a one. Then you could fight, if need be.” He tosses a dark glance across the flames to Serina. “Or pursue other pleasures."
I shall always hate myself for this: I pause.
If I fed on a soul or two—truly monstrous ones, those who hunted others, exploited the weak, destroyed the innocent—then I could protect Dante. If Satan tried to take him, I could stand between them. If Dante drowned again, I could offer a hand, pull him free. I could touch him.
I fight a shudder.
"I know a few souls," Malrec whispers, velvet-soft, like forbidden pleasure offered in darkness. "I could lead you to worthy ones. Ones who deserve what you'd do to them."
I don't answer immediately. I should. I should refuse without hesitation, as I have a thousand times before when lesser demons have made lesser offers.
But this isn't a lesser offer. This is Dante.
I think of his hand hovering above mine—the ghost of a touch, the ache of almost. I think of what it would feel like to actually grasp his fingers, to feel the warmth of his skin, to pull him from drowning water with my own two hands instead of screaming uselessly from the shore.
I think of standing between him and Satan. Of being something other than a voice. Of being a shield.
The fire crackles. Serina watches me with knowing eyes. Malrec's smile spreads slow as poison.
"There's one not far from here," he continues, sensing my hesitation.
"A man who spent his mortal life selling children to those who would use them.
He's been rooted in his pain for three centuries and shows no sign of breaking free.
No one would mourn his unmaking, Virgil. No one would even notice."
I can almost taste it. That's the cruelest part. I can almost remember what taste is. The ghost of wine on my tongue. The phantom of bread. The memory of Musa's skin beneath my lips.
I could have that again. I could have touch again.
I could touch Dante.
My hands tremble at my sides. When did they start doing that?
But no.
No, because I remember the first and only time I fed.
I remember the soul's face as I tore into him, the confusion, the betrayal, the way he looked at me like I was hell embodied.
I remember how the pleasure crashed through me, wave after wave, and how afterward I wept on and off for six days straight, unable to stop, drowning in sensation after so long without it.
I remember vowing never again, and meaning it with every shred of what remained of me.
If I did this thing—even to a monster, even to someone who deserved it—I would become a monster myself. And then what would I be to Dante? What kind of guide? What kind of... whatever I might be becoming to him?
I shake my head.
"It's generous of you to concern yourself with one such as I, Malrec, but as I said, the one I guided has fled. I shall remove myself as well, lest I bring his attention upon you all."
"So generous of you, Malrec, to offer help to our dear Virgil.” Serina sneers. “What a gentleman you've become."
He growls again, but this one is laced with something other than malice.
I don't offer farewells as I move past the fire.
"He’s still looking for you," Malrec calls to my back. "And Constance assists him."
I keep walking, but it takes all of my centuries of control to do so. As soon as I'm past their line of sight, I stop and close my eyes.
For a moment, I simply stand there, breathing air I don't need, feeling nothing because I have surrendered the ability to feel.
Then I open my eyes and continue up the ridge to find Dante. But when I reach the tree where we should meet, Dante isn’t there.