16. Valefar
Valefar
ONE MONTH LATER — JULY
I have survived seventeen centuries in Hell, endured executions, infernal wars, and punishments devised by creatures who consider agony an artistic pursuit.
None of this prepared me for the sprinkler.
The first blast strikes me directly in the chest.
I stagger backward more from surprise than force while Bethie erupts into delighted shrieks, her small bare feet pounding across the wet grass as she flees the rotating stream.
“Pwecious! Run-wun!”
“I am running.”
“No, you aren’t,” Vesper calls from her lawn chair where she is doing something called “tanning” and nearly driving me to distraction with the article of clothing titled “bikini.” “You’re stalking dramatically,” she points out.
I increase my speed. Apparently, this is the correct response.
My tail thwacks about like a crazed serpent, which I’m certain is most undignified, though the toddler clearly does not care.
Bethie screams with laughter and bolts around the yard, curls plastered to her forehead and little swimsuit already soaked through.
I pursue her until the sprinkler rotates toward us again, at which point she changes direction, and I am forced to do the same.
My feet slip. I land flat on my back in the grass. Bethie stops. Then she launches herself at me. I barely have time to brace before thirty pounds of wet toddler lands squarely on my chest.
“Got you!” Vesper translates through her laughter.
The little beastie sprawls across me and pats both wet hands against my cheeks. I have discovered very few activities in this mortal realm as exhilarating as being hunted by a toddler through summer water.
Her other preferred game involves my tail.
This began when she discovered that chasing it produced considerably more entertainment than chasing the cat.
It progressed when Vesper introduced something she calls the Tickle Monster, which initially concerned me until she explained that the title is not exclusively applicable to me as a demon, but rather a social euphemism for an adult threatening affectionate attack upon a child. I found this reassuring.
Bethie finds my tail particularly effective for this. It curls around her middle now and gives one quick flutter against her ribs. She squeals and collapses against me. “Tickle! Tickle!”
“As commanded, little beastie.”
Vesper laughs so hard she nearly spills her iced tea. I look at the two of them beneath the bright July sun and experience the strange, familiar pressure that has taken up increasingly permanent residence behind my sternum.
I no longer attempt to name it every time it appears. The storybooks call it something, which must be impossible for a Duke of Hell. But I do not seek to deny it.
I simply let it stay.
AUGUST
I have acquired a drawer.
Vesper informed me this is significant.
I did not initially understand why a rectangular cavity built into a wooden dresser should hold emotional significance, particularly when I had already accumulated clothing in her closet, boots beside hers, and a black earthenware mug that everyone in the household seems to understand belongs exclusively to me.
Apparently, the drawer is different. So is the toothbrush, though I have gone through four due to my larger, pointed teeth.
There are signs of me throughout the house now, but increasingly, there are also things I simply know.
Like which cupboard contains Bethie’s snacks and which cup she will reject for reasons no adult can determine.
I know Manny arrives earlier on Tuesdays.
I know Vesper becomes quiet rather than irritable when she has worked too long, and that this is when I should place coffee within reach without asking whether she wants it.
Or offer a foot massage. This always seems to lead to mating, so I wholeheartedly engage.
I also know we are preparing Bethie for something called pre-K.
I understand its purpose. It is a social environment where children learn alongside other children in preparation for school. This is reasonable. But I despise it.
Vesper appears remarkably calm about sending the little beastie away for several hours at a time. I have concluded this is either extraordinary maternal fortitude or a highly convincing performance.
She insists Bethie will benefit from more structured learning, social interaction, and independence. She also points out that it will give the two of us more time alone.
I reluctantly acknowledge the institution may possess certain advantages. At present, however, the largest obstacle for Bethie appears to be pants.
“No,” Bethie announces.
Vesper holds up another pair of tiny leggings. “You haven’t even tried these.”
“No.”
“They have unicorns.”
“Nonono!”
Bethie abandons negotiations entirely and wraps both arms around my leg. Her attention immediately transfers to my tail, which she captures with both hands.
“Tawl, playplay!” she giggles
Vesper stares at the pile of new clothes covering the bed. I can see the beginning of defeat. I crouch until I am level with Bethie. “Little beastie.”
She looks at me and places her palm on my cheek. “Pwecious.”
“We shall put on these clothes first.” I gesture toward the pile. “Then you may play with my tail.” Which has apparently become her favorite toy.
Her grip tightens, her expression shifting into an adorable pout. I consider further incentive. “And you may have one marshmallow.”
Bethie continues staring.
“Two.” I smirk.
Her arms rise immediately toward Vesper. Vesper’s mouth falls open.
I feel an immediate pang of concern. “Oh, Ves, I apologize. I should have consulted you before offering the marshmallows.”
Instead of chastising me, she leans down and kisses my cheek. “You were perfect. And I think you’ve been here long enough to know what works.”
The words settle warmly inside me. Then her attention shifts to Bethie. “Actually, Bethie bug, if you try on all of these for Mommy—” she sweeps one hand across the clothing mountain “—you can have three marshmallows.”
Bethie’s eyes widen. Vesper and I share a conspiratorial gaze, and her soft approval seems to spread deeper than normal. I memorize her features, but do not dare interrupt the happy moment as Bethie puts on the leggings and squeals.
Later that evening, Vesper tells me that her mother is covering the pre-K expense for now because Rick has again failed to send something called alimony and child-support payments.
I still have not asked her anything about Rick beyond what she has freely offered. It is not my place. I am learning how loving someone does not entitle you to every locked room inside them.
Near midnight, I wake to Vesper’s fingers brushing gently along my shoulder. For a moment, I do not understand why I am sitting upright on the couch.
Then I look down. Oh. Bethie is asleep in my arms, curled in my lap. A children’s book lies open on the couch. I vaguely remember reading it.
I do not remember falling asleep.
Vesper smiles at us. “Come on, Big Guy. Let’s get her into her bed, then you come to ours.”
I rise carefully, holding Bethie against me as though she is the most pwecious thing this world has ever created.
Once we’re in the bedroom, the word she spoke catches up with me.
Ours. Not her bed. Ours.
I say nothing. But I carry the word with me long after Bethie is tucked beneath her blankets.
END OF SEPTEMBER
The Veil is changing.
The September afternoon is still warm enough that Bethie is wearing shorts at the park, racing Vesper toward the climbing structure while her mother’s laughter carries over the grass.
Nothing about the day should feel threatening.
Yet the air has acquired an undertone I recognize.
A subtle pressure against my skin. The faintest metallic taste behind my tongue.
The distance between worlds is narrowing.
I remain near the path while Vesper catches Bethie around the waist and lifts her high enough to produce a shriek of delight.
Then I see the man. He stands across the street with a dog beside him. My attention locks instantly. The hound is disguised well enough for mortals. Black coat. Long muzzle. Ordinary collar. But it is not a dog. The creature turns its head toward me. Its eyes meet mine.
So this is what Vesper and Bethie saw months ago.
I step closer to the curb. The underling does not move, although the hound’s posture changes subtly beside him. It knows what I am within Hell’s hierarchy.
Neither creature is foolish enough to challenge a Duke directly. But they do not need to. They found me.
My gaze hardens. His does not waver.
Behind me, Bethie shrieks with laughter as she races down the slide into Vesper’s waiting arms, utterly unaware of what stands across the street.
The man briefly regards them. Every muscle in my body tightens. His attention returns to me. I let him see the warning in my face, the slow shake of my head.
A moment later, he turns away. The hound follows. I don’t move until both disappear around the corner.
“Pwecious!”
I turn instinctively. The tiny beastie is waving at me from the top of the slide while Vesper stands below with both arms ready to catch her.
But as I return to Vesper and Bethie, the thinning Veil presses against my senses like the first warning of an approaching storm.
Lucifer will know where I am.
And tonight, I do not intend to sleep deeply.
* * *
I have discovered several things during the hours Vesper has been asleep.
The first is that the Friends’ conflict in episode fourteen resolves exactly as I predicted it would, had anyone communicated the primary concern in the first act. I find this vindicating.
The second is that Vesper keeps a hidden shelf of books in the back of our bedroom closet. I discovered it a week ago while putting away laundry. At first, I assumed the books had been placed there simply because the shelf was difficult to reach. Then I opened one.