Don't Open the Box - Part 3

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The sensation of warmth on his stomach drew Henry out of what had been an unpleasant dream. In his half-wakened state the temptation to seek solace in the familiarity of Richard’s touch was strong. But then memories of the night before separated from his dreams, and his body tensed, his mind suddenly alert.

Sensing the change, Richard hesitated. “Do you want me to stop?” There was apprehension in his voice.

Henry suspected it was because the wrong answer would remove the illusion that there was any kind of choice at all. Stopping would only lead to the incubus’ starvation, and that would never be allowed to happen. But, there was another side to their circumstances in that, regardless of what Richard wanted, he needed Henry.  He was as much of a hostage to the situation as Henry was. Perhaps more so since he’d been at the mercy of fate as to who would open the box—or even if it would ever be opened at all.

In the light of such considerations, and the events of the night before, Henry’s prior accusations seemed somewhat excessive.

Richard was still waiting for an answer.

“That’s not—just wait,” Henry said. He captured Richard’s fingers in his own, and tugged him toward him. “Come here.”

Richard moved to lie alongside Henry, an unspoken question in his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Henry said. He tried not to find the staggering amount of shock on Richard’s face insulting as he continued. “The events that have occurred recently have been beyond my control, and were not what I would have chosen. But it has occurred to me that the same could be said for you. And it was—” Henry fought the urge to avert his gaze, “unnecessary to speak to you the way I did last night.”

Richard’s eyes were still wide, and he tilted his head to one side as if by looking at Henry from another angle he would once again become something recognizable. 

There was a moment of extended silence before Henry added, “I was angry.”

“You were,” Richard said. He gave Henry a slow nod.

Henry waited, but no further acknowledgement appeared to be forthcoming

“Is that all you have to say?” Henry said.

There was the slightest upturning of lips before Richard leaned forward, and his expression was safely tucked out of sight as he nuzzled Henry’s neck.

“What about your role in events?” Henry asked. He moved to a sitting position to escape the influence of Richard’s administrations. 

Only to have Richard push him back down, albeit gently, and to slide on top of him. “Are you in the habit of giving apologies only to receive them?” he asked.

“Of course not.” Henry did his best to sound reprehensive, but then he undermined his position when he allowed himself to be kissed. Richard’s affection wasn’t as unwelcome as usual this morning. It must have been the guilt. That emotion did more to foster good relations between people—and demons, apparently—than it was given credit for.

“But it’s the polite thing to do,” Henry said.

Richard moved to press his lips to Henry’s chest, and when he spoke his breath was hot against Henry’s skin. “Then I apologize.”

“Gah, you don’t even know what for.” Henry realized he was smiling, and he turned his face toward the pillow.

“You’re demanding this morning,” Richard said, but he sounded pleased, relieved even. As if getting along with Henry was important to him after all. 

#

After breakfast, of the human variety, Richard took Henry on a tour of the house’s hidden locations. Henry silently prayed that Richard wouldn’t have a change of heart and offer to show him the sub-cellar, or wonder why he’d ceased to demand it. He was grateful the incubus didn’t possess the ability to read his thoughts.

The secret room in the library held a collection of books and manuscripts too rare to be on display, as well as an assortment of small jars and boxes containing unguents and herbs. Henry was careful not to touch anything, and was even able to cloak his annoyance at the obvious approval his caution earned him from Richard.

The hatches and safes were in need of oiling and a few other minor repairs. Henry stayed to help for the first one, and found the work wasn’t unpleasant. But when Richard moved on to the second Henry excused himself.

So far there was no sign of the creature, and there was every possibility that there never would be. But, Henry decided, as he made his way to Whateley’s library, that there was no harm in doing a little research.

Hours later, Henry felt something shake his shoulder. He jumped, slamming what he’d been reading shut before he realized it was only Richard.

“Don’t do that,” Henry said. “You can’t touch people without any warning. It isn’t right.”

“That must have been exceptionally engaging.” Richard nodded at the journal. “I said your name twice.”

Henry looked down at it where it laid on the desk. In actuality, it had contained more information about garden yields than anything even remotely useful.

“Don’t you take a meal by this time?”

Henry had no idea what time it was, although the light in the library had dimmed. He pulled his watch from his pocket.

“Actually, I would have taken two.” The smile he gave Richard was sheepish. “It must have been more engaging than I thought.” He folded his notes, and slipped them into his vest pocket and out of sight.

Not that they contained much.

As they made their way to the kitchen, Henry asked, “Did you solve the vermin issue?” Not that he was particularly interested in the answer, but the silence was giving him entirely too much opportunity for thought.

“I sealed most of the openings, but strangely, before I was able to take further measures, they seem to have disappeared.”

“That’s fortunate then, isn’t it?” Henry glanced at Richard.

“It depends on why they left. Maybe it was simply because I disturbed their nest.” Richard spread his hands out in what appeared to be an elegant alternative to a shrug. “Or maybe, something is eating them.”

Henry missed a step on the stairs. He shrugged off Richard’s stabilizing hand as he regained his balance.

“Do you have any idea what’s eating them?” It had to be the creature, he’d watched it disappear into the steps, and now it was scurrying about in the walls eating insects, and doing god knows what else.

A look of understanding crossed Richard’s features. “I saw no signs of rats.”

Rats would have been preferable, but he was grateful Richard had come to the wrong conclusion.

“What do you think it is?” Henry asked.

“There is no reason to believe it’s anything. Not yet.”

Henry no longer found the silence unwelcome, and he chose to remain wrapped in it until well after he’d taken his seat at the table, and begun his dinner of scavenged tins.

After a while though, he noticed that Richard had nothing with him—no books, no plans, no anything to keep him occupied as he sat across from Henry. Not wanting to be poor company, Henry searched for a topic of conversation he hoped would prove more innocuous than the last.

“Why do you care so much about this house?” Henry asked.

“It’s…” Richard spread his long fingers out on the table’s surface. He looked at them for a long moment before he spoke again. “It’s an important house. Like this town, unusual things happen here.”

Henry snorted. “That’s no reason to like it.” It was, in fact, exactly why he didn’t.

“We have different origins, and thus, different motivations.”

Henry frowned. He’d once been very suspicious of the incubus’ origins and motivations, and the mention of them reminded him that he should still feel that way. But he found it was no longer true.

“If I lived as long as you,” Henry said, “I wouldn’t waste my time here. I would travel. Explore the world.”

“Is that what you intend to do?”

“I had planned to return to the university, but…” Henry shrugged. “Regardless, I plan to travel someday.”

“Then I will be traveling too I suppose.” Richard sounded indifferent, as if the details of his future were irrelevant.

Henry found the concept disquieting. It was so far from his own world view. But even so, the idea of having a companion on his wanderings did hold a certain appeal.

“The house would have to be secured first, of course,” Henry said. “We can’t have anyone breaking in, and stealing some jar, or box, or magic post card that unleashes mayhem and doom on the countryside, now can we?”

Richard chuckled, and when he looked at Henry his eyes were soft. “No, we can’t have that.”

Henry found Richard’s reaction encouraging. He was remarkably tolerant, for a demon. The idea of broaching a subject he hadn’t intended to address was beginning to seem like a possibility. Besides, he wasn’t sure if small, toad-like monstrosities that merely eliminated problematic insects even counted as a source of mayhem.

Henry took a steadying breath. “Theoretically speaking, what would your reaction be upon learning that I ventured into the sub-cellar, and—”

There was a clatter as Richard straightened in his chair, and the wooden legs skidded on the stone floor.

“You went into the sub-cellar?” There was no sign of tolerance.

“Of course not, I was only speaking in possibilities.” Richard was still staring at him, and Henry tried to project an aura of calm he didn’t actually feel. “I have a strong sense of intellectual curiosity, and I was merely—speculating as to what the depths of your feelings were on the matter.” He tried not to wince at how poor his reasoning sounded.

But somehow it seemed to work, and Richard eased back in his chair. “You mustn’t be tempted. Even if you prefer to believe my motivations are selfish, remember that I need you for my own sustenance, and—”

“I believe you care about my well-being.” Henry ignored Richard’s look of surprise. “Your motivations are unimportant. I merely wish to understand what your response would be if say, something happened again such as when I released you from the box, only it was another supernatural being from the cellar. Would you stand idly by while I dealt with the creature, or—”

“You are seeking an incentive to avoid the sub-cellar?”

Henry wrinkled his brow in confusion. “No…” He was seeking assistance, but he didn’t need to hear a litany of his failings if Richard wasn’t going to provide any.

“I will offer you this.” Richard leaned towards him. “If you take one step inside that place, I will take down your pants, bend you over my lap in that very chair,” Richard pointed at where Henry was sitting, “and paddle your backside with a coat bush.”

Henry opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. Finally he said, “That’s—” he felt his face heat, “that’s really not necessary.” He shifted in his seat. It felt like a significantly less hospitable place after what had been said about it.

Richard nodded. “You would be wise to keep it that way.”

“Look, our relationship is developing into something with, I’d like to think, a measure of mutual respect, and companionship. But, that is hinged on the premise of us being equals.”

“If I ever do something that potentially unleashes a world devouring, un-killable beast in our house, I fully expect you to spank me for it.”

Henry blinked. “There’s a—there’s a what in the cellar?”

Richard exhaled loudly. “Nothing.” But his expression said otherwise. “That was a bit of an exaggeration.”

Henry’s heartbeat was accelerating to dangerous levels. “But—”

“Just promise me you won’t go in the sub-cellar.”

“OK,” Henry said. And it was true in the sense that he never would again.  

A hand covered his on the table. Henry looked up in surprise.

“There is nothing to be found in the sub-cellar that would be a fair trade for your life,” Richard said. He sounded earnest, in a way that made Henry want to do as he asked, and to not let him down.

Which was ridiculous since he already had.

#

After what little he was able to force himself to eat, for the sole purpose of avoiding raising Richard’s suspicions, Henry returned to the library. This time he passed the ordinary selection on not-so-ordinary manuscripts and journals, and instead let himself into the secret room. There he found a bestiary that he remembered Richard referring to as “mostly harmless.”

For once he was rewarded—rather than unjustly burdened with bizarre, otherworldly happenings—for his initiative. The creature, or something that looked remarkably similar from the helpful illustration on the adjoining page, had a brief, but disturbing—all the more so because he recognized Whateley’s handwriting—entry:

Halfling of Bokrug—The Devourer: Possessing a hateful, batrachian appearance when small, grows into ever more hideous and larger forms, without limit, the more it consumes. Will eat anything from the most minute of creeping things, to animals and even humans. It is of the utmost, vital importance that it never be fed.

Henry quelled his rising despair as he flipped through the book for more information. There was absolutely nothing on how to get rid of it. What had Richard said—un-killable, world-devouring?

All he found was an absolutely terrifying illustration of its parent, Bokrug. He hoped it didn’t morph into that as it grew. It was enormous.

Why would Whateley keep something so terrible in his home? Henry could admit that there was some justification, at least in the minds of some people, for having an incubus—or succubus in Whateley’s case—but something that grew and consumed, and destroyed? He was certain that there was none, and even more so that there was something unfathomably, damnably wrong with his ancestor.

Still—there had to be some information that would help, and so Henry spent the rest of his evening going through anything that might contain any reference to the Halflings.

#

He must have fallen asleep, for the next thing he was aware of was strong hands lifting him to his feet. Richard wrapped one arm around his back, and allowed Henry to lean against him. His neck was stiff, and his forehead sore from where it had pressed into the wood of the desk.

“Whateley only sought knowledge when he intended to use it,” Richard said quietly, “your desire to simply learn for the sake of it is endearing, although it does appear to interfere with a few of your human needs.”

“And you’re the expert on those,” Henry said, his voice too thick from sleep to be sarcastic effectively.

“I’ve had an interesting opportunity for study.” Richard sounded less like he was teasing and more like he was flirting, although it was possible Henry was too tired to tell the difference.

“I guess you need the library for yourself now.” Henry felt Richard’s eyes turn to study him.

“Why would I need the library?”

“To do whatever it is you do in there all night.” Henry allowed Richard to steer him into his bedroom even though he didn’t need the assistance.

Richard ran his fingers down Henry’s vest, as if he meant to begin undressing him, but then he snatched his hand back. It was almost as if he were embarrassed, which was odd, considering he was a species that by very definition was the antithesis of all propriety and shame.

“I do not go to the library at night,” Richard said, “except on occasion.”

“Oh.” Henry removed his own vest and braces. He draped them over the back of his chair with the intent to put them away in the morning. “Then what do you do all night?”

“I return to my realm.”

Henry looked at him sharply. “You leave?” He winced realizing how that sounded. But the thought of being alone in the house while the Devourer crawled through the walls was unthinkable. “But I thought you didn’t have to anymore?”

“I receive enough of your—” Richard looked at Henry, and seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say, “energy to remain here throughout the day, but it would take more for me to be present at all times. It is a compromise.”

“A compromise?” Henry frowned in thought. “You leave so that you don’t have to touch me as much as you would have to otherwise?”

“Correct.”

“Is that—” Henry looked away, his eyes seeking answers, or possibly just courage, in the face of his wardrobe that wasn’t to be found there. “Is that how you prefer it?”

“No. But it’s acceptable.”

Richard was going without to be less of a burden on him. He was doing it for him.

“What would it take for you to stay?”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering?”

“Of course not,” Henry said automatically, but then he hesitated.

Richard didn’t appear surprised, as if he had never expected Henry to make such an offer.

Henry didn’t like that. “Except maybe—just for tonight,” he glanced toward his bed, “if you wanted to stay, we could do just enough to make that possible.”

Richard stilled. His pupils were darker than they should have been in the lamplight, but he seemed almost hesitant.

But only for a moment before he stepped forward, and curled his fingers in Henry’s hair to pulled him in for a kiss. It was insistent, and almost sweet, and Henry found himself returning it. He brought a hand up to stroke his fingers through Richard’s hair, and then down his neck to rest on his shoulder. He’d wanted to do that for a while, and he admitted, to himself at least, that the creature wasn’t the only reason he wanted him to stay.

Richard was pushing into him, guiding toward the bed, and Henry broke the kiss and motioned for Richard to wait. Richard watched him with as much curiosity as desire—and Henry couldn’t remember why he’d once found the intensity of his gaze so disquieting—as Henry turned off the light.

It was easier in darkness—like when it had been merely a dream—to hook his fingers into the front of Richard’s shirt and yank him down on the bed on top of him. Richard exhaled roughly as he settled in between Henry’s thighs, the fabric catching as their bodies pressed together.

There were still limits to what he would do, but as Henry slid a hand down between them—and was rewarded with the sound Richard made into his mouth—he decided that a mutual exchange was no longer one of them.


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