“Of course I did not forget,” Fritz begins, pausing to take a drink before continuing, “I just wasn’t sure what you were willing tosharewith Bel,” he finishes with his eyes locked on mine.Do all demons speak in double entendres, or am I just reading into things that aren’t there?
“I do not keep secrets from her,” he explains, sitting down on the couch across from us. I find it odd that earlier, he literally killed a man in cold blood for touching me. Yet Fritz is being far more familiar with me, practically cuddling me, and Caspian doesn’t even seem to notice.
He picks up a drink and looks at me, and I love how he finally seems a little more comfortable. Like he’s finally found something familiar in this new world. We sit quietly and drink for a moment before Caspian sighs, seemingly not ready to break the comfortable silence but knowing we must.
“As you know, we are here for business,notpleasure,” he tells Fritz, allowing a bit of mirth to sneak through.
“Pity,” Fritz comments, and honestly, I feel the same way. I’ve already been pleasured beyond what any human should endure in one night. And yet, sitting in the proximity of these two powerful men has me tingling from head to toe with anticipation.
My whole body tightens at the image in my head of them together, of me joining them. Shame coats my tongue as I’m reminded what we’re actually here for. I should be focusing on our mission, yet here I am, wondering what it would be like to be sandwiched between them. Caspian holding me in place with his rough hands while Fritz teases me—
I shake my head, dispelling the imagery. It isn’t fair to them for me to sexualize them this way while they’re trying to have a conversation.
Caspian reaches into his pocket and holds out the compass, which is now pointed directly at Fritz, asking, “What do you know of this?”
Putting down his drink, he leans forward to take it, “Sanctus Scutulis. Nasty fuckers. How’d you come across this?” he raises a brow at Caspian.
“They found me,” he begins, “however, they stated that for the first little while that I was back on this plane, the compass could not track me. When I am in Bel’s proximity, it spins and spins, but never lands on me. She has made me invisible to their technology.”
“That makes sense since she’s yourhostia.”There’s that word again.
“What does that mean?” I ask. I have to know, even if the answer won’t be pretty.
“You’re his sacrifice. The incantation used to retrieve demons from Vankhala… bonds you two together, kinda. It’s essentially a vow of protection. He is a guest on this plane, and you’re his host orhostiain the original Latin,” he explains.
Between the two of them, they go back and forth using a lot of what I think is more Latin phrasing, deciphering exactly what the fake not-so-fake spell said to get Caspian here. I’m just happy sitting here, sipping on my drink. Without breaking his focus, Fritz reaches and pours me a refill, gifting me with a sly smile and a wink.
I shouldn’t let him flirt with me so blatantly in front of Cas. It isn’t fair to either of them. But I get the feeling that if he minded, he would say something. He even seemed… encouraging about it earlier, but maybe that was because ofhisinterest in Fritz, not anything to do with me.
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Caspian says exasperatedly. I realize now that I haven’t been paying attention, “I’ve never even heard of such a thing. Why have you not told me this?”
Fritz shrugs, “Well it never really came up. The sacrifice can’t be harmed by the summoned. It’s just not usually an issue because the one whose blood is spilled…” Fritz trails off, waving his hand in the air like it will finish his sentence for him.
“Is always dead before we arrive,” Cas looks as dumbfounded as I am.
“Wait, wait. So you’re saying that demons who are summoned can’t hurt their sacrifice?” That makes no sense. “But that would make them more like… protectors. Why would people kill the one person the demon is called to protect before they even get there?”
“Because then they have an uninhibited monster that they believe they can control. If the sacrifice gives the summoned a sense of humanity, the sacrifice can do all the controlling. But if the sacrifice is dead, that tie to humankind is gone.” Caspian fills in, realizing the horrific reality at the same time I do.
“But that still doesn’t explain why I could summon him,” I blurt. “How can a not-virgin sacrifice call for a demon?”
Fritz shakes his head, “They can’t. Period. Back to your earlier question, though, therearetheories that demons were originally protectors of the innocent. Called upon in times of need to keep children safe from enemies. A few drops of blood, nothing more than a finger prick, and they would be blessed with a terrifying creature who would stop at nothing to protect them.
“But, as always, men who craved power above all else found ways around this caveat. Just kill them before the demon arrives. It worked a few times until we caught on and started killing the killers,” he pauses, then adds, “But, as I said, this is all just a theory. There’s no way to prove what is true.
“Who am I to say that the original demon hunters were just power-hungry fucks, willing to slaughter anyone and everyone around them in their search for magic? Who am I to say that a handful of warlock families all stood in a circle and slit their eldest daughters’ throats to make that there trinket, along with many others, to find our people and send them back to Vankhala?” he finishes, waving around his drink for flourish.
The nonchalance with which he discusses such monstrous acts has goosebumps popping up along my arms. In every bit of modern religious texts, demons are the evil ones. But what if it was really mankind all along?
Seemingly finished with this rant, he turns to me and narrows his eyes in cautious curiosity, “How many men have you had, Sweets?” His sudden change of subject gives me whiplash.
“One,” I answer, clenching my fists to keep my voice from shaking, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of my drink to keep myself firmly planted in the present. I will not be dragged into the memories of the past. It’s a simple question with a simple answer.
“Hmmm. And how many times?” He’s watching me so closely now, and the warmth of Caspian’s gaze on my face is equally suffocating. At my lack of answer, he prods, “I don’twantto ask you these questions. They’re none of my-ourbusiness, but I can’t help you if I don’t have all the information.”
God damn it, I’m so sick of crying.“One,” I tell him, unable to hide the quiver in my voice. Through my slightly blurred vision, I watch them share a quick glance. The look on their faces is one I’ve dealt with countless times from therapists, my parents, andeven Isla. Understanding and then, horrifically, pity.
I slam my drink down and stand, “Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of fucking victim.”
