“I wouldn’t ask you to.” I was perplexed by your unease.
“Henri, is this…” You motioned to the room and said quietly, “Is this enough for you?”
Your question gave me pause. You must want more—Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…the promise of a life together, a future and a wide world to explore, while I could only offer you a piece of myself, in this small corner of creation, one full day in a week.
“Is it enough for you?” I asked with some trepidation.
“Of course,” you said emphatically. “It’s everything I could ever want. That’s not what I meant.” Your face turned broody. How mercurial your temperament could be—a hot summer day that culminated in an afternoon downpour, only to clear into blue skies again.
“There is nothing you could say that would displease me,” I reminded you. In fact, I preferred you to be as truthful as possible. We faced enough hurdles already.
“What I meant to say, is…” You stared up at me with so much uncertainty. “Am I really enough for you? Be honest.”
Your insecurity shone through so nakedly, and I worried for you. Beneath the quips and occasional barbs was a sensitive and easily wounded soul. You were young still—no doubt too young for me—and quite impressionable. If my actions and attentions couldn’t convince you of my devotion, then what possibly would?
Time, I realized. Time together would cement our bond, and that was something I could not promise you.
“You are more than enough for me, in every way possible,” I said. “I could live for a thousand years and never want for another lover.”
You smiled and shook your head, masking your shaky confidence with humor. “I don’t know, Henri. That’s a long-ass time. My shelf life is only about fifty more years.”
I didn’t like that observation at all. It was something I tried to forget, the limitations of your mortality. Aging and death and the swiftness with which I could lose you. In the blink of an eye. An ill feeling stole over me and I pushed it away.
“Sixty if I maintain you,” I said, trying to bring some levity to the suddenly dark pallor of our conversation.
You smiled and set your tea aside, then nestled down in my arms, still smelling of another man’s seed. You were filthy, and I was so very lucky to have you.
“I love you, Henri,” you said with a contented sigh.
“I love you, my beautiful boy.”
Please let me keep him, I whispered as a prayer to the gods. If only I could use my power to make it so. I’d do anything to have this one thing—you, for a lifetime.
You fell asleep in my arms with the open trust of a child, while I could only lie awake and suffer from the paralyzing terror that besieged me. I told myself it was only a strange bout of paranoia and that these ominous premonitions would soon pass.
And then, just a few days later, I was summoned
30
Henri
Iapproached Santiago’s cigar factory with a stark sense of foreboding. This wasn’t one of my regular check-ins but a direct summons from Azrael.
I’d requested Xavier’s services for this meeting, and it was his body I inhabited when I entered into the cigar factory and encountered my old Malakhim nemesis. Santiago recognized my vessel immediately.
“Xavier, is that you?” Santiago asked with a hopeful yearning, as though trying to beckon to a loved one from across the veil. I’d never before witnessed such tenderness in all of my dealings with him, and it made me reconsider my contempt.
His tone and expression told me two things at once: Santiago was not the one who’d tipped off my mother about our affair; and the Malakhim clearly harbored unrequited feelings for our human friend.
“It’s Henri, but this is indeed Xavier’s body. He’s my host for this summons.”
Santiago’s eyebrows drew together in confusion for a moment, and then they set in a hard line.
“What areyoudoing keeping him as a host?” he demanded.
“Azrael recommended him to me,” I said. I truly wasn’t trying to exacerbate the situation.
“Don’t you say a word about him,Nephilim,” he warned. That name dripped from his tongue as venom from a snake’s fangs.
