How to Love a Blue Demon

by Story, Sherrod

  Cass crooned, “My, my, my. Aren’t you are just the cutest little thing!”

  But the little boy froze. He thought she was singing. Cyani didn’t use that type of cadence in everyday speech, and he put his tiny hand on her throat reverently. Then he put his ear to her chest. When she made no further sound he scowled at her, “Peeshu!” Sing.

  So Cass sang about the itsy bitsy spider, and before she knew it there was a crowd of tiny demons sitting around her, rocking from side to side imitating her movements. Their parents were attempting to be cool, but she saw quite a few swaying to the nursery rhyme before they caught themselves.

  “I don’t get it,” she told Gegi later. “You seem to love music. Why won’t you allow it?”

  “We are tone deaf, my dear, and it is against the law to make noise that would discomfit others. It is very difficult not to sing along with music that you like. You see our problem.”

  Right. She remembered Eyoen telling her that. But seeing the impact a simple nursery rhyme had, she warmed to the idea of conducting a concert.

  She sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Old MacDonald Had a Farm, and when the crowd showed signs of getting too big, members of the Cyani guard who always traveled with them outside the palace dispersed the crowd. Cass waved sadly to her pint sized audience of at least 30, feeling her heart clench when she saw so many little lower lips poked out, so many limpid pink, green, black and lavender eyes begging their parents to stay.

  The Queen, being the consummate politician’s wife, saw an opportunity in this, and set up an appointment each day for Cass to visit different places to conduct mini concerts. She went to two orphanages, three old demons homes, and in each place she brought down the house. Extra security had to be brought in to control the crowds in each place, which quickly expanded beyond the usual visitors and residents.

  “How did they know I was here?” Cass asked after stepping down from her makeshift stage at the largest old demon’s home on Cyanus to thunderous applause.

  The Queen beamed. “Demon hearing, my dear. It’s superior to your human ears. That and word got ‘round after the entertainment you gave the children the other day at the market.”

  Cass got some idea of how important it was to be in the royal inner circle after she watched people react to the King’s impromptu appearance to hear her sing at the oldest old demon’s home.

  Demons were bowing and curtsying so low she wondered they could stand up again. But they did, scurrying about like, well, like demons, pulling a huge, throne like chair from somewhere as though it had just been waiting to be used, and almost instantly putting together a buffet that could easily rival a five star restaurant back home.

  She’d only planned to do three songs, but threw in an extra one, which she dedicated to the King and the good people of Cyanus, who she thanked for welcoming her so generously. Cass held back a smile when eyes bugged after the King gave her a nod and a smile and later clapped heartily before he shook a few very old blue hands, nodded at the officials and left as quickly as he’d arrived.

  Cass quickly forgot about the King. Her brain was too full of where she’d been and what she’d experienced. The facilities were unlike anything she’d ever seen, and they were government run, she marveled to the Queen. Orphans lived almost opulently, and the old demons were treated like familiar guests at a grand resort, revered for their extreme age and wisdom of experience.

  One man was almost 2,000 years old. Still in possession of all his teeth and hair, he was a little stooped and moved slowly, but his deep voice was still pleasant. He was getting a bit forgetful these days, but the staff assured her that he was sound physically, just aging out, and he’d had the misfortune to outlive his wife and children and most of his friends.

  The Queen didn’t understand her shock at learning these were tax funded facilities. “It is our privilege to care for those who are disadvantaged. The young must be given every opportunity to contribute to the betterment of society. And the old must be cared for to ensure we don’t lose the knowledge they have acquired over the life years.”

  Apparently the old man they’d met was an expert botanist, and when his memory wasn’t wandering, he still taught classes on horticulture and agriculture. He’d contributed several inventions that had impacted food production and preparation, and had even invented a fruit, a sour green berry that Cass loved. It looked and felt like a grape but tasted like candy.

  Her other favorite place was the market. Food, flowers and non-alcoholic drinks were purchased in a huge outdoor bazaar like place called bishon, which translated roughly to tent. Cass thought that was funny, since it was open air, but the place was amazing.

  The Queen told her each day hundreds of different merchants who either couldn’t afford or didn’t want storefronts came here to hawk their wares. Cyanians were a lot like the French in their eating habits, preferring to eat fresh everyday and shop the same. They were also incredibly frugal and clever with thrift. For instance, food was never wasted, not when it could be repurposed into another dish or given to someone who might be hungry. Clothing was mended many times before new garments were purchased as replacements.

  This philosophy did not impact consumerism terribly. Instead, it had build a booming business of specialist tradesman to care for shoes, shirts, the common female dress, which resembled a sari, and even socks. Some of the wealthiest demons on the star, she was told, were purveyors of buttons, thread and clinche, a strong, multipurpose adhesive.

  Cyani was an extreme place. It went from extreme frugality to silver temples only used occasionally to never raising one’s voice in public to the houris who followed behind well to do looking men, sometimes two or three at a time, with servants carrying shopping bags.

  Once after she and Eyoen were on their way home from having dinner in town, he pointed out a couple. They were tucked away in a corner, nearly invisible in the shadow of a building, but it was obvious the two were having sex. And not just dry humping, they were fucking.

  The man’s face was buried in his companions’ neck. You could hear him grunting, and his shoulders and arms looked tense in his jacket from holding her up, legs wrapped around his waist.

  Eyoen pulled her into their own shadow, his back against a wall, her back against his front as they watched.

  “No one can see,” he whispered. “I’ve put a bubble around us.”

  “I can’t believe they’re doing this out in the street.”

  Eyoen laughed. “They probably couldn’t help themselves. Look how hard he’s holding her. I bet it’s their first date.”

  Cass thought he might be right. The man was clutching his prize so close, the woman would probably have bruises on her hips, not to mention her tailbone the way he was drilling her into that wall.

  “Maybe the chemistry between them was perfect. He could have been watching her for weeks, plotting how to get her to go out with him and now that she has and they’re alone –”

  “He just couldn’t help himself,” Cass finished, enjoying the scenario.

  “Look at her hand on his back. She is wearing a betrothal ring, which means the contracts have been signed to merge their families, and the dowry given. The wedding will be a formality. This is probably the first time they’ve been allowed some time alone. I bet she flirted with him over the table at dinner. Maybe under it too. Touching his knee or thigh with her hand.”

  Eyoen ran his hands over her front, pausing to squeeze each full breast firmly before continuing south. “She probably smiled with all her teeth and signaled with her eyes that she found him handsome. Perhaps she fed him food from her plate, chewing hers thoroughly and running her tongue over her bottom lip after she drank from his hand.”

  Cass laughed softly, undulating against his hands between her legs. “Are you still talking about the couple?” He had just described the scene at their last dinner.

  “Maybe not,” he whispered, and then he copied their love scene to the letter with her.

&nb
sp; ******

  Yes, Cyanus was extreme, but she feared nothing. Cass couldn’t name one time she felt uncomfortable. She was stared at, sure, but the stares were interested not intrusive, concerned, not critical. Like when she tripped on the loose hem of her dress and fell down, skinning her knee. Eyoen appeared instantly, roaring with outrage, and several demons rushed forward to help. One quickly sewed up the offensive hem, another found a chair, and yet another attempted to doctor the scraped knee but was roughly swatted aside as Eyoen knelt before her, gold eyes wide with worry before he waved a hand and poof. The injury was gone.

  The phalanx of guards who’d been charged with protecting Cass were dismissed in disgrace despite her insistence that it was no one’s fault. She had to spend the next two days – or moons – close to the palace. Eyoen was too busy to take her out and was now too mistrustful of anyone’s ability to keep her safe, with the possible exception of his brothers. Materen managed to spirit her away for a quick trip to the armory, a museum that housed every weapon ever made on the star. Cass read the histories with interest and was shocked to find that each and every item was still in perfect working order.

  “History is important,” Materen told her. “Knowledge should never be corrupted or taken for granted. It must be preserved at all costs and expanded whenever possible.”

  “Preach,” said Cass.

  Eyoen was usually there, somewhere, however, even if he could only pop in and out for a few minutes. By turns supportive or silent, opinionated or entertaining, when she conducted business in the market he was there, ensuring that she knew all the angles and that no one dared give her less than what she deserved, and he of course thought she deserved everything.

  She chided him gently with her eyes when she felt he was haggling too much, and he grinned and stood back, allowing her to bargain for herself, though most times she had to push the credits into merchants’ hands. They all wanted to give her things when they realized she was the prince’s favored consort.

  “Can’t see how they make much money giving things away,” she laughed.

  “Publicity, my dear,” he told her. “To be able to say that someone with royal ties visited or purchased from their stall is a great, extremely effective marketing tool.”

  Cass liked to hear him talk about his home. The intelligence with which he spoke of policy and public works, and the affection he showed his subjects was admirable. It only made her love him more.

  Though at no time did one ever forget that he was royal. “You wear power well, demon,” she told him, kissing his cheek and ignoring shocked gasps from passersby.

  Eyoen grabbed her and in the blink of an eye they were back in the palace, naked, in bed.

  “I’d much rather we wore nothing at all, my dear,” he whispered.

  His public persona had taken some getting used to. It was quite stiff and formal. He was The Prince, in capital letters. But when they were alone making love she never knew quite what she’d get.

  There was dominating demon, bent on torturing her with a pleasure so rich and intense sometimes she cried. Or tender demon, rubbing her so worshipfully he seemed to inundate her with warmth and sweetness. She also liked trickster demon, who grinned like one of those tiny blue demons from the square, turned her upside down with a thought or sent her floating across the room with a look to land in his arms like an apple dropped from the branch of a tree.

  “Do you want to go home?” he asked one day out of the blue.

  They were eating breakfast in his suite, and he calmly picked up his cup as she gaped at him.

  “What?”

  “You’ve been thinking of home a lot. And of people who live there.”

  Ah. She knew what this was about. He’d picked up on her thoughts of Natty.

  “It’s just music,” she said now. “I want him because I need him to make a better show. It’s tough doing everything on my own.”

  He’d given her the best equipment, conjured from his memory of the times he’d gone into studios with her, but it was practically impossible to run the machines and play her guitar, and as helpful as they all were, the demons around her were rhythm challenged, thus not of much help. After awhile she gave up and just plugged her guitar into her amp and played with it alone.

  “Don’t tell me that you want him.”

  Cass shifted uncomfortably. She’d never heard that tone before. It was quiet, but angry, and she began to laugh.

  He set his cup down with a glare, and she laughed even harder.

  “Are we fighting?” She picked up a ghyan, Cyani’s version of a scone and took a healthy bite. “’Cause if you do want to fight, we could do it naked. Make things interesting?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked and he harrumphed irritably.

  Cass bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. These flashes of jealousy were ridiculous. She regretted him picking up on her thoughts of another man, but for her Natty was about work and business and nothing more. And even those thoughts were fleeting. If her head wasn’t full of all the strange and wonderful new things she was absorbing on the star, it was filled to the brim with Eyoen.

  She could no longer picture her life without him. Lee, who she thought of from time to time, increasingly faded into the background, a fact Eyoen knew and fully approved of. He had no interest in sharing her, not even with memories of the dead.

  On the star he would allow no man to touch her. Not even casually, not even a handshake. In preparation for the arena show she was doing she’d arranged to bring in outside help from other musically inclined places in the galaxy – she still couldn’t believe she actually said things like that let alone heard them come from others mouths – and he’d insisted on being present when she interviewed musicians. Every time she had to give him the stink eye and literally elbow him aside to obey the niceties.

  “I do not approve of this American custom,” Eyoen groused. “It is not seemly for a mated woman to engage with males this way. They’re not from Cyanus; Goddess knows what they’re thinking!”

  “You sound like a demon from the Victorian era,” she told him. “And there ain’t shit you can do about it anyway.”

  Of course this wasn’t technically true, but Eyoen settled for pouting and glaring at his imagined rivals until none would have dared step out of line. Cass rolled her eyes, but she voluntarily curtailed masculine contact to appease him, and was rewarded with his sweet smiles and approving touches.

  Cass had become quite a prize. She’d acquired her own social secretary to handle the deluge of invitations that came in for her. She tried to respond to the letters herself, but when her hand began to cramp she gave up. Once things settled down, she noticed something else; all of the men she encountered aside from Eyoen’s brothers remained on the fringes of whatever crowd she was in, staring.

  She smiled at a few and was taken aback when they immediately dropped their eyes or turned away without speaking.

  “That was rude,” she muttered. Eventually she stopped smiling because it was embarrassing when she was ignored. Yet she wasn’t being ignored. They stared and so did she, but no one said anything. Until she got used to it, it was quite eerie.

  “No man, or woman for that matter, will come forward to speak to you without an introduction from his Highness,” Rierdane explained.

  “Oh! So this is a royal thing?”

  “No, not really. They wouldn’t come forward even if he was a commoner. It’s not done to speak to someone else’s wife or mother or sister.”

  “Even if she speaks first?”

  “I’m afraid not, miss.”

  Okay. Cass thought that was sexist, but she wasn’t about to start bra burning on an alien planet. Her unofficial motto while she was visiting was, when in Rome. It was one reason she hadn’t balked at wearing the local garb.

  In any event, she was wrong. It wasn’t sexism, but a rather rigid, decidedly old fashioned form of politesse.

  “Male demons are a horny bunch,” Rierdane co
ntinued. “Women must be protected, lest someone get carried away and behave offensively.”

  It was the ironic how reticent everyone was of female sensibilities when all the women were swanning around in see through togas. When she said as much to Eyoen he just laughed.

  “I suppose you are right, my dear. I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps one is necessary because of the other.”

  The dress, which went to the ankle and left both arms bare was actually one long, clever swathe of fabric that could be draped over the body myriad ways. It covered everything, and thanks to clay breasts cups that could be molded and reused each day – and had the added bonus of making the skin silky smooth and sensitively soft – and needed no straps, her modesty was preserved.

  Despite missing pants with a longing that was surprisingly acute, Cass was having more fun than she’d ever had in her entire life. Eyoen made her happy just by breathing. Here in his home, he’d revealed a swagger so appealing, she frequently asked him to shroud them in magic so she could kiss and touch him without being seen. He grinned and obliged, thrilled and eager to feed her need for him.

  Cass was happy to be fed. Eyoen had been sexy even housed in Lee’s body. In his right skin he was so beautiful he’d had more than one offer to model on Earth. He’d been curious about the process, interested in the experience, and the money – he was very interested in making money, a trait Cass now realized as typical of Cyani demons whose first and last thoughts often revolved around trade – but he did not like the idea that he’d be bound by appointments. He couldn’t fathom being held up for hours with photographers and the like, unable to leave when he chose. Cass told him he had an entrepreneurial spirit when he declined in favor of focusing on getting his spa off the ground.

  On Cyanus his innate masculinity seemed to swell like a dry sponge in a water bucket. Everything about him screamed: I am a powerful man. It was more than the set of his broad shoulders, or the proud, straight line of his back. It was more even than the way his big feet stood braced firmly on the ground, the way he crossed his arms while talking or nodding at someone who was talking to him. He was magnificent.