Incubus Caged

by A. H. Lee

  “Oh, gods.” Jessica turned away. I’m going to throw up. Mal’s recent words leapt into her mind: “If he dies in the wrong way, he could pull me down with him.”

  Jessica turned to Mal, fighting back bile. “Does he have a personal physician? Or…or...”

  “He doesn’t need a physician,” snapped Mal, “he has me. But if I start working here, I don’t know if I’ll have enough energy to get him back to his rooms, and he may need more than…” Mal trailed off, staring at the rapidly spreading crimson pool, the spurts of blood already slowing. “Oh, fuck, there’s no time.”

  Mal laid his head down across Azrael’s mangled chest, shut his eyes, and began to do…something. Jessica could feel it as surely as she had felt the sexual energy in the ballroom during the orgy. Mal’s silver collar began to glow. It turned to gold, then to flame, then to something too bright to look at. He was giving off heat. Jessica averted her eyes. She struggled to her feet and took a few steps back, staring at the shadows on the floor. They disappeared all at once, and she looked up.

  Mal had gone from resting his head on Azrael’s chest, to collapsing on top of him. The big cat’s ragged panting filled the tower, but underneath it, Jessica caught the reassuring sound of Azrael’s slow, deep breaths. She came timidly forward and crouched. “Mal?”

  His head wobbled as he tried to raise it. “Drained.” He made a croaking noise, licked his lips and tried again. “We sleep here. If we die, we die.”

  Jessica frowned. She reached out, laid her hand on Mal’s head, and pushed…not with her body, but with her mind, with that invisible muscle that she’d only just discovered. It felt wrong. Some instinct inside her screamed that energy was not supposed to go in this direction, but she ignored it and kept pushing. Her limbs were starting to feel heavy when Mal raised his head, his eyes focusing again, and said, “Stop. Jessica, stop.”

  She dropped her hand, feeling as though she’d just run up the tower again. Mal got to his feet. In the soft evening light, Jessica saw pink skin instead of raw meat under the shredded fabric of Azrael’s clothes. The skin looked inflamed, like a burn, but there was no spurting blood.

  “Thank you,” whispered Mal.

  “You’re welcome.” Jessica pushed a sweaty strand of hair out of her face. “This was one hell of a first date.”

  Mal started to laugh—rough in his feline throat. “I need to get him back to his rooms. I know you’ve already helped a lot, but can you…make sure I’ve got thumbs?”

  “Of course.” Jessica put a hand on his back, and Mal changed into human form. This time, he did not bother with clothes. Jessica kept a hand on him while he gathered up Azrael’s lanky body and tossed him over one shoulder.

  Jessica winced. “Should you be throwing him around like that after he practically had his heart torn out of his chest?”

  “He’ll live,” muttered Mal as he started for the door.

  “What do you think did that to him?”

  “No idea. Supposedly, he can’t be physically injured while spirit-walking. I hope nothing followed him through the portal.”

  “Oh!” Jessica glanced around the room with new apprehension, but nothing stirred.

  “I didn’t smell anything dangerous when I was in panther form,” offered Mal. He said nothing else as they made the long descent. When they reached the bottom, Mal started off through the bookcases in a direction Jessica had never traveled before, going away from the reading room. It was full dark now, with only soft night-time lights glowing in the library.

  “Shouldn’t you put on some clothes if we’re about to walk through the palace?” asked Jessica, but Mal only shook his head. “We won’t meet anybody…well, except maybe people from the pocket worlds.”

  Mal wound his way through the maze of stacks until he reached a spot on the back wall of the room. He selected a book from one case and tilted the spine out until it made a soft click. The bookcase swung open, and they proceeded up a flight of stairs beyond. The passage was unlit, and Jessica came last with her hand still on Mal’s back. Azrael’s arms swung bonelessly against her. Mal bumped and cursed at the top of the stairs. Then a square of light appeared and Jessica followed him, blinking, into the sorcerer’s bedroom.

  Chapter 25. Cold

  “This is where he lives?”

  Jessica stared around the chamber in disbelief. She saw a bed, a wardrobe, a large rug, stacks of books, two softly glowing lamps, and a large empty picture frame on one wall. My bedroom at home was more attractive than this…to say nothing of the one I have here!

  “This is where we live,” corrected Mal. He put Azrael down on the worn bedspread and looked him over critically. The sorcerer was still completely unconscious, a smear of blood on his cheek, his fine black hair a tangle. He was breathing evenly, though, and none of his wounds appeared to have re-opened.

  “Should we take off these shredded clothes?” asked Jessica as she transferred her point of contact from Mal’s back to his hand.

  “I know you want to take off his clothes,” drawled Mal, “but believe me, he won’t appreciate it.”

  Jessica elbowed him in the ribs. “There is nothing arousing about a half-dead naked man. He’s just…kind of a mess.”

  “No arguments there,” said Mal with a yawn. “I wonder what stupid thing he was doing to get himself mauled like that.” He dropped her hand, transforming instantly into the panther, and padded through the door to the rest of the suite. Jessica followed him into a cozy private kitchen with attached dining room. She could, at least, appreciate the ubiquitous presence of books. They covered the plain wood table.

  Mal went straight to a massive water bowl against one wall and drank the entire thing. Jessica poured herself a glass from a pitcher on the counter. “Will he really be alright?”

  Mal looked up, licking droplets from his black whiskers. “He’ll probably do more healing magic on himself tomorrow, but, yes, he’ll be fine. You should go now before he wakes up.”

  Jessica nodded. “What about you?”

  “I’ll sleep for the better part of a day, then I’ll feed, and I’ll be good as new. Thank you for your help.” Mal padded back into the bedroom. Jessica could tell that he was exhausted to the point of collapse. “We’re in the upper east corner of the palace. The front door of our apartments is straight through the sitting room, which is just beyond the kitchen. Do you think you can get back to your own suite?”

  Jessica nodded. “I can get close, at least, and ask directions after that.” She paused beside Azrael’s bed and gingerly touched his hand. It was barely above room temperature. “Mal, he’s awfully cold.”

  “Yes, but somehow I have survived two decades with him anyway.”

  Jessica shook her head. “Mal, I’m serious.”

  “It’s just blood loss, Jessica.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “It’s just half the blood in his body! I am at least going to take off his shoes and this disgusting shirt and put him under the covers. If you don’t want to help, that’s fine.”

  Mal came padding over as she began to wrestle Azrael’s arms out of the remains of his coat and shirt. Mal rested his chin on the edge of the bed. “I can’t help,” he said quietly. “I’m not allowed to take off his clothes. It’s an order, a compulsion. I can’t.”

  “Oh.” Jessica paused to rub Mal’s nose. “He is afraid of you, Mal.”

  Jessica expected a saucy retort, but this time, Mal didn’t say anything. Azrael’s deadweight was remarkably uncooperative, and at last Jessica went to the kitchen, found a sharp knife, and cut the destroyed clothes off him. “Does he wear anything to bed?”

  For answer, Mal padded over to a dresser, tugged it open with his teeth, and pulled out a voluminous flannel nightshirt. Jessica stared in disbelief. “That is the least lordly thing I have ever seen.”

  Mal gave a feline smirk as he shoved it onto the bed. “If it was up to him, he’d wear that or his silk dressing gown nearly all the time.”

  Jessica he
ld up the shapeless nightshirt. “That would rather damage his image as the brooding and all-powerful sorcerer.”

  Mal yawned. “Which is why he wears suits. They’re practically identical, but at least they’re well-cut.”

  Azrael looked almost small and quite fragile, lying there in nothing but his trousers, with his chest still a mass of angry, puckered flesh. “Gods, he is cold,” muttered Jessica as she pulled the nightshirt over his head and guided his long, sinewy arms into the sleeves. She had decided that she was going to take off his trousers. Because how ridiculous to put someone to bed in their trousers?

  Mal gave her an arch look, but offered no comment when Jessica unfastened Azrael’s belt. The nightshirt hung down to his knees, so it wasn’t as though she made him indecent as she pulled his trousers off his body. They were mostly intact, though soaked with blood. Jessica wasn’t sure what to do with all the bloody clothes, so she piled them in the washroom next door. Mal’s magic had left Azrael’s upper body free of visible blood, but his legs were still smeared with it, and there were smears on his face and in his hair. Jessica considered trying to give him a sponge bath, but decided it would only make him colder. Warm first, clean later. She pulled the sheets and bedspread over Azrael and tucked him in. “There, that’s better.”

  Mal curled up on the big rug. “He’s going to be angry when he wakes.”

  “Well, he can be angry at me,” snapped Jessica.

  “The last time he got really angry at something I did, he ordered me not to speak for a month.”

  Jessica made a face. “You’re going to have to explain how you carried him here anyway. Might as well tell him I did it.”

  Mal yawned. “I’ll tell him the servants did it.”

  “Will he believe you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jessica went to the rug, crouched down, and kissed Mal on the top of the head. “You are a sweet incubus. Let’s do this again without all the blood.”

  * * * *

  Mal had expected to fall asleep the moment Jessica left the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this drained. He felt nauseated, but was determined to retain the water he’d drunk earlier. Mortal food and drink could not completely restore him, but they did help.

  However, instead of dropping off immediately, Mal lay there in a miserable stupor, trying not to think about vomiting, with Jessica’s words banging around in his head.

  “I don’t think you understand how intimidating you are.”

  That’s nonsense.

  “You’re very distracting.”

  Not to him.

  “You tried to seduce him, didn’t you?”

  Did I?

  When did Azrael give me the command about the clothes? It had been a long time ago, although it was a command Azrael frequently renewed. There had been a time before it, though.

  “He’s so cold.”

  Mal raised his head and glared across the room. “You’re not going to die after all that, are you? Surely you don’t really need that much blood.” Mal was uncomfortably aware of the limits of his understanding of human physiology.

  Feeling delirious, the panther wobbled to his feet, staggered over to the bed, and hopped up on it, making the whole structure creak. Did he give me a compulsion about not doing this?

  If so, it hadn’t been renewed lately. He’s going to be so angry when he wakes up.

  Mal stretched out on top of the bedspread alongside his master. Azrael certainly wasn’t giving off much heat. Mal lay his warmer body against Azrael’s cooler one and thought, This really is absolutely everything I can do for you, asshole. Now get well.

  Mal had a vague memory of sleeping like this during the first few years after Azrael summoned him. He felt frustrated that he could not recall the details of how it had started or why it had ended. As he drifted off, he thought, I have to wake up before he does and get down from this bed.

  Chapter 26. Lies of Omission

  “Mal? Godsdamn it. Mal!”

  Sound vibrated like a plucked harp string inside Mal’s skull. He tried to open his eyes. It took monumental effort. The world seemed blurry. “Mmmph?”

  Hands were plucking at him. Mal tried to respond, but he just couldn’t move. Someone shoved his nose into a bowl of cool, sweet-smelling liquid. Mal snorted as the stuff got into his nostrils. His eyes fluttered open. Then he was lapping instinctively. Warmth and life coursed through him.

  Got to get off bed.

  He tried and nearly fell. Azrael leaned into him. The sorcerer was standing beside the bed, holding a bowl of something in front of Mal’s face. Mal stared at the pale amber liquid. Ambrosia. Undifferentiated magic. It was difficult to distil and even harder to store in a stable form. Mal could feed on it, but Azrael almost never gave it to him. Mal was supposed to be a source of magical energy, not a consumer of it.

  Mal looked around, blinking. The room seemed to rock back and forth. “I didn’t mean to,” he slurred.

  “Mal,” came Azrael’s impatient voice, “drink.”

  Mal lowered his head again and lapped up the rest of the ambrosia. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on the bed.”

  Azrael didn’t answer.

  When Mal opened his eyes again, he was alone. The bowl was gone. I guess I slept some more. Feeling stronger and clearer, Mal stood and hopped off the bed. The sheets were rumpled and still stained with blood, but the floor had been mopped. A glance into the washroom revealed that the shredded suit had been removed.

  Mal padded cautiously into the kitchen, where he found his master dressed and sitting at the table with a mug of tea and an open book. The light coming through the windows looked like early evening.

  Mal braced himself for a storm as Azrael raised his head. “You know you’re not invincible, right?” demanded the sorcerer. “You can die on the mortal plane…and in some other places. You know that, right?”

  Mal stared at him. Is he threatening to kill me? “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on the bed.”

  Azrael pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can stop saying that.”

  His tone did not sound threatening. Mal felt bewildered. “You were very cold,” he ventured.

  Azrael sighed. “I know you think I am terribly hard on you, but for the most part, you fuck while I work. Is that really such a bad life?”

  Mal had no idea how to respond. He still thought Azrael might be on the verge of punishing him with muteness or confinement or any number of other discomforts. He stretched out on his belly and put his chin on the floor.

  “I am not about to punish you for saving my life,” said Azrael quietly. “Stop groveling.”

  Oh.

  Mal stood up, already thinking of ways to employ this new moral advantage, but Azrael followed with, “You can also stop smirking. I know Jessica was here. Something strange happened yesterday. What?”

  Mal’s ears settled back a little. “Apart from you turning up with your heart nearly out of your chest?”

  “Yes, apart from that.”

  Mal licked his lips, eyes darting back and forth. He had learned over the years that the best way to conceal anything from Azrael was to mostly tell the truth. Lies of omission were possible. Direct lies were not. The important thing was to keep Azrael from asking the right question. “She came to see me yesterday. She followed the stream.”

  “And how did she know to do that?”

  Mal considered. “I’m not actually sure.” This was true. Jessica had never said. However, Mal suspected that Jessica had made a connection between himself and the stream during her unpleasant encounter with the duke. But if I tell Azrael about that, he’ll know I lied to him later after that business with Prince Dustin. He’ll want to know how I could lie to him…and it was because I was touching her.

  “She wanted to go on a…a date,” blurted Mal, flinging out truth like a shield. “I have never been on a date.” He intended to sound pathetic, and he succeeded.

  When Azrael spoke again, he seemed le
ss angry than confused. “A date where?”

  “In a pocket world.” Mal dared to look up, grinning foolishly, his eyes wide and guileless. “There were mermaids.”

  Azrael put a hand over his face. Almost to himself, he muttered, “Why couldn’t you have done this at any other time?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mal peevishly, “but if you would schedule your encounters with unspeakable horrors from beyond the mortal plane, I will try to be more readily on hand to put you back together. I had to break down your door, Boss!”

  “I know,” muttered Azrael. “I’ve been over there already.”

  “You were seriously mauled.”

  “I saw the clothes. Speaking of which, did Jessica take those off me?”

  “Yes. I told her you wouldn’t like it.”

  Azrael snorted and said nothing.

  Mal decided to take a risk. “She gave me the energy to get you back here. Otherwise, you would have woken up on your tower floor…if you woke at all.” Mal held his breath. The words were true. Absolutely true. However, without one critical piece of information, Azrael would come to the wrong conclusion. He would think that Mal had been feeding on Jessica during their date and had used that energy.

  Azrael’s face softened a little. Mal could tell his words were having an effect, so he added, “And she helped me carry you back here.”

  “I gathered that,” muttered Azrael. “Miss Charles seems to be getting herself heavily involved in our business. I wonder if she has any idea what she’s in for.”

  Oh, more than you do, thought Mal with glee. Feeling that he had reclaimed the moral high ground, he added, “I thought you couldn’t be physically injured while spirit-walking. Were you attacked on this side of the portal? Do we need to go hunt down some monster you’ve let into the palace?”

  Azrael’s mouth compressed into a bloodless line of concentration, and his eyes skipped to the book. Mal could see now that he was very distracted by whatever he was working on. All the better.