Lux’s second engagement with Azazel had ended even earlier than the first; Lux thrown out just as the clatter of serving carts came to a halt, leaving the once overcrowded hall standing empty; the nearest footsteps sounding far behind her. The notion that tugged at her mind slowing her stride until it was nothing more than a thoughtful pause.

  The shock that made Azazel freeze with her mouth agape, and the silence that stretched for what felt like an eternity. Though it had lasted a mere moment in reality. Lux came to one conclusion—Azazel was of the kind that wore their emotions plainly. Whether by a complete inability to hide them, or an active refusal of stoicism.

  Then there was the hiss that escaped her when she finally spoke again; telling Lux she had to be right. Partially, at the very least.

  The footsteps behind Lux had drawn near. A long drawl sounded as the light outcast by her spirit was shrouded by a tall, horned shadow.

  “Rise and shine!” a man’s voice welcomed, roughened by what sounded like years of cigarette smoke. “Now, you’re that new guest of ours, ain’t you?” he leaned down, throwing his arm over her shoulder in a gregarious manner. His smile faltered as his hand clamped over her damp shoulder “. . ., what’s this on your blouse?”

  “It’s tea,” Lux noted the dried paint that stained his hands, remembering the painting in the entrance of the manor. She turned her chin up to meet his eyes. Large horns sprouted from his thick curls, first curving back, then branching outwards to hang above his ears. His skin, an olive under-toned light brown. His gaze was warm, yet somehow cynical. “You are?”

  He lifted his hand from her shoulder, drawing it back towards himself. “Abigor Avarice, the heir to this house,” he said with all the over-acted fervor expected of a socialite; despite the Avaritia house’s near-total lack of repute beyond its own province. “And you?”

  “Lux—I’m an archivist belonging to the Lea-Bethel house in the Upper-Plane.”

  Abigor gave a thoughtful nod, going to shake Lux’s hand, “and you’re the soul seeker? The one Mama called here for my sister?”

  Soul seeker? Lux paused, finally turning to face him properly, “No—not exactly. We don’t use that term in the Upper-Plane. We call this work ‘salvation’ and it’s practitioners ‘saviors’ . . ., though it’s simply a specialized kind of evangelizing,” her voice trailed off, “‘soul seeking’ is the term the Lower-Plane prefers, for devils tasked with offering souls of a particular quality to their superiors. Do you not know this?”

  “Ah. . ., right, right!” Abigor waved off a twinge of embarrassment with a blaring laugh, “I get them mixed up is all. Them jobs are just too similar to differentiate in my head.”

  It was just then that Lux remembered the words in Lady Rae’s letter—her plea for help before Abigor’s contract with the Lower-Plane came to fruition. He had his own vision for Azazel’s rebirth; and it was in direct opposition to the task that would determine her future. Of course he’d see a savior’s task and a soul seeker’s contract as the same.

  Abigor cleared his throat, taking Lux by the shoulder again, “we’re already running late for breakfast—but mama won’t mind, come on now,” he gave Lux a firm push forward, guiding her spirit through the hall until an assortment of clashing scents bombarded her.

  “You’re awfully touchy,” Lux said as they paused in front of a splendid double door; engravings of the trees that towered over the manor etched deeply into a rich, hickory-tinted wood. Still pristine enough to make Lux wonder if this was one of the renovations the family had made in recent years.

  “We treat our guests as family is all, even our servants get their share of it,” Abigor wrapped his palm around the door handle, “and if Mama welcomes you, then so do I—now, how about I grab you a towel?”

  With an elongated creak coming from the door’s hinges, the dining room fell open and Abigor’s voice become muddied, lost in the scrape of silverware and idle chatter. The room was expansive, congested with rich embellishments. Red, brown, beige, all blending with a warm bronze that lined the dining table, chairs, fireplace. A wide window framed the servants, nobles and guests mingling over their plates.

  Abigor motioned Lux forward, lingering as she walked past him, “well—,” he let out a sigh, eyeing the end of the hall, and the quiet footsteps nearing the far corner of it. The grimace he tried to hide; the clear expression of a noble tired of maintaining such a fake personality. “Looks like I’ve got more guests to greet.”

  His voice quieted, and he spoke just above a whisper, “keep at that work of yours. . .” he started down the hall, giving Lux one last glance, “but do keep in mind—in just three months this’ll be my house.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Then—Azazel’s fate will be mine to decide.”

  The double door creaked shut; and Abigor was gone. Only the distant sound of his voice left to echo through the hall, leaving Lux to wonder; was that my warning?

  “Good morning,’ my Lady,” a maid walked around the table, stopping at Lux’s side. She revered her as highly as the Avarice family, “why don’t you take this seat?”

  Before Lux could protest attending breakfast in the first place, the maid started down the row of chairs, forcing Lux to follow. She pushed down on Lux’s shoulders, pressing her into the chair beside Lady Rae. Three sets of hands passed plates across the table, giving Lux generous nods and glances as they offered to fill her empty plate. While she shook her head at each of their advances, a strong scent of herbs and charred vegetables caused a new sensation to pool in her stomach; nausea. Perhaps an inherent revolt built into her spirit; a reminder that stealing food from the living was amongst the of highest sins. Instantly, the feeling quenched any hunger she might’ve felt.

  Yet, the servants, guests and nobles gathered around the table seemed to be eager to feed her. She had less than three months to convince a cannibal to accept salvation—and they want me here? For breakfast? When Azazel’s next life is entirely dependent on her ability to self-actualize as quickly as possible?

  “Lux?” Lady Rae spoke just above a whisper, head tilting slightly as she glanced at Lux’s blouse. “Is the spread alright? . . ., and your blous—,”

  “Yes—they’re fine; both fine,” Lux said, the harshness of her voice hidden. She lied; she wouldn’t be eating a damn thing. And she was almost certain the tea-stain on her blouse would be permanent.

  Lady Rae gave a slight smile nodding, “apologies, I know. . .” her voice grew even quieter, “My Azazel can ruin just about anyone’s appetite.”

  Azazel. Her name brought forth a loathsome trail of thoughts, making Lux feel especially bitter. “Lady Rae,” she locked eyes with the mother, ignoring the sound of the dining room door swinging open again. “The scar on the right side of Azazel’s face; I need to know how she sustained it—exactly how.”

  The dining hall fell silent. As if Lux had uttered an unspeakable phrase and cursed the room herself. She hadn’t considered whether this question was ‘breakfast appropriate,’ growing quickly pissed at the absurdity of their expressions.

  “It has something to do with the night she was cursed, doesn’t it?” There was a subtle urgency to Lux’s voice, desperate to drag out any piece of information that might help her break through to Azazel. "I want to know everything you’ve gathered about that night.”

  A low cough came from behind the two. Abigor’s voice broke the silence, draping a towel over Lux’s shoulders. “Mama—did daddy say if he’d make it back today? Last I spoke to him was last night, n’ he seemed awfully occupied.”

  “It didn’t seem likely. . .,” Lady Rae said, sinking back into her chair.

  Abigor sighed, “I’ll take over the letter-writing tonight then, how about that?”

  Lady Rae smiled again, her posture easing, “thank you, Abigor.” she turned back towards Lux, leaning down to speak in a low, soft whisper, “I’ll give you the story another time, alright? We’re very overwhelmed with work at the moment.”

  Some other time? With the time-limit you’ve given me? Lux suddenly felt as if the tea soaked through her blouse hadn’t cooled at all; her spirit burning. If you know how difficult your daughter is, then answer properly!

  “As soon as you have time, please,” if Lux’s voice hadn’t been so flat, she would’ve sounded like she was begging. “We are on a tight time restraint, in order to save your daughter's soul, I need all information to be provided as quickly as possible.”

  Lady Rae nodded slowly, “okay okay. . . I understand, I’ll open up something on my schedule as soon as possible,” her voice trailed off, lip quivering, “then we can meet to discuss. . . that night.”

  The nod Lux gave Lady Rae was forced, but agreeable. She turned to face the table again, a collage of vibrant vegetables, grains, fruit, laid atop thin cuts of tree bark, lathered in sunflower oil. Abigor sat opposite of her, lifting a three-pronged fork towards the body of a small, cherry tomato. He exchanged a few quick words with the guest beside him, fork hovering over his plate; its prongs stalking their prey, waiting to strike.

  Finally, as he finished his sentence, he pressed the glinting fork into the tomato; splitting it open. The blood that out spurted was pale pink, splattering across the greens beside it. Limp bodies; that was what Lux saw—a spread of dead flora that had been plucked from their life stems. An image flashed in her mind—that of the crow, its mangled body, its twisted head. Then she remembered the blood, seeping across the sunroom’s floor, and the pain in its bulging eyes—to which Lux felt nothing; and continued to feel nothing.

  She wondered, As alluring as it was, couldn’t this meal also be considered murder?

  Even grass reacts to being cut.

  She glanced towards the murmur of trickling water, watching it pour down into a glass teacup, steam leaping into the air. A dried chrysanthemum bud floated in the glass, unfurling in vivid yellow, slowly dyeing the liquid gold.

  Something clicked in her mind at that moment; she stood quickly, dragging several eyes towards her. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping away from the table, “I’ll be on my way, someone can take my chair.”