chapter 10

Many, many hours earlier, in the circle of Hell overseen by Lord Matthew, July 30th had passed over to July 31st.

Matthew did not have an office, per se—Hell was not a corporation, and its workers did not toil away within cubicles. Instead, Matthew possessed what could be considered an office but was more akin to a large private study.

High ceiling spotted with hanging lights, half a dozen tall bookshelves laid out along the back wall, and elegant wooden panelling spread over the adjacent walls. Matthew's intent was for a spacious, relaxing environment—the luxury of one's own private space in a realm where there was little that one could hide from.

Aside from the size of the room, there was a minimal amount of furniture. To the left side was the main desk where he worked, its surface clear of clutter and rarely used now that he spent less time drawing up contracts. Across from the desk and closer to the bookshelves, lay a comfortable leather armchair sat beside a small coffee table.

Previously, all that had existed upon this table was a lamp used to provide reading light. Now, however, a silent clock sat there, its second hand sliding quietly around at a measured pace.

To prepare for this day, the birthday that Henry had so shyly informed him of, Matthew had emptied his schedule in advance, blocking off a period of three days in which he was not to be pestered with inane squabbles and concerns.

That he had requested three days was not a mistake, and was, in fact, his own estimate of his servants' abilities to judge time accurately.

Matthew eyed the clock. The time was set to match that of his human, of Henry. The purpose was to maintain a sense of the passage of time, and to determine whether the boy's calls were appropriate for the time frame in which they were being made.

If Henry was to encounter trouble at any time, day or night, his first call would be to Lord Matthew.

Hence, the clock.

The clock, which made no sound audible to human ears, had never been moved from its perch on the coffee table. But even from a distance, the movement of clock's inner workings were very audible to Matthew's enhanced senses.

It was entirely possible for him to muffle or silence the noise. He simply had yet to decide to do so.

Matthew was beginning to understand why humans hated alarm clocks so. If even the most silent of clocks was driving him to distraction, then any louder device would surely be much worse.

It was then that a tiny portion of the air burst into flames just off to his right.

Matthew paid no mind to this, as he had grown accustomed to the comings and goings of the dragon Belligerent in his private space. He had warned the troublesome creature that he would not rescue it from any misfortunes it encountered down here, yet he found himself devoting an excessive amount of attention to it anyways.

This was, of course, because Henry had entrusted a duty of care to Matthew. Henry would be sad if his pet was injured.

Belligerent circled the room once, twice, then settled on the top of the clock, clawed feet perched over the rim of the clock face. Its tiny wings flapped in a manner reminiscent of a peacock ruffling its feathers before it settled into a casual position.

The dragon's eyes, a glowing yellow, stared at him from across the room. Then it snorted, a baby hiccup for a creature so small, causing a few sparks to leap from its mouth.

"You'll set the clock on fire," Matthew said to it.

Belligerent hiccuped again in response, then conceded the point, spreading its wings once more and leaping away from the clock.

It was quarter past ten in the morning. Henry tended to call sooner than that. The boy was an early riser and was always prompt with his calls.

But today was Henry's birthday. Perhaps his relatives had made plans—plans which did not account for Henry's desire to see his friends. This was a reasonable assumption to make. It explained away any delays on Henry's behalf, certainly.

Henry was a polite, endearing child, but he was a child nonetheless, and therefore prone to excitement and forgetfulness. Matthew would simply have to be patient.

Belligerent spat more sparks into the air, swooping dangerously close to the line of bookshelves. Matthew was about to snap at it when a knocking echoed through the relative silence of study. Both demon and dragon paused in surprise and turned to face the door.

With a crook of Matthew's finger, the door swung open, revealing Evan Rosier.

The demon's expression—previously composed with the professional decorum expected of Matthew's servants—melted into fear as Matthew's face came into view.

"Speak," Matthew said, lips stretched mirthlessly over sharp teeth. A smile that was gracious by all other standards, if not for the inauspicious tone that had accompanied it.

The both of them knew that no given answer would suffice for the transgression committed.

Rosier opened his mouth, worthless grovelling about to spill forth, and Matthew decided that there was no need to hear any of it.

The demon's intake of air slid into an agonized shriek, and in short order there was a pile of smoking ash upon the expensive carpeting of the entrance. The flash of fire that had consumed the demon's physical form was brief enough that no damage had been done to the surrounding architecture. Matthew had not lost his temper enough for that.

Belligerent flew over, landing in front of the ashes, snorting a thin stream of fire onto it as though to say 'hah, take that!', and Matthew could not quite disagree. He did, however, banish the ashes to one of Beatriz's many pits.

Rosier would be retrieved later. Or not. Perhaps Beatriz would notice and take pity on him.

Belligerent resumed its surveillance of the study, flying two more loops before it paused, visibly hesitating, next to Matthew's shoulder.

"No," he said, glaring.

Belligerent's yellow eyes glared back, baleful, and then it flapped its tiny wings closer. And closer. And then two tiny claws dug into Matthew's shoulder as the infernal creature perched itself like a parrot.

"Will you be here all day, then?" he asked, exasperated.

A fiery spark was released into the air. With a sigh, Matthew maneuvered to his armchair and summoned a book at random to read. Belligerent curled up like a cat, careful to avoid jabbing with its pointy tail as it lay down upon Matthew's shoulder.

Matthew turned to the first page of 'The Tales of the Bard', a book he had acquired only recently, and began to read aloud, intent on drowning out the clock that rested upon the table.

Belligerent snorted and purred along with the story, puffing hot air against Matthew's neck.

They moved from one story to the next with ease, and Matthew forced himself to pay no mind to the shifting hands of the clock. He would have company until Henry called.

The hour grew late, and no call occurred.

Matthew grew increasingly inventive, crafting a number of imagined scenarios that were holding Henry's call at bay.

Henry's attention could be distracted for any number of reasons, he reminded himself, and the day was not over just yet.

If the boy failed to summon him, then Matthew would consider paying a visit tomorrow. To ensure Henry's safety and well-being, of course. It was unlike Henry to miss an agreed upon meeting.

Unfortunately, even his sensible, reasonable decision did little to derail his pressing urge to leave, actual summons be damned.

Supper time came and went. The minute hand continued its rotation, relentless in its mockery of the distance between him and his little human child.

Matthew fed raw sausages to Henry's dragon and watched as the feisty creature roasted the meat to a charred crisp before devouring it in large, gulping bites. Utterly brainless animal, Matthew thought disparagingly. It likely did not even realize what day it was.

Eventually, the hour hand slid to an angle so late that even Matthew had to concede a call was unlikely. Surely the boy would be sleeping soon. Henry would be exhausted after a long, happy day of celebrations, his promise to see his friend fled clear from his mind.

While this realization irked Matthew, he would not begrudge the boy a proper birthday with his human family.

After all, Henry had been very tight-lipped about his plans for his birthday, focusing instead on his excitement regarding his 'birthday visit' from Bell and Mr. Matthew. The intention, perhaps, had been the boy's clumsy way of sparing Matthew the disappointment of hearing about the busy birthday plans that would occupy the entire day.

Situation rationalized, Matthew once again resolved to see Henry tomorrow. In the meantime, he prepared a plan on how to approach Henry when they saw each other. He would first clarify, to soothe the child's nerves, that he was not upset.

Following that, he would remind the boy of their promise to be honest with each other, again repeating that whatever reason had been the cause for the missed meeting (forgetfulness or otherwise), it was forgiven.

Then, depending on Henry's answer, he would work out clear directives that would solve any similar problems should they arise in the future.

Henry was an intelligent boy. Repetition was only ever required to reassure Henry of genuine intentions. Otherwise, Henry tended to pick up on new concepts and ideas with impressive speed. Matthew was confident that the regret of missing Henry's birthday would soon be replaced with a joyous, if belated, celebration.

Therefore, it came as a surprise when Henry's summons came through.

Matthew barely spared a glance at the clock—the late hour was no longer important to him—as he snapped his fingers in the general direction of little Belligerent. The dragon was already halfway towards him, flapping its tiny wings with vigour.

Matthew waited long enough for the creature to sink its claws into his shoulder before he began the process of extracting his magic from his core, pulling upon the reserves which would allow him to pass into the human realm.

It was partway through this undertaking that the emotional sensation of Henry's summons pierced the cloud of urgency that had momentarily preoccupied him.

At the very beginning of their friendship, Henry's calls had been tinged with hesitancy and anxiety. This minor obstacle had been rapidly dislodged, of course, and those negative emotions had been replaced with strong, positive feelings. More recently, Henry's calls were only ever warm and cheerful, confirming that Matthew had succeeded in winning over the boy's trust and affections.

The current emotions that Matthew could feel through the faint bond of Henry's summons—a mixture of exhaustion and despair and fondness—were rather alarming.

In the split second it had taken for Matthew to think through all these things, his magic had charged enough for him to travel. Matthew departed with haste, the bulk of his form de-materializing as he initiated the strenuous activity of passing through the realms.

There was nothing to be done until he arrived by Henry's side. Once he laid eyes on the boy, he told himself, all would be well. He was certain of this.

So certain, in fact, that when his clawed feet touched upon the spotless hardwood floor of the dark, silent hallway in Number 4, Weston Ave, his immediate impression was that he must have landed in the wrong place.

Belligerent launched into the air, flapping in aggravating circles around Matthew's head. Matthew swatted the thing aside, the better to concentrate on his surroundings.

This was not the house of before—the stuffy living room filled with cat hair and knitting gear. This was a different place altogether, though Matthew could discern that this was the correct area. Even in the seventh circle, Matthew was constantly aware, however distantly, of Henry's presence on Earth. If Henry's location had changed, he would have noticed.

Matthew shut his eyes, filtering out the visual clutter in order to sharpen his focus.

All at once, lifeforms in the area fell under the radius of his perception, their souls represented by tiny pinpricks of light that were scattered across the vast emptiness of Earth. The sudden rush of stimulation was distracting—it took some time for him to concentrate on his goal: finding Henry.

Spots of light were dotted all over the neighbourhood, some of the spots brighter than others. Matthew narrowed his attention to the house, searching further.

The floor above him housed three mid-sized sparks. There were also a few minuscule ones that represented the insects and vermin that lurked in any typical household.

This would have been sufficient reason for him to head up the stairs were it not for the dazzling light directly to his right. A beautiful, brilliant glow that Matthew could not mistake for anyone else.

Belligerent was already perched on the shiny metal knob, spitting mild flames at the doorway, shrieking softly, mournfully.

A strange numbness stole over Lord Matthew. His eyes were open. They had been open from the moment that too-bright spark had registered in his mind, overpowering every other conscious thought he'd had.

"You'll burn the house down," he scolded the dragon, but his voice was flatter than usual, the sound of it distant from his own ears.

There came a shuffling from the other side of the door. Matthew banished the entire wooden contraption without a second thought, revealing—revealing—

It took long, long moments for the sight to properly register. This image, simultaneously an agonizing memory and a horrific reality, was etching itself, one painful stitch at a time, into Matthew's mind.

And wasn't it only right that it did so? Was it not right that Matthew suffer every fractional amount of torture that this terrible realization thrust upon him?

The product of his failures was looking up at him with fearful green eyes. Matthew could only muster a weak intake of breath to fill the wretched hollow in his chest.

It was fair that Henry lose trust in him now, for he had somehow allowed this to happen. He had failed to protect the boy whose friendship he had promised to cherish.

For this sight before his eyes was neither an accident nor a one-time occurrence—it was obvious from a single glance that this space had been lived in, not utilized as a temporary space for punishments or otherwise, and even then, even then—

Even as a punishment, Matthew could not stand to think of Henry alone in this dark space, devoid of companionship and sunlight.

"I'm sorry, Henry." Though the words were not enough, he had to say them. Matthew was struck with the urge to hoist the boy up into his arms and hold him close, but he no longer felt such a gesture would be welcome.

Henry's eyes blurred behind his shiny glass lenses. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to." Those eyes remained wide, the lower lip of the mouth trembling, those thin little limbs wrapped tightly over the chest in a gesture of self-preservation. A gesture of distrust for the man standing in front of him.

Matthew loathed, deeply and truly, whoever had ingrained these terrible expectations of poor treatment into this darling child. Yet he loathed himself more for invoking such a response at all—that Henry felt any fear in his presence was a mark of shame.

Still, he would make Henry promise to never apologize again, he would ensure that Henry never felt the need to apologize ever again. In Matthew's eyes, Henry would never be capable of doing wrong, and this fact needed to be imparted with all the urgency such a task required.

Matthew slid to his knees, shifting his appearance as he went along, determined to make this conversation as comfortable as possible for the boy.

Henry shrunk back. Matthew suppressed a wince, knowing that such a display of emotion on his part would not aid him in calming Henry down, and held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of supplication.

"Are you alright?" Matthew asked, careful to modulate his tone to fit the stillness of the house and the gravity of the situation at hand.

Henry seemed bewildered by the question. His nose was pink and twitching, like he was prepared to cry—an outcome Matthew dearly wished to avoid.

"I am not upset," Matthew continued. This statement often helped to reassure Henry that their friendship was not in danger of breaking.

Henry sucked his lip into his mouth, eyes still glossy. "I'm sorry," Henry repeated in a whisper. He made no move to reach for Matthew's hands, a hurtful detail Matthew had to set aside for the time being, no matter how much it saddened him to do so.

"You have no reason to apologize. I am not sure why you feel the need to apologize, Henry, but I can assure you it is not necessary."

Henry's expression implied a great deal of doubt, which Matthew did not like to see.

"Do you believe me?" Matthew asked softly, seeking to determine the extent of the damage his negligence had caused.

There was a stretch of silence while Henry stared at him. The pause felt infinite in that each passing second threatened to tear apart his insides, wreaking havoc and madness in the confines of his chest.

Had he not, until this moment, understood how dear this boy was to him? Did Henry know the power he held with the answer to this question? A negative reaction could render their relationship irreparable.

If Henry could no longer trust him, then there was little recourse for him to re-secure the boy's friendship.

All remaining options would require brute force, preferably beginning with removing Henry from this appalling place. Regardless if Henry wished to leave here or not, Henry would be safer with him. Regardless if Henry hated him for it, he would keep Henry safe.

Henry breathed out, a soft puff of hot air spilling out into the space between them. "You're not mad?"

That young voice was tinged with hope, the sound of it divine to Matthew's ears.

A sudden wave of emotion fell upon him, the weight of it so staggering that he discarded his previous hesitation and reached for his precious child, burying his fingers into the soft gossamer of Henry's hair.

"Never."

Henry made a new sound, one not unlike a sob, and rushed forward, tossing both arms around Matthew's neck and shoulders, squeezing with all the might of a tiny seven-year-old boy.

The heavy weight from before lifted abruptly from Matthew's chest and shoulders The two of them swayed dangerously in place, Matthew cradling Henry upright while he comforted the boy as best he could.

(Or were they comforting each other?)

It was as though the world itself had tilted, Matthew thought vaguely. That, or it was simply the swirl of intensity bursting inside of him, tumbling him into euphoria mingled with relief.

Henry squirmed, burrowing ever closer, and Matthew obliged, tightening his embrace until Henry ceased movement, sniffling mutely into his shoulder.

When the both of them had calmed, Matthew drew back. He left both hands attached to Henry's forearms, reluctant to disengage completely. Henry blinked sluggishly in response to the withdrawal, his eyes a bit puffy around the edges from crying, and Matthew was suddenly reminded of a great many things at once.

"Happy birthday, Henry," he said, simply and plainly, raising his hand to Henry's forehead and sweeping a gentle touch across, tucking the wild bangs back.

Henry smiled, cheeks dimpling the slightest amount. Matthew felt that some of his own relief was reflected in that smile, and that thought warmed him.

"Thank you," Henry said, ever the proper, polite little boy that he had been from the moment they had met. It was such good manners that had endeared Henry to him to begin with.

Matthew smiled in return, petting the boy's hair a few times. Then, once he felt Henry was reasonably assured that nothing was about to go terribly wrong, he cast a glance to the space behind Henry—to the cupboard under the stairs.

Henry did not miss the direction of Matthew's gaze. His back stiffened, the lovely ease of his shoulders vanishing, replaced by tension and stress.

"Shhh. You are safe." Matthew frowned, then wiped the frown from his face lest Henry catch sight of it and misinterpret it. He wished to examine the space to deduce the severity of Henry's suffering, but he would not do so if it upset Henry further.

Henry hiccuped once, and that was enough to trigger inspiration; Matthew settled his free hand on the child's waist and reeled him in. Henry went willingly, hiccuping a second time as he stumbled into the embrace.

It was then that Belligerent finally made itself useful, fluttering near and—from what Matthew could discern—licking Henry's face.

Henry giggled, a mild burble of watery laughter that spilled into the inky darkness of the hushed hallway. Matthew rubbed a hand on Henry's back and returned his attention to the cupboard, trusting that Belligerent would keep Henry's attention occupied.

The small space was extremely tidy, though Matthew attributed that to Henry's virtues rather than his relatives'. However, upon further deliberation, Matthew realized that this cleanliness could also be attributed to the fact that there were, all told, very few items in this cupboard to begin with.

The bedding was clean, but the material was visibly worn and frayed around the edges. The shelf built into the left side housed neat piles of clothing and a small collection of trinkets. Mismatched pieces of toys that must have come from other places; multiple rocks of interesting shapes, sizes and colours; a singular piece of bright pink chalk in pristine condition.

Matthew was transfixed. Something about Henry's shelf of baubles compelled him to pause his assessment of the living space. It took Henry's restless shifting in his grasp to pull him back to reality.

Henry was squirming backwards, tugging away. The unexpected motion sent a pang of concern through Matthew, but then Henry's hand came up to smother a huge yawn, and the reason for the maneuver became clear.

"It is late," Matthew remarked. Feelings of disappointment tickled at his throat as he spoke. Here he was, keeping the boy awake to satisfy his own curiosities—he ought to know better.

Henry's face shuttered, closing off. "Are you leaving?"

Matthew's previous pang of concern morphed into a stab of regret for his rash comment. "No," he said, desperate to reassure. "I will not leave unless you ask it of me."

"But I need to sleep," Henry said dully, like he was resigned, and oh, how could Henry think this of him? How could Henry believe that Matthew would abandon him to this horrible place?

Matthew snatched Henry up by the waist and deposited the boy onto his shoulder. "You will not be staying here any longer." With a faint crack of magic, all of Henry's belongings were gathered into a clear, floating sphere.

Henry began to protest, weak pleas to be put down. Matthew forced himself to stop, to pause and listen to Henry's requests and give them the appropriate amount of attention. He would not ignore Henry, even as Henry argued in favour of his own endangerment.

"Do you like it here?" Matthew asked, knowing the answer could not possibly be yes.

Henry did not respond immediately, and so Matthew and Belligerent waited patiently for the answer. Belligerent circled the floating sphere of Henry's belongings, then settled atop it, curling into a ball and purring smugly with contentedness.

"I live here," Henry said. "You—you're going to take me away?"

"If you would like me to, then I will."

"And will I—will I ever have to come back?"

The meaning of 'have to' was unbearably transparent. Matthew faltered, struggling to separate the implication—that he would ever willingly return Henry here—from Henry's unfounded fears. Fears that must have been ground into Henry's psyche through mistreatment and abuse.

What Matthew said here would be remembered. How he responded to Henry's question would set the way going forward. This promise would forever be held above all others, would be a true oath between them. His words would be chosen with care, for care was what Henry deserved—Henry deserved every aspect of that word.

Matthew was aware he was not, and would never be, the ideal parental figure for this child. Henry was a creature of good, the purest and brightest of souls, and such a being could not last forever in the care of a demon such as he. But for the time being, for this moment, Henry would be his own, and this was the message he needed to convey to the child in his arms.

"I swear you will never need return here so long as I am able to protect you," Matthew said. The air teemed with magic, fizzling like static as the significance of his vow took hold. "I will not abandon you so long as you need me. I will look after you and give you the best home I can offer."

Henry trembled violently, fresh tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, but surprisingly, no sobs escaped.

Henry was holding his breath, Matthew realized. Henry was afraid to breathe, to so much as move a millimeter lest the beautiful dream of Matthew's promise abruptly end in the bitter wakefulness of a cruel reality.

"Do you believe me?" Matthew asked, as softly as the first time, voice straining.

As the ruler of Hell's seventh circle, Matthew had no reason to experience fear. He had eradicated as much of that emotion from himself as was possible.

But here in his arms was the only living human who knew his true name. He cared what Henry thought of him. He was genuinely fearful of a negative response. Such an answer on Henry's part would have a profound impact on him, and not only because it would represent his personal failure to keep the boy safe.

Henry straightened, his green eyes meeting Matthew's red ones. Henry's mouth was set into a firm sort of line, his brows tugging together in determination.

His glorious, marvelous, brave, little boy.

A sublime, unfamiliar swell of emotion swept over Matthew like a tidal wave, and he knew what Henry's answer would be before his little human so much as parted his lips to speak.

"I do," Henry said, and each word was given a ridiculous amount of emphasis as he continued, "I believe you, and I want you to take me away."

Belligerent let out a sharp whistle of triumph, and Matthew was tempted, fleetingly, to tell the tiny dragon to burn this entire house down before they left it. Regrettably, he had more critical duties to handle at the moment. The most prominent of those duties was currently suppressing another large yawn.

"Sleep," Matthew whispered, tucking the boy's head back down onto his shoulder, releasing a soft wisp of magic that would ensure the child's sweet dreams. "Sleep, dear one, and I will keep you safe."

Henry slept, and his dreams were the sweetest he had ever dreamed.