~
Ephraim did not necessarily expect to open his eyes again.
When he did, he found himself staring upward at the ceiling beams of his own office. His back and shoulders, however, didn’t have unyielding wooden floorboards beneath them. Instead, the soft yet strong grasp of two mighty arms held him. He rolled his head to the side and beheld Mr Hull gazing down at him—appearing as he always had, with rounded ears, sun-kissed skin that held not the slightest hint of blue, and neither horns nor hooves nor tail to speak of; though his black curls stood up at odd angles, his dark eyes had gone wide, his perfect lips pressed together in a thin line, and his brows knit with worry.
“Are you all right, sir?” asked Mr Hull.
Ephraim didn’t quite know how to answer him. In an abstracted sort of way, he quite liked to be held so gently in the brawny arms of his very handsome clerk. On the other hand, he was not quite so old yet as to feel totally bereft of dignity, and dignity demanded he put a stop to this sort of nonsense.
“Shall I fetch Dr Hitchingham?” asked Mr Hull.
“No,” said Ephraim, the singular syllable coming out sharp.
Mr Hull flinched. Still, he said no more on the subject. And when Ephraim struggled to sit up, he didn’t attempt to prevent him but rather assisted him in rising and kept a supportive hand on his elbow to guide him to his desk chair.
“Show yourself,” said Ephraim the very instant his weight had settled. “Your true self.”
Mr Hull hesitated. “Perhaps we ought to wait until you feel more yourself again. You went down rather hard the last time.”
“I’m altogether myself, thank you very much,” said Ephraim. “I wish to know for certain I’ve not run mad. You may show yourself, or you may leave me well enough alone.”
Mr Hull searched Ephraim’s face for a moment. Then long lashes fluttered down over dark eyes as he turned his head a little to one side. He drew in a deep breath. It left him in a low sigh, and as it did, his form shimmered, and where once had stood an ordinary-though-handsome clerk, there now stood a creature with corkscrew horns, cloven hooves, and a tufted tail, dappled slate blue all over—somehow even more beautiful for how strange he appeared.
Again, Ephraim’s pulse stuttered out of place. But he kept his breath steady, and soon enough his heart settled down into its regular rhythm.
Mr Hull opened his eyes. He held Ephraim’s gaze for a moment. Then he knelt before him. A dappled blue hand took one of Ephraim’s own, its grasp as gentle as moth’s wings.
Ephraim let him take the liberty. The warmth of his clerk’s fingertips suffused his hand, his soft touch sending a thrill of illicit pleasure through Ephraim’s whole frame, unlike anything he’d felt in more years than he cared to count.
Slowly and gently, and watching Ephraim’s face all the while, Mr Hull brought Ephraim’s gnarled knuckles to his perfect lips. The sheer tenderness of the kiss threatened to overwhelm Ephraim. He felt rather like a fairytale prince. He wondered what he’d done to deserve this, and many other things besides.
“What are you?” Ephraim asked, realising how rude the question sounded only after it left his lips and regretting it much. He tried again. “Are you a faun, perhaps? Or satyr, or—an incubus?”
Mr Hull didn’t appear in any way offended. “Huldrekall. One of the Hidden Folk. Fauns, satyrs, and concubi are my cousins.”
Ephraim would never have believed him if the proof weren’t kneeling before his very eyes. Yet his mind wandered to yesterday and what he’d glimpsed when a certain visitor had tucked his hair behind his ears. “Are you at all acquainted with Mr Butcher?”
“I am,” said Mr Hull.
“Does he have horns, hooves, and a tail as well?” Ephraim realised these were not polite enquiries, but he couldn’t leave them unanswered, lest they drive him distracted.
“No,” said Mr Hull. “He’s a different sort of fae than myself.” A thoughtful pause ensued. “Though he does have antlers of his own, in season.”
Ephraim wondered what season that might be. And how he himself had ever become so lucky as to have kneeling at his feet his handsome clerk—nonetheless handsome for all his horns and hooves and tail—who had confided a desire to kiss him. His hand reached for those marvelous corkscrew horns before he checked himself halfway. “Forgive me—may I…?”
Mr Hull smiled and inclined his head.
Slow and gentle, Ephraim brought his fingertip to the point of the horn. Like Sleeping Beauty pricking her finger on the spindle, he thought, though he himself neither collapsed into insensibility nor awakened from a dream. Instead, he found bone, smoothed over and more blunt than he’d expected.
“Is this why you duck under doorways?” Ephraim asked.
Mr Hull chuckled. “Aye.”
Ephraim ran his hand gingerly down the ridged spiral, halting when he felt Mr Hull shiver beneath his touch. He glanced down to find Mr Hull’s eyes half-shut and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Impulse bid Ephraim continue his exploration down to the base of the horn—whereupon a satisfied rumble emerged from Mr Hull’s throat—then trail down through them lamb-soft curls to the bell-shaped ear. He traced its velveteen edge and beheld Mr Hull biting his lip again.
“You still wish to kiss me?” Ephraim asked, hardly able to believe it.
Mr Hull met his gaze again with a smoulder of desire. “I do.”
