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Paimon watches him, expression indiscernible, before switching his attention to the angel, who looks like they don’t have a concern in the world. “So, what’s your name, and what did you do?”
A slow blink. “Do?”
“To get the boot.”
“I was too curious.”
Paimon looks aghast. “That’s it? You didn’t even eat anyone?”
With a reserved smile, the angel replies, “Not that I remember. I was curious, and I had an idol.” They gesture around to the park itself.
“I see,” says Paimon, conspicuously disappointed and apparently hoping for more of a salacious backstory.
“Phanuel. Phanuel is my name.”
“We should be going.” Lauren?iu is mixed when that comes out of his mouth. It’s what he should say. Isn’t this what he wants, revenge as fast as possible? But once it’s over, he’s not sure what to do, who he’ll be. A part of him wants to be back in Hell already, the gilded court and intrigues; another enjoys the thrill of a long road and endless strangers and threats to meet and overcome.
Phanuel tells them, “You know, you should stay here for the lightning bugs, the fireflies. At least for a part of the night. They bring me so much peace.”
“What do you mean?” asks Lauren?iu.
“The ones here sync up. You know, they light up at the same time, so the woods and the grounds look like there are little stars all over. I like to play music for them because they like to dance.”
The angel stands and shows them where the fireflies will congregate, a part of the park that becomes nature trails and forests. On Phanuel’s back, where their overalls don’t cover, are two long, vertical, angry red burns. Lauren?iu had only ever seen the scars on fallen angels in Hell, which apparently still ached but looked mostly healed. These wounds seethe. Even Paimon’s vague annoyance softens.
Finally, Lauren?iu drinks in the gloaming, and it pools into his muscles. Finally. He can be awake all night. They lounge on the protruding boulders and tree roots, layered in moss. Except Phanuel, who rests cross-legged on the ground and gives a companionable pat to Daisy’s head.
When the fireflies come out, Daisy salivates, and Paimon releases a quick whistle. “No, no, girl, these bugs aren’t for eating.”
Daisy gives a resigned whine.
Sure enough, in the deep green woods, growing blue with shadows, hundreds of fireflies blink at once, and Lauren?iu only watches, Paimon close to his right, Adrian some distance to his left, standing to lean against the tree with a distant look.
Phanuel lightly plays the violin, their bow strokes slow but almost melancholy as they glide on the steel G string. Even Adrian’s initial disinterest melts into something softer, an echo of grief.
A pang hits his chest, and out of the corner of his eye, he watches Paimon, whose expression grows unusually wistful. Lauren?iu knows how Paimon can get if he lingers too long in quiet without any stimulation.
Without much thought, with the same boldness—but not the same calculation—as he had in the decadent royal bath, Lauren?iu reaches forward, his fingers roaming along Paimon’s knuckles.
The demon king blinks and looks down at Lauren?iu’s touch. After a moment’s hesitation, his warm grip envelopes Lauren?iu’s hand, and they stay like that and return to watching the living lights.
As night comes, the fireflies continue their languid movements. They prepare to continue their journey, Daisy sniffing the ground and pointing her nose high with a confident wag of her tail.
“Yes,” Paimon says, meeting Lauren?iu’s eyes. “Looks like he might’ve hidden away high up in the Smokies.”
Lauren?iu asks, “How far?”
“Not sure. It’s a pretty big range.”
“All right, then.”
Phanuel waves the bow at them and disappears between a set of trees.
Paimon waves back. “Ta-ta.”
The Smokies await.
Chapter 15
