"I'm taking my days off," she told Alex. "All of them. I never have before, and there are—" well, there would be as many as Jack arranged for; as many as she ordered; up to a point. She knew she had to go back. It was part of her contract, this filth, this noble work, and she hated that it would be tied with her until her bones broke. Still, she could take a break. Almost everyone did.
"Is that so?" Alex said. He didn't say anything more, but watched her, and for a moment, there was that companionship, a gentle teasing grin, and then only the mask of tiredness again.
"I want you to come with me," she said: and there it was. The words were out, they could not be unsaid.
Alex did not bother feigning any reaction he did not have. He was not surprised; she knew and he knew that something like this had been waiting.
"You won't," Alex said at last.
"Why," Helen said. Leaning against the bare wall of Alex's office, unlocked when she had come to corner him. As though he'd been expecting her. "Because you're a demon? —or an angel?"
Alex laughed shortly; he put down his paperwork to laugh and his shoulders shook and for a moment she wondered if he was really crying, how pained he sounded, but when he looked up his eyes were dry.
"An angel," he said, and his voice was sharp—sharp as winter wind. "That's what you think I am. Seeing this."
Helen shrugged. She did not really feel as brazen as she acted, but she could not play at timidity. Either he would say yes or he wouldn't. She felt that he would say yes.
"I think you need the time off too," she said. "If Philip will let you, that is."
"Philip…" said Alex. "Philip will not be a problem."
"Good," Helen said. She bit her lip, suddenly unsure how to leave gracefully, or if she should even try. Alex watched her, an interest suddenly focussed as she felt the red bead swelling on her lips, and she knew. A tension in her shoulders relaxed, suddenly, and she sighed. "So you're a demon," she said.
"You don't miss a thing, do you," Alex said. He was still watching her lips. He walked around the space of his desk in the cramped office and dabbed carefully at the blood with one finger; looked at it speculatively and then licked it off. "Yes," he said. "Quite a fine choice," he said. Like she was some kind of wine.
"Don't you dare," she said.
"What?" Mild, calculating. His sea-green eyes shifting as though there were cloud-shadows on them.
"Act like you're agreeing because you want me. As though you're a liar. I've seen too much of you."
"I am a liar," Alex said.
"No more than anyone," Helen said, and Alex smiled, twisted, ugly. For the first time she was almost afraid of him. He no longer seemed so pitiful, or so fragile. Yet she was glad, fiercely glad, to have ripped open his guise to the something underneath, even if it were no more stable and complete than any of the sky's moods.
"I'm no cheat," Alex said at last. And he inclined his head very slightly. "I know how to respect another's territory. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"I have nothing I want to hear," Helen said. "I just want to…"
"What?" Alex said, and the glitter in his eyes was bright, painfully bright. For a moment they looked almost true-blue.
"To speak, real words, true words."
"So do," Alex said. His hands were clasped, neatly, behind his back, but leaned toward her as though he were on a wire, pulled. There was something baited, something animal in his look she'd never seen, and she wondered at it. But he did not remind her of Jack. He was too flighty. No, it was—birds looking at shiny things. His mouth was open and the teeth at the edge of his mouth was sharp with fangs.
"It isn't justified," Helen said. "What we do here. It is evil."
"Yessss…" Alex sighed, and his lashes closed. He looked as though he were drugged. He always looked as though he were drugged, but this time he was close enough to touch, and there was sweat on his pallid skin and he was leaning back. Unsteady. His hand gripped hers.
Under the painted nails, a thin sliver of black was showing.
She touched his face. Ran her finger across his forehead and collected the salt sweat, and Alex shivered.
"Are you okay?" she said.
"I told you," Alex said tightly. "As okay as anyone." He did not open his eyes. His breathing was rapid. She held his arm, worried he would collapse, and said nothing.
At last, Alex stepped away. Stepped away and stacked his paperwork and slid down into the chair behind it, and he looked tired, so old and tired, and his hands shook.
"What have they been doing to you?" she said. Quiet. She leaned over, arms on the desk, resting her shaking legs against it.
"I told you that too," Alex said. "Experimenting with dependency." His eyes opened, slits, and the pale fire peeked out from under them. She swallowed.
"And the soul of Philip is enough for that?" she asked. She thought it was Philip. She was almost certain. Alex shook his head, smiling ever so slightly. "Not just a soul. Something more important than that."
Her eyes widened. She didn't know what to imagine; what, in fact, could be more important to any demon than a soul.
.
.
.