The Key

Chapter 10

“An angel can’t become a demon,” Casper replies, voice steady. “A demon is born from the corruption of life force, not magic.” He matches Prince Dan step for step while he explains. Though magic can buttress a life force, it cannot wholly replace it. Where there is a life force, there can be healing. Where there is not, there can only be necromancy.

Where there is a life force, a demon will torture a new demon into existence. Where there is not, there can only be torture.

Casper explains this, and he explains it well. He remembers the dance and the motions, and he performs them. He does not hesitate. He does not falter.

He does not understand when Prince Dan catches him by the hands and asks, “What’s wrong?”

Casper shakes his head, but Prince Dan does not let go. They do not dance. They only stand, because Prince Dan bids him to stand.

“Cas,” he says, as if this is Casper’s name and not an Enochian word in its own right.

“We can talk about something else,” Casper tells him.

His voice firm, his voice quiet, Prince Dan asks, “Was Anna possessed before she died?”

Casper closes his eyes, and his wings do not move.

Distantly, he realizes he will have to thank his brother.

“She wasn’t turned,” he says. “She wasn’t herself when… when she died. But she wasn’t turned.”

“I’m sorry,” Prince Dan says.

Casper forces his eyes open. He forces himself to look up into Prince Dan’s eyes.

“We need to get on top of this blood sigil bullshit,” Prince Dan continues, apparently to himself. “If we got everyone warded… s**t, Cas, I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Casper says, and the words fit strangely in his mouth. It is, somehow, incredibly, the first time he has lied, truly lied to this man. It was decades before their banishment and yet.

And yet.

“We’re gonna work on it,” Prince Dan promises him. “Sam wanted to instate a mandatory policy, like that wouldn’t incite mass panic. ‘The government is trying to control me with blood magic!’ All that hysteria. Once I got him to see reason, he started working on Dad, but there’s getting funding for schools, and then there’s getting schools running, and then there’s getting kids into them. Just so people will know what’s good for them. And after that, there’s still everyone else.”

Prince Dan rubs at his face, continuing, “I wish I was joking, but I think me and the knights have done more to spread the anti-possession tattoo just by exercising shirtless. I’m serious. Shirtless warm-ups wherever we hunt, as long as it’s not freezing out. They see every man with a tattoo on his chest and every woman with a tattoo on her shoulder, and they just want to join in. That was Donna’s idea, moving the tattoo to the shoulder so people could see it even when the ladies are binding their chests. Just a little change, make it more visible, and suddenly we’ve got all the little girls clamoring for their tattoos too.”

It’s a lovely distraction, the way Prince Dan speaks. A distraction all the more lovely for being deliberate.

“Dan,” Casper says, and Prince Dan stops.

Casper holds his arms out, the way he should have to Balthazar, and Prince Dan gathers him close. One hand settles on his wing. The other wraps around the back of his head. Prince Dan’s chest is solid against his own. Against Prince Dan’s empty back, Casper’s hands don’t know what to do. There is nowhere to hold or settle. He runs his palms down stunted shoulder blades, unable to prevent his curiosity even now.

“She was protecting our brother Uriel,” Casper says. “She couldn’t have been stopped, not by anyone. And it happened well before you were hunting, I’m certain.”

“I don’t know, I started pretty young,” Prince Dan replies. His jaw shifts pleasantly against Casper’s cheek while he speaks. “I was squiring for Bobby when I was twelve.”

It is, perhaps, one of the most endearing things Casper has ever heard. “You’re twenty-nine?” Casper asks, as if he needs to ask.

“Yeah.”

“It was earlier than that,” Casper understates. “But thank you. For caring.”

Prince Dan fists one hand in Casper’s feathers, and Casper does not react. A moment later, Prince Dan releases his grip and attempts to smooth him back down, gently, as if there was a chance Casper hadn’t noticed the tugging. “Is, uh. Uriel? Is he all right?”

“I think he blames himself,” Casper says. “He used to always have the best jokes.”

Prince Dan keeps trying to stroke his feathers down. Casper eases him back and Prince Dan hurriedly stops.

“My apologies,” Casper says. “We were supposed to be dancing.”

“You were supposed to be having a good time,” Prince Dan replies. “Which means I definitely f****d up first.”

The movement of Casper’s lips is almost reflexive. He smiles to the point of his lips parting, and he covers his mouth with his hand rather than risk ending that smile incorrectly.

As he seems so fixated on doing, Prince Dan catches Casper’s hand again and pulls it down. “Is it just you and Uriel?”

Casper shakes his head. “Hannah and Balthazar as well.”

“Hannah and Anna, huh? Matching.”

“And Casper and Uriel,” Casper agrees. “Balthazar’s always been the odd one out, though only in terms of names.” As a flamewing, Anna had been the outlier in appearance, red all the way through. Though Casper is cinder and Uriel an iridescent purple, the exteriors of their wings are almost a matching black. In the shade, Balthazar’s outer sandy brown can be mistaken for Hannah’s deeper walnut. Their true colors are gold and bronze, respectively, the pair as similar from below as above.

Prince Dan pulls away toward the pitcher and glasses, keeping one arm stretched out back toward Casper. He fills the glasses again and returns to press one into Casper’s hands. “What are they like?”

“Balthazar is droll,” Casper answers. “But not as droll as he thinks he is.” He looks down and touches his top layer. “This is his shirt.”

Prince Dan’s lips quirk. “He let you cut holes in his fancy shirt?”

Casper verbally sidesteps. “He owed me. And this is Hannah’s belt. She’s very forthright.”

“Did Uriel send along something?”

“Only advice,” Casper replies, “as his boots didn’t fit.”

Prince Dan grins wider. “Y’know,” he says, “I don’t have a sister.”

Casper looks at him. “Really,” he deadpans.

Laughing, Prince Dan says, “Shut up, I wasn’t finished.”

Eyes on the prince, Casper sips his water.

“After Sam, Mom and Dad didn’t want to risk having another kid,” Prince Dan says. “So, technically no sister, but then Charlie happened.”

“Queen Charlene of Moondoor?”

“Yeah, Charlie. We were almost engaged for a little while there, and let me tell you, that was pretty awkward.”

“Because she would only wed a woman?” Casper guesses.

“No, I wish. I was seven, they handed me an infant, and somebody said she was my future wife.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, I almost dropped her. She doesn’t remember a bit of it, but Sam’s still never going to let either of us live it down.”

Casper sets his political knowledge against that time frame. “If you could still have manifested as a mage at that age, why would you have been engaged to a crown princess?”

Prince Dan shakes his head. “Don’t you know? Sam had already manifested by then. He wasn’t even three. I mean, I know siblings don’t always manifest at the same age, but four years later is too big of a gap. All my mage cousins? Last one sneaked in right before his tenth birthday, but they were all nine. So Sam pushing three and me turning seven, it was pretty clear it was too late.”

“Turning seven,” Casper repeats.

“Yeah,” Prince Dan says, shrugging. “Maybe he manifested earlier, but we didn’t notice until my birthday.” His eyes go distant, though his mouth remains gently quirked. “Kid wouldn’t stop complaining how unfair it was that I got two birthdays in a row. One of my tutors tried to sit him down and explain calendars and how years work, but, I mean, the kid was two. It took a while to figure out. We were too busy being surprised he’d remembered me having a birthday the year before. It wasn’t until he started calling out every single one of my presents before I opened them that we knew something was up.”

That slim trace of a smile fades.

“So that’s why Dad figured he could marry me off to Charlie. Mom put her foot down, though. A Knight Prince is for the people, not for political alliances. She said Dad had to stop treating me like the Mage Prince I was supposed to be.”

“Supposed to be,” Casper repeats.

“I mean, she didn’t say that,” Prince Dan quickly corrects. “But that’s, y’know. What she meant.”

What a strange thing, to have one’s rank change. Casper tilts his head, considering the concept. He wonders if humans are where Uriel first learned of the notion, for all Uriel disdains so many of their short-lived efforts.

Prince Dan shrugs again and lightens his tone. “Anyway, with the whole engagement thing, it turned out Charlie’s only into women anyway, and it’s worked out for the best. She and the wife even worked out this surrogate father system, so all of their kids will be somebody’s firstborn. Every last one of their kids will be able to see the fae. That’s the kind of smart you’d expect from a mage with a double talent, you know?”

Casper frowns, trying to lower his eyebrows in much the way Prince Dan had earlier. “Magehood doesn’t bestow intelligence.”

“Says a mage who is way smarter than me,” Prince Dan replies.

“I think you underestimate yourself,” Casper tells him, but nevertheless backs off at signs of obstinacy.

“I know my limits,” Prince Dan says. “Though, y’know, we used to joke around about it. When Charlie manifested, we gave her so much crap. Sam made up this vision about having seen her secretly stealing my talent. He thought it was so unfair she got two.” He laughs a little, then sighs. “Yeah, we made her cry pretty bad.”

“Which talent were you, then?” Casper asks. “The lightning or the metal?”

“Oh, the metal,” Prince Dan answers without pausing for thought. “I would’ve been pulling swords out of anything big enough to use.”

Casper finishes his water and sets it back down on the table. Prince Dan knocks his own glass back before doing the same. A drop escapes the corner of his mouth and makes it as far as his jaw before Prince Dan wipes it away.

“Gotta get my swords the old-fashioned way,” he concludes with a shrug. “Anyway. You ready to try that again?”

Casper nods. They move together, and Casper has forgotten none of the motions. Prince Dan lets out a low whistle and praises him, as if this is an impressive rate of learning. He has a few more corrections but otherwise pronounces Casper ready for the party below. Casper is sure to wipe his forehead one last time before replacing his mask. Eyes lingering on Casper, Prince Dan does the same.

“Hold on,” Prince Dan says. He inspects the lay of Casper’s mask. He brushes Casper’s hair down in the back. He tries, very briefly, to preen Casper’s scapular feathers. Thankfully, he gives up after the shortest of attempts.

“Am I presentable?” Casper asks.

“Oh yeah,” Prince Dan replies. “C’mon, let’s go present you.”

When they head down, it is already well past nine, encroaching ever closer to ten. Casper contemplates his excuses to bow out by eleven-thirty, and it seems plausible he might plead fatigue. How long can most humans dance before becoming exhausted? Prince Dan must be more physically capable than others, and Casper could be reasonably expected to grow tired more quickly than him.

Downstairs, they step back over the rope barrier, Casper with much greater ease than before. His balance is improving, and he and Prince Dan move together well. Their entrance attracts more than a few looks, some of these mere glances, some longer, thinly disguised stares.

Prince Dan meets the attention with a ready smile, and his hand comes to rest over where Casper’s wings meet low on his back. The touch is a claim, possession and protection both, and Casper permits himself to be owned. There is an unexpected safety in it, long forgotten: though he serves Raphael, he hasn’t belonged to anyone since Michael.

This is not the same, but he has nothing else to liken it to. This is not the claim of a commander upon a promising young soldier. This is something very much else, and Casper permits himself to like it.

“Have we started a rumor?” Casper asks, watching so many humans pretend not to watch him.

“Nothing compared to the one we’re about to start,” Prince Dan murmurs, leaning in as they walk. His hand slips lower, closer to where Casper’s back curves into his rear, and Prince Dan curls his fingers around one of his secondary flight feathers. He holds on gently, like a fledgling seeking attention. “Probably should’ve asked if you were all right with that.”

“Do they think you took me upstairs to bed me?” Casper asks, equally quiet. Even walking together has become a kind of dance, Prince Dan guiding, Casper no longer looking where he’s going.

Prince Dan’s nostrils flare as he inhales. Perhaps, beneath his mask, his eyebrows rise.

Casper tilts his head. “Is there another kind of rumor I don’t know about?”

“No, that’s, uh.” Prince Dan clears his throat. “That’s pretty much it.”

Casper nods, satisfied.

“You’re all right with that?” Prince Dan checks, as if Casper had indicated otherwise. Perhaps he had, in some human way.

For Prince Dan’s benefit, Casper pretends to consider before reporting his already established conclusion. “A perceived claim should mean fewer interruptions.”

Prince Dan squeezes his flight feather. “You worried about those? Interruptions.”

“I would endure them,” Casper replies. “I understand you have obligations.”

“Not tonight,” Prince Dan promises. He flattens his hand and presses, hard enough for Casper to feel it in the small of his back as well as his wings. “C’mon, courtyard. You don’t get to talk like that and not let me hold you.”

“All right,” Casper agrees.

Prince Dan grins at him, bright and sharp, until Casper smiles back, and Casper is left wondering exactly how he was talking. Whatever he’s done, he should clearly endeavor to do it again.

On their path to the courtyard doors, they pass the inaccurate tapestry. Prince Dan’s hand keeps stroking down his wings as they walk, and Casper refuses to relax into the touch. “Oh, right,” Prince Dan says. “I got a question.”

“I may not have an answer,” Casper warns.

“Fair enough,” Prince Dan says. “Why was – hold on.” There’s a crowd leading out into the courtyard, but, head held high, Prince Dan steps forward all the same. His posture changes. Although already steady, his steps grow long and sure. He presses forward and the crowd presses away. His hand on Casper turns from an accompaniment to a gesture of display.

They walk out under the night sky, and Casper does not look up. He looks to Prince Dan instead, who looks back just as firmly. In front of them, everyone moves. They part like mist before a flame, before the fire inherent in the human beside him.

Music plays and couples dance. Never pausing, Prince Dan takes him by the hand and leads him to the center of the whirls and motion. Bright fabric flashes. Jewels and embroidery gleam. Precious metals glint on fingers and necklines and wrists. A grand show of wealth, an unrelenting onslaught of items which are new and humans who breathe free air, and Prince Dan walks him to the center of the whirlwind in the unwavering faith they would never be hit. Once there, with the dancers in motion around them, Prince Dan steps close against him and smiles.

“There we go,” he says, as if having done nothing more remarkable than opening a door.

Casper wraps his arm around Prince Dan’s waist. Prince Dan strokes his thumb across Casper’s other hand, firmly held and never released.

With that, they begin to dance.

They step and turn and step again, and Prince Dan no longer moves as a teacher. The perfunctory distance of his instruction vanishes, and what remains are his hands and his arms and his eyes. Though Casper is in the position to lead, Prince Dan continues to guide him, and this is no lesson. It is no battle, or struggle, or contest of will. It is motion and trust, and Casper holds to him tight through one spin into the next. They swoop without use of wings, each orbiting the other.

The night air caresses their shoulders while the heat of the party presses lower. Prince Dan squeezes their clasped hands and pulls out from under Casper’s arm, turning the once so they stand in tandem, move in tandem. Casper repeats the basic steps until Prince Dan squeezes again, and Casper winds him back in. Casper catches him closer than before, arm firmer about Prince Dan’s back. Their legs brush, knees almost knocking. They ease each other back in unison, Prince Dan’s hand hot on his shoulder, Casper’s dragging low across the dip of Prince Dan’s spine.

“We do that again, you spin counter-clockwise,” Prince Dan instructs, voice low, eyes bright.

“Yes,” Casper says, the one word that will fit in his mouth.

The music swells until it flies. They push apart once more, hands separating into emptiness, and they turn, three deliberate spins rolling down a line until they can again meet. Casper’s steps are smaller, and Prince Dan orbits him to compensate. They come back together, this time at a proper distance, and though there is space just enough for their legs and motion, it seems a chasm too wide.

For the fleeting moments their faces are close, the seriousness of Prince Dan’s face is itself somehow a smile. “Step out, and we turn together.”

Again, Casper’s hand must leave his back. They each step out to the side, an arm extended before the other, and they each press forward into the other’s forearm with a gentle hand on that proffered wrist. They turn, each slowly drawing the other back in, as if pulled by gravity itself. They repeat the motion on the other side and turn the other way.

This time, Prince Dan’s extended arm darts below Casper’s answering hand. Prince Dan’s palm doesn’t merely alight on Casper’s chest; it presses there. His arm is a hard line of contact softened only by the lush slide of his jacket. The position of his hand would be a scandal with a female partner, but, gazing into the unwavering focus of Prince Dan’s eyes, Casper feels it no less acutely.

When they draw each other back in, Prince Dan’s hand slides from chest to side, to very nearly between his wing and back. He adjusts, moving his hand higher, and Casper finds himself led into a turn. He turns halfway and is caught, the prince’s chest brushing against his wings. His hold is so light.

“You got this,” Prince Dan murmurs behind his ear. “Such a fast learner, Cas, you’re amazing.”

They stay like this for a time, Casper moving blindly, Prince Dan holding both his hands from behind. Despite his tight hold on his wings, he is outspread beyond what his bent arms would imply, held open by a light touch beneath his fingers. Prince Dan guides their movement, dips them one way and the other. He turns them and leads him, and when Prince Dan bears him forward, it feels as if Prince Dan might replace his wings.

The music changes, breaking from a long, rolling repetition and signaling the impending close of this dance.

Prince Dan releases one of his hands with a gentle push. Casper turns and Prince Dan lifts their still-joined hands high, guiding their arms over Casper’s head. His other hand catches at Casper’s waist, a firm pressure to align their bodies. In lowering their joined hands, Casper must release Dan’s body, and they return to a variation on their starting position as the music ends, each more ready to begin than he is to stop.

Around them, the party-goers make noise in return for the musicians. Around them, there are murmurs and nods and louder pieces of speech. Above them, the sky stretches up forever.

Before him, there is a smiling human man who draws him close and fits their masked foreheads together. Prince Dan breathes heavily, and Casper is certain to match.

“Two more?” Casper asks.

“Two more,” Prince Dan agrees, and he pets the side of Casper’s face.

Casper catches his hand and pulls. Laughing softly at nothing, Prince Dan follows.

Once back inside the castle hall, Casper realizes his mistake. He tries to adjust, to relocate his hand to Prince Dan’s elbow, but Prince Dan catches at his fingers. “Nope, too late,” Prince Dan tells him, pulling Casper along in turn. “You’re holding my hand now.”

There is a greater significance to this than the elbow hold, that much is clear. “On what occasion am I permitted to let go?”

“You have to use the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Then yeah, you’re stuck,” Prince Dan tells him, squeezing tight. He shifts his grip after, palm shifting against palm, to thread their fingers together. He lifts their joined hands as they walk and brushes his lips against the back of Casper’s hand. “How’s this for getting rid of interruptions?”

“It seems to be working.” And attracting looks instead. He sees them in his periphery while watching the motions of Prince Dan’s mouth.

Prince Dan lowers their hands only to swing them, drawing yet more eyes. He keeps glancing at Casper as they walk, even more so than he did on their tour last night.

“You said you had a question,” Casper belatedly reminds him.

“Did I?” Prince Dan asks. “Oh, right.”

Casper tilts his head politely.

“Something I used to wonder about that tapestry. The Severing of Lucifer and all that.”

“Yes?”

“Why?” Prince Dan asks.

Casper successfully frowns with his mouth. “He created demons to stage an assault upon Heaven.”

“Yeah, so why stop at cutting his wings off?” Prince Dan asks.

“Oh.” A much more reasonable question. “Do you have any theories?” Casper asks in return.

“There are those stories about his brothers not wanting to kill him,” Prince Dan begins. “Which would make more sense if Lucifer didn’t kill two of those brothers himself. I get attempted mercy and all, I do, but once anyone starts killing off the rest of your family, that just seems stupid.”

“Think of it as a hunt,” Casper suggests. “Why would you cut a flying opponent’s wings off?”

“To ground him,” Prince Dan answers immediately. “But that would just be the first step.”

Casper nods. “What makes you think it wasn’t?”

Prince Dan looks at him and says, “Huh.”

“Any species that attacks from above doesn’t do well, grounded.” He doesn’t add that angels fight with their wings, both offensively and as shields. He mustn’t seem too well-informed.

“And, what, he was rescued by his demons?” Prince Dan asks. “He’s supposed to have gotten away and all.”

When the demon onslaught came, they’d tried to save Michael. Gabriel had already bled out in a burst of light, and Michael died with his brother’s wings already burnt into his side. Casper hadn’t reached him in time, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered, the wounds too grave.

“It’s a theory,” Casper says, tone neutral.

“Makes more sense than other theories I’ve heard,” Prince Dan says.

They enter the great hall and retrieve drinks. Casper holds both glasses while Prince Dan loads a small plate with smaller pastries. Very seriously, he says to Casper, “These are my favorite.” He holds one between his fingers and lifts it before Casper’s face. When Casper says nothing, does nothing, Prince Dan lowers his hand only slightly. “Too forward?” he asks, and Casper knows him well enough now to see a dare in this.

“No,” Casper says.

Prince Dan holds the pastry before Casper’s mouth, and this time, Casper understands what to do. He opens his mouth and Prince Dan presses the small morsel inside, thumb sticky against Casper’s bottom lip.

The pastry is soft on the bottom and flaky on top. In the middle, the wet relief of soft fruit counteracts the dryness of the crust. At least one of the flavors is some variation on sweet , Casper is almost certain, but he lacks the vocabulary. Though he would prefer the fruit with the crust, he closes his eyes to indicate enjoyment, in the hopes that a gesture of trust might translate thus.

He swallows. He opens his eyes and nods. When more seems expected, he lifts one of the glasses in his hands and offers it in return. Not for Prince Dan to take from him, but to drink from his hand.

The corners of Prince Dan’s mouth move in a way Casper has grown to associate with success. He covers Casper’s hand with his own and sips, his eyes never leaving Casper’s. When Casper retrieves his hand, he leaves the glass behind, but Prince Dan watches him all the same.

Casper reminds himself that Prince Dan likes rude. He likes bold.

Casper steals another pastry directly from Prince Dan’s plate and pops it into his own mouth.

Prince Dan throws back his head and laughs, sudden and sharp and joyful. That singular burst ends as quickly as it began. Prince Dan leans in close, the distance Casper’s siblings might stand when engaged in deep, private discussion. This is not the same.

“You’re something else, Cas, you know that?”

The only member of his species in this world, Casper nods. He finishes chewing and swallows. “These are very good,” he says. The taste is pleasant enough to endure the sensation of matter against his teeth, as if he’d flown through a bog with his mouth open. Distantly, above the music and murmur, he hears the clock tower strike ten.

Prince Dan shakes his head at him, but it isn’t disagreement. Strange. “Even tiny pie is still pie.” He tells Casper of the towns and villages he’s visited during his hunts, the inns and restaurants and even homes he’s dined in. He speaks highly of the roadhouse system run by the mother of one of his knights. He asks Casper about the food at the university, and Casper responds as if confused by Prince Dan’s need to ask, for Prince Samuel has told him in the past: they even discussed this last night. That seems a passable response. They finish their drinks and discard the empty plate.

Casper takes Prince Dan’s hand again. “Shall we?”

“Next song,” Prince Dan replies. “This one’s about to wrap up.”

Casper nods, but doesn’t try to release Prince Dan’s hand. He’s learned that particular lesson. Instead, he threads their fingers together the way Prince Dan seems to like. They stand together, shoulder to shoulder, waiting, and Casper keeps waiting for wings to brush against his own. The touch will never, can never come, and yet the expectation won’t fade.

Prince Dan makes a quiet noise.

Casper looks up at him.

“I was just thinking,” Prince Dan explains. “About your banishment theory.”

Casper tilts his head.

Prince Dan’s lips quirk. “Imagine going through all that trouble, cutting off an archangel’s wings to restrain him, and then you all wind up banished to the same place together anyway.”

Casper blinks. “He was banished with the demons. A reciprocal banishment pushes two equal forces in opposite directions. It–”