Chapter 4

Claude has freshened up and completed his task of counting inventory. He sent the triplets to fetch supplies and now he has to prepare tonight's dinner.

He walks the halls, mentally checkmarking another task as done when a distinct yelp sounds from an area ahead he can't see yet. He rounds the corner and a rolling cart of dishes greets him. Pushing it is Permelia, but she has halted. She is shooting an aghast look at her shoulder. A speck of black mars the stark whiteness of her blouse.

Thin appendages stick out from the blob and Claude recognizes his sneaky compatriot. A fond smile glides onto his lips. Why, his friends really were in high places. And helping him closer to his goal of taste-testing without needing to ask. The rascal.

Permelia raises her arm above the spider in panic. Claude understands what lowly fate will befall his companion.

Feeling aghast himself, Claude crosses the threshold to her side in mere strides. Right before Permelia's slapping palm connects, Claude angrily seizes her wrist. "What are you doing?" His sharp tone reprimands her for thinking of such a brutal act.

Startled further by his presence, Permelia winces at his iron grip. "It landed on me without warning out of nowhere! It's-"

"-something I can remedy. Come, come." The icy edge thaws Claude's harsh voice as it takes on a doting note. He gazes at Permelia's unwelcome guest. His fingers tightened around her wrist slides to the small of her very rigid back. Tension weaves in her body like fine cords. The thrum of her quickened heartbeat pulses strongly against the pads of Claude's fingertips, even through the thick fabric of his gloves.

"Relax." He murmurs the command. Permelia tries to oblige by forcing a little tautness from both her shoulders. Her eyes are still focused on the crawling arachnid which has almost reached her collar.

The finicky critter all but salutes when it spots Claude holding out his hand, the one not pressed along the curve of her spine. His offering palm brushes her shoulder with calculated precision as the tiny dickens slinks over to the outstretched stage.

Permelia's clear display of fear, the way her own fate at this minute relied on Claude, arouses him. He is discomfited when his crotch inexplicably hardens.

"What's taking so long?" Anxiety laces the panicked question.

Claude tastes her fright on his tongue, succulent and invigorating. He supposes he could speed up the removal process and scoop up his partner, but he likes the zing of the moment so he lazily wiggles his fingers as if not caring if the spider hitches a ride. "How much do you want it gone?"

"A lot. Get it off me."

Claude presses in closer to her. "What will you do for me?"

Permelia stares unbelieving at him, flummoxed. Her confusion transforms to a mystified wonder, but says nothing, waiting.

He's spinning out of control, more so than he likes. Claude composes himself and steps away to a respectful distance, but not before guiding his tiny friend onto his palm.

Permelia exhales in relief. She shoots him an unreadable look before pushing her cart down the hall.

Claude begins to walk away, working the steady back into his steps.

Claude is finally able to retire for the day. He walks down the darkened hallways. The wall candelabras are the only source of light. He arcs his head in suspicion. A noise, strange in timing to focus his attention, catches the edge of his hearing.

He strains his auditory range through concentration.

There, again. A scuffle down the hallway. A figure emerges.

"Permelia."

"You have good hearing."

"Why aren't you asleep?"

Ignoring his question, Permelia shakes a sachet in her possession. "Can I show you something?"

What trinket could interest Claude enough for him to answer yes?

Claude nears her as she takes out a book.

"It's an old journal from a retired stage actress."

Claude blankly casts his eyes on the pages. "And?"

"I want you to read it."

"The whole book?"

"No, not the entire book. A few pages. Here."

Permelia flips to a tagged page.

The journal is a chronicle of one's experiences in the acting world. Articles of making a mark in the world and overcoming low expectations does not interest Claude. He reads on about the formation of love between her and another actor. Claude almost shuts the book at this point until Permelia directs him to another section of the novel.

Now the relationship turns into a warding feud, whittling down from kind acts to thievery, betrayal, and the notions of slaughter. Claude becomes interested in the declining mental state of this woman whose utterly passionate declarations to her true love degenerate to bitterness. The story treads the path of hatred and Claude finds the pages turning faster when Permelia stops him at a crucial junction, to his piqued disappointment.

Permelia nods at the volume. "Do you believe she was right to hate someone so deeply?"

Is lying advantageous? Doing it doesn't matter to Claude as much as the question means to Permelia. "I don't care."

"I knew there was something about you I had to find out for myself." Permelia takes the tome out of Claude's grip, closes it, and slips it into her bag. Her eyes bore into his and she stuns him with a single word.

"Demon."

Claude hears himself intake air sharply. His behavior has been impeccable. How can she know so accurately?

"Do you think hunger is something your grand butler facade can hide?" Permelia does not answer his silent wonder. She lifts his chin and Claude quits his mental reel of overanalyzing himself.

There it is. A spark of brimming soul in her mirth for him.

"Look at me. Claude."

The command is forceful, not hiding any of the geniality she showed during their gardening session. The iron intention in her tone tickles Claude's spine.

His gaze melts into her colored orbs. She is angry yet satisfied to pin him. The reflective color shifts to a glowing scarlet, a scarlet of intensity, and it is his own eyes he is seeing. His normally sedate gold eyes are shining.

Claude eventually retrieves his voice out of his pure shocked self. "How long was I like this?"

"When you were reading."

"I couldn't have..." But Permelia's certainty and the glowing pang in his chest from that delightful read contradicts his statement.

"During that spider incident, for an instant I thought I saw your eyes change. I had to be sure my eyes weren't fooling me." She takes her book out of his hands.

Claude is preoccupied with his unintentional slip up when Permelia reaches out for his glasses. He automatically stops her hand. He feels himself about to snap. But perhaps he will spiral into a wondrous direction if he lets go.

And then Permelia nails what drove him to his seduced state. "The parts in that story where the lies and hate are concentrated are tangiest for you, yes?"

The teasing is too much to bear any longer. Claude takes her arms and pulls her hard against him.

"Is this what you were after?" Claude's husky voice demands. His gloved hands frame the hair above her head almost lovingly. In spite of her spirited bravado, Claude senses she doesn't wish to give into the terror of his true nature. She is a human, after all.

"Answer." Claude grazes his lips across her neck, and she arcs into his hands seized on her waist, clearly giving him his answer.

Permelia's eyelids shut as she levels her breaths. Her eyes lock onto his. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Claude growls and seals his mouth on hers, at long last.

Permelia pushes in and contacts his mouth, vigor and wetness. Claude pulls back after what feels like minutes. She has a cunning smile.

Claude frowns. "What?"

"I wanted to see how long it would take until you snapped. You never break that stoicness, not in all the time I've worked here." Permelia covers her mouth to hide her laughter. She winks at him. "The sight is worth it. Let's do this again soon, hmm?"

- THE END -