Late-Evening, The Timeless Realms

Ten Midnights

She lifted the book in one hand. Flour spread across the kitchen counter, as she trailed a finger through the dust in a spiral pattern. 

“This is stupid,” she said. Itchy dough covered her palms.

Asmodiel looked over from the table. His night-black hair was brushed off his brow and his rolled-up shirt cuffs showed the silver skin of his muscular forearms. He had a box full of large square cards in front of him and was leafing through them with careful flicks of his fingertips. The box and the cards were new; he’d only just bought them back.

“Have you given up on baking already?” 

He didn’t sound surprised. It was the second thing she’d tried and failed to cook in as many days.

“It says here, it’s supposed to rise…” She slapped the book down on the counter, jabbing at a line of text with her dusty index finger. “It hasn’t risen.”

“Did you follow the recipe this time?” 

She could hear the amusement in his voice as she glanced down at her sad-looking dough. “That’s no way to live your life…” 

“Forever a rebel.” Asmodiel shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. “When it comes to baking, the instructions are important. It’s a science, not an art.”

She wiped her hands with a cloth. “A stupid science!” 

“Just because you aren’t good at something doesn’t make it stupid.” His chair creaked as he leaned back. “If you want to give up, you can come help me look through these. Tell me if there are any you recognise?”

She frowned at the large cardboard squares, each printed with a different image. “What are they?”

“They’re called records.” He turned the box towards her. “They play music.”

“Music?” She remembered music, though more as a concept than anything specific. “Does this have anything to do with that strange box you bought back?” She opened the tap, washing the last of the sticky dough from her hands.

“That’s a record player, yes,” Asmodiel frowned at her. “Why? What have you been using it for?”

“Nothing?” She’d been putting her cups on there so they wouldn’t stain the table.

His eyes narrowed before he gestured to the box again. “Here, look through, see if anything feels familiar.” 

She sat and pulled the box towards her—it was surprisingly heavy. Whatever was inside added up.

She flicked through the cards. Some images were pretty, while others were disturbing, terrifying hellscapes that made her uneasy just looking at them. She didn’t want to listen to anything like that. It took half the box before she recognised a picture—a woman with dark hair and tanned skin. She looked thoughtful. 

“This…” She traced her fingertips over the image. “I’ve seen this before.”

Asmodiel pulled the record out of the box. “Then we play it.”

The parlour was cosy, with cushioned chairs and a thousand colourfully bound books in languages she didn’t know. A long leather sofa beside a card table filled out the room, and an ugly grandfather clock squatted in the corner. Though the hands never moved, sometimes it would strike twelve. She hated when it did.

 Asmodiel clicked on the gas lamp above the armchair, and soft light spilt into the room. He slipped a large black disc out of the cardboard sleeve, placing it on the record player, and setting the needle on the outside edge. Nothing happened.

“Is it broken?” she asked.

He frowned down at the machine. “I don’t know.” His expression darkened with malevolence. “The scoundrel at the market made it all look so easy to use…”

She shivered. “What if we do this?” she said, hoping to distract him as she flipped the switch on the side of the record player. She jumped as the disc began to turn, making an awful screeching crackle. Instinctually, she lifted the needle off as the disc kept spinning. “Maybe… if we put it like this.”

The record player crackled as she placed the needle down. Then the song began. A woman’s voice rang through the room with a guitar accompanying her. It was deep and beautiful. 

‘Just take me back. To the green green grass. Take me back to where I saw you last…’

The sound made the house feel full. It settled something in her chest, and she felt safe.      

‘You were standing there…’

She turned to Asmodiel. “What do people do when they listen to music?”

The darkness in his gaze had vanished, and his eyes glinted in the lamplight as he watched her. “Sometimes they dance…”

“Dance?” It sounded like something she should know. Maybe she did know it. “Is it fun?” 

He held out his hand, his mouth twitching in a crooked smile. “Would you like to find out?”

She took his hand, and he pulled her closer, resting his palm on the small of her back. Her breath caught, and she reminded herself to breathe before speaking.

“What now?” She glanced down. He wore white socks, but her feet were bare. She nudged her big toe against his.

“Follow my lead.” He was taller than her, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “Move your feet in time with mine.”

She stumbled, stepping on his toes. “Sorry.”

He laughed. “I shall survive.” 

She liked the sound of his laughter so much she considered stepping on him on purpose. 

‘…and the clouds were white above us, and the sun was way up high…’ 

Dancing was slow and strange, but it wasn’t bad. He was so close to her, but the only part that touched was his hand in the middle of her back, and hers over his as they glided and stumbled around the room. 

“I like this.” Her eyes drifted to his lips, slightly darker than the silver of his skin. 

She knew, somehow, that people weren’t supposed to look the way he did, but she didn’t mind.

“The song or the dancing?” His voice was low, sending a strange feeling through her stomach, a warmth that she couldn’t name.

“Both.” The room was dark, but everything looked bright in the lamplight. “I like being close to you.”

 ‘…as you rest your hand in mine…’ 

His fingers shifted against her lower back, and she felt their warmth through the thin fabric of her shirt.

He leant forward, speaking softly, his lips nearly against her ear. “I’m going to spin you.” She nodded, her throat too tight for words, as he lifted her hand above her head. “You twirl away from me, but don’t let go of my hand.” She spun, the warmth in her stomach spreading to her chest. “Now spin back towards me.”

 She turned again, falling back against him, and he caught her other hand. His broad chest pressed against her back, all heat like the rest of him, his strong arms circling her. She couldn’t name what she was feeling; she only knew that it ached as they continued to sway in time to the song. 

‘…as we lay beneath the blue-blue sky…’

Asmodiel coughed, his voice deepening as he released her from his arms, lifting her hand again. “And we spin once more.”

Then she was back where she’d started, looking up at him, his hand in the middle of her back, her hand clutching his. There was an intensity in his eyes, like the night sky was gazing down at her.

‘…as you pressed your lips to mine…’

 “Does the song make you remember anything?” he asked. “Do you remember your name?”

She shook her head. “No.” Her throat was tight, and she had to swallow to clear it. “It’s familiar, like I’ve heard it before, but… that’s it.” She half smiled, though there was something painful in her chest. “Can’t you just tell me who I was?”

She could feel the breath he took as his hand tightened around hers.

“After the accident…” Asmodiel spoke softly, as if the memory pained him. “I didn’t let you pass on. We made a deal years ago. You gave me a part of yourself in return for my protection. So long as that part belonged to me, I could force your heart to beat. I could keep you alive, though you suffered a mortal wound. I healed you… and I gave you a part of me in return. Blood and power to bring you back from the very edge of death.” He swallowed. “In doing so, I worry I have taken something from you. If I told you who you were, it would be you as I saw you. We would never know if it was really you, or who I told you to be.” 

‘Just take me back. To the green green grass.’ 

She blinked. There was a weight to his words, a heaviness that made her feel small. “I died?” 

“No.” His gaze flickered between her eyes. “I did not allow it.”

The music stopped, and she frowned at the record player. They stilled, but she didn’t let go of him, and his hand didn’t stray from her back.

“Does it only have one?” she asked right before another song began—the soft notes of a guitar and something that pounded, just like her heart was now.

Asmodiel’s gaze dropped to her lips. “Maybe if we keep going, it will help you remember something? This can’t be the first time you’ve danced.” 

“I… yes…” She wasn’t sure what the question was, but she might have agreed to anything if only he would ask.

Yet Asmodiel didn’t move his feet. As the song picked up, the music rising around them; he leaned in. He was so close she could feel his breath dusting against her skin. Her heart raced, and all she could look at were his lips. All she could think about was how she felt when he was this near. There was something painful and aching inside her, and if she didn’t let it out somehow, it might kill her.

“I…” Asmodiel said softly.

The grandfather clock struck twelve with a boom of its bell. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I hate that clock!” It always surprised her. 

She clung to him, burying her head in his shirt.

Asmodiel’s arms tightened around her. “I won’t be long…” he promised. “I’ll come back.”

She breathed in the smell of his shirt, fresh and safe and slightly bitter. “I still hate it.” 

When he was gone, she returned to the kitchen to stare down at the dough she’d left covered on the counter. It still hadn’t risen. Music continued to play from the parlour and it made her feel a little less lonely in the empty house. 

She sighed, glaring at the bowl. “I should just throw you out for the plants to eat.” 

Instead, she left it there and sat down at the table to look through the box of records. She flipped past a few before something else drew her eye. Asmodiel had left a leather-bound notebook beside the box, a pen resting on the open page. She moved it aside and found a list.