Lord Liverchester

Chapter 27

Sgt. Wendell Welton was late as usual, knocking on our door in the middle of dinner. Lucky for him, Bladrian made enough to go around. He sat across from Dorian at the table and they exchanged serious glances. Moments later, their quiet discussion became louder and involved all of us. Dorian folded his hands over the worn wood of his kitchen table, his gaze shifting between Rose and Wendell.

"There will be no alcohol on this tour," his voice was low and serious. "If anyone is caught drinking, there will be consequences. Wendell, I have a replacement ready. I'm not afraid to call upon him instead."

Wendell saluted Dorian.

"I promise I won't drink," he sounded genuine enough. "Keeping you safe and protected means more to me than satisfying the burn."

Dorian nodded in approval. His serious eyes were broken by a smile, and he continued to enjoy his dinner. I wondered who Dorian had contacted, thinking of all the people we knew that were as tough and experienced as Wendell. Nobody came to mind. Maybe I would find out in due time, appreciating Wendell's promise for the meantime. I hoped that replacement wouldn't have to step in. It would be too much stress for Dorian. Tonight his mind was in a great place and he was prepared to start the tour the following morning. Our plan for the next day was to wake up bright and early as a group and go into town. There was a fall festival going on throughout North Chesterington and Dorian wanted me to see how pretty Devonbury was during that time of year. Given how beautiful the trees were already, I was excited. As he shoveled large spoonfuls of beef and rice into his mouth, Dorian winked at me. He planned a special night for us to be alone for a few hours before bed. I could also feed him dessert again, moving my chair closer to him to place dark chocolate hearts on his tongue. He ate happily, listening to Wendell tell an elaborate story for once. At the very least, it wasn't about the boring mundane life he now led. This one went back to his younger days in the army. The whole table listened intently as the old man wove a tale about a furious swarm of wasps that overcame his soldiers one summer. It was already living hell in the trenches, with things exploding and constant gunfire. The wasps had made their home in the ground and came out to attack. Everybody got stung, two men died from allergic reactions. Dorian stared across the table with a blank expression as he attempted to visualize the situation. I didn't allow myself to be put into it that deeply, opting instead for quick flashes of the details that wouldn't scar me for life. Wendell's descriptions were thankfully less vivid than Dorian's, just the bare minimum of what happened. The stories he told afterward were about actual combat, tales about his confirmed kills and the stealth he had at one point in time. Wendell was much older than Dorian and me, and I could hardly visualize what he may have been like in his prime. I could almost see what he used to be, and maybe at one point in time he was good looking and strong. He and Dorian were two of a kind, built to fight and withstand anything that hit them. I was skeptical that he would abstain from alcohol, but for the time being, having him on our small team was an honor.

Dorian trusted everyone at the table enough to take care of themselves. He stood to salute his friends and ushered me down the hall, pulling me into his chest and wrapping both his arms around me as we walked to his dark sunroom. The storm had come to stay, rain hitting the window and landing on the ivy and shrubs that covered the outside wall. The sun was still attempting to set, the smallest bit of orange sinking below the horizon somewhere past the forest. We could have run past every forest and still could never reach the sun. It was an unobtainable object, but ever since I was a child I thought it would be fun to try. I rested my head on Dorian's chest as he kept me held there, his hands rubbing my back and shoulder. We were the kind of couple to say "I love you" every few seconds as if it would be our last words. He sang softly to me, a song I had now heard a thousand times. It was sepia toned, sleepy and covered in a thin layer of dust. It was called Night's Deceit. He used to sing it to his family as a lullaby. It retained its original purpose, nearly putting me to sleep as we stood there. I appreciated the words, an assurance that our love was safe and wouldn't fade. I was jealous of his ability to so easily put it into words that he could sing. Dorian was very affectionate, rubbing his face against me and holding me comfortably against his body. He had partially wrapped his jacket around me even though I wasn't cold for once. Our heartbeats rocked us back and forth, thumping together though not perfectly in time. I slid both hands in the open part of his shirt to gently rub his chest, and while I wasn't cold, the warmth was welcome. He purred, continuing to sing. The sun went down as we stood there watching, casting the yard into blackness. I wondered what was out there, getting that familiar sense that we weren't alone and something was watching. Dorian pulled me away as the last rays of sunlight completely disappeared, the night becoming what it wanted to be. A storm rolled in with greater power but Dorian had a trick up his sleeve. We weren't listening to the thunder. He led me across the hardwood floor and turned on his record player. It was the strangest contraption I'd ever seen, with a great big funnel looking thing on an ornately carved hunk of wood that sat in the corner. It would always elude me as to what kind of science allowed it to play music. I watched the flat dark circle spinning around as the needle presumably scraped its surface continually. I tilted my head every which way, but it never helped me to understand. Dorian couldn't explain it, grabbing my wrist to lead me in a slow dance to a peculiar new song. It was a voice I had never heard, similar to Rose in her sultry nature. It was different and strange. This music was so full, surrounding us with its sound and hitting through my bones and each of my senses. There were many voices singing and I could hear each one, and instruments of all sorts. The percussion was particularly impressive. Cymbals crashed, there was a rolling snare. I clung to Dorian's velvet jacket as he waltzed me slowly from one corner to the other and then back again, doing turns around his piano. We were so perfectly timed. I closed my eyes and let his intuition take me, my mind focusing on what I heard. Beneath the sound of his boots shuffling annoyingly along the floor, the music kept captivating me. In the chorus of voices, I found his. It was so distinct, the golden sand of coarseness bleached by the sunlight. It tried to blend in with the others. His piano was noticeable too, his style of playing which mixed classical, jazz, and a third thing with no name. He hummed along to the tune, his hands mimicking the way he played piano in my hand and on my back. His eyes were closed too when I looked up at his face. Our slow dance picked up the pace with the introduction of another song, and he was determined to keep going. My eyes were open then, glancing up at the pink walls and the molding that detailed the border along the ceiling. We breezed past the door which he had shut. It was a tall white door with a silver design faintly painted onto it. Perhaps it had faded over time.