Of Opium and Asphodel

IX. Dreams of Day and Night

Swirling thoughts and shadows threatened to drown him. The sheets were too suffocating on his skin, made him want to claw his way from beneath them as if from a tomb. Eventually, boredom overtook exhaustion and he hauled his weary form up from the bed. He reached for the rich green velvet dressing robe he had spotted folded atop the chest at the end of the bed.

He crept across the Turkish rugs and hardwood flooring over to the door, intent on seeing if it was locked. He couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to him earlier, to check the handle. It gave way easily. A cursory glance up and down the darkened corridor revealed it was empty. Cairn exhaled softly in relief. He enjoyed Wil's company, but right then he felt restless, disturbed by ill thoughts and memories. His limbs thrummed, urging movement. A quick exploration of the nearest wing of the palace--the one he was already somewhat familiar with--would let him work out this nervous energy.

The floors of the palace were cold beneath his bare feet. In the dark, it felt like there were eyes on him. He didn't doubt that he was being watched. In a palace of shadows, anything could be a lurking Wraith, or whatever other hellish spawn crept the corridors of Asmodeus' home.

His steps halted halfway down the hallway before a tall cabinet shrouded in a dark swath of fabric. It seemed haphazardly draped, and he itched to unveil it. Secrets, like art, called to him irresistibly. It was one of the myriad of character flaws he bore and was aware of, but Cairn was incorrigible in his impulses. Once his interest had been alighted, he could not be swayed until he had stuck his nose where it didn't belong.

The cabinet door clicked open easily. Within, rows of dark gleaming bottles of alcohol. They were unmarked, but he uncorked one and took a cursory whiff. Something strong. Vaguely familiar. Cairn sipped and gagged. The initial taste was overwhelmingly bitter--some kind of opium tincture. Stronger than what he was used to. He steeled himself and took a swig. Then twelve.

He had drunk laudanum before, of course. But never in such quantity, without sugar  and never with such reckless abandon. Opium had always been medicinal at Asphodel, a last resort for when headaches or menstrual cramps had grown unbearable. It slipped over him quickly, warmer than the burn of alcohol and lighter than the high of pipe smoke.

Bottle half-drunk, he turned away from the cabinet and squinted into the darkness of the hallway. Was there someone watching him just there, where the shadows seemed heaviest? But he was beginning to feel quite fine and unburdened, and Cairn decided that whether or not he was being watched, he would continue on his adventure anyway. Feeling quite cheerful with his decision, he slipped across the hall and through the first door that yielded.

He was faced with rows upon rows of fine fabrics, silks, suits and gowns, all meticulously arranged on hangers and racks that stretched seemingly endlessly into the far reaches of the space. Feeling dazed and giddy and absolutely buzzing, he reached for the nearest garment: a black and gold brocade shirt, finer than anything he had ever touched. He stroked the soft satin, then on a whim pulled it on. Asmodeus' scent enveloped him, dark spice and something sweet and deep as wine. His fingertips pricked with pain under his gloves, and he yelped, tearing them off.

Underneath, his fingertips were beginning to blacken. Worry surged up in him but was quelled just as quickly by the blissful warmth of the laudanum. He remembered, with a spark of gratitude to his earlier self, the remaining half-bottle in his robe. He could worry about things like pain later. He put the gloves back on. For now, he wanted only the thrill of danger that doubtless awaited him in these palace halls.

A soft voice like a whisper rustled through the closet, setting Cairn on edge. He glanced around for the source--was it possible a Wraith was watching him here, now? The sound came again. Almost like scratching. Emanating from the door beyond.

Cairn stood in the darkened closet hall for a long moment, unable to shake the unease that now settled into him. His stomach turned; nausea coupled with the laudanum he'd consumed. He staggered forward and the room seemed to tilt. He burst through the door into the space beyond, and beheld a study lined with bookshelves and everywhere, little glass orbs like marbles strewn over the floor, the desk, all the surfaces. As he advanced into the room, one of the little marbles went flying from beneath his bare feet. It struck a mirror in the opposite corner, angling it so the moonlight hit.

Cairn stopped and looked at the mirror. Seeing not his reflection, but that of a small girl child. He blinked, thinking it a ghost from his past, but no, this child he did not recognize. She whispered again, soft and whimpering, and he realized she was weeping. He crouched down so they were at a level, but he remained several feet away.

Mustering his charm, he asked, "Hello? What's your name?"

"Millicent," the girl sniffled, turning huge fawn brown eyes upon him.

"Are you alright, Millicent? How did you get here?"

She wiped her nose across her sleeve. "He keeps me here."

A chill went down Cairn's back, and he clenched his jaw. "Asmodeus? Is he the one who keeps you here?"

Millicent shook her head, dark ringlets bobbing. "I don't know his name. He frightens me. But sometimes I get visitors, like you and Wil."

Cairn's brows shot up. "Wil? Do you know--" he was cut off by the baying of some creature, low and keening and very nearby. Thank goodness he was drunk, he thought. This would all be entirely too much to handle sober.

Millicent had started to retreat, fading rapidly in the mirror until he could see only his own reflection.

"Millicent?" He called. There was no answer.

Cairn stumbled from the closet, deciding that if there were any demon beasts loose in the palace, he would rather not be found hiding amongst Asmodeus' gowns. He straightened, amd looked directly into the face of Baelroth.

The hellhound belched a puff of smoke and cocked his head, regarding Cairn.

Cairn's vision careened to one side. It was all so very much to take in at once.

~

"You must wake, master Cairn."

He rolled over, hair a mess of curls. And oh, lord no--he was still wearing Asmodeus' shirt from the night before. Wil's eyes nearly popped from her skull before she looked determinedly away, freckled cheeks colouring. "I'm sorry to wake you so early. It's only that there's a guest here meant to be seeing the boss. But the boss told us you're--" she broke off, then began again, "you rank highest in his absence." She wrung her hands. "I just don't think he accounted for this sort of scenario when he gave those orders, but that's the way the apple falls. The matter is, there's another important demon lord here. He was expecting Asmodeus to host a banquet for him tonight, apparently. We need you to do it in his stead."

Cairn was entirely too sober for this.