6.2

The food, Austin finds, is perfectly edible. He’s not entirely sure what any of it really is, but Naberius and Morse have both assured him that none of the meat is human, which is both relieving and unsettling in equal measures. In any case, it all tastes almost too rich after several years of living in an apartment full of people who can’t cook to save their lives, and Austin has to pace himself, eating one thing at a time, slowly, so he won’t get sick.

Surprisingly, not that many of the party attendees seem to have taken any interest in him yet. Naberius insisted on introducing him to a few, but Austin was able to slip off after that, under the pretense of seeking out dinner. Naberius never comes to collect him once he’s done eating, though, and and Austin easily finds an alcove of the ballroom where he can people-watch, a windowsill just slightly behind where the musicians are set up. It’s fascinating, really, how similar this all is to the Hart family’s lavish parties. Even demons make polite small talk and smilingly skirt around discussing their real political opinions. Austin wouldn’t have guessed.

A dark blur of motion in the corner of his eye catches Austin’s attention, and he finds Morse walking towards him. Austin braces, readying himself to be dragged back into socialization, but instead Morse hands him a champagne flute and joins him on the windowsill.

“Here. Don’t say I never did anything nice for you.”

“You don’t have anything stronger?” Austin asks, only half joking, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip of champagne.

“Not for you,” Morse says. “I’ve heard that the stronger stuff here can kill humans, and I’m not too keen on finding out if that’s true.”

Austin thinks about this for a moment and decides to be satisfied with the champagne. He drinks it slowly, trying to make it last, but regrets it immediately when a nearby demon starts to make their way over to the alcove. They’re shorter than most of the other demons around, only a few inches taller than Austin, with pale skin the color of lilacs. Their eyes are piercing and golden, with strange, wavy pupils, floating in inky black sclera. Purple tentacles seem to have sprouted from their head in place of hair, pulled back into a high ponytail that lazily moves this way and that, twisting around itself. Something on their neck, just above their collar, is fluttering strangely - Austin tries not to stare, but it looks like gills.

“Morse,” the demon says. They smile, and Austin’s surprised to see that the expression is more genuinely friendly than strained and polite. “How are you? Naberius has been behaving himself, I hope.”

Morse laughs. “That depends on your definition of ‘behaving’.”

“Perhaps it’s best to lower the bar, rather than expecting him to rise to meet it,” the demon says, so solemnly that it startles a laugh out of Austin. They seem to notice him for the first time, then, and the smile quickly returns to their face. “You must be…Austin, was it?”

Austin startles a little at the sound of his own name. It’s the first time all night he’s been called something besides “Naberius’s human”, or some variant on it. He was starting to get the idea that no one here particularly cared what his name was at all.

“That’s me,” he says, and sets his champagne flute aside to offer the demon his hand. They take it in theirs and, rather unexpectedly, bend to kiss it. Austin makes a strangled noise in his throat.

“Abyss, you’re embarrassing him,” Morse says, snickering.

“My apologies,” the demon - Abyss - says, quickly letting go of Austin’s hand and straightening up. “I simply assumed that it was not his first time being properly introduced to a demon, but I see now that we are in a room full of uncivilized vultures.” They sigh. “On second thought, perhaps that comparison is unkind to vultures.”

“Did you come over here just to insult people?” Morse asks. “Because if you did, I’m not going to complain, but I want to play too.”

“I’m offended by your accusation, and I won’t respond to it,” Abyss says cheerfully. “But, to tell you the truth, I did come to see if I could steal Austin away for a dance before he becomes too popular amongst the aforementioned uncivilized vultures.”

“Oh,” Austin says, his words sticking in his throat. He hadn’t actually been expecting to be asked to dance - well, maybe by a higher class demon trying to gauge how cultured he is, but not by anyone actually nice. “I -”

Morse nudges his shoulder. “You don’t have to say yes just because they - it’s they today, right?”

Abyss nods.

“Anyway,” Morse goes on, “you don’t have to say yes just because they buttered you up about it.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to be stepping on toes,” Austin says. Morse laughs.

“Abyss is the exception to the rule, I think.”

“I certainly won’t hold any toe-stepping against you,” Abyss says.

Well, it’ll kill time, at least. And maybe they’ll answer questions that Naberius won’t. Austin pushes his champagne flute to the side and hops down from the windowsill, looking back over his shoulder at Morse.

“Watch my drink, will you?”

“Anything to get out of cleaning up after these people,” Morse says, his white, featureless eyes flicking towards the crowd behind Austin and Abyss. Austin gets the feeling he isn’t joking about his distaste for the other higher-class demons, and can’t really blame him for it, either.

“May I?” Abyss asks, bowing slightly again and offering their hand to Austin. Austin makes another noise that isn’t really an answer, feeling his cheeks start to grow hot, and puts his hand in Abyss’s.

Abyss leads him to the dance floor and hovers their other hand over the small of Austin’s back, looking at him curiously. Austin takes a deep breath and puts his free hand on Abyss’s shoulder. Well, at least they’re leading. Let’s hope waltzing is like riding a bike, and four or five years isn’t long enough to totally forget how to do it.

Pulling Austin a little closer, so that their bodies are nearly flush, Abyss gently coaxes him into a box step. Austin is grateful for the slow start - his feet are clumsy at first, but gradually fall into the rhythm enough for Abyss to pick up the pace. Austin can feel Abyss’s gaze on him, but he avoids it, staring just over Abyss’s shoulder at the crowd. It’s hard to tell if anyone is watching them. There are other demons dancing with one another, but not nearly enough to disguise the fact that Abyss is dancing with the only human at the party. Austin’s cheeks burn a little more at the thought of being such a public spectacle.

“It’s a shame,” Abyss sighs, apropos of nothing. Austin’s attention snaps back to them.

“What’s a shame?”

“That Naberius only seems to intend to use you as a champion,” Abyss says. “And then do away with you, regardless of if you die. He should be viewing you as a potential ally, not simply a means to a political end.”

Austin nearly stumbles over his own feet, but Abyss catches him gracefully, keeping him upright and waltzing as his mind reels. A champion? A means to a political end? Regardless of if I die? Naberius waited until I was dying and desperate, and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. And then lied about his end of the bargain. When was he planning on telling me, I wonder?

“He didn’t tell you,” Abyss says carefully, studying Austin’s face.

Austin shakes his head. Abyss’s expression twists into one of indignation, anger flashing behind their gold-and-black eyes.

“What did he think he was doing, then? Making a contract with you without telling you all the terms of the deal? Naberius has always been dishonest but this - this is a new low, even for him!”

“What does it mean?” Austin asks. “Being a champion.”

“It’s an archaic tradition,” Abyss says. “Upper class demons settle their social or political spats by assigning the role of champion to two particular humans they’re contracted with, and making those humans fight to the death.” Their upper lip curls in disdain. “It’s barbaric, really. Not to mention discriminatory against demons like Naberius, who had no human to nominate when he was challenged to a duel.”

So that’s why he waited until I was half-dead. He was scrambling. Austin takes a deep, shaky breath, using Abyss to support some of his weight. He feels lightheaded, and he can’t tell if it’s the champagne or the anger he can feel boiling inside of him. Fucking demons. Richard was right. They can’t be trusted with anything.

“Tell me more about Naberius and Morse,” he says, keeping his voice measured and even. If he’s going to try and survive here, he may as well start learning as much as he can about the people who are ostensibly on his side.

“Of course,” Abyss says. “Where should I begin?”