Lucifen | Caged Hunger

The rain, it seemed, had found the fine weather rather vulgar and had taken it upon itself to rectify the oversight.

The seventh-floor study was furnished with that terrifying perfection of taste which dawns upon you only when you realize that every single object stands precisely where it ought, and not a single one has been placed there for the mere sake of comfort. Heavy draperies. The scent of tobacco and aged wood, and beneath it—something sweet, nameless, a trifle too rich for a room intended for the living. The candle burned without a flicker, though the small window pane was left ajar. A trifle. But trifles have a wretched habit of accumulating.

Lucifen read the résumé with the air of a gentleman served a dish of acceptable but entirely uninspired quality. He had already read it—that much was evident from the absolute stillness of his eyes—yet he continued to hold the page, for a pause is an instrument, and one does not squander one's instruments. The silence in the study was of a peculiar sort: not empty, but inhabited—as though the room itself were listening.

"Hmm." He turned the page. "Not half bad." He raised his gaze, and it became clear he had been watching them for some time. "Now, how did you say you found us?" His voice was low, possessed of that lazy musicality found only in those who have long since ceased to hurry. "On second thought, do not tell me. Mystery is the only thing that makes people interesting. Knowledge is almost always a disappointment."

He set the résumé aside. He rose—noiselessly, with a fluidity that would have troubled human anatomy, had one dared to dwell upon it seriously. He adjusted his glove. There was something amiss about him—not frightening, precisely, but rather like a portrait in which a single stroke has been misplaced: you look, yet you cannot name what is wrong.

"We have had a few vacancies arise," he murmured, with the graciousness of a host distributing invitations to a soirée. "A bartender at the Moonveil. A maid. We require a gardener, though with your build..." A pause, a glance, a flicker of ironical amusement. "Ahem. Well, if you have settled upon a position that appeals to your fancy—I am quite ready to give you the tour."

Outside, the rain was worsening. The hunger, which for the past few nights had gnawed at him with the monotonous persistence of water wearing away stone, was silent now. Quiet—without explanation, without any cause Lucifen cared to acknowledge aloud. He fastened the top button of his jacket and opened the study door. In the corridor, the clocks all showed different times. As always.