Dance of Shadows part III
A Gods of Jade and Shadow Fanfic
“Would you care to dance?” The man held out his hand and Casiopea smiled as she took it. Swing dancing was growing more popular than the Charleston, but she found she liked it just as much.
The song ended all too quickly and her partner spun her out. She closed her eyes and grinned as she spun. She didn’t think the magic of a dancehall would ever fade for her. To her chagrin, the next song was a slow one.
“Would you dance again?” her partner asked.
“No thank you. I think I’ll sit out this one.”
“Just one more,” the man begged. “I do love these slow numbers.” He grinned in a way that was clearly intended to be charming.
“I’m too tired right now, I’m afraid.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, pointedly displaying the gold band on her finger. The man just as pointedly avoided looking in that direction.
“I have to go find my husband,” Casiopea said firmly.
The man took her wrist. “I’m sure he can spare you for another moment.”
She twisted her wrist out of his grip and pushed past him, when a hand took her shoulder and a familiar voice said, “There you are, my dear. I was looking for you.”
She smiled and turned around to face Loray, who leaned down and kissed her, wrapping his arm around her and drawing her close.
The other man, forgotten now, took a few steps back and then darted into the crowd, certain this jealous man was not someone to mess with. He chose not to see that the woman clung to her husband just as much as he to her.
When they broke the kiss, Casiopea hooked her arm around the back of Loray’s neck and leaned back. “You are far too dramatic.”
“Mmm, no such thing,” he said, shaking his head. “Will you dance with me?” The slow song hadn’t finished.
Casiopea cocked her head to one side, considering. “If we can do a fast one after this.”
“Deal.”
The Hôtel des Roses Sauvages had a variety of guests. Even so, Monsieur Dubois thought there was something strange about the pair who walked in late one Sunday night.
The front doors opened and a young man in a green suit walked in, escorting an elderly woman. The woman was chuckling over something and the man was smiling at her affectionately.
Something in their manner struck Dubois. There was something otherworldly about their confidence and bearing. And the way they were both so comfortable with each other–it was refreshing.
The difference in ages was also rather strange, but no sooner had he thought this, than he blinked and realized that the man was no younger than the woman. Why had he thought he was?
“We need a room for a few nights,” the man said.
“Of course. And the name?”
“Loray.” Dubois wrote down the name and held out a key.
“Thank you,” the man said.
“Do you have any recommendations for places to dance?” the woman asked quickly.
“Dance!” the raven on Loray’s shoulder called. Had he always been there?
Dubois couldn’t quite keep the surprise off his face. “I like to go watch,” the woman explained. Loray watched her and pursed his lips.
“I’m afraid my wife and I aren’t much for dancing,” Dubois apologized. “But there is a nice restaurant down the street, and the waitresses often go dancing. They might be able to recommend some.”
“Thank you.”
Loray offered the woman his arm like a gentleman, but Dubois saw how she leaned on him. He watched them and smiled. He hoped he and his wife would still be that close and happy when they were that age.
It had been many years since the demon had walked the Black Road, but he walked it now, never slowing, never stopping, until he reached the Jade Palace, where Hun-Kamé sat, surrounded by his eleven brothers.
“It has been some time since you have visited Xibalba, Marquess,” Hun-Kamé said, then he frowned as he took in the sight of the figure in front of him. “Is there something wrong?”
Loray seemed to have aged a hundred years. His shoulders sagged and there was a haunted look in his eye. Even the raven on his shoulder bowed its head and stayed silent.
“I have come to ask you a favor,” he said. Hun-Kamé’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded for him to continue.
“I’m sure you remember the Lady Casiopea Tun,” Loray began.
“The mortal girl? Yes, I remember.”
“Then you remember she pledged herself to you. She–she is dead.” The word tasted vile on his lips, and he had to swallow back his sorrow, focusing only on this conversation. “But you can bring her back. You have that power.”
“I can,” Hun-Kamé granted. “And I seem to recall having done so once before.”
“She won you back your throne,” Loray pointed out.
“And I repaid my debt. Tell me, Marquess, why do you bargain for a mortal’s life? What does this woman mean to you?” He had either not noticed the gold band around the demon’s finger, or not known what it signified.
“She is–was–my friend.”
Hun-Kamé dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. “Find another.”
Loray had not come so far to be dismissed as nothing. He took a step forward. “You cared for her too!”
Vucub-Kamé had silently watched the conversation with growing amusement, but he decided it was time for a contribution of his own. “He is right, brother. You were willing to give up your godhood for the girl.”
Hun-Kamé frowned. He remembered his time as a nigh-mortal, but only as one remembers a dream–the actions were there, but the details and reasonings hazy.
“You may not believe us,” Loray said, “but would you deny Xibalba itself? This realm has never had flowers in the thousands of years it has existed. Not until she came.” He gestured to the small, crimson blossoms scattered at their feet.
Hun-Kamé raised one eyebrow. “Perhaps she is meant for Xibalba, then.”
Loray shook his head. “If you truly remembered her, you would know that isn’t true. She belongs in Middleworld, with the sea, the stars, music . . .” he stopped, knowing the gods were silently laughing at him. They couldn’t understand his words. It was not their nature.
“You have never asked anything of me except in payment,” Hun-Kamé said. “I will admit I am curious.” He made no move, said nothing more, but within a moment, Casiopea stood before them, though not the same woman he had watched die not long before.
Gone were the white streaks in her dark hair and the lines on her face. The old hesitancy in her step was back, as though she were only waiting for music to start dancing. She was young again, as though the memory of her he carried in his heart from the night she first kissed him had been brought to life.
She knew where she was. She surveyed her surroundings with a haunted sort of resignation until her eyes caught on him. She started running.
She was in his arms before he knew it, and he buried his face in her hair, heedless of their audience.
She pulled back and took his hands. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to take you home.”
She opened her mouth, then stopped. “But . . . I’m not . . .”
He pulled her closer. “No.”
She gave him a mischievous smile. “I suppose that makes you just as stubborn as me, doesn’t it?”
“Stubborn,” the raven agreed, speaking for the first time since she had left them.
“I suppose,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.
She leaned into his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
He nodded. Home for them wasn’t a specific place. It was the open road, a dancehall, a hotel, each other’s arms. It was a search for adventure. Anyplace they could live and do so together.
“Yes,” he agreed, holding her tight. “Home.”
The End