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Hannibal Lecter recalled learning as a young lad the legends that masqueraded as history in his family, but could hardly be blamed for not realizing that there was some truth to the occult grimoires his aunt and uncle had tried to keep hidden from him. At the time, he’d assumed they were ashamed of such quaint superstitions being part of the storied legacy of the family, but one cold autumn night he learned otherwise.
It was a simple tableau he sought to create. His victim: a priest who preyed on the altar boys in his church and, as it turned out, creatively solved the problem of the rare boy who told the truth to parents by claiming the boy was possessed by demons and needed exorcising. The October air had him feeling rather impish as he played up the tawdry scene of a demonic ritual for a tawdry predator, and, on a whim, he cheerfully replicated a circle he’d obsessed over as a youth, having stolen to his room one of the forbidden grimoires during the rare time his aunt and uncle left him unattended. The old parchment and leather cover (such a uniquely textured leather that he, as an adult, now suspected was tanned human hide) had warmed under his fingertips as he pored over the text with youthful curiosity. The words were old and arcane, a mix of languages and eras, but there had been one page that had been marked by many of his ancestors. He’d spent many hours pondering the featured circle, a complex diagram of geometric and organic shapes that had apparently fascinated so many of his predecessors.
He knew the lines from memory, the book long vanished during a school term away from home, and he drew them out in poster paint purchased from a local arts and crafts store. The juxtaposition of the cheap paint and the ritual being mimicked amused him as he squeezed out a fine, steady line from the plastic bottles onto the barren ground, delicately moving any leaf litter out of the way. It was a new challenge, dribbling paint from a height while trying to maintain the proper proportions; he would have to try this again sometime.
Once the design was done and the paint had dried, he went to where the priest was bound and gagged. He smiled genially at the terrified face looking at him. “Let the ceremony commence,” he said, and hauled the man over to the center of the circle, dropping him on his back. Humming cheerfully to himself, he crouched behind the whimpering priest, undid the lone rope tied to the man’s right hand, and placed a knife into it. He pressed that trembling, resistant hand and knife to the priest’s own neck forcefully. The blood spurted and dripped forth messily as the man squirmed in a vain attempt to remain alive.
It was over fairly quickly — a humane slaughter of the sacrificial lamb. Hannibal wasted no time in undoing the ropes binding the legs and other arm, sliding them out from under the priestly robes splattered with blood. He then pulled out a scalpel to make an incision into the torso to detach a bit of muscle near the backside. “A fine pan-fried loin, I think,” he murmured out loud to himself. He could already imagine the spice mix he would use.
“Huh, dinner and a show. You know how to show a guy a good time.”
Hannibal’s head snapped up even as a polite smile settled onto his face. “A good first date is a fine building block,” he said as he dropped the loin into the cooler beside him. He stood up, feeling the weight of the scalpel in his hand as he considered the stranger. The man had curly hair and stood in the center of the circle, a frayed boot toeing away the fallen hand of the priest absent-mindedly. His gaze was directed at the body, paying little heed to Hannibal. He looked rumpled and unkempt, the red plaid flannel shirt doing him no favors.
Then the fabric of the shirt rippled oddly, almost shimmering in a way flannel never would. Hannibal frowned.
The man turned that dispassionate gaze to him, and Hannibal became acutely aware that here was the primordial monster all his victims had seen himself as. Those electric blue eyes pierced through Hannibal and made him feel seen and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t felt in decades. He found himself holding his breath, like prey before a predator.
A smile tugged at the man’s otherwise sharp features. “Oh, calm down. You’re the one who called me.” That electric gaze flicked away briefly at the circle. “Old method, haven’t seen that one in ages. Bit rude, to be honest.”
“I had no intention of committing a discourtesy,” Hannibal said, back straightening almost defensively.
The demon — for what else could this creature be?— smiled with a flash of teeth. “Oh, sure. Pro tip: doing the equivalent of calling a random number you saw somewhere for a good time is pretty much always going to be rude.” He gestured at the circle. “And that’s what this is, a line thrown out into the ether to see who picks up. An expensive call, at that.”
That bit of information left Hannibal feeling considerably uncharitable toward his ancestors, and not just a little abashed. “My sincere apologies.” He meant it; ignorance was never a good excuse.
That sharp smile softened into a sardonic smirk. “I don’t doubt it. Lucky for you, I’ve been looking for a place to shack up. We’ll call your tab even with that. You don’t mind, do you?”
There was an unspoken promise that if Hannibal was not amenable, there would be consequences. “You would be a welcome guest,” he ventured cautiously. His home was a custom built house of his own design, built on a property in the middle of the woods on the other side of town. He enjoyed the peace and privacy, and the rustic scenery made for excellent dinner parties, with room enough for guests who imbibed too much too drive home and needed to stay overnight. He could accommodate one demonic visitor.
“Mm. Guest. Right.” The demon’s eyes were filled with amusement. “You can call me Will.”
~
Thus Hannibal found himself with a roommate for the first time in decades. Thankfully, Will was quiet and mostly kept to himself, or wandered out into the woods for hours, even days at a time. He ate the food Hannibal cooked when their schedules overlapped, and the way he savored some dishes made Hannibal want to find out what else he enjoyed. That peculiar demonic sheen to his eyes and clothes was muted — something about taking on the form of a human outside the summoning circle, he explained.
During their sporadic meals together, they shared the priest’s loin, and other meats from Hannibal’s larder. “You’ve got a nasty hobby for a human,” was the only commentary Will made on Hannibal’s hunting preferences beyond complimenting the flavor or technique. “Can’t complain with the results, though.”
Beyond their shared meals, though, they stayed out of each other’s way. Hannibal had his practice and hobbies, and Will had…whatever it was he did.
“What do you do in the woods?” Hannibal ventured to ask one day over a particularly succulent miso-glazed steak.
“Fishing,” Will said with a quiet smile. “The fish here are pleasantly simple to lure with the right bait, and there’s time aplenty to think.”
“What do you think about?” he asked, genuinely curious.
That got him a long, unreadable stare, and then Will averted his eyes with a self-deprecating twitch of his mouth. “You wouldn’t find my thoughts tasty.”
“Would you find mine tasty?”
That seemed to startle a laugh out of the demon. “I might,” he said with a grin, “I just might.”
That sounded like an invitation to get to know his house guest better, and Hannibal began the next morning, right around the time Will usually left the house. He woke early and made a pot of coffee, pouring it into two cups as Will slithered into the kitchen. The demon looked surprised to see him awake earlier than usual, and Hannibal smiled as he handed him a cup of coffee. “I don’t know what your goals are, Will, but I thought you should try my coffee. Many a morning are remiss without a cup to start. Would you care for cream or sugar?”
Bemused, Will took the cup and stared into the murky depths. “Been a long while since I’ve had some of this stuff.”
“I hope it’s to your liking, then. Please let me know if it’s not, there are many varieties we can try.”
Will’s eyes examined him over the lip of the mug as he took a tentative sip. “Hm. Not bad.”
It was a promising start, Hannibal decided, once Will finished the coffee and exited through the kitchen door.
The coffee became a daily ritual, though Will had insisted with no small amusement that Hannibal return to his normal waking hours. “The fish will wait,” he muttered. “I know you humans, you all need more sleep than you get.”
The concern left Hannibal feeling rather smug and pleased that his demonic house guest was willing to shift his habits to suit Hannibal’s schedule and desire to share a morning coffee. It felt like a win if anyone was keeping score between the human and the demon, even as those blue eyes tracked him with an air of knowing exasperation.
~
Will came home one winter evening with a scrawny dog limping beside him, both tracking snow and mud into Hannibal’s pristine kitchen.
“Will. Did you steal a dog?”
The demon didn’t answer for a minute, scratching behind the beast’s ears with an affectionate expression that filled Hannibal with irritation. “I did not. This lovely thing was abandoned, and I decided she deserved better. And what could be better than a home here with you?”
Hannibal ignored the way the implied compliment made a lick of pleasure flicker against his irritation. “Are you sure it was abandoned?”
A dark look crossed Will’s face, and the lights dimmed briefly. “Saying she was abandoned is putting it mildly, given what that man tried to do to her.” He took the dog’s face in both hands and scrubbed it affectionately. “That bad, bad man was so mean, wasn’t he, beautiful? But he’s not a problem anymore.”
Hannibal rarely panicked, but he did feel some trepidation at Will’s words. “Will. Is there a body in the woods now?” Bodies nearby broke one of Hannibal’s basic principles for self-preservation. Never give investigative forces any reason to come sniffing if you had a serial killer habit.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Will straightened and pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket. Blood could be seen coating the inside of the bag. “I brought dinner?” He sheepishly held out the bag in a manner that strongly reminded Hannibal of a limp bouquet of flowers from a last minute stop at a gas station.
Hannibal closed his eyes briefly and summoned the wherewithal to remain patient. He had survived this long, surely, he could survive one careless demon dropping a corpse near his house. “Thank you, Will,” he said as he accepted the offering stiffly. He turned to head into the kitchen to meditate over some knives.
“Don’t mind him,” he heard Will whisper to the dog. “He’s great, really, and you’re going to love his cooking. Now, what are we going to call you, sweetheart?”
He felt some of his annoyance melt away at the compliment. Really, his foolish pride was going to get the better of him some day.
~
Angel was soon joined by Biscuit, a tiny mop of dirty fur Will had found shivering in the snowmelt of the woods.
“No, Hannibal, I didn’t see an owner. There wasn’t anyone around but me.”
“Will, please, this is important. Forensics have come a long way and I don’t believe you have the same cleanliness protocols that I’ve developed over the years.”
Will shrugged. “There really wasn’t anyone around. Besides, I’m a demon, what are they going to do?”
“Will.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “Will, you may not have any problems with the law. But I, a human, do have limitations, which is why I take precautions.”
Will gazed at him thoughtfully even as his hands worked through the matted fur of the new member of their household. “Hannibal, don’t worry. You’ve got me.”
Did he?
The thought of the possibility of having someone to watch his back warmed him, a little.
Then Will added, “And Angel, and now Biscuit!” And he booped the filthy little dog’s nose with his own.
The kitchen was where everything made sense, and Hannibal retreated. He tried to bury the sense of longing that seemed to burgeon up within him more frequently as the days with Will passed. This was no man, but an inhuman being summoned from a different plane of existence. The demon seemed extraordinarily tactile with the four legged creatures that shed everywhere, but kept Hannibal at arm’s length.
Hannibal found that the imposed distance left him wanting more, despite his best efforts.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”
I am, he didn’t say. It would have been a lie anyway.
~
“That is not a dog.” Hannibal could sense the wrongness of the creature on their doorstep. A large, formidable beast with red eyes and dark, short fur that rippled unnervingly in the light, the thing had shown up with a friendly tail wag and a look of utter devotion when it saw Will.
“Of course she is,” Will said, kneeling and embracing the fiendish mutt. “But we’ll have to adjust to help her fit in. How’s the name Cinnamon sound?” The creature made a snuffling sound and licked Will’s face. “Yeah, it still means you’re dark and firey, you like?” The creature wagged its tail enthusiastically. “All right, let’s seal it into place.”
The stones of the doorstep warped and flexed with eerie light, and when it was over, Cinnamon’s coat no longer had that unearthly ripple. The red eyes didn’t quite look canine enough still, but Hannibal kept that to himself. Instead, he asked, “How did she get here?”
Will continued running his hands over the body of the beast affectionately. “You could call it…customs. Animal import procedures. Took some time for me to get her here. Couldn’t leave her behind, after all.” He pressed his forehead to where the creature’s nose began to jut out sharply from the rounded skull.
“Couldn’t you?” Hannibal could hear the resignation in his own voice. There were marks everywhere in his house that dogs now lived there — fur could be found on his shelves, nicks in the hardwood floors were building up in places where they gathered, a massive flat dogbed Will had requested he order took up premium space by the fireplace, and toys were bought and destroyed with alarming regularity. This creature was the largest and heaviest of them all, and he supposed all of that would worsen.
“Of course not, Hannibal.” Will turned his blue eyes to look at Hannibal with a startling amount of fondness in them. “I take care of what’s mine, always.”
It sounded like a promise, but Hannibal distrusted it and retreated into safer territory.
~
It was one of the days where spring turned to summer when Hannibal looked up and realized he didn’t really recognize his life. Mornings and evenings were spent in the company of a constant companion, he had partial ownership of not one, not two, but three dogs and all the bits of fur that now littered his pristine home, and he hadn’t had a dinner party with anyone but Will in months. He enjoyed those, but he found himself wishing the conversation would linger longer after the last drinks were poured, and he knew his eyes followed Will down to the hall to where the demon slept with some latent desire.
He was intensely dissatisfied and yet he had no wish to confront Will, nor did he even know what he could confront the demon about. This arrangement hadn’t even been his idea; he knew initially he’d hoped Will would get bored and move on, but the thought now filled him with dread. He pondered his apparent midlife crisis while up to his elbows in soap suds, furiously scrubbing away at a pot he’d scalded of all things. He felt out of sorts, not an ideal state of mind for someone with a tendency toward murder and a strong preference for staying out of jail.
The doorbell chimed and he dried his hands off with a huff. Perhaps the visitor would provide a pleasant distraction from the confusing turmoil dulling his senses.
Perhaps not, he thought as he opened the door to see Jack Crawford standing on his doorstep. Behind him, down the manicured driveway, a fellow FBI agent leaned against the black car parked there. “Jack,” he greeted pleasantly, keeping himself calm and collected. “How are you?”
“Been awhile, Dr. Lecter,” Jack said. “Thanks for your help with the Lost Boys case, your insight really helped.”
“I only wish I could have done more.”
“Don’t we all.” Jack’s lips thinned. “Sad business, that.”
“It’s always terrible when children are manipulated into horrific actions, and I daresay in your line of work you see the worst of it.” He paused. “What can I help you with today?”
“There was a body found in the woods about three miles away from your house. There aren’t a lot of houses in the area, but we’re checking with everyone just to be sure. Are you familiar with this man?” Jack pulled out a photo of a man, clearly cropped from a group work photo judging by the necks wearing ties in the background behind the man.
Hannibal accepted the photo and looked. He had no idea whether this was the man Will had killed, or whether there was the unlikely but possible chance that there was a second body that had nothing to do with Will at all. He shook his head and handed the photo back. “Apologies, Jack, but I don’t recognize him. Should I be on the lookout?”
Jack frowned. “No. This is the victim; you won’t be seeing him anytime soon.” He stood back and put his hands in his pockets as he eyed Hannibal. “All that aside, truthfully I was happy for an excuse to check up on you, Hannibal.”
Hannibal blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“It’s been awhile since you’ve thrown one of your dinner parties; Bella and I were looking forward to the next one, and then months went by. Everything all right?”
“Ah. Well, I’ve been rather busy with personal matters lately.”
“Have you?” Jack sounded unconvinced. “I know you’re a busy man, but you’ve always managed. At first I thought maybe we’d offended you somehow, but when we asked around it, turned out nobody’s received any invitations for a long while. I heard even your opera outings have dropped off, which I would’ve never thought could happen. As a friend, Hannibal: is everything all right?”
Hannibal was saved from having to come up with something to convince him he was fine when Will wandered up from the side of the house, dogs in tow. “Hey, Hannibal, everything okay?”
“Who’s this?” Jack asked, eyeing the dogs with undisguised confusion.
“Hi, I’m Will,” he said, scratching Angel and Cinnamon’s heads. “And these are Angel, Cinnamon, and Biscuit.”
Jack glanced at Hannibal as though to ask why Will was there with four legged creatures typically banned from Hannibal’s domain. Hannibal chose not to answer that unspoken question. “Are you home for lunch, then?”
“Yeah, I ran the dogs a bit to exhaustion so I thought we’d pack it in early today.”
“Lunch is…not prepared,” Hannibal said, thinking of the still scorched pot in the sink.
“We can have sandwiches. I’ll bet you make a mean BLT.” Will’s smile warmed something inside Hannibal.
“I’m sorry, who are you, exactly?” Jack demanded.
“I’m Will,” he repeated, not hiding his annoyance. “I live with Hannibal, who are you?”
“You…live with Hannibal?” Jack glanced at the dogs. “And the dogs?”
“They live here too, where else would they go?”
“Will, this is Jack Crawford, head of the Behavioral Science Department at the FBI,” Hannibal interjected.
Jack turned to him, bewildered. “When did this happen?”
“I said yes in October,” Will answered for him.
“Oh. Oh.”
Hannibal did not like the knowing expression that crossed Jack’s face, nor his tone of voice as he continued, “October, and you now have three dogs? Hannibal, I understand why you’ve been so busy lately.”
It wasn’t what Jack suspected, much to Hannibal’s resentment (and didn’t that thought need a little more reflection?), but he would happily take advantage of the misunderstanding. “Apologies, Jack. I’ve been a bachelor for so long that I’m afraid I’ve fallen out of practice for how to navigate new…developments.”
Jack held up his hands amiably. “Say no more, Dr. Lecter. I totally get it. When I met Bella…well, we can revisit that old story some other time. Your family’s hungry, I’ll leave you to it. But don’t be a stranger!” He called over his shoulder. “Me and Bella expect an invite to get to know your new friend!”
“I’ll see what I can do, Jack.” Hannibal waved him and the other agent off before following Will and the dogs into the house.
He found himself cutting the tomatoes with more force than necessary, and tried to regulate his movements to a more precise, controlled rhythm. His agitation did not go unnoticed.
“What’s eating you?”
“Nothing in particular,” Hannibal gritted out.
“Now there’s a lie, even a human would know that’s not true.” Will made a thoughtful sound. “Was it when he called us a family? I know you’re still not 100% on board with Cinnamon, but she can’t help what she is anymore than you or I can.”
“He thinks you and I are together.”
“But we are.”
Hannibal closed his eyes. “Will. No. He thinks you and I are a couple.” Belatedly, he added for clarification: “Romantically. Sexually.”
“Why does that make you mad? It made him leave in a hurry, which is good news.”
Because it’s not true. Because I want it to be. Because it will never be.
A profound sense of loss filled Hannibal as he held his tongue. He heard Will move behind him, sending the dogs out of the kitchen with a quiet order. A hand came to rest lightly on the small of his back, and he tensed.
“You know,” Will murmured, “I like fishing. I like figuring out the right lure, the right bait, for the catch I want. Some are trickier to figure out, while others are easy to figure out but require great skill and technique. You have to know when to give the bait a bit of life, when to let it lie still, to coax the more challenging fish to chase and bite.
“I’ve never caught an anglerfish before, but I saw one from the ether, dangling its glowing beacon of a lure in front of me. It was so monstrous and lovely and lonely that I couldn’t help but be drawn in, even though I had to accept that if I went to it, I would be condemning myself to staying by its side for eternity.” Will’s hand pressed more firmly against his back.
Hannibal’s breath hitched.
“The thing is, though, I’m still a fisherman at heart, and as much as I was willing to let the anglerfish catch me, I wanted to catch it, too. So I took my time and studied my desired prey, using all of my previous knowledge and experience to craft a lure. Turned out I needed a very special, very time-consuming lure. My anglerfish was a bit like a cat; I’m more of a dog person, but even I know cats don’t like to be approached. The best way to lure in a cat is to let them come to you of their own accord. Let them decide they want you in their space. Let them decide to give you gifts of food. Let them set the pace for when and how you can become their favorite person. That’s how you catch a cat.
“Have I caught you, Hannibal?” Will murmured into his ear, his breath tickling Hannibal’s jaw and cheek. “…Please say yes. Life is going to be very awkward if you don’t.”
Hannibal turned his head slightly to meet Will’s blue eyes. “Is this a game?”
Will smiled a little wryly. “Life is a game, Hannibal. Why does that make it worth any less for knowing it?”
His lips felt as warm and soft as any Hannibal had ever kissed.
“Is that a yes?” Will’s voice sounded a little nervous.
“I’ll agree to be caught if you never call me an anglerfish ever again.”