Page 6 of The Phantom Duke

“I need the light in order to work, Damien,” Doctor Simon Hale told him in a tone that no one else would have dared to use with the Duke of Winterleigh. He addressed Damien by his name rather than his title, another privilege that came from long years of acquaintanceship.

“It stabs through my eyes, as I have said to you before.”

“And, as I have said to you, the only way to treat the affliction is through thorough examination. For which I need light.”

A muscle ticked in Damien’s cheek. He towered above Simon, even seated as he was. Combined with his rank and formidable reputation, his size rendered him terrifying to the few who came into direct contact with him. But not to the diminutive doctor. Simon had dark, tightly curled hair and a thin nose which helda pair of wire-framed spectacles on its bridge. He returned Damien’s glare with a patient look.

“If there is an affliction, there is a cause. You do not want to live in darkness forever, do you?”

“I’ve lived with shadows since I was eight-and-ten. I can do it until I am eighty.”

“What a depressing thought. You do not wish to enjoy a sunrise? Or a pleasant, cloudless summer’s day?” Simon said.

“This is hardly the day to ask me for patience.”

“I do not know that there is ever such a day,” Simon replied with a grin.

“High days and holy days,” Damien replied.

“So what in particular has had you burning through your patience lately?” Simon asked.

“Ghouls who want to see the Phantom. Or take something from this house as a souvenir,” Damien replied.

“Really? Trespassers? Have you informed the constables? Or the Runners for that matter?”

Damien’s answering grin was feral.

“I do not need to, old man. I have found a solution of my own to dissuade the sightseers.”

Simon held up his hands, shaking his head.

“No, no. I do not want to know. I have a respectable Harley Street practice to maintain. I don’t want to know about your nefarious schemes. No, thank you.”

Damien’s grin widened at his friend’s discomfort.

“You should not ask then, old boy. Don’t look into the shadows, and you will not risk seeing something you do not like.”

Damien rose from his chair and stalked across the drawing room, taking up a pot of tea and pouring himself a cup.

“Something stronger if you have it,” Simon called.

“I did not offer.”

“I noticed. Porter will do.”

“Tea is all there is, as I’m sure you are aware. I do not keep a cellar. After seeing the damage it did to my father, I have no taste for strong drink.”

“I know all of that, but one lives in hope. Tea, then,” Simon sighed.

Damien poured two cups, carrying both back to his chair. Simon accepted his with a grimace before placing it aside and putting the adapted jeweler’s glass he was using to examine Damien back into his eye.

“If you would open your left eye as wide as you can, please.”

Damien allowed him to move his chair closer. Simon stared through the magnifying lens in his eye, into his friend’s dark, almost black iris.

“This is futile,” Damien growled.

“Please, stop moving.”