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It had long been established by scholars of such things that only those in possession of a soul were also accompanied through life by a daemon.
This fact presented a curiously singular problem to any, therefore, who attempted to tell stories of the Devil’s Child, the skeleton man, the monstrous murderer with the face of hell, because to fully illustrate his menace, they had to decide whether to include in their tales the little songbird, beautifully well-formed and perfectly normal, who went about always perched on his shoulder.
For the daemon was confirmation that the man, the monster, was certainly human after all. And if he were human underneath all of the horror, then what did that make the people who had always abused him?
So most storytellers, save those without an ounce of self-reflection, chose to leave the songbird out of the tales.
*
His mother had refused to acknowledge the daemon, which spent most of Erik’s infancy as a tiny snake that curled about the baby’s wrist and would not be parted from him, not even to experiment with the wild changes of form that such young daemons were known for. Erik knew this because when he was four years old, his mother’s daemon told him so.
Timo was a cool and elegant black cat, with one single white paw and splash of curious ginger on his belly. He was also an independent creature, able to wander at will through most rooms of the house as long as Erik’s mother was also at home. There was no telling where Timo may suddenly appear, and even as a very young child, Erik had grown used to the cat sliding into his nursery and sitting to stare at him.
So it was on one such night, when his mother lay sleeping, that Erik woke to find Timo perched on the edge of his crib.
The cat did not frighten him. Timo had long been a ghost in his life.
“Hello, monsieur,” Erik said politely, as he had been taught.
“Hello, Erik,” Timo replied, but his eyes were on Erik’s daemon, a trembling little rabbit buried half under the blankets. Erik stroked her ears.
“When you were born,” Timo said. “I did not expect you to live.”
Erik didn’t answer.
“Do you understand what I say, child?” Timo asked. Erik nodded. He knew about things dying. He’d watched spiders and the flies in their webs.
“You were weak and – well, you know what you are.”
Erik knew. Mother had told him.
“This little creature of yours needs a name,” Timo said, arching his back and leaping into the crib. Erik scooted backwards, trying not to touch the cat. Mother didn’t like it when he touched.
Timo reached out with a clever paw and hooked back the blanket. The rabbit changed into a snake and slithered up Erik’s arm to rest about his neck. He stroked her scales. He was allowed to touch her.
“When you were a tiny babe, she was always in this form,” Timo said, his eyes narrowed. “Wrapped about you as though she were scared you would be taken from her.”
“She’s mine!” Erik squeaked. “My own!”
“She is. And I have neglected my duty for too long. What do you call her? She must have a name in your own mind. Tell me.”
It was their secret, his and his daemon’s. Erik didn’t want to tell. But Timo was large, and he was small, and Timo had claws just as Mother had her sharp tongue.
“Mélodie,” Erik whispered.
Timo nodded and watched as Mélodie tightened her grip on Erik’s neck.
“Then that is what she shall be called,” Timo said. “It is no longer a secret. You may call her by her name.”
“But Mother said-”
“Your mother is my concern,” Timo said sharply, and Erik flinched.
“It was my own task to name your daemon,” Timo said, his voice softer. “And now it is done.”
Erik nodded, too afraid to argue.
Mélodie loosened her grip on Erik’s neck and slid down his arm until she could look Timo in the eye.
“Thank you,” she said, the first time Erik had ever heard her speak to anyone who wasn’t him. Then, braver than Erik had been, she reared her head and bumped her nose against Timo’s forehead.
Erik gasped at the touch.
The daemons gazed at one another.
The clock ticked.
Then Timo nodded.
“Goodnight, little ones,” he said, and leapt gracefully from the crib into the darkness.