Angelus moved through the night, his dark clothes blending in with the black shadows, his senses leading him to the place he sought. The house seemed quiet, but tall and wealthy. In one attic window a light still burned, and the vampire’s lips curled as he imagined the Watcher sitting up waiting for his charge, the girl wandering the streets alone, searching, searching. Angelus smiled and walked onwards, his steps silent, following the scent of the Slayer.
Laure slammed the stake into the vampire’s body, watching in satisfaction as it broke into dust and was swept away. She always liked the feeling of a job well done as they died, one by one, and tonight she had caught three. But none of them had been able to tell her where Angelus was, though they had heard of him and taunted her with their certainty of his superiority. She tucked the stake away and brushed down her loose dress, wishing once again that she could patrol in men’s clothes.
She moved on, her senses questing for the supernatural, for those who moved and lived, if one could call it that, in the darkness of the night.
The following evening the Slayer and her Watcher went out together, first for food at a nearby restaurant where they were known. Twice Laure turned suddenly, feeling eyes on her back, and twice she saw nothing. The feeling unnerved her, but she shook it off.
By midnight they had seen nothing, and Laure sent her Watcher home, assuring him she would be fine; herself wandering off to her favourite park to sit and think. She chose her usual bench and sat down, cradling her stake and wondering about the prey she had been selected to kill.
“A dark night, isn’t it?” The voice broke her reverie, and she stood and turned, trying to find the source. “Especially for a young girl alone.”
Laure frowned. It sounded like yet another man thinking she was something else. The voice circled her.
“And it’s late, isn’t it? Midnight. A time for … for nightmares.” The voice was now in front of her, the French accented with a light brogue of some sort. Laure clutched her stake tighter, hearing her heart beat faster. “Frightened, my dear?”
“Monsieur,” she said acidly, “either leave me alone or show yourself.”
The voice laughed, from behind her. Laure spun again.
“Show yourself!” she shouted.
There was a gentle rustle from the trees, and a dark shape appeared, hands spread out.
“So. We meet.”
“We do indeed. Am I right in thinking that I am speaking to …” she tried to say the word but failed.
Angelus came closer, the white skin shining in the moonlight, his eyes deep.
“I trust I am speaking to Mademoiselle de St. Jean, otherwise known as the Slayer?” He laughed. “But of course I am. Who else would be carrying a stake around at midnight?” He bowed, his coat spreading out behind him. “Enchantée, mademoiselle.”
“Spare me the charm,” Laure spat.
“Oh dear, oh dear. Why do they always choose the -” he paused, as if thinking – “the prettiest girls as Slayers? It always seems such a shame.”
“A shame?”
“A shame when the inevitable happens. When you die. Which you will.”
“We all die.”
“I know. I’ve been through it. It’s not so bad.” He took another step towards her, and she held up the stake. “Oh, really, Laure, stop that. I’m not in the mood for fighting tonight, and neither are you. I’ve drunk, so you needn’t fear that either. A very bitter tramp, as a matter of fact. The pickings around here are rather poor.”
She swallowed. Angelus raised his eyebrows.
“You are scared, aren’t you? I can hear your heart beating. Try and calm down.”
Laure examined his face in the moonlight; seeing the high cheekbones and the shadowed eyes, and remembered the accounts she had read of him. She decided to try some of his own medicine.
“The books aren’t accurate, you know,” she said, trying to control her fear, knowing he would feed on it.
“No?”
“Must have been written by men. No taste for aesthetics.”
Angelus was taken aback for a split second, but he recovered well.
“Well, thank you, mademoiselle. It’s been a while since I had a compliment.”
“And that’ll be the last one you ever get.” They regarded each other carefully. “Funny name you chose for yourself,” she continued. “Not very angelic in nature, are you?”
Angelus frowned.
“I don’t know. Dark angel. Avenging angel. Whatever – it has a certain something, a certain irony. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Laure said, hopelessly, and not caring that her lack of hope showed through her voice. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you. I’m supposed to be killing you.”
He spread out his arms, the coat flaring like two large wings.
“Come on, then. Fight me.”
She hesitated for a split second, and then moved in, her skirt lifting as she aimed a kick at his chest. He reacted quickly, even more quickly than she had come to expect from his kind, and twisted her arm so the stake flew off into the darkness.
“You can do better than that,” he taunted, features shifting into vampiric. There was pure cold malice in his yellow eyes, and Laure forgot her fascination with the tall, previously handsome figure before her, and remembered her job. She was the Slayer. Therefore, she slew. And this was the big prize; Angelus, called the scourge of Europe.
Her reflexes began to act on impulse, and without thinking her right fist flew out and connected hard with his jaw. He grunted, and in return gave her a thudding slap which nearly sent her flying. But she recovered and followed up the punch with several more and two high kicks, and then swiped her left leg across his shins, causing him to fall heavily to the ground.
She used the precious seconds to run and grab the stake from where it lay, and then turned back for the kill – but he was gone. Where two seconds before, there had lain a prostrate vampire, there was now nothing. Laure screamed in agitation, and dropped to the spot, bursting into racking sobs.
* * *
Amédée started up from his half-doze as the front door clicked. He slid on a housecoat and slippers and went downstairs to meet Laure. Her face was streaked with tears still, and her dress was torn and muddy.
“Well?”
“I saw him.”
“And?”
“He ran.”
“He ran? That sounds unlike the Angelus of the books.”
Laure put down the stake in the basket by the door, and went wearily through into the dark sitting room. She opened the curtains and stood looking out into the night.
“He must have been following me all night. He just – appeared, from the shadows, and started to talk. We talked. It was strange. His French is quite good, and he’s so …” She shrugged helplessly. “Angelus is charming. He didn’t hide what he is. He obviously enjoys being what he is. But he was like a gentleman at a party too, smooth; and he’s honest. He doesn’t hide things.” Laure closed the curtains and turned back to her Watcher. “If I’d met him before … before he became a vampire, I’d probably have fallen in love with him.” She held up a hand to stall Amédée from speaking. “I won’t now, I mean that goes without saying, but he is going to be difficult to slay, if not difficult to find. His reflexes are quick, extraordinarily quick even for a vampire. He’s very tall, much taller than average, and well built, there’s strength there too. It might take two.”
“Might take two?”
“Amédée, I’m going to need you to patrol with me. I cannot do this alone.”
He pulled the housecoat further around him.
“Laure …”
“You’re my Watcher. You’re supposed to help me.”
“But slaying …”
“Please, Amédée.” Laure played her trump card with a sly smile. “Besides, wouldn’t you like to meet him? Write him up in the books? Amédée, there hasn’t been a vampire like Angelus for centuries. The legends have disappeared. But new ones are appearing all the time. This is 1837, Amédée, this is modern life. Believe me, he’s a vampire for now.”
“If you kill him, he might never become a legend.”
“Then good. That was talk. I’d rather have him in a nice neat little pile of ashes. But I need you, Amédée, there’s no one else I can share this with. I know nobody else. Us two, we’re loners. We need each other.”
“We only have each other. I’m just worried that if he gets you, then what happens next? What will he do to me?” Amédée shuddered. “We’ve both read of his penchant for torture.”
Laure paced the room, restless. Her Watcher watched her, nervous. Finally he made up his mind.
“You know I’ll do it. Of course I will. So we both need sleep, and tomorrow we’ll discuss him. He can’t harm us in daylight. Come now, Laure, time for Slayers and Watchers alike to rest.”
She nodded, and led the way upstairs. As they parted at the door of her bedchamber, she reached out and touched Amédée’s cheek gently. No words were needed, and he simply nodded at her before heading up to his attic.
Shortly afterwards, Angelus, standing in the street outside, saw the light extinguished, and he melted away, leaving the two mortals to their rest.
* * *
The Chairman of the Council shook his old head in disbelief, and then, uncharacteristically, held out a shaking hand and supported himself on a bookshelf whilst he let the grief pour out of him. He had known Jacques Boudin as a young man, when they had both been students at the University of Oxford. They had been part of the same theology group, had shared discussions, drunk together, eaten together … and then the call had come. Before he had finished his degree, before he had had a chance to pursue the career he had chosen, the Chairman had had the career chosen for him. He had been summoned to meet a girl, and told that he was her Watcher; that they were bound together until one of them should die.
He had kept in touch with Jacques throughout the times that followed, and when at last his Slayer had died, killed in a freak accident and not through his lack of attention, the Chairman had visited him in France, where the priest’s compassion brought him through. He had kept Jacques as a contact, briefing him on the signs of vampire activity, and several times the priest had helped him.
Now the message from France that his friend was dead struck the Chairman to the bone. He read the letter again, the words blurring through his tears, and with a bitter taste in his mouth noted the words, ‘The Father had a mark on his cheek like that of the young man killed last week; a cross.’
The Chairman knew that mark. Twice he had seen it for himself, and many more times he had noted it in his book. The mark of Angelus. Hatred for the demon welled up in him, and methodically he made a new note in the records. Then he left the library to pack.
* * *
The afternoon after Laure’s meeting with Angelus, the Slayer and her Watcher were sitting going over the books again. Laure had just finished writing up an account of the previous night, and had laid the parchment aside for the ink to dry, and was now leafing through a book on vampire-lore which she had read several times before. Neither of them was looking forward to the night ahead, and their nerves were very much on edge.
So it was that when there came the three knocks on the door, Amédée’s head jerked up, and Laure sprang from her seat, going quickly out into the hallway to answer it. Although it was a bright sunny day outside, she only opened the door a fraction.
“Mademoiselle de St. Jean?” the Chairman asked, clutching his bag.
“Yes?” Her tone was edgy.
“I’m from the Council.”
Amédée appeared behind Laure as she opened the door wider. His eyebrows lifted as he saw the figure.
“Chairman!”
“Monsieur Simon.”
“Laure, let the Chairman in.”
She obeyed, taking the old man’s bag off him and placing it next to the basket of stakes. He stepped inside, and she closed the door and followed Amédée as he led their visitor into the sitting room. The Chairman sank into a comfortable armchair with a sigh of relief.
“It’s good to be somewhere that’s not moving,” he said.
“Can I get you a drink, sir?” asked Laure.
“No. No, thank you.” He smiled at her kindly. “I do apologise, mademoiselle, for bursting in on you like this. It’s rather irregular and I shouldn’t be here.” His smile faded. “But I had to come, I couldn’t stay away.”
Laure and Amédée exchanged looks, and they sat down either side of the Chairman without a word, and waited for him to continue.
“Last week I sent you a letter,” the Chairman said. “A problem. I did not want to burden you with it. But the problem is getting worse. I got a letter three days ago from an innkeeper on the outskirts of Paris. One of my old friends died a little more than a week ago. Killed.”
Laure looked up.
“Angelus,” she breathed softly.
“The same.” The Chairman’s eyes and voice were hard. “I assume you haven’t run into him yet – or have you?”
“I met him last night,” Laure told him.
“Then he’s dead?” The old man’s voice was full of hope. Laure shook her head, and gave him a brief run-down of the meeting. The Chairman listened intently. “You’re going out again tonight?”
“We’re both going,” Amédée said.
“We’re all going, then,” the Chairman said firmly. Laure opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again as the Chairman pulled a stake out of his coat pocket. “I was a Watcher once. I know how to do it, mademoiselle. And I too want to meet him before you send him to Hell forever.”
Amédée sighed.
“Then, so be it,” he said. “We were about to have lunch, sir, would you join us?”
“I would be delighted,” the Chairman said, and they all went to eat.
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