CHAPTER 18

“Where are you going?” She had asked from the black corner of the bed. Not a sleepy voice but one in which sadness and something else blended in an intoxicating potion. She had coughed again, deeply this time. Her dress was still a little wet without a fireplace for drying it up and the room was so chilly that even he had started to feel it.

“Out.” He had said running away from the next question as if it would be armed with a poisonous arrow. Away from the tempting puzzle that was sitting on that mattress with only an old, worn blanket covering her exposed skin. One night of lying on the very edge of the bed to regain some strength had been enough. Enough of listening to her soft breathing, enough of smelling a faded vanilla scent and something else he couldn’t put his finger on…

His excuse for running away had been she needed some medicine. His stupid excuse. He could have said he needed some clothes. Could have been more accurate. Less… obvious. ‘I’m going out ‘cause I don’t know why you are here, how you could save me, why I feel this way.’ That gaze of hers had prevented all his questions the past night. She had grown thinner… If that was possible in… how many days? Four? Five? Bluish circles surrounded her beautiful eyes giving them the look of fields that had been turned into isolated isles strapped by evil waters. An abandoned, cornered creature still lived there and its sorrow was gigantic.

Too many questions swirled in his mind as he walked along narrow streets, blindly stared by tall crowded buildings that looked like rabbit warrens. Only that the rabbits were well hidden inside and his guts had began to grumble for a small dinner. How in hell…? How could she possibly have known? How to heal him? About his kind? And most important… what was there in her blood? He felt awesome. As if nothing had… No. That, he’d remember for all the years he might last. Yet, every time he cooked up a new plan, and he had cooked a hundred only in one night, for killing Angelus he hadn’t been able to suppress the dread that had run along his spine.

He passed by a dim lit inn. Some drunken voices were having a fight. The bright smile of his cousin Lawrence appeared in the soft glow of the street lamps. It hadn’t been a year… Eight months. And he could still hear his cheerful laugh when he stomped in the house early in the morning, carrying bunches of fresh flowers for his mother. Breakfast had never been the same after his death. There’d always been a little more silence. His mother had made him move all the furniture just not to look at an empty chair. And then, more important matters, if somebody could put on a scale matters like that to measure their importance, had taken them by surprise and Lawrence had become a sad smile at teatime.

Why in hell was he pondering about the past? It was gone as a bottle taken away by the sea. The girl. That was it. She and her trustful eyes. She and her warm bosom in which he could have lost himself for good. He had named her Queen Mab once. She was. A fairy. A golden fairy that had torn the fabric of dreams to reveal herself in flesh and blood… An alarm bell chimed in the night. The sound of the train got nearer. Of course, maybe she had returned to the house after that party but he had never seen her. His mother hadn’t said anything about… Well, it wasn’t that they had had a nice long chat before… He pushed the thought aside. He still cringed when he remembered what had happened. Bad choice that of turning her. He should have known better. His mother had always been…

“Turn round slowly or I’ll kill you.” A sharp tip pricked his back. William whirled around but the boy didn’t jump backwards but leapt against his chest, missing his heart for inches.

William looked at the spike in his body. Bastard! He was really tired of being stabbed every single day! His fingers sank in the boy’s throat dragging him closer. “You scared me for a second, you know? Want my money, mate? Here. Get my money…”

The whizzing sound of the train that ran on the tracks behind his back covered the boy’s scream when he vamped out. Five minutes and a completely drained corpse was discarded on the tracks. He looked at it as he pulled the spike out of his chest and raise it to his eyes. “Nice trick, lad.” Three drops of his own blood fell onto his fingers. “Really nice…”
Putting it on his pocket, he walked away knowing one thing now. Poor old William’d have pissed his trousers in the same situation. Poor old William’d have pissed his trousers about any situation whatsoever. He’d have hesitated so much that he’d have ended not only stabbed but with her ass-cheeks staring at the moon. Hesitation was a luxury he couldn’t afford anymore. He’d vacillated in the house. Had taken a few minutes to deliver Angelus the first blow. And that had only earned him a good whacking. From now on he had to act first just to save himself by offering a sacrifice of blood. As radical as it might sound it was the only thing that would let him conquer this new life, this new world. He was a hunter now. And he had to be not only that but a dauntless fighter as well. Achieve glorious, bigger things. Bigger than those of that hideous grandsire of him. And in order to do that… he needed to put the past behind.


William jumped from the train as soon as it crossed the Thames. Dressed in some clothes he had pilfered from a window, he stopped the first carriage and headed to his former house, determined to save Dru from that maniac. The girl… he still didn’t know her name, how came he didn’t ask? had to wait a few more hours. First thing was saving his sire from that monster. He owed her that if not a brand wide universe he now was eager to seize. Another house, a beautiful one, away from Angelus could do for that night. He might stay with her just to erase doubts. That grieving girl… made him feel guilty. Made him feel things that he couldn’t feel in this new path he had taken after killing that boy. After making significant decisions. Face your monsters. Face them all. Survive. No grovelling allowed anymore.

Empty. The house was empty and after one single night the perfumes and odours were fading away like smoke. Back on the streets, William sniffed the air. The scent lead him to his left and got stronger as he approached St. James’s Park. Maybe they had had a feast among the trees. Maybe they had met some of those aristocrats Angelus liked that much. So easy to follow them across the park that hid among bushes discarded people that soon would be missed. As he reached Regent St. the scent hit his nostrils as if those he was hunting were standing next to him. A double wooden door with carved foliage and brass doorknobs stood above six marble steps. William slinked inside and a heavy, over decorated room assaulted him. Deep red velvet drapes with golden silk tassels did nothing to hide the perfection of the golden lamps and the ornate Persian carpets. Dark oak furniture of exquisite beauty shone like big hazelnuts under the gas lamps. An old couple was lying in one chaise longue. Their throats had been chewed unmercifully. William stared at them and the white handkerchief that was trapped among the podgy fingers of the woman brought him a fleeting, unexpected image of his mother. The past had its own ways to break doors it seemed. Of course, burying a sentimental fool like him would never take one only night, would it? Still, he couldn’t but feel that ridiculous relief… Angelus had found another place. Some sort of baroque palace in which he would feel like a refined creature despite the tawdry little maggot he was. How was that of making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear? Not that he really cared. If Angelus wanted to live in the Buckingham Palace itself, that was up to him. William had had enough of those aristocratic asses to see behind their well-bred façade.

Faded grunts slide through the corridors as he passed by closed doors. So it wasn’t a house but a hotel. An expensive one. Good. Angelus would probably jump from bed to bed just to think he was the King of monkeys. He would be entertained and it would be easier to convince Dru to… William never knew what hit him harder. The wolfish grin on Angelus turned face or Dru’s legs raised in the air, wrapped around her sire waist.

“Take your hands off her!” William shouted, mugged by flashes from his own personal experience in that psycho’s hands. Poor innocent Dru of him… That smile on her lips…just one little tune it sang. I’m not that innocent. And I’m certainly not that raped.

“So, - Angelus chortled at the sweltering rage in William’s eyes, - our boy is healed! And back to our little family… Not that coward are you after all.” He tried to pat William’s shoulder but he shoved him aside never leaving the fixed look on Dru’s face.

How could she betray him? How…? All his life he had been teased and bullied by everyone who had had the chance to do so. Even minutes before running to his death he had been betrayed in the most horrid way. He had served his own shattered heart for Dru to feed from it. And she had understood. She had taken his grief and given him wings to fly wherever he wanted to go. By her side. ‘Cause she had chosen him, right? Right? So why was she rolling on silk sheets with this arrogant bastard…?

“Oh, sweet William… come, join us. Love us… Don’t spoil the fun…”

The fun! For all the demons in hell! What fun was that of breaking his heart again? Love us… He knew how to love. Had always been a pilgrim knelt at the love shrine. But this… William stomped out of the room followed by an amused Angelus. This… meant he was selfish? That they could share when he couldn’t? Love was selfishness. Somehow, you didn’t want to be touched by anybody else but by the one you cherish. Not due to a possessive feeling like a kid could have for his favourite toy but ‘cause he’d truly believed her fingers were the only ones who could sketch his skin like any else could do. So… she didn’t love him as he… did? He loved her? In five days? All of a sudden his heart had changed just by not beating anymore? It wasn’t that he really loved Cecily. He had figured that out. It was only an incantation. The way she moved as in slow motion, her soft, well-educated voice. As some distant goddess made of stone. As that fascination he had felt facing the Greek sculptures at the museum. Grateful, then. He would never be able to thank Dru enough for setting him free. For turning him from a dying cocoon into a liberated butterfly. For setting at his feet and opened chest of wonders. For giving him birth.

Still, the borrowed blood in his veins boiled as a bucket of water forgotten on the stove. Rage and humiliation, a well-known mixture, were threatening to conquer his eyes. Trudging along the thick carpets William left the hotel wrapped in heavy thoughts about deception and disgrace. His fingers played with the cold spike in his pocket, with the coins jingling in it. The far bells of Westminster Cathedral chimed twice. Maybe it wasn’t the bells. Maybe even the gargoyles were laughing at him.

“William?” A shocked voice startled him when he reached the corner. “Oh, my God! You’re… But they said you were dead! We were so…” The man ran his eyes all over his figure. His curled, fair moustache flickered with disgust His wife had a gloved hand firmly cupping her mouth as if she were about to throw up.

“Amused? Happy?” The horrified gazes were fixed in his face. Two o’clock and they were still wandering along the cold streets. Surely coming from another of those long, dull social meetings of them. This one had to be extremely good, though. Perhaps with some exotic dancers from abroad or a new artist to submit to a strict scrutiny just to launch him or her in the most exclusive circles. Till they find another toy. Not too different from Angelus they were… His fist clenched around the spike in his pocket as words came crawling to his brain. “I’d rather have a railroad spike…”

The man straightened his back, really irritated by his lack of manners and his wife finally released her stretched lips. “Oh, William! How can you say that?”

“Oh, sorry Helene. Sometimes I’m so rude… Nice diamonds by the way. Bet they cost a fortune.” The increasing rage that had overwhelmed him while leaving the hotel had turned into wrath. How dared they pretend to care when they had sent him towards the death path? Not that he complained but… Certain people had no limits at all. Hypocrisy wasn’t something he had ever taken too well… “Some are so lucky…”

His armed left hand flew to the man’s forehead while his right one closed around the diamond necklace to stop the approaching scream. “Does it hurt?” He asked as the spike drilled the man’s flesh. “Oh, please, do tell Blatham! It’s not fair if you look at me with those wide round eyes without answering my questions. After all, it was your idea… Maybe if I help you a little more…” He pushed the spike deeper. “That’s a lovely dress, Helene. And an excellent cloak. Is your son still in Paris? TELL ME!” She only nodded between choked gasps. “Good! The house must be empty then, isn’t it dear?” Another nod, a little weaker this time. “Excellent! Well, this has been a wonderful rendezvous but I’m afraid I have to go now.”

Was it his imagination or her blood tasted deliciously sweet? As revenge should taste. He knelt next to the man gasping on the floor pulling the spike out with extreme slowness. “Better, Blatham? Bet you rather listen to a poem right now. Even one of my awful ones. Well, I’ve changed my style. This is so much better poetry, don’t you think?” The bleeding spike pierced one temple. “Oh, yes.” He sighed. “So much, much better…”

tbc...