Part XIV: Check
They stalked back in line, the three of them, Darla and Angelus flanking Will. Nobody spoke, probably because nobody felt calm enough to say anything without shouting. Angelus was aware of the sting of his wounds as he walked, the cold air biting into them. The coat wasn’t too bad – protected by his overcoat, though both had a rip in the sleeve, shreds of cloth that flapped against his arm – but his waistcoat must be ruined. He lengthened his stride. It was Will though who made it first to their own door, suddenly stepping ahead and yanking it open, and making it half way up the stairs within a second.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Angelus dropped his overcoat on the floor. ‘I haven’t finished with you.’
Will stared back at him from about five steps up, a sneer of undisguised contempt and anger on his face. ‘I’m going upstairs. Away from you – the pair of you – and your stupid bloody games.’
‘Come here.’ He looked down to fetch the strap from his coat pocket, taking his eye off Will as if he hadn’t the slightest expectation of being disobeyed.
Above him he could hear Will shift, retreating another step. ‘No, Angelus. You are playing some game with her. I don’t know why and I don’t care, but I am not going to be pig in the middle. I’m not taking a beating I don’t deserve just because the two of you can’t agree.’
‘Come here.’
‘No!’
Angelus began to pull his coat off, the strap dangling loose in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Darla, interested to see how she was reacting. She had removed her hat and gloves and now stood passively, watching them both.
‘This isn’t about your authority as my sire, Angelus,’ Will said angrily. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you being my elders. It’s you both trying to use me to get your own way, and thinking you can because you’re stronger than me. That isn’t discipline, it’s bullying!’
‘Oh dear, he’ll be telling us we’re evil next,’ Darla remarked.
‘No,’ Will yelled, he’d changed to demon face, ‘you’re petty. If you’re both so bloody bored, all you can find to do is pick on me, then for God’s sake let’s get out of this sodding dump and go home!’
Darla laughed.
Angelus took one bound to reach him, knocking him back to sprawl on the stairs. Angelus straddled Will and began to hit.
Will snarled, twisting this way and that to avoid the blows, punching repeatedly, jaws snapping like a furious puppy, then Angelus caught his temple and Will’s head thumped back against the wooden stair tread with a crack.
‘Stay still.’ He hauled Will up by the scruff, pinning both wrists behind Will’s back with his free hand and wrapping the strap around them, yanking it tight. Will’s head lolled a little. ‘I am going to flog your back to powder, boy.’ He began to drag him down the stairs.
Will was making a mewling noise, somewhere between pain and a growl, and he began to struggle, writhing in Angelus’s hold and trying to kick, then with his tied hands he made a grab for the newel post behind him.
He must know it would do him no good, was just being damn awkward.
Darla reached out and casually knocked Will’s hands off the post, then stepped out of the way as Angelus wrapped his arms around Will to pin his arms to his sides and picked him up and carried him down the passage to the kitchen. Will was bucking and struggling, yelling curses.
Angelus braced himself and set Will down. Will immediately twisted away and the strap must have come loose because it fell to the floor. Will flung himself round, fists coming up, and Angelus hammered a punch forward as Will turned to meet him. Will dropped to the floor and didn’t move.
Angelus stood, staring down at him.
‘You’re filthy,’ Darla said. She walked across the room and he heard the creak of the pump, the splash of water. Something splatted at his feet, flicking specks of water across his boots. A cloth, marked with a pattern of faded checks. ‘Clean yourself up.’
He reached up and slid apart the buttons of his waistcoat, moving down one at a time. Will still hadn’t stirred. He eased himself out of the sleeve holes, trying not to move too much, and pulled up his shirt. The air of the kitchen felt cold on his skin, clammy. The fire must have gone out hours ago. He balled up his shirt and used it to mop at the faintly seeping wounds on his chest, hissing at the sting. Then he stooped for the damp cloth and rubbed it over his hands and face, seeing it come back with a pinkish grey stain.
‘Is my face bruised?’
She didn’t answer.
Will lay between his feet, one fist curled against his cheek, fair hair flopping into his eyes. Angelus threw the cloth away and hunkered down to strip him, tugging off Will’s jacket and setting it aside.
‘Darla, pass the manacles from the top shelf.’
He bent over and unhooked Will’s watch chain, slipping it into his own pocket for safe-keeping.
‘Darla?’
He turned round. She was gone.
He ran upstairs, grabbed for a clean shirt, waistcoat, his best coat and spare overcoat, stuffing a tie in his pocket, yanking the drawer open and leaving its contents scattered over the floor, thundered back down the stairs. He delayed long enough to snap the manacles on Will’s wrists and ankles, and then he went after her.
No need to track her, he knew where she was going, and it took him only a couple of minutes, running through the silent town to come to the cathedral close. As he ran up the little path beside the alms-houses that led into the close he slowed, softened his footfalls, slipped up against the wall to the cover of the shadows. He watched her as he knotted his tie, adjusted the set of his cuffs. She was standing in full view on the gravel path, a solemn grey figure in the moonlight, staring up at the organist’s house.
‘What were you planning to do?’ he said. ‘Set fire to it?’
She turned to look at him, smiling mockingly. ‘You don’t have an invitation, do you.’
For one appalled moment he thought she was going to reveal that she did. Then she shook her head. ‘All this time and you haven’t gained an invitation – you’re slipping, Angelus.’
He strolled out to her. ‘So what now? Do we fight?’
She gave him a long, cool look.
It was a long time since he and Darla had fought – really fought, with fists and fangs and stakes, not the never-ending battle of minds with which they had replaced it. He had a sudden ludicrous notion that he would have to be careful of her pretty dress, and he laughed aloud.
‘So, this choirboy of yours, what is so special about him?’
‘Darla, have you not heard him sing!’
Her eyes cast about the close. ‘This world is full of music.’
‘Not like this.’
She slipped an arm into his and shivered. ‘It’s cold, Angelus, shall we walk?’
So they strolled arm in arm along the gravel paths, the avenues of limes arching over their head, silver as stone, the moonlight stretching their shadows long and dark across the frost-rimed grass. He showed her the deanery, and the pretty alms-houses, and together they examined the statues on the West Front and peered at the soaring pinnacles of the cathedral itself, crouching like a guard dog, watching over the city.
‘Drusilla says there are angels, holding up the roof,’ Darla said. ‘And demons buried inside the stones.’
‘Dear girl,’ he answered, and he stooped to kiss her, until she rose up on her little feet and kissed him back, her face sweet and pretty in the silvery light.
Afterwards they turned, without discussing it, to look at the organist’s house and she rested her head against his shoulder.
‘I’m tired, Angelus,’ she said.
He wondered, if he left, just how she would kill James – an idle curiosity, he wasn’t going to leave her.
‘You really want him, this boy?’
‘Yes, my love.’
‘It would be strange to have another childe in the family so soon. And such a little one. The Master would kill him, of course – he never allows the half-grown ones to live.’
‘Isn’t there some prophecy about a child-vampire who will usher in the Order’s time of greatest power?’
‘Is there? I’ve never really bothered with all that dreary history.’
She looked so pretty that he kissed her again. ‘Shall we sit down, darling?’ He led her over to a nearby bench and they settled down together, her head on his shoulder again, hand in hand, not speaking because really there was nothing they needed to say, and waited together for morning.