Butterfly Catchers – Part XVIII

As the boyish babbling crescendoed an adult voice abruptly called ‘Silence,’ and in the ensuing hush could be heard clearly saying ‘Sir, madam, this is a private practice. I must ask you to leave.’

Angelus set his hands on either side of the door-frame and judged the angle carefully.

‘Sir, I really must insist that you—’

The door crashed back under Angelus’s onslaught, and he was pitched into a semi-circle of shocked faces.

The choristers stood ranged behind their wooden desks, staring at him with round, childish eyes. Camberwell sat in the corner at a piano, his fingers immobile over the keys. Ashworth was in the middle of the room, one hand waving a rolled up sheet of music in mid air as if he had been gesturing with it. And in front of him stood Will, fists clenched, facing the door with his head reared back, holding himself at his full height.

Angelus nodded to Will, as if they were casual acquaintances who had just chanced to meet. He scanned the room, taking in the tiny patches of sunlight right beside the west facing windows, the height and positions of the desks, Drusilla hovering near the wall with the thin cruel smile that she wore when hunting. Her head was lowered, her eyes darting from one child to the next. A cat scanning a box full of mice. If she had a tail it would be wagging.

And then with a soft swish of silk, Darla came up behind him, lifting her skirts daintily to take the two steps down into the room and then looking about her with a polite smile. She moved over towards the opposite wall from Drusilla, causing a slight fluttering stir in the boys, and Camberwell, who were nearest to her.

Angelus calmly shut the door behind them.

‘Good afternoon, children.’

The boys glanced uncertainly at Ashworth and then chorused ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

Ashworth looked even more confused. ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but what—’

‘He wasn’t talking to you, silly’ Dru said. ‘Good afternoon, Angelus. Good afternoon, Darla’

‘Well, William?’

Will looked at him for one steady beat and then his face broke into a grin. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon, madam.’ And Angelus felt a bolt of something like pride.

‘Have you enjoyed your morning in the cathedral?’

‘Oh, yes, the clerestory is particularly fine.’

‘Indeed. Perpendicular I believe.’

‘Ladies, gentlemen, I must insist—’

‘Quiet,’ Angelus hissed, and even Will started. ‘Be quiet or I will tell the Dean where you go every Saturday night.’

Several of the boys turned to look at him. Ashworth turned paper white and sat down with a thump.

Angelus prowled a little to the left, a little to the right, making quite sure that everyone had grasped that he controlled access to the only door in the room.

‘So, William, what did you plan to do next?’

He had expected hesitation, the habitual look of panic that Will favoured whenever challenged to produce an actual plan. What he got was a second of bright smirk and then Will vaulted neatly over a desk and grabbed a boy. Not just any boy – the boy – by the arm, crushing him up against his chest, one hand to the back of that delicate little throat. Gently, Will steered James forward, to the centre of the room, so that he was backed by two semi-circular wings of staring boys.

James looked tiny in Will’s grip, his fair hair rumpled against Will’s black jacket. Two pairs of blue eyes stared at Angelus. And then very slowly, and so quietly they came soft as a purr, Will let his fangs drop.

Everyone else was behind him; if Will kept looking straight ahead then they would not see. If Will kept looking straight ahead.

Will stared at Angelus and Angelus stared at James, who twisted a little in Will’s grip, as if curious as to what the strange man wanted with him, as if he would look up at his face.

‘William!’

James started and his attention was back on Angelus almost guiltily. Will smiled.

‘Twelve choirboys,’ Angelus said.

‘The organist,’ Dru said, rubbing her hand slowly across her belly.

‘And the assistant organist,’ Darla said, flashing a smile at Camberwell that made him turn bright pink and stare at his keyboard fixedly.

‘It would be memorable,’ Angelus said.

‘Something worthwhile enough to recall on all the hundreds of dull nights in-between?’ Will asked, with that little tilt of his head that meant he was feeling particularly mischievous.

‘Oh, definitely that, my boy, definitely that.’

He looked at James, so incredibly innocent, untouched by all the beastliness around him. His little angel. He could preserve for ever his voice, his beauty, but the second he did so that innocence would be gone, broken, and in its place just a grinning toy imp with no future. Something for other vampires to mock. A frozen butterfly stuck on a pin.

Then Will grinned, and bent down to the boy pressed against his chest, his teeth inches from James’s jugular. And he whispered something in his ear. It took a while, and as Will whispered, James broke into a smile, and nodded eagerly. Then with a long, hard look at Angelus, very old, very knowing, Will released his hold and took two paces back.

Angelus stared at Will.

And James began to sing.

‘Hear my prayer, O God, incline Thine ear!
Thyself from my petition do not hide!’

Up and up the notes soared, clear and bright and unexpected, like a butterfly spiralling in a beam of sunlight in a dark wood. There was no continuous buzzing of the church here, no coughing, no stamping of feet, just Angelus and the boy.

And then James reached for something so high, something that would be so indescribably perfect that Angelus found himself taking in a deep breath, feeling his chest rise in sympathy with James. But it never came. A squawk, strangled off on an outraged gasp of air.

James stopped, and the other boys shifted whilst James’s face flushed with red. He cleared his throat and tried again, starting a few bars earlier, fists clenched at his sides, and again the high note would not come.

Again he stopped, a look of confusion and annoyance on his face as he reached up to his throat.

‘God.’ Ashworth put his hand to his mouth, staring at James in horror. ‘Oh God. No! James no, you mustn’t force it. No. That is—’

‘James,’ Camberwell said kindly, ‘I think he is right, you mustn’t force it any more.’

And on James’s face Angelus could see the dawning realisation of what it meant. Fear, at first, flushing over the embarrassment, and then a little tinge of excitement, and, still marked with sorrow but there none the less – pride.

The other boys were babbling now, about how good he had been and how they wished they could be that good, and the alto boys clapped him on the back, teasingly welcoming him to their number, whilst Brown proclaimed that he would have to sing the solo at evensong now and White told him to shut up, and Ashworth stood up and cleared his throat. Probably about to ask for a performance fee.

Meanwhile Angelus stared into Will’s blue eyes and Will stared back, and they smiled at one another.

Dru danced across and stuck her arm in Angelus’s. ‘Are we going home now, Daddy?’

‘You knew, didn’t you, you knew that if you brought me here this would happen.’

‘Of course – the pixies told me the moon would cover the devil today.’

And there really was no arguing with the pixies.

‘And you knew too, did you?’ he asked Darla.

She slipped her hand through his other arm. ‘Darling, you really can’t blame us if we talk amongst ourselves, just occasionally, when you aren’t around.’

‘So are we going home?’ Dru chirruped.

‘Are we, Angelus?’ Darla asked.

Angelus looked at Will, and, very slightly, Will nodded.

‘Yes, we’re going home. Come on, Spike.’ And without a backward glance he led them all away, one hand rested fondly on his boy’s shoulder.