Sweet William – Part VI

When William awoke, Angelus was still there.

He blinked and gazed in confusion at his Sire’s back. Such a thing had never happened before. Angelus went: it was one of the things he always did. The only occasions on which William had been allowed to sleep in the same bed as his sire were when Darla was there too; and even then, as often as not he’d been kicked out to spend the rest of the day on the floor. William lifted his sleep bleary head and tried to work out what was going on.

There was a sharp pain where he had been ripped by the dry entry, and another where Angelus had bitten him, but he ignored them. Pain was of little significance to William any more. He couldn’t remember the last time when he hadn’t had some bruise or cut somewhere on his body. But his sire was lying beside him in the bed, and that was something new.

Very softly he blew on the curved back in front of him, watching the fine dark hairs gently part and bow. But Angelus was fast asleep, and the air from William’s lungs was no different to that in the room all around them, so it elicited no response.

The room was cold, chill with the frost that, as William had correctly foretold, had lasted all day. While the absolute quiet told of the heavy frozen fog that enveloped the house.

William reached out to the motionless form and traced the lines of Angelus’s tattoo. It was not like other tattoos that William had seen, which were blue and washed out. This was sharp and as black as it must have been on the day it had been put on. He wondered when it had been done and by whom, and longed to ask.

He trailed his finger around the outline of one wing of the lion and down onto the limb of the letter A.

Mark, he thought, the winged lion of St Mark. Why?

Angelus’s mark.

He slid closer and breathed in the sharp scent of his sire, studied the fine pores and hairs of his skin, and lapped out a darting tongue to steal his acrid taste. ‘Sire,’ he breathed. ‘My sire.’ He blew against the skin again and brushed his cheek over it. ‘Angelus.’ He closed his eyes to dwell in just the scent, and called him by the name Dru sometimes used. ‘My Angel.’

He propped himself up on one elbow, resting his head on his hand.

Angel of what?

Angel of death, certainly, but more than that.

Angels are messengers of God, he thought. And Angel is just the English for Angelus. He looked directly at the sleeping man beside him with a cheeky grin. ‘What’s the message Angel? What were you sent here to say?’

Don’t go out without telling your friends where you are going.

He smiled grimly and traced the tattoo again.

And St Mark represents the loyalty and majesty of Christ. Though the lion can also sometimes be a symbol of the devil, but also, absurdly, the sun. And the A was presumably for Angelus, or possibly Aurelius.

Alpha, the first. The beginning of all things.

The most wonderful thing in the world if he could just trust him.

He sighed and slumped back, his mind drifting away from the confusion of apparently contradictory symbols to the relative clarity of his plan. He was convinced it would work. It was a stroke of genius and a fitting Christmas present for them all. Dru would love the bang, and even Darla would be permitted to share in the results. He smirked, fantasising that she came begging to him to be allowed to be included, calling him Master and genuflecting low. He would make her lie face down on the floor for an hour or two, stepping casually around her as he handed out largesse to his favourites first. Dru would be seated on a high throne, minions ranged on either side eagerly awaiting his bidding, and Angelus—

He rolled out of bed quickly and got dressed. He scooped up one of Angelus’s boots, and after a bit of hunting located the other in a corner, then he left without another glance at the master vampire still fast asleep and oblivious under the warm covers.

He slipped noiselessly along, collected the small pair of button boots placed neatly side by side outside Dru’s door, and the expensive fashionable ones casually thrown outside Darla’s. Downstairs, in a small back room, he ranged the boots along the counter, kicking off his own and putting them on the end of the row, and he considered them all.

They were all going to have to be polished.

Dru wouldn’t actually care what hers looked like, but he could never know when Angelus might decide to call her to him and if his sire saw they were badly done there would be trouble.

Darla most certainly did care. Not that she minded about the appearance of what was hidden under her skirts, or so she would claim, but she had some bizarre belief that things had to be properly looked after so they would last. Which was absolute nonsense since she seldom kept the same outfit for more than a week. But she would create no end of problems for him if she found fault.

His own he would normally try to get away with just giving a quick buff, and hope Angelus didn’t notice. They were only cheap working boots and wouldn’t take much of a shine anyway. But with the Hatherthwaites coming his sire would be bound to check.

And then on the end, black and ominous, were Angelus’s.

They would have to be perfect. Absolutely perfect. Not a speck of grime, not the smallest scratch or smear. If Angelus ever missed having a reflection, then William would be willing to lay good money it was seeing his own face in his toecaps that Angelus missed the most.

William sighed, picked up a rag, spat on the blacking, and began.

This time last year, he thought, I would have considered anyone who had to do this as a brainless menial without the imagination to better himself. If I had passed anyone in the street who looked like I do now, I would have hurried on with my hand on my purse.

He worked the polish carefully into the seams, mindful not to get any onto the fastenings, since no one would be pleased with him to find black on their fingers after doing up their boots.

He dealt with his own first, since they were quickest and he wouldn’t have to stand on the cold stone floor in his bare feet for longer than necessary. Then he did Darla’s, to get them out of the way. Then Dru’s, because it cheered him up slightly to handle anything of hers. When they were done he put them all to one side and glared at Angelus’s.

He fished out a cigarette, and went and slumped against the wall.

He was cold, the chill of the house seemed to have seeped into his very bones while he slept, and he knew he wouldn’t feel properly warm until he was allowed to feed, but the hot smoke in his lungs helped a little. Smoking also damped down the continuous nagging distraction of human scent if he went outside, so he could almost ignore it at times if he wasn’t hungry, almost pretend he was still human.

There was a discreet rap at the back door.

William pushed himself off the wall and went to answer it. A thickset man with a bushy red beard tufted with grey, was standing with his hands plunged in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot and shivering.

‘How do, Will lad. Let us in then.’

William stepped aside, and the man dashed in out of the cold. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Ruddy hell, Will, you folk do keep this place parky. Freeze the balls off a brass monkey it would, in here.’

‘Light the fire if it bothers yer. I ain’t had time yet.’

The man shook his head. ‘Tighter than a virgin’s hole your gaffer is. Making you save on coal again, is he?’

William snorted. They were walking into the echoing empty kitchen.

‘Any chance of a brew?’

‘Nah. Stoves not lit.’

‘Ruddy hell.’ The man shook his head again. He then reached inside his coat and produced a hare. ‘Nice long-ears for you. Fell into me hands last night ’e did, the obliging young gentleman.’

William considered it, taking a long drag of smoke. ‘Don’t like hare. Dry.’

The man sighed and put it away. ‘Brace o’ pheasants?’

‘Nah.’

‘Partridge?’

‘Don’t really like small game, mate. Not my style.’

The man grumbled and reached into his trouser pocket, producing a small pile of coin, which he began to laboriously count out into William’s out-held hand. ‘You’re a ruddy jew, you are, Will.’

William shrugged. ‘Yer wanna poach in our park, yer gotta pay for the pleasure. Either that or I tell my governor how I came across yer a wanderin’ through the trees one night…’

‘Unnatural heathen.’

‘So I’m told.’ He pocketed the coins. ‘Any news from town?’ William pulled open a cupboard and produced a bottle, uncorking it and tipping some of the contents into two battered tin mugs. The man took one gratefully, hastily downing a big gulp.

‘Naught to tell. There’s talk of a strike again, but I reckon it’s just lads wanting a few more days kicking over the traces afore Christmas.’

William laughed. ‘P’raps I ought to go on strike. Only way I’ll get a holiday round here.’

The man eyed him curiously, but didn’t pry.

William studied the depths of his mug, swirling the contents around. ‘D’ yer know anythin’ about explosives?’ he said carefully.

The man sucked his teeth thoughtfully. ‘What’re we talking about here?’

‘Say a man wanted to make a bit of a bang, bring down a tree for example, how do you think he’d go about something like that?’

‘Oh, you just want to blow out some stumps!’ The man seemed relieved. ‘That’s naught is that. Bit o’ dynamite will set you right there. Drill a hole, stuff it in, light fuse, and bugger off like blue blazes. But you’ve got to get stuff right down deep, otherwise it just blows straight back out hole.’

‘Hmm. How would I know how much to use?’

‘One stick’s plenty. You can allus go back if job weren’t done right first time.’

William frowned and took a swig of his drink, lost in thought.

‘Well, best be going,’ the man said, finishing his drink. ‘Missus’ll be wondering where I am.’

‘Bollocks. They’re not open for another hour.’

The man grinned. ‘No harm to be first in line.’

‘Don’t go,’ William said quietly.

The man rubbed his broad finger thoughtfully against the side of his nose. ‘Reckon you ought ter find yourself a bit o’ company lad. Nice pretty girl, to keep you warm these cold evenings. Not stuck out here wi’ this load o’ misers. Lively young lad like you: ought ter get yourself a better place. There’s allus men wanted at Hargreave’s, or big new place in town—’

‘I’m all right,’ William said quickly. ‘Well, you’d best be off. I’ve plenty to do.’

‘Aye. Right you are then.’

‘See you next week.’

‘Aye. Happen. Happen I might be giving it a rest for a while. Live within law for a bit.’

‘Oh.’

‘Can’t be risking too much over Christmas. Not fair on young ones.’

William turned his back on him, putting the bottle away. ‘You can see yourself out.’

‘Aye.’ The man turned to go. ‘You think about what I said, Will lad. Always a place somewhere for a strong young fellow that’s not afraid of a decent days work.’

William ignored him; he was lighting another cigarette. When he heard the door shut after the departing poacher he went back to Angelus’s boots.

‘Work’s not the problem, mate,’ he muttered, as he picked up the shoe-brush. ‘Problem’s the day bit.’

By eight o’clock, Angelus was tentatively beginning to relax. The evening seemed to be going well. The Hatherthwaites were presumably sufficiently in awe of being in the house of an actual descendant of the great Irishman Finn MacFinagle (of whom no one had hitherto heard), that they hadn’t noticed that the butler was somehow combining a permanent sneer with the mannerisms of a bad music-hall performance. They were also polite enough not to mention the occasional bangs and screams drifting down from Drusilla’s bedroom.

‘So, Miss Hatherthwaite,’ Angelus said, thickening his brogue and sliding up to the startlingly attractive young girl who had just finished entertaining them all to Pretty daughter of mine… at the piano. ‘What interests you most about continental art?’

The girl gazed earnestly at the ornamental plaster-work of the ceiling, and seemed to consider this very carefully.

During the wait Darla turned to Mrs Hatherthwaite, whom she had identified correctly as the decision-maker of the family. ‘I must congratulate you, Mrs Hatherthwaite, on the charming accomplishments you have taught your daughter. She scarcely needs the addition of a continental tour to finish her off – she is quite perfect already. Not that I could bear the thought of having to go without her now,’ she added with an exaggerated simper. ‘I am quite captivated at the prospect of such an engaging young companion.’

‘Aye,’ Mrs Hatherthwaite said. ‘She’s got fancy ways enough. Plain cooking and a bit o’ sewing would ha’ been good enough for me, but Hatherthwaite there insists: so off to Europe she must go.’

‘Now, pet, we both agreed.’ The successful industrialist, standing comfortably warming his backside in front of the fire, stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat and tried to look decisive in the presence of his better half.

Angelus was trying to ignore William, who was handing round glasses of lemonade on a silver salver with a theatrical reverence and a broad wink every time he came near his sire. The master vampire took a sip of the sticky liquid with a barely suppressed shudder. The Hatherthwaites, it had turned out, were strictly teetotal.

‘Titian,’ Miss Hatherthwaite burst out suddenly.

‘Bless you moppet. But you ought to use your hankie in company,’ Mr Hatherthwaite said.

‘No, no, Dad: Titian. He’s an artist.’

‘Oh, is he? Well if you say so moppet. The sight of the pit head-stock against the sky on a frosty morning, now that’s artistry to me. Eh, MacFinagle?’

‘There is beauty in many things, Hatherthwaite. Many things.’ Angelus let his eye linger appreciatively over the man’s daughter. Hatherthwaite nodded contentedly to himself.

‘Dad, must you always be going on about the mine?’ Miss Hatherthwaite sulked.

‘Aye, lass, when it’s the pit as is paying for you to be going on this here trip.’ He snagged another glass of lemonade off the salver, as William passed.

Miss Hatherthwaite muttered some excuse and left the room for about the third time that evening.

‘Vests, Miss MacFinagle’ Mrs Hatherthwaite announced in a ponderous whisper that she presumably believed the men could not hear.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Under vests. And them frilly what-nots. What do you say about proper covering in hot weather? I won’t have my Mabel going without wool next her skin in these foreign places. That’s a sure recipe for rheumatic fever is that.’

‘No, no. I’m sure. I wouldn’t dream of encouraging her to do otherwise,’ Darla said faintly.

Mrs Hatherthwaite sniffed, as if the biggest worry about entrusting her daughter’s care to two relative strangers had just been lifted. ‘And your brother, Miss?’ Mrs Hatherthwaite fixed Angelus with her porcine eyes. ‘He’ll be along o’ you all the way, will he?’

‘Oh yes. We are never separated.’

‘Good enough for me,’ Hatherthwaite babbled loudly. ‘You’ll look after my little lass just fine, won’t you, MacFingler.’

‘Oh yes, Hatherthwaite. She will enjoy my closest attentions.’

Mrs Hatherthwaite looked suspiciously at her husband. ‘Are you feeling yourself tonight, Alfred? Not having a spot o’ your old trouble, are you?’

‘No, pet. Quite champion.’ He patted his stomach comfortably. William handed him another glass of lemonade, which Hatherthwaite knocked back with an appreciative rumble from that organ. ‘Very fine lemonade you serve, Miss MacFizfangle. Does you make it yourself?’

‘I believe it came from a bottle,’ Darla said curtly.

‘Several bottles,’ William muttered, as he left to get fresh supplies. Darla’s eyes narrowed as she watched him leave the room.

‘My Betsy makes a very fine lemonade, don’t you, old girl. Not quite so tasty is this. Less sugar, I’m thinking; but you can really feel the lemons going down. Very fine. Very fine indeed.’

‘I’m glad you are enjoying it.’ Darla hadn’t touched her own glass.

‘Will we see Pompeii?’ Miss Hatherthwaite asked, coming back in.

‘We can if you want to, my dear,’ Angelus purred.

‘I have heard that there are some fascinating frescoes.’

‘Oh yes.’ He directed her over to a small side table where a few travel guides were artfully scattered. ‘And there’s one room—’

‘Very fine.’ Mr Hatherthwaite slapped his belly with a loud smack and belched, rocking back and forth on his toes.

‘One room you would find particularly—’

‘Nothing like a good glass o’ lemonade to settle the stomach.’ He took the next glass from William.

‘I would have thought you found it rather acidic.’

‘Nay, nay, lass. Not I. Digestion of a bear.’

‘Where the frescoes represent—’

‘Is it a bear? What’s the saying, our Mabel? Digestion of a bear is it?’ he bellowed across to her.

‘You could say bear, Dad.’

‘The signification of the dancing figures representing—’

‘Bear don’t sound right to me, lass. Something else, I’m thinking.’

‘A pig?’ William suggested.

‘Aye. Good thought, young man. Could be a pig. Could be that. Fine digestions pig’s have. Very fine.’

Darla crooked a finger at William, and removed the glass he had been about to hand to Mr Hatherthwaite, then sniffed it carefully, while he looked at her with wide innocent blue eyes. She pursed her lips as she returned the glass to the salver and waved for him to carry on. She exchanged a glance with Angelus and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Angelus looked puzzled. He turned his attentions back to Miss Hatherthwaite, edging up closer.

‘Camel,’ Mrs Hatherthwaite said flatly.

‘Got it in one, Misses. Camel it is. See that, Miss Muckfingleyfangly. No need for fancy educations when my Betsy is around. Knows all that needs to be known, does my Betsy. A camel. Fine beasts I’ve no doubt. Will you be riding camels in Europe, Mick Flogingle?’

‘Er, not as far as I am aware. That would be more normal for Arabia.’

‘And you’re not going there, then?’

‘No. Just Europe.’

‘You wouldn’t consider getting hold of a camel, if I bumped up the fee a little?’

‘I’m afraid that might prove impractical.’

‘Oh.’ Mr Hatherthwaite looked crestfallen, but manfully finished another glass, which seemed to give him some solace. ‘Still. We can always buy us a camel, if our Mabel wants to be riding one, can’t we, Betsy. Plenty o’ room in them fancy stables we’ve got now. Come back here, lad, and give us another drop o’ that fine lemonade you’ve got there.’ He tilted his head back dramatically to down the glass in one. ‘Very fine,’ he said, and with elegant grace tipped over backwards onto the hearth-rug.

‘Should I ask their coachman to bring the carriage round now, Madam?’ William asked.

‘It was you,’ Darla said. ‘I don’t care how you did it. I’m not even particularly interested in why you did it. But I know it was you and you are going to regret it for a very long time.’

William blinked. ‘I have no idea what—’

She hit him, once, a backhand across his jaw that knocked him right away so he landed in a heap against the wall. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and attempted to push himself back up.

‘Angelus,’ Darla said, and the order in her voice was clear.

William found himself staring at his sire’s boots. He looked up at the grim height towering over him. ‘Sire, I—’

‘Get up.’

He pushed himself up the wall.

‘Was it you?’

‘What’s happened?’ he asked very quietly.

Angelus growled. ‘The Hatherthwaites, not unsurprisingly, have expressed their regrets but they have decided not to send their daughter to the continent after all. They have also withdrawn the invitation to their Christmas Ball.’ William looked slightly wild, but didn’t say anything. ‘So I repeat, William: was it you?’

‘Was what me?’

Angelus clipped him round the ear, not as hard as Darla but enough to make his head spin. Angelus’s voice, though, remained calm. ‘Don’t pretend to be stupider than you are. The man got drunk, so drunk he fell flat on his back in front of you. The only question is, was it you who did it?’

‘Of course it was him! Stop wasting time, Angelus.’

‘You didn’t seem to care at the time. “Oh, Mrs Hatherthwaite, do not alarm yourself.” ’ William put on a silly high voice. ‘ “I’m sure it is just a slight head cold. He will be fine in—” ’

Angelus hit him again. ‘Was it you?’

‘Yeh, well you’ve obviously condemned me without a trial,’ William said gruffly.

‘I haven’t condemned you yet, boy, but you can have a vampire trial if you want one. Believe you me, though, you don’t.’

‘It was just a stupid girl,’ William said crossly, and he tried to push past Angelus.

Angelus thrust him back against the wall with one hand. ‘Have you any idea how rare such an opportunity is? A pretty, young girl from a good home, who we can do what we like with. Do you know how much preparation went into this? How long I spent developing the idea, finding a way to implement it, wooing the Hatherthwaites, bribing various people for references, being seen and accepted in the right quarters? Have you any idea how much it actually takes to feed this family, boy, whilst you are off entertaining yourself with childish games?’

William scowled. ‘Well it was nothing to do with me. He must have had a hip-flask or something.’

Darla snorted.

The third blow was considerably harder. William clenched his fist to hit Angelus back but stopped himself in time, glaring at his sire. Fortunately, Angelus didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘I don’t know whether to be more annoyed that you should lie to me, or that you insult my intelligence with the lie you choose to use. The man is a pillar of the local temperance society, boy. Try again.’

‘I don’t know!’ William yelled. ‘It wasn’t me. You know it wasn’t me, you checked the lemonade. Dar… Madam, you checked it. It wasn’t me.’

‘I checked one glass,’ Darla said sharply. ‘Hatherthwaite drank dozens.’

‘Why though? Why would I?’

‘Who knows, William, why you do anything. And as I say, I am really not very interested any more. Now, will you stop wasting time, Angelus.’

Angelus though was looking down and frowning, he abruptly released William and walked away a few paces. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think he’s lying. Why would he do it? Perhaps the man did have a flask.’

‘Angelus, I do not believe I am hearing this!’

‘William, go to your room.’

‘But I—’

‘Now!’ Angelus had his back to Darla and he looked at William with an expression that very clearly said that everything would be all right, if he would just do as he was told. William looked worried but dropped his eyes and left.

‘Angelus, I forbid you to defend that little fool to me. It was perfectly obvious all evening that he had got something up his sleeve. You only had to look at him.’

‘I’m not going to defend him, but I also want to be certain it was him. It benefits nobody if I punish him for something he didn’t do.’ Angelus paused and shouted, ‘William, when I say go to your room, I mean your room, not standing outside listening at the door.’ There was the sound of feet running up the stairs. ‘Now we are going to come to a calm decision about this, Darla. Whether we like it or not, Will is a childe of this family. A childe of the blood of Aurelius.’

‘Do not take that tone with me, my boy. I told you: you dominate him or we stake him.’

‘You want me to be consistent. Very well, that means not punishing him unless he did it. I want proof.’

She clicked her tongue and walked to the door. ‘Drusilla!’

Angelus went and poured himself a drink. ‘Do you want one?’

‘No.’

They didn’t speak again until Dru wandered in, round eyed with curiosity.

‘Did you call, Darla?’

‘Sit down, Dru. I want you to tell us about your William.’

‘My little Spike?’ She looked from one to the other in amazement.

‘Spike?’ Darla asked crossly.

‘It’s just a nickname,’ Angelus said shortly.

‘Well let the wretch be called whatever he wants, I don’t care.’ She sat down beside Dru. ‘Now, Drusilla, do you remember how important those human guests were?’

Dru nodded.

‘And William was supposed to help, wasn’t he. Serving drinks and so forth.’

‘He gave them lemonade.’

‘Exactly. Did he tell you anything about that, Dru? Anything about a joke that might be played?’

Dru shook her head in suspiciously quick denial, without asking for any sort of explanation.

Darla looked triumphant. ‘Are you sure, Drusilla?’

Dru nodded.

‘Hold out your hand, dear.’ She grabbed Drusilla’s fingers and bent the middle one up and back. Dru gasped, her face contorting in pain. ‘Come along, you can tell me. What did he say to you?’

‘Darla!’ Dru yelled, looking at Angelus pleadingly. ‘Please, Daddy.’

Angelus sipped his drink, watching with a blank face.

‘Just tell me, Dru,’ Darla said with soft menace.

‘Bottles,’ Dru yelled. ‘Gin in one of the bottles. Poured in.’ Darla released her and she withdrew into a ball, nursing her hand.

‘There,’ Darla said. ‘There is your proof, Angelus.’

Angelus remained impassive. ‘Who poured the gin in, Dru?’

His childe whimpered and turned away slightly.

‘Tell me, Dru.’

‘It was just poured,’ she said sullenly. ‘Drip, drop. Man goes flop.’

‘Did William know?’

‘No,’ Dru said very sulkily.

‘What?’ Darla looked furious. ‘What do you mean? Of course he knew. He did it!’

‘Who put the gin in, Dru?’ Angelus asked flatly.

‘That silly one. The mincing miss. Stole it from your study.’

‘Where were you?’

‘Upstairs. Looking down. Saw everything.’

‘Oh dear God, the man’s own daughter.’ Darla threw herself out of her chair and started to pace the room. ‘That blithering little moppet did it. And now we…’ She stopped. ‘And that idiot boy didn’t even notice.’

Angelus downed his drink. ‘So are you going to start looking for some other reason to have him punished, Darla, or have you had enough for the evening?’

She glared at him and jabbed a furious finger at his chest. ‘Remember your place, boy.’

‘I always do. Now, if you’ve finished torturing my fledglings, I’m going out for the night, and I’m taking Will and Dru with me.’

Darla’s eyes gleamed gold. ‘No you are not.’

He ignored her and headed for the door.

‘You are a fool, Angelus,’ she called after him. ‘And if you think that boy cares for you, you are an even bigger fool.’

He stopped. ‘He cares for me.’

‘He thinks you are a sadistic, oafish, Irish brute who will send him mad if he doesn’t manage to get round you.’

Dru gasped. ‘My William isn’t like that. He’s a brave knight who loves us all and saves me from the beast.’

‘Oh yes. And exactly which beast does he save you from, Drusilla? He thinks you are just a little lunatic who he has to molly-coddle and keep entertained because we tell him to. How often do you think he would spend the night with you if he were allowed to choose?’

Dru bit her lip.

‘He’s bewitched you, both of you! Look at you: the black sorceress, and the great big master vampire; running around like kittens after a nine-month-old fledgling with pretty blue eyes. And what does he care for you in return? Nothing! He despises the pair of you for the bloodthirsty demons he thinks you are.’ She glared at them both. ‘All he cares for is preserving his own skin and amusing himself at your expense. What do you think all that business in London was about? He’s been trying to get us all killed ever since he was made.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Oh, I’m ridiculous, am I, Angelus? Tell me, when has he ever shown any interest in the achievements of this family? He despises you and he despises what you have made him into.’

‘No!’

‘Prove it, then,’ she said. ‘When has he made a kill of his own choosing? When has he suggested one? When has he asked to be allowed to torture one? This is the vampire who couldn’t even bite properly for weeks. Who never once asked to kill his own family.’

‘There was that girl: Cecily. And her husband.’

‘A woman who had rejected him. Oh he can be spiteful if someone hurts him enough. But enjoy killing the innocent? I don’t think so, Angelus.’

‘You don’t know him, Darla, you haven’t spent as much time with him as we have. And as regards hunting, well, he’s got some plan. Something big, he—’

‘What exactly?’

‘Well, he didn’t say, he… something to kill some miners, I think.’

‘Oh yes, the famous miners. These would be the ones he is always so keen to go drinking with, would it? And you are sure his plan is a wonderful mysterious scheme to kill them, are you, Angelus? Sure it isn’t just an excuse to stop you from killing them?’ She twirled round. ‘Tell me, Drusilla, how does your precious William choose to spend his time? When he’s off on his own, what does he actually do?’

Dru put her hands over her ears.

‘And you, Angelus? Do you know where he goes?’

Her childe was white faced, fists clenched.

‘Let me tell the pair of you. He goes into town and he meets up with humans. Not to hunt them, not to torment them, but to spend time with them. He calls them his friends. Yes friends! Humans. Food. That’s what your sweet little boy does at night, Angelus, he makes friends. You two, you didn’t pick him and make him a vampire with the confidence to hunt people and exact his revenge, you gave the little bastard the confidence to actually talk to them for the first time in his miserable existence. And he’s discovered he likes them!’

‘He kills people.’

‘People he doesn’t know. The strangers you find for him. But you ask him to kill one of his pet friends and you’ll soon see what sort of a vampire William the Bloody is.’

William was sitting on the tiny window-seat in his room. There was just space for him if he drew his knees up, and then he could stare out at the scrap of moorland behind the house. Sometimes he could hear the mournful calls of the sheep, though they did not bleat much at that time of year. In the spring there will be lambs, he thought. And I will be able to lie amidst the heather on warm nights, and listen to Dru telling me about the stars.

He blew a plume of smoke out against the window glass, and watched the blue tendrils curl and spread out, leaving a circle where the heat had melted the frosting of ice that coated the pane. He was careful not to blow again without first taking another drag of his cigarette. His dead breath would make no mark.

There was a squeak as the door was pushed open.

He quickly stubbed the cigarette out and looked up. ‘What happened?’

Angelus stepped into the room. Darla was standing behind him; she was smiling.

Angelus snapped his fingers at William, who stood up and came over with considerably more bravado than he felt. ‘Yeh?’

‘Down on your knee, fledgling.’

William looked bemused. ‘What?’

‘Kneel!’ Angelus shoved him down. ‘Now repeat after me: I, William, in my folly hath forgotten my place and defiled the noble bloodline of Aurelius. I offer penance.’ His hand was still on William’s shoulder, holding him down, the nails digging in bruisingly.

‘I, William…’ he muttered the words in a resentful mumble.

Darla was watching with folded arms.

‘Face down on the floor, boy.’

William risked a quick glance up. Angelus was taking the strap out of his pocket. William looked at Darla, but there was certainly no help to be had there, no help to be had anywhere. ‘But you said—’

Angelus kicked his knee out from under him and punched him in the back, sending him sprawling flat on his face. ‘I said, on the floor, boy.’ He stood over him. ‘You are a vampire. From now on you will remember that and behave like one. You do not associate with humans, they are your food not your friends. You will find your pleasures only as you should: in the hunt, the kill, and the heart of the family in the noble bloodline to which you so worthlessly belong.’

‘What do you mean? I’ve done everything you asked. Everything!’

‘You have associated with humans.’

‘I haven’t. Well, all right, sometimes, but—’

Angelus stamped his boot onto William’s shoulders, holding him down. ‘I am not interested in hearing your excuses, William. You have disgraced your bloodline. You will accept your penance and never do it again. You are a vampire.’

‘That doesn’t mean I—’

He was squashed further down.

‘You never try to make a kill on your own.’

‘I do. You never knew, that’s all.’

‘Don’t lie to me. You have never shown any interest in my craft.’

‘But I try all the time. I’ve always tried.’

‘You think you can pull the wool over my eyes? Well it stops now, boy.’

‘You don’t understand,’ William sobbed.

‘You disgust me.’

‘No.’

‘You are a vampire. Learn not to forget that. Otherwise we will put you out of your misery like the runt of the litter you are.’

‘You can’t kill me! A sire can’t kill or maim his childe. You told me that, it’s the vampire lore.’

‘A sire can’t. But the clan collectively can. And if you do not please us, then we unhesitatingly will.’ He put his heel on William’s neck. ‘Whose are you?’

‘I trusted you!’ William yelled.

Angelus kicked him. ‘Whose are you?’

‘Yours Sire.’

‘Mine,’ Angelus said. And he raised his arm.

William lay miserably on his bed staring at nothing.

A beating from Angelus was never a trivial matter, but the latest had had far more intention behind it than the rather half-hearted punishments that had been handed out over the past few weeks. And for the first time in a very long while there had been no comfort afterwards. None of the patient explanations of what he had done wrong and how he could try better. No urgent lovemaking from his aroused sire, which more than compensated for everything that had gone before. Not even a furtive visit from Dru in the quiet of the day, to lick his wounds for him and sing nonsense to soothe away the pain. He had been abandoned; and all through the long day and the longer night they had barely spoken to him.

William knew that it was all something to do with Darla. She had come and stood over Angelus, whilst he was beating William, with folded arms and a pert expression; and when Angelus was finally finished she had nodded as if he had just passed some sort of test.

Then she had taken William’s squirrels.

He was furious about that. It was not as if he had many possessions, but she had blatantly picked up the case and carried it out. And it was too much of a coincidence for him not to believe that Angelus had not suggested it to her. He hadn’t dared complain though, because it would probably spur her to stick them straight on the fire. He had a horrible suspicion he wasn’t going to get them back whatever he did.

They had come upstairs together, he had been beaten, and his squirrels had been taken away.

It was so unfair.

He had accepted that Angelus owned him. He hated it, but it was a fact; and at least he could admire his sire. But as Darla had taken his beautiful squirrels she had said, ‘He is not entitled to belongings of his own, and certainly nothing so pointlessly human as these. He needs to learn that he is our property.’ And he was damned if he was going to consider himself as belonging to her as well.

William viciously punched the pillow in an attempt to get more comfortable, and then returned to his brooding.

He was homesick.

He hadn’t been homesick for months, but now it was somehow ten times worse because he no longer had a home. True he had accepted after the first night that he could never go back to it, but it had somehow made it more bearable that it was still out there, that they had been carrying on the old life even if it was without him. And by the time they had come north he had so drifted into his new life that it hadn’t mattered as much. But Angelus despised him; and Darla had taken his squirrels; and they actually might stake him if he didn’t do better; and it was no good but he was desperately, overwhelmingly homesick.

At home he had been loved. Accepted for what he was, not continuously set some unattainable target of perfection. All he wanted was to be understood for himself. It was all he had ever wanted. But Angelus could only see the weak human he had once been. So of course he never suggested any prey, when he knew that he would be scorned and derided for every mistake he made. If he could have just got Angelus to himself he might have been willing to admit it, and ask for help, but with Darla in the room he wasn’t going to demean himself. Now, as the miserable lonely hours ticked away, he grew determined that somehow he was going to prove himself to all of them. He would kill half the peers in parliament during the state opening if that was what it took. Do anything if they would just accept him.

He swore venomously when there was a loud rapping at the front door.

For a few moments he was tempted to ignore it, but Angelus or Darla just might still be awake; so he forced himself up, dressed hurriedly, and slunk downstairs, trying not to yawn. He unbolted the door and cautiously peered out, although he knew from experience that the wide classical style porch would protect him from any sun.

There was a gasp and a human threw herself against him. ‘It is you, Billy. I can’t believe it! It’s true!’

He was being smothered in kisses, and someone else was pumping his hand vigorously. ‘So good to see you, old man. Couldn’t believe it when the letter came. Thought it was some sort of practical joke, but Alice here swore it was your handwriting, so we had to come up and see for ourselves.’

‘But…’ Then William realised what must have happened: he had very carefully not used headed paper but the force of habit was too ingrained; and, whilst thinking about what he was going to say, he must have scribbled the address down automatically. It was filthy luck that Alice was one of the few people who could actually read his handwriting. ‘G-George,’ he stuttered, recognising Alice’s fiancé, the curate, at last.

‘That’s right, old man. And isn’t this the most extraordinary thing! What on earth happened?’

There was a very long silence.

William stared past them, to the winter garden bathed in the morning sun. It slanted sidelong through the trees, turning blue where smoke drifted up from the lodge house, which was just out of sight past the bend in the drive. The frost was thick as icing on the lawn, and made strange sculptures of the dead flower-stalks in the herbaceous borders, which had never been cut down properly that year. He had never really looked at the garden before in daylight, and it was surprisingly beautiful. It was Christmas day.

Sun. A vampire couldn’t go out in the sun.

A fledgling vampire wasn’t allowed to feed on what he wanted, or stay out past his curfew, or make too much noise, or talk to whom he pleased. He had to stand when Darla or Angelus came into a room, and call them Sire and Madam. He had to be obedient and take his punishments; and apologise as if he meant it, when he never actually felt sorry about anything. He belonged to them – and they had taken his squirrels away.

He wasn’t allowed out in the sun and he wasn’t allowed to kill without permission. And both decrees seemed as arbitrarily imposed from on high as each other.

‘Come in,’ he said, and stood aside to let them through.

He quickly took them into the morning-room, before they could talk and make a noise. It was a light, airy room, on the east face of the house, positioned so the morning sun should be shining in to make it a warm and pleasant place. George kept looking at the heavy curtains, but he was too polite to go and open them in someone else’s home. William lit a lamp. Alice had just sat down very abruptly, so the two men did so too.

‘Are… are you well?’ George asked.

‘Yes. And you?’ The old pattern of speech seemed to slip smoothly back onto his tongue.

‘Oh yes. Alice is living with her… that is your… Uncle Robert, at the moment. But we hope to have a quiet wedding in the spring. I have been promised a living near Cheltenham.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’

Alice was crying, silently, without making a fuss, she was staring at her brother and the tears were streaming down her cheeks.

George swallowed nervously. ‘Look, old man, I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but the fact is I may have some rather rotten news for you. Very rotten indeed. The worse sort in fact.’

‘If it is about my family, then I already know.’

‘Oh, er… well, deepest sympathy, of course.’

‘Thank you.’

‘We, erm, that is, I hope you won’t disapprove, but I did engage a man to look into it. Ex-detective sergeant from the Metropolitan Police. Good sound chap. The bishop recommended him.’

‘I don’t mind. Did he find anything out?’

‘Not as yet,’ George said cautiously. He couldn’t bear it any longer and fumbled for a pocket-handkerchief, which he quickly passed to Alice. ‘Come on, old girl. It’s all right. Billy is fine. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?’

She put her hand up to her face, and laughed. A very small sound, that was closer to a sob than anything. George studied her in perplexed alarm, and looked at William to see if he had any suggestions. William was looking away. He seemed to be playing with a narrow beam of sunlight that was coming in through a crack in the curtains. Almost as if he were trying to catch it between his hands, without touching.

‘Of course we don’t believe this nonsense that your father lost the balance of his mind and attacked them all, then shot himself. But it will take some time to get the inquest verdict overturned, apparently.’

‘Yes.’

It was Darla who had produced the gun, William remembered, but Dru had insisted on pulling the trigger over the already cold corpse. Angelus had spent a long time showing both the fledglings how to arrange the body, so it would look like suicide.

‘My man thinks he may be able to make something of the fact that they killed the dog.’

‘Ah.’

Rusty had known instantly that there was something wrong about William. The barking had been annoying Angelus, so he’d kicked it onto the fire and then had to kill it with a poker in the end. William had never known that a dog could scream, before that night.

‘Robert has been most helpful.’

‘Very kind of him.’

‘Indeed.’

‘There must have been… papers and things.’

‘Robert dealt with all that, old man. You will have to speak to him the first chance you get. There’s your mother’s jewellery, of course, but otherwise the rest will have to be re-divided now.’ George frowned, as a young man will if he is soon to take on the burden of a young wife and a parish, and has just realised he will have a lower income to start out with than he had been relying on.

‘Never mind for now.’

‘No.’

Vulgar stuff, money. Shouldn’t really be discussed between gentlemen. Even if both of them had never had quite enough to be as gentlemanly as they wished.

‘How, Billy?’ Alice suddenly asked. ‘How are you alive?’

William got up and went and fiddled with the lamp, which wasn’t burning properly.

‘Nothing complicated. I woke up in the vault, broke my way out… Hard to say exactly what happened. I don’t have a very clear memory of it.’

The street was dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t see her eyes. After that his mind became fogged. Was that when he was dying?

George was staring at his feet; the constraints of good manners fighting with the desire to ask why William had not contacted them before.

‘Pa said he thought he saw you once. In the East-end.’

‘Yes.’

Angelus had whistled, and he had simply known that he had to go. Nothing complicated.

‘And Edith always maintained that you called to her in her room, the night after the funeral.’

Edith’s room was in the front; the only bedroom window in the house he could get near without climbing over the back wall. That had been before he knew how strong he was.

‘She said she was too frightened to speak back, so she threw down her key, expecting you would let yourself in, but you never came. Only in the morning it was tucked in behind the boot-scraper.’

He hadn’t wanted to leave it in full view on the mat, in case Edith got in trouble or a tradesman picked it up first. From his hiding place he had seen her find it the next morning. But by then he had discovered that the sun would burn him, and nobody came close enough to hear when he called.

‘We thought she was just making up stories because she missed you so much.’

Edith had always been a bit of a tomboy, the closest he’d had to a little brother. She worshipped him, he’d always known that, but he had found it rather embarrassing. She would have been fifteen if she had lived another week.

‘You were away on the night,’ he said flatly.

‘The night it all happened? Yes, I was staying with Margaret Davis.’

Alice’s best friend, just as her brother, Fred, had been William’s. Margaret and Alice had both gone to school with Cecily Adams.

‘We used to comfort each other, we both thought we had lost a brother.’

He had held Fred Davis down while Dru used the knife. She had cut his eyes out first: it was probable he had never even recognised William.

George wrapped his arms around himself as if he was feeling the cold. William wished he could go and open the curtains and let the sunlight stream into the room. Alice always looked best in sunlight, it brought out the roses in her cheeks.

He was staring at his sister, drinking in the sight of her. He had never seen her when he was a vampire, never without the screen of his glasses between him and her. She was beautiful, dark haired like their mother, tall for a woman, though not too tall, graceful. And he could smell her too. That soft lavender scent she always had, but magnified twenty, a hundred times, for him now; so it shrieked home at him with every deep breath he took to savour it. And he could see perfectly the silvery tears glistening on her cheeks, the warm pink tinge to her skin where the blood rushed through in her agitation. He could see the heaving of her chest, though she was fighting to hide her emotions. Hear the panting of it. Hear the pounding of her very heart. The blood throbbing through her veins.

When William moved it was with more grace and speed than he had ever been able to show when he was alive. He knelt in front of Alice. He took her hand. ‘I don’t think they can have suffered much, any of them. It was… it sounds as if it was quick.’ That was what humans told each other. He remembered that was what humans said. And Angelus had taught him how to seem reassuring, how to set someone at their ease, how to make them trust him. Like him.

‘No, Billy. They did suffer. We all suffered. For months. Because we thought you were dead. I am only grateful that none of the others lived to see this day.’

The magician cannot cast his spell in his own village. Was that why a proper vampire was always made to kill his own family?

‘Do you not believe that, if I could, I would have come home to you?’

‘So why? Why come to the house and then not come in? Why not speak to Pa when you saw him in the street? Why not at least write, before now?’

Why?

There must have been a moment when I had a choice, he thought. Some moment when I could have done things differently. Something I should have said, should have done. Only I can’t remember when it was any more. Not when I didn’t run away in London. Not when I didn’t speak to Pa. Not when I went back to them on the second night. Not when I first rose. Not in the alleyway when I was dying. No choice then. He never once gave me any choice.

In the street? Was that it? If I hadn’t bumped into him. If I hadn’t lost my temper and sworn at him. Might they have never noticed me? Might they have let me go on by, to be miserable about Cecily, and live with a broken heart for a few weeks, recover, find some other pretty girl, and start the whole thing over again? That is what humans do: they carry on. Carry on with life.

Was that what I did wrong? To tell him to watch where he was going. Is that what I’m being punished for?

‘Alice, do you believe in a loving God?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

William stood up and walked away a pace or two. ‘Well I don’t. Not any more. Something happened to me, that night I was attacked. And afterwards, while I was trying to get out of the vault. And I decided I wasn’t going to be pushed around anymore. I wasn’t going to be bullied by my so called friends, or care about silly stuck up snobs who looked down on me for not having enough money or knowing the fashionable way to wear my watch chain. I wasn’t going to be told that I couldn’t drink, or smoke in the parlour, or go out without a hat and gloves. And I decided that could go for God and all his silly little rules as well.’ Alice and George gasped at this blasphemy. ‘God never did anything for me, so I finally realised I was damned if I was going to do anything for him anymore.’ He grinned impishly. ‘I was damned. Do you think that was the moment I lost my soul?’

Alice was looking at George in horror, as if she expected him to do something, but didn’t know what.

‘And I was going to do whatever I felt like, be what I wanted, and other people could be hanged.’ He stopped. ‘Only there’s a price. Quite a high one as it turns out.’ He glanced longingly at the curtains. ‘I wish I could come home with you. Walk out now into the sunlight, and never see this place again.’ There was a muffled thump from upstairs, from towards the front of the house, the room where Angelus and Darla slept. William froze, looking upward, waiting, listening. George and Alice froze too, staring, following his gaze to the ceiling as if they too sensed that whatever was up there was a threat before which they must all keep silent.

He started to feel in his pockets, first one then the next. ‘I can’t.’ He said very quietly. His fingers closed over what he was looking for. ‘You see, the thing is: you think you’ve given up, but actually you never do. It’s like breathing I suppose. Your mind says it should stop, but your body just keeps on anyway because that is what it always has done.’

At last William looked back down and smiled. ‘He told me to follow my instincts, on my very first night he told me that. And I always loved my family. I used to have a father who wasn’t quite as all-powerful or as trustworthy as either of us would have liked. A mother who spent far too much time trying to be in control and the centre of attention. And a sister. A dark haired sister who meant so much to me I can’t express it, even though she is about as unreliable as they come.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s family for you. Not quite as perfect as they should be. But when it comes down to it, right down at the bottom of it all: they are in the way that matters most. I loved them then, and however hard I try, I still do. The only difference now is my family is dead.’ He looked straight into Alice’s grey blue eyes, the same colour as his own. ‘Do you want to join them?’

She gasped, and George rushed to her side, standing between her and William protectively.

‘Then I suggest the pair of you scarper as quickly as possible, and be long gone from this town by sundown,’ William said. ‘Because it’s really nothing complicated: I love them; only me and my family happen to be evil now.’ Then he pulled out his cigarettes, turned his back on his sister, and lit one with a surprisingly steady hand.

It was only after the door had shut behind the departing couple that he started to shake really badly.

William decided to get drunk. Not medicinal purposes only, not steadying the nerves, not slightly merry, not rather wobbly. But as far from the brutal realities of the world as the demon drink could take his vampire constitution in the short time available.

He kicked down the door to Angelus’s study, intending to steal everything in the decanters, only to find them drained dry by the attentions of Miss Hatherthwaite and his sire’s black mood. So he headed into the wine cellar, and located what little was left after the ravages of the bonfire party. And what the alcohol couldn’t do he made up for with self induced, unbridled, desperate abandonment. ‘I am a proper vampire,’ he yelled at the sun. ‘I am!’ He sank to his knees. ‘I’m evil. Big and bad and nasty and evil.’

He pulled himself up with a sniff. ‘Show them. Show them what I can do. Show him.’

He broke into Darla’s sitting-room too, and rescued his squirrels; smashed the glass case open and threw them out of the window into the sunlight. ‘Run free little creatures. Run away. Only watch out for the wicked, dangerous Spike. Grrrr.’

He roamed about in the back kitchen quarters for a while, destroying things at random, until he found a nice looking bread-knife. Then he retired to the billiard-room and cut the newly replaced cloth on the table into ribbons. Afterwards he lay in the middle of the drawing-room, singing hymns out of tune in a mocking tone. ‘Come on, God, come and strike me down! Haven’t you noticed I’m evil now?’ Nothing much happened. ‘Oh that’s right. Don’t have a soul. I’m not on your list of things to do any more. Yippee, I’m free.’

There was another knock at the door.

‘Bloody hell! Knock, knock. Who’s there? Never at quiet.’ He went and flung it open with a jerk. ‘Yeh?’

‘Where’s Mr Smith?’ Smith was the improbable name Angelus had chosen to use.

‘Oh, it’s you.’ It was the lodge-keeper, looking puffed up and self-important.

‘I need to speak to the master. I just found two people wandering around the grounds. I took their names and addresses, but then I had to let them go. I want to know what he wants me to do about it.’

‘On Christmas day? Now that,’ William said with a beam, ‘is devotion to duty. Service like that: it’s hard to find. Oughta be rewarded, service like that. Oughta.’ He held the door open wide. ‘Come on in. Wipe yer foot, feets… wipe yer foots. All of ’em. It’s Christmas. I fancy having someone in for a drink.’

‘No, no. I simply wish to speak to the master…’ The man trailed to a halt, and stared in shock at William’s hooked fangs and snarling brow-ridges. An arm appeared with demonic speed and grabbed his throat, dragging him inside. ‘I jus’ invited you in,’ William said. ‘It’s rude not to come.’

As the nearby church bells rang out brightly for the morning service, William gathered up every whip, cane and strap Angelus owned, and piled them in a heap in the middle of the hall, elegantly displayed over and around the body of the lodge-keeper. Then, with the help of a number of books of magic and vampire lore, he set fire to them.

It was the smoke that finally woke the others.

It also sobered William up enough to regain his sense of self-preservation.

You can’t fight a house fire if the only supply of water is on the far side of a brightly sunlit yard that you can’t cross. But you can grab a thick blanket each, and make a dash for the woods.

You can’t seek refuge in someone’s house if you need an invitation to come in and everyone is in either the church or the chapel. But on Christmas morning a coalmine is deserted.

Fortunately, Angelus was not the sort not to have given some thought to such an emergency; and he knew where the small side entrance was, up on the moor, and that a few hard blows would break the lock to let them in.

Whilst the others got properly dressed and started to complain, William withdrew down the tunnel. He found a quiet spot, sat down, took out the single bottle he had managed to rescue, and carried on drinking. After a while the sound of arguing drifted to his ears. There were three very angry vampires behind him, all much stronger and more experienced than he was. When you have dug yourself into a bad enough hole, sometimes the quickest way out is down. He got up and plunged on, deeper into the mine.

This was Hatherthwaite’s mine, Bell Shaft it was called, he knew; and half the lads he drank and got into riotous scuffles with on a Saturday night worked down there. They had described it to him sometimes, when he had stood them a few drinks, and they grew poetic in their inhibition. The dark, the damp, the all pervading smell of rich black coal and the fine layer of soot, the surprising clammy warmth of underground; secure and deep as a womb. His demon eyes could see well in the dark, his sensitive nostrils instinctively responding to the slight air currents to enable him to track his direction as he moved.

‘William!’ the customary peremptory shout. His master’s voice. And the others appeared, trudging along the tunnel.

‘We leave by the first train south,’ Darla was saying. ‘It was always a mistake to come north. We can stay in a decent hotel until we find a way to re-establish ourselves. I will write to my sire for help, if necessary.’

Angelus was scowling. ‘There you are. Are you all right?’

‘What, Daddy,’ William said sweetly, his voice loaded with sarcasm, ‘don’t tell me you still care after all!’

‘Don’t call me that, one of you is quite enough. Now, are you hurt, boy?’

‘Hurt? Would this be from the pounding you gave me the other night, or from when I set the house on fire?’

There was a stunned silence.

Darla recovered first. ‘Are you mad?’

‘No. I’m the sane one, remember.’

Angelus was shaking his head slowly in disbelief. ‘What do I have to do? What do I have to do to you?’

‘Fed up with being scared,’ William said bluntly. ‘Not goin’ to be scared of you any more, Angelus.’

‘What do I have to do!’ Angelus roared. ‘Why can’t you trust me?’

‘Cos it’s more fun doing it my way.’

‘Your way! And what is your way?’

‘I’m goin’ to blow up the mine,’ he said proudly. ‘Then we can have all the miners we can manage. To feed on for Christmas. Cos you see: I’m evil.’

‘Really? Was that the famous plan!’ Darla laughed. ‘You stupid boy, do you really think you could get away with that?’

‘Yeh. An’ why not? It would work.’

‘Because, you little idiot,’ she said, ‘how would you get the bodies out before the humans began their rescue? How would you ensure you weren’t caught in the blast yourself? All you would get would be a loud bang and a lot of dead humans going to waste.’

Dru’s eyes sparkled, as if she rather liked the notion of a loud bang and a lot of corpses.

‘Stuff you, Darla. Just cos you’re too scared to try anything ambitious. It would bloody work.’

‘What on earth do you think you are trying to achieve, William? A name for yourself? Do you want to be renowned for pointlessly slaughtering more humans than any vampire on the face of the planet? Well, if it’s a reputation you are after, you have a long way to go before you catch up with the Scourge of Europe, boy.’ She indicated her childe with a proud gesture.

Angelus was glowering, nostrils flared, moving into the cold calm that William knew full well presaged his worst rage.

‘You think I wanna emulate that tosser you’ve got another thing coming.’

‘I told you to trust me,’ Angelus said icily.

‘Yeh, well maybe I do, an’ maybe I don’t wanna. An’ you can beat me an’ starve me an’ chain me up, but you can’t make me trust you that way. You’re back and forth like a ruddy bus: I never know whether you’re goin’ to hit me or hug me. I reckon you’ve been dead for so long you’ve forgotten, but trust has to be earned.’

‘Bah!’ Angelus made a dismissive gesture. ‘You are not going to get a rise out of me, you stupid boy. I am not interested in your posturing.’

Darla sputtered. ‘Angelus!’

‘Make your mind up, woman: do you want me to deal with him, or ignore him? I can’t do both.’

‘Well really!’

William chewed his lip. ‘But I burnt the house down.’

‘Yes, yes, William. So you said,’ Angelus responded with heavy sarcasm. ‘I’ve no doubt you also committed the latest Fenian bomb outrage, and murdered sweet Fanny Adams as well.

‘I took my squirrels back.’

‘I imagine you did.’

‘I tore up all your books.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘I…’

‘You, boy, clearly need something to focus your energies on so you will damn well grow up.’ He spun away from him.

William glared daggers at his back. ‘Know what else I did, old man, I did something you’ve forgotten being a vampire is about. I had fun.’

Enough was enough and in a heartbeat Angelus had him by the throat. ‘Perhaps it’s my advancing years that make me so forgetful, William. Remind me: why don’t we kill you?’

The young vampire squirmed, trying to choke out a reply. ‘…ike…’

‘What’s that?’ Angelus let him go with a jerk.

‘It’s Spike now.’ William gave him a pointed look and slipped away. ‘You’d do well to remember it, mate.’

‘I’m not your mate.’ Angelus looked slightly confused, as if he hadn’t ever heard the expression. ‘And when did you start talking like that?’

William grabbed his bottle back off the shelf.

Darla was still fuming. ‘We barely got out of London alive, because of you. Everywhere we go it’s the same story. And now—’

‘You’ve got me and my women hiding in the luxury of a mine shaft’ Angelus growled with contempt, and prowled away down the tunnel, still torn between trying to reason with William’s bluster or just ignore it. ‘All because William the Bloody likes the attention. This is not a reputation we need.’

William gulped a swig. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, did I sully our good name? We’re vampires.’

‘All the more reason to use a certain amount of finesse.’

‘Bollocks! That stuff’s for the frilly cuffs and collars crowd. I’ll take a good brawl any day.’ His eyes widened at his own audacity.

Angelus’s eyes narrowed and his head lowered. ‘And every time you do, we become the hunted.’ He began to stalk back menacingly.

William clenched his fists as Angelus towered over him. ‘Yeh, you know what I prefer to being hunted? Getting caught.’

‘That’s brilliant strategy. Really, pure cunning.’ Angelus smiled condescendingly and brought his hands up to straighten his boy’s lapels.

‘Sod off.’ William thrust him off with a laugh. ‘Come on. When was the last time you unleashed it? All out fightin’ a mob, back against the wall, nothing but fists and fangs? Don’t you ever get tired of fights you know you’re going to win?’ There was a slight note of pleading in his voice.

‘No,’ Angelus said coldly. ‘A real kill, a good kill: it takes pure artistry. Without that, we’re just animals.’

‘Poofter.’

Angelus’s temper finally snapped. He shoved William backwards, and then couldn’t believe it when, for the first time ever, William rose to the challenge and raised his fists and shoved him back. Both their astonishment lasted bare seconds before Angelus grabbed a pick-axe haft, snapped it in two: and he had the youngster pinned, bent back over a coal truck with the stake against his chest. He glared down at his boy, who was still, incredibly, grinning back up at him, excitement and the rush of danger shining off him. Angelus knew he wasn’t going to kill him. Darla and Dru knew it. And by the look of him, William finally knew it as well. Family, it seemed, was family.

‘Now you’re getting it!’ William laughed again.

Angelus dropped the stake and took a step away ‘You can’t keep this up forever,’ he said with contemptuous ferocity. ‘If I can’t teach you, maybe someday an angry crowd will. That,’ he smirked, ‘or the Slayer.’

The young vampire sat up. ‘What’s a Slayer?’

Angelus smiled. ‘Come here, Master Spike. And I shall tell you a bedtime tale to scare naughty fledglings with…’