The freezing wind blew a sudden gust that circled over the building: coiling around and then hurling itself against the roof, so that acrid coal smoke from the chimney came back in a grimy rush. Will squeezed his eyes shut and coughed, and thought for the third time about moving. But the wind had lifted the smoke off again so he just squashed himself closer against the brick of the chimney-stack, and shivered. After a second he cast a dutiful glance down into the street.
Three stories below him another creature was huddled, trying to keep out of the wind. At street level the gusts whirled scrap paper and shreds of straw from the nearest stable into malicious little tornadoes; still, it must be slightly warmer down there, Will reasoned. For all that it wasn’t one of the best spots: not by any means. Not somewhere where a little heat leaked out from a baker’s oven or the shelter was actually good enough to keep off the worst of the wind and the rain – all of those were long since claimed by the established street-dwellers. And they would defend them as viciously as Angelus defended his territory. But still, he pondered, she must feel warmer than he did. Must do or she would move. After all, she wasn’t obliged to stay where she was.
His stomach gave an unwelcome stir and he pulled his head back into what scant shelter the angle of the chimney was providing him, and wondered which of them was hungrier. She had looked miserable enough the previous night, when Angelus had first pointed her out to Will as the vampires headed home for the day. Drifting aimlessly along in the last lingering minutes of the dark, she had been, with clearly no idea of where to go or what to do; and casting longing glances at the trays of pastries being carried past on a porter’s head, or stopping to sniff the air outside a squalid cook-shop that was just starting business for the day. Until Will had wondered what human bitterness or human rule broken had driven her to such a case. But she hadn’t been begging, as Angelus had pointed out to him; nor was she desperate enough to give even the slightest tilt of her rather pretty head, to try and gain a coin by the oldest method known to woman. Not then. And she had been dressed in the faded print dress and rough shawl of a country-girl, with the mud of her home still caked on her boots from where she must have walked into town overnight. Give her one long day walking the streets in those boots, Angelus had said, and when someone offered her a bed – she would accept it.
Which was why Will was stuck up on a roof waiting to be the person who made that offer. Waiting until the streets were deserted enough that he could be sure no one would be around to see him make it, nor hear her scream if she should question where he was leading her to.
For the tenth time he ran through his plan, and he could see it all perfectly: He would stroll up to her, pretending to be heading for one of the houses further along the street, then frown as he saw her, changing it to a concerned smile. ‘Excuse me, Miss, is everything quite all right? Are you waiting for the Pembertons?’ Then there would be confusion when she thought he knew the people whose doorstep she was sitting on; acute embarrassment on her part; quickly standing up; apologies; and he stopping her. ‘No, no, I am sure there is no harm done. But pardon me for asking – is it possible you have nowhere to stay tonight?’ More shy explanations, as she twisted her hands nervously, and then he would make the tentative offer. ‘Would you care to spend the rest of the night at my home? I am sure my mother and sister will not mind; and then you can see about contacting your friends first thing tomorrow.’ A little hesitation possibly. ‘It is not far. And my mother will be sitting up, she always likes to have a nice chat with me while I have my supper, after I have been working late at the mission…’
After that it should be child’s-play to persuade her calmly into a cab and get her to the lair without anyone batting an eyelid. Getting a resistant human home alive was virtually impossible if you were by yourself, but he fancied he was getting rather good at the techniques of luring so that they did not resist. He thought he had planned it all perfectly, and was particularly proud of the casual mention of food waiting: that would be sure to swing her. Hunger was a great equaliser.
God he was hungry.
For all he knew she might have had a hearty enough meal last thing before she left her home. Whereas he… He hadn’t fed yesterday because there hadn’t been anything. And on Monday there had only been pigs’ blood, almost solidified despite being warmed up in the kettle, and it always tasted foul even if it was served in the best crystal glasses. Sunday, he had been in trouble with Angelus over that bloody fighting-axe, so he’d been kept short. The day before that… He groaned and shut his eyes; all things considered he felt she was probably the better off. Except of course that he was going to kill her later.
He shivered again and looked at the unchanged street, then fished out his watch and peered at the time: midnight. And Angelus had said one o’clock at the earliest; a fact which Will still had a sharp stinging sensation around his right ear to remind him of, lest he be otherwise tempted to forget and take her earlier.
He slid his back down the wall of the chimney, settling with his knees drawn up, forearms resting on them, nose buried in the thick fustian cloth of his sleeve.