Wild Demonic Fauna – Part III

It wasn’t getting light: by any definition it already was light; and as he climbed the back-stairs Will had the uneasy realisation that Angelus must have been home for hours. In which case Darla would already have treated him to a tirade – suitably embroidered – about Will’s numerous shortcomings. The only mystery was why Angelus hadn’t already summoned him for a dressing-down. The delay did not bode well. Will took a deep breath and cautiously poked his head round the drawing-room door.

The face that met his gaze was cold. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Only in the kitchen.’

‘You were told to come back up here.’

‘Was I?’

She turned her back on him.

‘Um, Madam… where’s Angelus?’

‘Hush, William,’ Drusilla said, and he turned to see her seated at a small table, laying out her tarot cards. ‘Come and sit with Mummy, bloody William.’ She patted the chair beside her.

‘Drusilla, how many times do you have to be told – you are not to use that word,’ Darla snapped.

Dru looked at Will and mouthed Why not? He shrugged and went over to her and kissed her on the nose. She giggled.

‘Stop that, the pair of you.’

Will put his arms around Dru. ‘Where’s Angelus?’ he demanded.

‘Be quiet.’

‘Dru, do you know?’

‘I said be quiet!’ Darla almost shrieked, and Dru and Will stared at her in shock. Then she seemed to get a hold on herself. ‘Be quiet, both of you. Sit down and don’t be troublesome for once, Will. It is not your place to question where your sire is.’

Will frowned, but he sat down, folding his arms on the table and resting his chin on his sleeve, watching Dru place her cards. She laid each one out with a languid gesture, then let her hand flutter over it briefly, alert with the tension of a kestrel hovering over the long grass, when it has seen some tiny stirring that may betray a mouse. But each time it was as if she had decided the signs had only been a ripple of the wind after all, and she would swoop away back to the pack for the next card.

When she set the final card out she paused, and peered at the whole display for a moment, a little moue of thought on her face, then she abruptly swept the cards into a heap and began to shuffle them again: all without saying a word.

‘Can I pick one?’ he asked softly, with a furtive glance at Darla to make sure she hadn’t heard him speak. But Darla seemed lost in thought, standing in the dusky light near the curtained window, toying with a small paper knife with an onyx blade, her head bowed. Dru smiled and fanned the pack out for him and he selected one at random and handed it to her without looking at it. ‘Where is Angelus?’ he whispered.

‘Will, if I have to tell you to be quiet again – I shall gag you,’ Darla said with pleasant menace.

This threat was sufficiently unusual that Will decided to be quiet. Dru was studying his card with a curious expression.

‘Well, girl?’ Darla suddenly rounded on her. ‘Have you seen anything?’

Dru gave Will another penetrating look and then abruptly returned the card to the middle of the deck. ‘No,’ she said primly. ‘No news today.’

The mantle clock suddenly chimed the hour, making Will start as the high metallic ting, ting sounded around the quiet room: nine o’clock.

Will gave Darla a pleading look, although he knew it was very unlikely to achieve anything.

‘Very well,’ Darla set the knife down with a snap. ‘This has gone on for long enough. Boy, stand up – you were with Angelus last night, tell me what happened.’

Will stood, feeling like a schoolboy having to say his lessons to a new teacher and rather wishing the usual one were there instead. He related the events of the night as best he could remember them, only leaving out the joke about Darla’s dressmaker. Darla listened in silence until he finished.

‘And he never told you what he intended to do next?’

‘No Madam. I suppose he didn’t think it my place to know,’ he said crossly. She stared him down until he dropped his eyes, and then she turned away. He made a face at her back. ‘Perhaps he’s just got caught somewhere by the sun,’ Will suggested. ‘Perhaps he went to his club or the fight and lost track of the time.’

‘Did I ask for your opinion, boy?’

‘No, but I thought you might want to hear it, seeing as you’re worried about him.’

‘I am not worried about him. Angelus is perfectly capable of looking after himself. It is your own hide you should be more concerned about, boy.’

Will considered the stiffly upright set of her back. She’s almost three hundred years old, he thought, and she’s terrified about something. Perhaps I should be too.

There was a discreet rap at the door and Darla and Will jumped again; only Dru seemed unconcerned, beginning to lay out her cards once more. ‘Yes?’ Darla called crossly.

The door was pushed open and Damon stepped through a single pace, then waited, glancing curiously from one to the other of them. ‘I beg your pardon, Mistress, but I wasn’t sure if you knew or not…’ He trailed off and shot a quick glance at Will, as if wanting to check that he too was listening.

‘Spit it out, minion.’

‘Are you aware, Mistress, that none of the others are in the house?’

Darla stared at him blankly. ‘Amelia and Ruben have not returned from the fight?’

‘Seemingly not, Mistress.’ He glanced at Will again.

‘And Murphy,’ Will said for him. ‘Murphy broke orders and went as well.’

‘You checked the dormitory?’ Darla said, her face narrowing in calculation.

‘Yes Mistress. It is empty. Nor are Harold or Lusius in their rooms.’ His eyes scanned the room again, and Will realised that he was looking for Angelus.

‘All of them?’ Darla repeated.

‘So it appears, Mistress.’

Darla looked from Will to Damon and back. ‘Well Harold and Lusius are with Angelus—’

‘No they aren’t.’ Everyone looked at Will; he squared his shoulders and went on. ‘They aren’t. He sent them away just before he sent me. He told them to check the park.’

‘Harold’s not with the Master?’ Damon said softly to himself, and Will looked at him sharply and wondered what Harold was to Damon that he should say it.

Darla seemed shocked into silence for a while. ‘Angelus is alone. And none of the others have returned… Angelus is alone.’ Her voice fell very quiet, and Will’s stomach somersaulted. Automatically he looked at Dru, expecting that she would scream or faint, or do something. But she still sat calmly, setting out her cards.

‘Drusilla—’ Darla began.

‘I don’t see anything, Darla,’ Dru said dreamily.

‘Never mind that. Come with me, I need your help.’ She reached out and grabbed Dru’s wrist, hauling her out of the chair with sudden purpose. Dru’s sleeve was yanked across the table, spilling the cards onto the floor, and her eyes widened in shock and she flailed at them with a horrified look; Will started towards her but Darla had already dragged Dru half way across the room. Dru writhed, but made no noise of protest as she was led out and marched to the staircase. ‘Stay here!’ Darla barked at Will and Damon as she left, and then she and Dru disappeared upstairs.

Will forced himself to unclench his fists, and then he pushed past Damon and started to carefully gather up the fallen cards. Damon watched him.

‘Do you feel anything?’ Damon said suddenly. ‘You would probably feel it if anything had really happened to your sire.’

Will picked up the last card and pushed the pack together, then he stood up and tapped it against the table to square it off, carefully knocking each edge in turn.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

‘No.’ He didn’t look up. ‘I never do though.’

‘Perhaps you’re still too young.’

Will ran his thumb along the smooth, velvety edge of the pack, where the cards were soft and a little worn from handling. ‘But I think I would know if he were dead. And Dru would, for sure.’

‘Yes.’ Damon sounded more thoughtful than relieved. ‘Yes of course Mistress Drusilla would. Nothing much can be the matter if she isn’t worried.’ He glanced out of the still open door and up the stairs where Darla and Drusilla had gone, as if seeking to reconfirm the fact.

Will almost said that Dru didn’t always see things, nor relay all those she did see, but he just quietly set the pack of cards down in the middle of the table, and kept the remark to himself. ‘Yes, Dru would be worried if there was any reason to be – she has the sight,’ he stated firmly instead. ‘And so would Darla. She always knows if anything is the matter with Angelus.’ Neither of them pointed out that Darla was indeed disturbed.

At that moment Darla reappeared, and Will felt a cold shiver run down his spine at what she was wearing. She had put on a dress of black bombazine, the skirt edged with a broad band of crape to indicate a widow in deep mourning; and she was drawing on a pair of black leather gloves. Dru came just behind her, carrying a cap, bonnet and umbrella. He tried to tell himself that it was all eminently practical, and was only to ensure that no sun could penetrate the material to reach her skin, but it still wasn’t a reassuring sight.

‘Minion,’ Darla said as she carefully set the widow’s cap with its long lace bands into position, ‘go and call the nearest street idler to the door. Tell him he may have sixpence if he fetches a cab within the next five minutes. It is to pull right up to the door.’

‘Yes Mistress.’ Damon inclined his head and slipped past her.

‘Give me my bonnet, Drusilla. Now,’ Darla looked with fierce eyes at Will and Dru, ‘I am going out. None of you are to set foot out of the front door for any reason, or answer it if anyone calls, and above all you are not to let anyone in. One of you should stay awake whilst the other two sleep, but you are to take it in turns. Do you hear me, Will,’ she raised her voice slightly, ‘you are to see to it that each of you gets the same amount of rest.’

‘Yes Madam.’

‘I am relying on you, William. Do not disobey me. Now take Drusilla’s hand – ’ Will at once felt Dru’s cold little hand slip into his own, ‘you will both be perfectly safe,’ Darla continued, ‘do exactly as I have told you and there will be nothing to worry about.’

Will looked down at the tiny golden-haired woman in front of him as she donned the stiff bonnet, and he was hit by a sudden urge to say something. To reassure her that she could rely on him: that he and Dru, and for that matter Damon, would be fine on their own, and that at least worrying about them was not something that need concern her. But he could not think how to say it, so he just squeezed Dru’s hand tightly and nodded. ‘Yes Madam.’

For a moment he thought she was going to touch him, maybe even smile, but she only fastened her bonnet to her head with a precise turn of the ribbons and lowered the thick lace veil ‘Good boy. Is the cab here, minion?’

‘Yes Mistress.’

And then in a few flurrying seconds of activity she had crossed the stretch of sunlit pavement and hurried into the cab, and she was gone.

The three of them stood in the drawing-room and waited for one of the others to say something first. Then Will became embarrassed by the fact he was still holding Dru’s hand, and he shook her off with a jerk and walked away to the far side of the room.

Dru returned to her tarot pack at once. She still seemed extraordinarily calm, and Will was finding it very unsettling. He and Damon kept looking at her, as if confident that any moment she would break down. And that would almost be welcome, because then he would have to comfort her, send Damon to fetch her favourite doll, duck the flying ornaments – anything. Just so long as he could be doing something. As it was he had to stand growing ever more uncomfortable with his own feelings, whilst Drusilla couldn’t seem to care less.

Will cleared his throat. ‘Did you bolt the door, Damon?’

‘Yes.’

Of course he had, whatever Damon was he wasn’t a fool. Will tried to work out what else he needed to think of. He knew that before everyone went to bed Angelus usually went round and checked that all the doors and windows were barred and bolted, the curtains properly drawn. Or if he were away then Darla did, or Harold as Head Minion. Will took a step towards the door, and then wondered if he should leave Dru alone with Damon, and then he told himself not to be so silly, he would only be a minute. And at least checking the house would be something to do.

Damon walked straight past him and left the room. ‘I’ll just check everything else is locked up,’ he called over his shoulder, and Will tried not to feel annoyed. He could have called him back of course, and Damon would probably have come – for all that Angelus was missing, his authority still hung over the depleted household like a threatening storm, and that authority stated that respect be shown to his childer. But Will told himself it would be petty not to let Damon do the rounds, so he just shrugged and went and sat down.

He nibbled at his thumbnail, and then stopped himself because it looked like nervousness. He wanted to start a conversation with Dru, but didn’t, because he couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t involve where Angelus was. The book he had tried to read yesterday was still lying on the side table, as it must have been since the previous night. He toyed with the cover. Last night, he thought, my biggest worry was when Angelus was going to come home. Now it might be a question of if he comes home, and I… He what? He wasn’t even sure if he felt anything. But he was convinced that whatever the emotion he was not feeling might be he didn’t like it.

He had to stop worrying and think properly. He couldn’t look for Angelus himself, but he could try to work out where he had gone. Angelus had left Will near the park, but he couldn’t have been intending to hunt there himself because he had sent Harold and Lusius to check it. And he couldn’t have been going far or he would have ordered Will to find him a cab before sending him away. So he must have been going somewhere nearby, on foot, only where? He wished he had realised all that earlier, it might have helped Darla, given her a head start on where to look for Angelus—

Damn!

He didn’t even know where Darla was looking. What if something now happened to her? What if Angelus came back and became worried about her in turn? He had been unbelievably stupid not to ask. And yet it was so automatic to all of them for him not to have done so. It was a fact of his life: fledglings didn’t question their elders’ actions. Fledglings obeyed orders and didn’t ask for explanations; fledglings were too young and stupid to ever be told what was going on; fledglings got ignored or shouted at, and then they were left behind holding their sister’s hand. He hurled the book across the room to crash against the far wall, and Dru looked around in surprise. He watched her guiltily: horribly aware that he could have just precipitated the mad fit that had been so miraculously absent until that moment.

She tilted her head and considered him. ‘Not yet, Spike. Soon now.’

‘Soon what?’ he asked carefully.

‘Soon.’ And she went back to her cards.

Will looked up and saw Damon leaning in the doorway, watching him from under heavy lidded, dark eyes. Will leapt to his feet, and then felt stupid for having done so. ‘Everything secure?’ he asked cheerfully, and, when Damon nodded, said, ‘Good man.’ Just like some bloody house prefect, he told himself with an internal sneer. Oh, wouldn’t Angelus be proud of him. ‘I’ll take first watch,’ he said decisively.

‘Suit yourself. I’m going to have another drink.’ Damon went over to the decanter and poured himself a generous measure of whiskey into one of the cut crystal glasses.

Will watched this and opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it again. Damon having a drink in the kitchen after Will had offered it to him was one thing; Damon helping himself to Angelus’s best whiskey in the family drawing-room was somehow rather different. And yet it seemed extraordinarily small-minded, not to say priggish, to object. Will himself stole Angelus’s drink, cigars, and anything else he could lay his hands on whenever he thought he could get away with it. The sensible thing would be simply to walk over and join Damon. Sit and talk and drink and smoke – until they were all too tired and drunk to care about where the other side of the room was, let alone Angelus.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels for a bit. ‘Dru, what was my card?’ he said at last.

‘The Devil,’ she answered flatly, without looking up.

‘Oh.’ He waited. Normally he liked this game. Dru would tell him his fortune in strange fanciful riddles, and then he would weave a story around it for her: full of boastful wishes about the great things he was going to do and the wonderful places he would take her to – one day. ‘What does it mean then, love?’ he said at last, when she still hadn’t said any more.

Dru set a triptych of cards at the top of the pattern she was creating and peered at them down the length of her nose. ‘Time for William the Bloody to live up to his name,’ she said, with the dark swirl in her voice that only came when she was seeing. She raised her fingers to her temples and rocked slightly. ‘A nice clean collar and tie for his best Eton-suit. And such pretty patterns on his palms.’ She stopped as abruptly as she had started and calmly returned to her cards.

Will looked down at his palms and flexed them; the thin crease lines showed shiny against his white skin. ‘Can you read palms too, Dru?’ he asked, puzzled. She didn’t answer.

There was a small noise from the other side of the room, and Will realised he had forgotten about Damon. The minion was sipping his drink and watching Dru. ‘Are her prognostications always that obscure?’ Damon asked.

Will shrugged, and eyed the drink again, still wondering if he ought to say something.

‘She must know more than she’s saying though. An Eton-suit – might that mean like a schoolboy, perhaps? Something you have to learn? And the patterns on your palms could be—’

‘What’s the odds? It doesn’t change anything.’

Damon ignored Will’s dismissive tone and walked over to Dru; he held out his palm. ‘Read mine.’

Dru glanced at it coldly and then away. ‘I do not wish to look at your grubby paw. Who are you?’

Will decided not to stifle his grin.

‘My name is Damon, and I have been living in the same household as you for the last six months,’ Damon snapped.

‘Oh, you must be a minion then. Why are you stealing my daddy’s whiskey?’

Damon considered his glass ‘Well, that is because he isn’t here to give his permission, you see. Do you know where he is, Mistress Drusilla? You should say, so we can send for him and tell him what I’ve done.’

Will narrowed his eyes. The idea was clever enough, but he bristled at the assumption that Dru could be fooled like a stupid child.

Dru was clearly having none of it either. ‘I shan’t talk to a rotten apple.’

‘Well nor should you kick one, or it might prove to be full of wasps,’ Damon said angrily.

Dru broke into a beam and clapped her hands. ‘Oh I like him, Will. He’s funny. Can we keep him after all?’

‘Er, yeh, we can keep him, Princess. So we shouldn’t tire him out. Wouldn’t you like to go to bed now?’

Will knew he was actually the one who wanted to go to sleep. He had been up since long before sunset the previous evening with scant sleep during the previous day one way or another; and it was really beginning to tell. But having said he would take the first watch he wasn’t going to appear to change his mind. He very much wanted the others to go though, so he could at least sit and think in peace.

‘Isn’t time for bed, silly. The tickler-broker boy will be here soon.’

‘What tickler-broker boy?’

The doorbell rang.

‘That one,’ Dru said.

Tickler-broker turned out to be Dru-ese for a telegram boy. He was standing on the step, whistling in the irritating manner of his kind and kicking at the boot-scraper to pass the time. With some care Will peered at him past the curtains of the front bow window. It was a cold, grey sort of day. A smartly dressed young couple rode past, heading for the park and their morning’s exercise. From the other direction came a small girl in a sailor suit, bowling a hoop. The coal merchant was just delivering to the house across the street, the whoosh of the coal rumbling down the chute into the cellar coming loud to Will’s ears. At least the youth was apparently alone and hence probably just an ordinary post-office employee, not some undercover Trojan horse for the ferals. This fact was a relief at any rate, although it did not solve the problem of what to do about him.

‘Right then,’ Will said firmly, hesitated, and then said it again. ‘Right then. Well, we’re not going to step outside and we’re not going to let him in, so I think we should answer it.’

‘You’re mad,’ Damon said immediately.

Will ignored him and went to the door. Since Dru hadn’t thrown a fit she presumably had nothing to say on the matter, but Damon followed him out to the hall.

‘Will, see sense, man. Angelus will murder you when he gets back if you disobey orders like this. The Mistress said we weren’t to answer the door.’

Will paused with his hand on the bolt, but didn’t turn round. ‘You can call me Spike or you can call me Master William, but don’t say Will, you’re not part of my family.’

‘Oh, stop being so petty and juvenile! You mustn’t open that door.’

‘I am juvenile,’ Will said, stooping to get the lower bolt, ‘I’ve only been dead three years.’ He straightened up and turned the key. ‘But one thing I do know is that a telegram means important, so that’s why I’m going to open this door.’

‘Wi— Spike!’

‘Blimey, mate, you took your time,’ the telegraph boy said.

‘Spring cleaning,’ Will said perfunctorily, ‘we’re all at sixes and sevens.’

‘Not what I’d call spring yet.’ The boy handed Will the telegram, examined his tip with a disgusted sneer, and departed.

Will studied the address. Damon was fuming. ‘I presume it’s not even addressed to you. It’s for the Master or Mistress, isn’t it? Don’t your exemplary “we’re the most important branch of the Aurelians” manners balk at prying into other people’s correspondence?’ Will ignored him. ‘And never mind only being dead for three years, I think you’ve forgotten you died altogether – when did vampires ever tip?’

‘Since they had the sense not to make every Tom, Dick and Harry notice that they are vampires,’ Will said calmly, re-bolting the door.

‘You sound just like your sire,’

‘Must run in the family.’

The telegram was addressed to D. Aurelius. Darla. Will ripped the pink envelope open.

D Aurelius
Place found as expected . Join
me five thirty exactly repeat five
thirty . Relying on you A

‘Oh sod,’ Will said.

‘Time for William the Bloody to live up to his name,’ Dru said dreamily from where she was standing watching them.

‘Why does she keep saying that? What does it mean?’ Damon said crossly. ‘Do you know, Spike?’ Will looked at his palms again and after a second he nodded miserably. Damon snatched the telegram from him and read it. ‘Oh… sod,’ he said slowly.

‘Is it a birthday card?’ Dru asked brightly.

‘Angelus must be planning an attack just before sundown,’ Damon pronounced. ‘He’ll want to catch these feral bastards while they’re still half asleep, and he needs the gang to join him. Your problem, Spike, is while Angelus may have told Darla where he was expecting to find it, you of course don’t know where the feral lair is.’

Will stuck his hand in his pocket. ‘Well we’ve got seven and a half hours to find out in. And…’ he smiled up at the gagged and chained figure that was watching him with wide white eyes, ‘we’ve got you to find out from.’

Will took the knife out of his pocket and looked at it. It was a folding blade with the handle six inches long, of deep blue enamel decorated with silver bands at each end; and on one side, set in mother-of-pearl, the monogram WA. He carefully unfolded the blade and tested its edge. ‘Damon, have you got a stone?’

Damon fished in his own pocket and produced a small piece of whetstone, which he passed to Will. He also brought out a knife, a plain one, slightly smaller than Will’s. Damon was looking up at the feral with a set, hard expression; and the feral’s own eyes widened, and he seemed to try to struggle away. But Will could smell something coming off Damon that could only be fear. He grinned at Damon reassuringly. ‘This is going to be fun – you’ll see.’

Will spat on the stone and very carefully began to sharpen his knife. Aware of the pairs of eyes that watched his every move. ‘This knife was a present from Angelus,’ he said slowly. ‘That is Angelus of Aurelius. The Scourge of Europe.’ He glanced up at the feral and winked. ‘My sire.’ He left it for a moment, lingering, then returned to his task. ‘Do you remember why he gave it to me, Damon?’

‘I do not.’ Damon sounded nervous but determined.

‘He gave it to me three months ago. Just after Christmas.’

‘I don’t— Oh, the boy in the woods. The first time you ever…’

Will nodded and returned to his task. ‘Of course I used a spike that time, but afterwards Angelus said that it was high time I had a decent knife. It was no use messing around with a spike now I had started to do things properly at last. So much more versatile, a sharp knife.’ He stopped and tested the blade again, shaving a few hairs off his arm, then frowned and returned to work over a section he wasn’t quite happy with. ‘He’s right, of course: there’s a very limited number of things you can do with a railway spike. And it’s an art form, so Angelus says, nine-tenths imagination and one-tenth force.’

‘With as much of the imagination coming from them as from you,’ Damon said, as if quoting a text, and Will shot him a grateful look.

‘So he assures me. And you know what they say about the higher arts – practice makes perfect. Fortunately, I’ve got all day to practice.’

Will reached up and removed the feral’s gag. ‘Now, you’ve got an exciting choice in front of you, mate: either you can tell us what we need to know, and I stake you quickly; or you can spend all day being brave whilst I torture you, and that way – you’ll still be alive when my sire comes home. He’ll not be in a very good mood of course, so it will be nice for him to have someone to relieve his feelings on. And, since by then the information you have won’t be any use, he’ll be able to cut your tongue out as well. He’ll enjoy that. In fact he’ll be quite pleased with me for giving him such a treat. And I do like to please my sire.’

‘Fuck you, you Aurelian bastards.’

Damon looked questioningly at Will.

‘Don’t worry, Damon: just follow my lead.’ Will grinned and showed the tips of his fangs. ‘Now I’m still only learning, so you’ll make allowances if this hurts more than I intended.’

The feral screamed.

Two hours later Will grabbed Damon’s arm and dragged him out of the scullery. ‘I know you’ve never been taught, but look: it’s not just about hurting him. Anyone can hurt him. Anyone could get him to talk for that matter, given enough time. What we’ve got to do is far harder – we’ve got to get him to tell the truth.’ He blinked and shook his head. ‘The truth.’

Damon stared at Will’s hands and Will followed his gaze; the knuckles were already bruised deep purple, almost as if he had dipped his hand in a bottle of ink. From somewhere Will’s mind inconsequentially produced the word heliotrope. I’m beginning to get light headed, he told himself.

He sagged and blinked violently again, bringing a hand up to his head. Then he sank down against the corridor wall, tilted his head back, and just let his eyes slide shut with exhaustion. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’

Damon sat down beside him. ‘Do you want me to try?’ he asked very cautiously.

Will shook his head, then looked at Damon hopefully. ‘Do you think you could?’

‘I could try.’

Will shook his head again. ‘It’s no good.’

Damon bristled. ‘I know my sire isn’t Angelus, but I am a bloody vampire, I think I have some idea.’

Will stared at him. ‘No,’ he said at last.

‘Well then can’t Mistress Drusilla do something?’

‘I don’t know. Yes, probably, but she won’t. She’s telling her cards again, she seems to think that will help more. She says I will do it better than she can. Probably it’s one of these bloody stupid little tests that she’s always setting me: “Find me a new doll, Will; I want to visit the Tower of London, Will; fetch me a piece of the moon, Will.” That or she’s sulking because I refused to put an Eton jacket on. And I can’t make her do anything if she doesn’t want to. Only Angelus can ever do that.’ He balled his hands against his forehead and tried to force himself to think by sheer dint of wanting to. ‘He knows he’s going to die. Why’s he so bloody stubborn? Why draw it out for himself like this?’

‘Perhaps he doesn’t believe you’ll really stop if he tells you,’ Damon said simply.

Will gazed blankly at the ceiling, then scrambled to his feet. ‘Go and bring me a couple of pints from the larder. And feed yourself while you’re in there, one thing we can do is ensure we keep our strength up.’ Damon looked about to argue. ‘I can’t do this alone: I need you to back me up, Damon. Just do what I ask, please.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Teach him that I mean what I say.’

‘You can tell me your name. Come along, you must have a name. And there’s no harm in that, is there? Then you can have a drink, I promise.’

The feral watched the small beaker of blood in front of him, with haunted eyes. Mere inches from his face, the scent must be driving his near-drained body wild with craving. The fractured lips quivered and then a hairline crack appeared, and as if the dam had crumbled his mouth opened. ‘Frank.’

‘Good boy, Frank!’ And Will held the beaker so Frank could gulp down the tiny precious mouthful. ‘There you are you see, an Aurelian keeps his promises.’ He passed the beaker back to Damon. ‘Now Frank, I’m sure you would like some more, so let’s see how frank you can be…’

Drusilla was staring up at Frank, her mouth a perfect O of wonder. ‘You’ve made him look ever so pretty, Spike.’

Will lifted his head wearily. ‘Please, Princess. You are so good at these games.’

She had appeared all in a bustle a few minutes before, announcing, ‘The stars say I must watch.’ Now she cocked her head and considered Damon. ‘But then everybody will want a turn. Angelus is away so you’re the man of the house now, my William. Me and Mister Goody Two-shoes must only stand and stare.’ She nodded firmly and then added, illogically, ‘You’ve got blood on your sheepskin. Fetch me a chair.’ Damon pursed his lips, then after a slow study of the blood on his shirtsleeves, sighed, and went and brought in a chair from the kitchen for her. She seated herself with the grace of a lady at an opening night, and fanned herself with her tarot cards.

‘Please, Dru—’

‘You may continue.’ She waved Will to return to his work.

At midday Frank groaned the single word, ‘Limehouse,’ before slumping, seemingly unconscious, in his chains.

Will, who was strongly tempted to fall asleep beside him, staggered to the drawing-room and collapsed onto the sofa. Dru had stayed behind, happily watching Frank. Which was probably a relief for Damon: she seemed to have become fascinated by the minion, following his every move and bursting into a snap of laughter if he ever did anything that was even slightly foolish. ‘You do as my Master Spike tells you,’ she would say sternly. Damon was trying to ignore this critical audience, but his patience was clearly beginning to wear thin. And not that it was any wonder he was making blunders, Will thought: they must all be feeling the strain.

Damon passed Will another glass of blood and plumped down beside him. Between the three of them – well, four, if you counted what had been doled out to Frank – they had almost drained one of the girls.

‘Limehouse,’ Will said, ‘well that’s rubbish if I ever heard any.’

‘It could be true…’

‘Bollocks. God, I could rip his lungs out!’

‘Don’t do that – then he really won’t be able to talk.’

Will gave a bark of laughter. Then he tilted his head back onto the soft cushion of the sofa and tried to raise the effort to sip his blood. ‘How does Angelus manage to make this seem so enjoyable?’

‘Over a hundred years of practice, I suppose. Why don’t you take a rest? He’s unconscious and you’re worn out.’

‘No. Just give me a minute. He’s more desperate for the rest than I am, I can’t waste that.’

‘I wish you’d let me try.’

‘No.’

Damon glanced at the door. ‘Do you think Mistress Drusilla is all right? Perhaps I should go and check.’

‘You’re not having a go, Damon.’

Damon pursed his lips and looked away abruptly. ‘I’m only trying to help.’

Will relented. ‘Yeh, I know, mate, and you are; but it needs to be one person always asking the questions. It’s hard to explain: there’s sort of a bond forming. I can feel it, and if I let up we will lose it.’

‘Oh.’ Damon did not sound convinced. ‘Well at least stop and have a smoke. You haven’t had one all day, you must be gasping.’

‘Smoking dulls a vampire’s sense of smell,’ Will said flatly.

‘Sod your sense of smell! You don’t need your sense of smell at the moment. You need a break. Here—’ Damon reached over and dug in Will’s pockets until he found the cigarette case, then he took one out and jammed it between Will’s lips and struck a match. Will took in the first warming cloud of smoke and closed his eyes with relief.

‘Thanks, mate.’ After a bit he grinned.

‘What?’ Damon was lighting one for himself.

‘I’m not supposed to smoke in the drawing-room: Darla doesn’t like it.’

Damon snorted. ‘I think between us we’ve broken just about every rule there is today.’

‘I’ll take your flogging if you take mine.’

‘No thanks. With any luck Angelus will be so busy with you I’ll be left to Harold. He’s a limp-wristed idiot that man, you’ve only got to bat your eyelashes and flash your arse and he forgets what he was going to punish you for: “Oh sir, please don’t hurt me. I am ever so sorry, sir. I really shan’t do it again.” And he actually believes it!’

Will laughed. ‘Wish that worked on Angelus. Harold’s not so bad though: he may be almost as fussy as Angelus about keeping the place spotless, but he knows his business at least. We’ve had worse head minions.’

Damon didn’t answer.

‘Come on,’ Will stood up, ‘this, as my mother used to say, ain’t buttering no parsnips.’

‘Your mother used to say that?’

‘Well, not very often, admittedly. Let’s see if we can get something a bit more constructive than “Limehouse” out of Franky boy.’

At one o’clock Will finally accepted that Dru wasn’t going to join in and do the job for him. Drusilla – who would stop in the street if she saw a crushed beetle, in order to pull its legs off as it died – had decided to spend the day watching; there was nothing he could say that would change that. He looked at her, and thought wryly that he had obeyed Darla in one thing at least: they were all getting exactly the same amount of rest – precisely none at all.

By half past one he had discovered that when you had made a little progress you couldn’t relax and enjoy the luxury of a break, because that was when you had to keep going while the momentum was with you.

At two he realised that when you were getting nowhere wasn’t the time to stop either, since that was when it was easiest to despair and let the whole thing grind irretrievably to a halt. Frank and he stared at each other hollowly. He no longer wanted Dru to help; this was no business of hers any more. Damon too seemed an irrelevancy now, he fetched and carried and hit the dangling corpse from behind when asked to because Will was too busy round the front, but he was nothing to the other two any more. The world contained nothing but the two of them. Had never contained anything but the two of them. Frank and Will, Will and Frank. Closer than lovers their gazes locked, as if both aware of the enormity of the mountain they had to climb together.

At three he had to rush out and Damon held his head for him as he vomited time and time again on the shiny tiled floor. Then Damon wordlessly cleaned up the mess whilst Will stood over the deep porcelain sink and looked at the pattern the blood had made on his palms. What have I become, he wondered, that I can do such things? Is this the day when I finally become a proper vampire? The blood had dried into the seams of his skin in strange red-black rivulets, and it made his hands seem tired and work worn. The hands of an old man. He washed them with his eyes shut, and did quite a good job considering. Then he splashed water on his eyes and went back into the room.

By quarter to five Will knew that he was starting to panic. The urge to smash his fist into Frank’s face, until there was nothing but a bloody pulp that couldn’t answer his question, was becoming uncontrollable. He hated Frank, hated him as he had never hated anything. For making Will appear so helpless. For still keeping silent when all logic said he should have spoken. For just being there, when by doing any one of a hundred things slightly different he could have not been captured in the first place. For making Will feel as he did.

I’m a vampire, he told himself. This is what vampires do. I can do this. ‘I’m a vampire.’ Damon looked at him oddly, and he realised he must have said it out loud. ‘Bloody hell: that’s it. I’ve had enough.’ He threw his hands up in the air. ‘I’m tired and I’m bored. Just stake him, Damon, and let’s get away from here.’

‘No!’

The terror of the shriek made both Will and Damon pause, even after a day of terrible sounds. Will tilted his head to one side. Considering Frank, he realised that the feral vampire still wanted to live. Incredibly, improbably, that pain wracked body – back broken, permanently crippled as it was – still contained the spark of hope.

He brought his hand up to Frank’s face, and cupped it gently. ‘So why don’t you give me a reason not to, Frank? Give me somewhere to go and I’ll leave to find out if you’re telling me the truth. If you really tell me the truth there’s even a chance your mates will kill or capture me, then they can come and rescue you.’

Frank stared at him, yellow eyed, blood barely dripping since there was so little left in him to drip. He was probably too exhausted to even know what day it was any more, let alone work out the flaws behind an argument. He spat twice, great gobbets of froth from his mangled mouth. And then Frank told Will the location of the feral lair.

It was only after Will had cleaned the blood and ash off himself, and sternly informed his body that it was a vampire’s and really didn’t need any rest, that he realised getting the address had been the easy part.

He asked Damon to pick the lock on Angelus’s weapons’ cabinet, and went to find Dru – who had finally decided to abandon her vigil over Damon and had vanished the second Frank spoke. He found her in her room, at last, setting out her dolls in a rigid line, as if they were corpses after a battle. She squeaked, when he came in, and then jumped all over him like an over-excited puppy. ‘My brave, wonderful Sir William! Now you can march your toy army to Daddy’s rescue, and fly the big blue flag!’

‘Yeh, well we know where we’re supposed to be going now, so we’d best be off, Princess. Don’t want to be late.’

‘We must wait for the others,’ she said, twirling round and then plumping down on the chaise longue and patting the seat beside her. ‘You shall tell me a story until they come home.’

‘Dru, pet, they aren’t coming home – that’s the whole point. There’s no one else to do this. No one at all.’

Will considered that it was typical that now – just when time was of the essence – Dru chose to throw the fit that she could have indulged in all damn afternoon without causing much trouble. He watched her with a sinking heart, as she started to scream and stamp her foot. And tear at her hair, and hurl the cushions across the room, and then, when she had run out of cushions, the chaise longue itself. He wondered vaguely what would happen if he were to just give in to his feelings and shriek and hit out at everything in reach; and wouldn’t it really be rather nice to be the mad one for a change? Then he did what he always did, and caught her arms and smiled and soothed it all away. ‘They’ll be back later love. Let’s not stay home getting in a lather, eh? Other things to do, and all that.’

It seemed to take far, far longer than was usual, but at last she gave a final hiccup and was quiet. Drusilla, who as far as Will knew couldn’t actually tell the time, then took out his watch and tapped the dial. ‘Time to go now.’

‘That’s right, love.’

She suddenly hissed and Will swung round to see Damon standing in the doorway, holding a short sword. ‘Rotten apple,’ Dru spat.

‘Is she going to be a problem?’ Damon said, not looking at Drusilla.

‘No.’

He watched as Damon slowly nodded and held out the sword towards him, handle first. ‘Or there’s a couple of axes.’ He indicated the floor beside himself.

Dru wouldn’t use a weapon, but Will decided he wasn’t going to take any chances with her. It would be well on current Dru form to suddenly develop a passion for the nice shiny sword and hold them up even longer. He covered the distance to Damon quickly, blocking Dru’s sight of the pretty toys, and took the smaller of the two axes. ‘Keep whichever one you want and put the other back,’ he said softly. ‘Dru won’t want one, she probably doesn’t even know how to use one.’

‘Fair enough. Do you know how to use one?’

‘Yeh. Course.’ Will hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he was lying. Besides, he did have some notion, since it was the same one as Angelus occasionally let him practice with. And he had cleaned it enough times; did that count as familiarising yourself with a weapon? If the worst comes to the worst, he thought, I can always just throw it at the nearest feral and then use my fists. At least I know what I’m doing with those.

There was a knock at the back door.

After a few seconds Will unclenched his teeth and forced himself to relax his grip on the axe-haft.

‘This is becoming like a bad French farce,’ Damon commented. He was looking slightly embarrassed: probably about the fact that he had just started several inches into the air at the knock. They went together down to the door, and listened very carefully, ears pressed to the wood, since there was no window that would give them an angle to show who was outside. Will thought he could hear whispering.

‘…it is, I tell you.’

‘We are in for it; we’ve absolutely no chance.’

‘It will be all right if Lusius answers, but if it’s—’

‘It’s the others,’ Damon said loudly and he straightened up and shot the bolt back.

‘Er, hello, Damon.’ It was Ruben and Amelia, standing in the dank little area, looking embarrassed. They peered past Damon and saw Will, and went very quiet.

‘What happened?’ Will demanded, and it was only when he said it that the crack in his voice told him just how frustrated he really was. There was a harshness in his tone, a touch of a growl that almost sounded like…

‘Well, it’s a funny story, now you ask—’ Ruben started.

Will snarled, and that time there was no question but he sounded like Angelus.

‘We got caught by the sun,’ Amelia finished.

‘Did you. We’ve got to go, Angelus needs us.’ He could almost hear them draw breath to spill forth a tirade of queries, and he just didn’t have time for it! There was no time for anything. Angelus would simply give an order and expect them to obey without hesitation, and what’s more they would. Only Angelus wasn’t there. ‘Quiet! Don’t start asking a lot of damn fool questions, I’ll explain on the way. Damon, go and get them a weapon each.’

Dru came up beside him as Damon slipped away. She was carrying a small cardboard-box, tied up with string. ‘Come along boys and girls, time to go. I’ve made us all yummy sandwiches.’

‘Er, thanks, sweetheart.’ Will looked up at the sky, and saw it was overcast, thick yellowy-white clouds blocking out all trace of the sun.

‘Know what that means?’ Ruben said, following his gaze. ‘If I’m any judge then—’

‘It means we can go outside in it, and that’s all I care about.’

‘Where’s Murphy?’ Dru asked. ‘I don’t like him, Will.’

Will realised what had been trying to catch his attention all along. ‘Didn’t he join you, Ruben? Damon said he left just after you two did, he was going to catch you up.’

‘We never saw him all night.’

Will stared down, blankly.

‘Help me with my hat pins, Will.’ Dru burbled.

‘Amelia can help you, love.’

Amelia was edging towards the door. ‘Yeh, course, Spike, but just let me fetch my—’

‘No! Nobody is fetching anything, or waiting, or stopping and discussing the weather, or anything a-bloody-tall. We’re going!’

‘What about Damon?’

‘Damon, get a fucking move on!’

Damon appeared silently and handed the sword and a stake each to Ruben and Amelia.

Dru’s eyes gleamed. ‘Oh Will, I want—’

‘No! No, no, no. There isn’t bloody time! Now – does anyone have any money for the bus?’