Sweet William – Part IV

Running. He was running down a street of narrow, soot-blackened houses, the moonlight flashing white as it shot back and forth behind the buildings. Hard cobblestones under foot so his boots skittered and slid. He pushed himself up frantically, knees and hands skinned like a ten-year-old. He could smell the blood as he ran. Laboured breaths, panting hard, though he tried to tell himself he didn’t need to, but the habit was too strong. The houses were larger now, set further apart, but still with moonlight flashing between them. Small gardens with dull shrubs, and little iron railings along low walls separating each from the next. Each a little castle. An Englishman’s home is his castle. Lavender. He could smell lavender. His mother used to wash her hands with lavender scented soap. He’d got to move fast. Got to get to them. Warn them. It wasn’t safe. He’d got to warn them. Faster. Otherwise he would taste the ashes. Edith isn’t safe. Edith.

‘Edith!’

Angelus growled and pushed at him sleepily. ‘Shut up, boy.’

William blinked his eyes open and rolled over, snuggling back between Dru and his sire, the dream already starting to recede. Why Edith, he wondered. He’d never even particularly liked Edith. She was the youngest, silly and giggly. Always whispering behind her hand, and sticking her tongue out at him when their mother wasn’t looking. Alice had been his favourite. But then she’d been only a year older than him, his big sister and best friend. She’d got engaged to a shy young curate from Gloucestershire. He wondered if the wedding was still going ahead.

Angelus poked him again. ‘Keep still or get out.’

William slipped off the bed where the four of them were tangled together and padded softly over to the window. He peered cautiously out past the curtains. It was still daylight, but a dark grey, rainy light, that washed the blackened houses to an oily sheen as the rain drummed down. Everything was black here. The houses, the trees, even the people seemed to have the smoke of the factories ingrained in their skins. The place had changed since Angelus and Darla had been there before, so they said. It was noisier now, ruled by the factory whistle and the stamp of hard clogs tramping on the stone paved streets.

William got dressed quietly so as not to disturb the others. They had paid a small fortune to the manager of the grubby little hotel to be left alone during the day and they had been able to afford only the one room. Apparently Darla and Dru had been chased from the London house before they managed to save much money, only just making it out of the back window in time. Darla hadn’t been too pleased about that, but Angelus seemed to find it funny. He’d told them William had already been disciplined, and though Darla seemed sceptical she hadn’t questioned it. She had barely spoken two words to William since they came north.

William sneaked out of the room and went downstairs. The owlish reception-clerk, perched on a high stool and reading a battered novel, looked up when he came down. William leant on the little counter until the man removed the cigarette from his lips with yellow stained fingers. ‘Can I help you?’

In reaction to the man’s flat, northern working-class tones, William unthinkingly slipped into the accent he had always used when talking with cook or the gardener. ‘Can I ’ave one of those, mate?’ The man looked resentful but took out his pouch and papers, and slowly started to roll William a cigarette. William watched. ‘There a baccy shop round ’ere?’

‘Down road.’

‘I’ll get yer a few some other time, then, mate.’

‘Hmmph,’ the clerk said, and passed him the completed cigarette. William fished in his pocket for a box of matches, and then lounged against the counter, quietly smoking, watching the rain. The clerk turned back to his book. ‘Staying long?’ he asked offhandedly, after a while.

‘Dunno. Not my decision.’

‘Ah. Business is it?’

‘Somethin’ like that.’ He ground out the fag end and wandered over to the street door, leaning against the jam, looking out.

‘Shop’s just down road,’ the clerk said again.

William rubbed his finger under his nose thoughtfully, glancing up at the sky. Then he abruptly pulled up the collar of his jacket, hunched his shoulders, and ran out.

It was light enough to make him feel oddly exposed, but not enough to hurt him. The rain started to trickle down his neck. Have to get a neck-scarf, he thought. Winter would be coming soon. A red scarf maybe. Like a gypsy. It wouldn’t show the blood.

He kept his head lowered, hands deep in his pockets, but eyes carefully scanning the streets, trying to assess the few people that hurried past. He frowned. Angelus always seemed to be able to identify human types in a few seconds, could work out their entire background seemingly at a glance, knowing if it was safe to hunt them and the best way to lure them somewhere quiet. William eyed a woman: in her twenties, long black raincoat, grey hat pulled low, no umbrella. He tried to work out whom she must be, where she could be going. No umbrella, he thought, so she must be poor. Or stupid, or careless, or forgetful, or she’d lent it to a friend, or she wasn’t going far… The raincoat told him nothing other than that she had one. The hat was too wet for him to tell if it was good quality or not. He followed her for two streets, and then she disappeared into a house.

He thought about trying to wangle an invitation, but knew he wasn’t up to it. What could he say that would make them let in a wet stranger with a funny southern accent?

He walked on. He knew what he wanted: a nice fat, rich kill, with plenty of money in his purse; so he could get himself some smokes and give the rest to Angelus to pay for a better hotel room. But suitable people just didn’t seem to be wandering around in the rain with a paper label round their neck saying ‘kill me’. And the few people who were out hurried on about their own business. The main streets were too populous, the side streets were totally deserted, or over-looked so he could not be certain he wouldn’t be seen. There must be quiet spots somewhere, but he didn’t know where they were.

He went up to a thin man with a small dog on a rope. ‘Nice dog, mate. What’s his name?’

‘Spike,’ the man said, and gave him a funny look as he hurried past.

‘Got the time on yer?’ William called after him. The man didn’t answer.

‘Bloody hell.’ He started to admit to himself that he didn’t have the faintest idea what he was doing. He lashed out angrily at an innocent lamppost, drawing blood, but only his own. ‘Bloody sodding hell.’ He was going to have to go home, and he was more cross and embarrassed about it than anything else.

He found himself outside the tobacconists, so he shoved the door open and went in. ‘Packet of twist,’ he said. ‘And some papers.’

The shop-man slapped them down on the counter. ‘Owt else?’

William looked at the cheap tobacco, his hand in his pocket fingering the only coin he had, a battered farthing he’d picked off the street a week ago. The man hadn’t called him Sir. He had never in his life not been addressed as Sir in a shop. ‘And a box of matches, mate.’ The shop-man turned away again and William reached out, picked up the things, and walked out of the shop. He heard a cry of annoyance as the door shut behind him, and the tinkle of the bell as it was wrenched open again. He ran away down the street.

He stopped under the towering archway of the railway viaduct, a satisfied grin on his face, and started to make himself another cigarette. It was an open place, barely cover at all, with the rain driving in to form a little rivulet down the centre of the path that passed through underneath; but it offered some shelter and the nearest houses were out of sight behind overgrown bushes. It smelt of coal dust and the rich damp earth. Little rusty-backed ferns grew in the cracks of the stonework and amongst a pile of rubble that someone had dumped against one wall.

A few minutes later a young couple rushed up, hand in hand, laughing as they shot in, out of the rain. The girl smiled at him; but the man frowned when he saw they weren’t alone. He led her over to the far side of the archway and brushed a few stones clean so she could sit down. William watched them, then sauntered over. ‘Want a smoke?’ he offered. The man looked him up and down, then nodded. Nobody suggested that the girl should have one. Nice girls didn’t smoke in public.

William looked out in both directions. ‘You think it’s goin’ to stop soon, then?’ he asked.

‘Happen,’ the man replied laconically.

William frowned at the unfamiliar expression then shook his head, and ripped the fellow’s throat open. He gulped a fair bit of blood before dropping the man because the girl had started to scream. He jumped at her, and after a bit of fumbling managed to snap her neck. He felt a tugging at his ankle. The man was trying to pull himself up, blood still gushing from his neck wound to fall down and mingle with the greasy trickle of water that had collected under the viaduct. William kicked him so he rolled off into the mud and lay writhing at his feet. Pulling the man back up, William wiped the filth away from the wound and started to drink again. There was blood all over his hands now though, and the man was still struggling. The blood sprayed out from the artery, spattering across William’s face, until at last William managed to fasten on again and catch it as it pumped out. He sucked hard, draining the man dry so he soon fell limp, and William could hear his heart beat start to slow and finally, with one last timid thump, it stopped altogether. The man hung lifeless in his arms.

William dropped him and ran the back of his hand across his face. He saw the blood and licked it off, rubbed again and started to wash his face like a cat, repeatedly rubbing and licking until he could smell that he was clean, looking down at the couple the while. It was a pity about the girl: he could have happily drunk from both, but he didn’t fancy sucking the blood cold, and he hadn’t brought a bottle to drain some into to keep for later. He wondered what to do with the bodies.

There was a roaring rumble as a train shot by overhead. Why couldn’t that have come earlier, he thought, he needn’t have killed the girl then, with the sound to cover her screams and give him a little more time. He must try and remember that for next time. Though he was dully aware that if it had been Angelus there, then he would have thought of it to start with.

Never mind that. He’d just killed properly; without Angelus. Without Dru, even. He’d just done it all by himself. The grin came back.

He reached down and searched through the man’s pockets, the grin getting broader when he found a heap of coins. Friday: the man had just been paid. The rain was easing off and the pubs would be open in a few minutes. He gave one last quick scrub at his face, stuck his hands in his pockets, and strolled off whistling. Angelus and Dru were going to be so proud of him! Even Darla might look pleased for once. But first, it was going to be, William had decided, one hell of an evening.

He came back at three in the morning and was let in by the drowsy night porter, who gave him a funny look because of what he was carrying.

Upstairs, William stuck his head cautiously round the door, and sidled into the room, moving as quietly as he could manage so as not to disturb the sleeping vampire on the bed. He peered down at her for a second then went back outside for a moment, and returned with an armful of things, which he unloaded beside the hearth. Still as silently as possible, he heaped fresh coal into the grate and stirred it about with the poker until there was a comfortable warm glow, then he settled down cross-legged and started to work.

A few minutes later Dru stirred, and her nose twitched as she scented the air. ‘William, what are you doing?’

‘Here, Princess, try this.’ He picked up the golden fragrant offering and placed it reverently between her lips.

She looked sleepily startled and then a small smile drifted across her face. ‘It’s nice.’

‘Too many people,’ he said, ‘underestimate the importance in life of hot buttered toast.’

He took the next slice off the toasting fork, replaced it with a fresh piece of bread which he dextrously propped on the bars of the grate to cook, and then started to butter the finished one with expert flicks of his wrist. ‘The skill,’ he explained, ‘is to get a steady production going. So that one slice is toasting whilst you are eating the last. Modern methods, you see.’ He passed her up another piece whilst crunching into his own.

Dru carefully licked the butter off her fingers. ‘My mummy used to put jam on.’

‘We have jam!’ he said triumphantly. ‘Blackberry or,’ he peered at the jar, ‘storeberry? Must mean strawberry. Can’t read the writing. No spoon, though, have to use the knife blade.’ He ladled out a dollop of jam with the penknife he was using and smeared it about on his own piece. ‘Which flavour, love?’

‘What’s strawberry?’

He looked at her, astonished. ‘Strawberries. You must remember strawberries, Princess. Red. Shaped like hearts, with little pips spotted like tears all over ’em. Taste of hot summer days and boating parties and croquet on the lawn.’ He shut his eyes and lay back on the hearth-rug. ‘The sun warm on your skin and the grasshoppers chirping in the long grass and swifts weaving patterns against a sky so blue you could drown in it. And time just seems to stop as if you will live for ever in only that moment.’ He sat up. ‘Strawberries. Here, try one.’ He speared a gloopy half berry out of the jam on the knife point and held it up for her pretty pink tongue to dart out and taste.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sticky.’

‘Yeh.’ He sighed. ‘Don’t taste as good as I remember, either. Nothing much does.’ He took another crunchy bite of toast, holding the slice between his teeth as he picked up the toasting fork and, hissing at burnt fingers, turned the bread round to cook the other side. He removed the slice from his mouth and wiped a dribble of butter off his chin. ‘Doesn’t mean we should give up trying though.’

‘Another,’ Dru demanded, pointing to the pot of strawberry jam. He fished about until he managed to catch another large lump. Dru came and sat down beside him, taking the strawberry whole with a delicate snap of her white teeth.

‘Can I have blood on my toast?’ she asked.

‘Don’t see why not.’ He nicked his finger and let a few crimson drops splash onto the gleaming butter. ‘Where’re Sire and Her Nibs?’

Dru giggled. ‘Went hunting.’

‘Didn’t you want to go?’

She shook her head. ‘Tired. And my head was all achy.’

‘Was it, love? Poor you.’ He handed her the freshest slice and started to hack another off the loaf.

‘Daddy missed you. You were supposed to go out with him. He had to go with Darla instead, so he said he’s going to hurt you when he gets back.’

‘Wonders will never cease.’

‘But Darla said he couldn’t because the hotel people would get suspicious if you couldn’t move about properly.’

‘Really! You think I’m in with a chance then?’

Dru swirled more blood into a circular pattern on her toast with the knife. ‘So then Daddy said he would burn your hands with the poker. He said that wouldn’t be noticeable if he made you wear gloves.’

William looked at the poker thoughtfully, then got up and hid it in the back of the cupboard. ‘Why do they care so much about the hotel staff?’

‘Don’t know. Can I try a blackberry, please.’

‘Of course.’ He opened the second pot, exclaimed in mild annoyance, and scraped a generous dollop off the top, flicking it to the back of the fire, where it hissed and spat. He sniffed the pot cautiously. ‘The top bit’s gone mouldy.’ He tasted a morsel. ‘Seems all right. We’ll risk it. It’s not as if we’re going to get upset stomachs.’ He paused. ‘Is it?’

She shook her head and held out her tongue; he dropped a gobbet on and she tilted her head back and let it slither down her throat, giggling. He repeated the process, then sniffed questioningly and swore, because the toast had started to burn. He quickly retrieved it, juggling and yelping as it singed his fingers. Dru laughed out loud.

‘S’not funny.’

‘Tis,’ she hiccuped.

‘Tisn’t.’

‘Tis.’

‘Shan’t give you any more then.’ He pouted, scraping the burnt bits off.

‘Aw, William.’ She snuggled up against him. ‘Pleeeeease.’

He smiled and popped another bit into her mouth. ‘Guess what I did today, Dru.’

She pondered for a while. ‘Went to market and bought a pet cormorant?’

‘No!’ He choked on his final bite of toast. ‘Much more exciting than that, I made my first—’

‘Daddy!’

There was a sound from outside. William took in the mess they had made and quickly pushed it all out of sight behind a chair; dropping the carpet back over the last crumbs just as Angelus and Darla climbed in through the window.

‘There you are, you little mongrel.’

William quickly scampered over across the bed, and tried to keep it between them whilst Angelus shouted.

‘I’m going to skin you alive! And I am not talking figuratively.’

‘I’m already dead.’

‘You insolent— I’m going to—’

Darla snorted. ‘Well it would make a nice change if you did, Angelus. Only you can’t, we need him fit.’

‘Just you watch me. The whole town is in turmoil because a courting couple was found murdered tonight. And a stranger with blood on his clothes was seen in several of the pubs.’

‘Nothing to do with me, Angelus.’

‘If you’ve made them find us again—’

‘Leave me alone!’

‘Oh, I’ll leave you alone! You were supposed to come with me, boy. I was going to show you a bit of proper hunting, for a change. We were going to kill that fat mill-owner’s pretty daughter together.’

William’s mouth dropped. ‘But you never said.’

Angelus’s growl shook the room. ‘And since when do I explain myself to you?’

‘Angelus,’ Darla said urgently, ‘if it wasn’t him, then there must be other vampires in the town after all, and we need to be more discreet than ever. Keep your voice down.’

‘Keep your own damn voice down.’ He couldn’t get past her so he hurled the water jug across at William, who ducked. ‘You brat. I told you never to go out without my permission. Never. Jesus, Mary and Joseph what do I have to do to get that through to you?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me!’

There was a hammering at the door. ‘What is going on in there?’

Angelus suddenly went icy cold and calm. He stalked over to the door and swung it open, looking down at the angry hotel owner who was standing there in his night-shirt.

‘However upset you are, sir, please consider my other guests.’

Angelus shut the door in his face and turned back to William, who took one look and dived under the bed. ‘I didn’t go out,’ he yelled.

There was a pause. ‘Come out of there, you little tyke.’

‘No! Not till you calm down. I haven’t been out of this stinking hotel all night.’

‘He’s fed, that’s for certain.’

‘Yes, because I had some in my flask left from last night. That’s all.’

‘What flask?’

‘I left it downstairs.’

There was a disbelieving snort. ‘Well if you do have a flask, I’m confiscating it for a start. Now come out of there.’

‘No.’ William could see a large pair of shoes, one tapping impatiently against the floor. ‘I was waiting all night for you to come and tell me it was time to go out. Why didn’t you tell me last night if we were going somewhere special?’ he wailed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Don’t try it, boy. I know you weren’t here. Do you think I didn’t look? I trust my own eyes, damn you.’

‘Well you can’t have looked very well, because I was talking to the doorman or trying to get warm in the kitchen.’

A pair of black clad knees appeared in William’s line of sight, and an arm swept out, making a grab for him. He scrabbled back as far out of reach as possible. A yellow eye appeared.

‘Did you even look in the kitchen?’ he shouted at it.

‘Surely you can tell if he’s been out or not,’ Darla’s voice came.

‘All I can smell is those damn cigarettes he’s for ever puffing on,’ Angelus growled. ‘And,’ he sniffed in confusion, ‘toast?’ The eye vanished. ‘Who’s been cooking toast?’

‘I have. Me and Dru. Whilst I was out on the town of course,’ William said with heavy sarcasm.

There was a snort of impatience. ‘Is this true, Drusilla?’

William waited an anxious few seconds.

‘William gave me jam, Daddy.’

There was a long silence, and then the sound of heavy footsteps walking away across the room. William dropped his head back on his arm and closed his eyes in relief. It was a full minute before he realised that he would never be able to tell anybody about his first lone kill.

Another town. Another cramped hotel room.

Lodging houses would have been pleasanter, or the old trick of taking over a private residence. But lodging houses demanded money in advance and had inquisitive landladies, who questioned why they didn’t go out during the day or ask for meals to be included. While the elder vampires didn’t want to get involved in the business of finding a house until they had chosen somewhere they wished to settle. And there was always something wrong with every place they went: too small, too dirty, too ugly. The small towns wouldn’t provide them with a reliable food source; large ones already had resident vampires. And without the minions they couldn’t take on an established gang. So they moved.

William told himself he didn’t care; he had found a new interest which he could satisfy anywhere. Pubs. Noisy, crowded, packed with sweating, stinking, singing humanity. A hundred hearts pumping blood through a million miles of vein. The clouds of excitement, anger, pleasure, arousal clinging to him like the fine northern mists. William liked pubs.

He’d spent a lot of time in them, one way and another. Buy a man a drink and he will tell you his name. Buy him three and you’ll get his life story. Ten and he’ll let you walk him home and never notice when you drag him into a darkened doorway and get all the alcohol back out of his bloodstream. William really liked pubs.

The weather had turned bad, with heavy downpours and thickly overcast autumn skies every day. The older vampires still slept during the daylight, but William started to sneak out on a regular basis, returning at owl hoot just as the others were beginning to stir. He would breeze back in claiming to have been just having an early evening smoke in the lobby. And since Darla didn’t like him smoking in their room (although he had noticed that she never complained about Angelus’s cigars) they could hardly quibble, while the stench of tobacco hid where else he had been.

Not that he actually hunted; the risk was too great and a little something at the back of his mind warned him not to push his luck. It would be a tricky business to pick his prey amongst all those watching eyes, he somehow never quite felt up to it; not without the reassuring presence of Angelus across the room, pointing him towards the best choice and ready to step in if he made some blunder. But he did just about everything else he could think of.

And he needed something because Angelus was working him close to breaking.

From the moment the sun set, until the last rosy fingered second before it bobbed back above the horizon, the four of them were busy. Early evenings were for hunting, but this was not hunting like William had been taught before.

Then he had learnt to love the thrill of the chase, the unpredictable twists and turns of bringing a human to bay in some remote spot and softening them up for a leisurely kill. Or the brutal struggles and wild climbing and hiding involved in taking one home unseen, but still alive, for the larder. Now all chasing and playing was expressly forbidden. Instead each subject had to be chosen with exquisite care, assessed as to whether they could be taken without anyone noticing their absence, wooed and bedazzled into some quiet place, all without alarming them, and then swiftly and silently despatched with a neck twist. And there was to be no more than one kill between the four of them once every third night; an inviolable rule to avoid attracting attention.

But without local knowledge, and forced away from the best hunting grounds, killing anything was increasingly hard. So they went out in pairs to maximise their chances, William and Drusilla being sent with Angelus or Darla alternately. And the second a kill had been made the younger vampire had to fetch the other two. Then they all fed in turn, draining the corpse dry and not even saving any in a container for later, since it wasn’t safe to carry blood: the smell would attract other demons like flies to rotting fruit.

William never ran so fast as when he was sent to fetch the others, knowing that as the youngest he would have to wait until last for his turn to feed, holding his aching stomach and trying not to make a fuss while his elders took forever to finish. Anxious not to waste a second before the first few drops of already cold and congealing blood could finally be slipping down his throat. William, for the first time ever, discovered what real Hunger meant.

This was not just a small pain to be thoughtlessly eased by strolling down to the kitchen for the biscuit or slice of bread that was always available. This was a constant, mind filling, gnawing ache, with him every minute of every day, until he wanted to cry it made him so desperate. They frequently didn’t eat for day and days at a time – apart from a few sheep up on the moors, which had made the district rife with tales of a vicious pack of dogs or, more amusingly, a giant wild cat that stalked the hills at dusk. But the animal blood didn’t satisfy, and William sometimes, when he found himself alone, would clutch his hands to his stomach and rock back and forth, keening to himself, trying to lull away the need. Not that it actually helped.

The hunger took them all differently. William found it made him miserably desperate, cold, reckless, wild but careless; so he killed faster and more easily than ever, but kept making silly mistakes which he thought he had grown out of. Darla, oddly enough, became almost girlish, as if it was reminding her of a fledglinghood long past. Her sharp tongue and disapproving attitude remained the same though. Dru was the least changed. A little more obscure perhaps, inclined to snap suddenly from too quiet to too violent, but she could just have been going into one of her periodic moods.

Angelus grew dour, withdrawn and indifferent, his entire energy focused on the hunt. He seemed to take a perverse delight in the difficulties involved, as if he welcomed the challenging complexities of their insecure position. But he no longer explained what he was doing. When set to hunt with him, William was expected to keep his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open, and do what he was told instantly without questioning. If he made a mistake, or hesitated, Angelus would wordlessly drive a powerful fist straight into his stomach. The first time it just winded him for a second or two; but when it was happening five times a night, every night, it soon became so painful that he would be left gasping on the ground, before being hoisted up unforgivingly and made to continue. ‘Concentrate,’ Angelus said, when William was foolish enough to complain. ‘This is your business now, it’s high time you started to learn it properly.’

And there was a lot of business to learn.

After a kill had been achieved, or the fatal hour of twelve reached and none made, the rest of the night would be spent in scouting the area. This was if anything more exhausting than hunting. Vampires are predators, and like all predators William was accustomed to spending long periods lounging around doing very little. He found that he was fast and strong, but just not designed for steady slow work. Resting, though, was no longer an option. Every building, every street, each field, wood or expanse of open moorland, had to be scoured for demon sign; until William’s nose actually ached from sniffing for blood or spore and his eyes were swimming from peering for the faint trails where demons might have passed.

The signs seemed logical enough when Angelus or Darla was there to show him, but as soon as he was alone and faced with an entire field or street by himself then everything just looked indistinguishable. Time and again he would think he had found something, and ran a mile or so to fetch one of the older vampires for confirmation, only to have his discovery curtly dismissed as an animal track or, even more embarrassingly, something left by humans. While he would have walked right past a trail that they spotted straight away. And yet if he didn’t move fast enough to cover his allotted ground, or tried to catch even a short break, there would be hell to pay.

Angelus’s comments on his failings became more and more sarcastic, until William could only glare with sullen eyes and clenched fists. He tried asking for more help, and got sneered at for being a dunce. He suggested he concentrate on the few things he was good at, and was accused of trying to shirk. He lost his temper and shouted, and Angelus just walked away with a contemptuous look.

William was damned if he was going to beg.

He wasn’t a fool, he knew what was going on: four selfish, arrogant, heartless demons were being driven into far too close a proximity with each other, without enough of the one thing that made their existence worthwhile. And they were all too proud to admit that it had been a mistake to come north at all.

The exception, of course, was Darla, who never missed an opportunity to point out that she hadn’t wanted to leave London in the first place. Dru was maintaining that she had never suggested it either. ‘I saw what was going to happen. I never said it would be a nice treat,’ she said. William tried to reply that he was just doing what he was told. But he knew perfectly well that it was his behaviour which had forced them to go. And Angelus had found a simple way out of evading the responsibility: he blamed William.

So every day William collapsed exhausted asleep with an aching hollow in his belly and a cold shoulder from his sire, only to wake early and sneak out again to try and snatch a few brief hours of enjoyment before the grind began once more.

So what if it left him more tired at the end of the night? Or if the strength of a vampire constitution meant he had to drink twice as much as a human would to get drunk? He beat up passers-by in the streets for their money; and drank three times as much to make certain. And he couldn’t care less if he spent the later part of the night with a raging hangover.

If there weren’t pubs open early enough, and as the evenings were drawing in it became harder to find any, then he bought or stole gin where he could and swigged it lurking in some convenient outhouse or barn.

He got away with it for seventeen days.

It was the ever fickle weather which finally caught him out: changing from an overcast afternoon to a briefly glorious evening of sunshine, that bathed the little mill town in a warm, rosy glow and brought the scent of heather and hill thyme rolling in off the moors. He cursed the sun from his hiding place in somebody’s coal shed, and counted down the minutes until it dipped at last behind the peaks. Then he ran like the wind.

But Angelus was waiting for him.

There was no hope of lying his way out this time. Angelus grabbed him by the scruff and bent him over the table. Then the belt came out, and William’s world narrowed to a fiery, red fog of hammering cracks that made every muscle in his body arch against the hard wood and a wave of pain under which he writhed, yelped, and howled like a young tom cat.

It was only when he was hauled back up and thrown half way across the room that he realised Darla and Dru had both witnessed his humiliation.

Darla just smirked and stepped round him, but it was Dru he was looking at. Her expression was one of hatred, pure and simple. ‘How dare you defy Daddy. How dare you!’

‘Dru, I—’

‘You were supposed to be my knight and save me from the dragon, and all you do is scoff the plum pudding and say there aren’t any currants!’ She spat on him and flew down with nails flailing, spewing out curses.

He threw his arms up in defence, yelling back, ‘Get off. Get her off me.’

Neither Darla nor Angelus did anything.

‘Damn you, Sire! I’m not taking this!’ He started to hit her back, until they rolled and scrabbled across the floor and into the hallway in a ball of spitting demonic rage. She was older than he was, and stronger, but he was reckless with hunger and not a little drunk, and his response must have taken her by surprise. Either that or it was blind luck that led to him suddenly finding himself sitting on top of her and banging her head repeatedly against the scuffed, wooden floorboards. ‘You bitch. You little bitch. I don’t take orders from anybody. Not Sire, not Darla, and certainly not you, do you hear!’ He backhanded her across the mouth and changed into his demon face with a snarl. ‘Do you hear?’ He opened his throat to roar and was hit by the reek of her scent and saw the vast black pupils blazing in their golden rings up at him. Opening wider and wider for him every time he hit her. With a throaty rumble between a purr and a growl, Dru lunged up towards him, and locked her deep fanged mouth onto his own. He bruised it back, reaching down with one hand to yank her skirts roughly up, and thrusting in underneath. He suddenly couldn’t care less about the emptiness in his belly, because Dru was screaming with ecstasy every time he drove viciously into her, and shuddering with pleasure as he gouged his nails through her blackening skin. And with a bellow he bit down upon her gleaming-white neck and sucked her blood straight from the artery, until she swooned under him as they came together.

He pulled out from her limp body and pushed himself to stand, his face returning to the likeness of a flawless young man. There was the sound of a slow handclap behind him. ‘Bravo. William’s finally worked out what makes Dru happy.’

‘Yeh. Should have known I was being too gentle with her. I see what you mean about her being a good lay, Angelus.’

‘And how, exactly, were you thinking of explaining your behaviour to them?’

‘Who?’ He turned; and for the first time took in the hotel manager, the porter, and a chambermaid, staring aghast, with the freckle-faced young boots peering round from behind them.

‘I know you like an audience when you’re letting yourself go, boy; but I do wish you wouldn’t do these things in front of the staff.’

‘And just when we had found somewhere worth staying,’ Darla remarked, as she started to snap necks.

William barked back, ‘Well at least it means we get a decent bloody meal for once,’ and joined in.

‘That,’ Angelus said conversationally, ‘is the only reason you are still alive.’

They started to eat until they were so stuffed they felt they would never feed again.

William looked up at one point, and saw Angelus holding Dru and peering down at the fresh bite mark on her throat. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she said in her tiniest, most girlish voice. ‘I tried to stop him. And I didn’t know he was going to steal the tarts, Daddy.’

‘I know, precious,’ Angelus said flatly. He frowned and bent over her, licking the bite scrupulously clean. ‘Is that better?’ She nodded. ‘I was a bit surprised you let him get the better of you, though.’

She snickered and looked down. He tapped her sharply on the nose. ‘Whose?’

She stretched up and whispered something in his ear, and he nodded and grabbed her mouth with his own, giving her a long, lingering kiss. ‘Go and feed now, my girl,’ he said at last. She beamed up at him and skipped off happily.

Angelus glanced across and caught William watching him. He gave his childe a broad wink, then turned back to the feast. William eyed him for a bit longer, before cautiously beginning to feed again.

By the time they had moved their bags into the latest new hotel room in the latest new town, William was starting to cast distinctly uneasy glances in Angelus’s direction.

Dru had abruptly begun to sway and then drifted into a fit of the giggles about half an hour previously, and she kept looking at first William and then Angelus and bursting out in great snorts of laughter. It was probable she had seen something, but whatever it was she was keeping it to herself.

‘Darla,’ Angelus said. ‘Why don’t you sit in the comfortable chair? You look tired, my love.’

‘I’m fine, Angelus,’ she replied; but she went and sat down.

Angelus was rummaging around in the small bag that contained their few possessions. ‘Where is that box of matches? I’m sure we had a box left.’ William quickly produced one and Angelus got the fire going. He piled it up high, carefully manipulating the lumps of coal with the short poker until they were in a perfect cone that channelled the air upwards, and soon a cheerful glow bathed the room.

‘Very well.’ Angelus stood up, tapping the poker thoughtfully against the palm of his hand. ‘My love, I think you will agree that we can manage without William’s services for a day or two.’

Darla nodded and watched languidly as her darling set the poker carefully down, walked over, and laid a light hand on William’s shoulder.

‘Demon face,’ Angelus instructed, and William slid his sabre fangs smoothly out. ‘Good boy. Now…’ The big vampire brought up his forefinger and pressed it against the needle sharp tip of the upper right canine, sending a little thrill up into William’s skull. The numerous nerves and thick muscle attachment that allowed him to extend and withdraw his fangs meant that they were very sensitive to the slightest pressure, it was one of the things that made feeding so pleasurable.

‘What’s this?’ Angelus asked, holding out his finger for inspection. A ruby bright bead of blood glinted on the tip.

‘Your blood, Sire.’

‘Exactly. Mine.’ Angelus licked the finger clean. ‘And what is this?’ He flicked the same finger out sharply against a small graze William had picked up on his forehead, releasing another bead of blood, which he held in front of his childe’s eyes.

William wasn’t a fool. ‘Your blood, Sire.’

‘Good. Mine. And this?’ A crusting fleck of Drusilla’s, that time, still clinging to William’s cheek.

‘Your blood, Sire.’

‘Very good, William. It’s mine. So you grasp the concept of ownership. Now, you just need to be taught a little respect for my property.’ Angelus took out the belt. ‘Hold your hands out.’ He looped the strap over William’s wrists, hauling it tight and crossing it over several times until both hands were tied firmly together. William swallowed nervously and Angelus gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Won’t take long, Will.’

He reached down and gripped something he had dropped into his pocket whilst looking for the matches.

‘Drusilla, will you come and hold William’s head for me.’

Dru must have been right behind him because he immediately felt her pinion his head between her long white fingers, tilting it slightly back so he was gazing right into his sire’s face. Angelus reached out quickly and dug the thumb and forefinger of one hand into his cheeks, which made him open his mouth, like a pet about to be given a dose of medicine. Then Angelus’s other hand flashed across, and he felt a grating against his fang. A violent push. A wrenching, twisting pull. And he bucked out of Dru’s grip and started to scream and scream and scream, until his lungs felt as if they were hurling his heart up out of his chest. Blood was pouring out of his mouth and a black curtain seemed to have crashed down over his vision. He was unaware that Darla had taken the round eyed Dru by the hand and led her straight out of the door. He didn’t see Angelus quickly pocket the tooth and toss the pliers back into the bag; or feel him pull off the restraining strap and kick it out of sight under the bed. All he could do was scream and scream. Shrill and terror filled as a rabbit caught in a gin trap. And beat his hands against his head to try and tear the pain out. And scream. And scream. And scream. And scream.

‘William. William, stop. Change back.’ Angelus grabbed him and held his arms again. ‘You’ve got to change back, Will. Listen to me. Will!’ Angelus was glaring at him with anxious intensity. ‘Human face. Show me your human face. Damn it, boy, that’s an order!’ He straightened up with relief. ‘Good boy. Clever boy. That’s my clever Will.’

William was white faced and immobile for a few terrible seconds, staring up at the man in front of him. The man who was rubbing his fingers reassuringly against William’s arms as he held them. Then William sobbed, and buried his face against the only comfort on offer: his sire’s shoulder.

And Angelus’s strong arms wrapped him round.

‘It’s all right, Will. I’ve got you. I’m here. I’ve got you, little one.’ He kissed the top of his head.

For the first time since he had been made, William let the tears stream down his face unchecked.

‘Hush, I’ve got you, little one. I’ve got you. There, there. It’s all over now. All done. Hush now. Hush.’ Angelus cradled him, rocking him back and forth.

‘It hurts,’ William choked out between sobs.

‘I know. I know it does, Will. I know.’ Rocking and soothing. ‘You’ll be all right, little one. I’ve got you. Sire’s got you.’ He began to steer him over to the bed, still holding him tight. Then he gently sat him down and slid up beside him, an arm round his shoulder the while. He kissed him again. ‘All over, little one. I’ve got you.’

‘Will it grow back?’ William asked desperately.

‘Hush. Of course it will grow back. It’s only a baby tooth. Six months and you won’t even know it was ever gone.’ He joggled his shoulder with an encouraging pat. ‘Do you think I’d ever do anything to mar my beautiful little boy?’

William let out another big sob. ‘No.’ He burrowed back into the nest of his sire’s chest. ‘But it hurts.’

Angelus squeezed his hand. ‘Yes, little one. I know. I know it does. Hush now. Hush, baby. Hush.’ Another kiss. ‘Shhshh.’ He rocked him again, lulling him, the flow of soothing words and a quiet reassuring purr coming all the time, until William’s tears slowed into exhausted stillness.

‘Do you want to go to bed now?’

William nodded miserably.

‘Come along then.’ Angelus stood him up and started to unbutton his clothes for him, only slightly hampered because William wouldn’t let go of his hand. William was somehow got undressed and into a soft warm night-shirt, then his sire scooped him up in his arms and laid him in the middle of the bed, tucking the blankets round him before sitting down himself, resting against the head-board with one knee drawn up. William curled up right against Angelus’s thigh, whimpering and still holding tightly onto his sire’s hand. Angelus started to soothe his hair, quieting him further. ‘There you are, little one, my little Will. Sleep now. I’m here. Sleep now. I’ve got you. Your sire’s got you. You’re my little one and I’ll look after you.’ He bent down and planted one final kiss on William’s cheek as the miserable fledgling at last drifted into the peace of sleep.

‘I’ve got you,’ Angelus said.

William spent the next two days in bed. His face was swollen, black and puffy. Dru seemed overawed by what had happened and was keeping her distance. Even Angelus was quieter than usual. He seemed happy though, as if William’s panic stricken acceptance of him had somehow replenished his self-belief, which had been so badly damaged by their failure to establish a new territory. He babied his fledgling, cuddling him close or making gentle love to him. William cried a lot, and made a fuss every time Angelus went out of the room. Oddly enough, it was Darla who finally pulled him round.

On the third evening after it had happened she came and sat down on the bed beside him. ‘How are you feeling, William?’

He rubbed his fist across his scowling eyes and didn’t answer.

She sighed. ‘Open up.’ He wouldn’t, so she slapped him lightly on the back of the head. ‘I said, open up.’ Gently but firmly she tilted his chin to catch more light and peered into his mouth. Then she stuck her finger in.

‘Ow,’ he said, as she poked what felt like a huge gap where his tooth had been. ‘Ow!’

She let him go. ‘Angelus, come here.’ She took out a very small penknife and sliced her childe’s wrist. Angelus gave a slight yelp – of surprise as much as anything. ‘Why are men such babies?’ Darla said in exasperation. ‘Drink, William.’

It was a close run thing as to who of the men looked more stunned. After a second, though, William fastened on. He suckled noisily, worrying at the sides of the wound with his lips and tongue, but not using his remaining fangs, while Angelus stood there looking embarrassed. Then Darla said, ‘You forgot to change,’ so matter-of-factly that he slipped into his true face without thinking about it.

‘That’s enough, William,’ she said after a while. ‘Now get up and make yourself useful.’ And she rose and walked away from them.

William blinked twice. Then got up.

‘William, you will come with me tonight,’ Darla instructed as they prepared to leave for the hunt.

William stopped dead. ‘I want to go with Sire.’

‘I think he should go with me this evening, Darla, don’t you?’

Darla shot Angelus a look. ‘You may have achieved what you wanted to, my boy. I have not. He is coming with me.’

Angelus was about to say something else, when she growled. Very low and very quiet but definitely a growl. He looked away and scratched his nose casually, as if it wasn’t really anything important to him after all.

‘Come along, Dru. Let’s go and try up by the Municipal Library.’ They left.

William found himself looking at the matriarch of the family.

‘If you carry on like this, William, you are going to end up as crazy as Drusilla. Do you want that?’

‘No,’ he whispered.

‘It frightens you doesn’t it: the thought that he might drive you mad.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I suggest you pull yourself together and there won’t be any need to worry about it.’

He frowned; and, as she walked away without waiting to see if he was following, he made a contemptuous gesture at her departing back.

He seemed to bounce back remarkably quickly after that. He was still quiet for a day or two, but then one evening he whispered something to Dru which set her off into a fit of giggles, and by the end of the night he was showing off and balancing along the top of a narrow wall as they walked home. The night after that Angelus had had to cuff him three times before they even left the building.

It was soon almost as if nothing had happened, except that everybody’s mood was suddenly more optimistic; and William developed the irritating habit of sucking at the gap where his tooth had been. He was also made to sleep between Angelus and Darla, which meant he couldn’t get out of bed in the middle of the day without one of them noticing to fetch him back. They had to do so on a regular basis.