Chapter Text
Now
“We should go to the movies,” Erik says in Charles’ direction. Dating has its charms, he recalls, spending time alone with Charles even more so. Charles barely looks up, but across the room the suggestion is met with much applause and a small explosion of flame, which thankfully dissipates before it can do any damage. “I didn’t mean you, dimwits,” he adds, over the sound of Hank’s panicked yips – there are in a library, after all, surrounded by bibliophiles. Erik isn’t sure how is Alex still allowed inside.
“The least you could do is treat us to a movie, jackass,” Raven says. She sounds bitter, but at least she is talking, which is a major improvement over the silent treatment Erik was getting the past two weeks. “Otherwise we’ll be left thinking you are an unrepentant, soulless dick.” The tone of her voice implies “otherwise” and the future tense is a rhetorical figure, not to be taken seriously. Erik doesn’t mind. Insults are welcome. They imply communication. Charles insists on communication.
“I am a staunch supporter of calling a spade a spade,” Erik says, picking up an ancient book on the breeds of demons one can summon with an incautious word.
Charles is buried in his papery pile down to his curly hair, but his smile permeates his every word and beyond, drawing forth smiles from everyone present. “In this case the soulless part would have been a lie.”
“Being in possession of a glorified light bulb does not make a man ensouled,” Erik says, perusing the page which informs the reader that a petunia eating creature will appear if the words “gibblety gobblety goop” are spoken over warm rhubarb. How he would have loved to be around when that priceless gem of universally applicable knowledge was first discovered and tested.
Charles moves the stack of parchment to the left, creating a narrow window to the rest of the room. “Vampire, then.”
“Technically, it would be a mammal-based parasitic biped.”
“You swing both ways now? Since when?” Raven says with a scowl, which Erik jots down in his memory book. A scowl is very nearly a smile, which will merit a reward from Charles, later. He carefully avoids eye-contact (a teenage girl is a foreign species, one shouldn’t antagonise it), but the opening is too perfect to let slide.
“Charles, as a concerned citizen I would like to raise the awareness of illiteracy in our youth.”
“It happens when there is too much cinema and not enough books.”
Raven huffs. She hoists her legs up over the armrest of the couch and wiggles her bare feet in the air. The book she was reading is now underneath her head, which, Erik feels, more than supports his point. “Gimme a break, Charles, I breathe books. There are more books in my room alone than there are rats in the whole city and let me tell you, the city is rat-central. I crawled through enough sewers to know, trust me.”
Sean raises a hand, hits the ceiling, hisses, then forgets all about it and starts nodding to a beat only he can hear. “Yeah, man, come on, don’t be a killjoy. Let’s all go out, this place is a bloody mausoleum,” he says from his perch on top of a bookshelf.
Erik grins. Everyone studiously avoids looking at his mouth, even though his face remains technically human and therefore free of fangs. “What do you say, Charles?”
“I think it’s a marvellous idea. Do make sure to pick up some popcorn and chocolate for me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy cheesy blockbusters.”
“I do enjoy most of them, but I’m afraid I cannot leave the house.”
Erik rolls his eyes. “The mausoleum can survive without you for a few hours. Stop being such a drag.”
“Let me rephrase. I am not able to leave the house,” Charles says, taking the reading glasses off and gets up. He stacks the book he was reading on the appropriate shelf (the one around which cast iron vines curl, top to bottom; it’s where he stores all books containing explosive spells) and pulls out another. There is a faint thrum of magic that lets Erik know there are spells in place around, or possibly in, the shelf, which is a sensible precaution, against a house full of kids. “I don’t wish to stop you from going, though. Fun is important. If we don’t take a moment to unwind now and then we might become too tangled in our woes to function.”
“What do you mean you’re unable to leave the house?” Erik crosses his arms and fixes his gaze between Charles’ shoulder blades.
“Precisely that. I’m bound to the premises.” It’s not much of an answer, and Charles is evidently aware of it, because he unbuttons a few buttons of his shirt and pulls it down, revealing the upper edge of an intricate tattoo, which spans the breadth of flesh between his shoulders and disappears below the line drawn by the shirt’s collar. It means little to Erik, past a dusty memory of seeing something of its ilk in a book, or three. It’s been too long and too little, though, so he is not at all surprised that Hank gasps at the sight first and all but dives for a dusty tome in excitement.
“I know what this is! I’ve seen it in here, this is a Sigillum Dei Aemeth! This is heavy duty magic; these sigils were used to fetter gods in the old days.”
“Yes, I do feel quite privileged.”
Hank flips through the book, happily chattering away, blissfully unaware that the temperature in the room has gone down a few degrees, despite Alex’s fiery presence. Hank has the uncanny ability to miss the elephant when chasing the mice.
“What.” Erik says flatly.
Charles shrugs. He buttons the shirt up and, almost unconsciously, brushes his fingertips against the scar on his neck. “I can’t say I’m happy with it, but house arrest is better than prison. I dodged a bullet there.”
“What exactly have you done to merit prison?” Raven asks and it’s only half a joke. The other half is deadly serious. “Did you forget to feed a kitten? Returned a book late? Raised your voice in a public library?”
“Involuntary manslaughter,” Charles says. “And treason. Possibly being an insufferable know-it-all, but that remains open to interpretation. Although… now that I recall the faces of the Council, it is a distinct possibility that the latter has been my worst offence.”
*****
Six Years Ago
It was not so much music as it was the roar of a herd of cattle, slowed digitally and then played from a scratched CD. The one thing Erik still recognised from his youth was the steady pulse, which rolled over the club forcing every heart within to match its beat. His was exempt, naturally, lacking the necessary vital signs.
Clubs were excellent hunting ground. Darkness meant cover, drinks meant suggestibility and gullibility, and for his purposes, deniability. “Why no, officer, it must have been the other vampire. Would you trust a drunken college kid when he points at me, swaying on his feet? I look like a hundred other men, in this light it could have been Gary Oldman himself.”
It was not outside the realms of possibility that he was a little hungry.
Erik didn’t fancy himself invisible where he was, perched on the support beams of the ceiling, but he was secure in the assumption no one would care, even if he were noticed. The fumes were far too dense to worry about recognition. He surveyed the club with a discerning gaze. Too young, too old, not drunk enough…
Ah, perfect.
The boy swayed with the beat. The curly bangs on his sweaty forehead fell into his eyes with every move; his lips were parted and stretched in an inviting smile. Unfortunately for Erik’s plans there was a woman gyrating against him, with her eager mouth on the nape of his neck. She must have been young, younger than Erik even, because she only narrowly managed to hold on to her human face. The kid half turned to her and, even though his eyes were half-closed and the lighting of the club leaves much to be desired, Erik got the impression his eyes were as blue as the sky. He smelled of dust, books and sweat, and no less than three kinds of alcohol.
It didn’t spell trouble that Erik could focus on this singular heartbeat, this singular smell, in a crowd of hundreds. At least, it didn’t spell trouble for Erik. There was a wealth of problems the vampire woman would find herself facing in a few moments, he thought, when she started pulling the boy out of the crowd and through the back door.
Erik walked down the beam until he could reach the concealed window, and squeezed through the narrow opening. There was grime on the other side, but fuck grime. That kid looked good enough to eat; he might be worth breaking a few rules and a trip to the Laundromat.
He landed behind a dumpster, where an old tom cat was glaring at him, before the vampire navigated her way around the heavy steel door. “An alley, seriously?” he heard the boy speak. “Isn’t that a little dreary?”
“I promise, luv, you won’t forget the alley for as long as you live.”
“Doubt it. I’m pretty drunk. I won’t be remembering it tomorrow, I bet.”
“So little faith you have in me!” She let out a giggle which made Erik roll his eyes. What epoch was she from, Canada?
“Don’t get me wrong, I am sorry about that, because you have a spectacularly groovy eye colour. Did you know that blue is carried by the recessive genes? I should remember their designation, I usually do. It slipped my mind just now. Did it start with an M? It might have. It’s a lovely colour.”
Erik grinned when the woman made a face. Not a thinker, that one.
“Sweetie, if you can find it in your pretty little head to think, I must be doing something wrong.” Her manicured fingernails skimmed the boy’s waistband, dipping inside for a tease.
“Yes, you are.”
Erik saw his hands move. The boy was human and he was a vampire, of course he saw. Making sense of what he saw took a little longer, because the boy had drawn a plain cigarette lighter from his pocket, except when he clicked it there was a flash of bright light and the vampire exploded in flames. She didn’t even have time to scream before dissolving into a cloud of ash.
The boy coughed and covered his mouth in a vain attempt to keep the swirling particles out. “Ew, I’m gonna be coughing her up for days,” he muttered, waving his hand around. It had the opposite of the desired effect.
Suicide was not high on Erik’s to-do list. He was far too practical, and he still had a few fuckers to utterly destroy. He had a busy unlife and he was in no hurry to see it finished, which was why he found it puzzling that the little human boy, whose eyes were sky-blue, who killed vampires without a thought, had just been upgraded from a casual snack to a gourmet meal, instead of the more sensible deadly poison.
He should write it up and send it to the guys from Jackass. A vampire desires a vampire killer. Let them figure out the stunt doubles for that.
“I know you’re there.”
Erik blinked at the concrete wall. He was certain he’d made no sound to give himself away (much easier when breathing ceased to be a problem), and the kid was still getting over his coughing fit, and those tended to absorb the attention of the living.
“Either the Powers That Be finally got tired of being sexist pigs, or you are the butchest Slayer I have ever seen,” Erik said. The boy’s eyes were still closed, and his shoulders shook with effort.
“How many Slayers have you seen?”
“Just one and she was mostly dead.”
“Shows what you know, then.”
The coughing fit must have passed, because the kid was looking in his direction. Erik shrugged and stepped out from behind the dumpster, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “What’s the range on that thing?” he asked, nodding towards the lighter.
The boy frowned. “Not great, I’m afraid. It’s a much better lighter than a weapon.”
It was a weapon all the same. Erik didn’t budge from his spot. “Are you depressed or suicidal?”
“No, why?”
“One can’t help but hope.”
“Well, one will have to go hungry tonight, if one is set on me. Were you two going to share me? I’m dreadfully sorry. Was it true love?” the boy cooed, which, given the romantic setting of a dirty back alley with trash containers and rats, made him sound like a hooker out to earn a month’s wages in a single night.
“Darling,” Erik drawled, fully conscious that he was as good as diving for his check book, just in case, “If I got you, I wouldn’t share for a football team of virgins.”
“Oh. Well, thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant to be one. You smell very tasty.”
“I smell of books and dust. I work in a library.”
“We aren’t all uncultured boors. Some of us appreciate a conversation with our dinner.”
“And beyond lies the Wub. Does dust help with that?”
“Book dust, a little.” Erik thought fondly of his own library-laden past, of books and paper and leather bindings, shelves of runes and parchments. It was a good smell; dust was distant sunshine and companionship, books were knowledge and bright new worlds, waiting to be discovered. The galaxies at his fingertips, strange planets, alcohol and hamsters inheriting the earth. Those were the days. “The more I wander the more I find myself singular in my preferences.”
“Pardon me for asking, but you don’t sound like you’re terribly old.”
“Do I look old to you?”
“I’m nineteen, so who doesn’t?” The kid laughed and shook his head. The lighter flickered open between his fingers. The flame, brighter than it should be, hurtful to Erik’s nocturnal eyes, illuminated his boyish face, his bright blue irises and wide, inky pupils. “I meant how long have you been dead?”
“Sixteen years.”
“Wow. So you’re a rebellious teen by vampire standards?”
Erik smirked. “As much as that assertion wounds me, I’m forced to admit that I am rebelling against my sire, hence the chatting up and not violent biting of throats. He’s a traditionalist, you see.”
“And here I was thinking you liked me for me. Oh well.”
Erik couldn’t help but watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, the accompanying puffs of white escaping his mouth. Oh Christ, he was going to have that kid for lunch, dinner and breakfast. He would keep him locked up for years, just so he could feed on him every day; he would keep him comfortable, on a soft bed, draining him inch by delicious cubic inch, drop by drop, licking the blood out of shallow cuts so that they healed and he could repeat the process the next afternoon.
… and veering back to the real world, thank you, brain, Erik thought.
“Are you going to try eating me?”
“Well, yes, now that you mention it, I will eat you. Will you mind terribly?”
“I’d much rather you didn’t, if that’s all the same to you. I’m not a little drunk and tired, so I might go overboard with self-defence and…” The boy cocked his head and considered. “Then again, you are a vampire, so any force would be justifiable. You know what, never mind my rambling. I’m sure I’m pretty tasty. You are more than welcome to try.”
“You seem awfully confident for someone who’s all alone, at night, in an empty alley with a predator with nothing but a cigarette lighter to guard his honour.” If he was any hungrier even the lighter wouldn’t have stopped him. Erik was fast. He could wrench the little contraption out of the boy’s hands before he could move; fortunately, his thirst was moderate and he was enjoying the banter, so the boy would be allowed to live a little while longer. Then he would die, because Erik didn’t often go all out, but when he did, he went out with style. There would be tuxedoes and capes.
“I’ve given up on my honour,” the boy said, waving a dismissive hand through a complicated set of invisible obstacles. “Didn’t find much use for it. I’m prepared to get very territorial about the blood though.”
“Now, there’s no need to be selfish. You have what, twelve pints of blood in you? Didn’t your mother teach you to share?” Erik took a step forward, holding out his hands.
“My mother taught me to hold my liquor, luv. Please don’t come any closer.” The boy straightened and stepped away from the wall. “You seem like a pleasant fellow and I’m really tired. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?”
Erik glanced at the lighter, at the sparks streaming from the grinding wheels. “Only if you don’t mind me finding you later.”
“I’m not going to let you kill me,” the boy said firmly. There was the first hint of fear in his scent, just a pale line zigzagging through his overall aura. Just the perfect amount, too – anymore and it would spoil the flavour. Erik licked his lips.
“I’m not going to let you get away.”
The fear solidified, brightened, became fixed, but the boy didn’t even tremble. “What’s your name?”
“Erik Lehnsherr.”
“Pleased to meet you, Erik. I’m Charles. I’m a Watcher in training. You might want to reconsider your dinner plans.”
Erik took another step forward, into the murky light of the suddenly distant lamplight. Charles didn’t flinch, even when they were standing less than six feet apart. There was plenty of alcohol on his breath, but his eyes were clear and sky-blue, and fixed on Erik’s.
“I don’t think I will,” Erik said.
Charles’ smile was thoroughly unexpected. “You have every advantage over me, so be warned that I will use deadly force.”
“Duly noted.”
“I’ll see you later then, Erik. Hopefully sober.”
“Goodbye.”
Charles held himself straight as he walked out of the alley. He really was drunk, there was no escaping the fact, but he moved very deliberately and with a clear sense of purpose, which even the alcohol couldn’t muddle. Erik dithered for a few minutes, then took great care in scaling the wall as though he was merely out on a stroll, stretching his legs, and following, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. A few blocks down Charles hailed a cab, which Erik took as a sign to stop bothering. He was no dog to be chasing down cars, not even if there were juicy bones inside to gnaw on.
The kid had to leave the house sometime, and when he did, Erik would be waiting.
In the meantime he got back to the club, to the drunk and stoned coeds. The appeal was suddenly negligible, but a vampire needed to suck, such was the course of life.
*****
The next time Erik saw Charles, he was the one drunk. He didn’t plan it; it worked out that way. He’d gone on the prowl to find himself a decent midnight snack, which he did, following which he went into the nearby bar and downed nearly a bottle of vodka and chased it down with scotch. Not that there was any emotional significance to that particular day, fuck anyone who asked.
“Rough day, son?” the bartender asked when he set another tumbler of whiskey in front of him.
“Anniversary of my death, thank you. Bring me another.”
“Sounds serious.” The rag in the bartender’s hands twisted and turned, polishing a shot glass from the inside; left right, flip the glass, set it aside, take another. Erik watched the movement mesmerised.
“It’s a Thursday, to boot. I fucking hate Thursdays.”
“I’d rather have Thursdays than Fridays.”
“Shows what you know.” Erik downed his tumbler. “Another.”
There was a reason Erik frequented that particular bar. The barman was always looking for a good afternoon yak, but he was as open minded as they got: no less than three murders were committed in his establishment by vampires or demons, including one black mass with a ritualistic slaughtering, and the place remained open and welcoming to all. (To give the human authorities their due, the barman had been locked in the cellar for the duration of the mass, he could prove his loud protests with minor wounds which couldn’t have been self-inflicted, and the other two murders were rather inconspicuous – just two patrons, too drunk to move, turning out to have died sometime during the binge.) He appreciated the business he got from the vampires and their superior metabolism, especially since it meant that he and his family enjoyed untouchable status among the nocturnal population.
“I heard they found a new Slayer,” the barman said unexpectedly.
“I’m sorry?”
The barkeep shrugged and moved on from the shot glasses to tumblers. “I’m just repeating gossip. Beats me what they meant by that, mind. There were a couple gentlemen in here earlier, wearing very puzzling masks, who complained that a Slayer was found. They seemed agitated.”
“This could be bad news.”
“Will it interfere with my business?”
“Shouldn’t. If it does, just say the word and I’m pretty sure more customers will be arranged.” Erik fished out a fifty out of his pocket and dropped it on the counter. “Take care and remain ignorant.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Erik stumbled out into the cool night, displeased to find the alley right by the bar very much occupied. Someone had taken care to splatter something delicious all over the walls, which indicated very poor table manners.
“Erik. Fancy meeting you here.”
Erik stopped and got his eyes to concentrate on the immediate surroundings. “Charles. Good evening. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Did you by any chance see or hear anything?”
“I was busy getting smashed,” Erik replied truthfully. The street was slowly swimming into visual focus. Sadly it was a very delicious focus, making conversation difficult. There was blood everywhere. Erik cursed his youth, it make him want to lick the walls. As if to make matters worse, Charles was standing at the mouth of the alley, speaking to a pleasant young woman, who would make an acceptable entrée to the main course, quite acceptable indeed, if she didn’t reek of hospitals and disinfecting fluids. “What happened here?”
“Obviously, she tripped,” the woman said with a wry quirk to her lips.
Erik glared at her, taking care to notice her uniform and footwear so sensible it had its own cooking show. “I see dating standards have gone down in recent years, if you think track shoes are fetching,” he shot back.
She treated him to another quirk of the brow and turned to Charles. “Is he a friend of yours?”
Charles laughed. “We’ve met once.”
“So he is a friend.”
“What have I just said?”
“I heard you perfectly. Unfortunately I happen to know you, hence the question.” She was grinning as she spoke, and Charles, in turn, looked faintly embarrassed.
“Don’t you have lives to save?” Erik folded his arms and tried to ignore the blood. The dead girl was just young enough to be delicious. He wasn’t hungry, but sometimes the lack of hunger wasn’t enough. He focused on Charles instead, to avoid saying anything stupid, but when he did something else started bothering him. Yes, he would have happily gone on his knees to lick the bricks thirty seconds ago (the girl was alive when she was splattered open), but the longer he stood there, ignoring the overwhelming scent of blood, the more he noticed a discord in the air. Something else was there, something he’d encountered previously and which had made a lasting impression.
“The life we came to save didn’t make it.” The woman tilted her head to the side and Erik all but saw the carotid artery throb an invitation in Morse code. Her blood wouldn’t even leave marks on the vivid red of her jacket.
Erik managed to contain the growl, just barely.
“Right,” Charles said, a little too urgently. “Moira, I think they are just about done. You should go.”
“I guess.” Moira looked at Erik, then back to Charles and Erik again. Something passed through her face then, because the smile dimmed and she nodded. “If you say so. I’ll call you later, alright?”
“Do. I’ll see you.”
Moira departed in the ambulance, which was the only reasonable way for Moira to depart, if Erik had anything to say about it, and Charles turned to him with a frosty glare. “Did you do this?”
“Why would I do this?”
The lighter was in Charles’ hand; his thumb rested on the wheel, ready to spark the deadly flame into existence. Erik chanced a look around. No one was looking at them, perhaps justly so, because the police was just now setting up a perimeter around the mouth of the alley. Then again, this was the vampire central. People were wilfully blind to anyone suddenly bursting into a cloud of dust, which was why Erik answered truthfully. “I didn’t. I generally abstain from killing, let alone spilling the food.”
“As if.”
“No, I mean it.” Charles’ eyes were darker when he was angry. Erik smiled. He wondered what he’d look like in a rage. He wondered what he would taste like after a fight. “I’m far from insisting I never kill, but I make a point of leaving most of the generous donors alive. It saves me trouble in the long run.”
“Are you trying to tell me no one has ever reported you?” Charles’ eyes were round in wonder and surprise. The lighter, Erik was gratified to notice, hung loosely between his fingertips. What a naïve child, he thought, fighting the impulse to pat the boy on the head in a condescending manner.
“Why would they? Most of them are too stoned to remember me. Like I said, there is a direct correlation between the amount of corpses I leave behind me and the amount of trouble I attract.” It was surprisingly true – people were far more willing to ignore fang marks on their necks if they could stumble home (or hospital – Erik wasn’t that concerned) and walk out into the sunlight the next morning with steamy tales to tell.
Charles seemed to have followed his line of reasoning, because the lighter went away and Erik got an apology, if a half-hearted one. “Sorry. It’s just that I’m certain she was killed by a vampire, and you just happened to be in the neighbourhood.”
He was a young Watcher, he’d said. Erik wondered if the Council was aware of the dubious nature of the bar around the corner.
“Not that it’s unusual, what with the bar and all, but still. I’m glad it wasn’t you.”
Well, that answered the question. “Thank you so much for the vote of confidence. I can tell you are a real treasure to have as a friend.”
“We’re not friends, Erik. You’re a vampire.”
“Good to see the Council is as xenophobic as ever. Just because I’m differently alive is no reason to discriminate against me.”
The smile that appeared on Charles’ face was unexpected, bright and brilliant. If Erik was at all nostalgic about the sunshine he was missing on account of being deathly allergic to it, he would have found it an acceptable substitute. He wasn’t, of course, and even if he missed sauntering around midday in polo shirts and shorts, he certainly wouldn’t find a little Watcher’s smile an acceptable substitute.
He was a fucking demonic parasite, for fuck’s sake.
“I can’t dispute that,” Charles said, with his hands in his pockets, swaying back and forth like a ten-year-old. “They are bigoted jerks. Although in their defence most vampires don’t inspire trust, both in feeding habits and demeanour.”
“Which makes us different from most humans, how?”
“Point taken.” The smile softened, became almost friendly.
Erik’s vision was sharp, glaring around the edges and, somehow, it made so much sense to want to touch the boy and not hurt him. He quelled the impulse. He didn’t need to breathe, but there were times when every creature must sigh, regardless of its state of vitality, and as he did, he finally understood what the missing component was.
Sulphur.
Not just any sulphur either. There was little more than a faint aftertaste; the kind that would remain when a tendril of reddish mist yielded to Brownian inevitability.
“It was a demon,” Erik said.
“Pardon?”
“A demon killed her. I can smell sulphur.”
Charles pouted. “I was certain it was a vampire. Of course, I yield to your superior olfactory expertise,” he added quickly, and alright, Erik would take offence at the light hearted tone, were it not so blatantly honest. “Thank you. There aren’t many demons in the city, it should be easily found.”
No, he wouldn’t, Erik thought and stared hard at the kid.
“Don’t go looking for him,” he said. “You will be killed.” That earned him a potent glare.
“I’m not suicidal, Erik. Of course I won’t go looking for him. I’m not even finished with training for god’s sake. I’m a Watcher, not a Potential, don’t you think I know this?” His hands left the pockets and curled into fists. Erik watched the ire rising through his nervous system with the same delight he would award the application of mustard to a hotdog.
“Excuse me, for knowing your age and making immediate assumptions about your common sense and heroic tendencies,” he said, grinning.
“Just because I sometimes kill a vampire in self-defence, when she is about to spoil my fun, doesn’t mean I’m actively trying to be Batman. Give me some credit here.”
“Here in this blood-spattered alley, scolding a vampire with no back-up in sight. Taunting vampires isn’t working wonders on your life expectancy.”
Charles cocked his head to the side and regarded him curiously for a few moments. “Are you still interested in drinking my blood?”
“Always.”
“Tough luck, my friend.” Another curious stare and then Charles was shaking his head. “I better be going, I have a marathon session with physical tomorrow morning.”
“Try not to wander through any more alleys on your own.”
Charles turned to walk away and hesitated. “Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it might be wise for you to skip town for a while. The new Slayer was located and she is being brought here.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Be careful, okay? Steer clear of teenaged girls.”
“Teenaged boys are ripe for picking, you mean?” Leering was something of a talent of his. Erik had a mouth made for leering, and eyebrows to seal the deal. He was gratified to hear-smell-feel the pink wave flooding Charles’ face.
“Pervert.”
Erik laughed and, when Charles averted his eyes, disappeared from his view. He crouched in the shadows far enough to avoid detection and watched the kid blink and smile at the air. He then shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away, still smiling.
Erik walked in the opposite direction at a sedate pace. So Azazel was in town. If Azazel was in town, so was Shaw.
This was either very good, or very bad.
*****
Erik was well aware that he was swiftly crossing the line from being intrigued by the young Watcher to being stupidly besotted with him, which was in equal parts humiliating and amusing (if he sat back and had an out of body experience, he could laugh at his own stupidity). He could deny the more nauseating impulses by convincing himself that he wanted, rather desperately, for the boy to be safe and unspoiled for his consumption. With Shaw in town the safety of any living creature was uncertain; therefore stalking around to make sure Charles wasn’t being followed was a reasonable past-time.
On top of the news (which no one dared to even whisper about; most of the vampires were morons, but they were bright enough to figure out that creatures who burst into flame when exposed to sunlight would never inherit the Earth. Thus Shaw was more of an eccentric, elderly Nazi uncle to the lot of them; the kind you’d laugh at uncomfortably and avoid, even though you were sure nothing he rambled on could ever be true, because no one could possibly be that crazy), Charles remained elusive for the next few weeks. It galled, that frequenting the pulsing clubs yielded no results. Erik fed on a few stoned college kids, left them woozy, but fully mobile, and went to the butcher’s the following morning. Something was missing from the hunting game, and as much as he disliked farm animals, their blood was at least a disappointment he was expecting from the get go, not one he discovered mid-meal.
Erik resorted to more or less desperate measures, in the end. He knew Charles didn’t stay cooped up in his home; there was enough of his scent all over town to suggest he frequented a local ice-cream parlour on a daily basis, that he was a patron of the local antique store and was on a first name basis with the clerk in the bookstore. For reasons which escaped Erik, however, he tended to conclude his business before sunrise.
No one ever accused Erik of doing things half-way, and obsessing would be no different, he told himself.
“Oh my god,” Charles said, his eyes round as saucers, when Erik held up one end of a large and heavy package, wrapped in brown paper, which Charles carried with obvious difficulty. “Are you insane?”
“I fail to see your point.” Erik adjusted the umbrella over his shoulder and raised a brow.
“It’s noon! Why aren’t you in your coffin?”
“I was bored.”
Charles adjusted his hold on the package and used it as a battering ram, pushing Erik through the door of a nearby café. “A table in the back,” he told the waitress. “Far from the windows. In fact, do you have anything in the basement?”
“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have a basement,” said the bewildered waitress. Erik met her shocked gaze with a cool indifference. So what if it was May. He was allowed to wear leather gloves and a leather jacket over a hoodie over a turtleneck, if he felt like it. “We have a table far inside, by the bar, if that’s okay?”
“That will do.” Charles balanced the package on his knee and followed the girl through the sparsely populated room. “Thank you. You offer tea, don’t you? Wonderful. I’ll have rosehip.”
“No cake?” Erik asked, folding his umbrella and propping it against the table. “Same. Only I will have cake. Chocolate.”
“Right away.” The waitress drew a complicated squiggle across her pad and disappeared into the kitchen.
“I thought you didn’t eat,” Charles said, once he was done arranging his parcel on the chair next to him.
Erik dropped the sunglasses onto the table and started unzipping his jacket. “I can. I just find it pointless, as I don’t taste much.”
“You live a sad facsimile of a life.”
“I am a vampire, Charles.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Charles fiddled with the strings of the package, which sat smugly in the chair it had been awarded on Charles’ right. Erik failed to divine the reason for such blatant favouritism. He was risking his life here, and a package got the preferential treatment. The nerve! “What are you doing here, Erik?” the boy asked eventually, when he confirmed that the box was undamaged and still smug as only a wrapped-up cardboard box can be.
“Looking for you.”
Charles shot him a dubious look. “It’s the middle of May and you are wandering the streets. The sun could come out at any moment.”
“Hence the umbrella and the glasses.”
“You can’t expect the umbrella to protect you from the sun.”
“I tested it. It works well enough.” It would be useless for a clear day, but fortunately this week was ripe in long, overcast afternoons, which allowed Erik to take the chance for a stroll with the risk of bursting into flame reduced to an acceptable minimum.
“Well, you look ridiculous.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are worried about me.” Erik leaned back in his chair, straightened his legs so that he could lightly kick at Charles and grinned lazily.
“I’m not worried!” Further spouting of blatant untruths was spoiled by the arrival of the waitress, who set two steaming pots, two cups and a plate with a slice of cake before them.
“Will that be all?” she asked, glancing between them, the pad magically appearing in her outstretched hands.
Charles nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“You were saying how you weren’t worried about me?” Erik speared the cake in half, spread a bite-sized piece over half the plate, smearing the vanilla sauce, and nibbled on a crumb. If he was having it in the privacy of his apartment he would deem it tasteless. As it were, with Charles sitting across from his it was very nearly chocolaty. It would of course be way better as a textural difference in a cup of warm, fresh blood, but this was not the kind of establishment which catered to the differently alive. Erik should start a civil rights movement, one of these days.
“I’m not worried about you.” Charles said as he peeked into the fat little pot. Erik could have spared him the trouble – the tea needed to steep for another ten minutes, at least, but watching his frustrated twitching had enough value as entertainment. “You obviously know what you’re doing, and you are of the undead, so I feel no obligation to be concerned for your well-being.”
“Ah, but your very first thought was to make sure I’m safely away from the mean old sun. What does that tell you?”
Charles scoffed. “That I don’t appreciate idiocy, in whatever form?”
“Your life would be a lot easier if more vampires took to walking the streets. You should encourage me. Maybe I will make it popular in the appropriate circles.” Erik nudged the umbrella with his foot, until it tipped over and landed on Charles’ thigh.
“You will make walking around in the sun with an umbrella popular in vampire circles. That will be the day.”
“It’s probably a good idea people started wearing face masks, then. There would be a lot of dust on the streets.”
Charles shook his head and laughed, as he propped the umbrella back against the wall. “You are one of a kind. So what brings you here?”
“As I said, I was bored.”
“How bored do you have to be to walk out the street at noon in the middle of May?”
“Sadly the local libraries don’t appreciate the nocturnal lifestyle. It is almost impossible to get a book out in the summer months.” It was. The main entrance of the library faced the sunlit square, which was surrounded by buildings so short Erik could step over their roofs. It meant that the entrance to the library was in perpetual sunlight, until the sun went down, at which point the librarians were at home, stroking their cats and sipping red wine, bemoaning the fact that the other librarian doesn’t return their affection. This was how sad Erik’s existence was: he was invested in the soap opera of the librarian’s love life.
“Have you been in the city long?” Charles gave in finally and poured a cup of tea. He stirred it like he was at court: he held the teaspoon over the rim just so, before setting it carefully on the saucer. Erik had no difficulty imagining him in a handsome frock, charming the corsets right off the powdered ladies. “It’s just that you know that a lot of Slayers get sent here. Not all, of course, they are not always found, but a lot. There is one in town right now.”
“There’s also far more demons and vampires than in any other city in the world, probably due to the hell’s gates below. Which is the cause and which is the effect, exactly?”
Charles frowned at him. “You already knew that.”
“I’m not a moron.”
“You do display a classic self-destructive streak, though. You know, I have theorised that vampires don’t have much in the way of self-preservation instinct. It is stripped away with your humanity. It’s hard to prove with most of you; too much gleeful malice, but here you are, in bright sunlight, chatting me up, without a care in the world.”
Erik took another bite of the cake. “Maybe you’re just worth the risk.”
“Maybe you need to examine your priorities.”
“A good meal is worth dying for,” Erik said, licking the tasteless chocolate cake off the fork.
“It really isn’t.” Charles took a sip of his tea. He must really like rosehip, Erik thought longingly. Even across the table he could feel the delight spreading across his taste buds, sinking in deep and tickling the brain. The enjoyment of blood that he had to contend with was far less sensual.
“If you’ve ever gone sixteen years without chocolate, you would sing a different tune.”
“That is true. I might have a fit of compassion right now. Don’t mind me.”
“Be my guest. It is a terrible fate to befall any man. I will welcome all expressions of compassion. If you wished to make my existence more bearable, I will happily accept donations.”
Charles leaned back in his chair, cradling the cup in his hands, and smiled. “Nice try, but no.”
“Where is your compassion now?”
“Safely out of the reach of your teeth, thank you. What books were you after?”
“At this point I’m so desperate for a touch of the written word that anything will do. I’ve gone through my whole Philip Dick collection twice since I last got to visit the library.”
“Poor baby.” Charles unfolded the brown paper enough to reveal a cardboard box filled with hard-cover tomes. “I could possibly bear to part with a few of those for a few days. Have you read Lem? I just got the combined works.”
Erik had. Twice, in some cases. “No. Is he any good?”
“I loved His Master’s Voice, so I figured I might as well read everything else he’s ever written. Then of course there’s the whole social realism I need to read up on to get it, but I have nights to spare. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”
“Your blood.”
“Let me go and contain my amusement. Ha, ha, ha.” Charles peeled the layers until he was able to wiggle the book he was looking for out of its bindings. “There you go. I trust you know how to handle books and I’ll get it back in good condition?”
Erik smoothed the shiny cover with his thumb. It smelled of fresh ink and paper, not the slightest hint of dust, and it was a book he didn’t yet own, even if he did read it once, a long time ago. It ranked high on the list of things he desired the universe to gift him with. “Yes, thank you. I promise it will be just fine.”
Charles went through his pockets and came up with a pen. He jotted down a sequence of numbers on a napkin, folded it, and tucked it inside the cover. “There. Text me when you’re done, I’ll pick it up. How’s the cake?”
“Almost tasty. Do you want any?”
“It’s a shame to waste good cake.”
Erik agreed. It was a far better plan to watch it get eaten with relish, then to nibble on it himself and feel it turn to ash in his mouth. He sipped the rosehip tea, which was a poor substitute for the blood, but this was a crowded café and outside the sun had just come out. Technically vampires weren’t public knowledge, but there have been instances of average citizens having stakes in their bag. They wouldn’t be able to say why they had it, or what use this sharp piece of wood could possibly be, but they could be found in purses and backpacks throughout the city. Erik didn’t like the odds of one of the other patrons coming at him from behind with a wooden stake.
“So what are your plans for the evening? Are you going to a bonfire?” Charles asked once he licked his spoon clean of the vanilla sauce. “Do you own a garlic patch?”
“Don’t be such a smartass.”
Charles laughed at him, even as he continued drinking tea, until the sun was low enough on the horizon that the street outside was shadowed enough for a vampire to walk it safely.