Disclaimer etc.: see chapter 1
Les Chroniques Parisiennes – Chronique 3: Edward
Luc took the card and glanced down at it. 'Mme. de Chezine,' he read, and remembered a lady in red silk at the party. "I'm afraid my master's out," he lied to the manservant opposite him. "I'll inform him that Madame has called." He looked past the other man to the carriage parked in the courtyard and bowed. The servant nodded.
"And I'll tell Madame that Monsieur will call to see her shortly, shall I?"
"I couldn't say when …" Luc said guardedly.
The other man smiled broadly. "He should call," he replied, dropping the stiff formal manner and winking. "He's the talk of all the salons. The girls can't think of anything else. But he'll lose face if he doesn't appear soon. Or hold another party."
"I'll tell him," Luc said, returning the smile. "Thank you."
"No problem. Good afternoon."
"Goodbye," Luc said, closing the door. He glanced at his watch and hurried up the stairs. He tapped first at the bedroom door, but no answer came, and when he cautiously opened it, the room was empty. Hurrying down one flight again, he tried the study and was rewarded with a brisk, "Enter."
"I heard the carriage," Angelus said, looking up from a book. "Who was it?"
Luc passed him the card, and Angelus glanced at it and tossed it on to the desk. "Plump woman, dark hair. Thinks highly of herself."
"She thinks highly of you. Apparently, they all do," Luc reported. "According to their servant you're the talk of the town."
He expected his employer to show some pleasure, but instead Angelus frowned. "Talk of the town in what way?"
"I was told the girls are speaking only of you. In admiration. But also that you should attend some of the salons. Or receive visitors, or something. Surely," he ventured, "if you want to remain … if you don't want people to find out …"
"No, I don't. Spoils the fun. There's no point in hunting if there's no fun. And people start eating garlic and putting crucifixes everywhere. But equally going out in the daytime isn't going to do me any good at all." Luc must have looked puzzled, because Angelus growled very slightly in annoyance. "For heaven's sakes, Luc, go and read some vampire lore." He got up and pulled a book off the shelves. "This is reliable. If you're going to work for me, learn something." He sat down again, and shot Luc a look of pure irritation. "Go and read that, and go and find me, for tomorrow afternoon, a carriage with thick curtains and some sort of heavy coat."
Luc bowed and hurried out.
They were ready at two the next day. It was gloriously sunny, and Luc, happy at getting a chance at going out in the afternoon, was in a good mood. His master was not.
"How close is the damned carriage?"
"As close as the driver can get it. About ten metres."
"This coat's not long enough. If one particle of me gets burned, Luc, you will know the meaning of pain."
Luc's good mood abated slightly, and he swallowed and nodded, pulling an umbrella out of a stand. "I'll … I'll go and open the door of the carriage, and then come back." He slipped out of the door and matched his words to the action, and then arrived back in the hallway, putting the umbrella up and holding it over Angelus's head.
They made it to the carriage without mishap, and Luc breathed a sigh of relief as he joined the driver on the seat outside. At their destination the process was reversed, and Luc left Angelus to his visit and took the book he had been told to read to a nearby garden.
It was slow going. Luc had been taught his letters by the local priest when he was a boy, but mostly his reading had been confined to newspapers and religious texts. This was something else entirely, written in slightly old- fashioned French and printed closely. But Luc valued his life, and he put the book on his knees and bent over it.
At the end of two hours, when it was the hour to go and return for Angelus, he had got to the end of Chapter Three and learnt about what makes vampires, myths, and begun distinguishing characteristics. Small things he had noticed about his master were beginning to fall into place, and he tucked the book under his coat and went to rouse the carriage driver.
On arrival back at the house Angelus almost threw the heavy coat at Luc, who staggered under the weight, and stormed away; only to pause halfway up the stairs.
"Bath at the usual time, your evening's free."
"But …" stammered Luc, clutching the coat, "I thought you were going to the theatre."
"Two hours a day in the company of those people is enough," Angelus shot out. "The theatre's cancelled." He turned and vanished up the stairs and Luc heard the bedroom door slam shut.
He took the vampire book down to the kitchen when Angelus had gone, and cooked himself a simple omelette, and poured himself a glass of wine. Time ticked by in the silent house, and Luc found himself absorbed in the book. He had reached Chapter Nine, and had just read about vampires having to be invited into a house where a human lives, when the doorbell rang.
Luc shot up from his seat and knocked the empty wine glass over. The doorbell rang again, insistently, and he picked up his discarded tie and put it on as he hurried to answer, collecting a candle from the sideboard as he passed.
Facing him on the doorstep was a young man, about his own age, Luc surmised, with light blond hair and green eyes. Gaunt and pale, his clothes were travel stained, and he looked first at Luc and then down at a scrap of paper in his hands before speaking.
"Is Angelus in?" Luc hesitated. "Do I have the right address?"
"Yes, monsieur. But he's not in."
"Damn!" The other swore in English. "Did he say where he'd gone? Or when he's due back?"
"Before dawn?" Luc hazarded.
"That goes without saying," the young man replied. He eyed Luc and tipped his head on one side as if listening to something. "You live here, don't you? I can't come in."
Luc moved a step back from the threshold, clutching his candle and remembering the book had said something about fire. The vampire outside scowled.
"Damn him. Look, can you give him a message? Do you have any paper?"
Luc put the candlestick down on the sideboard and passed some paper out, and the vampire scribbled something down with a scrap of pencil and passed it back. "Just tell him that Darla wants him to come home. Just that. I'll come back in a few hours." He regarded Luc. "I don't suppose you'd …"
Luc took the paper and pocketed it, and then wordlessly pulled down his collar to display the scar. The vampire sighed deeply.
"He thought of everything, as usual. All right. Thank you." He nodded at Luc and turned, disappearing into the shadows. Luc closed the door and went slowly back to the warm, firelit kitchen.
He was dozing in his attic when he heard the door slam below, and he threw himself out of bed and pulled on a coat and went hurrying down to intercept his employer. Angelus appeared to be in a significantly better mood than when he had left the house.
"You didn't wait up?"
"No. There was a visitor." Luc handed over the note, and Angelus read it quickly. "I was told to tell you that, erm, someone called Delia, or something, wants you home."
"Darla. Of course she does. You didn't invite him in?" Luc shook his head. "Well done. I imagine he's coming back. Go to sleep, I'll deal."
Lost in a haze of uncomfortable dreams, Luc was woken a few hours later with the grey light of dawn peeping through his shutters and the sound of raised voices from below him. He lay half-awake and listened, though the language was unfamiliar, and only snatches filtered up to him.
"Darla … heard about …"
"Slayer? … of course … go back and tell her …"
Luc rolled himself up in his blankets again and tried to go back to sleep.
He got back much later on in the day following lunch and a walk, relishing the fresh daylight where no nightmares haunted him, and let himself into the darkened house. Dark, but not silent. From the music room he heard the tones of a violin, expertly played, and he followed the noise and tapped gently on the door. By now Luc knew that however quietly he walked, spoke, or carried out any other of his tasks, he would be heard; and that in contrast he would very seldom hear his employer move around or enter a room. It unnerved him still, every time, and now he entered at the command and stood just inside the door as the sonata ended.
"You should make a career of that, Edward," Angelus said in English to his visitor.
"Think of the people you could meet."
"And eat," said the blond vampire, grinning back. "Thank you."
Angelus turned his head. "Luc. Good afternoon." He had switched languages to French and Luc bowed in return. "You met Edward, I think?"
"Good afternoon, sir," Luc said. "The music was … lovely."
Edward put the violin away in its case. "Thank you." He turned to Angelus. "This is your Luc?" he asked in English. "Remarkable find."
"I intend to keep him," Angelus returned curtly. "He's mine."
"I saw."
"Of course," Angelus continued lightly, still in English, "he's utterly terrified, but he's doing a good job of hiding it." He changed languages for Luc's benefit. "And now he's wondering what on earth we're discussing. You, my friend. Edward thinks you're remarkable." Luc wondered what to make of this. Angelus gave him one of his lopsided, winning smiles. "What he means, of course, is that most people run a mile once they know me. Now, Luc, this evening there will be a group of us, and we will need food."
"I'll – I'll go and fetch the chef later," stammered Luc, feeling uneasy under the smile.
"Us. Not that sort of food. How many will we be, Edward?" Angelus turned to his friend.
"There's about ten," the other vampire returned, smiling too at Luc's discomfort.
"Ten. Very well. Luc, this afternoon I would like you to find us ten of those urchins that infest these streets, bring them here and feed them up. Nothing too fancy, but give them some wine to calm them down. Promise them money if you have to. Make sure they're clean, take them upstairs and give them something to do. Then you can go out, if that's what you want."
Luc's throat was dry and he had unconsciously balled his hands into fists. "I can't do that," he said in a hoarse whisper. "You can't ask me to do that."
"I can't see why not," Angelus said, losing the smile. "You're not doing any harm. They belong to nobody. All I'm asking you to do is to give them food and clean clothes."
Luc shook his head. "I … I can't. I'm not stupid. Jean-Marc, that was bad; I can't bring children here to die."
Edward sat down in a chair and avoided Luc's desperate looks, playing with his cravat. Angelus stood up.
"You have no choice in the matter, Luc."
"If I leave now, and go, you can't follow me."
"But I'll find you," Angelus said, very low. "Every night you'll be quaking in fear because you'll know I'm looking for you, and I'll find you." In a flash he was next to Luc, caressing the scar on his neck. "This is my mark, and you'll carry it until one day, one night, it'll be broken open again and your blood will stain the floor of whatever pathetic hiding place you found. Defying me is dangerous." Luc tried to say something, but the hand around his neck was cutting off the air, his arms flailed but gained no purchase. Eventually, his spirit giving up, he forced a nod. Angelus let go. "What did you say?"
"I'll … I'll do it. I'll do it." Luc closed his eyes. "Master."
Angelus nodded, and turned around. "Go and find them, then."
Luc spent the night in a tavern, drinking and drinking until his memories and his thoughts were a welcome blur, and when dawn rose he woke slumped against a wall, his head still spinning. Feeling ill, he got up unsteadily and wandered the early morning streets until his head was clearer. And then the events of the afternoon before came flooding back. The ten children had been easy to find, and they were cheerful and awed by the house and the food Luc gave them; they played with the bath water until the kitchen was damp, and seemed perfectly happy to be left with games Luc had unearthed. Then he had knocked on Angelus's door, told him they were there, and left.
Luc leant his head against the stones of the building he found himself by and cried for the street children. Unknown and unloved they had been, perhaps, but they were dead now, and who deserved that?
A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he spun around ready to attack whatever it was that had interrupted.
The priest smiled softly at him. "Come, my son. Gently, now." Luc looked up at the spire of the church and closed his eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Father, I wish to confess."
The little box was dark and cool and the church silent. Through the grill Luc could make out the contours of the priest's old face. "I've sinned, Father."
"All sins can be forgiven, my son, if you are penitent."
"Penitent? I didn't want to do it, Father, but I had no choice. God forgive me, I had no choice."
"Calm, my son. Tell me what ails you."
"I – I've sold my soul, I think, or near enough. I've brought innocent children to their deaths. I didn't want to." Luc started talking, and let his worries out to the priest who murmured and encouraged and nodded until the tale was ended.
"God will forgive you," the old man said at the end, "but I may be able to do better. Follow me."
Luc pressed his face to the grill. "But, Father?"
"Ave Marias can wait," the priest said grimly. "Come."
They went through a door into the vestry and through another door into a small study, where the old priest closed the door and sat down, indicating that Luc should take the seat opposite. "You came to the right place. What's your name, my son?"
"Luc Tarpeau. I'm from Morbihan in Brittany."
"And you fell into this employ by accident, almost?" The priest had pulled paper and pen to him and was writing busily.
"I saw a notice in a paper, and went to be interviewed for it. I – I knew, before I accepted, but I had no choice. I don't want to die, Father."
"Nobody does," the priest said unexpectedly. "We all know that our Heavenly Lord is there waiting for us, but in the end we value our lives too much. Lives are to be valued." He dipped his pen in the ink pot. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, Luc, and He must have brought you here today. It so happens that I, and some of my colleagues in this city, have been watching for Angelus. He thinks he's clever, and indeed he shows more than the usual cunning, but hiring you may be the undoing." The priest shook sand over the paper and blew it off before turning over. "Not long ago, less than a twelvemonth, Angelus killed one of my brethren in a small village just outside Paris. As men of the Church, we all have connections to those who fight Evil, and since the death of Jacques we've been watching. I shall sent this account to them, and in a short while someone will come to destroy him."
"What?" Luc was shaken out of a sleepy sense of peace. "How?"
"The usual way. Stake him, or burn him. I imagine the simplest way would be for you to let them in …"
"No." Shaking his head, Luc felt ill again. "No."
The priest signed and folded his letter. "Why not, my son? You fear him, you hate him."
"Yes. Yes, I do, but if I help your people and they fail – I won't be able to help anymore. Not at the house. Elsewhere. Not at the house. Suppose they chose a day when there were … others there, like today? I told you, Father, there were ten of them last night." The tears started rolling again, and Luc wiped at them angrily. "I'm … scared, and he knows I am. But if I back away now he'll kill me."
The priest sealed the letter and got up to pat Luc on the shoulder. "There." He put the letter into Luc's pocket. "Post this for me, at least, Luc, and come whenever you feel the need. Good luck." He placed his hand on Luc's head. "The blessings of the Father be with you, my son. You should probably start to head back there."
Luc nodded, and stood up. He took the old priest's hand and kissed it humbly. "Thank you, Father."
Les Chroniques Parisiennes – Chronique 3: Edward
Luc took the card and glanced down at it. 'Mme. de Chezine,' he read, and remembered a lady in red silk at the party. "I'm afraid my master's out," he lied to the manservant opposite him. "I'll inform him that Madame has called." He looked past the other man to the carriage parked in the courtyard and bowed. The servant nodded.
"And I'll tell Madame that Monsieur will call to see her shortly, shall I?"
"I couldn't say when …" Luc said guardedly.
The other man smiled broadly. "He should call," he replied, dropping the stiff formal manner and winking. "He's the talk of all the salons. The girls can't think of anything else. But he'll lose face if he doesn't appear soon. Or hold another party."
"I'll tell him," Luc said, returning the smile. "Thank you."
"No problem. Good afternoon."
"Goodbye," Luc said, closing the door. He glanced at his watch and hurried up the stairs. He tapped first at the bedroom door, but no answer came, and when he cautiously opened it, the room was empty. Hurrying down one flight again, he tried the study and was rewarded with a brisk, "Enter."
"I heard the carriage," Angelus said, looking up from a book. "Who was it?"
Luc passed him the card, and Angelus glanced at it and tossed it on to the desk. "Plump woman, dark hair. Thinks highly of herself."
"She thinks highly of you. Apparently, they all do," Luc reported. "According to their servant you're the talk of the town."
He expected his employer to show some pleasure, but instead Angelus frowned. "Talk of the town in what way?"
"I was told the girls are speaking only of you. In admiration. But also that you should attend some of the salons. Or receive visitors, or something. Surely," he ventured, "if you want to remain … if you don't want people to find out …"
"No, I don't. Spoils the fun. There's no point in hunting if there's no fun. And people start eating garlic and putting crucifixes everywhere. But equally going out in the daytime isn't going to do me any good at all." Luc must have looked puzzled, because Angelus growled very slightly in annoyance. "For heaven's sakes, Luc, go and read some vampire lore." He got up and pulled a book off the shelves. "This is reliable. If you're going to work for me, learn something." He sat down again, and shot Luc a look of pure irritation. "Go and read that, and go and find me, for tomorrow afternoon, a carriage with thick curtains and some sort of heavy coat."
Luc bowed and hurried out.
They were ready at two the next day. It was gloriously sunny, and Luc, happy at getting a chance at going out in the afternoon, was in a good mood. His master was not.
"How close is the damned carriage?"
"As close as the driver can get it. About ten metres."
"This coat's not long enough. If one particle of me gets burned, Luc, you will know the meaning of pain."
Luc's good mood abated slightly, and he swallowed and nodded, pulling an umbrella out of a stand. "I'll … I'll go and open the door of the carriage, and then come back." He slipped out of the door and matched his words to the action, and then arrived back in the hallway, putting the umbrella up and holding it over Angelus's head.
They made it to the carriage without mishap, and Luc breathed a sigh of relief as he joined the driver on the seat outside. At their destination the process was reversed, and Luc left Angelus to his visit and took the book he had been told to read to a nearby garden.
It was slow going. Luc had been taught his letters by the local priest when he was a boy, but mostly his reading had been confined to newspapers and religious texts. This was something else entirely, written in slightly old- fashioned French and printed closely. But Luc valued his life, and he put the book on his knees and bent over it.
At the end of two hours, when it was the hour to go and return for Angelus, he had got to the end of Chapter Three and learnt about what makes vampires, myths, and begun distinguishing characteristics. Small things he had noticed about his master were beginning to fall into place, and he tucked the book under his coat and went to rouse the carriage driver.
On arrival back at the house Angelus almost threw the heavy coat at Luc, who staggered under the weight, and stormed away; only to pause halfway up the stairs.
"Bath at the usual time, your evening's free."
"But …" stammered Luc, clutching the coat, "I thought you were going to the theatre."
"Two hours a day in the company of those people is enough," Angelus shot out. "The theatre's cancelled." He turned and vanished up the stairs and Luc heard the bedroom door slam shut.
He took the vampire book down to the kitchen when Angelus had gone, and cooked himself a simple omelette, and poured himself a glass of wine. Time ticked by in the silent house, and Luc found himself absorbed in the book. He had reached Chapter Nine, and had just read about vampires having to be invited into a house where a human lives, when the doorbell rang.
Luc shot up from his seat and knocked the empty wine glass over. The doorbell rang again, insistently, and he picked up his discarded tie and put it on as he hurried to answer, collecting a candle from the sideboard as he passed.
Facing him on the doorstep was a young man, about his own age, Luc surmised, with light blond hair and green eyes. Gaunt and pale, his clothes were travel stained, and he looked first at Luc and then down at a scrap of paper in his hands before speaking.
"Is Angelus in?" Luc hesitated. "Do I have the right address?"
"Yes, monsieur. But he's not in."
"Damn!" The other swore in English. "Did he say where he'd gone? Or when he's due back?"
"Before dawn?" Luc hazarded.
"That goes without saying," the young man replied. He eyed Luc and tipped his head on one side as if listening to something. "You live here, don't you? I can't come in."
Luc moved a step back from the threshold, clutching his candle and remembering the book had said something about fire. The vampire outside scowled.
"Damn him. Look, can you give him a message? Do you have any paper?"
Luc put the candlestick down on the sideboard and passed some paper out, and the vampire scribbled something down with a scrap of pencil and passed it back. "Just tell him that Darla wants him to come home. Just that. I'll come back in a few hours." He regarded Luc. "I don't suppose you'd …"
Luc took the paper and pocketed it, and then wordlessly pulled down his collar to display the scar. The vampire sighed deeply.
"He thought of everything, as usual. All right. Thank you." He nodded at Luc and turned, disappearing into the shadows. Luc closed the door and went slowly back to the warm, firelit kitchen.
He was dozing in his attic when he heard the door slam below, and he threw himself out of bed and pulled on a coat and went hurrying down to intercept his employer. Angelus appeared to be in a significantly better mood than when he had left the house.
"You didn't wait up?"
"No. There was a visitor." Luc handed over the note, and Angelus read it quickly. "I was told to tell you that, erm, someone called Delia, or something, wants you home."
"Darla. Of course she does. You didn't invite him in?" Luc shook his head. "Well done. I imagine he's coming back. Go to sleep, I'll deal."
Lost in a haze of uncomfortable dreams, Luc was woken a few hours later with the grey light of dawn peeping through his shutters and the sound of raised voices from below him. He lay half-awake and listened, though the language was unfamiliar, and only snatches filtered up to him.
"Darla … heard about …"
"Slayer? … of course … go back and tell her …"
Luc rolled himself up in his blankets again and tried to go back to sleep.
He got back much later on in the day following lunch and a walk, relishing the fresh daylight where no nightmares haunted him, and let himself into the darkened house. Dark, but not silent. From the music room he heard the tones of a violin, expertly played, and he followed the noise and tapped gently on the door. By now Luc knew that however quietly he walked, spoke, or carried out any other of his tasks, he would be heard; and that in contrast he would very seldom hear his employer move around or enter a room. It unnerved him still, every time, and now he entered at the command and stood just inside the door as the sonata ended.
"You should make a career of that, Edward," Angelus said in English to his visitor.
"Think of the people you could meet."
"And eat," said the blond vampire, grinning back. "Thank you."
Angelus turned his head. "Luc. Good afternoon." He had switched languages to French and Luc bowed in return. "You met Edward, I think?"
"Good afternoon, sir," Luc said. "The music was … lovely."
Edward put the violin away in its case. "Thank you." He turned to Angelus. "This is your Luc?" he asked in English. "Remarkable find."
"I intend to keep him," Angelus returned curtly. "He's mine."
"I saw."
"Of course," Angelus continued lightly, still in English, "he's utterly terrified, but he's doing a good job of hiding it." He changed languages for Luc's benefit. "And now he's wondering what on earth we're discussing. You, my friend. Edward thinks you're remarkable." Luc wondered what to make of this. Angelus gave him one of his lopsided, winning smiles. "What he means, of course, is that most people run a mile once they know me. Now, Luc, this evening there will be a group of us, and we will need food."
"I'll – I'll go and fetch the chef later," stammered Luc, feeling uneasy under the smile.
"Us. Not that sort of food. How many will we be, Edward?" Angelus turned to his friend.
"There's about ten," the other vampire returned, smiling too at Luc's discomfort.
"Ten. Very well. Luc, this afternoon I would like you to find us ten of those urchins that infest these streets, bring them here and feed them up. Nothing too fancy, but give them some wine to calm them down. Promise them money if you have to. Make sure they're clean, take them upstairs and give them something to do. Then you can go out, if that's what you want."
Luc's throat was dry and he had unconsciously balled his hands into fists. "I can't do that," he said in a hoarse whisper. "You can't ask me to do that."
"I can't see why not," Angelus said, losing the smile. "You're not doing any harm. They belong to nobody. All I'm asking you to do is to give them food and clean clothes."
Luc shook his head. "I … I can't. I'm not stupid. Jean-Marc, that was bad; I can't bring children here to die."
Edward sat down in a chair and avoided Luc's desperate looks, playing with his cravat. Angelus stood up.
"You have no choice in the matter, Luc."
"If I leave now, and go, you can't follow me."
"But I'll find you," Angelus said, very low. "Every night you'll be quaking in fear because you'll know I'm looking for you, and I'll find you." In a flash he was next to Luc, caressing the scar on his neck. "This is my mark, and you'll carry it until one day, one night, it'll be broken open again and your blood will stain the floor of whatever pathetic hiding place you found. Defying me is dangerous." Luc tried to say something, but the hand around his neck was cutting off the air, his arms flailed but gained no purchase. Eventually, his spirit giving up, he forced a nod. Angelus let go. "What did you say?"
"I'll … I'll do it. I'll do it." Luc closed his eyes. "Master."
Angelus nodded, and turned around. "Go and find them, then."
Luc spent the night in a tavern, drinking and drinking until his memories and his thoughts were a welcome blur, and when dawn rose he woke slumped against a wall, his head still spinning. Feeling ill, he got up unsteadily and wandered the early morning streets until his head was clearer. And then the events of the afternoon before came flooding back. The ten children had been easy to find, and they were cheerful and awed by the house and the food Luc gave them; they played with the bath water until the kitchen was damp, and seemed perfectly happy to be left with games Luc had unearthed. Then he had knocked on Angelus's door, told him they were there, and left.
Luc leant his head against the stones of the building he found himself by and cried for the street children. Unknown and unloved they had been, perhaps, but they were dead now, and who deserved that?
A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he spun around ready to attack whatever it was that had interrupted.
The priest smiled softly at him. "Come, my son. Gently, now." Luc looked up at the spire of the church and closed his eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Father, I wish to confess."
The little box was dark and cool and the church silent. Through the grill Luc could make out the contours of the priest's old face. "I've sinned, Father."
"All sins can be forgiven, my son, if you are penitent."
"Penitent? I didn't want to do it, Father, but I had no choice. God forgive me, I had no choice."
"Calm, my son. Tell me what ails you."
"I – I've sold my soul, I think, or near enough. I've brought innocent children to their deaths. I didn't want to." Luc started talking, and let his worries out to the priest who murmured and encouraged and nodded until the tale was ended.
"God will forgive you," the old man said at the end, "but I may be able to do better. Follow me."
Luc pressed his face to the grill. "But, Father?"
"Ave Marias can wait," the priest said grimly. "Come."
They went through a door into the vestry and through another door into a small study, where the old priest closed the door and sat down, indicating that Luc should take the seat opposite. "You came to the right place. What's your name, my son?"
"Luc Tarpeau. I'm from Morbihan in Brittany."
"And you fell into this employ by accident, almost?" The priest had pulled paper and pen to him and was writing busily.
"I saw a notice in a paper, and went to be interviewed for it. I – I knew, before I accepted, but I had no choice. I don't want to die, Father."
"Nobody does," the priest said unexpectedly. "We all know that our Heavenly Lord is there waiting for us, but in the end we value our lives too much. Lives are to be valued." He dipped his pen in the ink pot. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, Luc, and He must have brought you here today. It so happens that I, and some of my colleagues in this city, have been watching for Angelus. He thinks he's clever, and indeed he shows more than the usual cunning, but hiring you may be the undoing." The priest shook sand over the paper and blew it off before turning over. "Not long ago, less than a twelvemonth, Angelus killed one of my brethren in a small village just outside Paris. As men of the Church, we all have connections to those who fight Evil, and since the death of Jacques we've been watching. I shall sent this account to them, and in a short while someone will come to destroy him."
"What?" Luc was shaken out of a sleepy sense of peace. "How?"
"The usual way. Stake him, or burn him. I imagine the simplest way would be for you to let them in …"
"No." Shaking his head, Luc felt ill again. "No."
The priest signed and folded his letter. "Why not, my son? You fear him, you hate him."
"Yes. Yes, I do, but if I help your people and they fail – I won't be able to help anymore. Not at the house. Elsewhere. Not at the house. Suppose they chose a day when there were … others there, like today? I told you, Father, there were ten of them last night." The tears started rolling again, and Luc wiped at them angrily. "I'm … scared, and he knows I am. But if I back away now he'll kill me."
The priest sealed the letter and got up to pat Luc on the shoulder. "There." He put the letter into Luc's pocket. "Post this for me, at least, Luc, and come whenever you feel the need. Good luck." He placed his hand on Luc's head. "The blessings of the Father be with you, my son. You should probably start to head back there."
Luc nodded, and stood up. He took the old priest's hand and kissed it humbly. "Thank you, Father."