He never could.
Cocooned as he was in the old wooden house on the river side of the courtyard, he could still hear the sounds of life around him. There were the four girls who had rooms in this rambling old place. If he woke during the day he could hear their gentle breathing, and if he concentrated he could hear the steady thumping of their hearts. During the night, when the girls were gone, there were the sleeping day people. Angelus would sit in the dark courtyard, listening to the sounds from the teahouse as Darla entertained, and feel the sleeping humans near him, only one lapse in control away from violent and bloody death.
Every night he saw the boy enter the bathhouse. His baths were shorter now, and he made his way back upstairs without a glance at his mistress's guest. Then, after a few hours, Darla would follow some doomed man into the courtyard, and he watched her drain him and drop him.
She had taken to hunting again. Every night she gave him all she had. Every night he washed the paint off her skin as he had on that first night, and then waited for her as she slipped out to feed again.
The thought of it disgusted him. But as long as she did not see that, he could stay. And as long as he could stay, everything would be alright. The thought of rats and solitude repulsed him more.
It was a cold night in early December. Angelus sat on a low bench in the courtyard, listening as usual to the bubble of voices and clink of delicate china from the teahouse. The wind was sharp with the smell of snow from the mountains.
The boy had been standing behind him for a few minutes now. Angelus could sense no fear, merely a seething dislike. And jealousy. But also curiosity.
It was curiosity that won out.
Yoshida cleared his throat as he stepped forward to stand in front of Angelus. He was well wrapped against the cold, dark furs contrasting dramatically with his pale skin. Despite his general disdain for the boy, Darla's lackey, Angelus had to admit to himself that he cut an elegant figure.
"What is it, boy?" he growled, more for show than any real effort to intimidate.
"My name is Yoshida," replied the boy evenly. "Yoshida Seiji."
"That's great, boy."
Yoshida brushed it off.
"She'll be out here soon," he said.
Angelus said nothing.
"After, you'll feed from her."
Angelus looked at him sharply.
"You've been watching?"
"You watched me," replied Yoshida. "But I don't mind." He smiled and took a cigarette case from a pocket hidden in his garments. He offered a cigarette, which Angelus accepted.
"You are like her?" he continued. "A vampire?"
"Yes." Angelus inhaled the smoke deeply.
"I have never seen you kill."
The vampire merely stared, impassive.
"You drink only from her."
"That's right."
"Why?"
"Why?" Angelus repeated. He was becoming a little annoyed. "I'll tell you why." He stood and came close to the young man. "Because blood is so much more rich when it's flavoured with her."
Yoshida did not back away. He looked Angelus firmly in the eyes.
"I don't think so. I see you waiting hungry here every night. You're lying."
"Really. Or maybe you'd prefer if I was lying, hmm, boy?" Angelus came closer, lowering his voice, threat lacing his throat. "You'd prefer if I drank from her because I had to, not because I wanted to?" He waited, watching the boy's face.
"I taste her every night because she wants me to." He could hear the boy's heartbeat, smell his clean, bathed skin.
"I taste her everywhere. I taste everything." The boy's heart was speeding up. Angelus could see the blood closer to his skin, red and hot.
"Everywhere you want to be, I've already been."
Finally Yoshida flinched. Angelus roughly grabbed his shoulders and held him close, nuzzling him under the jawline. The heady tang of fear joined the other smells filling his awareness as he felt the blood pumping through the jugular.
He did not hear Darla until she laughed.
He snarled and flung the boy to the ground. She had tonight's fee by the throat.
"Perhaps you want to join me tonight, Angelus? The blood is yours anyway."
"No," he rasped. He collapsed back onto the bench behind him.
"Have it your way."
He watched her, as he always did, in the gloom of the courtyard. Her angelically bland face became monstrous under the paint. He sensed the victim's excitement, fear, and finally resignation, before she dropped the lifeless body to the ground. Then, as usual, she came to him, held out a warm hand, and they retired to the bathhouse.
Yoshida remained on the ground till they were gone.
"You know what you need, Angelus?"
He had fed from her and washed her. The bathhouse was full of steam in the cold.
"What do I need?" He lay against her as she absently stroked his hair.
"You need to get out. You've been here for weeks, alone."
"I've got you," he murmured sleepily.
"Come out with me."
"No. Not tonight."
"I don't mean hunting. I know you won't do that. Even though it makes –"
"Not the sense speech again, please."
She laughed.
"I must go. I'm hungry."
Angelus moved reluctantly. It was always his favourite time, with Darla in the bathhouse.
"While I'm gone, I have a surprise for you."
He knelt in the water as she stepped out and wrapped herself in a yukata.
"Surprise? What surprise?"
"A tailor."
"I have clothes."
"Not evening dress."
"I don't want evening dress." He climbed out of the bath and took his own yukata from the shelf.
"Well, you need evening dress."
"For what?"
"For the party next week."
"Party?"
Her voice floated back to him as she swept out of the bathhouse.
"Yes, party. Now go get measured."
Angelus followed her out. He could feel the cold air on his wet skin, but it didn't bother him.
Party. It was a long time since he had been out in society. He used to love going out.
He shrugged. If she wanted it.
He was thinking about this one time at a soirée in Paris. He couldn't remember when exactly, though he remembered Darla's hair piled up, with ringlets falling on her neck, and held with tiny pearl pins that shone when she moved. Her silk gown was daringly décolleté. He remembered that too. It must have been before the Revolution. She had charmed all the men with her exquisite grace and elegance and tinkling laugh. He had charmed the women with his appreciative eye and roguish manners. They had asked a select group to a dinner party the next evening. It had been quite a feast.
It was strange, he mused, that he could remember these things so fondly and yet with such repulsion.
He watched her sleeping beside him in the soft light that filtered through the paper screens. After a while, he fell asleep too.
She straightened his tie, the usual ritual when a couple is going out in evening dress. She had at first found it difficult to imagine him in tails, but of course he wore them perfectly, with the easy grace of someone who had always loved the show of dress clothing. How many phases in fashion had come and gone in the last two centuries? And Angelus wore them all with the assurance of a panther.
For the first time, she had dressed alone that evening. It was so easy now. She wore a midnight blue slip dress covered in a net of sparkling glass beads. Her hair was parted at the side, and gathered at the base of her skull. Beaded earrings brushed against her neck when she moved. She felt strange, as if she was not dressed properly because she had not spent enough time at it.
"Tell me again," said Angelus.
She gingerly patted her head, a vague frown on her features.
"Reginald Palmer. He's new money from California, here to import moving pictures, whatever they are. Is my hair smooth?"
"It's perfect. I saw one in Hong Kong. They seem to be catching on."
He held her coat as she slipped into it.
"He's throwing this party to seem sophisticated and interesting. Everyone will be there. Certainly every foreigner in Kyoto, and plenty more besides. Sometimes I would really appreciate a reflection."
"And we're going because?"
"Because I was invited, because I like parties. And because I want someone interesting to eat. Besides, it will do you good to get out."
He had become very good at hiding his reaction to things.
They decided to walk. It wasn't very far, and Darla wanted to show Angelus the old city. They walked onto Kiyamachi-dori and then south onto Shijo-dori. Despite their proximity, these wider, gaslit streets were quite different from Pontocho-dori. They were lined with ryokans, izakayas, all manner of hostelries, some notably not as exclusive as Darla's hidden establishment. Their denizens occasionally took to the streets, singing some threatening war song or other.
Darla curled her hand round Angelus's arm.
"The world used to be more elegant, I am sure of it," she murmured with disdain.
"No, love, just the parts we frequented," replied Angelus dryly.
Darla laughed.
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "And we made them so. Do you remember, Angelus?"
He turned to her, half smiling.
"How could I forget the whirlwind?"
She gave him a sidelong glance.
His coat flashed red lining in the breeze.
They reached the Palmer residence in fashionable time. The house immediately stood out from its neighbours. Though it was wooden, it was not built in any Japanese style. It was an attempt at a Californian villa squeezed ungraciously into Japanese surroundings. The open door allowed the sounds of the party within to drift out onto the otherwise silent residential street.
Darla and Angelus reached the doorway. No one removed their shoes at this house. Inside, one might be at a party in East Egg. A piano tinkled somewhere, providing the perfect soundtrack for the scene.
Angelus was momentarily taken aback by what he saw. How things had changed since he had last noticed people! Women's dresses twinkled and flowed, showing a lot more leg than any female garment had for most of his hundred and seventy years. Cigarettes floated at the end of holders, smoke exhaled by male and female alike. Men wore tails, no longer the frock coat. All mingled with careless ease. Gone were the formalities he had known for most of his existence; the decadence of his youth had returned to the prosperous world.
And he had forgotten. The pressure of their heartbeats on his eardrums. Hidden away in Darla's haven he had forgotten. Now the sound was a constant thrum against the backdrop of voices and music and clinking glasses.
Their host appeared from the throng of partygoers.
"You must be Darla!" he exclaimed. "Please excuse me, I don't know your surname."
"Darla is fine, Mr. Palmer," replied Darla. "What a beautiful house you have here."
Angelus suppressed a smile. Even to him her voice sounded almost sincere.
"Just like home, right?" said Palmer.
"Home, yes." She smiled. "I haven't been there in a while."
She turned to introduce her partner.
"This is Angelus."
"How do you do, Mr. Angelus."
Angelus awkwardly took Palmer's proffered hand.
"Well, come on in, make yourselves at home. Here, give my man your coats. Great! I'll be seeing you later, now!" Their jovial host waved them inside, before turning to greet the next arrivals.
"Well," said Darla. "He is certainly off the menu. I prefer my men with taste." She laughed at her own joke.
Angelus laughed too, despite himself.
They floated through the rooms, watching the people. Even those who might have recognized Darla did not. They had never seen her face unpainted before. Angelus scooped two cocktails from the salver of a passing waiter and handed one to Darla. They picked up snippets of conversation as they passed various groups.
"… my dear, that hat is simply marvelous!"
"…Chaplin, I think. Isn't it…?"
"… tremors in Tokyo – wouldn't it be exciting!…"
"…Mint juleps? Aren't they more an afternoon drink?"
It meant nothing to Angelus.
"Oh, Darla," he sighed.
"I know, my love," she replied. "I am quite at a loss myself. I've been tucked away for so long."
She continued to wander through the people, trailing Angelus behind her as she loosely held his hand. She was quite fascinated by the humans she saw. The women in particular. The men paled beside her Angelus, she thought smugly.
But the women, these women like gems in their brilliance. Everywhere they moved or lounged at their ease, in all the colours of a peacock. She had missed the ritual of dressing that evening, her usual space for ordering her thoughts gone. But looking around the room, she decided she very much liked these new, loose-fitting dresses. Corsets, she mused, always made them faint too soon.
Angelus leaned close to her as she scanned the room.
"Well, have you chosen yet?" he whispered.
"Chosen?" She looked back at him.
"Who you're going to kill, my love." His face was expressionless.
"Are you in some kind of rush? Or did you have someone in mind?"
He laughed, though with little humour.
"It's just that it's… loud in here,' he replied, his eyes falling to the carpet.
"Yes. Their heartbeats. It's quite intoxicating." She smiled, her red lips parting in anticipation. "I think a woman," she continued. "Yes, a woman. I've dined almost exclusively on men for so long now. One of these modern women. It will be quite novel!"
She looked around the room. Angelus finished his cocktail which, to him, tasted insipid at best. At least it dulled his senses ever so slightly. So many humans, so many heartbeats. Another cocktail. That's better.
Darla again took his arm.
"Angelus," she said, "it's time to mingle. And while we are mingling, you choose."
"Choose?" He looked at her questioningly. Please no.
"Choose. One of them will die. What does it matter which one? You choose."
The pounding in his ears became louder again, until he could almost feel it in his own chest. He bit hard on his tongue. The coppery taste filled his mouth. Then he nodded, his eyes already darting around the room.
She looked at him appraisingly.
He once told her, she could remember clear as moonlight, that he could not seem to be what he was not.
One question then remained, she thought. It was almost time for him to answer.