Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's note: Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up. To compensate, it's a little longer than the first two.
Chapter 3
Luc reached an arm out of bed and picked up his mobile phone, which was beeping insistently. "Oui?"
There was no immediate answer, and Luc heard no sound of breathing. He hazarded a guess. "Drusilla?"
"Luc?" A giggle. "Oooh, I can hear your voice ..."
"It's called a telephone, Dru." Luc sat up, propping pillows behind his back. "Did Lindsey speak to you?"
"Such a sweet boy," she murmured.
"You didn't kill him? Tell me you didn't kill him," Luc said.
"No ... but I wanted to, and he knew I wanted to." Dru sounded gleeful. "Where's everyone, Luc? I had a horrid dream, full of dust and ash. Where's Daddy?"
Luc rubbed a hand across his face. "They're all dead, Dru."
"Silly Luc." She laughed. "Of course they're all dead. They're like us!"
"Dru, listen to me," Luc said, wondering that for once she hadn't realised exactly what had happened. "It was the Slayer, and her friends. They're all gone. Angelus, and Darla, and Spike."
A wail cut at his ears. "Daddy? My Spike? Grandmum?"
"Yes, Dru."
For a while she sobbed, and he listened to the sound helplessly. After a few minutes, he spoke again. "Dru. Dru!"
The sobs subsided a little.
"Dru, I want you to come to Paris," Luc said. "I'm here, I can look after you. I've got a plan to avenge them. Will you come? Is there someone who can bring you?"
"I'm a big girl," she said defiantly, sniffing. "I can get there on my own."
"Well," Luc said, rather wondering whether that was the case, "just let me know when you're going to arrive, then. And try not to kill anyone on the way."
"We'll have such fun!" she said, apparently forgetting her grief. "I like French people."
"Good. Just ... think of the future, Dru," Luc said. "I'll see you soon."
"Mmm."
"Turn the phone off now, Dru," said Luc.
There was a pause, and then a click. He lay back with a sigh.
Luc dressed carefully that evening, in black with a deep red shirt. He tied his hair back with a ribbon to match the shirt and completed the ensemble with Angelus' leather coat. He grinned at the empty mirror and went out.
He had known the bar existed for years. In vampiric circles, the names and locations of such establishments were well known. Places to avoid, mostly, but also places to get a quick bite if emergency struck. There had been one in Sunnydale, once: both Spike and Angelus had mentioned it, the latter with scorn and the former with his usual laconic glee. Luc himself had always found the idea of visiting one of the bars intriguing.
It was easy to find, down a sidestreet in the Marais with a neon-red sign blinking over the doorway. Inside, on the ground floor, a number of people sat drinking, but Luc could hear music from below and felt the vibration of a bass beat in his feet.
Sliding on to a stool at the bar, Luc ordered a beer and sipped it slowly, looking around him. Along the bar there was a girl, talking earnestly in a low voice to her male companion. After a short while the man got up and left, and the girl sat alone swirling what was left of her drink in her glass, allowing Luc time to take her appearance in fully. She was young, maybe eighteen, and dressed in an old-fashioned black corset top that showed off her generous cleavage to effect, and left her neck bare. Luc smiled to himself and ran his tongue over his lips.
The girl saw him watching her and turned. "Salut," she said. "You're new here."
"Bonsoir," Luc returned. "Yes, I am."
"Nadine." The girl stuck out her hand, and Luc took it briefly.
"Luc," he introduced himself.
"Nice shirt," Nadine said. She paused. "So, why're you here?"
"I heard about this place," Luc said. "I was interested."
"Interested how?" Nadine asked, scooting her stool closer to Luc's and leaning over, lowering her voice.
Luc shrugged. "Interested generally."
"You're not a journalist?" she said, her tone full of suspicion. Luc laughed.
"No, I'm not a journalist."
"Honest?"
He spread his hands and showed her the inside of his jacket. "See? No recorder, no notebook."
"We had a journalist once," Nadine said, relaxing a little. "Bastard. He wrote a load of lies."
Luc finished his beer. "I won't write anything. But I would like to see downstairs."
"Says something, that you know about downstairs," Nadine said. "Okay." She drained her glass and stood up, collecting a small bag from her side.
Luc followed her down the narrow stairs and through a door, into the downstairs bar. It was a little smoky, and dark, lit by red lamps. There were a few mirrors on the wall and Luc frowned at them as he went past, reflecting how incongruous they were in this sort of place.
Banquettes were set around the wall, and Luc saw a number of couples entwined. On the dance floor people swayed to some sort of hypnotic trance music, which made him wince. Nadine took his hand, hesitantly, and drew him over to an empty seat.
"Well?" she said.
"Much as I expected," Luc said, critically. He turned to face Nadine. "Who's in charge here?"
"In charge?" she said.
"The manager, the boss," he repeated. "There must be someone."
Nadine looked confused. "What do you want? You don't need to ask him, if you want a donor - that is what you want, isn't it?"
"A donor?" Luc laughed. "Nadine, chérie, if I wanted to feed I'd go and hunt. Take me to him, and you'll find out sooner why I'm here."
She had lost her air of flirtatiousness now, and silently led him across the room to an enclosed corner booth, upholstered in red velvet. A blond vampire in leather was bent over the neck of a skinny boy, but he looked up as Luc arrived. Nadine hurried away again.
"Get lost," the vampire said in English.
"Send him away," Luc returned, sliding into the booth. He held the other vampire's gaze. "Send him away."
The blond vampire picked up a napkin from the table, wiped his mouth, and pushed a handful of money into the boy's hand. "Go on," he said, and the boy took the money and vanished. "Well?"
"My name's Luc Tarpeau," Luc introduced himself.
"Charles Schmidt," the other vampire said. "You're new, go and grab yourself a neck."
"I didn't come here for that," Luc said.
"Well, tell me what you did come for and get lost," Schmidt said, screwing his napkin into a ball and throwing it on to the table.
"I've come to recruit," Luc said. "My sire was Angelus."
"Pull the other one," said Schmidt laconically. "He's dead. Or gone soft. I never knew which story to believe."
"He's dead, now," Luc explained, his voice even. "But he was my sire. I am now the Master of my order, and I'm recruiting. Spread the word."
Schmidt folded his arms. "That an order? From some newcomer with daft claims?"
Luc stood up and looked calmly down at the other, but when he spoke he allowed some of his sire's steel into his voice. "I was in this city before your mother was born. Spread the word. I'm at the Hôtel de la Rose, a few streets away. Salut, mon petit."
He grinned, and left Schmidt staring after him.
* * *
Paris, 1838
"You are always the one in control," Angelus said, one hand suppressing the screams of the servant girl he had pinned against the wall. "Always you, never them. Whether vampire or human." He bent and bit. "Got that?" he asked, straightening with bloody lips.
Luc nodded. "Oui."
Angelus dropped the girl's body on the ground. "I think you have. You've learned well, my boy."
He took Luc's arm and they wandered out of the alleyway into the evening crowds.
"Darla and I are going back to London soon," Angelus said. "She's bored, and I want to hear English voices again. Will you come?"
"Do I have to?" Luc asked, thinking the answer would surely be yes.
"Not if you don't want to," Angelus replied. "I think you'll do well, wherever you go." He smiled, lopsidedly and fondly. "If you come, I'll be glad. Darla will be less glad. But if you don't, you could write. I can send you money, should you need it."
"Let me think about it," Luc said.
His sire nodded. "Think about it. I'm still hungry, you? Now, let's see ... that boy over there?"
They exchanged grins, and headed off towards their victim.
Author's note: Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up. To compensate, it's a little longer than the first two.
Chapter 3
Luc reached an arm out of bed and picked up his mobile phone, which was beeping insistently. "Oui?"
There was no immediate answer, and Luc heard no sound of breathing. He hazarded a guess. "Drusilla?"
"Luc?" A giggle. "Oooh, I can hear your voice ..."
"It's called a telephone, Dru." Luc sat up, propping pillows behind his back. "Did Lindsey speak to you?"
"Such a sweet boy," she murmured.
"You didn't kill him? Tell me you didn't kill him," Luc said.
"No ... but I wanted to, and he knew I wanted to." Dru sounded gleeful. "Where's everyone, Luc? I had a horrid dream, full of dust and ash. Where's Daddy?"
Luc rubbed a hand across his face. "They're all dead, Dru."
"Silly Luc." She laughed. "Of course they're all dead. They're like us!"
"Dru, listen to me," Luc said, wondering that for once she hadn't realised exactly what had happened. "It was the Slayer, and her friends. They're all gone. Angelus, and Darla, and Spike."
A wail cut at his ears. "Daddy? My Spike? Grandmum?"
"Yes, Dru."
For a while she sobbed, and he listened to the sound helplessly. After a few minutes, he spoke again. "Dru. Dru!"
The sobs subsided a little.
"Dru, I want you to come to Paris," Luc said. "I'm here, I can look after you. I've got a plan to avenge them. Will you come? Is there someone who can bring you?"
"I'm a big girl," she said defiantly, sniffing. "I can get there on my own."
"Well," Luc said, rather wondering whether that was the case, "just let me know when you're going to arrive, then. And try not to kill anyone on the way."
"We'll have such fun!" she said, apparently forgetting her grief. "I like French people."
"Good. Just ... think of the future, Dru," Luc said. "I'll see you soon."
"Mmm."
"Turn the phone off now, Dru," said Luc.
There was a pause, and then a click. He lay back with a sigh.
Luc dressed carefully that evening, in black with a deep red shirt. He tied his hair back with a ribbon to match the shirt and completed the ensemble with Angelus' leather coat. He grinned at the empty mirror and went out.
He had known the bar existed for years. In vampiric circles, the names and locations of such establishments were well known. Places to avoid, mostly, but also places to get a quick bite if emergency struck. There had been one in Sunnydale, once: both Spike and Angelus had mentioned it, the latter with scorn and the former with his usual laconic glee. Luc himself had always found the idea of visiting one of the bars intriguing.
It was easy to find, down a sidestreet in the Marais with a neon-red sign blinking over the doorway. Inside, on the ground floor, a number of people sat drinking, but Luc could hear music from below and felt the vibration of a bass beat in his feet.
Sliding on to a stool at the bar, Luc ordered a beer and sipped it slowly, looking around him. Along the bar there was a girl, talking earnestly in a low voice to her male companion. After a short while the man got up and left, and the girl sat alone swirling what was left of her drink in her glass, allowing Luc time to take her appearance in fully. She was young, maybe eighteen, and dressed in an old-fashioned black corset top that showed off her generous cleavage to effect, and left her neck bare. Luc smiled to himself and ran his tongue over his lips.
The girl saw him watching her and turned. "Salut," she said. "You're new here."
"Bonsoir," Luc returned. "Yes, I am."
"Nadine." The girl stuck out her hand, and Luc took it briefly.
"Luc," he introduced himself.
"Nice shirt," Nadine said. She paused. "So, why're you here?"
"I heard about this place," Luc said. "I was interested."
"Interested how?" Nadine asked, scooting her stool closer to Luc's and leaning over, lowering her voice.
Luc shrugged. "Interested generally."
"You're not a journalist?" she said, her tone full of suspicion. Luc laughed.
"No, I'm not a journalist."
"Honest?"
He spread his hands and showed her the inside of his jacket. "See? No recorder, no notebook."
"We had a journalist once," Nadine said, relaxing a little. "Bastard. He wrote a load of lies."
Luc finished his beer. "I won't write anything. But I would like to see downstairs."
"Says something, that you know about downstairs," Nadine said. "Okay." She drained her glass and stood up, collecting a small bag from her side.
Luc followed her down the narrow stairs and through a door, into the downstairs bar. It was a little smoky, and dark, lit by red lamps. There were a few mirrors on the wall and Luc frowned at them as he went past, reflecting how incongruous they were in this sort of place.
Banquettes were set around the wall, and Luc saw a number of couples entwined. On the dance floor people swayed to some sort of hypnotic trance music, which made him wince. Nadine took his hand, hesitantly, and drew him over to an empty seat.
"Well?" she said.
"Much as I expected," Luc said, critically. He turned to face Nadine. "Who's in charge here?"
"In charge?" she said.
"The manager, the boss," he repeated. "There must be someone."
Nadine looked confused. "What do you want? You don't need to ask him, if you want a donor - that is what you want, isn't it?"
"A donor?" Luc laughed. "Nadine, chérie, if I wanted to feed I'd go and hunt. Take me to him, and you'll find out sooner why I'm here."
She had lost her air of flirtatiousness now, and silently led him across the room to an enclosed corner booth, upholstered in red velvet. A blond vampire in leather was bent over the neck of a skinny boy, but he looked up as Luc arrived. Nadine hurried away again.
"Get lost," the vampire said in English.
"Send him away," Luc returned, sliding into the booth. He held the other vampire's gaze. "Send him away."
The blond vampire picked up a napkin from the table, wiped his mouth, and pushed a handful of money into the boy's hand. "Go on," he said, and the boy took the money and vanished. "Well?"
"My name's Luc Tarpeau," Luc introduced himself.
"Charles Schmidt," the other vampire said. "You're new, go and grab yourself a neck."
"I didn't come here for that," Luc said.
"Well, tell me what you did come for and get lost," Schmidt said, screwing his napkin into a ball and throwing it on to the table.
"I've come to recruit," Luc said. "My sire was Angelus."
"Pull the other one," said Schmidt laconically. "He's dead. Or gone soft. I never knew which story to believe."
"He's dead, now," Luc explained, his voice even. "But he was my sire. I am now the Master of my order, and I'm recruiting. Spread the word."
Schmidt folded his arms. "That an order? From some newcomer with daft claims?"
Luc stood up and looked calmly down at the other, but when he spoke he allowed some of his sire's steel into his voice. "I was in this city before your mother was born. Spread the word. I'm at the Hôtel de la Rose, a few streets away. Salut, mon petit."
He grinned, and left Schmidt staring after him.
* * *
Paris, 1838
"You are always the one in control," Angelus said, one hand suppressing the screams of the servant girl he had pinned against the wall. "Always you, never them. Whether vampire or human." He bent and bit. "Got that?" he asked, straightening with bloody lips.
Luc nodded. "Oui."
Angelus dropped the girl's body on the ground. "I think you have. You've learned well, my boy."
He took Luc's arm and they wandered out of the alleyway into the evening crowds.
"Darla and I are going back to London soon," Angelus said. "She's bored, and I want to hear English voices again. Will you come?"
"Do I have to?" Luc asked, thinking the answer would surely be yes.
"Not if you don't want to," Angelus replied. "I think you'll do well, wherever you go." He smiled, lopsidedly and fondly. "If you come, I'll be glad. Darla will be less glad. But if you don't, you could write. I can send you money, should you need it."
"Let me think about it," Luc said.
His sire nodded. "Think about it. I'm still hungry, you? Now, let's see ... that boy over there?"
They exchanged grins, and headed off towards their victim.
