Disclaimer: you ought to know by now that I'm stealing all of this from better minds. Or, as my cousin said, "Isn't there a copyright on all of this? So you aren't supposed to use the characters?" "Probably. Oh well."
Of Knights and Dragons
Chapter II: Uriel
"To wish to act like angels while we are still in the world is nothing but folly."
(Saint Teresa of Avila)
And it has to rain, Christophé thought bitterly, wrapping his blue cloak about him, wishing—not for the first time—that the police standard issue included hoods along with the thick wool cape. The tall, flat-topped hats were practically useless in keeping off the rain, he had discovered to his dismay, though particularly good when one needed to make one's way through the crowd.
At this hour, especially considering the weather, the streets were empty. He hunched his shoulders against the wind-driven torrent—it was the kind that hammered insistently, slowly trickling through all layers of protection, until he was soaked to the skin. His wet hair clung to his forehead, the fringes falling into his eyes.
The occasional lamp standing sentinel along the streets was only a yellow-blurred haze in the gloom, gleaming oddly through the steady drizzle here and there, a host of phantom lights. The lantern swinging from his hand was almost no use at all, illuminating a little circle of ground around his squelching boots and casting a single hopeful ray of light quickly devoured by the rain. He was acutely aware, though, that the glass-shrouded light blinked through the storm, marking him out perfectly, a condemning beacon. He could barely hear his own footsteps over the rain.
So when the rainy night told him "you are late, monsieur," he started, though he was expecting the address.
"My apologies, Uriel," Christophé said, without stopping. There were still two blacks to the appointed intersection, but the Captain had expected to be accosted en route. It was a part of Uriel's ways, he had been quick to discover.
"No need for that. Please, continue on," said the night, but despite it Christophé had the distinct impression that his encounterer was walking just behind him to the left. The Captain gave no sign, calmly folding his hands behind his back as he walked, acutely aware of the shadowy presence just beyond sight over his shoulder. "Who dies tomorrow night?" Uriel said without further introduction, as if the matter were really of no import.
The cold tone chilled Christophé more than the trickles of rainwater running down his face and neck. "Monsieur d'Halier," the Captain provided. "For criminal activity and illegal trafficking with Germany."
Uriel laughed softly. "Since when have I needed the justification, Captain? Consider it done."
"Wait." Christophé turned, or started to, halted by a hiss of warning. There came sounds from the night, calls, voices, people approaching, running footsteps. A gloved hand seized the front of his cloak and roughly spun him about to face the beckoning shadow of an alley.
"It would be as unfortunate for you to be found tonight as I, Captain," the man said, behind him again, propelling him forward insistently. The officer went along quietly, reluctantly recognizing the truth of the statement. The sound of voices drew closer, and a line of lanterns or torches came in sight through the persistent storm. The Captain swept his cloak over the lantern to hide the tiny light. Uriel appeared, a shadow against the mouth of the alley, flat against the wall, looking out on the street. The torches passed by, but no one looked in their direction; hazy faces glistened wetly in the storm. They were too indistinct for Christophé to recognize. He saw a flicker of motion—Uriel closed his eyes? It made no sense.
But the diversion afforded the man his first glimpse of his 'free agent'. Tall, probably a few inches over six feet, and very lean beneath the black cape and evening suit, he noticed as Uriel turned. "Monsieur," he called out, taking a step forward.
"Quietly, Captain. They are still close," Uriel warned, completing the turn, his features a mass of shadow the officer couldn't penetrate. Then suddenly faint points of light gleamed. Christophé staggered back when he realized that Uriel had opened his eyes, and it was those that gleamed strange and bright like molten gold… like a cat's. Reflexively he brought up his lantern as if to ward off a ghost; the narrow beam of light fell on Uriel's face and revealed it in full, masked in black leather that ran with rainwater. In the light, the eyes were blue… clear and ordinary, penetrating blue.
Then Uriel spun away into the night, the storm covering any sound of his departure he might have made, leaving a startled Christophé with a lifted lantern staring blankly out after him. At length the Captain shook himself all over, dropped his arm to his side, and muttered something about the night playing tricks on the eyes. He began the rain-soaked walk back to Station 24, the water falling about him like Heaven's tears, unable to shake the image of the golden cats'-eyes in his mind.
"Blast this rain," he muttered, pulling his cloak close. "Blast all this city."