Chapter Four: On Blood, Sin, and Lust, among other things
Judith wondered if the Inventor of the Pub had it in mind to create a space where one could sit comfortably alone, drink in hand, without the worry that others might take them for drunken social isolates, or, conversely, one trying to find another to spend the night with. Pubs were where communities could form and break in the course of the night, and where camaraderie was more important than romance—at least at this point of the evening. It was still well before midnight, and Judith only intended to stay until William arrived.
The pub was close to a friend's home, with whom she had just spent a lovely evening, and William had offered to meet her there after patrolling with Calder to walk home with her. She found the gesture protective and sweet, if a little unnerving that she was the one who needed protecting now. She did not think by any means that 10:30pm on a winter's night was too dangerous a time to walk herself home—nor, she thought, did William—but the implication was still there.
She sighed inwardly and raised her short glass of club soda with lime to her lips. She always enjoyed the atmosphere of the Dragon's Crown, where the walls were so old that the real wood still smelled of cigar smoke and aged whiskey and roasted potatoes, and where actual waiters stopped by the tables to take orders. The mirrors behind the bar sagged with age, as many things do, and she stared contemplatively at her wavering reflection. Her dark, round curls fell softly to her shoulders and the dim red lighting of the pub gave them a flattering mahogany tint. Judith decided that she must remember that the next time she went to the hairdresser.
A man sat in a booth behind her with a few of his friends. Though he was entirely nondescript, she had noticed him in the mirror several times because he would glance quickly away from her every time she happened to look; and she wished that William would arrive sooner. Romance was a game she did not want to play, and turning the poor fellow down would surely not brighten either of their nights. The man glanced over surreptitiously again and caught her eye. Judith cursed inwardly. As if a few seconds' eye contact contained all the courage he needed, the man made as if to rise. She stiffened, and the man stopped, a look of mixed confusion and slight disappointment on his face. Judith was in the middle of a thought about how surprisingly perceptive the man must be when a deep voice spoke directly behind her, startling her quite out of the moment,
"Fancy seeing you here."
Judith jumped and spun around on her stool. Angel was standing close enough behind her that she had to lean back slightly to look up at him.
"Sorry," he said.
Judith shook her head slightly. "No need," she replied, her voice slightly higher than normal. "I just didn't see you… Of course, without the reflection… So it's really true, then." She looked back in the mirror, where Angel stood invisible.
"You didn't believe it?" Angel said, sliding onto the stool next to hers.
"I did," Judith replied, captivated by the impossibility. "I've just never seen it." She stared a few seconds longer before realizing how rude she was being. "I'm so sorry," she said, turning to him. "I didn't mean to… I don't know what came over me."
"It's okay," he replied. "It takes getting used to."
"Yes, well," Judith said, "that's no excuse."
Angel shrugged. "So what are you doing here?" he asked. "Seems like the last place I'd find you."
"I'm waiting for William," she answered, straightening up unconsciously. "We're meeting here to walk home together. Though I don't know why this is the last place you would find me. It's a perfectly respectable establishment. Will and I come here for dinner frequently enough." She picked up her nearly empty glass to take another sip.
"Oh, it's quite respectable," Angel agreed. "It's just that this place turns into a demon bar around midnight."
Judith's glass clattered to the counter embarrassingly loudly. "Excuse me?"
"Yeah, but the ones who can pass for human tend to come in a little earlier." Angel gestured to himself. "Case in point."
Judith gripped the edge of the counter and took an extra moment to regain her thoughts. "Well," she said finally. "I always did wonder how this place maintained enough business to sustain itself round the clock." Judith paused. "Is it…dangerous…for humans?"
Angel shrugged again. "Depends."
Judith waited a moment before prompting, "On…?"
"Who you are. Who you're with. How late it is. The usual things you need to think about in places like this." Angel seemed to sense that this still wasn't enough for Judith because he continued after a moment, "Don't stay much past midnight on your own and you'll be fine. The bartenders are pretty good about keeping inter-species peace, but things happen."
"Alright," Judith said, and some unnoticed tension in her shoulders released. "Thank you." After a moment, she asked, "And what brings you here?"
"I like to keep tabs on what's going on," Angel said, glancing around. "And people are pretty talkative in places like this."
"I see," Judith nodded and finished her drink in one last small swallow. Silence fell and she suddenly wished that the drink had been made of something a bit stronger than carbonated water and lime juice.
Finally, Angel shifted as if to stand up. Well," he said, glancing at the booth behind them, "I think I might have interrupted something."
"Oh, no," Judith protested, instinctively reaching out a hand to stop him. "Well, yes, I think you did, but it was a quite welcome interruption, honestly." Angel smiled with one side of his mouth knowingly, and Judith continued, withdrawing her hand again, "If you would stay until William arrives, I would appreciate it. And enjoy the company, of course," she added.
Angel hesitated for a brief moment, watching his fingers trace imaginary lines on the counter. "I don't know how enjoyable my company is," he said. "I don't often interact with people on a purely social basis."
"You interact with the boys often enough." Judith asked.
"Kids are different."
"Well, if you don't want to…" Judith said.
"No, it's not that," Angel said quickly. "I'm just not good with the whole small talk thing…or the talk thing, really. I don't want to let down your expectations of good company."
Judith bit her lip in thought. Then she swiveled on her stool, facing Angel, and folded her hands in her lap. "Angel, may I be frank with you?"
"Of course," he replied, though he leaned back a little nervously.
"You are a four-hundred-and-fifty-year-old vampire, and I am a perpetually curious historian. Therefore, ontologically-speaking, you are at the very least 'interesting,' if not 'good,' company." Judith silently congratulated herself on the use of word "ontological," and made a mental note to add a new entry to her list of words she wanted to use more regularly.
Angel stared at her a moment. Then he glanced at his hand that rested on the counter. When he finally looked up at her again, he gave her a small smile. "Alright," he said. "But can we move to a booth? The reflection thing throws a lot of people off."
Judith smiled in gratitude (and yes, triumph), "Of course."
They stood up and nearly bumped into each other as Judith bent to get her coat on the hook under the counter. Both unsure of who to follow, they followed each other's hesitant leads to an empty booth further back in the pub and slid into their respective sides, Judith facing the door so that she could see William when he came in.
An uncomfortable silence fell. Sitting in a booth together was strikingly more intentional than an accidental meeting at the counter. Judith hadn't originally been intending to order anything more than her club soda, but her wish for something stronger now focused in on the image of a gin and tonic.
A waiter came over shortly, whom Judith recognized as Marty, one of the regular wait staff who used to occasionally surprise William with a small toy or piece of candy when he was little. The first time he'd waited on them, he'd asked their names, and he had never forgotten them. Judith and William always hoped that he was on duty when they decided to have dinner there, even though William was too old for toys now.
"Good evening, Angel, sir," Marty said, placing entirely decorative coasters on the synthetic wood in front of them. "Ms. Judith," he nodded to Judith, who smiled back. Marty asked for their drink orders, to which Judith immediately replied gin and tonic, and Angel his "usual" and to "leave the bottle." Marty nodded again and strode off. Judith raised an eyebrow.
Noticing the look, Angel said, "I've been told that I'm much more sociable with a few drinks in me. And I'm also going to be here a while."
"Mm. Well, that's quite noble of you," Judith said somewhat derisively, "but don't waste yourself away on my account."
"I'm not," Angel replied. Judith set her jaw slightly, but decided not to press the matter—not right then, anyway. She searched for something else to start a conversation with, and Marty returned just long enough to set a bowl of salted peanuts in front of her. Judith picked one up automatically, but then hesitated, unsure of the etiquette of eating in front of someone who doesn't eat. She scrutinized him lightly.
"What?" he asked.
Judith dropped the peanut back into the bowl. "Nothing," she replied. "I'll wait until our drinks come."
"You don't have to," Angel said, leaning back into his seat, not quite as relaxed as she thought he wanted to appear. "I don't mind."
"No, no," she insisted. "I'm not hungry anyway."
Angel shrugged, but did not reply, and let his eyes wander around the room. Judith folded her hands in front of her.
"So," she said. "I'm curious: can you actually eat human foods, if you wanted to?"
"Sure I can," Angel replied, turning his attention back to her. "It just doesn't taste good."
Marty returned with their drinks and swept away again.
Judith frowned slightly. "But clearly you drink alcohol," she gestured to Angel's glass and the accompanying green-glass bottle, which bore the label of a somewhat high-end scotch whiskey.
"Liquids are different," Angel said, picking his glass up. "Or some of them are…" He took a rather large sip of his drink and contemplated it for several moments, letting it sit on his tongue before swallowing. Judith took a sip of hers while he thought, relishing the comfort of the familiar taste it brought. Finally Angel said, "I think it's the ones that are derived from something—like coffee or tea—that taste good."
"Most drinks are derived from something," Judith said. "Juice is derived from fruit."
"No," Angel replied. "Juice is part of the fruit. I like drinks that require a process to get the essence of whatever it came from. Because blood, you know, is…" He stopped and looked at her. "Sorry," he said.
"For what?"
Angel made an odd, somewhat non-committal gesture, as if trying to say through action what he meant. Finally, he said, "Humans just don't usually like to talk about blood…and…you know…" he shrugged, bringing his glass up to his mouth again. "Drinking it."
"Ah." Yes, now that she thought about it, her stomach did turn slightly at the thought; but that could also be somewhat attributed to the effect of the gin. "Go on," she said. "My curiosity overrules repulsion."
"Alright…" Angel said, giving a small smile of appreciation and gathering his words together. "…Blood contains the essence of a person," he said. "It's everything about them in a single, yet complex substance. So I like drinks that are like that." Holding up the glass of scotch as an example, he continued, "A whiskey connoisseur can tell how this scotch was made, where, when, and with what ingredients without reading the label… One sniff is enough to tell them and one taste is enough to confirm it. It's the same with blood."
Judith leaned forward, fascinated beyond all thoughts of disgust. "You can figure out any stranger's basic history just by the scent of their blood?" she said in awe.
"History, personality, looks… Nothing really specific, just generalities." Angel replied. "It can be dead useful sometimes; understanding someone you're not about to eat… Or even someone you are, at that," he added thoughtfully under his breath, and took another sip.
Judith clenched her jaw slightly and her stomach turned once at the idea of Angel eating somebody. But she let it slide, deciding instead to ask the question that now burned at her before Reason could catch up and hold her mouth closed. "What can you tell about me?"
Angel glanced at her and wrapped both hands around his glass. "Just by your scent?" he asked.
"Are there other ways you can read me?"
Angel drew in a breath, deliberately not meeting her eyes. "I'm good with psychology. Really good."
Judith took a swallow of gin and tonic that was rather larger than she meant. "I see," she said once the drink had made it all the way down. "Then just by scent. I don't think I need a full psychological profile."
Angel took another long sip, then set his drink off to the side and contemplated her. "Well," he said finally, "the obvious physical attributes aside, you're about 40 years old." He hesitated. "Maybe 41."
Judith nodded her head once. "Next month," she conceded. "What else?"
"There's something a little bit dangerous about you," Angel said after a moment. "But I can't place it. You lock it away, though." He paused briefly. "I'm guessing with rules and a strict code of personal ethics."
Judith's stomach suddenly tightened and she gripped her glass firmly. It was frightening—yes, frightening—how the first trait he mentioned was the only one she actively hid. He was right, on all counts. Passion was her weakness: her danger. Deep, all-consuming floods of emotion that would drown her reason if left unchecked. She glanced down at her drink, trying to keep away images of her late best friend-who...well, there was a reason she held to those rules so firmly, now-and delicately swallowed the last, rather sizable amount of her gin, wishing she had eaten some peanuts to absorb the sudden wave of alcohol that shortly hit her empty stomach.
"I'm sorry," Angel said.
"No, no," she replied. "I asked." She looked up again, pulling in a breath, recovered, if slightly hazier than before. "What else?"
Angel glanced at her, unsure, but continued anyway. "You're loyal," he said, "and proud. You're active and healthy, and you don't eat processed foods if you can help it. You particularly enjoy Indian food."
Judith nodded. "All true," she said.
"And you have a Thai ancestor." Angel said, finishing his drink in one surprisingly swift swallow.
"Do I really?"
Angel nodded as he refilled his glass. "Pretty far back, though," he said.
"Can I refresh that for you?" Marty asked, swinging by with a tray of glasses in one hand.
"Please," Judith replied, and Marty hurried off. Then, feeling like she must be that cat that was about to be killed by Curiosity, she continued their conversation.
"So is it the trait itself that you can smell," she asked, "or it is a common scent that, say, loyal people like me tend to carry?"
"It's the trait," Angel replied, leaning forward on his elbows in the most relaxed posture he'd assumed all evening. "And only the main traits. I can't distinguish the categories within those traits. I wouldn't be able to tell by scent if your loyalty is familial or patriotic, for instance."
"Or if my pride is manifested in egotism or the inability to admit when I'm wrong?"
Angel smiled. "Well pride is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, and on a whole different scale than disposition."
Judith smiled also. "And which have you found to be the most common of the Seven?"
Angel thought through another swallow of scotch. "Envy," he replied eventually.
Judith raised her eyebrows. "Is that so? I would have guessed Lust."
"Oh, god," Angel rolled his eyes. "That's way up there, too."
"I suppose one can lust after something that someone else has," Judith said pensively, "which would fall under both categories."
"No," Angel replied. "With the seven mortal sins, lust is sexual, and not a bit more. But people always want what others have, and there are simply more opportunities to covet something than someone, especially when you factor in children. Also, sex isn't as taboo as it used to be, so it's not seen as quite so lustful anymore to want to sleep with someone. Sins do change according to the times; trust me."
"Hm," Judith mused. "That gives me hope, then. There are worse sins than envy to indulge in."
"Not according to the Catholic Church," Angel replied. "The Seven are all equal."
"Well," Judith shrugged, sitting back in her seat. "I'm not Catholic."
Angel smiled and tipped his glass toward her, then took a sip of his drink in response. Silence fell briefly and more comfortably than it ever had before, if Judith had taken the time to notice.
"I suppose…" she said after a moment, then decided that she needed another swallow of gin to ask the question. She started again, "I suppose you can sense virginity, then, as well? Based on your heightened senses, and that you're a creature traditionally drawn to such people—in mythology and literature, anyway."
Angel seemed surprised, though not put off by the question. "Yeah," he replied.
Judith nodded, struggling to think straight through the slight fog of one and a half glasses of gin and tonic. She often worried about William and the pressures she knew he was beginning to feel. Not that she suspected him of such activity yet—recently 16 was still young. But she did wonder.
"I'm not going to tell you about him," Angel said, as though reading her mind.
"I wasn't going to ask you," she replied. "My loyalty is familial, and it includes loyalty to his privacy. And there are many reasons why I tried to cultivate the kind of relationship with him that would not let such enormous firsts slip my notice. But I still have to wonder…"
"Of course you do," Angel said. "You're his mother." He finished his drink and refilled it with a little more purpose this time, perhaps a consequence of having had so much so quickly already. Judith briefly wondered if she should insist that he stop. But instead, she smiled and simply said through another sip from her glass,
"I suppose so."
Silence fell again, longer than before, and this time Angel was the one to finally break it.
"So what kind of historian are you?" he asked.
Judith brought herself back to the moment before answering. "Native American," she replied.
Angel nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense."
"Does it?"
"Sure," Angel said. "They're incredibly profound culturally, religiously. They're strong together, even though there are so few of them left. And very dignified." Angel paused, as if watching a memory. "And well-spoken," he added. He looked over at her. "I knew a Cherokee man once."
Judith's heart jumped slightly and she leaned forward. "Did you really?"
Angel nodded. "About 100 years ago, not long before the massacre. Dawson was his name."
"Not Grant Dawson?" Judith gasped.
"Yeah," Angel replied. "I have his journal, actually."
Judith's heart skipped several beats and the glass in her hand slipped the remaining half-inch to the table. "You have…he kept a journal?" she said breathlessly. "How do you have it? Can I see it?"
Angel sat back uncomfortably. "I…I took it," he admitted. "I didn't know him that well. He was a very private man; he always talked about burying the journal when he finished it so it wouldn't get published. But he was killed before he had a chance to." Angel gave a half shrug. "As soon as I found out, I took it and kept it so no one else would find it. I never even read it." Angel stared at Judith a moment, she was certain reading every emotion of giddy awe and excitement that she failed to hide. After a moment, he leaned forward. "Alright, you can borrow it. Just don't spread it around, alright?"
"Yes, of course," Judith breathed, a silly grin spreading across her face. "Thank you. I can't tell you what… Grant Dawson has always been a hero of mine, ever since I learned about him as a little girl."
"He was a great man," Angel nodded, turning his attention back to his drink. "I had a lot of respect for him."
"I should think you did. That massacre may have ended his people, but his actions still have a profound effect today. The Cherokee are not dead because of him."
Angel nodded in agreement. "Yeah… He did a lot in his time here. I was impressed."
Judith scrutinized Angel over the top of her drink, a thought surfacing that often came to her when she wondered at length about Angel. "And what about you?" she asked. "Have you done a lot in your rather extended time here?"
Angel didn't answer right away, opting instead to swirl his drink aimlessly around the bottom of his glass. "I saved the world a few times," he said eventually. "But nothing I'll be remembered for, like Dawson."
"Why?" she asked. "If you have eternity to use to build up power and use it for good, why don't you?"
Angel frowned. "I decided to do that once," he said, and took a drink. "Didn't work out."
"Why not?"
Angel's eyes darkened and, setting his glass down, he looked directly at her. "Because it really pisses the other side off."
Judith held their gaze, a new fire of indignity and curiosity now kindled in her gut. What sort of past must he have to not take the full potential of enormous power waiting for him?
Angel sat back in his seat and said, "Sometimes I think that's why humans never live very long."
"The more they do, the shorter they live?" Judith asked, not entirely believing that cynical view, despite the trend of assassins targeting the heroes of history.
"More that they can come into this life, do their part, and get out quick, before anyone can realize just how much of an impact they made. It's a convenient amount of time, really, one human life; and it answers the question of why some creatures are immortal and some aren't."
"You've thought a lot about this?" Judith asked.
"Yeah," Angel said simply.
"So…" Judith tried to piece his logic together. "You don't feel it's your place to build up power—any kind of power—and use it for the betterment of this world? You could be a ruler, an activist, an inspirational speaker… You can be a knight for any crusade you want to start. And yet…the power isn't yours to take because you're immortal?"
"No, it's mine if I want it," Angel replied. "But the price is way too high; and they don't tell you what it is until it's time to pay."
"What is it?"
Angel hesitated. "Death, usually," he replied. "Humans are often ready for it. Or they're expecting it. But at least it's their own death, and not the people they love."
Judith could reasonably guess, "And that's what it was for you?"
Angel hesitated again. "Yeah."
Judith nodded and looked down into her glass. How could she make a case against that? "You must think we have hope, then," she finally said. "To live in this world so long, knowing better than any of us the state it's in, and to not feel compelled to play a role in its…" She glanced around, searching for the right word, "salvation, I guess?"
Angel swallowed and didn't answer right away. "The longer you live, the more you realize that in the war over good and evil, humanity is this world's only chance for lasting peace. There are plenty of forces out there working against them—including themselves—and there are benevolent forces to counteract them. If I took up my part, I would be one of those forces. I have been, for good and evil. But in the end, it's the humans who will change things forever. Not me."
Judith frowned. "I would like to know what makes you think that."
Angel shrugged. "Just what I've observed. It's the humans' world; they have ultimate power. They're just not ready to handle it yet, so everything else is struggling for it in the meantime."
"And what will you do in this 'meantime'?"
Angel took a contemplative sip of his drink rather than answering immediately. He let the scotch sit on his tongue and swallowed. Judith might have pressed him if he didn't actively look like he was thinking about his answer. Finally, he looked up.
"I don't know," he replied.
Judith frowned, and also used her drink as an excuse not to speak right away. She took extra care to consider her words, not wanting to say anything she would later regret.
"Good might not have won yet," she eventually said. "But neither has evil." She looked up and caught his gaze to make sure he got the point when she said, "And it seems to me that indifference and inaction are evil's best hope."
Instead of getting angry, as she thought he might, Angel watched her as though analyzing a portrait. Judith thought eerily that she could almost see her reflection inside his eyes, rather than on the surface. Finally, Angel looked away and into his scotch. "You remind me a lot of someone I used to know," he said finally. "She would say something like that if she saw me now…only with more pop culture references that I'd have to look up later."
"And what would you reply to her?"
Angel looked up again. "That you can't possibly know why I believe what I believe, or why I act the way I do."
"Or don't," Judith corrected.
"Or don't," Angel agreed. "I'm honestly not even sure it's possible to defeat the evil that's out there, even without humanity working against itself."
It was Judith's turn to analyze Angel, the fire in her gut now less curious and even more indignant. "What on earth have you been through, Angel?" she said quietly.
Angel gave a sad smile, shook his head, and let his reply be finishing the rest of his drink.
Silence fell again, and Judith looked up in time to see William's figure making his way through the densely-arranged and now mostly occupied tables toward them. "Some other time, I would like to hear it," she said, "if you would tell it to me."
Angel turned to follow her gaze and watched William move toward them for a second. He didn't reply, and turned back.
William reached the table and his jaw dropped slightly as he recognized Angel.
"What's going on? What are you doing here?" William asked Angel, perching himself on the edge of the bench next to Judith, who shrugged nonchalantly, recovering herself to a more normal cheer before Angel did.
"Just chatting," she answered for Angel. "Apparently this place turns into a demon bar at midnight. Did you know that?"
William shook his head, still trying to process the thought of his mother and Angel having drinks at a pub together. "So…" he said after a minute. "…What were you…'chatting'…about?"
"Oh, the usual," Judith replied, wrapping her free arm around him affectionately, and trying to think of topics they'd covered that would elicit the most amusing reaction. "Blood, sin, lust," she listed, and smiled teasingly as William's body cringed under her arm and he gave both of them a look disgust and incredulity. "Did I miss anything?" she asked Angel, who was leaning comfortably back again and pouring himself another drink.
"Virginity," Angel offered without looking up. "But only briefly."
Judith thought she saw the briefest flash of a wink in Angel's eye, though she wasn't sure how it was possible when he wasn't looking at her.
"Right," she said anyway, taking the opportunity a mother could hardly afford to miss. "And in fact I was just going to ask how vampires can sense virginity. It is scent, or is it just a knowing?"
William shrank under her arm, as if trying to melt into the table. She pushed the peanut bowl toward him so he could have a distraction.
"It's the scent," Angel replied through his drink, watching with half an eye and as amused as she at William's embarrassment. "I mean the scent of the blood, not the body—that goes away after a few days, of course."
"A few days?" Judith interrupted, temporarily diverted in this revelation. She slid her arm off of William's shoulder and leaned forward. "Even after showering?"
"It would take a lot of showering… With sandpaper as a scrub brush."
"Hm," Judith said, reaching for her gin and tonic. "Very interesting. Go on."
Angel took another drink and shrugged indifferently. "It's just that when there's a union between two people, they leave faint imprints of themselves on the other person that never goes away. It's a sharing of each other that's more literal than people think."
"Fascinating," Judith said, ignoring William's mild squirming. "So when people equate virginity with purity…"
"It's not about cleanliness," Angel finished. "Just how many other traces of people can be found in your blood, like mineral elements in gold. It's not a moral judgment at all, technically speaking."
"Well that's…relieving," Judith said.
"I know," Angel said, a little more emphatically that she thought he meant to. They both quickly diverted their eyes and found sudden interests in finishing their drinks.
"Hey, hey!" William said suddenly, taking the now-empty glass out of her hand. "I'm cutting you off," he said.
"I'm fine, Will," Judith smiled, suppressing the beginning of a hiccup. "I've only had two. I think it's Angel you should be worried about," she gestured toward Angel, who was filling his fourth glass (was it his fourth? She'd lost count).
"Vampires don't get drunk," William said, holding tightly to her glass despite the complete lack of effort she was putting into getting it back.
Angel snorted.
"Well they don't die from it, anyway," William said.
"Not unless they do something stupid," Angel replied. "I was raiding a convent once in Rome with a vampire that was so drunk he stuck his head in the baptism basin because he was thirsty. He thought the burning was because it was really strong alcohol, so he just kept drinking until…" Angel shrugged and took another sip of his drink, not noticing the looks of slight horror on Judith and William's faces and the dead silence that had fallen.
He set the glass down and looked up. Finally realizing what he'd just said, he pushed away from the table apologetically.
"And you just let him drink it?" William said.
"Well, yeah," Angel replied. "I didn't figure he deserved to live if he was that stupid, right?"
"How very Darwinian of you," Judith said, somewhat amused in spite of herself.
"Also," Angel said, "Vampire. Evil. Both of us. So…" And he waved a hand as if that finished the sentence for him.
"Right," Judith said, then turned instructionally to her son. "Will, next time you should be incensed about the 'raiding a convent' part rather than the 'letting a vampire die' part."
William rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mother," he said. "But now I really do think we should get you home. You're…not right."
Judith smiled. "I'm fine," she said again, "but you're probably right. It's late." She looked up at Angel. "Well, I'm sorry to be leaving you alone here, Angel," she said.
"I'm not alone," Angel replied. "There are a few people here I need to talk to tonight."
"Still," Judith said. "Thank you for your company, and for entertaining my curiosity. I truly enjoyed myself."
Angel nodded once. "I did, too," he replied.
Judith smiled and she and William stood up.
"Stop by sometime tomorrow," Angel said, "and I'll give you that book."
"Oh!" Judith said, wondering how on earth she could have forgotten. "Of course, I will. Thank you." Judith smiled again, nodded, and finally turned to William, ready to go. William glanced suspiciously between the two of them, but started toward the door without saying anything. Judith followed suit and bade goodnight to Angel, who returned the farewell. On the way out, Judith gave the bartender enough money to cover her tab and the tip, and she and William walked home through the cold, snow-specked air.
The End