Sorry for yet another delay- I'm traveling again. (That excuse makes me life seem a lot more glamorous than it is). Thanks again to those who reviewed- I very much appreciated it. Despite the fact that my reading tastes can be decidedly dark, I still feel like I'm either being too explicit, or writing a pack of fiends in such a way that they're effectively neutered. Angelus is so tricky.
I'll have more on the rules of magic- or magick(s) as they exist in this universe. They're not so drastically different from what we saw in the first few seasons of BTVS, but have been altered slightly to suit the story.
This is the last of the chapters that were mostly or entirely written- I hope to have the next one written, edited, and published in a week. Thanks again for reading.
She would look so pretty stretched out with her hands bound to the ceiling. She was such a little thing that it would be easy to ensure her feet dangled off the ground. Or perhaps just grazed them? There were all sorts of delightful things he could do to her in that position.
He could whip her back bloody and lick up her life as it streamed down her skin. He could bury his face between her thighs and hold her open as he made her feel things she'd never imagined. He could take her from behind and sink his teeth into her neck as he pumped into her body. Or he could take her from the front, and watch her eyes as he wrapped her legs around his waist, putting all the pressure on her little shoulders. Delicious.
As a man, he had flitted from one girl to another, never caring much for any of them, but he had occasionally taken a particular fancy to one wench or another. Sometimes the girl to catch Liam's eye was married, or otherwise unavailable, but that had never stopped him. They bored him eventually, of course, but the habits of the man who had once inhabited the body Angelus now claimed as his own left an imprint on the possessing demon. The nature of vampires was such that they had no memories prior to rising, and their identities were often molded one way or another by the men and women who died to make them. Angelus loathed the memories of his human life, but he could remember nothing else before he rose. He accepted what he could stomach and sought to destroy the rest.
Some things hadn't changed, for he gloried in his appearance, and relished his artistic talent. He still had some degree of affection and loyalty for the country he once called home, and he had become even more hedonistic after his death. And the women- well, his desires were darker now, but he still had his little obsessions.
Buffy was one in a long line of beautiful, doomed girls, but it had been years since anything had so fully captured his attention and imagination. Logically, he must eventually tire of her, but she might keep him entertained for a century or more.
There were so many things he wanted to do to that slim, lithe body. It would be a challenge to determine what he could manage while she was alive. At this point, he was pretty well resolved to turn the girl and see what kind of vampire she'd make. The bond between Sire and Childe meant that though she, at least when she was first turned, would be utterly his creature, he could still kill her if he decided he preferred unlife without her. Angelus was very demanding towards those he made. If they did not satisfy him, he would destroy any disappointments, and he had in the past, or else turned them lose. Sometimes it baffled Angeuls that William still lived – but no, the boy might be rash, and too prone to softness with Drusilla, but he was incredibly vicious and occasionally inventive. He might do Angelus proud yet.
Still, Buffy was feisty enough in life that he suspected she might be strong enough to survive his demands. And his obsession with her might weigh the scales in her favor. Drusilla had taken years to mold even after her turning, and sometimes he marveled at his own patience. For such a lovely girl, he might be able to devote the time again. With a cruel smile on his lips, he turned towards Buffy's window.
He'd ignored Drusilla and William for the better part of the week – nothing when it came to the lives of the undead, but tormenting them never paled. Thinking about what he wanted to do to Buffy was reminding him of the early years with Drusilla…and Will. He was hard just from thinking about it. Lucky them.
As he watched Buffy enter her room, he quickly realized she wasn't preparing for bed. Interesting. He needed to see her soon, he reflected, and see in person how she would respond after his little gift.
Buffy was looking around furtively, and he wondered if she was going to pleasure herself. He wondered if she even knew how. Girls of her class were taught next to nothing about their bodies. It was amusing, and had allowed him to horrify and seduce many a young girl who hadn't a clue what he was doing to her body.
But no, Buffy was, most unfortunately, not acting out the delicious little fantasy he had created for her. Instead, she was drawing on her floor with…chalk?
Hell, he hadn't smelt magicks on her when he had met her. Her guardian had a reputation, perhaps he was tutoring her? But no, Sir Giles would hardly have encouraged a student to summon power on her own late at night. This was Buffy's own doing.
Angelus hoped she wasn't summoning a demon. That sort of thing got messy quickly, and the only demon who would be destroying her soul was him. Even with his superior vision, he had a difficult time making out the pattern, but as she moved to sit in the middle of the circle, he felt some measure of relief. Summoning darker sprits or magicks required some sort of barrier to contain the powers summoned, and Buffy's design did not contain one. He watched as she began chanting, but apparently, her spell was insignificant enough that he didn't sense anything from across the street. Angelus relaxed as it became apparent that she was finished, without any signs of harm.
Apparently satisfied, she cleaned up after herself and it was then that she saw him. It was a testament to his carelessness, and what must have been remarkable eyesight for a human.
He doubted she could make out more than a faint silhouette, but the way she froze, and the expression on her face indicated that she suspected someone had been watching her. He stood unmoving as she closed her curtains and waited as what must have been a quarter of an hour passed. When it became apparent she would not return to her window, he turned back to his own room, sitting to ruminate by the fire.
So Buffy Summers was a witch. Or at the least, exploring magicks, quite probably without any supervision. That sort of thing no longer got women burned at the stake, but there were plenty of other ways for an inexperienced practitioner to get themselves killed without proper guidance. The trouble with London at the present was that the occult had become fashionable, and those who had no business interfering with the supernatural and magicks could quite easily purchase a spellbook of real power, or stumble across a ritual that did, in fact, summon dark powers. Why, Angelus could name three such rumored incidents in the last year alone. It was damned lucky that certain parts of the city were still standing.
There were always places of magick in major cities, particularly old cities, like London. It was a risk his kind had to be aware of when they took up the hunt, though with a small amount of caution they could rampage more or less as they pleased. Still, there were plenty of serious practitioners in the city who were aware of demons, and not all of them were friendly. The Watchers' Council's influence may have been waning, but there were number of other organizations opposed to evil in the city, as well as a number of neutral parties and darker practitioners.
Any person who lived as long as Angelus had would certainly encounter magicks at some point, and it paid to have some working knowledge of what they entailed. Darla had taught him a few little tricks, but on the whole, she had thought the practice beneath her. For some time, so had Angelus, but then there had been the disaster and near-death at the hands of that coven of witches in Prussia, and thereafter he had taken a healthy interest in identifying magick users…and learning how to counter of fire spells. Nearly getting roasted was enough to motivate him to learn a bit more about the forces all animate beings of a certain intelligence could call upon.
His knowledge had been picked up in bursts and in bloodshed. He had apprenticed himself to a sorcerer of some power nearly three decades ago, and managed to fool the man into thinking he was human for a number of months. The knowledge he had gained was well worth his patience and his teacher had been delicious. He might not have bothered but one really needed some sort of tutoring to gain any real measure of control. Buffy would need the same if she wished to accomplish anything of interest.
And she knew that someone had seen her work a spell. If he revealed himself to be that someone…a sympathetic, knowledgeable someone, who knew what might happen? It might give him something to hold over her, or something to bind her closer to him. Secrets so often had that effect on two people. He might even use it as an excuse to see her. He could make a passable teacher, he thought. Patience wasn't his forte, but for Buffy he might forbear for a few months. That could be long enough. If he offered himself to her as a teacher…well, she might not dare to refuse.
Smirking at the thought, Angelus set about to making plans for the next evening. This was something he could easily turn to his advantage, and he wanted to be sure he was ringing every possible drop of enjoyment out of the fortuitous turn of circumstances.
Buffy spent her day in a state of mild panic, not even daring to leave the house. She had sent a note making polite excuses to avoid her social engagements and holed up in the library, were she paced restlessly. Giles was visiting a friend in the country, and Jenny had accompanied him, so Buffy was virtually alone but all throughout the day she was plagued by visions of ominous neighbors bursting in the front door and accusing her of witchcraft. She'd managed to calm herself by the time twilight arrived, but all for naught.
Liam Angelus had called in the evening, bringing with him an unremarkable looking woman and a blank-faced man. Davies had called her down, appearing puzzled and distracted. When they had arrived in the reception room, he had suddenly left on an urgent errand, leaving Buffy to face the strange trio. She had little time, however, to ponder the uncharacteristic departure of the butler before Angelus' purpose became apparent.
It was he who had seen her dabbling with magicks.
"Imagine my surprise," he told her with a delighted smile, "when I discovered you lived across the street. My family and I…and I do believe you met William, did you not? No matter. We took the house for the season. I haven't been in London for years and I don't maintain a permanent residence here so it hardly seemed worth getting to know the neighbors until I happened to see you last night."
His smile was wide, knowing, and no less ominous for the lack of detectable menace. Buffy knew there was something dangerous about the man, especially now that she was seeing him for a second time. He had a distinct, dark aura about him, something seductive, yes, but terrible. She could have spent an hour puzzling it, but he threw her off balance again after the opening gambit of their veiled conversation.
With a polite smile, Angelus offered an invitation to the opera. He promised it would be a magical evening, and such was his charm that Buffy could almost forget that there was a threat implicit in his invitation. Still, she demurred. But he had pressed his suit so that she had understood he did not mean to be disobeyed.
"I ought to give you an hour, my dear," he had said, with a smile that showed too many teeth. "We have the time. The Blightons and I might spend a little time getting reacquainted. We'll be at the Royal Opera House, so I want to give you time to look your best. You'll outshine me and our…chaperones, I imagine."
Something of her dismay must have shown on her face because he became more serious, then.
"It will be nothing more sinister than a bit of light entertainment, Miss Summers, but after the events of last night I feel that we ought to have a serious conversation. I can assure you that is my sole intent in surprising you like this." He looked solemn and sincere when he spoke and she could almost believe him.
He departed in a whirl and she wasted precious minutes staring after him before rushing to her room to find something to wear. It wasn't long at all before they departed in a sumptuous private carriage and arrived minutes before the production started, thankfully late enough that she wasn't seen my anyone she knew. Buffy wondered if Angelus had planned things that way, but he gave her little time to puzzle it before he quickly escorted her to their seats.
They had a private box, naturally.
Buffy kept her eyes cast low and took in the sinuous pattern in the plush carpet. She was trying to prolong the walk to their appointed seats, as if lingering a few extra seconds could possible protect her, but Angelus' grip on her arm was strong and he did not seem inclined to indulge her desire for a delay. With her left arm on his right, he ensured that she kept up with him, smiling politely down at her when she stumbled slightly. In no time at all, they had climbed the stairs and were seated by a bored looking attendant who vanished all too quickly. The curtains were pulled to the side, ensuring that no one using the hallway behind them would disturb their box. As Buffy began the business of arranging her skirts, Mrs. Blighton's silent husband took his seat jerkily and collapsed. Buffy started, meaning to see what was wrong, but Angelus but his hand on her knee, and it might as well have been made of iron. She was properly scared at this point, and turned her head sharply to look at him, eyes wider than saucers.
"He's fine Buffy," he said smoothly, countenance still polite and friendly, and a little amused.
"He's a golom," said Mrs. Blighton, and as Buffy whipped her head around to look at the other woman she saw than her glamorous dress had become a staid, simple black gown, and that she had removed a large knitting project from her tiny reticule.
"And Mrs. Blighton is a witch," Angelus added. "I thought you might appreciate a little female company tonight, but didn't want any distractions."
Buffy's mind was spinning, and she fixed her gaze on Mr. Blighton again. Though he looked like a man, he was stiller than possible for a human to be, not breathing, or moving, or blinking. She felt cool fingers on her chin as Angelus slowly turned her head around to face him.
"Relax my dear," he said. "I thought this conversation might be tempered by a little light entertainment. And I so hate to be without company at the Opera." His smile was perfectly charming, and his eyes were dancing.
"I happened to see you cast a spell last night, as you very well know, but when I met you before, you hadn't performed any. It seems as though you are an uninitiated practitioner. It seems, if I may be frank, that you don't know what the hell you're doing."
Though she was no stranger to bad language, his use profanity still surprised Buffy, and she was shocked into silence by his declaration, so serious, yet simultaneously amused. It took her a moment to respond, but when she did so, it was with uncharacteristic caution.
"And if that were the case?" she replied, admitting nothing, jerking her chin out of his grasp. He leaned forward, and she was very aware of how large he was, and how that weird charisma he had made him seem even larger, even more imposing. He had what her mother might have called a presence. Buffy felt a pang of loss at the thought, but Angelus' reply forced her to refocus.
"Then the city of London is very lucky that you haven't blown up any significant parts of her domain, and your loved ones should count themselves fortunate that you're still alive, healthy, and from what I can see, relatively sane."
Buffy's eyes narrowed.
"I fear you may be exaggerating, Sir, because I must confess that in all the reading I've done no such warnings were present for the small maters I may have undertaken on my own," she replied, her tone frosty.
Angelus laughed, a full hearty thing, and the beauty of it made her catch her breath. When his gaze next met hers, his eyes glimmered with a kind of playful wickedness that did all sorts of sinful things to her thoughts.
"You have a temper, don't you my dear? And a quick wit to boot, though you demonstrated that clearly when we first met. But Miss Summers, I can assure you, the risks are very real."
"But you did not deny you were exaggerating," she countered, a little astonished at her own boldness. Angelus inclined his head towards her, a smile still dancing along the edges of his lips.
"I was a bit, yes," he admitted. "The worst kind of disasters do come from working powerful spells. If you made a mistake using a sewing needle, for instance, there is a reasonable limit to the damage you could so. With a sabre, the threat of harm is much more significant. So too is the case with magicks."
She nodded slowly.
"You can still damage yourself and others, and if you continue on your own long enough, without even learning the basics, you will. No, you need a teacher."
Buffy sat up straighter.
"You're not going to tell me to stop?" she said, a little bewildered.
"Hardly," Angelus replied. "I'd be a hypocrite if I did so, and though I've been worse things, I know that you would hardly listen to me even if I did."
That was probably true, Buffy thought. Angelus lay his hands over her left one, clenched around the arm of her chair, and she shivered. His hands were cool, and she could feel the strength that lay dormant there. His gaze, when it met hers, was compelling.
"You need a teacher," he repeated. Buffy's gaze drifted to Mrs. Blighton, but the witch was entirely caught up in her knitting, which, Buffy was beginning to realize, did not so much resemble a scarf as a great, woolly boat. The woman was either ignoring their conversation entirely or doing a very good job appearing as though she was. Buffy turned back to Angelus to find him amused.
"No, she's entirely too busy my dear," he told her.
"And I don't deal in amateurs," the woman added, without looking up.
"I'm offering my own time, sweet, and my own not inconsiderable knowledge. I've made a different sort of career for myself, but I have training and years of experience, and even though I may yet be called away for some reason or another, I can at least show you how to focus your mind, marshal your power, and give you the knowledge to prevent yourself from making the common fatal mistakes."
Buffy didn't respond.
"And make no mistake, the power is real, but fraught with danger," he continued, "this sort of thing not for the weak-willed." His eyes lingered on her and Buffy flushed under his frank appraisal, thrusting her chin higher. "I think," he said, "you may have what it takes…determination and strength…but you'll never get anywhere without a teacher, my dear."
"No?" she replied, inwardly quaking as she met his amused gaze. She tried to straighten subtly.
"No," he parroted back, with a cool smile.
"And I suppose you had a teacher?" she asked. His smile made her shiver, "Oh I had several," he said, pausing, "but the first went mad, the second tried to kill me, and the third…better not to think of it. By then I knew enough to continue on my own, picking up a spell here or there, some rituals, nothing too serious."
"That sounds like quite an undertaking," she said meeting his eyes. He smiled at her, and suddenly she felt more at ease, because this was a very different sort of smile than the ones he had worn earlier. She felt something uncoil in her chest and she relaxed.
"I won't lie to you," he said, eyes compelling her to agree, "if one doesn't know what one is doing things can become very dangerous indeed, but with caution and a good teacher…well the risks are minimal. And Buffy, the rewards are great. You saw Mrs. Brighton. As things stand now, she has the kind of freedom you could only dream of…and I think you're the sort of girl who doesn't like to be confined."
Buffy met his eyes and nodded slowly. He smiled again, richer, deeper, and leaned in. His breath was cool as he whispered to her. "I can teach you how to conjure spirits and elements," he said, "how to dull a man's mind or send him to do your bidding. I can teach you how to be powerful Buffy."
Their eyes locked. Her heart was thudding in her ears. Buffy moistened her lips, carefully, flushing when his gaze lingered on her mouth.
"And what's in it for you?" she asked. His eyes glittered.
"Aside from your charming company? I gain an acquaintance whom I don't need to lie to. Those are rare enough. I gain an opportunity to show off," he paused, continuing slyly, "and when I met you I warned you that was a bad habit of mine, did I not? London has another exclusive sort of society, one you couldn't dream of, and it would be a pleasure to show it to you."
This was a terrible idea. She couldn't trust him, or be sure of his intentions. This was dangerous, and irresponsible. It was madness.
She locked eyes with him, responding to the earnest passion she saw there.
"Very well," she said. "Will you teach me?"
He lifted her hand to his lips and nodded. She felt dizzy as she watched him from beneath hooded eyes, and prayed she wasn't making a mistake.
When he woke late in the afternoon, Angelus could have laughed at his own good fortune. Buffy was amenable to his suggestion that she become his pupil, which gave him the perfect excuse to see her, and better yet, to see her in private. She was proving even more fascinating than he might have guessed.
It was strange, but when he'd coerced her into joining him at the opera after muddling the mind of Sir Giles' butler, he hadn't expected her to be so unconsciously charming, even seductive. She was an innocent, and she might not have been familiar with her own power, her feminine charm, but she exuded some delicious quality all the same.
Under better circumstances, a girl as pretty and confident as Buffy would have known how to play the flirt, certainly, but her appeal went beyond that. And she had been too flustered to try to charm him into submission, and likely too clever to try even under less threatening circumstances. No, her attractiveness wasn't reliant on any consciousness on her part. He wasn't drawn merely by her looks, her wit, her mannerisms, as delightful as he found them all. He was deeply fascinated by the very essence of the girl.
Angelus felt a rush of delight, of possessiveness just thinking about her, and he wondered if it was too soon to send her another gift. This time, it would be a practical one. Some tool of her own to work her will with. The beauty of an untutored mage was that they could be easily led. He didn't want Buffy succumbing to black magicks, or wasting away after using some dangerous spell, but he did want to see if he could help her get in touch with her darker nature.
Though everyone had some capability, some capacity for power, the amount that a person could harness varied greatly. The average person would never be capable of controlling the weather, or alchemy, or conjuring large objects. But plenty of useful spells didn't require great amounts of power, and with enough will, a person could learn all kinds of tricks. Angelus himself had no great power. What he had was the benefit of an immortal life, and the wealth of knowledge it brought.
It was unlikely that Buffy was unusually powerful, though she was proving a rare and unusual girl, but Angelus would try to ascertain the approximate depth of her power all the same before he really tried to teach her anything of importance. Given his plans for her, it would not be advantageous for him to teach her too much should she prove more powerful than him. But if she, like Angelus, had only an ordinary amount of power within her grasp, he would see what could be done to heighten her senses, to dazzle her mind, and to corrupt her.
Trapped inside by daylight, Angelus was feeling restless as he began laying out plans for Buffy. He'd slept for a few hours, but restlessly, his mind presenting tempting pictures of his latest obsession. He'd been as hard as a rock when he'd woken, and sought out Drusilla, who as receptive to her maker as ever. He hadn't wanted to look at her face, so he'd taken her bent over a chaise delighting in her screams as poor Will had stalked off in a sulk. Darla hadn't returned to the house the past night, so he hadn't been forced to deal with her, to his pleasure. He didn't suspect there was anything wrong with her though- despite the presence of the Council in London, the Slayer was rumored to be in Italy at the present and Darla hadn't lived as long as she had due to luck.
After leaving Drusilla in a puddle of blood and delighted moans, Angelus bathed and sent for a carriage. The sun had nearly slipped away and he felt relief at the lengthening of the days. He chucked Will under the chin on the way out- the boy was so pathetic when it came to his deranged consort.
"Chin up, boy," he ordered. "Moping about never did anyone good."
"Neither did you," Will grumbled, and because he was half-joking, Angelus let it go with no more than a chuckle.
He stepped out into the night air and inhaled deeply. Cities smelled, and vampires had sensitive noses, to say the least, but one quickly grew used to the myriad of stenches they proffered: sweat, waste, despair, fear, lust, and even death. He smiled a little at the thought, and wondered, not for the first time, how humans would react if they knew that some of their most unpleasant emotions were so enticing to their predators.
Still, tonight those sensations were not his aim. Angelus ambled up the street and hailed a cab. He ordered to driver to take him to his intended destination, eyeing one of the horses curiously. It looked perfectly healthy, but was near to death. He hoped it wouldn't keel over during his journey.
As the cab jostled through London's busy streets on its way to Hatton Garden, Angelus mentally reviewed his plans. He wanted to keep Buffy intrigued, a little beholden, a little off-balance, and giving her another obscenely expensive gift was as good a method as any. The roses had been risky enough though, and he had only remembered the inconvenience Sir Giles could represent after he had already sent the order. Fortunately, the man had been out of town, and although Angelus couldn't be certain that the man even knew who he was, it was a risk he was unwilling to take. As of yet, the Watcher's Council didn't appear to be aware that he was in London (not that it might have mattered had they known- they'd already lost three of their girls to him in the last half-century) but he didn't want to give them warning unless it proved necessary. Mentally settling on a more private method of delivering, Angelus paid the driver and sent him on his way.
As he entered the Fabergé building he cursed his lack of reflection. It would prove an inconvenience tonight, he thought ruefully. The shop attendants were already preparing to close the store, but were professional enough to mask any disappointment at the potential prolonging of their shifts.
"Good evening, Sir," a moustached man in a smart suit greeted him. "Can I be of any service?" Angelus let his eyes wander over the sumptuous interior, taking in the exquisitely wrought finery with delight. He had something of an indulgent nature, and appreciated beauty even more when it was enhanced by the splendor only exorbitant riches could lend.
"Yes," he answered the attendant. "I would like to commission a mirror."
The man's eyes lit up, no doubt pleased to have been the one to greet him.
"Of course Sir, right this way," he said, gesturing to the left so that Angelus could lead the way. The vampire quirked a brow in amusement but followed the gesture, padding softly on the plush carpet. The store was less than a year old, opened following the success of the Russian and German branches, and it was clear that no expense had been spared with its design. Royalty's affinity for the exquisitely wrought pieces the company produced had granted them success on a scale most boutique jewelers and craftsmen could only dream of. He and Darla had gone during their years in Russia, and had been impressed by the quality of the work. It was clear that standards hadn't fallen in the years since.
The craftsman Angelus spoke to accepted his eccentricity without batting an eye, going so far as to assure him it was natural not to want to look at any of the mirrors the store already carried. For his part, Angelus accepted the insincere fawning with nothing more than a little amusement.
However the craftsman' attitude changed when Angelus presented him with the sketch he had made. The vampire smiled as he heard the other man catch his breath, and looked down with pride as the man poured over the detail in the drawing Angelus had been working on while trapped inside during the daylight.
Mirrors could be powerful tools, used not just for scrying and divination, but also conjuring, banishing, and even a few weather spells. The quality of the mirror had considerable impact on the usefulness of the tool, but so did more intangible qualities. A new mirror, untainted by others' reflections, was easier to focus with, but would also leave the caster unable to seek out the individuals that passed by it. The one that Angelus was commissioning for Buffy would also contain symbols worked into the large, decorative frame that would both enhance and restrict the user's focus depending on their intent. It would be a safe tool to use, and a useful one. But it would not allow her to seek out any of the undead, consciously or not, and if she tried to summon anything from other worlds, any creature or spirit would remain trapped and powerless in the mirror.
Yes, all in all, Angelus was quite pleased with his creation. He hoped Buffy would be too. No doubt the others would have grumbled about the expense, had they known, but he had long ago established his own accounts with the underground banks of Europe. Will had once accused him of being stingy when he had denied Drusilla some dress she had fancied, but after thrashing the other vampire, he had explained that he merely preferred not to pay for what they could procure through murder. The shopkeeper had screamed long and hard that night, and Angelus had delighted in his progeny's cruelty.
No, he could be generous when it suited him. He'd proved that only a week later when he'd taken Will on a weeklong side-trip through the casinos of Monte Carlo. They'd left Darla and Drusilla to entertain themselves, and blown through a ridiculous amount of money, drunk themselves silly, and finished off by massacring the other residents of their chalet. They'd been disappointed when it had been covered up, but Angelus had pragmatically pointed out that an appearance in the papers would just make it harder to pull off again. He smiled a little at the memory as he finished arranging the details of his order.
After arranging to collect the mirror when it was completed, Angelus set out into the city, now completely dark. He'd already fed the night before, and wasn't in the mood to hunt, unless some hapless prey stumbled across his path. What he really wanted to do was to see Buffy, but that wouldn't be wise only a night after their arrangement at the Opera.
The sky was dark, the smog and clouds blotting out any trace of starlight. All around him humanity walked a little faster, shuddering in the night. Was it the chill in the air that made them clutch their coats tighter, look about nervously, or was it something else? In the shadow of the gaslight, Angelus smiled.