The Lost Girl of Avignon

"That's for my old man, you bandy-legged bastard," grunted a male voice behind me.

Angela Cole bent, braced herself, and cocked her crossbow once more. She pulled a bolt from the quiver on her belt and slotted it into the weapon.

"Bligh?"

"Ready, Mam," came the voice from behind me. "You can take him."

She stalked forward like a latter-day Angel of Death, placed her boot on the creature's chest, and took careful aim before sending the crossbow bolt plunging down into his skull.

Their quarry spasmed once and then went still.

"Bligh?" she repeated, not taking her eyes off her quarry.

"Still here, Mam. You're clear of my arc. Finish the bastard."

She set aside the crossbow and pulled a rondel dagger from its scabbard by her side.

"Stakes are more traditional," she said, seeming to address the commentary to the world at large, "but I do find it poetic that daggers work just fine for this. If you can still hear me, Malkar Vasjek... this is what it feels like to have your heart cut out. Die in agony, alone in fear, as did all your long tally of victims."

She knelt, and aimed, and stabbed.

The Professor twitched one final time; his claws clenching once as she wriggled the blood-stained dagger back and forth in a macabre coup de grâce.

She stood, and stepped back, holding the blade well clear of herself.

"Job done, Mam," said Bligh. He strode unheeding over my broken body and slowly approached their kill. He was wearing an anachronistic maille shirt and azure surcoat that somehow seemed completely right for him...

He stepped through a thin, faint sunbeam... and the embroidered, double-barred Cross of Lorraine on his surcoat flashed to brilliant white.

My tiny spark of hope deserted me.

A Chevalier of Lorraine.

Of course.

It would be my turn now.

I closed my eyes and rolled away from them, focussing on nothing else but dragging my broken body in against my darling Sophie's still, silent form.

"Here, Mam. I've got the Aqua Regia; give me the blade and I'll cleanse it. What about them?"

"Check the girl when you're done. I'll deal with the vampire."

"Yes, Mam."

"You should have let me die," I whispered against Sophie's pale cheek.

I kissed her unresisting lips and clasped my working arm around her one final time.

For her, at least, it was over.

"I love you," I breathed.

Tears blurred what fragment of vision I had left.

I heard footsteps approaching..

The woman I loved lay dead in my arms.

I had nothing left to fight for.

So I let go and let the gentle embrace of Oblivion carry me after her.

☽●☾

"Miss Devereux?"

A hand, gentle on my shoulder.

"Annemarie? Annemarie, it's time to wake."

I moaned; my body ached and I was not ready to leave my warm and comforting darkness.

"No, not yet, je t'en prie, please..." I protested softly.

A gentle snort and soft laughter.

"Annemarie - evil never sleeps and, therefore, I very much regret that good must be ever-vigilant. You must wake now, my dear."

I forced my eyes open and tried for a moment or two to place myself - I didn't recognise the room. A vaulted stone ceiling... not my bed, then. Not even my flat.

So where was I?

I levered myself upright and stared down at the narrow cot on which I lay.

A bandage bound my neck; I touched it, confused. Why hadn't I healed? I always healed...

"Putain. Where am I?" I managed. My voice sounded rougher to my ears.

"Somewhere safe," said a voice, and Angela Cole stepped into my line of vision. She wore leggings and a soft, formless top that somehow still suggested her lithe nakedness beneath it.

Around her throat was a thin chain, and from it hung a plain, silver Cross of Lorraine.

I shivered and tried not to stare.

"I'm off duty," she said, as if that explained all the strangeness that surrounded me. She grinned. "Or as off duty as I ever really am. Welcome to my home, such as it is."

"Where's Sophie? What have you done with her?" I demanded, soft and fierce.

"The lovely Sophie Albescu is sleeping it off," she said.

"Sleeping... not dead... oh..." I whispered, slumping forward.

"Yes. Just sleeping. A brave girl. Foolish... but brave. So like you, really. What she did nearly killed her. Fuelling a Solarium from dry reagents in the way she did is hard enough; to do it while bleeding out was... utter, unadulterated lunacy. She will need time to recover."

"She should have left me." I whispered, still dizzied by the realisation that Sophie still lived, uncaring of the strange jargon that this weird woman was monologuing. "She should have stayed outside where it was safe. Please. Please, I must see her, for pity's sake. Please!"

"All right, all right, hold your horses. As I said, she's sleeping - right next door, actually. Come along."

I slid my legs out from under the feather duvet and swung them over the side of the cot. I tried to stand; my body screamed in agony and I staggered.

I willed myself to straighten, bit down hard on the groan.

"Putain de merde," I hissed. "Why the fuck am I so sore?"

"It will take also take you time to heal," she said. I caught the deep sympathy in her voice and glance as she closed with me and took my arm. She helped me stand and supported me. "He broke you, Annemarie. He ravaged you. Had you been human you'd be dead many times over. Your body is healing but it's... slower now. Come on, there you go. It's just through there. You'll see that I've made sure that she's quite comfortable."

I suffered myself to be led like a cripple.

And there she lay, my darling, my Angel, my pure soul. I let out a soft sound of need and dropped Angela Cole's arm. I staggered to Sophie's bedside and slumped down to the floor beside her.

I stared at her, then hesitantly reached out to touch her cheek.

"She's so pale. What's wrong with her?" I whispered. "Is she... changing into a... is she becoming like me? She... she cut herself and... and she was..."

"Forcing her life essence into you. Yes. All so needlessly dramatic. Or perhaps not needless, given that gruesome gash in your neck. But young love does so love its grand demonstrations. I wonder if I was ever... no, I suppose I wasn't."

She smiled, clearly amused by the idea. Then she stretched, clicking her shoulders and grimacing at some internal discomfort.

"But rest assured; she's no child of darkness. And neither are you. You are both, despite all your efforts to the contrary, survivors. She drained herself to the point of death. To the point. It was Malkar Vasjek himself, ironically, who saved her by pulling you away from her. I enjoy that little slice of irony, it really is quite delicious."

"How... how was she not infected?" I quavered. "It always happens. Always. All the books are... explicit about it. It's impossible to prevent it..."

Angela Cole's eyebrow curved upwards.

"She's a Dadophoros, Annemarie."

"Oh putain de merde, what the fuck does her carrying a torch have to do with anything? She doesn't even have a torch! Nom de Dieu de merde, can't you please just speak sense for once!"

She blinked, then began to chuckle, and then laugh.

"Fuck! What is so funny!" I shouted, incensed almost beyond reason by her cavalier attitude.

Sophie grumbled and shifted; I clapped my hands over my mouth in horror.

"You don't know," Angela Cole said, still grinning at me. "Really?"

"Know what?"

"Dadophoros. Lightbearer," she said, slowly, as if talking to a child. "Yes, yes, the Greek can be translated both ways. But she's a Lightbearer. She has the old powers - just like her Grandmother. She's a healer. She has the Knack. She can cure diseases. She is resistant to curses. She is a living, breathing ward against darkness, as you saw when she drove him off. And..."

"And...what..." I whispered, stunned and awed by this new revelation of my lover's power.

"The blood of a Dadophoros happens to be the only known cure for Vampirism, Annemarie."

I went cold.

"You... you're telling me..."

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mademoiselle," she said, with a pleased little grin.

"No. No. It... this is... you're... you're joking, you're fucking with me, you're so fucking cruel, how can you..."

"Vampirism is one thing I do not joke about, Annemarie-Jean."

She picked up a razor-thin lancet from a table and reached out; I flinched as she touched it to the tip of my finger.

Bright crimson blood beaded then ran down to my palm.

It ran down to my palm.

I stared at it, then gagged and swallowed again...

"It... it's not supposed to do that..." I whispered.

"Your lover cured you," she said, voice soft with delight and wonder. "I've been doing this for over thirty years and this is the first time I've ever seen it with my own eyes. Sorry. I really thought you knew."

"I don't think she even did."

I stared at the crimson trail.

Angela Cole pushed a wad of gauze into my hand; I clutched it reflexively.

"Here. Wipe that up; I don't want you making another mess," she said. "Not yet, anyway. Time enough for that later. Are you okay, Annemarie?"

"No. Yes. I... don't know."

I blinked away the tears, then turned to stare at Sophie; at the flush on her living cheeks.

She'd been willing to die for me. She would have died for me.

I leaned forward to touch my forehead to hers; she shifted, grumbled, settled again.

Oh my love, I thought. I am yours forever.

"Who are you?" I managed, at last.

"Angela Cole."

She sounded insufferably pleased with herself for the non-answer.

"What are you, then?" I said, exasperated.

"I am a Domini Cane of the Holy Order of Lorraine."

"A... no. Surely not..."

"Yes. A Hound of God."

"Not like the... the Monks..."

"Same name, different agenda. We... bicker," she chuckled. "No, we're older than them, but we share the same goals... sometimes. Guarding the borders, keeping the lid on Pandora's Box beyond the veil. My mother was one of us; so was my brother until he got cocky. Bligh's dad was one too - a damn good one at that. We hold the line, Annemarie-Jean. We watch the borders, and we watch the unfortunate people like you."

I shivered.

"So... all our meetings..."

"I planned each and every one of them," she said. "They happened when I wanted them to happen, on ground of my choosing, in a way that I could take you down if I turned out to be wrong about you."

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because you were my bait. Malkar Vasjek wanted you, specifically. Why? I don't know. Perhaps he hated the colour of your hair, or your scent. Maybe he hates the French. Maybe he hates books."

"I killed his maker," I whispered.

"Indeed? Ah. So that's it, then. Uncommon, but... not that uncommon to wish to avenge someone we care for, is it? So that likely explains it all then. All the rest of it - every other brutal, needless death - seems to have simply been fuel for the fires of his desire to destroy you."

"Sarah..."

"Was a conjunction of opportunity; a convenient meal coupled with a way to hurt you. Sophie Albescu would have been the same, given time. He was cruel, vicious; a blight on the world."

"He's dead? Right? Really dead? Really, really absolutely never-coming-back dead?"

"He's quite thoroughly deceased. Aqua Regia dissolves many problems."

I sighed in relief.

"Thank God."

"Hah. Quite. Anyway... to business. I have a proposal for you, Miss Devereux."

"What is it?"

"Join us."

I blinked.

"Pardon?"

"You're young... more or less. You're untrained. You're impossibly disobedient. You're incredibly foolish. Yet despite all those glaring deficits you nearly brought down a Dread lord. Which means that you are above everything else lucky. That's a rare Talent; one I'd like to exploit while it lasts."

She paused for breath.

Her eyes were as blue as ice, but now there was warmth in them. Warmth and... respect.

"Join our Order," she said. "Become a Chevalier. Take up the Cross of Lorraine and stand at my side. We are few; we need help. You and your lover are both excellent researchers and, frankly, even raw she is worth ten of me in the field. We need you. This is just but one of many battles, and the war is far from won."

"I'll help you," I whispered. "Of course I'll help you. I'll help you until my dying breath. But I can't speak for her."

She smiled warmly - an out-of-place expression on her martial face.

"I'll speak to her later. For now... rest, Annemarie. You're safe, nothing dark will reach you here. Oh! Before I forget..."

She stood, walked to the curtained window and yanked the heavy drapes aside; I flinched instinctively, then paused spellbound as the warmth of the sun fell on me for the first time in as long as I could remember.

"Oh," I whispered. "Oh... I'd... forgotten what that felt like."

I reached out my hand, turning it over and over in the sunbeam, marvelling...

"Enjoy the sunlight and the fruits of the well-lit path," she said. "You've earned it. I'll be outside cleaning and reading; I promise I shall not hear a thing."

She stood, and left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

I stared at my lover's face, so peaceful in the gentle morning light.

Then I stripped out of the simple nightdress I was wearing and crawled in under the blankets behind her.

She shifted and curled in against me.

I kissed her neck, and her shoulder, and the little dimple behind her jaw.

"I love you, imbécile," I whispered. "Don't you dare do anything that stupid ever again."

"Just hold me," she mumbled. She shifted once, twitched, and dozed off again.

She was smiling in her sleep, hair flaming copper-red in the light.

And I closed my eyes and basked and, finally, fell asleep beside her in the glorious warmth of the sun.

☨