Werewolves in London: Part 5
Title: Werewolves in London
Part: 5
Previous: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4
Pairing: EW, DM
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, no disrespect intended.
Notes: Thanks to impasto for editing.
“We have a job,” Sean announced when Elijah walked into the office. There was an array of guns laid out on the desk in front of him, barrels removed and an open bottle of cleaning solution in their midst.
“What are we hunting?” Elijah asked, gaze drifting over the rows of bullet clips and catching no telltale glimpse of burnished silver.
“We’re not,” Sean replied, assembling one of the handguns with smooth, practiced motions. “This is more of a rescue mission.”
Elijah raised his eyebrows. “And the reason for the guns is…?” he asked, reaching for one to check it and clip the magazine into place.
“In case,” Sean answered vaguely, tucking his own firearm into its holster. He made his way around the desk as if to leave and Elijah blocked his path, feet planted stubbornly in place.
“In case we run into the same man we ran into three nights ago?” he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that why we’re carrying loaded guns?”
Sean’s expression hardened. “That would be murder,” he stated, and Elijah felt a faint shiver of guilt at his assumption. “They’re a precaution,” Sean continued. “In case we run into trouble. Nothing more.”
He stepped forward again and this time Elijah gave way, moving aside so that Sean could take the lead. “Are we expecting trouble?” he asked finally, and didn’t get an answer until they were down the stairs and just stepping into the street, when Sean finally stopped on the curbside and sighed.
“I told you we aren’t the only hunters in London. There’s one in particular, a vigilante who’s given the Others more trouble than any of the rest of them. He’s good at what he does, and has no qualms about doing it.” Sean reached into his pocket and drew out a battered packet of cigarettes, offering Elijah one as he thumbed a cheap plastic lighter. “His name is Boyd, he moved down from Scotland a few years ago. We steer clear of him whenever possible.”
“He’s the one who shot Dom,” Elijah guessed, watching Sean’s face for a response. There wasn’t even a flicker of affirmation, just an eyebrow quirked in question when Sean offered the lighter. Elijah sighed inwardly and accepted, lighting the cigarette - not his brand, it tasted bitter and thick in his mouth - and taking a deep drag. Sean smiled and replaced the lighter, heading across the street towards the Tube station.
“Where is Dom?” Elijah asked as Sean bought their fares and led him down into the tunnel. “Isn’t he coming with us again?”
“Not tonight,” Sean replied, and Elijah frowned, waiting for further explanation and growing impatient when it didn’t come.
“Why not?” he asked, joining Sean against the wall as they waited for the train with a half-dozen other travelers. “Is it because of this Boyd?”
“No,” Sean answered, and then stepped away from the wall as the gleam of headlights warned of the train’s approach. Elijah swallowed his immediate protest and followed Sean onto one of the cars, taking a seat with his back to the wall and keeping an eye on the others who joined them.
“So what’s the job?” he asked finally, accepting for the moment that his questions were getting him nowhere and hoping that Sean could be lulled into being more helpful. “Who are we rescuing?”
Sean smiled faintly, his eyes on the rapidly-passing panels outside the window that lined the tunnel. “An Angel,” he said, and Elijah blinked, not recognizing the name. “Nightwings,” Sean continued, glancing at him briefly. “That’s the correct term, but I’ve always preferred to call them Angels.”
“It’s in trouble?” Elijah hazarded, a vague picture forming in his mind of a beautiful woman with white feathered wings crying out in distress from the top of a tower.
“Not yet,” Sean replied. “But it will be soon enough. They’re adept at hiding, but this one has been spotted. And if I know where it is, then it’s a sure bet others will as well.”
“Boyd,” Elijah stated, and saw Sean’s nod in the flicker-flashing lights of the tunnel.
“This is our stop,” Sean announced, rising from his seat as the train slowed. “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
The light had mostly faded from the sky when they emerged from the Underground, and Elijah took a quick look around, trying to get his bearings. Sean stopped under a streetlight and lit another cigarette, leaning casually against the post.
“What are we…?” Elijah began, and then felt his heart lurch as the shadows moved and a woman stepped into their circle of light, face pale and lips blood-red.
“Miranda,” Sean greeted her, and her eyes danced with mirth when she nodded at him, her gaze skipping sideways to Elijah.
“Sean,” she answered, and smiled slowly, a cat with cream. “Elijah.”
“Why…?” Elijah stammered, unable to put his thoughts into order with his heart still racing from the shock of seeing her. “When did…?”
“I’ve been with you from the beginning,” Miranda answered, tilting her head teasingly so that her hair rippled down her back and over her shoulders. “You just didn’t see me.”
Sean turned, and Elijah caught the end of a soft, infatuated smile that must have been directed at Miranda. “We try always to bring an Other along on jobs,” he told Elijah. “It ensures that proper etiquette is always maintained.”
Elijah thought of Dom and opened his mouth again to ask where he was, but Sean was already turning away, guiding Miranda with a brief touch of his hand against the small of her back. Elijah’s eyes darted from her waist to her face, and saw her looking back at him, half-smiling with mischief and amusement in her eyes.
It wasn’t a far walk, and luckily the night wasn’t overly cool. Elijah watched the shadows as they made their way down the quiet streets, but there was no hint of threat, not even the smallest niggling of unease. Miranda and Sean walked ahead, talking quietly, and sometimes Elijah heard the velvet tinkle of Miranda’s laugh floating back on the air.
“Here,” Sean said at last, coming to a halt in front of a tall building that looked as if it had been marked for demolition, the windows broken and stones crumbling at the corners.
“The elevators don’t work anymore,” Sean said as they tugged aside the broken chain on the door to pick the lock. “We’ll have to take the stairs.”
Elijah automatically moved to follow Sean and realized a few seconds later that it left Miranda behind him, ghosting up the stairs silently and raising prickles on the back of his neck. He glanced around once at a landing and caught her smile again, her eyes fixed on him and glinting in the darkness. He shivered and walked faster, hurrying up flights of stairs until they finally reached the top.
Sean raised a hand in caution when they opened the door to the top floor, the night air seeping in through broken windows and an empty skylight. “Quietly,” he warned, moving forward slowly through the scattered debris of masonry and glass. “They startle easily, and we don’t want anyone to be hurt.”
Elijah paused a few feet into the room, waiting for Sean to give him directions, and felt the tickle of hairs against his neck as someone breathed. He tensed but didn’t move, and a moment later felt the whisper of air as Miranda murmured into his ear, “Have you chosen yet, Watcher child?”
He shuddered, and caught himself leaning back towards her scent, rich and enticing, until he felt the brush of her breasts against his back. She chuckled low in her throat, sending shivers of vibration up his spine, and he felt the light scrape of her nails against the nape of his neck before she drifted away.
“Here,” Sean’s voice said suddenly, hushed in the dim light, and Elijah moved forward to catch his first glimpse of the creature.
He gasped when he saw it, and was torn between shrinking back and moving closer, swaying slightly in place as he stared in fascination at what Sean called an Angel.
It was undoubtedly a he, naked as it was and exposed in a half-crouch, black leathery wings spread defensively over its dark-skinned body. Apart from the wings, it looked human, down the halo of black springy curls and dusting of hair over its chest, arms and legs. The eyes were the only other strange thing about it, gold and slitted almost like a cat’s, its focused gaze on them suggesting that it saw well in the dark, much better than they.
“Get the salt,” Sean murmured, and Elijah fumbled for his bag while the Angel watched, a low-pitched rasp coming from its mouth as Elijah withdrew the canister.
“Is it…he…?” Elijah asked, feeling altogether foolish as the Angel made the noise again, along with a dry, hacking cough.
“Highly intelligent,” Sean answered, moving to his side and touching his arm lightly in reassurance. “But they don’t mingle with humans the way werewolves and vampires do. They prefer to keep to themselves, and speak their own language.”
Elijah nodded, mouth dry, and watched as the Angel’s gaze shifted to Miranda, as if finally noticing that she was different. “It looks like…” Elijah began, then trailed off, fascinated by the ripple of muscle in the Angel’s torso.
“The inspiration for gargoyles,” Sean answered quietly, as the Angel’s wings spread and flexed, before settling again in a gentle curve to brush the dirty floor. “They live for centuries, and have been around as long as there has been civilization in Europe. Shake the salt around the perimeter of the room, don’t leave any gaps. We have to make this place unfit for it, in order to convince it to leave.”
Elijah did as instructed, only pausing once when the Angel suddenly shifted, its slitted eyes tracking him across the room and narrowing as it drew itself up to its full height. Its wings spread wide as it rose and Elijah flinched, the canister shaking in his hand as it coughed again, dry and raspy, the fingers on each hand curling and uncurling, showing nails like sharpened talons.
“Finish it,” Sean murmured, and Elijah lurched into action again, keeping his distance as he made his way around the perimeter of the room. Miranda moved beside him as he completed the circuit, and Elijah felt the slow tickle of her nails as she brushed them down his arm.
“I’m sorry, old one,” Sean said quietly, and Elijah heard the click of the lighter before it flared bright, the flame making the Angel’s eyes glint pure gold as it reared in alarm. “Banish,” Sean said, and touched the flame to the salt at his feet.
Fire raced around the room, scorching the salt to ash until it came full circle and extinguished. The Angel hacked again, nostrils flaring, and crouched low to the ground before leaping into the air, leathery wings beating and blowing gusts of air into their faces as it left through the open skylight.
Elijah let out a breath, the scent of burned salt thick in his lungs. “That’s it?” he asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the skylight, listening uneasily for the sound of wing-beats to return.
“No,” Sean answered, putting his lighter away. “It will be back. The banishment has to be repeated three times on three nights, before it will finally leave to find another home.”
“So we wait?” Elijah asked, shoving the salt canister back into his bag with numb fingers, barely aware of Miranda at his back, like a floral-scented breeze amidst the burnt ash. She touched him again and this time he didn’t tremble, and heard her pleasure in the soft purr she whispered against his ear.
“Yes,” Sean said quietly. “Now we wait.”
Part: 5
Previous: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4
Pairing: EW, DM
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, no disrespect intended.
Notes: Thanks to impasto for editing.
“We have a job,” Sean announced when Elijah walked into the office. There was an array of guns laid out on the desk in front of him, barrels removed and an open bottle of cleaning solution in their midst.
“What are we hunting?” Elijah asked, gaze drifting over the rows of bullet clips and catching no telltale glimpse of burnished silver.
“We’re not,” Sean replied, assembling one of the handguns with smooth, practiced motions. “This is more of a rescue mission.”
Elijah raised his eyebrows. “And the reason for the guns is…?” he asked, reaching for one to check it and clip the magazine into place.
“In case,” Sean answered vaguely, tucking his own firearm into its holster. He made his way around the desk as if to leave and Elijah blocked his path, feet planted stubbornly in place.
“In case we run into the same man we ran into three nights ago?” he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that why we’re carrying loaded guns?”
Sean’s expression hardened. “That would be murder,” he stated, and Elijah felt a faint shiver of guilt at his assumption. “They’re a precaution,” Sean continued. “In case we run into trouble. Nothing more.”
He stepped forward again and this time Elijah gave way, moving aside so that Sean could take the lead. “Are we expecting trouble?” he asked finally, and didn’t get an answer until they were down the stairs and just stepping into the street, when Sean finally stopped on the curbside and sighed.
“I told you we aren’t the only hunters in London. There’s one in particular, a vigilante who’s given the Others more trouble than any of the rest of them. He’s good at what he does, and has no qualms about doing it.” Sean reached into his pocket and drew out a battered packet of cigarettes, offering Elijah one as he thumbed a cheap plastic lighter. “His name is Boyd, he moved down from Scotland a few years ago. We steer clear of him whenever possible.”
“He’s the one who shot Dom,” Elijah guessed, watching Sean’s face for a response. There wasn’t even a flicker of affirmation, just an eyebrow quirked in question when Sean offered the lighter. Elijah sighed inwardly and accepted, lighting the cigarette - not his brand, it tasted bitter and thick in his mouth - and taking a deep drag. Sean smiled and replaced the lighter, heading across the street towards the Tube station.
“Where is Dom?” Elijah asked as Sean bought their fares and led him down into the tunnel. “Isn’t he coming with us again?”
“Not tonight,” Sean replied, and Elijah frowned, waiting for further explanation and growing impatient when it didn’t come.
“Why not?” he asked, joining Sean against the wall as they waited for the train with a half-dozen other travelers. “Is it because of this Boyd?”
“No,” Sean answered, and then stepped away from the wall as the gleam of headlights warned of the train’s approach. Elijah swallowed his immediate protest and followed Sean onto one of the cars, taking a seat with his back to the wall and keeping an eye on the others who joined them.
“So what’s the job?” he asked finally, accepting for the moment that his questions were getting him nowhere and hoping that Sean could be lulled into being more helpful. “Who are we rescuing?”
Sean smiled faintly, his eyes on the rapidly-passing panels outside the window that lined the tunnel. “An Angel,” he said, and Elijah blinked, not recognizing the name. “Nightwings,” Sean continued, glancing at him briefly. “That’s the correct term, but I’ve always preferred to call them Angels.”
“It’s in trouble?” Elijah hazarded, a vague picture forming in his mind of a beautiful woman with white feathered wings crying out in distress from the top of a tower.
“Not yet,” Sean replied. “But it will be soon enough. They’re adept at hiding, but this one has been spotted. And if I know where it is, then it’s a sure bet others will as well.”
“Boyd,” Elijah stated, and saw Sean’s nod in the flicker-flashing lights of the tunnel.
“This is our stop,” Sean announced, rising from his seat as the train slowed. “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
The light had mostly faded from the sky when they emerged from the Underground, and Elijah took a quick look around, trying to get his bearings. Sean stopped under a streetlight and lit another cigarette, leaning casually against the post.
“What are we…?” Elijah began, and then felt his heart lurch as the shadows moved and a woman stepped into their circle of light, face pale and lips blood-red.
“Miranda,” Sean greeted her, and her eyes danced with mirth when she nodded at him, her gaze skipping sideways to Elijah.
“Sean,” she answered, and smiled slowly, a cat with cream. “Elijah.”
“Why…?” Elijah stammered, unable to put his thoughts into order with his heart still racing from the shock of seeing her. “When did…?”
“I’ve been with you from the beginning,” Miranda answered, tilting her head teasingly so that her hair rippled down her back and over her shoulders. “You just didn’t see me.”
Sean turned, and Elijah caught the end of a soft, infatuated smile that must have been directed at Miranda. “We try always to bring an Other along on jobs,” he told Elijah. “It ensures that proper etiquette is always maintained.”
Elijah thought of Dom and opened his mouth again to ask where he was, but Sean was already turning away, guiding Miranda with a brief touch of his hand against the small of her back. Elijah’s eyes darted from her waist to her face, and saw her looking back at him, half-smiling with mischief and amusement in her eyes.
It wasn’t a far walk, and luckily the night wasn’t overly cool. Elijah watched the shadows as they made their way down the quiet streets, but there was no hint of threat, not even the smallest niggling of unease. Miranda and Sean walked ahead, talking quietly, and sometimes Elijah heard the velvet tinkle of Miranda’s laugh floating back on the air.
“Here,” Sean said at last, coming to a halt in front of a tall building that looked as if it had been marked for demolition, the windows broken and stones crumbling at the corners.
“The elevators don’t work anymore,” Sean said as they tugged aside the broken chain on the door to pick the lock. “We’ll have to take the stairs.”
Elijah automatically moved to follow Sean and realized a few seconds later that it left Miranda behind him, ghosting up the stairs silently and raising prickles on the back of his neck. He glanced around once at a landing and caught her smile again, her eyes fixed on him and glinting in the darkness. He shivered and walked faster, hurrying up flights of stairs until they finally reached the top.
Sean raised a hand in caution when they opened the door to the top floor, the night air seeping in through broken windows and an empty skylight. “Quietly,” he warned, moving forward slowly through the scattered debris of masonry and glass. “They startle easily, and we don’t want anyone to be hurt.”
Elijah paused a few feet into the room, waiting for Sean to give him directions, and felt the tickle of hairs against his neck as someone breathed. He tensed but didn’t move, and a moment later felt the whisper of air as Miranda murmured into his ear, “Have you chosen yet, Watcher child?”
He shuddered, and caught himself leaning back towards her scent, rich and enticing, until he felt the brush of her breasts against his back. She chuckled low in her throat, sending shivers of vibration up his spine, and he felt the light scrape of her nails against the nape of his neck before she drifted away.
“Here,” Sean’s voice said suddenly, hushed in the dim light, and Elijah moved forward to catch his first glimpse of the creature.
He gasped when he saw it, and was torn between shrinking back and moving closer, swaying slightly in place as he stared in fascination at what Sean called an Angel.
It was undoubtedly a he, naked as it was and exposed in a half-crouch, black leathery wings spread defensively over its dark-skinned body. Apart from the wings, it looked human, down the halo of black springy curls and dusting of hair over its chest, arms and legs. The eyes were the only other strange thing about it, gold and slitted almost like a cat’s, its focused gaze on them suggesting that it saw well in the dark, much better than they.
“Get the salt,” Sean murmured, and Elijah fumbled for his bag while the Angel watched, a low-pitched rasp coming from its mouth as Elijah withdrew the canister.
“Is it…he…?” Elijah asked, feeling altogether foolish as the Angel made the noise again, along with a dry, hacking cough.
“Highly intelligent,” Sean answered, moving to his side and touching his arm lightly in reassurance. “But they don’t mingle with humans the way werewolves and vampires do. They prefer to keep to themselves, and speak their own language.”
Elijah nodded, mouth dry, and watched as the Angel’s gaze shifted to Miranda, as if finally noticing that she was different. “It looks like…” Elijah began, then trailed off, fascinated by the ripple of muscle in the Angel’s torso.
“The inspiration for gargoyles,” Sean answered quietly, as the Angel’s wings spread and flexed, before settling again in a gentle curve to brush the dirty floor. “They live for centuries, and have been around as long as there has been civilization in Europe. Shake the salt around the perimeter of the room, don’t leave any gaps. We have to make this place unfit for it, in order to convince it to leave.”
Elijah did as instructed, only pausing once when the Angel suddenly shifted, its slitted eyes tracking him across the room and narrowing as it drew itself up to its full height. Its wings spread wide as it rose and Elijah flinched, the canister shaking in his hand as it coughed again, dry and raspy, the fingers on each hand curling and uncurling, showing nails like sharpened talons.
“Finish it,” Sean murmured, and Elijah lurched into action again, keeping his distance as he made his way around the perimeter of the room. Miranda moved beside him as he completed the circuit, and Elijah felt the slow tickle of her nails as she brushed them down his arm.
“I’m sorry, old one,” Sean said quietly, and Elijah heard the click of the lighter before it flared bright, the flame making the Angel’s eyes glint pure gold as it reared in alarm. “Banish,” Sean said, and touched the flame to the salt at his feet.
Fire raced around the room, scorching the salt to ash until it came full circle and extinguished. The Angel hacked again, nostrils flaring, and crouched low to the ground before leaping into the air, leathery wings beating and blowing gusts of air into their faces as it left through the open skylight.
Elijah let out a breath, the scent of burned salt thick in his lungs. “That’s it?” he asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the skylight, listening uneasily for the sound of wing-beats to return.
“No,” Sean answered, putting his lighter away. “It will be back. The banishment has to be repeated three times on three nights, before it will finally leave to find another home.”
“So we wait?” Elijah asked, shoving the salt canister back into his bag with numb fingers, barely aware of Miranda at his back, like a floral-scented breeze amidst the burnt ash. She touched him again and this time he didn’t tremble, and heard her pleasure in the soft purr she whispered against his ear.
“Yes,” Sean said quietly. “Now we wait.”