Disclaimer: The character "Angel" belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Inc and many other entities too numerous to mention, but not to me. I'm just having fun.

Nine Swords for the King

by Cas

Romania 2000

It was a long journey from Suceava. The train was old, the track badly maintained, and because of the constant power cuts the engine frequently broke down. Squashed at the top of a four tier sleeping compartment, thirteen year old Oana Predescu wished she was at home.

The train finally clanked into Bucharest two hours late. It was the middle of October and it was raining. She let the others leave the compartment before her, before gathering her things and climbing down onto the platform. The station was crowded: she pushed her way past street children selling Marlboro and Lucky Strikes; Rom children selling mildewed red roses; fortune tellers, pickpockets and porters; but most of all, passengers. Every one seemed to have chosen to use the Gara Nord today. She had to search for a while before she found a sign telling her where she could get a tram. The address she had been given was on the outskirts of the city, the part thrown up by Ceaucescu after he had demolished most of the old town before being summarily executed ten years previously.

A tram finally arrived and she got on. It trundled along the streets past crumbling apartment blocks, the concrete stained by the rain. She watched the people in the streets hurry past, racing the last, whirling leaves of autumn. Battered old Dacias and VW Beetles hooted at the occasional shiny Mercedes, wipers contemptuously flicking the rain, as they struggled to stay out of badly filled potholes and the tram tracks that criss-crossed the cobbles.

Squashed against the window by an enormous woman who reeked of garlic, Oana watched a trickle of water run down the dirty window to where it puddled in the cracked rubber at the bottom of the pane. She peered through trying to see where she was, frequently glancing at the old street map her grandmother had given her. Finally she thought she knew where she was and squeezing past the enormous woman, got off the tram, only to discover that she had got off two stops early and had to walk. The rain wasn't like it was in the mountains where it left everything clean and fresh, here it was dirty, leaving black streaks on her jacket, full of all sorts of crud from oil refineries diesel engines and worse.

Cousin Nicu and his wife Elena lived on the tenth floor of one of the crumbling apartment blocks. Were any apartment blocks in Bucharest not crumbling, she wondered as she climbed the stairs, the elevator being out of order. Nicu, was not very welcoming. "We can't put you up," he said when he saw who it was at the door. "We don't have room and we can't afford it. Do you know how much it costs to live in this city? No of course you don't. You go back to the country and tell that old witch you live with that we're done with all that stuff." He was very angry, using his anger to try and hide the fact that he was still afraid of Grandmother.

"Won't you even read the letter Grandmother gave me for you?" Oana asked.

"Probably put a hex on it to give me boils like she did last time," grumbled Nicu, but he took the letter, gingerly. He made Oana stand at the door while he read it. When he finished he stood for a moment tapping it in his fingers. He seemed to make up his mind about something, but he didn't look happy. "OK, I'll do it, you'd better come in." He held open the door.

The apartment was certainly cramped. Nicu and Elena had three children and one bedroom. The two boys slept on a put me up in the living room. The rusting windows leaked and condensation and mould stained the walls. The place was dirty and smelt of stale boiled cabbage and drains.

Oana looked round trying not to wrinkle her nose in disgust. "Grandmother said you would be able to help me find him," she said.

Cousin Nicu sat at the small formica covered table under the window and lit a cheap Russian cigarette. He took a long drag at it, trying to disguise the fact that his hands were shaking slightly. The cigarette smelt awful. "Hmm. Probably. You'll have to sleep on the floor. I don't know how long it will take to get things organised, or how much it will cost. She give you money?"

Oana nodded. "Of course."

"She give you lei? She better not have done, it has to be hard currency, deutschmarks or dollars."

"Dollars," the girl responded. Nicu looked relieved.

It was after six by the time Elena came back with the children. A neighbour looked after them while she worked for a pittance in a clothing sweatshop, making designer tee shirts for the Italian market. They sold for three times what she made in a week. She had aged since Oana had last seen her, her face drawn and pinched, poverty turning her old and sour before her time. Nicu likely didn't help. He didn't seem to work. Or at least not normal work.

They sat and watched a dubbed episode of Star Trek on the old black and white TV in the corner while Elena fixed the dinner. Oana could hear her hissing to Nicu as she cooked. She sounded angry. Nicu hissed back at her. Finally he slammed his fist on the table making it bounce on the uneven floor. "Look, I don't care what you think. This is family business and you don't want to find out what will happen if we don't help her. Besides she can pay for her keep." He turned to the girl and grinned nastily. "Can't you, Oana?"

She nodded miserably.

A week later she was beginning to wonder if Nicu had any intention of doing anything. It seemed as if he was spending the money she had given him on vodka and funny, sweet smelling cigarettes he rolled himself. He was drunk most evenings. They certainly weren't spending her money on food. They lived on potatoes and boiled cabbage sometimes with horrible fatty sausage thrown in. More than ever Oana wished she was back home.

Then one evening they had visitors. Three men were at the door. Nicu let them in. They looked like Rom and spoke Romanian with Albanian accents. Oana stared at them, they were obviously carrying guns under their combat jackets. One of them jerked a thumb at her. "This the kid you telling us about?" he asked.

"Yeah," responded Nicu.

The man leered at Oana in a horrible, way that seemed to strip her naked. "You looking for a job, darling?" he asked.

Alarmed, Oana shook her head. "No."

"Hey, you get real good money, in Hamburg or Amsterdam. We can get you into the EU no questions asked and we look after you good."

"No. I don't need a job," she insisted, starting to get frightened.

"Forget it Mihai, she doesn't want a job, for fuck's sake, she's thirteen," snapped Nicu.

"Best age to break 'em in," the man called Mihai said to Nicu. "Hey, your loss, darling." He gave her that lecherous smile again.

"I said forget it!" Nicu repeated. The man shrugged. The others just grinned.

They all sat down. Oana stood by the table watching them. Nicu said, "I hope you've come here to tell me you found out where he is?"

Mihai lit a cigarette. "Don't tempt me." He exhaled, letting the smoke drift out of his nostrils. "We spoke to the Calderash. They lost track of him about a couple of years ago. Something heavy happened, they wouldn't say what. You know what they're like, especially where their precious vengeance is concerned."

Nicu snorted. "Close mouthed bastards. All you Rom are like that," he commented taking a swig from the bottle of vodka they were sharing.

Mihai wagged a yellow, nicotine stained finger. "Now, now, be polite. You want us to tell you what we found or not?" To Oana, he seemed to be enjoying winding Nicu up. It wasn't difficult.

Nicu grunted. "OK, OK, So where was he then, puh-lease?"

"Some place nobody ever heard of in California." Mihai flicked ash on the dirty linoleum.

"The States! Fuck! All right for some! And you've no idea where he is now?"

Mihai looked smug. "Did I say that?"

Oana sat in the bedroom with Elena and the children while the four men got drunk. Elena breathed a sigh of relief when the three Albanians decided to leave once they had finished the third bottle of vodka. "I hope they fall down the stairs and break their necks!" she said to Oana.

The next morning after Nicu had coughed his guts up, smoked his first cigarette of the day and had a coffee, Oana asked him, "Did you find out where I have to go?"

He lit another cigarette. "Sure thing kid," he said and exhaled a cloud of smoke into her face. She glared at him. "Ain't you the lucky one. Going all the way to Los Angeles. Assuming you still got the money to pay for the visa and the plane ticket?"

LA

The cab pulled up outside a ruined office building. There had been a fire or something, the bricks were blackened by soot and the empty windows stared blankly out except where they had been boarded up. "Hey doll, I dunno who you were looking for, but they ain't there now," said the cabbie cheerfully.

Oana struggled to stop her bottom lip trembling, and blinked hard to keep back the tears that threatened to spill over. The cabbie saw her face. "Hey, it's the address you gave me," he told her.

"How much?" she managed to say.

She gave the cabbie the money he asked for and got out. The doorway to the building was boarded up as well. There was a sign warning people not to enter as it was in a dangerous condition. She sat down on the doorstep and burst into tears. Most people walking past ignored her. Occasionally someone threw a coin at her feet.

She didn't see the car draw up in front of where she was sitting or hear the door slam as someone got out. A shadow loomed over her. "Hey kid, you all right?" the voice while not unfriendly, was not precisely friendly either. She looked up into a broad Slavic face. In a uniform. A cop.

"Va rog, please?"

"I said, are you all right, kid? " the man repeated, more slowly, squatting down in front of her. He scooped up the coins at her feet. "You shouldn't be begging."

"I am looking for my, er uncle. He is supposed to live here, but..." her voice trailed off, and another tear trickled down her cheek.

"Well I guess he doesn't live here any more." The cop looked at here closely. "You're not from round here are you, kid? Where you from?"

"Romania."

"Uh huh." The cop looked at her rucksack. "Just got into town then? By yourself?"

"Da, yes."

"OK, look, you're gonna hafta come with us down to the station, understand?"

Oana nodded. "Why please?"

"We'll try and find out what happened to your uncle. It'll be OK." He stood up and spoke to the other cop, the one behind the wheel. "Jeez, don't folks phone before they send a kid half way round the world by herself, fur chrissakes."

The other cop shrugged. "Do they have phones in Romania? Probably just wrote and said she was coming. Where is Romania anyhow?"

Oana listened as the cops amicably discussed where Romania was. They at last agreed it was where Count Dracula lived.

"Hey, kid, you know Count Dracula?"

Oana looked at the man. "You mean Vlad Dracul?" she asked.

"Whatever, you know him?"

"He is dead, five hundred years."

"Oh, someone stake him then?" the cop asked. Oana nodded uncertainly.

As they drove, the two cops carried on a conversation about Count Dracula and vampires in general. It was obvious, Oana thought, that they had never met one.

It seemed to take a long time to get to the station, the cop driving started to grumble about the traffic and the heat. It did seem warm for November but she had thought that was normal for here. She'd never seen so many cars in her life. So much bigger than the clapped out Dacias and Trabants most people drove at home.

When they got to the station the first cop took her in and spoke to someone at the front desk for several minutes. "Hey kid, your uncle got a name?" he asked almost as an afterthought.

"He is called Angelus," she replied.

The friendly cop muttered with the female cop on the desk. "You'll find her on the third floor." she told him.

"Thanks."

They went up to the third floor in an elevator, the corridors were full of people rushing about their business. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry here. The friendly cop opened a pair of swing doors and they went into a large room full of desks.

"Hey, Lockley, they said you know the guy this kid is looking for, maybe you can help her."

Oana looked at the woman sitting behind the desk. She was blonde, with wide, almond shaped eyes, very beautiful but with a sharp, brittle quality about her, as if she was about to snap. She looked up in surprise.

"Your friend, the PI, whose place got blown up during the summer..." the cop started to elaborate.

"He's no friend of mine," the woman called Lockley replied flatly.

"Whatever, seems he's the kid's uncle, come from Romania to see him. Can you maybe sort her out?"

The woman looked at Oana in astonishment. "Her uncle? I don't think that's poss..." she started to say then changed her mind and finished,"OK, I'll deal with her, thanks." She waved the other cop away and pointing to a chair in front of her desk said to Oana. "Sit down."

Oana sat down, waving goodbye to the friendly cop. She wasn't sure if she liked this woman. She had a feeling of cold, obsessive rage about her. Oana was glad it wasn't directed at her.

"What's your name?" Lockley asked her.

"Oana Predescu. You know Angelus? He is your friend?" she asked, eyes wide.

The woman frowned, the brittle quality hardening. "Angelus?" she snorted. "He's no friend of mine," she repeated, "and, unless I'm very much mistaken he's not your uncle either. Here hold this."

The woman handed Oana a length of gold chain without letting her see what it was. Oana turned the small, gold cross in her fingers for a few moments before asking, puzzled, "Va rog, please, what is this?"

The woman smiled briefly, but without humour. "Just a test, which I guess you passed." She took the cross back and put it down on the desk and muttered, "Although come to think of it, it is the middle of the day." She sighed and sat back in her chair steepling her hands. "So, uncle?" she asked, radiating disbelief.

Oana lowered her eyes. "Scuzati, mea relatie, er, my relation," she amended remembering Nicu's instructions. Officials will always help you with family. Friends of the family, forget it.

The woman snorted in disbelief again. "Huh, he doesn't have any relations left: He ate them all. And he's not a safe person to be around kids."

"Va rog?" Oana didn't quite follow, the woman had spoken too quickly.

"I said, he's not a safe 'person' to be around kids," she said the word person with a strange emphasis.

Oana stared at the woman. "It is very important, I have to see him. It is to do with my family. Please, you won't tell me where he is?" She was trying to be brave, but to have come so far.

Lockley seemed to be thinking. "Family business huh. This a revenge gig for you kid? You got a bag full of stakes and holy water there? Never mind." she sighed. "OK, look we'll go see him, and you discuss your business with him whatever it is, but I'm gonna have to call in social services. Can't have kids your age running around the streets with no place to stay for god's sakes. Come on." She stood up.

Oana had understood about half of what the angry woman had said, but she understood the last bit. "You are taking me to him? Now?" she beamed. "Multumesc!"

Almost despite herself, the angry woman smiled back.

Lockley parked outside a dilapidated, old hotel. It would not have looked out of place in Bucharest, here it seemed strange. The woman saw Oana's doubtful look. "He just moved in," she explained.

They walked into the hotel lobby. It didn't seem to be a proper hotel. Two people were at the desk. One, a pretty, dark haired girl was carefully painting her nails bright turquoise. From the expression on her face, she didn't look quite sure as if she liked the effect. Beside her a man with glasses was leaning on the desk, peering through a magnifying glass at the small type of a very old book.

"I say, Cordelia, here it is, Draco Malformis," he was saying excitedly as they came in.

They both looked up. "Detective Lockley," the man said in a neutral tone. One minute they had been relaxed, comfortable, the next, the tension twanged between them and the angry woman standing beside Oana.

"Is he in?" Lockley demanded without acknowledging the greeting. Oana felt uncomfortable, the woman was radiating hostility. She must really not like him.

"Sure," said the girl called Cordelia. "Anything to help the police." Even Oana could hear the sarcasm.

The girl got up and went into a back office. "Hey, Angel!" they heard her shout, "Your favourite lady cop come tah see ya."

The tired young man who followed Cordelia back into the lobby was tall with dark hair and intense brown eyes. He looked uncertainly at the detective. "Uh, Kate," he said. "Hi."

Again Lockley ignored the greeting "Someone come a long way to see you," was all she said and pushed Oana forwards.

"Va rog? You are Angelus?" she asked.

The man flinched as if she had hit him.

"He really doesn't like to be called that," commented Lockley, noticing this. "Do you Angel?" she smiled sweetly.

Confused by the antagonism Oana said "Scuzati? sorry?"

"Yes it's him," Lockley said seeing the girl's puzzlement. "Go on, do whatever it is you came to do. I can't speak for them, but I won't stop you."

Oana walked up to the man, looking doubtfully up at him. From her jeans pocket, she pulled out a gold chain with a small medallion of some sort. "My name is Oana Predescu. My grandmother said I have to give you this," she said and held it out to him. It twirled in her fingers, the tail of the intricate griffin entwined around the letter A catching the light.

The man stared at her, eyes widening in recognition as he saw the medallion. "Predescu?" he said.

Nine Swords for the King: Chapter Two

Moldavia Province - 1898

There had been the smell of hay, he remembered. The fresh, grassy smell telling of long, hot, sunny days he would never know. The smell lingered in the air from freshly shorn fields drowning out the cooler night-time smells.

He didn't know how long he had been running in the hills, beyond Borsa, trying to get away from the screaming in his head. It could have been several nights, even a week or longer. He had stopped caring. Running across a field, he slid on the grass and fell again. Darla would be so irritated at the state he was in. And then, of course he remembered, she had told him never to come near her again. The screaming in his head turned to mocking laughter.

Dawn would be coming again soon. He had to look for shelter. He had to drink. Somehow. Several fields later he came to an old abandoned cottage. The highly carved, dark coloured wood of its walls was warped and twisted, rotting in places. Half its roof was missing, but it would do, better than spending the day dodging patches of sunlight in the forest.

As the morning light grew, he managed to sleep. Not well - he hadn't since it had happened. He didn't think he ever would again. He was woken, later by the sound of people, two of them, a man and a girl. They were horsing around, enjoying each other. He didn't need to look at them to see their blood, pulsing through their veins, the smell of them was overpowering enough. He struggled, teetering, disgust at himself fighting hunger. The man eventually left, smug, replete; the girl waited behind, fixing her hair. Hunger won: easy prey.

He stood up and walked forward. She turned, hearing him, alarmed, angry at the sudden thought that they had been watched. And then she backed away, anger draining into fear.

All he could see was the blood; the delicate blue veins in the translucent, white skin of her neck, throbbing. He had Changed, even as he walked forwards. As the girl backed away, he lunged at her, catching her by the shoulders, pushing her down onto the ground under him as they both fell. He rammed his hand over her mouth to stop the sound of her screaming reaching the man, if he was still around. He stared at her neck, the scent of her fear filling him, exciting him, reminding him of how sweet her blood would taste. The need to drink was overwhelming but he lay there, motionless on top of her as she squirmed beneath him in a mockery of passion. And he couldn't do it. Couldn't take her blood, her life, couldn't bring himself to sink his teeth into her flesh, despite the insatiable, raging hunger and the cajoling voice of the demon telling him how much better it would make him feel. As he relaxed back onto his knees the girl managed to squirm out from under him. He didn't stop her. He let her run, terrified into the afternoon sun. Then he curled up into a ball and cried.

They came back for him later, when it was dark. He could smell them coming almost before he could hear them, the wind was in the right direction. They had dogs. They always had dogs. Dogs he could deal with. He could smell the fear and uncertainty from the men, but grim purpose was there as well. All he could smell from the dogs was the joy of the hunt.

Abruptly, his mood changed, disgust forgotten, he laughed to himself, the joy of the hunt was something he knew all about. He always enjoyed their surprise and horror when they realised their prey had turned into their predator. Instinct took over and he started to hunt his hunters.

He left the ruined cottage, and began to double back, behind them. Oh look, they had torches, he thought. How original. The sheer stupidity of hunting a vampire at night with torches never ceased to amaze or indeed amuse him. Why they never waited until daylight was beyond him. And it just made it all so ridiculously easy.

It didn't take him long to reach them. There were about twenty of them. The girl's lover in the lead. They even had a priest with them. That was good of them. Priests always tasted so, outraged. But he started to remember other hunts, how he would pick off the stragglers, one by one, draining them. Their faces, horrified and convulsed with terror, flashed before him, accusing him. Oh God no. He staggered, put out a hand to steady himself, missed the tree and fell, crashing into the undergrowth.

He was curled up in a ball, hands clutched to his head, when they got to him, trying to stop the endless procession of images in his mind. He dimly heard them discussing him.

"Is this him, Radu? Are you sure?"

"That's what Ana said he was wearing."

Something touched his hand, and burned. He flinched. Another voice said,"That's definitely him. Strange. I don't recall... of course!" the voice muttered something in Greek and made a small sound of satisfaction. "So that's what it is."

Somebody else shouted, "Get the stakes, Stefan, let's finish this!"

"No, no leave him."

"Leave him, Father? Are you insane?"

The voice was coldly amused now. "No, I think you'll find this one is harmless now. I suspect the Rom have had him, and I have a duty to perform." The voice paused as if in thought then commanded, "Take him to Voronet. He can contemplate the state of his soul there for a while."

"His soul? But, Father the Nosferatu don't have souls."

"A fitting punishment don't you think, Stefan, the gift of his soul bringing awareness of all the murder and horror he has committed? An eternity of regret and guilt? - I wonder what he did to the Rom that they did that to him."

They beat him unconscious before they were done, taking out a lifetime of fear of his kind on him. When he opened his eyes again he was lying on his side on a dirt floor. His nose twitched, the smell of blood started to force the Change on him, he managed to push it down. A small cup had been placed a couple of feet from his face. Behind it sandal clad feet stood. He pushed himself up, groaning as his bruised muscles complained. A black bearded Orthodox priest was standing there, eyes pitiless as any vampire's. "Never let it be said that we are monsters of inhumanity," he said indicating the cup. "Drink," he commanded.

It was pig's blood. Not fresh, but still drinkable, just. He drained the cup. It wasn't enough.

"Sinners come here to contemplate their fate," the Priest told him, opening the door and gesturing behind him. "I suggest you do the same. Let me give you a hint. You're not one of the Elect."

The door of the hut they had him imprisoned in opened onto a view of the west wall of a church, framed in the doorway and lit by the westering sun. The high, pitched roof overhung the walls, protecting the frescos painted on the outside of the building from the worst of the elements. The painting was old, he could see that, it looked medieval. A mirthless smile crossed his face. The bastards were more twisted than he was - had been. It was a picture of the Day of Judgement. A part of him could appreciate the quality of the work - in a way it was beautiful, the dancing devils with pitchforks prodding the Damned into the fires of Gehenna. The smug, sanctimonious expressions of the Elect as they entered the Gate of Heaven.

"I suggest you look closely at the scales of judgement and consider what the weight of your sins would look like on it," the priest told him.

"You're trying to punish me with a picture? You think I don't have worse in my head?" he laughed at the priest.

"Oh, that's just to get you in the right frame of mind."

LA 2000

Angel looked at the medallion the girl held out to him. "I didn't think I would ever see that again," he said slowly as he took it. As the girl looked puzzled he added. "Scuzati, I'm sorry, I've forgotten most of the Romanian I knew. It's been a long time."

He stood for a few moments twisting the chain. "Why have you come?" he asked the girl

"Grandmother told me I had to come," replied Oana as if that explained everything.

"Where is your Grandmother?" he asked.

"She's dead," the girl answered, blinking back tears.

Sympathy flared in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, .

"Oh, this is all very touching," Lockley said folding her arms. "I take it she's not your 'long lost niece," she said the last with heavy sarcasm.

"Shut up, Kate," said Angel, without looking at her, still looking at the girl standing before him.

Lockley ignored him. "So what is she to you then?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed his features. He met her eyes. "She's come to pay a debt. I think."

"Oh. She owes you? That I find hard to believe," Lockley said.

"I don't care what you believe, Kate it's nothing to do with you."

"Oh I think it is. I can't leave a minor with someone like you, you know."

"What?" His eyes were blazing at her now.

"Seeing as you're, a 'creature of the night' and all." Her voice positively dripped sarcasm. "Oh yeah and something to do with the rivers of blood in your past."

"Get off my fucking back, Kate."

"She'll have to go to Social Services."

The girl was beginning to look alarmed. "Va rog? please?

Lockley turned to her. "People who will look after you," she explained.

Panic flashed across the girl's face. "An orphanage!" No!"

"What? No, hey, come back here!" Lockley shouted as the girl ran for the door.

But Angel could move faster and before the girl was half way across the lobby he was at the door. He caught her by the arms. "Hey, come on, nobody's going to put you in an orphanage." He flashed an angry glance at Lockley before smiling at Oana until she smiled nervously back. "Look you can stay with Cordelia, and we'll get things sorted out tomorrow." He looked over at the dark haired girl. "She can stay with you can't she, Cordy?"

Cordelia shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Jeez, and you only just moved out, already," she said acidly. "Sure she can stay."

"Happy?" Angel said to Lockley.

All the detective said was, "She better be OK, 'cause if she's not..."

Later once Cordelia had left with the girl, Angel sat in the lobby, twisting the medallion between his fingers looking at it and sighed. Wesley sat down opposite him.

"A debt?" he asked. "I take it that it's not one the girl owes you personally..?"

"No. Oh, no. It was more an offer of help. It's a long story."

Wesley looked hopeful. "And, er..." he trailed off delicately.

"I'll tell you another time," Angel said shortly. "I just don't know why she's come now."

Moldavia Province 1898

The man stood and watched the vampire lying on the floor of the hut. He looked like a peasant, rather than Rom, wearing a white embroidered sheepskin vest over a coarse, homespun, linen shirt. His long, curling moustaches were only starting to be flecked with grey. He prodded the vampire with a boot. No reaction. He just lay there eyes half shut staring at something only he could see.

"So, Father Nicolai," the peasant said to the priest, who was standing to one side looking dispassionately at the vampire. "He has a soul?"

The priest nodded. "Oh yes, we're sure of that."

"Which therefore requires shriving," the man murmured. "Tell me," he asked, "did you give Torquemada lessons?"

The priest frowned. "I have always disliked your levity, Lucien. Comparing the tortures of the Spanish Inquisition with what we have been trying to do for this creature is unjust."

Lucien looked sceptical. "And just what have you been trying to do for him?"

"Why bring him to an understanding of what he is, of what he has to pay for. His soul is eternally damned, of that there can be no question."

"Hmm. You don't think he maybe worked that out for himself?"

The priest turned pale, implacable eyes onto the peasant. "He must learn that as God's mercy is infinite so is ours."

The man shivered. Mercy like theirs he could do without. He waved towards the body on the floor. "That's why you've been torturing him then?" he asked.

The priest was outraged. "We haven't touched him," he snapped. "He has done this to himself. It is his guilt that has done this."

"You have no compassion then? For a soul in torment?"

The priest laughed. It was a sound with no joy in it. "Compassion? What does his kind know of compassion?"

"Perhaps that is why you should show him some? no?" the other man murmured .

"Tell me you know who he is and then talk to me about compassion," the priest told him, starting to get angry.

"Who is he then?"

"Angelus," the priest retorted, explaining everything in a name.

"Ah. How do you know?"

The priest handed him a gold medallion. "He was wearing this, the design matches the one on his back."

The peasant took the medallion, looking at it. Then he peered more closely at the vampire in the dim light. "Yes, it is him. I almost didn't recognise him." He paused and looked over at the priest again. "That being the case, my compassion is all the greater, since his torment must be infinitely worse."

The priest snorted. "For the good of his soul, we must do this."

The man stood staring down at the vampire lying on the ground. He hadn't moved in all the time they had been speaking, until now.

Blink.

"May I stay awhile, and contemplate God's infinite mercy with him?" Lucien asked. Father Nicolai looked suspicious, trying to pick up any hint of sarcasm in Lucien's voice or his face.

"I don't see why not," he said after a long, grudging pause. "It's not as if you can let him go after all."

The sun had set, and the twilight was quickly gathering. Father Nicolai left the man and the vampire alone in the darkening hut.

Blink.

Lucien snapped his fingers and murmured "Fiat Lux." A small ball of light appeared in his hand. He tossed it up into the rafters where it hung, giving off a dim light. "You may be able to see in the dark but I certainly can't," he remarked.

Blink.

The man sat down on the floor beside the vampire. "I won't lie to you and say I can imagine what you must be feeling right now. You wouldn't believe me, I know."

Blink.

"Oh don't worry I'm not going to lecture you about your soul. I don't think you need me to tell you anything about that. Knowing who you are though, I have something far worse to offer."

Lucien settled back slightly and pulled out a pipe. "You don't mind if I smoke?" he asked for all the world as if they were sharing a compartment in a train. "I have a story to tell you. You'll forgive me if I get tedious, I know, but I do like to tell a story."

Blink.

"Let me see now, ah yes. I've met you before, Angelus," he chuckled. "Why am I still alive, I hear you ask. To be honest, I think it was luck rather than anything else. It was when I was a boy, in Mamures, near Baia Mare. Forty years ago or thereabouts. You probably don't even remember." Lucien paused.

Blink.

"Or maybe you do." He lit his pipe. "It was late summer, just after sunset. I was in the orchard when you came, you and your woman - my mother had sent me to fetch the pig from where it had been grazing on windfalls - you probably never realised I was there, the smell of the pig likely drowned out my scent. I was coming back and I saw you. I had the presence of mind to hide.

You killed my mother first, I remember. You made my father watch. He was crying. I had never seen him cry before, he was such a strong man, but not as strong as your woman, she held him effortlessly, holding his head to make him watch. She called you by name, which is how I knew who you were. You smiled at her and then picked up the baby. You never even bothered to drink from her, you just snapped her neck and threw her body at my father's feet." Lucien took a puff at his pipe. "You know, I can't even remember what her name was now."

Blink.

A single tear ran out of the corner of one eye, and down the vampire's cheek before eventually dropping off his chin onto the floor.

"Then I think, you held my father while your woman drank and killed my brothers. They screamed a lot. Andrei was only five. You were whispering something to my father, it seemed to send him into a frenzy of fear. I didn't know what it was but I think now you were probably threatening to turn him. Of course you didn't, but right up until the end he didn't know that you didn't mean it and it terrified him. I've always heard fear makes the blood taste sweeter for your kind. You fired the thatch before you left, letting the fire destroy the evidence of your passing. You were laughing with your woman as the two of you climbed on your horses and galloped off. You never looked back. I didn't move until dawn." Lucien finished his pipe and tapped out the ashes onto the ground. He leaned forwards and took the other's cold hands in his, shifting until he was looking him directly in the eyes.

Blink.

"I forgive you," he said.

"No!" The vampire screamed and jerked to his knees. He hugged himself, shaking, ignoring the tears streaming down his face, a paroxysm of grief and guilt engulfing him.

"I told you it would be worse," said Lucien and stood up. "Fiat Nox." he murmured and the light went out. He turned and spoke over his shoulder as he left "You know you can come with me if you want. There's nothing holding you here except yourself. There never has been. All you have to do is get up and leave. They won't stop you."

Nine Swords for the King: Chapter Three

LA 2000

Wesley watched as Angel played with the gold medallion. "Can I see it?" he asked.

Angel shrugged and handed it to him. Wesley turned it over, looking at it. He found the hallmark. "Hmm, can't quite see the date, I think it's nineteenth century, made in Edinburgh. Not sure of the maker. It's like your tattoo," he remarked.

Angel looked at him. "A present from Darla," he explained and looked back down at his hands.

"Ah." Wesley mentally squirmed. Mention of Darla always made him feel uncomfortable. "Why did you give Oana's family this? If you don't mind me asking."

Angel raised his head. "I don't mind." He shrugged. "I didn't know I had." He stood up. "I think I'll go to bed."

Wesley sat for a while thinking, about Romania, and Borsa. He needed to do some research.

Moldavia Province 1898

Lucien walked through the village and on down the track towards where he lived. As he walked he admired the stars, shining clear in a cloudless sky. There was no moon and he could see the full swathe of the Milky Way. The Pleiades were looking nice tonight. He kept an ear cocked and smiled when he heard furtive sounds following him.

Lucien's cottage was small but neat. He lifted the latch and went in. Nothing he was afraid of would be deterred by a lock. He raked over the embers of the fire, put some more sticks on, watching them blaze up for a moment then put the kettle on. He lit an oil lamp.

"So you decided to come and found you could. Well, are you going to stand there all night or are you going to come on in?" he said over his shoulder to the figure standing in the doorway. The vampire came in, surprise overlying the misery in his eyes.

"Sit down, have some tea," the peasant said.

"You're not afraid?"

"Of you? No. why should I be? You could never hurt me. Not now, and certainly not before. Now sit down," Lucien repeated indicating a stool. The other sat down.

The kettle started to hiss on the hob. When it came to the boil he filled the pot and carried it over to the table where the vampire was sitting.

"Who are you? You're not like any peasant I've ever met."

Lucien laughed. "I doubt you were ever in the habit of having conversations with peasants." He poured out the tea. "No, I am simply someone who has forgiven you a very small part of what you have done."

"I don't need forgiveness!" the vampire said savagely.

"Perhaps not, but I think, ultimately, it's what you want. You see, unless part of you had accepted my forgiveness you would never have been able to walk away from the monastery. They don't bind with physical chains after all." He sighed. "My name is Lucien. I am many things. I would like to know what you are, now."

He took out a deck of large cards, flicked through it and pulled one out. He laid it on the table. "Do me a favour. Shuffle these."

Puzzled the vampire took the cards, but shuffled them briefly.

Quickly the man dealt some of the cards in a complicated pattern. "What's the game?" asked the vampire, flippancy overlying uncertainty.

"Life," responded Lucien. "Your life."

"I'm not alive!" the other snorted contemptuously.

Lucien just smiled, and pulled out his pipe as he regarded the spread of cards on the table.

"Hmmm," he said after a while. "Interesting."

The vampire rolled his eyes. "Does that mean I should just give up and stake myself now?"

Lucien smiled. It was curious the way the vampire's old thought patterns faded in and out. He replied, "No, not unless you want to of course." He held up the card he had drawn from the deck before the vampire shuffled it. It was the King of Swords. "This card represents you. Like all cards it can be read two ways."

The vampire feigned boredom.

"This way up, the card signifies a man of judgement and authority. A man of courage who accepts responsibility." He turned the card upside down. "This way up it represents a ruthless and calculating man, caring nothing for anyone else. A man who is malicious and cruel and who delights in the pain of others."

"Which are you, Angelus?" He carried on before the other could answer. "Perhaps you don't know yet."

The vampire shrugged then gestured at the spread of cards. "You said you wondered what I am, does this tell you?" The flippancy was back again.

"I think you are lost, Angelus," replied the man slowly. "You are at a crossroads, and you don't know which way to go. You are being pulled one way, and perhaps want to go the other." Lucien waved his hand over the cards. "All these cards talk of drastic change, and new beginnings, of a tremendous opportunity. But most of all of choice."

"I have a choice?"

"Of course you have a choice. Everyone has a choice. Despite the upheaval in your life, you can choose not to accept it, not to change, or you can become something else."

"You're saying it's not pre-ordained."

"Of course not. Nothing is ever pre-ordained. Where would our free will be then? The cards are simply a guide, they show what might happen, the possibilities." Lucien picked up a card. The vampire saw it was called The Fool. "This card indicates the beginning of a new life cycle, it also indicates that you must make choices. It is reinforced by other cards also indicating change such as this one." He pointed to Death.

Lucien looked at the nine of swords, reversed in the vampire's future. Isolation. Misery. Despair. He gave himself a shake. It was not inevitable.

LA 2000

Oana was amazed when they got to Cordelia's apartment. It was enormous, three times the size of Cousin Nicu's. "You live here by yourself?" she whispered in an awed voice.

"Well, not exactly." The girl gave a bright smile. "I have a room-mate but he's going to be invisible while you're staying, I promise you, and you won't even know he's here," she said the last bit in a loud, menacing voice. Oana looked at her.

Cordelia smiled back blandly.

Later, when Cordelia had fixed something to eat, Oana asked, "Why does that detective hate Angelus so much?"

"OK, look let's get something straight. He is not Angelus." Cordelia was quite emphatic.

"Va rog? please? I was speaking to the wrong person?" Oana was horrified.

" No, no, you were speaking to the right person, I think. But, Angelus is evil. He's Angel now, he has a soul, he's not evil.

"Oh. I see." Oana wasn't sure she did. "So why does she hate him so much?" she repeated.

"I guess because she used to really like him, and then she found out what he is." Cordelia squinted at the girl. "You, er do know what he is?"

"Nosferatu? Of course."

"Nosferotsu? Wassat?" Cordelia didn't understand.

"Um, vampire?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Cordelia twiddled her fork in her fingers. "So I guess," she said trying to sound off hand, "that your family must really owe Angel big time." Seeing the girl's puzzled expression, she amended it to, "Owe a lot I mean, for you to come so far."

"A long time ago he did something for my family."

"And now you want to pay him back. Why now?"

"Because it's time, of course."

"Oh," said Cordelia.

Wesley was surprised to find Angel striding up and down the lobby of the hotel when he got there the following morning. He reminded Wesley of a panther, pacing backwards and forwards in a cage too small for it.

"Shouldn't Cordelia be here by now?" he demanded without stopping pacing.

"I expect she's on her way," responded Wesley. "Er, all this happened, whatever it was, near Borsa, didn't it?"

Angel flashed him an irritated look. "What? Yes, at Voronet."

"Oh, the Bukovine monastery?"

"Yes. What do you know about it?"

"Oh just that it was one of the great outposts against the forces of darkness in the late middle ages. Has some quite nice frescos as I recall, although I believe the ones at Sucevita are considered to be superior."

Fortunately Cordelia chose this moment to arrive with Oana.

Cordelia took one look at Angel and said to Oana, "I think you had better tell him. He's going to explode if you don't."

Oana walked over to where Angel had stopped and looked up at him. "I have to do something for you. It's really not much. Grandmother said you would know what it meant." He made a gesture with his hand that she took to mean get on with it. She looked round and asked, "Can I use this?" pointing to the desk.

"Uh, sure."

Oana walked round to the other side of the desk and climbed onto a stool. She rummaged in her bag until she found what she was looking for and pulled out a box wrapped in a silk cloth. She opened the box and took out a very old deck of cards. She flicked through them until she found the one she was looking for and placed it on the cloth, sideways. It was the King of Swords. Angel blinked.

"Eeuww!" exclaimed Cordelia. "Tarot Cards, cool." she saw the looks the two men gave her and said,"OK I'm shutting up."

"You have to er, mix the cards," said Oana."Va rog, please," she added as Angel made no move to pick them up.

Angel stared at the cards she was holding out to him. "All right," he said eventually. He took them and shuffled them, then gave them back to the girl.

Oana dealt some of the cards in a complicated pattern.

Angel stared at the cards in horror.

Wesley pushed his glasses up his nose as he leaned forwards looking at the cards. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. This is not good at all," he muttered.

"What! He's gonna get staked? What is it? Tell me!" shrieked Cordelia looking at Oana.

Oana shrugged apologetically. "Scuzati, I'm sorry, I don't know what it means. Grandmother said he would know."

Cordelia glanced at Angel who was still staring at the cards. "Yeah, well I guess he does. But I don't. Wes, what does it mean? Are all these upside down swordy ones bad or something? They look pretty yucky. Oh look and the grim reaper too."

"The Death card merely signifies change," said Wesley dismissively. "In fact, the whole spread is about change."

"So, good change, bad change?" snapped Cordelia. "Speak to me Wesley."

"It depends how you read them, um, and of course the order the cards are meant to be read in." Wesley glanced at the man standing transfixed next to him."Uh, Angel?"

"It's the same spread," Angel said slowly. "The same one Lucien dealt me at Voronet."

Wesley and Cordelia looked at one another. "You had these cards dealt to you in 1898? Wesley asked. Angel nodded. "In this pattern, exactly the same?"Again Angel nodded. "The odds against that must be astronomical."

"Uh, he said it was all about change, about making choices."

"Well yes, and so it is," said Wesley. "but it's also a pretty strong warning."

"He never said that."

Cordelia butted in. "What sort of warning, Wes?"

Wesley sighed. "Well. I'm no expert, and I haven't seen this particular way of dealing the cards before, so I'm not quite sure of how it's supposed to be read." Wesley realised he was procrastinating. "An expert should be able to pull everything together, give an overall interpretation. I don't know if I can do that. I know what each of the individual cards means, but that can change depending on other cards. And then of course, it depends which part of the spread refers to the past and which to the future."

Cordelia could see that Wesley was extremely reluctant to commit himself. "OK this nice cheerful swordy one, with all the swords sticking into a body, eugh. The nine of swords. What does that mean. Oh lemme guess, you will go a long journey and gather immense riches."

"Stop being flippant, Cordelia," Wesley snapped. He took a deep breath. "It's the Lord of Despair and Cruelty."

"Come again?"

"It's what the card's called." He sighed. "Well, normally it might indicate something like bad dreams or deception."

"Normally?" Jeez it was like drawing teeth! Cordelia thought.

"If it was the right way up," Wesley elaborated.

"But it's upside down."

"Yes." Wesley peered at the cards again. "Reversed, like this it can mean despair, isolation and misery. That sort of thing."

"Oh so it's in Angel's past then. That's OK." Cordelia was trying to look on the bright side.

"It's in my future," Angel contradicted her. "It was in my future a hundred years ago, and it happened."

"That doesn't mean it's got to happen again." Cordelia was still trying to be positive.

"He said it was all about choices," Angel repeated.

"So something's coming that could be bad. And you've got to choose. That's nice to know."

"It's not that simple," said Angel.

Nine Swords for the King: Chapter Four

LA 2000

Later Wesley sat in the back office, feverishly raking through Black's Tarot Compendium trying to extract every last piece of information about the cards in the spread. The other card he had been really concerned about, the seven of wands, reversed was not encouraging. "The deliberate turning away from a venture or course of action," he read out. "Oh, lord," he said. "I thought that was what it was." He carried on flicking through the book, scribbling down notes, muttering to himself. He eventually paused, hearing someone sniff. He looked up. Oana was sitting opposite him - he had never even heard her come in. She looked miserable.

"Are you all right?" Wesley asked, then said, "No I don't suppose you are."

"I am supposed to be helping him, and all I have done is to make you all angry and upset," the girl said blinking rapidly.

"Oh dear," Wesley muttered. "There, there." He reached out and patted her hand, embarrassed.

Moldavia Province 1898

After the peasant had banked the fire and gone to bed the vampire sat at the table for a long time just staring at his hands. He felt at a loss, unsure what to do. It was a strange feeling. He had been so sure for so long. He had known where his place in the scheme of things was, he took what he wanted, when he wanted it and enjoyed it. There had been a clarity of purpose, a simplicity about the world. And it wasn't there any more. It frightened him, who hadn't been afraid of anything.

The man had been right when he said he was lost, he felt as if he had suddenly been cast adrift with no means of navigating, no means of getting to dry land. There was one certainty still, but he wasn't sure if it was still there for him. So he sat and thought and thought. About choices, change and Darla.

Dawn was still an hour off when he heard the sound of horses coming up the track from the village. Half a dozen or so. Two men dismounted and approached the cottage. He could smell them from where he sat in the dark. They smelt complacent, and scornful. Behind him he heard Lucien get up.

"Have they come for me do you think?" he turned and asked the peasant.

"Don't flatter yourself."

Heavy boots clumped up to the door and someone banged on it until it shook. "Lucien Predescu!"

Lucien smiled. "So predictable, they always come just before dawn," he commented.

The voice shouted again, "Lucien Predescu, by order of Domnul Vasile you are under arrest, you must come with us."

"Who is this Domnul Vasile?" the vampire asked in a low voice.

"You should pay more attention to human politics, Angelus," Lucien reproved. "He's the head of the local military. He spends most of his time trying to root out the partisans struggling to throw the Hapsburgs out of this part of Moldavia and re-unite us with the rest of Romania."

The vampire shrugged. "Of course. We always liked the oppression and fear round here." A flicker of curiosity nudged his mind. "Why have they come for you?"

Lucien chuckled. "I'm the head of the local partisans."

He turned completely round on his stool, looking at the man in surprise. "What will they do to you?"

"Oh put me up against a wall and shoot me, I expect - eventually."

"And you would let them?"

"What, you think that because I can do a few party tricks with lights and tell fortunes that I would be able to stop them?"

"Well, I don't know, I suppose I do."

The soldier banged on the door again. "Predescu!"

The partisan started towards the door. The vampire put a hand on his arm. "No wait," he said. "Get out of sight."

He stood up and Changed. Stepping over to the door he flung it open, just as the soldier was about to bang on it again. He grabbed the man by the throat, breathing in the sudden blast of fear he gave off. "Can't a person get peace to enjoy their dinner?" he demanded licking his lips, and growled.

The other soldier took a step backwards and fumbled for his pistol.

The vampire laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "Wooden bullets?" he asked mocking him.

The mounted soldiers took one look at him and bolted leaving their comrades to their fate.

He breathed in another wave of fear from the man he was holding, toes just brushing the step. He ran his tongue over his teeth, lingering on the tips of his fangs, just for effect, as the man's eyes widened further in terror. And he smelt something else. Sex, and a woman's fear and revulsion. "Tut, tut," he said reprovingly,"We've been a bad boy haven't we?"

The man whimpered. It was the last sound he made.

When he let the man's body fall to the ground, the other soldier had fled. He relaxed out of the change, wiping the blood off his lips.

Lucien walked out of the shadows where he had been standing. "Was that absolutely necessary?" he asked.

"I was hungry," the vampire retorted. "And, he didn't deserve to live." Then he gestured out of the doorway. "They think you're dead as well. They won't come looking for you."

"No, I don't suppose they will. Damn. I liked living here."He looked around. "So," he said after a pause, "have you decided what you're going to do now?"

The vampire looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face. "Yes," he said. "I'm going to find her."

"Her?"

"Darla, my woman."

"Oh. And then?" Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"And then I'll ask her if she'll take me back, give me another chance."

"Ah." Pity, he thought and sighed. Well, we all make our choices, and for a moment there I thought... Aloud he said, "Well you'd better go then. I should thank you for, er misdirecting them. You didn't have to do that."

The vampire shrugged. "I was getting bored."

"If you say so. Perhaps I will be able to return the favour at some point. Or if not me then one of my family." He paused. "Would you let me do that?"

"If you feel you must." The vampire shrugged again.

"Well, la revedere," said Lucien. "See you again."

"I doubt it."

LA 2000

Wesley wished the girl would go away and let him get on with his research, but she just stood there in front of his desk. He didn't want to tell her to go away because she had been so upset. Eventually he looked up.

"Grandmother showed me another way the cards came out," she said.

He looked startled. "What do you mean?"

"Before she died, she showed me something else that might be in his future." The girl looked uncertain. "She said she would leave it up to me if I was going to tell you about it." She frowned. "You all seem so upset. I think Grandmother was wrong, he doesn't understand about the cards, but I think you do?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, divination is always a very hit and miss affair and I'm no expert, but if you think.."

The girl pulled out the deck of cards from her bag once more. She shuffled through it until she found the cards she was looking for, and laid them on the desk. Wesley let out a low whistle. There was the King of Swords, but whereas before most of the cards had been reversed here they were the right way up. "This is extraordinary," he breathed.

"It is good?"

"Yes, oh yes," he murmured looking at The World, Judgement, the four of Wands and others . "A new beginning, success, completion. New life. Oh my."

"You're pleased?"

"Yes, but this isn't soon is it? It's not instead of what you showed us earlier?"

Oana shook her head. "No, that happens first. It depends how he chooses. Grandmother said it's a possible future, and a distant one." She looked down at the cards again before continuing,"But it's not a probable one."

"I'm afraid to ask what the probable one is?"

The girl took two cards out of the deck and laid them upside down over the King of Swords.

"The Lovers, and The Hermit - self conflict and counsel refused." Wesley sighed. "He's not going to listen to us is he?"

Oana sadly shook her head.

And he didn't.