I really felt better with leaving Carmele behind, even if it was in that shadowy alley. She was hidden, and she wouldn’t follow me into the lion’s den. For the mansion’s thick walls of stone allowed my Mind’s Eye very little insight, but something inside had a whisper of faith, and I feared to run into a small chapel or some godly surprise.

  I dashed over the walls to circumvent Herbert’s position and forced the kitchen’s entry. It was locked, but not meant to hold someone dedicated out, and definitely not someone with many times a man’s arm-strength. Then I was in the mansion’s hallways.

  I knew Robert’s smell. It was almost everywhere but, in some places, there was more and it was fresher. I made for his private quarters, and finally, found him all the way on the other side of the corridor, on the third floor but through a straight, high-ceiled corridor. And he was not alone.

  Voices came to me, hushed, and two minds of which one burned fiercely, but in very controlled, disciplined fashion. The other was potent but less impressive. I approached and caught their voices completely.

  “…how can you know? I mean no offence, Lord Robert, but I have seen many claims before and very, very few had any ring of the truth. Now, we have indeed mobilized, because it would simply be terribly disastrous to be wrong, and in the worst case, this Archibald shall receive a personal excuse and a welcoming letter to the town. And really, I am not convinced that this man is a nightly horror. I mean, your source is a witch!”

  “My source is me,” Robert said with surprising confidence, “Hugues, the source is me. I have seen him. The man feels not the cold, he fears not strength of arm, he seduces like the Devil himself…”

  “Now, now! Let us not invoke His name,” the third voice said, the abbey Gervais, “my Milon shall verify this source. It is proper night now, and he will appear, as he normally does. And by the way, is it not telling that this one has not been sighted – not a single time – in daytime? Not even inside. The light was given to us by the Almighty, and to shun it is to deny Him.”

  “That is true, yes. I look very much forward to hear what priest Milon has to say,” Hugues said, “very much indeed.”

  Damnation. This sounded very organized indeed. The safest thing would have been to turn around, leave the mansion, leave the town, and find refuge in a random, abandoned crypt somewhere to make new plans. Hopefully, with Carmele. But if I knew her at all, I realized she would not agree to that easily. Not right now. In other words… I needed to clear my name.

  It wouldn’t be too difficult. These men knew nothing of what I was. So I strolled down the corridor, whistling a tune, and I heard everyone grow dead quiet in there.

  “Pépin?” Robert called when I stood outside the door. I allowed them to sweat for a moment, to rise from their seats, before delicately pushing the door and showing them a reproaching half-smile.

  “You!” Robert said, jumping back behind the table, he went pale, and his eyes darted around for an exit. There were two windows behind them, and a closed door on the right. They were all standing, the bishop frowned, unmoving, with his hands held behind his back, while the abbey, who was older, looked indignant.

  “And who are you, my goodman? Do you know who you are interrupting?” Gervais, the abbey, asked.

  “It is him,” the bishop murmured, “it is the Archibald. Can you not see it? You need only to consider Robert’s reaction.”

  My eyes went round. “Greetings, bishop, abbey, and of course… Robert. Why the enmity?”

  Their thoughts were locked to me, even Robert’s, to guard against their fiery presence. Robert’s face was telling, but the bishop was a cool man. The abbey seemed unafraid.

  “Creature of the night,” Hugues said, fiddling with his pendant cross, “are you really? There’s certainly something eerie about your… person. How did you get here? And, more importantly, for what?”

  I smiled brightly to them. “Thank you for asking, Bishop Hugues. I came to clear this awkward misunderstanding. My servants especially are at risk, as they are at home as we speak, the very home you three have unleashed a blood-thirsty crowd on. I came home from my travels some hours ago, and went to read in my cellar, where I have my precious collection… all in the most quiet, inoffensive fashion. Imagine my surprise when I came up for dinner…” I shook my head and pursed my lips. “I am aware of being an eerie person, but that hardly justifies this reaction!”

  “But how did you get in here!” Robert questioned, having regained some composure. He remained livid, however.

  “I came in through the kitchen,” I said, shrugging, “as last time I met you Robert,” I smiled apologetically to the two, “I am afraid you Men of God have been drawn into a mundane matter of lust and envy.” Robert’s eyes bulged and he opened his mouth to retort but I quickly continued, smoothly overpowering his words and keeping their attention. “Robert has made advances to a servant for many years, but she has denied him, and I, who am only a lowly son of a carpenter, although a fairly successful one, am courting her… successfully, I might say,” I bowed my head humbly.

  Gervais took a hand to his forehead and examined Robert, who was reddening. How could he deny it? It was no secret in town. “But look at him!” Robert desperately pleaded, “does he look human to you?” But he had lost credit.

  The bishop was still gauging me. “And the name of this woman?”

  “Carmele,” I said, having expected this and decided that there was no danger in giving her name.

  The final nail in the coffin. The bishop recognized the name, and he sighed deeply. “Bollocks,” he murmured, and turned to Gervais, who awaited explanation. “The mason’s son is also fond of her. We talked during the renovations of the left wing… Will you send word to Milon? No, wait, I shall go myself…” He sighed again, and frowned to Robert, “I am disappointed in you. And you, Archibald, you may accompany me to your house, where we will take care of this.”

  I bowed my head to him, “much obliged.”

  As we left the mansion in orderly fashion, I made sure to entertain plentifully with my impressions of the town and how pleased I was to have found this new home, and mentioned my collection of books, which was my trade, and that they were free to come to me should they miss anything. I really hoped they would not, however. Half of my tomes were on the Art, at least.

  I was of a mind to leave Carmele in the alley, where I thought she would be safer than amongst crowds of violent men and clerics who may bring me trouble should I try to defend her, but our setting would pass her, and the next good thing was having her at my side where I could watch her duly.

  She joined our group and the two important Men of God greeted her with polite coolness. She was only a servant, but her womanly charm had still brought chaos to Auxerre, this view was written all over their faces. I distracted them with a story celebrating two monks from Rouen, which I had heard in Lorraine.

  The men were still outside the gates, banging, shouting, but they hadn’t tried to storm the place yet. That priest, Milon, was keeping them cheerful but under control, singing godly verses and lecturing the bible in Latin. He was in the middle of one such verse when he laid eyes on the bishop, and the abbey, and threw his arms up to welcome them. “Men of Auxerre! Welcome Bishop Hugues de Montaigu and Abbey Gervais!” he shouted. He didn’t even look at me. No one did, for not one I had actually met properly, and in the twilight, they could not recognize me at all.

  Everyone cheered, but the bishop raised his hands to calm the crowd, and very directly, explained to them that there had been a terrible misunderstanding, and without further notice, he threw the young Robert under the horse-cart. He was after all only the third son of William Second, the Crusader.

  The displease rippled through the crowd and they made it known, hooting Robert, while Milon seemed terribly affronted, his pride piqued, he had after all just spent hours leading the siege of my home. But the bishop was tired and had no patience for all this, and he grunted irritatingly before starting towards his home, the Cathedral. The crowd did not scatter right away, people lingered and talked with each other, making for a very busy town at this hour.

  Then, just as I was turning to smile at Carmele, I saw him amongst the rabble, not ten steps away, standing still and watching me. Angry. Furious. Him. Amero! Why? Then he was swallowed by the gathering again. My mind remained closed, for too many clerics were present, and I was blind.

  I grabbed Carmele by her shoulders, she saw my panic but could not fathom why. “What?” she shouted in the gathering’s cacophony. But the words would not leave my tongue. And what words? I could not decide. Should I get her away? Or have her stay as close as possible? Damnation. Hellfire!

  “He’s here,” I impressed on her, “the other one! Amero! Out for blood! He must have changed his mind,” I said, frustrated beyond belief, feeling entirely helpless. And then he was there, on my right, his iron grip digging into my arm, claws and all, drawing blood. I stood tetanized, having Carmele on my other side. I stared at him and urged: “Run! Far from me!” and made a strong, focused wind carry the words straight to Carmele’s ear. She winced, stared at me, and felt my hand push her away. She left me.

  “Run?” Amero repeated, with his mad and wide eyes, “run, he says!” And then I grabbed him and we wrestled, standing our ground, measuring up in raw strength. He laughed, and I realized he was stronger still. A hundred years, he had persisted. He drove me to my knees, and I grimaced in pain.

  And a tall goodman, with an overflowing belly and broad, severe face came down upon Amero, grabbing his shoulder, “release him you animal, and at your age!” Amero actually growled at his face, showing his fangs, and the man reeled before the old Nightwalker threw himself at him and tore his throat out, drinking heartily. My eyes went wide with horror. What! An innocent! But his code! And had he cared not for secrecy? Was that not why he was furious? That his children were hunted by my reckless acts? Murderer! Hypocrite!

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  I fled from him, flowed through the crowd, spread my mind in abandon. I could no longer bear being blind, feeling out of control. Where was Carmele? Everyone was screaming. Amera was jumping to his next victim, bathing in blood, laughing. A madman in truth, now! And a violent one!

  They burned me, the clerics, but I was strong and I found Carmele fleeing to my house’s door, for everywhere else was chaos, people trampling each other. Damnation! “AVENTIN!” I roared, both with my mind and voice, “OPEN THE DOOR!”

  Not two heartbeats passed before this came to pass. He had been listening right behind the gate. Carmele rushed inside and I appeared to them for a moment, only just to pass them the keys to the cellar, and impress on them the circumstances gravity, with my furious, hungry eyes that had their own light, and my fangs and long, pale claws that were sharper than any swords. A terrible, frightening sight, and Aventin reeled in horror, but Carmele took the keys and heard my words. “To the cellar. Only the cellar is safe,” I whispered, feeling more of my kind flowing into the market square’s chaos. Then I snapped the door close, and I heard her lock them behind me. Even now, she refused to let the fear show, it was her chief enemy and she intently fought it with all she had.

  I turned.

  Raymond! He was there, tumbling through the crowd with his sword flashing in the moonlight, his auburn hair was sprayed with blood, and for once, it was not a fierce smile on his face though he was fighting, no, his expression was weary but focused. And it was not his own blood that smeared him, but that of two other Nightwalkers who chased him across the square. They were fledglings, newly turned by Amero. His new children. From the very last night, possibly? They moved with brutality, without the learned grace of Nightwalkers who knew the extent of their powers, lightness and strength, and with their senses. Before I could even intervene, he had slashed one’s head clean off, while the other bit into his arm, and then I whisked through the air to grab this one’s neck, claws and all, and by raw strength and sharp claws I separated it too from its body.

  “You maniac!” Raymond shouted and laughed, though his arm was torn up and blood gushed out.

  “You live,” I said with immense relief, grabbing his head to plant a kiss on his forehead, and grinning despite the insanity for with him at my side, with Raymond the Warrior, I felt I could win. “Amero’s mad!” I said and looked round for him.

  His laugh died away, and he nodded, tired, “he always seemed eccentric… I don’t know. Michael dealt with him. I saw him only once, before…” he waved his hands. The market square was quiet now. Maybe ten, fifteen bodies were left behind. I sensed two that had heartbeats still… but weakening. “Where have you been?” He asked, but like me, he was distracted, looking for Amero. We both sensed he was close…

  “Traveling, reading,” I said, “you?”

  “Cards, women…” it made me smile. “Same old. Who’s Carmele?” My mind was open to him, like his was to mine. If one saw Amero, the other would know right away.

  “My love,” I told him wryly, “truly.”

  “Bah, you always fell so easily for them,” he said, before tensing, “there!” I was with him.

  Amero stood on a roof, a dark god against the starry ceiling, arms folded behind his back, blood dripping from his jaw. His mouth was completely drenched with the thick, warm liquid. “To think I would let you live, villain,” he whispered, eyes glowing with pain and rage, “it is a testament to my good nature, but you have wrought such harm, yes, that you must indeed die, and Raymond, you shall join him, for you are a wild thing, a beastly thing, and there is no place for you in our world.”

  I sensed hurt from Raymond, before he withdrew himself to the minimum, and I sensed only his presence, and his intent to fight. I looked to him with sympathy. He had his demons.

  “You are wild! You are the beast here, the villain! The murderer!” I shouted to him, ice cold, “you are a perfect hypocrite!”

  “You monster!” He vociferated, his sharp fingers shaking as he leaned in, nearly throwing himself at us on the spot. “You miserable, hellish monster! It is you who has unleased hell on me! You bring his death to my world, to my children! My lovers! Michael and Fetinja! And Bathilde! Cenne! Andres! Mante! Ethelred! Molle!” And he went on and on, mentioning English, French, German, Italien names, one Spanish too, and I didn’t know what to do, it was overwhelming, so many names… He paused, in that breathless, unblinking silence that only we Immortals are capable of.

  His mouth contorted to something ugly, like words were not strong enough to express his hate towards me and now Raymond too. “Fetinja was tortured, in her weak, wounded and silvered state, they drew my children from her, as I travelled Novgorod, far and unknowing… For months! Silver, in her every limp, in her eyes, in her belly, as the Archbishop conspired with his peers to find and kill us in the day’s light, all this… because of you.”

  I reeled. He had not been honesty yesterday, not at all, and I wondered why he had waited for this. His intention was clear. There was no time! His voice full of icy hate had died away in a whisper Ferocious and death-defying, he came at us, alone against two, and Raymond broke his sword on his hard skull.

  We all held not an ounce of power back. I called on wind and distracted his ears with conjured, illusive sounds, drew on all my knowledge of the Art to bring us an edge. But Amero was raw and powerful, he was unleashed. He pushed me through a wall, which tore up my back, and I bit his hand even as he strangled my throat.

  Our fighting was not pretty. It was wild and brutal, with joints elongating for reach and flexibility, with claws and fangs tearing through flesh, and violent force ripping stone and timber and ceilings as we crawled over and charged through the town.

  Raymond and I had the Old One’s blood, we were resilient, but Amero was older, and his blood was power, his bones like diamond, his joints stronger than steel. Around us, people screamed, taken from their beds by a horror straight out of their worst, hellish nightmares. We were nothing but three demons bathed in each other’s flesh. Amero and Raymond drunk from anyone to heal their strength, and I drank from him, though it always cost me.

  Not one man of faith stood in our way, because their confidence melted away in front of the deluge of our battle. But our struggle took us to the Cathedral’ walls, where they cowered, and together their minds’ fire was strong enough to banish the last semblant of thought from our minds, we became nothing but intent, three wills clashing with no shred of self-preservation left. I think it was only pure luck that I came out alive.

  Raymond was closest then and Amero tore into him so deep and hard that his claws emerged on the other side of his torso, and they twitched painfully, for Raymond had dug his hands into Amero’s throat and bit down on his nose. I had been thrown farer but came howling with crazed wrath, biting into Amero’s neck and the two of us worked to tear him apart.

  And with a terrible scream Amero ripped Raymond in two, destroying his heart and his torso, and breaking his neck such that the head hung only from a thread, its expression trembling, eyes wide. Then he twisted to get his claws on me, without lips or nose, only eyes, and his throat and neck was a mess, a thin and hard thing clinging to his spine. I bit through it as his clawed fingers hands scraped the flesh from my ribs and cracked them before losing their strength.

  There. Quiet. But I was no more than beast, a starved, wounded beast, and I dug into both Amero and Raymond till they were dry before fleeing from the Cathedral’s fire and digging into a random, probably innocent person for their warm, healing blood. Only then, did my mind start to return, and I managed to not end the person’s life. It was a young man, nothing but a doll in my hands, and I laid him down carefully.

  Like a ghost, I floated back to my house, mind set on Carmele. There was no reason to it, simply that I was aimless except for her.

  The Market Square was quiet, the corpses were untouched. There were no more heartbeats now. The night would be mine; the poor mortals would not dare venture out from their houses until dawn. I was an open wound, a corpse, I was flesh and blood flowing, I was a nightmare, but still I walked to my house’s door for I was on the verge of collapsing, and I needed her.

  I heard a cane against cobblestone. “A fine demon indeed,” the old witch mused without joy. Her voice was bitter. “If stupidity was painful, then you would be screaming day and night, you bastard.”

  “Rachelle,” I croaked, my breath whistling. I blinked my one, remaining eye furiously to get the blood away, which blurred it. I hadn’t realized before that I was missing an eye. Or no, it was still there and only gashed. When had Amero done that?

  She sighed, deeply. “I knew you would get Carmele killed. She was my last chance. Someone to teach. And she would have been so capable, so fine a witch. But I have failed. How unlucky, that her path crossed yours. Unlucky indeed.”

  “Rachelle!” I hissed, feeling anger swell up in my chest. Was she not the instigator of all this? Of the crowd, the bloodbath? Perhaps she was behind Amero also, or the mindless demon he had become! She was the villain, not I! She desired my Carmele too. In the blink of an eye, I was towering in front of her, my out-stretched claws looming. She threw everything at me. Monsters and furies, knights and demons, but I swept them aside with a wind. “Illusions!” I spat, “is that all?”

  Her face went hard, and the knights returned, hard, frowning men in polished armour swinging their weapons at me. I disbanded them again, smiling. Her cane shot forward to my chest, and I smiled even broader. She would fight me? I had just killed Amero! The Amero! But then the cane hit, and a fire spread in my limps, one that almost made me kill her. I had her throat in my grasp, and the other was inches from her eyes. She was afraid now. Afraid of the pain. As she should be.

  “Be done with it,” she breathed, in a small, pitiful voice. I deflated.

  Obviously, she was not behind Amero. Her only sin was telling Robert of Nevers of me. “You catch me, at a bad time… old witch…” I murmured, mustering all the gentleness I had left to carefully let her down.

  Then I turned and trailed back, dragging my bare, bloody feet on the pavement in a slow, tired crawl. The door to my home was locked, but I pushed it aside, and it creaked and cracked until the oak gave way to my hand. I walked to my cellar then, and knocked. “Carmele?” I croaked, again and again. Steps rushed up the stairs, and the door opened up wide to Carmele and behind her, Aventin screamed at my sight and almost tumbled down the steps in his flight. But where to? The cellar was dead-end, I pondered numbly.

  Then I forced myself to look at her. What would I find? Horror? Pity? She had reeled, but then she recognized me in the eyes, the sheds of hair left. Her hands approached, but she dared not touch me. “What…” her eyes filled with tears. “Archibald?”

  At my name, I perked up through the mist that was my mind. “Yes?”

  “What did they do to you?” She asked, covering her cheeks with her hands, as tears overflowed her eyes. “We must… how can you live?”

  How indeed? I ought to be dead, didn’t I?

  A sighing, tired voice sounded from behind. “I actually think he might be fine, girl.” The witch. Why had she followed? I wanted only Carmele. “Maybe he needs more blood, but he seems warm, so I doubt it. I think he has fed,” her voice was slightly disgusted now.

  “He takes only villains,” Carmele whispered immediately, almost in a second thought. “He will be fine?” She could not believe it, not when looking at me. I wanted to tell her, that I had been worse, or just as bad, once. “What do you say?” She asked, leaning in closer to me, hands joined tightly in her chest.

  “…week.”

  “Of course, you are, you silly boy,” she whispered, “how could you be strong in such a state?”

  “Not weak… week. A week,” I croaked again, though my tongue and lips pained. But everywhere was pain and I hardly distinguished at this point, “in week, fine…”

  “A week? You’ll be fine in a week,” she nodded, “yes, I am sure you will be, Archie.”

  “I think he actually will,” the witch then said, sighing again, “but girl, we must leave now. They will all come, at dawn, and we need to be far by then. We should take that one too…” she referred to Aventin, who had listened. He was calmer now, and frowning.

  “Me?” He asked, drawing away.

  “Yes, you, stupid boy, or they will lynch you for conspiracy with demons,” she claimed firmly, and he mulled on that.

  “But he’s a demon,” he argued, still in shock.

  “I agree, but I think he’s a good one, and he listens to this girl,” the witch said wearily, seemingly losing patience, “come on now.”

  And somehow, the old crane managed to convince Aventin by her calm and sure decisions.

  “His carriage,” Carmele whispered, “I know where it is. We should take it.” I had shown it to her in our walks.

  Our strange group made the way through the town, and I had a cape thrown over my hunched, pained figure. The gate was deserted, but the gate was closed. Carmele and Aventin discussed a solution, when the witch simply looked at me, squinted and pointed at the gate. “Open it! Hear me? Archibald, open it!”

  At my name, I reacted, and slowly, I approached and pushed it open with one single hand. It groaned and protested, until something broke, and then we had our way. Aventin and Carmele stared. Then they used my keys to open the carriage, they took horses from the stables, and we fled Auxerre.