I had asked the mason to make the cellar two-part, two vaults, in essence, one for my ludicrously expensive wine and one for my most precious books. For the three new members of my household, I forbade them from entering it. Not even for cleaning. And I also asked that they do not intrude on me during the day. In exchange for the unusual demands, I had arranged for comfortable living quarters for them, not in the attic, where I feared they would catch on to my absence in the living room, but rather in the space behind the entry.

They would spend most of their time in the spacious, cozy kitchen, the pantry, and the large, overgrown backyard.

With the coin I had given, the mason workers had finished in a mere two weeks, but admittingly, I had perhaps overdone it. Other than the rearrangements, a thorough and deep cleaning might have been sufficient. As for the ghost of the house, there was little to do. I had known about the existence of spectres for a while now, but they had always been harmless, if a bit eerie. They seemed to be nothing but echoes, retracing habits of the deceased. I had seen spectres only since tasting the Old One’s blood. They were not many, but after an initial bout of curiosity, I had gotten used to ignoring them. Sometimes, they drew a smile to my lips.

This evening, I had woken full of desire. But not in the good way. It felt deep, and lustful, bulging from my belly up through my heart and steaming my head. I kid you not. Not in the way of mortals, but I missed Fetinja, or the bond we had shared. I think I was perhaps a bit lonely, and wanted someone to share some intimacy with, some complicity. I walked these streets like an unconcerned king, but only because he allowed no one to come close enough to do harm.

I could not tell her, however. Carmele was not ready. I walked Sibylle home every evening, using it as a chance to greet her. I had brought her cheese and wine and bread, thanking her for the help with establishing a household. But I wasn’t sure how to bring us closer, how to bridge the next step. She was of her own mind.

Their house was small, in fact, they had only a one room in it, she and her sister. It was at the edge of the town, outside of the walls, and I had been really surprised when we first walked to it. They were poor, really, so how could she refuse my offer? She was a mystery, truly. I had not met another person yet of her spirit.

From a roof on the other side of the muddy street, I was contemplating my life, and hers. My head rested on a fist, of which the elbow rested on a tightly pulled knee. They were sleeping. Most were, in the town. The quiet was weighing on me. I wanted someone to talk to, but there were hours to the first souls would wake, and they would be working. The bakeries, for one, were early-risers, but they were far from alone. Yet most people waited for dawn.

I rocked back and forth my head, rolled my neck, feeling restless. I had been playing with the wind, commanding breezes to flow through my hair from one direction to another. But that had turned boring too. Perhaps I would take a second victim tonight.

I found a young thief, a crooked little being, and watched him. He was trying to pull open a window, some six houses away from Carmele’s. His short-sighted mind was full of greed and fear. But I found no justification for removing him completely from this world, so I had only a quick taste before I invaded his mind and threw it at my feet, knocking it around before leaving it aching and battered. It would take him some days to recover, but from past experiencing, I knew he would recover. I had after all imposed nothing on it, nor torn it apart to see its depths.

That, I knew, would push most minds to madness or vacancy. This one would simply have a very confused, very blurry tale of some assault in the night. I had even carefully bit my finger’s open to grant him a single drop of my blood to heal the small puncture wounds in his forearm.

But it all took so little time and quickly left me back to my brooding, left me watching the house again. Now someone was stirring in the house, one floor beneath Carmele. I inattentively followed her slow descent down the narrow, stacked stairs in the middle of the house, that had with time grown quite crooked, it seemed to me.

The front door opened, and out hobbled a very old, short woman, folded over by age with a tightly wound bun of hair. I stared, puzzled. Then she mumbled under her breath, and my inhuman, sharp ears caught it carefully. My heart fluttered.

“You demon of the night, you might as well show yourself, now that you have wakened my old bones up and forced me down the stairs,” she grumbled, and my belly tingled, for I was being unexpectantly addressed. I examined her more closely. She looked positively ancient, beneath the rough, grey robe and with that cane – nothing but a stick – in her hand. I wondered if there was a trap down there, somehow. But her mind was sealed tight, a sleek wall I found no purchase on. She cackled lowly. “Oh? Afraid of little old me, are we? Who are you here for, little demon?”

Fine. Have it your way. Sleekly, I fell from the roof and landed lightly, soundlessly. She examined me and rested both hands on her cane in front of her. She was alert, but calm. Surprisingly lucid and sharp-looking, for a person her age. “Good night,” I said to her, and smiled toothlessly.

She squinted suspiciously. “Don’t be coy with me, young man, or demon, should I say. What are you here for?”

My smile disappeared, but I had some goodwill left. This was, after all, surprising to me. Entertaining. It was refreshing to speak with someone who knew. “And why would I tell you?”

She huffed. “So I know if I must indulge you or deal with you…”

“Deal with me?” I repeated, tilting my head, “you think you can?” She was an old and frail woman, yes… and most assuredly a witch. But I felt no menace in her, her mind was not repelling to me like those of believing clerics. In fact, it felt rather small.

She was unfazed. “I shall try, if I must.”

I hummed thoughtfully. I had a hand brushing my chin, and then rubbing the throat pensively, as I pondered. “You must be protecting something, and not yourself, or you wouldn’t be coming out here… facing me… hm? What are you guarding, or who?”

She had fallen silent and was watching me warily, and readily. Yes, indeed she had no way of dealing with me. It was all bravado. Or perhaps she had some ace up her sleeve, a desperate shot in the dark which she hoped would dissuade me.

“You have no need to be fearful, old witch,” I said to her with some warmth, finding her efforts endearing, and having a little idea of who she was protecting. “I am here not to claim a victim, for those I claim only amongst murderers or worse… quite the contrary, actually, I was passing to check in on a friend.” There it was. Honesty, and a leap of faith.

She stared sceptically. “And who might this friend be?”

I threw my hands up, exasperated. “Must I tell you everything, old witch? Would you believe me then? I think not. What reason do I have to trust you with my friends? You might use them against me. Wouldn’t you like that? A demon at your beck and call?”

“Fine, fine! Have it your way, you stubborn creature.” She eyed me suspiciously. “You already know, don’t you! Curses. It is the woman, of course, she is most promising. I want her as my next apprentice. She knows me, and she is warming up to me. I cannot have you put strange ideas in her mind, nor seduce her with that hollow husk of yours that can give no life.”

“Husk…” I repeated wrinkling my nose and snorting, “but this is me, and I am very much conscious and alive!”

She puffed, “find other young naïve things to seduce, and keep away from this one.”

“I refuse. There is no one like her,” I said, crossing my arms and planting my feet. “And, for your notice, she knows me already and likes me quite a lot. It is too late for you to keep us apart.”

She narrowed her eyes. “She may already have told of you then. What name do you go by? The name of your human disguise, I mean.”

“My name is Archibald,” I said pridefully, “and it is not one I simply go by. I have worn it since I was born.”

“I am sure you have,” she grumbled, “for demons are notorious for speaking the truth, we all know. You are old, I can tell, and you must have gone by countless names. But she has spoken of you, of course she has.” She cackled, pinning me with her eyes, and understanding that she had hooked my attention, “I am not surprised. Should really have suspected something. But I am old, and therefore excused. Now, demon, you may leave and be on with your demonic ways, as long as they concern no one in this building.” With that said, she hobbled around and made for the stairs again.

“A minute!” I cried, striding forward, “you must say what she said of me. And, you have not even revealed your name, the most common of courtesies, though you seem to know mine!”

She was closing the door with a self-satisfied grin on her wrinkled, saggy face. “Maybe tomorrow,” she croaked with promise, and the door closed.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

An unintended sound of frustration escaped my lips as I glared at the door, considering to break in. She was hobbling up the stairs slowly. I could have caught up to her ten times before she made it up the first step. Only then, did it strike me, that not one of us had at any point confirmed that we were indeed both talking of Carmele. There were maybe a dozen other women in that house. I was convinced it was Carmele, but then again, I was also completely infatuated and therefore entirely unreliable in my judgement.

I huffed and turned around to kill the rest of the night’s time.

The very next evening, I came to find Carmele as the first thing after having fed, as she was on her way home from a long day of work. She looked tired, with half-circles under red-rimmed eyes. And she was walking alone. She never walked alone.

As to not spook her, I circled behind and fell from a roof into the street before striding in on her. When she heard me, she turned around with balled fists and a fierce glare, she looked ready to scream and attack. Then she saw it was me and visibly deflated. “It’s only you,” she said, addressing her wild, stiff hair, “could you not have called out?”

“I waited to be closer. Why are you walking alone?” I questioned, surprised. I felt fairly good, wearing red from top to toe and tall, cavalry boots of polished, reddish leather also. Except from the thin but tightly woven cloak, which was black and fluttered even in the smallest of breezes.

“Don’t mention it,” she murmured irritably, so low a human probably would have heard.

“You’re in a bad mood,” I pointed out gently, “why?”

“Arh, leave me alone!” She muttered irritatingly, batting a hand.

“Really?” I continued in that same mildened tone, showing no offence taken.

She seemed of a mind to tell me to go stick my nose into my own affairs again, but she held her tongue this time. It took her almost a minute to fall down. “A long day. And how did you find me? One would think you have nothing better to do than stalk me like a wolf would a deer.” Her tone was sullen, inattentive. The words flowed, but her mind was preoccupied.

How to tread? Maybe divert the subject. Give her something to think on. “Carmele,” I started carefully, “I met an old woman yesterday, from your building. She knew you, and you had told her of me. But I never got her name, do you know of who I speak?”

Carmele frowned, thinking. “How did you meet her?”

I huffed, “well, just outside of your house, actually. But remember! I am also accompanying Sibylle home,” I said, attempting a cheerful chuckle.

“Must be Rachelle, that nosy neighbour, she’s been talking a lot to me lately, though she always seem to be ignoring Sibylle.” Carmele’s frown deepened, and she finally deigned to look at me again, but it seemed to annoy her to look sideways and up. “How is she?”

“Sibylle? I think very well. I do not work her very hard,” I said defensively, though I in fact spared less and less attention on her. I laughed. “She does the work she wishes to. But I think that her and Aventin and Pélagine have some very nice time, together, and at dinners especially.”

Carmele looked away.

“You’re preoccupied,” I remarked, but she said nothing, “and tired. Take the day off, tomorrow. Let me pamper you. Don’t say anything just yet! Simply consider it.”

“No!” She exploded at me, turning and stretching her hands out like she wanted to strangle me dead. I turned completely impassive, not ceding an inch to her, though my heart jolted. She was so difficult to read!

“No!” She repeated, fuming, eyes staring daggers. She reminded me of Fetinja that instant, except that her rage seemed more purposeful, and not mere indulgence. “What can you not understand? I am not to be bought! You cannot sway me with power or wealth! Why does every man seem to think so? Do I not make it clear?”

“Should I discard my wealth?” I proposed, arcing a brow.

“It is not the problem. It is you. I do not like you,” she hissed angrily to me. A lie. The first one she had uttered in my presence, for that much I could read, and it intrigued me highly. What was she hiding?

“Why?” I inquired calmly, and she seemed to deflate again. She was no longer preoccupied, or rather, she had her eyes on me now. I think I was scaring her now. We were alone, except for the occasional, drunk soul, and in her view, she was pushing me. Provoking me. Aggressively shooting down the hopes of a man desiring her.

So, she hesitated, but her mood won over her cautiousness: “you have no consideration, no heed. You make me uncomfortable.” And she quieted her tongue finally, shutting her mouth shut. She was afraid, now, afraid and awaiting.

I hummed, staring up at the stars. She was uncomfortable because she could not understand my act, because she did not know who I was in truth. But I think she did like me, if she would only take the chance to really meet my character, past the wealth and the mystery. Perhaps I needed to give her a chance to do so. But how?

“First things first, Carmele,” I started, and introduced some light-hearted gaiety in my voice, simply to start putting her at ease, “whatever you say, you will suffer no harm from me. I am not capable of it. And it is simply beneath me, beneath my pride, and my dignity. I would not suffer it.” I took a breath, and smiled to the moon above, “secondly… I must tell you why that is. You’re an avid reader, yes?”

She nodded carefully, but I could see she was intrigued, her anger was curtailed, for now. “I do read, indeed.”

“Let us hear it, then,” I laughed the way I did when I was happy and entertained, and my heart was so full of its own self-confidence and cheer that there was no bringing it down. Why was I so happy? I was finally getting through to her. We were talking from our minds, with honesty. She had thrown all of her frustrations in my face, and I was finally allowed to show my depth, the tolerance and the beauty of my character. It excited me.

“Hear what?” She said suspiciously.

“Your guesses. Who am I? Surely a clever mind such as yours must have given it some consideration.” I smiled to her as I did to mortals, toothlessly, without showing the fangs.

“Who are you?” She repeated, I think surprised over the turn of the conversation, but she leaned into it with abandon.

“You are a descendant of a Saxon noble from England, fled from the Norman conquest,” she said tentatively, but barely waited for me saying no before continuing: “Or of one of the rebellious Norman barons. Fled with wealth and power, but chased, and now you have settled down as the last of your family, with power, and you have turned to sorcery in the hopes of restoring your family’s old status, dark sorcery,” she said, eyeing me, “… and you secretly prepare for war, though you have abandoned accomplishing your ambitions in your lifetime, you have instead decided to find the most worthy woman, who will give you the strongest, cleverest children, so they may live out your dream.” She finished her tale and flashed me a defiant stare and followed it with a smug smile.

I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me, but she made me laugh, nevertheless. “Not what I expected, I admit! But Carmele, you have not addressed the most obvious of clues. That is, why do I only appear at night?” My voice had not changed in the least, it remained amiable and open and full of playful mirth, but the temperature seemed to drop for her.

“What?”

“Come on, now. It must have crossed your mind? Don’t be shy. I bear no evil.”

And though she was tense she whispered: “That’s exactly what an evil creature would say.”

I threw my head back and laughed at the starry sky, “you mock me. You wound me.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she admonished me, regaining some of her fortitude, “and do you mean to say you are a demon? The Devil? I do not believe it. I have seen kindness from you, and patience. Your intent is well, for all you lack in thoughtfulness for yourself, and us others.”

“The Devil himself!” I repeated and laughed more, “no, Carmele, I wouldn’t say so. I do have a sickness of the sun, so I cannot stand it, and furthermore, it puts me straight asleep. That is all, really.” I watched her mirthfully as she frowned.

“A sickness,” she said, smiling in the way that showed she felt foolish, but she was above showing that, “I had thought of that, but it slipped my mind, just now.”

“Well, I have met others in my situation. We call ourselves Nightwalkers,” I said, shrugging, “though we are very rare and there is far in between.”

“You have never seen the sun?” She asked, feeling pity.

“I have, this disease took me last autumn.”

“It can spread?” She said with alarm but without stepping away. Brave to the last.

I shook my head and made my voice firm. “No. You are in absolutely no danger of simply catching it. I fear you were right, to some extent; the disease originates in sorcery, and needs a ritual to spread.”

“A ritual? Why would anyone choose this ritual?”

“I did not, it was performed on me outside of my will,” I admitted, and again there was pity from her, which I pretended not to notice. She was swinging back and forth between caution and pity like a pendule.

“That’s horrible,” she whispered. We had arrived at her house, and stopped, but she made no sign of wanting to go in. I sensed the old witch watching us carefully from somewhere within.

“Horrible indeed,” I agreed calmly. “Carmele, do you wish to continue our promenade? I assure you, I can guarantee our safety,” she did not seem to believe me, but then her eyes lit up with understanding.

“The reason anyone would choose the ritual… the reason it was made. What was it?”

I smiled with tristesse. “For toughness, for immortality, for power, my dear Carmele. For this, they would deny the sun.”

“Immortality,” she breathed, eyes wide. “How unnatural.”

How different we were. Immortality had not pinned my attention, at first, it had seemed so far away and so intangible, contrary to the new power at my fingertips. But the implications were more and more obvious. “Unnatural… Yes, very much so, I suppose.”

She breathed out, staring around like she was drawing comfort from Auxerre’s familiar streets and houses, which remained the same, and the night’s tranquilness, which had not changed on bit. But it seemed deeper now, to her. “You have told me everything, haven’t you?” She said, sounding quietly surprised.

“Well, not in detail,” I said, before gesturing my chin to the house, “but I might add that you have a witch in the house.”

“A witch!” She repeated, eyes widening again, “what? The old woman? No? Is she a danger, Archie?”

I shrugged wryly. “I wouldn’t let her be if I thought so, Carmele, you are too dear to me. But if she does bother you, then come to me and tell me what I can do. I am not impulsive, and I will not let you down.”

Carmele shook her head, and suddenly she laughed, “what a turn this night has taken! But I think I am tired, so I shall go rest. If I can, with all these thoughts you have pushed into my head. You will have me guessing and imagining the whole night, I fear. But I will have more questions. I have a curious nature.”

I bowed to her. “Good night to you.”

And she strode into her house and closed the door, went up five steps, before pausing, turning around and opening the door again. She found me happily waiting for her. “Archie? There’s one more thing. I must tell you now, for it weighs on me, and I think you should know. Come closer!” She waved impatiently, and when I was at the doorway with her, and actually expecting a ruse and a kiss, she told me: “Sibylle is completely in love with you,” she said and sighed. “The poor thing.”

“What?” She was a little girl. “It will pass,” I whispered quickly, almost afraid. I could not say of what, exactly.

“Three weeks have passed, and she talks only of you,” Carmele said meaningfully, observing me carefully. We were very close, her face not an even half an armlength away.

“What do you mean to say?”

“Only that… ah, I don’t know, wait, let me have a cape. Let us walk some more.”