The moon hung ponderously in a dawning sky shimmering with crimson hues and reeking of burning wood. Around her, rats, human and animal, fled through the filthy streets toward the docks, far from the raging fires that plundered the city.
At the sharp scrabble of claws tangling in her cotton underskirt, she bit back a shriek of fear, momentarily more terrified by the panicking rodent than the blood-smeared rebels and the devils they hunted. A crash of falling timbers at the alley’s mouth startled her back still further, eyes fixed on the heavens, lips moving in silent prayer.
Voices.
"Fresh and young. I can smell it. Rubies and innocence."
"Come on, love. No time to play. Darla’s expecting us and there’ll be hell to pay if we make her wait."
"No waiting. She’s busy. Too busy for us until the day is long done. Then we shall dance, all of us together."
"Yeah, all three of us. A right good dance."
"A quadrille. Of lobsters on the sand."
"Which takes four, Dru."
"Will you join the dance, my Spike."
"Anything for you, my love."
"Or we could dance tomorrow. Then you shall take the lead."
"Will I now. How’s about I take that tonight?"
"Not tonight, silly boy. Daddy will lead tonight."
"Angelus is gone, Dru. And not coming back."
"We shall take him a welcome home present. It is the correct thing to do in polite society."
"Fine, you do that. But make it quick or he’ll be getting nothing but charcoal for his pains."
Tap, tap, tap, the footsteps came, fox-trot quick across the stones and her dress tore as she pressed back, the sharp edges of the wall digging into her skin as she moulded to the unyielding brick. A single pale hand topped with blood red nails scraped the wall above, the empty barrels collapsed sideways, spilling over like drunken sailors and a devil with the moon in its eyes gazed down.
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