Doctor Who_ The Taint - Michael Collier [16]
'"Yes please", you mean.'
Irritation, too. Get out of my place, his voice was saying, this isn't part of things, this is just the kindness of my heart, so say 'Yes, please' and then go. Keep things pleasant. They'll get ugly if you push your luck like this.
'Yes,' she affirmed, holding her breath until she heard the door close behind him and his footsteps retreat to the poky little kitchen the far side of the maisonette.
He was a strange man to have been chosen. Normally they had dark-brown hair, or black like her own. She felt more comfortable with those ones. Blond-hairs seemed more angelic, more innocent, they shouldn't be used for deeds such as this. No one was safe, nowadays.
The wind blew strands of her hair against her face. Rain rattled against the half of the window that was closed, like distant gunfire. She wished she was not at war.
'Son of the morning,' she said out loud, just as she'd said last night to him, looking all the while at his puzzled smile as it spread into a jammy grin.
'Come into me now. Take control of this vessel. I give myself into your hands.'
She spoke the words tentatively, listening to her clear, low voice as if unimpressed by the conviction it carried. 'I give myself into your hands for your service.'
'Not again, darlin', OK?'
She hadn't heard the man return. She frowned and said nothing.
'I've got your tea, but there's no milk.' She heard the mug plonk down on the table by the bed. Come on love, we've bad our fun, that was last night, I was pissed. Come on, love, drink your tea and get out . Oh, she knew; she'd heard it thought so many times, but she smiled slightly to think that the blond ones were the same as the dark ones.
Bad angels. Come to Earth to enter the spirit of the mortals below. Taking human girls to taste. Choosing her, again and again. They knew her. They could not resist knowing her again and again. They were like flying angel moths to her light, like the big, brilliant white light of the sky.
It needed to be her. She gathered the seed and destroyed it, wiped it out from inside her. She knew she had no choice now. Somewhere out there in the white heavens, eyes were watching her, eyes that knew her. They always ensured she did what was right. She moved her hands over her belly again, as if trying to discern movement inside.
He was hovering, awkwardly. He wanted her out.
'It's freezing in here. Why d'you want the window open?'
'I like to feel near the sky.' Her tone suggested she was amused, but she wasn't sure why she should be. Under the blanket her skin was warm, a breeding ground, damp with sweat. Her face was chilled, wet, desensitised.
She turned to look at him, inquiringly. He didn't meet her gaze, turning instead to his own mug, stirring in sugar with a look of bored determination on his pale face. She didn't care that he wouldn't look at her, but the clanking of the spoon against the porcelain cup irritated her. It was too much noise for such a little room.
Lucy forced herself to relax. There was nothing wrong, after all.The evil was safe inside her. She would kill it, then gather more. The devil made work for idle hands. She was put on Earth to allow those hands rest, just for a night, just long enough to capture their evil. And one day the watcher angels would be spent and their master would come. She would be his vessel, fool him with his own pleasures and then take him away with her to kill.
She felt the blankness of the white sky was a judgement upon her, and took the cold and the rain willingly.
She could almost feel the heat draining from the mug on the table as the man shifted balance from foot to foot, impatient for his own space and privacy.
'Look, love, will you be all right getting home?'
3.2
The smell of someone unalike was in the air. Someone who didn't belong here, who reeked of difference, close by. It was either the young woman, or the tall man. Azoth's senses tingled, the black gap in his memory teased by the scent.
'We'll find them again,' said his friend, Tarr.
'You