Blood by K. J. Wignall Page B

prayed that if there was a God above, He would allow me to rot also.
    And as I lay there, sleep finally overcame me. I thought my wish was being granted, that death had finally come to claim me. The year was 1410 and I did not emerge again until twenty-five years later, in the long reign of Henry VI.
    Had Kate not died at my hands, she would most probably have been dead by then anyway, but her loss was still a fresh wound in my mind, no less than if she had died only the night before. And it was not merely the loss of Kate that filled me with despair, but the realization that I could never have a companion, that there would never be someone with whom I could share the endless years of my existence.
    Time would pass and I would forget and be tempted again by human company, and it took me hundreds of years to understand that there was nothing to gain from it, only loss for me, and danger for those who came too close.

11
    Eloise insisted on carrying her own bags. The large one was a backpack, but even though she lumbered awkwardly under its weight, she refused his assistance.
    They entered through the South Gate, but Will put on his dark glasses and stayed on the busiest of the roads, partly for her sense of safety, partly to avoid passing the Whole Earth again.
    When she saw that he was wearing the sunglasses, she said mockingly, “Nice! You do know it’s the middle of the night. You look like a complete …”
    â€œI have an eye condition. The light troubles me.”
    â€œOh, I’m sorry,” she said, temporarily forgetting her anger and fear. As if reminding herself that she had nothing to apologize for, she asked tetchily, “Where are we going anyway? To your squat, I suppose?”
    â€œThere is no squat. We’re going to church.”
    She stopped suddenly, so fast that he’d walked a couple of paces before realizing she was no longer with him. He turned and walked back to her and she said with a hint of alarm in her voice, “You’re not a born-again Christian, are you?”
    He didn’t know what a born-again Christian was, but he said, “No, I don’t think so. I was born a Christian, but I …” He tried to think of words that would sum up his fall from grace, but instead, he became puzzled by the tone of her question and asked, “Is a born-again Christian more disturbing to you than what we’ve just seen?”
    Eloise clearly thought it was a rhetorical question because she said, “Point taken,” and started walking again. “It’s not like I’m anti-Christian or anything. I even go at Christmas. It’s just the born-again variety—I find them a bit freaky.”
    He couldn’t help but smile to himself. He still didn’t have the first notion of what a born-again Christian was and didn’t want to ask, but he doubted that it could be any more freakish than him. And in turn, that thought dragged the smile from his face because it reminded him that he had disturbing things to tell her. Nor was he entirely certain of how he could make this end well.
    The floodlit spire was looming ahead of them in the night sky, and as he took a left turn, Eloise realized precisely where they were heading and asked as casually as she could manage, “When you say we’re going to church, do you mean we’re going to the cathedral?”
    â€œYes,” he said. “I still think of it as a church, but you’re right, it’s always been a cathedral.”
    â€œBut it’ll be closed,” she protested, still apparently struggling to see that none of the rules of her world applied any more. She had just seen him fight off a demon, using powers that few humans could call upon, yet she still thought a closed sign would be a barrier to him.
    â€œI have a key.”
    â€œOf course you do,” she replied sarcastically. “Because what, you do a lot of voluntary work in your spare time?”
    He smiled