Deliver Me From Evil

By day, the Saint-Chapelle is one of the true wonders of Paris. It’s panoramic stained-glass windows fill the chapel with a spectacular kaleidoscope of colour and light. By night, the wonder of the Sainte-Chapelle is subdued. Though dramatic when seen by candlelight, without sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, they upper chapel does not take the breath away. On one particular night, however, the staff sweeping the floor of the upper chapel found themselves with their breath suddenly and unexpectedly taken away in shock.

They gasped at precisely the same moment as the shirtless, lilly-white body of a man, wearing only a pair of leather pants, heeled boots and sunglasses of all things, appeared in mid air and fell to the chapel floor.

That might have been the most shocking thing that had ever occurred within the chapel if the falling man had not, at the moment he hit the wooden floor, also shouted out, in pain, at the top of his voice: “Fucking hell!”

Rolling onto his side, Crowley curled into a tight little ball and hissed breath through clenched teeth. Travelling through the Umbra was never a precise art, but he could usually at least land a little closer to solid ground - and on his feet, rather than on his arse. His sunglasses slid down the length of his nose, hanging awkwardly off one ear. Blinking, his bead-black eyes met the uncomprehending gaze of the chapel janitor.

"Well, this is.. awkward."

The Saint-Chapelle would not have been Arabella's first choice for a meeting place. To be sure, it was lovely. A suitable house for a divine host, and that was just the problem. She lived outside that grace now, and there was no going back. The least she could do was keep her sinful soul where it belonged, doing something deliciously decadent in her studio.

The information she had come for might have been useful, had the informant actually appeared for their meeting. She had waited, feeling exposed before the eyes of her maker and not appreciating it, for almost an hour. Having just decided it was time to go, Arabella noted that the only sounds to be heard in the holy space were the soft scratch of broom upon wood, and the rhythmic tapping of her heels.

Right until the half naked man dropped loudly to the tiles, right in front of her Christian Louboutin shoes. If she had taken two more steps, he might've landed on her. Arabella glanced upward to the cleaning staff, wondering just what they were going to make of the... miracle.

"Very, awkward. Yes.", she agreed. The event had not sent her screaming, in fact Arabella had seen much worse.

Snapping out of their dumb-struck stillness, the janitor began to edge towards the stairs that lead back down to the lower chapel.

“I’ve made worse first impressions, I’m sure.”

Getting to his feet, Crowley took a moment to take stock of himself. Apart from the bump to the tailbone, he had no obvious wounds. He rolled his shoulders, getting reacquainted with the feeling of inhabiting his human form.

“Arabella, I presume? You’ll have to pardon my…” he glanced down then back up to meet Arabella’s gaze. “Nipples. I appear to have lost my jacket in the Spirit Wilds.”

"Quite correct. That is me." Arabella confirmed.

As for his nipples, she just gave a throaty laugh. "Never fear, cher. It's been some time since I have been the blushing sort." In fact she went a step further and brushed a bit of grit from the floor tiles from his arm.

"Are you set on this location, or can we flee?"

She was not sure she wanted to be interviewed as a witness to the miracle in the Saint-Chapelle.

“Let's flee, to somewhere more... welcoming!"

Without a hint of hesitation, Crowley thrust his arm around Arabella’s, linking together as if they were two old friends about to take a stroll along the Seine.

“You know, I had a letter of recommendation from London that I ought to have given to you, but… I think that might have been in my jacket pocket.”

Overjoyed that Crowley agreed that it was in their best interests to leave, Bella did not protest as he took her arm and, likewise took off.

The mention of the lost letter of recommendation, and the imagery of it most probably floating about somewhere in a mysterious ether, gave the ghoul an unexpected laugh that echoed through the chapel as they made for the exit. She was sure she had not laughed like that in a while.

"I do have a car..", she offered, still chuckling. "And, as it happens, there is nowhere more welcoming than my place. I can probably even find you something to wear."

Arabella lead the way, out of through the courtyard at the front of the Palais du Justice. The sun had yet to vanish fully beneath the horizon and in the warm evening air, there were still plenty of tourists wandering along the length of the Boulevard du Palais, admiring the gilded gates to the Palais. Still arm-in-arm with Arabella, Crowley glanced back at the impressive building, only to meet the eyes of a pair of tourists who were staring agape at his impressive, albeit bare, torso. One of them had a smartphone camera pointed in his direction, so Crowley flashed a bright smile and the middle finger.

Ahead, a ramp lead down from street level of Rue du Lutèce to a parking garage, where Crowley soon found his way into the passenger seat of Arabella’s car.

“Where to?”

"My club, you'll love it. Generally everyone does." Arabella could say this without boasting. It was the goal of the club, to provide a place for those of them who lived outside what was considered normal. It catered to many unique tastes, and on nights like this provided neutral ground for business.

The sporty conveyance of Arabella's time had been a phaeton. Named well for the reckless son of the Sun god, they had been equally as reckless for many people. While designed for speed, they were altogether easy to overturn. Like her, many had been addicted to the danger of flying down the road in the open air, the risk was the point! She had owned three.

Arabella had missed driving while she'd been in Chicago, but now that she was home and feeling much better..

Her Jaguar F-Type SVR Coupe greeted her with a growl, and a sudden burst of pianoforte music from the speakers, a Pleyel sonata. "Oh! Sorry! You can turn that off if you like!", Bella apologized, obviously less worried about the music than the traffic. At least no one seemed to be following them.

The interior of the F-Type was rather comfortable. Crowley could hardly remember the last time he had sat inside something so obviously expensive. He forced both hands into his lap, fingertips itching to open the glovebox and rifle through whatever was inside. Sometimes, with his compulsion to find and keep shiny or interesting things, he felt he had more in common with magpies than the ravens that his changing breed could shift into. In an effort to keep his hands busy, he fluttered and drummed his fingers on his knees in time to the sonata.

“What kind of club are we going to?” he asked, wriggling a little in his seat. “I’ve been to Kindred clubs before, Arabella, and I’ve got to be honest… they were ghastly. Even for a goth like me. Too many people who thought they were Lestat when they were really more like LeFou.”

She did not yet know Crowley well, however his attempts to not fidget only drew her attention to his desire to fidget. Arabella had been around someone else like that relatively recently in Chicago, a friend she had made called Paddy. Maybe she'd have to start leaving shiny things around for this guy too..

As for the club, Arabella only chuckled, maintaining the expression on her pale face that as always, implied she knew better. The club spoke for itself, and she had spent a lifetime making sure of that. Sure, there was a bar and yes..kindred were rather fond of sitting at or around it with their chalices of wine. Especially the Toreador clan, locally ruled over by Gabrielle de Montespan. Arabella provided better than old blood to her clientele though, she had a small staff of ghouls eager to please their hosts. There was access to the catacombs and mines that led to vaulted chambers, large enough that they'd once held a tradition of having movie nights, and more.

It did not take long for the short trip. As it was still early, no line of hopefuls attempting to gain entry was milling about on the sidewalk. Rolling past the main entry, she pulled into yet another parking garage, although this one was attached to her building and privately secured. The sound of music from inside was already pulsing through the wall into the garage as they got out.

"Would you like to find something to wear first, cher?"

“Yes, I suppose so. This would probably all be too… tempting for everyone inside, wouldn’t it,” Crowley replied, as dry as dust.

He followed Arabella as she lead on from the garage and to a door which pulsing music flowed from behind.

"Oh, decidedly so.", she agreed, with a flash of teeth.

Laughing, Arabella indicated what was on each floor hovering above the buttons. "Down, obviously is the catacombs. First floor is the club and bar, have fun with that.. Second floor has got a library and several media rooms, which seem to be the popular location currently. Three, four and five are mine, studios and living space."

The button for the top floor was pressed, and her accompanying key turned. The pulse of the music drifted away while they rode up and entered. Arabella had admittedly not spent much time here since her return. Most everything remained packed, or covered in sheets.

"Here we go, I'm sure we'll find..something."

Confronted with a room full of intriguingly packed away boxes and cupboards, Crowley had to pause to take a calming breath. It was very possible that there was only clothes stored within, but the slim chance that there was something else more intriguing was enough to set off the Corax’s impulse to rifle through just about everything. It wasn’t that he wanted or expected to find anything in particular; he just could not stop himself from wanting to look, anymore than he imagined Arabella could deny her desire for a particular Cainite’s blood. Mindful that he was meeting Arabella Balfour for the first time, Crowley constrained himself to looking inside an impressive looking old wardrobe. Lifting out a hangar from within, he held up an embroidered coat that looked as if it belonged in a museum.

“Does this go with the leather trousers?” he pondered aloud, head tipped to one side.

Still holding the coat up, he turned to Arabella. “Should we talk about why I’m here?”

Arabella glanced at Crowley's first choice, dark eyes widening slightly. What on earth that was doing just laying about was beyond Arabella's good sense to comprehend just then. Probably something to do with Rose, she would hazard a guess, and organization. "That, like me is old and delicate..", she managed to keep the panic from her voice.

As for the purpose of his visitation. "When you are ready, unless... it is time sensitive?", she asked, suddenly serious. She was all for indulging her array of fanciful acquaintances, but if it were truly important..

“Not this, then,” Crowley announced, tucking the coat back into the closet. He flipped through the other coat hangers, until he found a fairly inexpensive looking blouse. It was cut for a woman, but he was narrow-boned enough that it wouldn’t matter. In fact, in a club full of vampires, he’d probably fit right in.

“It’s not time sensitive, no,” he said, slipping into the shirt sleeves. “Well, it might be. Who can say when the next near-apocalyptic crisis will strike, eh?”

The rest of her normal attire was up for grabs, Bella could not care less what Crowley took from her current wardrobe, just not that. She supposed it was all her fault, telling Rose she was off to America to expire like a bad banana. Although, the other ghoul should have known she would not be able to see it through.

Arabella arched a brow. "I think it's been a few decades since we've been treated to a good old-fashioned apocalypse. Wait, let me sit down for this.."

Sliding into an armchair, the ghoul tucked her feet beneath her and got comfortable. "Alright, hit me.. What's coming this time?"

“What’s already come is more like it,” Crowley said, as long, slim fingers made quick work of the blouses buttons.

“A short while ago, Roland Salisbury...” he lifted his dark eyes, still shaded by sunglasses, to meet Arabella’s gaze. He was certain that she knew the identity of the Prince of London, so did not insult her intelligence by mentioning the man’s title. “Intercepted a shipment intended for a group of individuals who apparently consider themselves vampire hunters. It was a container, that arrived from here on the continent, and contained a number of thin-bloods and ghouls.”

The ghoul took it all in, watching Crowley with a mixture of skepticism and interest, but not alarm. Not just yet. Whatever her thoughts were on what he had said, she was quite adept at keeping them to herself when she wanted to. For now, her impudent smile remained in place.

"Right, well.. that sounds ghastly, but if there is anything beyond the typical flavor of ominous in that, it's been lost on me."

“I suppose that depends on just how ominous life is for you ordinarily, my dear. I watched a Leviathan rise out of the Serpentine, saw a demon-belching hell-portal open in the middle of Stonehenge, and witnessed the former Prince of London diablerise an ancient Mayan god of death, so,” he said, dragging the o’s out, “I can certainly see how this all might seem rather prosaic in comparison.”

Crowley perched on a chair of his own. “London’s initial investigations have identified that there are Kindred involved in the trafficking of these ghouls. European Kindred, specifically. What’s more, the very reason for this trafficking appears to be as a result of an unprecedented influx of hunters arriving, in suspiciously orderly fashion, into the British Isles from… somewhere. It’s not fire and brimstone, of course, but - a little concerning, perhaps?”

Arabella listened to all of it with interest, but also with an air of coolness about her. A brief flicker of expression at the mention of the former Prince of London was the only betrayal of emotion shown, despite the magnitude of it all.

"Perhaps.." Her linked fingers curled around the bend of one knee. "What a charmed life we have..", she muttered.

"Alright then, notably suspicious gaggles of hunters, and ghouls being trafficked by European Kindred. Let's presume I'm terribly concerned and would like to monitor the situation at the very least.. make my own inquiries, be the busy little honey bee that I am.."