Abaddon

Abaddon Part 8

 "Well say something, won't you? Banter isn't very fun when it's one sided."

Though Agatha still couldn't see him, she could hear a wry smile in Abaddon's voice. A part of her wanted to respond, but she remembered her training. She strained her ears, searching for him.

First, she heard heavy breathing coming from her watcher's mouth. She pushed through this and was next focused on the sound of her own heartbeat. This, too, she blocked from her consciousness. At last the room felt totally silent. Agatha imagined that she could almost hear the thud of specks of dust landing on stone. And yet, Abaddon was still illusive.

"Abaddon, I presume? I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Charles spoke calmly. Any mortal would've thought him perfectly calm and confident. He probably even thought that of himself. Agatha, however, could hear every quiver in his breath and fumble of his tongue.

Abaddon's sardonic laugh bounced wildly around the dark walls as Agatha still struggled to locate him.

"And you are a watcher, yes?" He giggled. "I've heard of you. Men like you, that is, don't flatter yourself. A bunch of stuffy, old mortals playing at monster hunters. How quickly do you think I could drain the blood from your veins if your little lap dog wasn't here to save you?"

Charles swallowed loudly.

"Agatha, can't you hear the blood pumping from his breast? Can't you smell his fear? You walk in my world more than his, darling. You'd do well to remember that."

There was a hint of anger in Abaddon's voice. It caused him to speak slightly louder, to come out from the echos he'd been using to hide his location. Agatha could hear his voice beginning to localize. He was somewhere behind her. She wasn't sure where.

"Your world?" She asked, sarcastically.

"Our world, if you like, dear." He was quiet, totally hidden.

"My world, I'd rather say. You build some pathetic little pack of rabid monsters and think that the darkness belongs to you now? You think yourself some dark prince?"

"You have yet to see my army in its full force." The anger returned. He was somewhere behind her left shoulder. The grit in his voice was becoming harsher and easier to locate as she made him angrier.

"Army!" She howled with laughter. "You're a child playing general, and that's all."

"Watch your tongue before I rip it from your mouth, whore. Speak to me like that again and die."

"I will die, Abaddon, and likely soon, but it won't be at your hand. And when I'm dead, killing you will not even be a footnote in my story."

"Bloody bitch!" He shouted. Agatha heard his voice approaching rapidly from just over her shoulders and a swift breeze told her that the vampire was leaping toward her. She fell quickly to her knees and sent Abaddon's body skittering across the stone floor.

He jumped quickly to his feet and dove, head first, out of the nearest window.

Agatha followed after him, matching his path exactly and slicing her arm painfully on a lingering piece of glass in the window. When she landed on the wet grass and rose to her feet, she was alone in the night. She listened intently but heard nothing, save for Charles' heaving, clopping steps rounding the building and coming to her side.

"Agatha!" Charles shouted, breathlessly. At this, Agatha gave up on finding her foe and allowed the pain of the gash on her arm to bleed into her consciousness. "Is he gone?"

"Yes. I believe so."

"Damn!" He shouted, before noticing her arm. "Oh, Agatha. Come here, this cut. It should be treated." Charles' tone shifted noticeably when he saw that his slayer was hurt. His cool, tough hands took her wrist and elbow and held her bleeding forearm into what little light could be seen from the night's moon. The cut was rather deep, bleeding heavily and caked over in a mixture of fresh blood and wet dirt. Charles took a ceramic flask from his inner pocket and poured a clear liquid over her arm. The cut stung angrily, even expelling a few small diamonds of shattered glass which ran off onto the ground with her now thinned blood.

He took a small roll of bandages from the same pocket and began to wrap her arm. Agatha smiled as the short, plump man worked busily at her arm. His grip was firm and kind on her wrist. He held her as if he was stronger than her. As if she needed him. It was comforting to be treated this way.

"There." He said, wiping sweat from his brow and tucking the end of the bandage into the wrap. "That should hold until I can get you home and do a better job cleaning it up."

"It will probably be healed by then, Charles. But thank you."

"Oh, yes. I never could get used to the speed with which you slayers heal. Well, that should protect it from infection anyway."

"Thank you Charles." She said, gingerly taking her arm back from his grip.

The pair began the long walk back to Charles' home.

"Well. A fruitless night, unfortunately." Said Agatha.

"Not entirely."

"I suppose you got a chance to meet our new friend."

"Ah, yes. I'd have hated to miss that chance to meet him before you kill him."

Agatha chuckled.

"You've also added quite the feather to your cap tonight."

Agatha looked at Charles, puzzled.

"Agatha." He said grandly. "The slayer who beheaded a vampire with her bare hands. How does the title sound?" He was smiling in the moonlight.

"I like it. Quite memorable."