Timeaus and Chevalier

            Achan met Timeaus at the door of the office, and before the latter had even opened his mouth to say hello, his second in command snarled, “Our French visitor is upstairs.”

            Timeaus cocked his eyebrow to the side, “How long has he been here?”

            “His flight got in two days ago. He’s been recovering, albeit slowly.” Achan’s frown spoke volumes, and it was so intense that Timeaus almost laughed.

            “Alright. I’ll go see him.” Timeaus scratched the back of his neck, and tried to force himself to be less exhausted than he was. He had subsisted almost entirely off of synthetic blood substitute since his indiscretion on the roof and it left his body feeling lean and starved, without any of the dark strength and vigor of a proper feeding.

He had decided long ago that the wanton murder of humanity was too high profile: there were only so many people that could be slaughtered within a certain geographical radius before they began to notice a pattern. As soon as a pattern was picked up, Timeaus’ comfortable and powerful way of life would evaporate into nothingness, as he and his clan would be forced into hiding, reduced to little more than beasts.

It was without any love of mankind that Timeaus had sworn off of them. He had turned first to raiding blood banks, starting at their inception and continuing until he had helped the industry create synthetic blood. The idea of it was perfect, and yet Timeaus’ black outs had been getting worse. There was something in the chemistry of the blood substitute that was making his skin crawl, making his higher functions switch off in favor of the rabid savage inside. He would wake up roughly twice a month coated in the cruor of drug addicts and drunks, reveling in the contact high he got from the chemicals that were burning up their veins.

When he reached the conference room, the stench of newly spilled blood crackled in his nose and he turned to give Achan an icy stare.

His second in command, who had been following him as a clipped pace, folded both arms and frowned even more, “He insisted that it would speed his recovery, and I was sick of his whining.”

Timeaus pushed open the door without another word and found his guest sitting daintily at a table sipping blood demurely from a wine glass. A man who Timeaus identified as one Mr. Timmonds, one of his company’s lawyers, lay crumpled on the floor moaning slightly, his skin as pale as a corpse’s.

Chevalier looked up at him and licked the corners of his mouth clean wordlessly, his eyes gleaming with a smirk that was somehow larger than just his face. His lifted his cup as if in a toast and took another sip.

The leader of the White Collar vampires addressed his second in command without turning his head, “Achan, please get some assistance for Mr. Timmonds.” Achan hurried to do so, and as he dragged the barely living body from the room, Timeaus took a seat at the table beside Chevalier.

“That wasn’t in good form.”

Chevalier set down the glass, “Neither was treated an esteemed guest like hired help. Let’s get to the point, shall we? You have wasted enough time already.”

Timeaus stiffened, but he folded his arms across his chest demurely, the picture of calm assertion, “Alright then. What is it that your mistress thinks that you can achieve here that the rest of us can’t?”

“Much, in fact.” Chevalier smiled, and his teeth glistened red in the half-light, “I am here to solve the problem of the Choir of Zuriel directly. So far, this rogue group has been a worry not just to you but to interested parties in the old world.”

“I am aware.”

“The Countess and other…powers believe that if they are left to their own devices, the Choir will make our existence known to humanity. That is bad for all of us, not to mention that this upstart cult claims to want to purge the world of all non-believers which, unfortunately, includes all of us who resist them.”

Timeaus snorted, “This problem is being dealt with here. I really don’t see what the old world clans have invested in this, besides the fear of exposure.”

“Well, true or not, the leader of this rabble claims that he can freely cross water,” Despite his nonchalance, Chevalier’s eyes held a glint of genuine fear, “He can, and so can all those who pledge themselves to him. If what he says is true, once Zuriel is done here he can easily cross to our territories and wreck havoc.”

Timeaus let the implications of this wash over him and he tried to hide his apprehension, “Alright. And what is it that you plan to do here specifically?”

“Simple. I am going to assassinate Zuriel.” Timeaus openly laughed and Chevalier stiffened, “What is funny?”

“You, a bureaucrat, are going to take out Zuriel?”

He froze as Chevalier moved faster than his eyes could track. He found himself pinned against the back of the conference chair by his throat with a long piece of the wine glass that he hadn’t even seen shatter inches away from his left eye. Chevalier perched on top of him with his face so close to Timeaus’ own that he White Collar vampire could see the individual flecks of tarnished charcoal that dotted the otherwise gleaming silver irises of the French revenant’s eyes.

“Oui.” Chevalier hissed, “Je touché.”

Timeaus croaked, “Alright. Point taken.” Chevalier oozed backwards as fluidly as a cat and Timeaus adjusted his suit, “Well then, let’s figure out how to get you close enough to kill this bastard.”