Title:  Angelus at Noon

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating: PG 

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Setting:  A few weeks after Dru turned William and before Darla rejoined the fanged family.

Notes:   This fic grew out of a random comment I made on my Live Journal and the reactions to it.  There's a link to the post at the end of the story.

 

Angelus woke to the sound of church bells.

He hated their thrice-daily chant. He needed to escape this little country town tonight, and find someplace to stay where the bells didn't hammer against his brain, taunting him with his need to hide like a frightened animal for half the hours of the day. Someplace where he could find well-furnished rooms to pass the sunlit hours, where elegant draperies and carefully placed windows could hide his vulnerability. Someplace with a younger, tastier population to feed his nightly appetites. Someplace where the residents were too civilized to see him for the primal monster he was. Until it was too late to save themselves, of course.

But first, he and his companions would reduce the population of this place a bit more, and hasten the death of this slowly decaying little backwater as they built up their own strength.

"Ding, dong, bell," sang Drusilla beside him. She lay on the rough bed Angelus and William had made for her in the empty stable by piling up some reasonably dry straw and tossing a blanket on top if it.

William raised himself on one elbow and smiled down at her. "It's just the church bells letting us know it's noon and we have hours more to dally away before we can hunt." His hands started to play with her already disarranged clothing.

"She's heard the midday bells rung thousands of times," said Angelus, standing up and going to the door. He flinched away from the tiny daggers of sunlight that stabbed through some gaps near the frame. "When she gets like this, it means something. Something's on its way." He managed to find an angle that let him view a tiny slice of the quiet street outside the stable.

"He hopes it's his darling one calling for him," giggled Drusilla in William's ear. "He misses Grandmama. She was the first to call his name, you know."

William stretched, but did not rise. "Who, this Darla I keep hearing about? I hope she's got more sense than to wander about at noon."

"It's our Angelus' name the bells call," murmured Dru, crawling along the pile of straw and watching her sire intently. "They call it every day. Calling for the messenger. But today is different."

"Never send to know for whom the bell tolls;" snickered William, "it tolls for thee."

Angelus glared over his shoulder at the fledgling. The boy was adapting better than he'd expected, but he still had precious little sense of self-preservation. You'd think even a few weeks would have been enough for him to learn it wasn't safe to ignore Dru's babblings.

"Calling for him, coming for him, calling for him, coming for him," chanted Dru. "Morning, noon, twilight, morning, noon, twilight. It's been calling so very long. Which time will it choose at last?"

Angel abandoned the door suddenly. "Out! Make a break for it through the back alley."

Outside the sound of male voices in the street meshed with the tolling of the bells.

And the Word was made Flesh.
And dwelt among us.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee . . .
 

"It's the noon prayer." William objected as he was dragged to his feet by a hard hand on one bicep. "Dru's just remembered what it's called, that's all."

"Dru doesn't 'just remember' anything," snarled Angelus, snatching the babbling girl up from her straw bed and heading for the back of the stable. "If she says they're coming for me they are, and you, my boy, had better be out of the way when they get here."

A moment later, the door crashed open, and a flood of deadly light illuminated the spot where Dru and William had been lying. The pitchfork-wielding crowd on the threshold paused for a few seconds, waiting for their eyes to become accustomed to the darkness and to finish the words of the prayer they always recited this time of day. The church bells sounded louder for a moment and then faded to silence.
 

Pray for us, O holy Mother of God.
That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.
 

Then the villagers broke ranks, searching for their demonic prey, emboldened by the knowledge that they were protected by the words, recited thrice-daily, of the "Angelus."

 

I've always been bothered by the fact that Angelus' name calls to mind for me a prayer said during the daylight hours. I mentioned it in this post, and got some excellent comments discussing various meanings and sources for the name.

Here is the text of the prayer, which is recited when the church bells ring morning, noon and evening:

 

A print of this picture by Millet hung in one of my Catholic school classrooms, and I always associate it with the prayer:

The End

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