Author: Jo

Rating: For anyone

Summary:Do we really understand what the gypsies did to Angelus?

A rosebud fic, written for the Blood Roses Forum’s second birthday. It’s 530 words, instead of the requisite 500, so it’s got an extra petal. I hope it’s none the worse for that.

Slivovitz: Plum brandy from Rumania and Yugoslavia. Lethal.


Feedback: Pretty please. Send it to Jo




It is a party of sorts. At least, all the young girls have put on their finest clothes, and are dancing to the sound of the violins and tambourines in celebration of the visit. Soon, food will be handed round, and the slivovitz is already flowing freely. For now, though, the Elder Woman sits in her caravan, with the leader of the Svear priestesses.


“It is agreed, then?”


The Elder Woman sighs in sorrow, but nods her head. “My vision was clear. The Old One tires of her world of insects. She will look for a way through. The one who opens the gate is the only one who can close it again.”


“You will sacrifice your granddaughter to Angelus?”


“I should ask someone else to sacrifice theirs? We must have reason for what we do, and her death will provide it. There must be Angelus to bring back the sun, and there must be the other, our creation, to ensure the defeat of The Old One. Ensouled Angelus.”


“The punishment will be unjust to the soul – it did nothing to deserve this.”


“Yes, but that is a sacrifice that must be made. It is no more unjust than the death of my granddaughter.”


“And with the soul, he will become what he needs to become?”


“That is what my vision showed me.”


“How will you make sure that Angelus can be returned when he is needed?”


“We will put a clause in the curse, a condition on which the soul might be released, and Angelus freed. I saw what should be done.”


“You will have him always watched?”


“Yes, in case the condition is not fulfilled. If he does not lose the soul when the time is right, then it will all be for nothing, and the Old One will win. I should not like to see humanity gone because of a few scruples.”


“Why him?”


“That I do not know. Perhaps he will have more need of atonement than most.”


It is the turn of the Svear priestess to nod her agreement, her face as stern and harsh as the gypsy’s. Condemning children and souls is not a matter undertaken lightly. The Elder Woman takes her hand.


“I am sorry that this will mean the end of your Order.”


“I shall try to leave something behind, so that the Order can live again. I have, what, a hundred years?”


“Something like that. It’s a long time for him, but if we do not do it now, he will not be ready.”


“When is it to be?”


“The female will look for a present for him tomorrow, and she will find Zelda.”


The two women hug, silent tears falling down their ancient faces. Their decision means death and pain, but the alternative is much worse. Arm in arm, they walk out to the party.


In the town of Borsa, a few miles away, Angelus walks Darla back from another party. Because of them, fewer guests will leave than arrived.


“I’m tired of fops and dandies and strait-laced women. I need something –earthier. Shall we move on, Darla?”


“Soon, dear boy. I’ll find you something more to your taste, tomorrow.”



August 2005


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