Gold, Silver and the Bronze

Part Three: The Bronze.

Julia sat at a small table in a dark corner on the upper level of the Bronze, taking an occasional mouthful of the red wine she had been nursing for the past half-hour. She looked around again at the young man leaning over the mezzanine rail, staring down into the crowd of kids below. Buffy had said the man she encountered the previous night was tall, dark and good-looking. Unfortunately, that description would apply to dozens of young college guys hanging out at the Bronze on any given night. But this fellow was acting strangely. He had been stalking about the place for over an hour, looking for someone but trying not to look too obvious about it. Dressed all in black, he certainly fit the description – about six feet one, broad-shouldered, handsome in a brooding sort of way with dark brown hair and pale, almost luminous skin.

He had been up on the mezzanine for over half an hour now, going downstairs to the bar just once where he ordered a whisky on the rocks. He had posted himself along the rail, gazing down into the crowd of students and their friends sitting at tables or dancing below. He had spoken to no-one other than to ask for his drink, obviously not here to dance, or to drink for that matter. He balanced the whisky glass in long well-shaped hands, constantly swirling the watery contents, the ice having long-since melted without him taking so much as a sip.

He looked the most likely candidate. *Here goes nothing*, Julia thought to herself. Standing up, she smoothed her black dress with one hand, picked up her red wine with the other and moved closer to the quiet young man. Walking up to the guard rail she leaned over it, standing almost shoulder to shoulder with him. Leaning both elbows on the topmost rail and holding her wine glass over the void in both hands, Julia mirrored the young man’s relaxed stance.

She looked to her right, casually appraising his classical profile, and spoke. ‘Something wrong with your drink?’ He looked at her with dark, almost black eyes but didn’t comment. ‘You’ve been nursing that whisky for twenty minutes and haven’t touched a drop.’ Julia noticed he wore a whgoldgold claddagh ring shaped like a pair of hands holding a heart with a crown above it.

This time he answered, his voice deep and slow. ‘It’s not really my usual “tipple”.’

‘Perhaps you’d prefer something in a full-bodied red?’ Julia raised her own glass to him, smiling slightly.

‘Maybe, but not right now.’ He moved away, looking back down into the crowd beneath.

Julia turned around so her back was to the rail. ‘She’s not coming, you know.’

The young man looked surprised. ‘Who?’ he asked.

‘Buffy.’

‘I don’t know any “Buffy”,’ he replied, turning away again.

‘Let me refresh your memory. Petit blue-eyed blonde, athletic - smart mouthed? You followed her from her house last night and gave her a little silver cross.’

‘Oh yeah,’ he grinned, turning to face Julia again. ‘Now it’s coming back. So her name’s Buffy? How . . . quaint.’

‘Why were you following her?’

‘Who are you, anyway? A friend of hers?’

‘I work at Buffy’s school.’

‘Oh, a teacher.’ Julia didn’t bother to correct him. If he recognised her from the incident at the playground, he wasn’t acknowledging it. ‘What’s it to you anyway?’

‘Well, I tend to get a little concerned when a sixteen year old girl is approached in the street by an older man and given a gift of jewellery.’

‘Older man, huh?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Well, I guess I am that! There was no harm done and, besides, it’s not really any of your business, is it?’ With this he stepped away from the rail, downed the whisky in a single swallow, turning the glass top-down on the nearest table and strode off into the crowd.

Julia watched his back as he moved through the nearest group of patrons then said, softly but clearly, ‘Anything that affects the Slayer is my business.’

Angel stopped, allowing the crowd to flow around him. Turning his head, he looked over his shoulder and stared directly into Julia’s dark green eyes. Never taking his eyes from hers and walked back towards her, his face expressionless, unreadable. He grasped the rails either side of Julia as she leaned back, his face just inches from hers. Her heartbeat thudded loudly in her ears. With some effort she controlled her breathing and held his dark gaze.

‘So who are you really? Her Watcher? A member of the Council? What?’ His voice was low and menacing, the arrogant smile completely gone.

Julia managed to keep her own voice steady. ‘That isn’t important,’ she said. ‘You told Buffy you were a friend. Exactly what does that mean?’

He pulled back a little, cderidering his response. ‘You’ve heard the phrase “The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” I guess I’m that kind of friend.’

‘So you’re here to . . . what? Hunt vampires?’ Julia scanned his eyes and face for a hint of reaction.

‘Maybe,’ he said quietly. ‘If the ones I’m looking for are here.’

‘And then what? Once your enemies are gone, will that leave you as friend or foe?’

‘Well,’ he said softly, the slow smile returning, ‘I guess time will tell.’

Just then the band came on stage on the floor below and the crowd burst into cheers. Julia looked down at the stage for a moment then turned back to find the young man had disappeared.

*Where the hell did he go so fast*? she thought, setting her glass down on the table beside her. *Damn! I didn’t even ask him what his name was*!

* * * * *

Diary entry, undated:

‘Well, that was an interesting dialogue. Unfortunately, I’m no closer to any answers. Who is this guy? Some kind of solitary vampire hunter? Someone who has lost loved ones and is looking for revenge. Maybe even a vampire himself?’

Julia looked up from her diary and sighed. She sat cross-legged on a folded blanket on the bare living room floor under the glare of a naked light bulb. The remains of a take-away meal was scattered around her; a drinking glass beside her doubled as a vase for a mixed bunch of roses she had gathered from the tangle of old rose bushes in the front yard. A vampire? That last thought had come unbidden – from where? He certainly had the intensity, the sense of power held in check, that seemed to be the hallmark of many vampires she had known. Not that it was conclusive evidence. Julia looked across at the uncurtained French doors leading outside; her own reflection seemed equally mystified. *Well, whoever or whatever he is, he certainly bears watching,* she thought. *Which, considering his good looks, shouldn’t prove too much of a burden.*

* * * * Finis * * * *