Chapter Text
Eastern Europe, sometime during the 15th century.
Dressed in the long black robes of a priest, Aziraphale wandered through the deserted village of Windermere. He hadn’t seen a single soul since he’d arrived... each and every window was shuttered and boarded up, makeshift crosses were nailed to the alcove above every doorway, and there were no markets open, or livestock to be seen. It was eerily quiet.
When he finally reached the village’s decrepit old church, Aziraphale dusted himself off and heaved open the thick wooden doors.
“Hello?” the angel called out in a hopeful tone as he wandered inside. “Is anyone here?”
There was no reply.
He made his way into the nave of the church, the heavy door slamming shut loudly behind him. Much like the rest of the village, the church appeared to be abandoned. Rubble was strewn all across the floor, several ornate glass-stained windows were all but destroyed and many wooden pews were cracked and broken. To Aziraphale’s left stood an ornate stone basin, one which would typically be filled with holy water. It was empty.
Dismayed to see a church in such a state of disarray, Aziraphale began to tidy up, subtly using minor miracles to help clean up the mess as he walked up the church’s centre aisle. An very large overturned book lay at his feet and he paused to pick it up, dusting off the book’s golden cover. It was a Gutenberg Bible, he realized immediately, one of the very first to be mass printed. He fawned over the book for a moment before dutifully returning it to its rightful place, at the altar, where a large immaculately carved cross stood proudly on the wall, miraculously still intact.
That's when Aziraphale heard the footsteps, so soft they were almost imperceptible. He turned to find a middle-aged man in a dark cassock hiding in one of the wings. The man had deep bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He squinted at Aziraphale as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“Who are you?” he demanded, eyeing Aziraphale with suspicion.
Aziraphale straightened, recalling quickly the role he was supposed to play as this assignment. He was a horrible actor, but pretending to be a priest seemed easy enough to pull off. “I am Father Aziraphale, from the nearby village of Bromwell. It is my understanding that there are some… peculiar events happening here in Windermere. Perhaps I could lend some assistance?”
The other man seemed to relax slightly. "I am Father Dayton. Welcome to Windermere. Or, what’s left of it. I fear your arrival has come too late."
Aziraphale glanced about the room. “Perhaps you could start by explaining the poor state of this establishment?”
The man sighed. "As you can see, we’ve been raided. Thieves, vandals… people looking cash in on the misfortune which has befallen our village.”
"And Windermere Castle has offered you no protection?" Aziraphale asked, shocked.
The priest chuckled darkly.
Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. "What?"
“You would not believe me if I told you.”
“I assure you Father, I have certainly seen my share of inexplicable things over the years."
Father Dayton considered this for a moment. He plucked a torch from a nearby wall and walked towards the back of the altar, beckoning for Aziraphale to follow. “We should not speak of this out in the open," he whispered. "Come with me."
Aziraphale hesitated but did as he was asked, following Father Dayton through a small door and onto a winding staircase which disappeared into the darkness.
As they descended, the air became stale and the walls damp. It smelled of rot and mud and Aziraphale found himself becoming increasingly unsettled. Although they were inside a church, this didn’t feel like a place even an angel wanted to be.
Eventually, the stairwell opened into a dark passageway where an ominous iron door loomed. Father Dayton slipped a keychain from his robes and selected the oldest looking iron key from the bunch. He unlocked the door, and slipped inside. Aziraphale followed. The room was pitch black, save for the torch in Father Dayton’s hands, which he used to light an ancient sconce on the gritty stone wall.
“Good lord,” Aziraphale exclaimed, as light finally spilled across the expanse.
The walls were lined with weaponry of every conceivable kind: swords, daggers, lances, spears, axes, a mace and even a few ominous-looking crossbows. It was as if an entire armory was hidden inside the church basement. Father Dayton swept a finger through the dust which coated the shaft of a jewel adorned sword.
“These weapons came from the stores of Windermere Castle. They were stockpiled here years ago, in case we ever needed our own protection against…well it does not matter now. Most of these weapons would be useless against him."
Aziraphale squinted. "Who?"
Father Dayton began to tremble. “I dare not speak his name.”
The angel laid a hand on the terrified man’s shoulder to try to comfort him. “It’s quite alright, Father, I assure you. We are in a house of God. Hell has no power here.”
The priest nodded, although did not seem fully convinced. He swallowed and made the sign of the cross over his chest.
“Lord Crowley.”
“A vampire is terrorizing a village called Windermere,” the archangel Gabriel stated in a bored tone. He looked as though he would rather be doing nearly anything else than having this conversation.
Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Now, I realize these sort of supernatural occurrences are technically not within our department’s mandate,” Gabriel continued, sounding thoroughly disinterested, “but I have it on… ahem… good authority that the matter somehow involves the demon Crowley.”
Aziraphale had been called up to head office for a one-on-one chat with Gabriel, which was a rare occurrence indeed, but to hear Crowley’s name mentioned was even more worrisome. There was the Arrangement to worry about, after all. He tried to suppress the apprehensiveness he was certain was written all over his face. “Crowley is involved? I mean… of course he is. Evil fiend.”
Gabriel didn’t seem to notice Aziraphale’s flustered response. “People have been disappearing from the village for a while now, and I think it would be best if we got to the bottom of it before, well… I’m sure you know how rumors can get out of hand?”
Aziraphale swallowed. “Rumors?”
Gabriel smirked. “Well obviously they are just rumors, Aziraphale. There is no such thing as vampires. And if there is, well, you can be sure of who is behind it.” He pointed downwards.
“I see.” Aziraphale replied. He pursed his lips. “And if it is indeed a vampire?”
Gabriel made a motion with his hand as though he were stabbing an invisible enemy. “Wooden stake through the heart. Come on, I thought that was common knowledge?”
Aziraphale couldn’t tell if Gabriel was being serious or if he was joking. He decided it was probably the former. “Right, well, I’ll uh, leave immediately then,” he said, feigning enthusiasm.
“Good man,” Gabriel grinned, clapping Aziraphale hard on the back. “And who knows… maybe it's just a run-of-the-mill psychopath, and there's nothing to worry about.”
Aziraphale, who had been leaning against a wall, flinched at hearing Crowley’s name and caused several swords to tumble down and clatter to the floor. “I’m terribly sorry,” he mumbled to Father Dayton, bending to gingerly collect the fallen weaponry. “Lord Crowley?”
“A man of noble rank who mysteriously arrived at Windermere Castle several years ago. Since the day he arrived, things have consistently worsened for everyone who lives here.”
“I see,” said Aziraphale, entirely unsurprised by any of this. He wondered why Gabriel hadn't sent him to Windermere sooner.
“The village began to slide into disarray,” continued Father Dayton. "Taxes increased ten-fold and almost all funds to the church were discontinued. This went on for years, but things really took a turn for the worse a few weeks ago. People began to disappear, one by one. Rumors began to spread that Lord Crowley was holding them prisoner, as anyone who visited the castle seemed to vanish as well. Eventually, even the members of my clergy began to vanish, one by one, never to be seen again." The priest frowned. "I had long had my suspicions about Lord Crowley… that he was involved in some sort of witchcraft, so, I finally decided to visit the castle myself and confront him.”
Aziraphale's eyes widened. "And what happened?"
Father Dayton’s face grew pale and his hands began to tremble. “Upon my arrival to the castle, I was admitted through the front entrance immediately. It was almost as though he were expecting me. I could sense something was amiss right away. Not only was it dark and bitterly cold within those walls, but I could not shake the feeling that someone was watching me."
"I pulled my rosary from beneath my cassock, putting my faith in the Lord to keep me safe. I should have turned back then, but I was determined to end this madness plaguing Windermere once and for all."
Aziraphale leaned closer. He did enjoy a good story every once and awhile, and he found himself eager to hear this one.
Fear crept behind the priest's eyes as he spoke. "The doors to the grand banquet hall were open just a crack, and I could see the light of a fire flickering from within. I made my way into the room and....”
Father Dayton paused.
“Please go on,” Aziraphale whispered, now hanging off the man’s every word.
The priest shot him a pointed look. “I saw Lord Crowley. He was seated alone at the far end of a long table, a goblet of wine in his hand, and there was something about his eyes... I can't quite remember now, but I swear they were burning right into my soul. I knew then what I was dealing with was the Devil’s work!”
Aziraphale tried not to roll his eyes. This was indeed the Devil’s work, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Father Dayton.
“He beckoned me to come closer," Father Dayton continued at a whisper. "I could feel myself falling under some kind of spell. I had the most powerful urge to walk forward, towards him, but I knew if I did, I would never leave the castle alive."
The priest took a shuddering breath. "So, I removed the vial of holy water I kept in my pocket and opened the cork."
Aziraphale bristled. "You had holy water?"
"Yes, but I did not get the chance to use it. Instead, I held out my rosary and backed slowly out of the room. As soon as I was free, I ran.” He seemed to be staring off into the distance, at some invisible horror. “I know what I saw, Father Aziraphale. It was, was without any doubt, a vampire.”
Aziraphale straightened. Not only was Crowley responsible for these rumors about vampires but it seemed he had nearly got himself killed. A stern talking-to was definitely in order, and the demon was lucky Gabriel was sending him to deal with it and not someone else.
“Thank you for relaying this story to me, Father,” the angel said softly. “Not to worry. I will go and have a word with this… Lord Crowley . ”
Father Dayton grabbed Aziraphale by the arm. “You mustn't!” he stammered. “It is far too dangerous!”
Aziraphale smiled kindly. “I appreciate your concern, Father, but I assure you, there is no need to worry. I’ve dealt with matters like these before.”
The priest’s lips parted in surprise. “You are experienced in hunting vampires?”
“Oh, well, no, but I may know a thing or two about demons.”
The priest shook his head. “You cannot go unprepared, it would be madness.” He shoved a tiny vial of holy water into Aziraphale’s unwitting hands.
Aziraphale cringed. Even though Crowley was a demon, and they were technically hereditary enemies, Aziraphale had no intention of harming him. Not only did they have the Arrangement together, but Aziraphale liked Crowley, although would never admit it out loud. He rather enjoyed Crowley’s playful remarks and his clever scheming and the way he seemed to care about the humans, far more than any demon had business doing so. And the way Crowley would look at him with those beautiful golden eyes, as though he considered Aziraphale to be the most enchanting thing he'd ever laid eyes upon...
Aziraphale pressed the vial back into Father Dayton’s hand. “You should keep this. I've got my own,” he lied.
Father Dayton nodded. "There is one other thing here that might help you." He picked up a crossbow from the corner of the room and handed it to Aziraphale. "It is loaded with wooden arrows. If you pierce a vampire's heart with wood, it will die."
“So I've heard,” Aziraphale replied, accepting the crossbow gingerly. It was heavy and awkward, and he nearly dropped it.
Aziraphale smiled reassuringly at Father Dayton, hoping to convince the poor man that he wasn’t afraid. Which he wasn’t. Or at least, he shouldn’t have been. He was an angel, after all, and there was no such thing as vampires. Only demons, ones who had clearly taken their job description a little too seriously.
Father Dayton did not smile back.
As he left the church and headed out into the evening air, Aziraphale heard the priest whispering a small prayer behind him. He could only make out the last bit, but he heard that part quite clearly:
“May God have mercy on your soul.”