The Angel Heart

It started as a saloon, the only saloon in El Sanctuario, California. People gambled, people fought, people loved, and the whole place couldn’t get the scent of spilled alcohol out of it.

In one of the private rooms, a table had been set up, around it sat three young people who had been around for centuries.

The first, for he always tended to arrive first, was in this lifetime named Evan Shepherd. He was darker-skinned, often accused of being a runaway. Usually standing taller, he sat on the floor, still able to look at the others across the table. The others would call him Shepherd.

The second, who at times would arrive with the first, was much his opposite. She was small with light olive skin, and sat on the bed so her whole body was practically over the table. In this life, she went by Maria Vega, though most seeing her hold hands with Shepherd expected the surname to soon change. Evan for his part would often call her Goddess. She dressed as you would expect a woman in charge of such an establishment to.

The third used a myriad of forms and names, only recognizable by the ever pink eyes. This day he appeared to be The Goddess’ taller brother, though a little darker, not quite as dark as Shepherd though. He had stolen the singular chair in the room for himself. According to Maria, her “brother’s” name was Miguel, but for ease, they abided by Shepherd’s endearment of Wolf for him.

“And just how did you two meet?” Maria asked her companions, having met them separately before now. Her accent had adapted to the area and sounded properly American for the moment.

“Once upon a time,” Wolf began in a Scottish brogue, very different than the Spanish intonation of a few moments before, “There was a family in debt, so much so that they sold their child to lords of desperation. Born for freedom, the child ran away, so far away that they met a boy on the other side of their island with enough power to keep them safe.”

“He was bothering the sheep, so my mother and I took him in,” Shepherd simplified with a passing English accent, though most Englishmen would scoff at calling it that, “Practically feral, he was.”

“I stole his first kiss and ran back home. My lords were required to give me a wider leash, and I outlived my debt. Now I’m here.” The Wolf grinned.

“How long have you been in the Americas?” Shepherd asked. He and the Goddess had arrived on the same ship where they had met over a century before.

“Only a few years ago. I would be gone already t’weren’t for Maria here helping me scheme. Dinnae think I’m long for this new world though.”

“One big score and you leave us?” Maria asked.

“Aye. I heard there might be prospect in France.”

“That place has been a disaster.”

“Exactly. You can do a lot in disasters, so there is the place to start.”

“I suppose we aren’t meeting again any time soon.” Evan breathed a sigh of relief.

“Nonsense. I’ll meet you back here in ten years time.”

“Ten years?” the others asked. Truthfully, they both smelled trouble brewing. Why else would they go to the wild parts of a country they’d known since before it was born?

“Maybe make it fifteen,” Maria said, sure trouble would be safer by then, “Unless France loses your interest.”

“Fifteen years, and I expect to hear good things. You are my brothers, and I want my family happy.”

The Angel Heart Saloon finally had a name. The proprietor and his wife, who often ran the place, sat in a private booth as they waited for the Wolf.

“What do you expect he’ll look like this time?” Evan asked.

“No idea,” Maria answered, “What do you think he’ll call himself?”

“Something ridiculous, I’m sure.”

“Who is this friend you are insulting?” a French accent asked from a ghastly pale woman with white hair and pink eyes.

“Drop the accent, we know it’s fake,” Evan answered.

The woman gasped as she took the other seat in the booth.

“I am a chameleon when I wish to be.” The Wolf explained, maintaining the accent, “Fifteen years can change people. You suffered a whole Civil War, and now you do not have to worry about being called runaway, do you?”

“I do. There’s still slaves in Maryland, and these people don’t really care about a proclamation.” Evan eyed the patronage. “It’s a toss-up on who they ignore about the establishment each time.”

“Sometimes they’ll ask Carlton about the day to day,” Maria added, pointing at the barkeep, “He’s a good bloke, likes the look on their face when he points to either of us as the owner.”

“And how are things in France?” Evan made a motion to Stella, a recent employee, for alcohol to be brought to the table, “You clearly like the accent at the very least.”

“For me, it is paradise,” The Wolf insisted, “I do not need friends. I go by whatever face, and they do not care. The countryside is my heart.”

“I thought you’d be in Paris,” Maria admitted.

“Oh, the city is dear to me as well, but in a more vulgar way. The country is my home, the city is my place of business.”

“Stealing,” the others specified.

“Whatever you wish to call it. It has made me a pretty penny, and some have paid me to steal from their friends. Nobody wants me imprisoned. As I said, I am free, and I intend to stay. Now what of you. What of the wedding?”

“Tell us your name first,” Evan said, “We still have the old ones.”

“Camélia Lupine. They looked so beautiful next to each other in the flower shop.”

“Small ceremony.” Maria returned, “Some families who’ve been with him since before he was Evan. I recognized a few. We separated a bit during the war. I fought, he took care of ours. Now we’re back.” She snuggled closer to her husband.

“And will I be an aunt soon?” Camélia offered a most hopeful face.

“I hope so,” Maria answered. To her side, Evan began to cower.

For possibly the only time in her life, Camélia worried she may have said the wrong thing. It didn’t last long. She started telling her companions of her exploits.

Over the next week, several people would witness an argument that brought in angels, fate, and a man throwing down his ring. Most assumed it a convoluted way to speak of an affair.

Over the next few decades, the saloon morphed into something closer to a pub, though still with western theming. Still the Angel Heart.

The first appeared alone, letting himself darken a little more over time. He’d also grown an admirable stubble with hair that reached his chin. He got a private room, courtesy of still owning the place after all these years. He waited with apprehension.

The second entered the room searching for exits. She looked just a touch plumper than before, a figure which granted her slightly more respect than her waifish years. She took a seat across from the first, ignoring him as well as she could.

“It’s good to see you again,” Shepherd said.

“Aye,” the goddess had returned to the Irish lilt of her first home, having chosen to unassimilate from the culture.

The third entered without any concerns, hair now black, and skin a bit tanner, but still with the pink eyes. She jumped over the table to take a spot in between her friends in the booth.

“This time, I still have the same name, well, first name.”

“Congratulations,” Shepherd said, fiddling with his drink.

“Camélia Arsène. Twenty years. With a son, who is much like myself.”

“A thief?” Shepherd asked.

“A shapeshifter?” The Goddess asked.

“Oui, and who are you two now?”

“Gareth Shepherd. Business entrepreneur with an interest in real estate.”

“Alanna Walters.”

Gareth spat some of his drink out as he took a sip.

“You remarried.”

Even when she changed her name, Alanna would keep the surname of her partner until she found another one. It let her keep a connection from lifetime to lifetime.

“That is part of why I summoned you both,” Alanna stared at the table more than either companion, “You see, I wasn’t sure until recently if the children would be like me or not.”

“Children?” Camélia asked, “You have more than one?”

“Twins, like my mother was: Valerie and Jonathan Jr.”

“Your husband’s name being Jonathan, I assume.” Gareth’s smile left much to be desired in terms of authenticity.

“Aye. What I’m trying to ask is if you would be willing to be the godparents. Well, Gareth to Jon and Camélia to Valerie, if you’re willing of course.”

“She can visit us in Paris!” Camélia classped excitedly, “With your family’s abilities, she could learn so much from me.”

“I didn’t agree to making my daughter a thief.”

“Why else would you ask me to be her godmother?”

“Because I need people who will be there for them for long enough, and you two were the only ones I’ve known this long.”

“I would be honored,” Gareth said, causing Alanna to collapse a bit in relief.

“I brought them here, if you would like to meet.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll bring them in.”

The others smiled until she was out of earshot.

“Her husband is an ass,” Camélia warned, “But you wait until Alanna has accepted that to reconcile.”

“How would you know?” Gareth asked.

“She was with a Jonathan while in France during the war. He scowled when Arsène kissed her cheek, and did not improve.”

“You don’t need to worry. I have no intention of reconciling any time soon. I doubt the children would even accept me.”

“They will,” Camélia said “Because you are better than their father already.”

Gareth rolled his eyes. His opinion of himself wasn’t as high as Camélia’s.

Alanna came in, arm entwined with the man known as Jonathan Walters Sr., or Jonny. He was a little bit shorter than Gareth standing, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a tanned but still pale complexion. Holding Alanna’s hand was Jonathan Jr., who earned the name, looking much like a smaller version of his father, clinging almost as tightly to his mother. Valerie held her father’s hand. A little taller than her brother, she had Alanna’s brown eyes, and her blond hair fell much the same as her mother’s brindle, but otherwise Val shared much of her features with her brother and father.

Gareth braced himself to be despised.

“Jonathan, this is my old friend, Gareth Shepherd. He’s going to be your godfather.”

Gareth came down the floor on bended knee, offering a small bow to the lad.

“As long as you’ll have me.”

Jonathan wasn’t used to such respect, but he’d heard enough fantasy to know what to do.

“Mom, where’s my sword?” he whispered.

“In your belt loop, idiot.” Valerie answered.

“Valerie.”

“Thanks!”

Jon pulled out the wooden sword, and gently tapped each of Gareth’s shoulders. He then pulled out his most noble voice.

“I dub thee…”

“Uncle Gareth!” Val finished.

“Uncle Gareth.”

Gareth finally looked up at Jonathan.

“I will honor this appointment with my life.”

Jonathan beamed and gave him a hug.

“Valerie, this is Camélia, another old friend. She has agreed to be your godmother.”

Camélia merely slid to the edge of the booth to make eye-contact with Valerie.

“Why aren’t you bowing?” Valerie asked.

“I am not him. I am a queen.”

As Valerie thought of this, Gareth and Alanna exchanged confused glances.

“But France doesn’t have a king,” the little girl said.

“Did I say I was a king?”

“No.” Valerie processed the facts, “If you’re a queen, does that make me a princess?”

“Why not?”

“Yes!”

The private room was more excited than ever.

“To the happy couple!” Camélia shouted. “Valerie and Akihiko!”

“Here!”

“And to the father of the bride, though he is an ass, they would not have met without him.”

Less cheers, loudest among them though was Jonathan. Valerie offered her brother a glare.

“I don’t get why you hate him so much.”

“Because you are a sweet girl,” Camélia said. “Despite his influence.”

The party quickly turned into the celebration it was meant to be, and Gareth sat next to Jonathan, who was nursing a drink that wouldn’t have much effect on him anyways.

“You don’t seem happy for your sister.”

“I am. I just…”

“I heard some of what happened at the camp.”

Jonathan focused more on the drink.

“I was born to be a soldier, and I don’t think I can do that anymore.”

“Have you told your mother?”

“No, and I won’t. I’ll just get over it.”

Gareth had no plans of allowing that.

“I can talk to her if—”

“No. Talk to her about yourself, but not about me. In fact…” Jonathan nodded at Camélia who had grabbed Alanna’s attention, then pushed Gareth off of his chair and right into the similarly tossed Alanna. The two fell to the floor, and started laughing.

“I should have expected that after this morning.” Alanna stood up first and pulled Gareth up.

“What happened this morning?”

“Court proceedings finished. Jonny and I are officially divorced.”

Gareth did his best to hide a smile. He knew how bad it was to be left.

“Alanna, if I—”

“You did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong, he just…” Alanna refused to finish that sentence. She was loyal, even without legal obligation.

“May I ask for this dance at least?” Gareth asked.

“You may ask anything of me.”

They would let themselves be happy in each other’s arms, never closer than a dance, at least not for a long time. Camélia was satisfied at seeing Alanna smile at the very least.

100 years after their first reunion. So much changed, so little different. The Angel Heart was different, though it stayed in the same place, and the private room was still reserved for three friends reeling from the news of a week before.

“I am still Camélia, as you both should expect.”

“Gareth still suits me.”

“Diana Hunter.”

Gareth had heard the first name when the two had first met. Hunter had been the name the government gave to the late Jon Walters, as Jon Hunter had informed him. “Jonathan has taken the last name as well. Valerie’s still with Akihiko.”

“Raoul has a child, Camille, for now,” Camélia revealed, “They will be taught everything I know.”

The others clapped.

“Valerie has a son. His American name is Evan, after the founder of Shepherd Holdings.”

“I suppose I ought to meet him then,” Gareth said.

They let the silence take over for a minute.

“Eléphant?” Camélia asked.

“‘We are the shadows and the light,’” Gareth quoted, not sure if he was completely accurate.

“Our secret was always going to be discovered eventually,” Diana said, “At least now we have an excuse.”

“I’ve been in America for centuries, and I’m still trying to sound English,” Gareth said, “Very believable.”

“It’s your own fault,” the women replied in their practiced American accents.

“Mages won’t believe either of you are one of them,” Gareth warned.

“That’s why I intend to stay hidden,” Diana replied, “Can’t accuse me if you can’t find me.”

“And I have never been known to the public,” Camélia said, “You are the most at risk of anything changing, and perhaps it is for the better. Neither of you will have to change your names anymore.”

“Who knows?” Diana said, “There’s one or two I’m rather fond of.” She offered Gareth a wink.

The Wolf rolled her eyes.

“For the next hundred years, we meet in Paris. It is unfair that I always have to come over when Shepherd can teleport.”

“We’re not going to France.”

Astrid cleaned the tables, glad the three were usually clean when they came in. She’d seen much worse in her years.

“You don’t have to change your name when people don’t care,” she said.

“What was that sweetheart?” the current bartender asked.

“None of your business, Rick!” she returned to the tables, muttering to herself, “Carl was a better barkeep anyways.”

The next hundred years would be long ones for her at least.