Of all the immortals out there, Charmian was one of those with the least aversion to acting like a human. It wasn’t vanity or disdain; many of her kind feared that in order to properly fulfil their duties they needed to set themselves apart, to be something above and beyond. It was true enough that there were some traits reserved for the human race, ones none of them ever displayed (merely a side effect of eternal life and great age), but she didn’t share the common belief that behaving like a homo sapiens necessarily made one weak. To her mind any trait that made you weak made you weak because it was a bad way to go about things, not because it was something humans also did.

There was, however, one piece of human behaviour that she really despised emulating: crying.

To be an avenger, you necessarily had to have thick skin – rhino hide had nothing on them. They saw a lot of nasty things, had to stand over some terribly abused victims and relive some horrific crimes in dishing out their prey’s just desserts. They didn’t lack compassion but for their own good they had to learn how to be hard, to cope with things that would bring others to weep without batting an eyelid. Charmian had always been particularly good at compartmentalising – that was why she’d been chosen for the job in the first place, and a good part of why she was so effective at it. Even in the long forgotten mortal life she’d had before she had been raised, she’d been adept at stoicism and facing down hardship.

Still even she wasn’t rock, and even she had to break down sometime. She just hated doing so. It wasn’t in her usual nature and she found it difficult to know how to handle herself on the rare occasion that she did it; it was an unnatural feeling and it threw her. On this occasion she had nobody to blame but herself. She had known that she ought to quickly clear Justin from her mind after their encounter earlier in the day. She had known that it was a stupid idea to pull the small treasure chest from its dark spot at the back of the closet and to stare at its contents. Yet still she had done it.

That was why she was stood in front of the bathroom mirror at a charity benefit she had zero interest in, even though she should have been looking out for her target. She was trying to fix her mascara and to get a grip. Reading long faded love notes on fragile paper, opening up a golden locket and staring at the miniature portrait inside, fondling the ruby pendant Michael had given her in his days as a Parisian socialite, it had been a recipe for depression and she had been stupid to go there. She had vainly hoped that the change in appearance would allow her sufficient emotional distance from Justin, but it had been a fool’s hope and she knew it. It didn’t matter what he looked like, she could never be so vapid; she knew it was still her boy in there, the one who had written the letters. She could feel it when his gaze had hit her face. The eyes might have been a cerulean blue instead of the muddy brown they had once been, yet the stare remained the same.

“I’d ask you if you’re alright but I can tell it’s a dumb question.”

Charmian whipped around to see Carmel pushing at the stall doors, checking to make sure they were alone. It appeared that they were – none were locked or revealed any occupants. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’d be depressed too if I were you. I just wish you’d talk about it.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve known you for... is it a hundred or a hundred and ten thousand years? Whatever, I got your number woman. You are so not fine. And that’s actually good, because when the love of your very long life gets reincarnated again after lots of nasty ends with a whole new look it’s weird to be fine.”

“Whatever. We still have a job to do.” Charmian pushed her hair back from her forehead, shook her shoulders out and stared herself down in the mirror. “I’m fine.”

“Alright. I’ll believe you… if you can tell me you didn’t have the dreams again.”

Immediately she slumped – Carmel did know her far too well. “Prague.”

“It’s okay, you know. To be upset.” Carmel wrapped an arm around her and with a sigh Charmian’s head slumped onto her shoulder. Carmel tucked her chin on top of Charmian’s hair and stroked her arm. “You just need to do what you always do and channel it instead of trying to fight it. I know it’s not your usual style to be all weepy but it’s still okay.”

“You’re an avenger, not a guide.”

“I have a few transferable skills, what can I tell ya. Now, do you got it together enough for us to go kick some karmic butt?”

Charmian straightened up. “You found him.”

“Yep, talking to some pretty young thing that just got off stage - I don’t think she’s in any danger but the vibes are nasty. I think I can take him but I need you with it, because if I can’t then it’s time for the champ to do the thing.”

“I’m with it, I’m with it. Kicking demon ass always cheers me up anyway.”

“That’s my girl.” Carmel laid a loud kiss on her cheek and then gently patted her on the butt. “Now get moving.”

As Charmian left the bathroom, she could immediately see the target. She wasn’t sure how she could have missed him earlier – had he stepped outside for a cigarette or something? The black energy pulsing around him even managed to look aggressive, he was impossible to glance past without noticing.

“Oh Lord. Somebody’s been a very bad boy…”

“You’re telling me. You see why I need you?”

“Oh yeah.” Charmian didn’t say that to disparage Carmel or treat her as inferior – Carmel was simply a few millennia younger than her and thus not as strong. As with demons, every kill they made strengthened them so anybody older was almost automatically stronger (unless they’d been slacking). The younger immortals had to be obsessively prolific in order to close the gap, so few ever did. “You done one like this before?”

“One, at Woodstock. I really wish they’d had better bathroom facilities because I spent the next twelve hours puking.”

“Good, you’ve had time to beef up. Let’s… oh fuck.”

It was typical, wasn’t it? Was Justin simply drawn to all her targets lately? This was no less than the third time that he had shown up immediately prior to or after she had taken somebody out, yet there he was. He seemed to know the young lady the target was talking to – he’d hugged her on arrival, and from the way he kept a friendly arm slung over her shoulders they looked very familiar and comfortable with each other. She was really trying to ignore the jealous twist her stomach was doing.

“Ignore him, focus. We can worry about him after we get the bad guy.”

“Bad guy, right. Bad guy, bad guy, bad guy…” Charmian kept muttering as Carmel practically pushed her all the way to their mark.

“Well, we do keep meeting like this.” Justin couldn’t believe his luck. He’d spent an agonising afternoon trying to tell himself that even if she was interested she’d never call so soon, and here she was before him. “Charlotte, this is Esmée Denters and William Robertson.”

“Umm, it’s Charmian, actually,” she reluctantly told the group. At Justin’s confused expression, she hurried on with the first lie that came to her head. “I met Justin at a party, and my friend was yanking some guy’s chain because the guy never remembers his name. He gives him a different name every time he sees him, and apparently I got one too. This is Carmel,” she quickly changed the subject before anybody started questioning that story too deeply – or even shallowly, since it was a piss poor excuse that would withstand little scrutiny.

“Hi.”

Seizing her chance, Carmel started shaking hands with Justin and Esmée. She took care to pump their hands longer than she really needed to, so that her extended grip on Mr Robertson wouldn’t attract too much notice. No bystanders would think anything was remotely amiss from the easy smile on her face, but Charmian had sight they did not and could see the strain. The golden pulses of light emanating from her touch were poking and prodding at his skin, trying to find their way in. For a few seconds they strained in various spots, before withdrawing as Carmel reluctantly released her grip. She simply wasn’t strong enough; the demon had been in him too long and had grown too powerful feeding on his misdemeanours.

Sometimes Charmian had to fight the urge to leave the targets to the nasty death that awaited them should the demons go unchecked long enough to reach full strength inside them. After all these weren’t the demons that truly possessed people, totally overriding their will – those were rarer and couldn’t be killed without a more traditional physical fight - these demons couldn’t feed or operate without the targets choosing to do wrong. If the person resisted long enough they’d vacate the body before they starved, so the humans were still at a great deal of fault in the equation. Then the sensible side of her kicked in and she remembered what victims there would be if she didn’t end it quickly.

“Oh, so sorry, where are my manners?” Thankfully a handshake with Justin was unnecessary, so she quickly covered Esmée and then took a firm grip on William’s hand.

Immediately she understood why Carmel had failed; she was having a very difficult time herself. That wasn’t helped by her split focus and awareness of Justin’s eyes on her, but whatever was inside William Robertson had taken a serious grip. It had started by speaking to him through his burning desire to expand his company, convincing him to make small cheats and take a few unethical decisions for ‘the bigger picture.’ Then it had moved on to bigger frauds, next into seriously illegal activity. Finally, not two nights ago he had taken a hit out on a business rival, a particularly vengeful and painful death; the body had turned up that morning and even as it had he’d launched a hostile takeover bid of the company. No wonder the demon was so strong; it had eaten like a king.

Yet still, as the sins passed before her eyes Charmian caught a glimpse of the man that once was. He had been a man who occasionally had such dark thoughts but had never acted on them. Left to his own devices she doubted he’d ever have done any worse than some financial fraud, nothing that would have got him more than three years in jail. That was the power of these demons; once they were inside, they could go for a twenty four hour stream of subconscious suggestion.

Thank God she managed to penetrate at last (Mr Robertson had just gone from being fit as a fiddle to very advanced and aggressive cancer, would probably be dead within eight weeks), but she knew she was going to feel awful that night. Avengers could take out the weaker demons with no physical effect and she was at an age where few demons were strong enough to give her much more than a loss of appetite and a few twinges, but those that were induced extreme nausea and stomach pain. Karma took a toll even on those dishing it out.

‘You need a bucket as much as I do right now?’ She heard Carmel’s voice in her head.

‘I’m going to hurl. Bright side, maybe that might solve all my problems when Justin’s too grossed out to ever be attracted to me after I’ve spewed all over his sneakers.’