Stained by Blood from Angels' Wings

Albertz was easily found, lying at the bottom of the staircase, the only thing in this secret chamber. He was tied up and had tape wrapped around his head, covering his eyes and mouth which made for a disturbing sight but then again, I’ve seen worse at some of Paul McBride’s parties. I ran to him and putting my torch on the ground, I heaved at his bonds but they were too tight. I had a knife in my pocket so I searched for that but could hear that he was trying to speak so I peeled the edges of the tape until I had a hold of enough of it to begin to pull it from his head. His eyes appeared first, wide and angry, staring straight at me; then his mouth and as the tape came away, he gasped for air and spluttered, heaving great breaths and blowing grime from his nose until his chin was a mess of snot and saliva. I was just cutting through the rope when Albertz stopped breathing so heavily and sighed. I stopped moving and looked him straight in the eye but his gaze was now directed behind me which didn’t please me one little bit.
‘Is there someone behind me?’ I asked.
‘Uh huh,’ he nodded. I looked around and felt the stinging whip across my face of a lash. I collapsed back into the darkness and felt Albertz under me as I struggled to avoid more blows from the many tails of that awful instrument. My thrashing stopped as suddenly as it began and in the straining light of my torch which lay away to my side, I could see the robed figure of Barking Phil Tartaglia, out of breath and holding his whip.
‘Flagellation is for the pious. Are you worthy, Spiers?’
Before I could answer though, Albertz was up, his ropes falling from him, my cutting having been enough to allow him to wriggle free.
‘A honey trap is one thing, Tartaglia but it was your one chance,’ ranged Albertz. ‘You don’t have the first idea who you’re dealing with here.’
‘Oh but I do, Albertz – a practitioner of the black arts, a warlock, a conman, a magus. You are all of these things but one thing you cannot do is defeat the angels and we have angels on our side,’ laughed Tartaglia, raising his arms and as he did, there was a fluttering of wings and something flew down from the church above, into our chamber and moved with such speed that we couldn’t see it but could feel the wind from its wings as it passed in between us, over us and beneath us. Then it settled on the bottom step, its wings folding shut behind its shoulders and as it looked at us with those awful eyes, mis-shapen head and two front teeth sticking out like little flint knives, Albertz whispered, ‘Noseratu,’ but he was wrong.
‘It’s Chris McLaughin,’ I said.
Albertz laughed and Tartaglia turned towards him, face blazing with anger but Albertz kept laughing which I found unsettling considering Barking Phil was wielding a whip and had a creepy looking McLaughlin crouching behind him hissing.
‘Oh Phil. Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil. I don’t know what you think you’re doing here but that’s no angel,’ taunted Albertz. ‘That’s a fucking vampire mate.’