To Kill A Cat

Author: Jo Feedback : Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, not even Mr Pointy, no matter how hard I look in my Christmas stocking. If they were, I'd look after them better. No money will ever be made from this fic. Distribution: You want it? Really? Gosh. Just tell me where it's going please. Spoilers: BtVS season 2. Angel never got his soul back. Oz isn't a werewolf yet. Rating: NC17 for some non-consensual sex and language. There's a bit of violence too. Content: B/A(us) Alternate future reality Summary: Remember Angel series 1 'The Ring'? Well, what if other people were after a really good fighter? A possible (although not necessarily THE) prequel to 'The Nature of The Beast'. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Part 1

Buffy huddled on her knees in the bronze-clad doorway of a crypt in Sunnydale's Cemetery of Eternal Rest. She would be better if she cried. She knew she would. But she couldn't. She couldn't cry, and she couldn't move. She couldn't think, either, beyond the endless circling of her thoughts around what had just happened to her. Her shirt and bra hung in shreds from her hunched shoulders. Her panties, a scrap of black lace, lay yards away, torn and useless. His cold seed was even now leaking down her thighs. She knew that could be washed away. She knew that the claw marks on her breast would soon mend without a scar, thanks to her slayer healing abilities. Not so the claw marks on her soul. She didn't think she would ever be rid of those. He was back. Not Angel. Never Angel, not ever again. Angelus. My fault, she thought, all my fault. When she had first lost AngelLost Angel, such a feeble euphemism for murder by soul-ripping-outWhen she had first loosed Angelus on the world again, he had spent weeks tormenting her. He had left her dead roses, covered in maggots. Headless birds on her windowsill. Drawings of herself

and her loved ones in sleep, or in attitudes of death. And he had murdered Jenny, just as she was trying to recover that abused soul. As a Slayer she had been a failure. She should have killed him. There had been plenty of opportunities. She couldn't. He was a monster, but he still wore the flesh of her lover. She had realised that it might never be her stake in his breast, that another slayer would have that task. Which meant that she would have to die first. And then he had disappeared. He and Spike and Drusilla had simply disappeared, and no one knew where they had gone, or why. After a few days of his absence, she and Giles and her friends had crept into the mansion in full daylight, armed to the teeth. Her heart had clenched in the main downstairs room when she saw the evidence of vampire dust, lots of it. All the other rooms were empty, though. Empty of everything, including his belongings. They eventually found the movable furnishings and other gear neatly stored and locked in the basement. But his clothes were gone. Nor was there any trace of Spike or Drusilla. She could only conclude that he had left, but even Giles had no idea why he might have abandoned the Hellmouth. Only one thing had remained in the main room, a huge figure, carved out of a single block of stone, with a sword thrust through it. Giles had eventually identified it as the demon Acathla, capable of swallowing the earth into a hell dimension. After a great deal of research, Acathla had been put through a stone crusher and was now graded limestone chippings scattered over several miles of highway. They had hoped that it would be enough. And she had gone on with her life. Half-life. Whatever. Not long ago, she thought inconsequentially, next-door's cat had come into season. Her owner should have kept the cat in, but hadn't, and on one of her nightly patrols, she had come across the yowling animal in this very cemetery. The female had been surrounded by several toms that had kept approaching her, trying their luck. They had all been rewarded with a face full of claws for their efforts. However, one of them, wilier than the rest, had approached her from behind, sniffing her to make sure she was ready. She had whirled round, snarling at his attentions, and he had sat back, washing himself. When the next, less experienced, male approached her from the front, this wily tom had leapt onto her back, grasping her hard with his teeth by the scruff of her neck, hard enough to drag the skin of her head tight, subduing her with his weight and mating her. Once he was finished, he had leapt back as far as he could before sauntering away, but she hadn't flown at him, all teeth and claws. He'd left her rolling in ecstasy. Buffy wondered if cats and vampires might be related. She had been on patrol here tonight, and the night had been a quiet one.

Then she had felt that tingle that told her a vampire was near. A special tingle. *That* vampire, and hadn't that been a shock. She had heard and seen nothing, but she had found herself face down on the grass, his full weight bearing down on her. That longed-for hated voice whispered "Hello, lover" in her ear before his mouth gripped the back of her neck with just a hint of fang, and her wrists were bound behind her back, held securely by his leather belt. In a heartbeat, her panties were ripped off and thrown away, and he was mating her, like an animal. He made absolutely sure that she reached peak after peak of pleasure before allowing his own release. When he was done, she had heard the sound of a zipper closing, he had retrieved his belt, then leapt away from her. She didn't move. He said, "Thanks babe. See ya soon," and vanished into the darkness whistling a jaunty tune. Just like the cat, she thought. Now she was here, in this doorway, the mental replay on loop. It was a long time before she was able to wrap the shreds of her shirt around her, and head for home. Not until she was in her room and saw, hanging on her dressing table, the cross that Angel had once given her did the tears come. Then they wouldn't stop. ************* Angelus tossed down the drained body of the high school quarterback and headed for the mansion. It had been a reasonable night. A damned good fuck and a good feed - the boy had fought, which made it all the sweeter. And Buffy He gave a little shudder of remembered pleasure at the thought of how, even constrained as she had been, her slayer-strong muscles had squeezed her hot little quim, milking him until his legs had lost their strength. And she had hated what he had done to her, what he had made her feel. Good. He found that he was as hard as a rock again, and stepped up his pace to find Drusilla. Or Spike. Either would do, for the moment. ******************** When Buffy met with Giles and her friends the next morning, she was abstracted, and they could tell that she had been crying. A lot. "He's back," was all that she said, but they instantly knew whom she meant. That explained the crying, then. "How do you know?" asked Giles, gently. "He was in the Eternal Rest. Hehe was behind me. I didn't get chance to kill him. I'mI'm real sorry Giles. Giles refused to allow himself the luxury of personal emotion. That could wait

until Buffy and the others had left. Right now, he smiled for her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Are you OK, Buffy? Did he hurt you?" Stupid question. His very existence must lacerate her to the core. He was the nearest thing to a father she had, and she wanted to wail her hurt to him, to tell him how her soul felt shredded and soiled, and how her heart hurt. But if she did that, Giles would simply take his weapons bag and head for the mansion. And he would die. "I'm fine. It was just a bit of a shock." That was one way of putting it. "Did he say anything? About where they've been? Or about Acathla?" "No. I don't think he wanted a chat. Hehe just wanted me to know that he was back. Well, now I know." Indeed she did. Giles smiled at his charges as they hurried off to class, but as they disappeared from sight, his face became grim. How, he wondered, to stop the bastard from killing his slayer as well as his lover? Angelus had, in point of fact, intended to find Buffy for a 'chat'. He had been consumed by fury the night before when he and his family had returned, to find Acathla missing. Traces of scent still hung in the air, and he knew who was responsible. But, as the saying goes, the morning had brought counsel, and he had decided that perhaps, just perhaps, he could have more fun on earth than in hell. Perhaps losing Acathla was no bad thing. For weeks now, he had felt less inclined to destroy the world than he had done when he emerged, at last, from the nauseating grip of the soul. He had rediscovered things that he still wanted to do and he was more inclined to take pleasure in things that would disappear if the Earth went to Hell. There was a lot to be said for Earth as it was. So he had shelved the chat and simply taken his pleasure. He did it again, two nights later. And again five nights after that. After the first week, Buffy was distraught. She really didn't want to have her friends patrolling with her - that made them too vulnerable if Angelus decided to attack. But he only seemed to attack when she was alone. So most nights, she let them come. After two weeks, she was beside herself, waiting for the next assault. And she could tell no one. Each time it had been the same. He came up behind her with no warning; or he dropped out of trees; or slithered from behind a mausoleum. She never knew, except for that last-second tingle, that he was

there. He was the supreme predator. And each time, he had thrown her face down on the grass, subdued her with his weight, bound her hands with his belt and mated her. Rutted with her. Each time he would make sure that she climaxed once, twice, three times, as often as possible. Then he would leave her where she lay, and saunter off. Just like the cat. It was Friday night, two weeks after his return, and he had found her alone again. It had to stop. She would have to find a way to deal with this. But right now, she was huddled in the mausoleum doorway again, waiting to see if tears would come this time. She remembered the first time - the only time - with Angel. Her Angel, not the thing that had stolen his body. She remembered his tender passion, so unlike the brutal sex that had just taken place. That was when the tears came, scalding hot, burning her face but leaving her shame uncleansed. At long last, she got up, tucking her shredded panties, as blood-red as the new wounds on her soul, into her pocket, and made her way towards the cemetery gate. But she was distracted, so she did not see the weighted net that enveloped her until it was too late. She was entangled in its folds, and although she fought with all her strength, she couldn't get clear. Then there was a sharp pain in her upper arm - a needle, perhaps - and she was falling into darkness. **************** The first intimation that something was wrong came when Buffy's mother rang Willow early the next morning to see whether Buffy had stayed overnight with her. Several phone calls later, and the police were summoned. No one had seen Buffy since she left the Bronze around 10.00pm the previous night, alone. But the police had other things to think about than a hormonally rampant teenager who didn't get home on time. So it was Giles, Xander, Willow, Oz and Cordelia who took up the hunt. They checked the cemeteries. They checked all her patrol routes. They checked areas not on her patrol routes. They searched mausoleums, warehouses, abandoned buildings and empty houses, of which there was a plethora in Sunnydale. They checked Angel's old apartment, still empty. Then they checked them all again. The only thing they found was her favourite stake, the one she had inherited from Kendra, lying by the gateway to the Cemetery of Eternal Rest. Nothing else at all. The police were now interested, and not knowing what they were dealing with, were checking the unlikely places, trawling ponds and such. After 7 days, the only likely place that Buffy's friends and Watcher hadn't checked was the mansion. That was next on the list. They met that Friday night, in the Library, to find a strategy to beard the lion in his den, a strategy that would still give them all a hope of coming out alive.

********************** Angelus lay on his bed after his latest encounter with Buffy. Damn, but she was hot. He had made her come three times that night, and she had hated it. Her despair had scented the air like an aphrodisiac. Her body was his, and recognised its master now. Whether she wanted to or not, he could play her like a violin, and wring the sweetest music from her. He had shadowed her every night for the last two weeks, since that first delectable fuck. With that, he had wiped away every trace of Soul Boy from her body. He smiled at the memory. He had shadowed her and her annoying friends, drinking in the delicious aromas of her sorrow and her fear. The times when he had taken her again only made him want her more. Such a desirable plaything. He liked to rape, and he liked to hurt. He also liked his women to be willing, though, and idly, he wondered what it would be like with Buffy, if she were willing. As she had been with Soul Boy. He felt a stirring at his groin just from the thought of it. Tomorrow was Saturday night. She would be out late at the Bronze, and patrolling even later. Perhaps he'd have a change, then, and see if she could be made willing. He fell asleep dreaming of his latest toy. The following night, she didn't show. He searched all the cemeteries, but there was no sign that she had been there. He wasn't too worried. He knew that he was getting under her skin - perhaps she had decided to lay off for the night. He had no need to forego his pleasure. Drusilla was always available. On Sunday night she still didn't show, and he felt a stab of frustration. Again he had searched the cemeteries, following her usual route, memorised by heart from her time with Soul Boy. He'd even picked up a couple of newly risen fledglings and sent them off to find Spike. She always knew where the fledges were due to rise - she kept an eye on the obituary columns. She should have been there to stake those two. She was his toy. She should be there when he wanted her. And he was very horny. Still, there was always Drusilla. On Monday night, he climbed the oak tree outside her bedroom window, and saw Joyce weeping on her daughter's bed. That got his attention. He moved to Willow's house and stood outside the French doors that gave access to her bedroom from the roof. She was sniffling in her sleep. Not good. Had Buffy run away, he wondered? Surely she had more spirit than that? It was one of the things that drew him to her. In the pre-dawn hours, as he mulled over what might have happened, Drusilla came to him. He took his pleasure with her, but it was a perfunctory affair, simply to relieve his needs. She went off, pouting, to wait for Spike's return.

On Tuesday morning, he took the tunnels and sewers, if with rather more distaste than Soul Boy would have done, and ensconced himself within the stacks of the library at Sunnydale High School. Unusually, Giles was pottering about achieving nothing, as if his mind were on other things. The scent of worry was thick around him. That gave Angelus pause for thought. The librarian might look like a bumbling Englishman, but he was Ripper still and should never be underestimated. The Harris boy came in and Angelus felt his lip curl. Even the soul had resented the stripling. The boy was tired and fearful. "Hey, Giles. Got the search patterns for us?" The librarian searched through his desk, eventually producing a slim sheaf of papers. Whilst he was doing so, the boy picked up a stake lying on the table. Angelus recognised it. Mr Pointy, Buffy had called it. "She has to be somewhere. She wouldn't leave this behind. We should go back to Eternal Rest." "Xander, we already have. There is nothing more there. Whatever happened, it happened there, but there is nothing more to learn from the place." The boy's face almost crumpled into tears, then he got hold of himself. "There must be. There has to be something we missed." Giles sighed. "Very well. We'll start straight after last class. There's a copy of the search route for each of you. Pairs again. Willow and Oz. You and Cordelia. I'll take all the cemeteries, including Eternal Rest. I'll go there while it's still light, I promise, and spend as much time as necessary. You'll have tranquillisers again in case you find any vampires. Take them alive and we'll see if they know anything about her disappearance. Meet back here at midnight." Disappearance? His plaything had disappeared? His possession, gone without his permission? The growl almost escaped him. Had she run away? Not if these two were to be believed. Then *where* was she? He slipped quietly back into the tunnels and returned to the safety of the mansion to brood over that question. Drusilla came prowling round, but he sent her to Spike's bed. There were more important matters to sift here. That night, he shadowed Giles on his tour of Sunnydale's many cemeteries. He could have told him that Buffy was in none of them - he'd already searched them twice - although the man wouldn't have believed him. But

something was there in the Cemetery of Eternal Rest. Giles, true to his promise, had thoroughly searched the area around the gate, on hands and knees, until dusk fell, and Angelus, arriving in time to see him move off to the next cemetery, could smell where he had been. He smelled something else, as well. A faint trace of his own seed, and a tiny drop of ageing blood. From Buffy. The growl that broke from him was instinctive and menacing. Someone had hurt his plaything. That was not allowed. He cursed himself for missing that and decided to follow Giles in case the Watcher turned up anything else he had missed. There was nothing else. When he got back to the mansion he told Drusilla not to bother him. On Wednesday night he started asking questions. No one knew anything, or so they said. A pair of Hechler demons thought they had seen the Slayer on that Friday night, huddled in the door of a crypt, but they had been on their way to a tryst, and hadn't lingered. Just before dawn, a Trihoth demon who seriously wanted to keep all his arms attached to his body said he thought that he'd heard someone tell Willie the Snitch that a deal had gone down to remove the Slayer from the Hellmouth. When Angelus got back to the mansion, he locked his door against Drusilla. On Thursday, he went looking for Willie the Snitch. He had a bag with him. Willie wasn't in his bar that night, but Angelus found him just before dawn. The first Willie knew of the vampire's interest in him was when a large pair of hands snaked around his throat and throttled him into unconsciousness. When Willie came to, he found that he was tied up, sitting on the floor of a crypt, and an angry vampire was pacing up and down in front of him. Willie made a little noise of distress. It's never a good idea to show weakness to a predator. Angelus crouched on his haunches in front of the man, vampire face to the fore and pressed one claw over the man's eyelid. "Where is the Slayer?" he hissed. The human blustered. "How should I know where the hell she is? She leaves me alone, I leave her alone!" The pressure of the claw against the eyelid increased. "I dunno nothing!" Willie shrieked. The smell of urine was now rank in the air. Angelus sighed. Then he got up, opened his bag and silently showed Willie the instruments in there. Willie fainted. ***************************** Angelus was trapped in the crypt until sunset, although that was not unprofitable. Willie told him a lot. Without much persuasion at all. As soon as the sun sank below the horizon he partially throttled Willie again until he

slumped into unconsciousness, slung him over one shoulder, grabbed his bag, and set off for the library. When he arrived, he saw that Giles and the annoying teenagers were deep in discussion. He slid in, unnoticed. "Evening, Rupert." Five shocked faces turned towards him. There was a collective intake of breath, then each of the humans scrambled to find a weapon. Giles, as expected, was first. He had a crossbow. "Fire that and you'll just hit Willie." He hitched Willie's unconscious body over a little to cover the whole of his own heart. Just a precaution. Never underestimate Ripper. "And this worries me because..?" The trigger mechanism of the crossbow clicked as it was cocked. "Willie knows where the Slayer is. Thought you were looking for her?" Giles' nostrils flared and his lips went white. "If you have hurt that girl in any way" The threat remained unspoken, but Angelus didn't need it spelled out for him. And he didn't mind. He respected strength, and Ripper showed that. "Not me, Rupert old boy. She's been sold to the Hylek dimension. I presume you want to get her out?" Everyone held their breath. After a very long moment, Angelus tossed Willie onto the floor. "Shall we sit down and talk about it?" *************** When Buffy came back to consciousness, she almost wished she hadn't. Her mouth was thick and dry, and tasted of nothing she ever wished to be able to identify. And everything *hurt*. But it was only a matter of seconds before her better-than-human reflexes kicked in. She remembered everything, so she didn't move a muscle - it was safer that way until she had an idea of what she was facing. It had to be Angelus. He had kidnapped her. But why would he wait to do that? Why not just carry her off earlier that night, when he had had her helpless, completely at his mercy? Perhaps it was just his sense of whimsy. She wasn't tied up. That was a good start. She was lying on something soft,

with the fragrance of oranges. That couldn't be bad, either. She could detect no sound or movement. Good. Very, very slowly, she opened her eyes just a slit. Unfortunately that wasn't so encouraging. She was in a metal cage. A *strong* metal cage. As she reached out with her senses, she realised that her clothes were gone. Well, not entirely gone, butdifferent. Gingerly, she opened her eyes all the way. The cage was situated within a roofed colonnade at one end of a large, enclosed arena. It looked very Roman. At least, it looked rather like the Roman arenas she'd seen in the movies. Both the sandy floor and the tiers of seats were completely empty, as were the other cages that she could see in her part of the colonnade. She lay on a thick bed of vegetation, resembling soft brown hairs. But she didn't think it was hair - it definitely smelled like plant. She stood up and looked dejectedly around, not missing the fact that she was dressed only in a leather loincloth and a leather bandeau around her breasts. Only one thought came immediately to mind. /Well, Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore./

To Kill A Cat
Author: Jo Feedback : Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Part 2

There was definitely a frisson in the air of the Library that night. All the humans could feel it. To Angelus, it was simply the intoxicating fragrance of teenage terror. He sat at one end of the table, relaxed, leaning back in his chair and smiling faintly. Giles sat at the opposite end of the table, scowling. The teenagers were huddled up at that end, leaving as much space as possible between themselves and their psychotic guest. Willie, slowly coming round, was in the chair next to Angelus. Sitting wasn't really the word. Puddled, perhaps, was. The silence was crisp, with the sharpness of knives. Giles was the one to break it. "What do you know about Buffy's disappearance; and where is she?" "I only know what Willie told me. I think we should wait until herecovers himself. If you had come to me earlier, we wouldn't have wasted so much time." His voice was gentle, chiding.

Xander couldn't restrain himself. His snort of derision coincided with a peak in the pheromone of terror that he was putting out. "Why would we come to you Dead Boy? You had something to do with this, I know you did. What have you done with her, you bastard?" His voice was becoming shriller, as he worked himself up. Giles' nostrils flared again, and Cordelia put a comforting hand on Xander's shoulder. Angelus smiled more broadly. Those two would make such a tasty treat. When he had time. "Now why would I send Buffy to the Hylek dimension just when we weregetting to know one another so well." His smile broadened again. Well, there were more teeth in it. He pouted a little, for Giles's benefit. "Getting *on* so well. Okay, *I* was getting it on, but I made sure she had a good time, too." Giles had to throw himself half across the table to restrain Xander, with help from Cordelia. The boy's face was white, with anger this time, not terror. Delicious. "Oh look, Rupert, Willie seems to be back with us." Willie had, indeed, come round. He took one look at the struggling teenager, another at the thing in the chair next to him, and tried to bolt. He still hadn't fully sorted out control of his legs, though, and Angelus had merely to place his hand on Willie's shoulder and press him back onto the chair seat. "Sit!" The menace contained in that single syllable would have kept a dog attentively sitting for a week. It had the same effect on Willie. Unfortunately, as a dog will urinate with fear, so did Willie. Again. Angelus' nose wrinkled fastidiously, but he decided not to mention it to the humans. Not out of concern for Willie's feelings, but because he didn't want them to waste time cleaning it up. Giles and Cordelia had now managed to persuade Xander back into his seat, but his eyes glittered with unshed tears. Giles was coldly furious. None of them had understood Buffy's recent behaviour, the way in which she had tried to distance herself from them, the desolate look in her eyes. Well, Giles rather thought he understood now. He promised himself that the thing in front of him would die. But not before he had given up to the Watcher every last piece of information that would help them recover Buffy. "What is it that Willie knows?" he asked, his voice icy. Angelus prodded Willie in the arm, none too gently. "Come on Willie, tell the Watcher, or he'll rip out your spleen and feed it to you." His voice was playful. Willie whimpered and tried to cower away from both Watcher and vampire at the same time. The best that he could achieve was a protective huddle.

"Don't hurt me! Don't torture me again!" he whined. There were several gasps from the other end of the table. Angelus cocked an eyebrow. "Torture you Willie, I haven't *touched* you. Well, not much. Now, tell the Watcher, or I'm afraid I'm going to have to get the bag out again." He finished with a growl for emphasis. He noticed with some enjoyment that the teenagers were trying to put even more distance between themselves and him. All except Xander, who sat stiff as a ramrod, glaring at him. Interesting, thought Angelus. "Shut up, Angelus." That was Giles. "Now, Willie, the sooner you tell us, the sooner you can leave." It was the greatest incentive Willie could have. He told them all there was to tell. He didn't know the whole story, but some demons had met in his bar a couple of weeks before. Two were Hylekians. The other two were robed and cowled, and he had no idea who or what they were. The Hylekians had bought all the drinks, and the group had placed themselves in the most shadowed corner. They were clearly negotiating something, and hard bargains were being driven on both sides, with some loss of temper, but Willie had heard nothing. The Caaracal demons on the next table, though, had remained after the four had left. Caaracals have *very* good hearing. They had also been slightly tipsy. The next time one of them had come to the bar, he had told Willie that things were going to change around here soon, because the Slayer would be going for a little one-way trip to Hylek, in exchange for rather a lot of Hylekian diamonds. The Hellmouth would be available to the strongest. He knew nothing else, except the identity of the Caaracal demons. He told them that, as well. For the first time since the start of Willie's recitation, Angelus let go of his shoulder. "Is that absolutely everything Willie?" Willie nodded vigorously. "Are you quite sure? You don't want to make me ask you again." Willie wasn't sure whether the required answer was a nod or a shake, so he tried both on general principle. When Angelus continued staring at him, he nodded and shook with rather more vigour. Eventually the vampire seemed satisfied. "Don't even think of leaving town, or I *will* find you, and I *will* use every single thing in that bag on you. For a very long time. Go." Willie looked as if he was going to be sick, but he went. Quickly.

"Why are you telling us this?" Giles was barely restraining his anger now. "Do you expect us to believe you?" Angelus was coolly amused. "Why, Rupert, I'm so disappointed. I never lie. You think that Buffy's in the mansion? She isn't, I assure you, although you may come and inspect the place for yourself." He held up a hand at the sounds of incredulity from the humans. "You have my word that no one will harm any of you whilst you are under my roof. Even though you broke in to my home and stole my property while we were away. Where is Acathla, by the way?" He didn't wait for an answer to that. "Of course, all bets are off once you've left my roof, but you knew that anyway." The smile was positively shark-like now. Strangely, Giles did, indeed, believe him. He weighed whether or not Willie was telling the truth and had very little doubt that he had been. That meant they were in real trouble, without any notion of how to help Buffy. He tried to ignore the despair that was whipping through him. If he gave in to it, he would be of no help at all to his charge. He needed to understand something though. "Why are you helping us? You surely want the Slayer dead?" Giles thought he was the only one to notice the strange look that passed across Angelus' face, so fleetingly that Giles himself almost missed it. There was a heartbeat of hesitation before the flippant answer. "Let's just say I'm perverse. I like a bit of fun in my life. A hot little Slayer goes down very well" Nobody could restrain Xander. In the blink of an eye, he was out of his chair, and flying at the vampire, Mr Pointy in his raised fist. And in another blink of an eye, Mr Pointy was buried to the hilt in Angelus' shoulder. In the third blink, Angelus was on his feet, Xander crushed back against his chest, the vampire's fangs grazing the boy's jugular. The others were frozen in attitudes of astonished dismay, not daring to move in case the tableau before them descended into tragedy. "Don't push me *boy*. I haven't fed since last night." Cordelia moaned. Carefully, Giles moved towards the vampire and his captive. "Let Xander go. Please." To everyone's surprise, especially Xander's, Angelus did. Having pushed the shaking boy back towards his friends, he tugged the stake from his shoulder. He could still smell Buffy on it. Lavender, vanilla, and Slayer. And his own rich and powerful blood.

A heady mixture. He made no move to give it back. It took him only a moment to decide his course of action and issue his instructions. "I'm going to see the Caaracals. If you ever want to see the Slayer again, you will have to find out all you can about the Hylek dimension and in particular, how to get there. It would also be an extremely good idea to find out how to get back again, don't you think? Meet me here at midnight tomorrow with the answers." He whirled round and was gone, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. It was a long moment before it was broken by Willow's tentative question. "That'll be me and Cordelia for surfing the net, then, Xander on food patrol, Oz and Giles on books, will it?" Nobody disputed her division of labour, and they got on with their assigned tasks. It was so much easier than trying to understand what had just happened. ***************** Buffy had gone from despair to anger. It felt like a good move. Someone, a man who looked human if you ignored a very slight tendency to scaliness round the edges, had been to see her. He spoke English. He made it very plain that she had been brought here to fight demons. The problem was that she was to fight them in the arena, for entertainment and on behalf of the rich and powerful patrons in this part of the dimension. With an audience. Even now, unconscious newcomers were being brought to the cages around her. One body, one cage. All of them looked big and muscular so far. None of them looked like her captors. They were shipping in gladiators. And she was one! She had refused, but the man had pointed a small weapon at her. The pain that had followed had been in a league of its own. She guessed she'd fight until she could find a way out of this. They would have to let her out of the cage to fight. Surely the rest couldn't be too hard for a slayer? Her mind skirted around the problem of what she would do after fleeing the arena, and shied violently away from the issue of where the arena might actually be in relation to Sunnydale. That could come later. One problem at a time. Small steps. ******************** Angelus found the Caaracals' lair without difficulty; after all, they had no reason to think it necessary to lie low. When he had finished with them he was liberally coated with demon blood and the floor was liberally coated with demon body parts. It hadn't been particularly necessary to massacre them, but it had helped ease his rage. Not only had his chosen plaything been taken to fight in the Hylekian Games, without so much as a word to him, but she had also been sold to the Hylekians by a group of unidentified demons who claimed they owned the Hellmouth. *His* Hellmouth. He'd positively known that he shouldn't have let Drusilla persuade him to take the family on vacation. It had been bad enough staking most of his minions before they left, although that had had to be done. He couldn't take them all, and there was no

telling what trouble the rest would have got into with him gone. It was even worse that they had run into Aurelius, head of their clan, in Egypt, and been detained at his pleasure. He gave a rumbling growl of anger at that memory. But to arrive back and find that a whole tribe of demons had designs on his Hellmouth, and to boot had sold his possession into slavery in the mistaken belief that she was the only obstacle to them? Insupportable. On his way back to the mansion, he took down a courting couple, their teenage hormones almost tangible on the night air. By the time he had drunk his fill, his rage was back to manageable proportions. He went home to clean up, get his wound dressed - damn that boy, who would have thought he had *that* in him? - and mull over what he had learned. And to consult his own library. *************** By nightfall no one was very fresh. Sleep had been viewed as an unnecessary luxury. Xander kept up the food runs, and sugar highs were the norm now. They had all been grateful that it had been Saturday, and there had been no classes to interrupt their activity. Oz had proved to be an adept researcher, but the information simply didn't seem to be there. Giles had eventually conceded a level of defeat about the Hylekian dimension, and had contacted the Council. From them, he had learned about the Hylekian Games, an event held every seven years, with the various factions vying to demonstrate their power through the prowess of their gladiators. And it was important to the power structure in their society over the coming seven years, because it was a winner-takes-all scenario. It was their way of choosing a king - or queen - for the next seven years. The owner of the last gladiator standing got to have it all. Now he could see why Buffy had been an attraction. The problem for this dimension was that she wasn't dead, or at least he prayed she wasn't, so no new slayer would be chosen. He, and the teenagers in this room, were the only ones who stood guard over the Hellmouth. Grand. Willow and Cordelia had had a little more luck on the travel plans. They had found some extremely obscure spells for travelling between dimensions, and one for finding objects lost in other dimensions. Willow was currently trying to find a way to combine both, with advice from other Wiccans. Cordelia was still hunting for all things Hylekian. ************ Angelus was confident that the others would follow his instructions, despite their hatred for him. Buffy was simply too important for them to forego his help. There was a temporary truce. It was for that reason he had let the boy go. A demon's reputation will stand or fall on how he keeps his word. The truce had been unspoken, but it had been there, nonetheless, and he was always true to his word.

His library did not contain a great deal pertinent to either Hylek or travel to it, although he had memorised what there was. He was now going to find out more about those who threatened his mastery of the Hellmouth. By 10.00pm, Willow thought she had the spell. The only real problem was that it couldn't be tested. It would have to be right first time. She had built in as many safety precautions as she could, but who really knew? This could be a complete disaster, but at least that couldn't be worse than the current situation. Could it? She needed two things now to make her preparations complete. "Giles, I need to go over to Buffy's to get something of hers. I thought of using Mr Pointy, but Angelus took it." Giles looked up from what he was doing. "Go with Xander, then. Do you know what you are looking for?" Oh, yes. She was absolutely positive. Much better than Mr Pointy. Something that owned Buffy's heart, that would draw her inexorably back to this dimension. The claddagh ring. "Yeah, I know what to get. Umwho's going to fetch her back?" "I am, of course." Of course it would be Giles. He thought of Buffy as a daughter. "OK. I need something of yours. Something that means so much to you that you might return from Hell to get it back." Giles looked at a ring on his finger. "No problem." His smile was gentle. When they met again at midnight, the preparations were ready. What they weren't ready for was the entry into the library of three vampires. Angelus had brought Spike and Drusilla. Of the eight beings in that room, only one looked remotely comfortable. Angelus. "What the" Giles started to splutter. The teenagers crowded close to him. Spike and Drusilla looked sullen. Angelus sighed. "While I'm gone, you are going to need help with the Hellmouth. Spike and Drusilla will do that." "What!" The expletive was collective. "Shall we sit down?" They all did. When he regained the power of speech, Giles tackled the first issue that needed

resolving. "What do you mean, 'while I'm gone'?" Angelus looked mildly exasperated. "Well, someone has to get her back. You don't think that anyone else has a better chance of that than me, do you?" "You've got no chance at all, because that's already decided. I'm going." "Rupert, Rupert. I thought you were brighter than to think with your madly beating heart. It is, you know - beating away ten to the dozen. I can hear it from here." None of the humans cared for the thought of that. He continued, "You can't surely expect to be able to rescue a gladiator - and probably one of the top gladiators from the Hylekian Games with a few library books and the odd admonishment?" He knew that was unfair - Ripper was an accomplished fighter. Just not accomplished enough, if the need arose. And he enjoyed needling him anyway. The ensuing argument didn't last all that long. Even hating the demon as he did, Giles was honest enough to admit to himself that the vampire would make a better rescuer than he, if only he could be trusted. Angelus clinched the matter, though. "Think of it this way, Rupert. If I fail, you'll still be around to make the next try." Giles conceded, but with a poor grace. "Erm" That was Willow. Giles tried to put his anger aside - Willow was frightened enough as it was. "Yes, Willow?" "The spell was done for a human - I've tied it to you. I'll need to rework it for a vampire. And I'll need some help." "Then get on with it!" That was Angelus. His temper was close to snapping point. There were too many delays here. Giles looked at Willow's frightened face, the slight tremble of her hands, and pushed his chair back from the table. He stalked over to the vampire lounging at the other end of the table, stopping only a hand's breadth from him. "Don't you dare speak to Willow like that! She is doing magic beyond her years and beyond her previous experience, and she's doing it for Buffy. She is only too well aware that she might not get things right. We all want Buffy back, although God knows why you do, and if you screw this up by frightening her into a mistake, I will kill you where you stand." He was shouting, now, and leaning closer to that pale, smirking face. Angelus stood, slowly, and leaned forwards himself. The two were almost nose to nose, now. Oh-oh, thought Oz, as he put his arms around Willow.

Too many alpha males, not enough room. He could almost smell the testosterone oozing down the table. It was Cordelia who inserted herself between the two as they stared each other down, pushing the men apart. "Buffy can be a real pain in the ass, but that's no reason to leave her stranded in this other dimension thing. Now get your asses in gear and help Willow! Now!" Everyone held their breath. Well, those that breathed, anyway. Spike looked as if he were being royally entertained. Angelus chose to be amused. He turned to Willow. "What needs doing, Willow?" "I need to change the identity that the spell recognises, and make sure you arrive in a place of safety. I don't think it will take long, but once I've rewritten it, I need to check it with the people who've helped me. I might need to change the incantation to bring you back. I'll start now." She moved over to the computer, and everyone else resumed their seats. The tension and testosterone remained. Angelus then broached the matter of the Hellmouth. "A cult of demons, the Kahlavi, has decided to take control of the Hellmouth. It will give them power to do things they can't otherwise do. They want to rule the world, and with the Hellmouth power, they can pretty much do it. Neither you nor I want that, I think." He was looking at Giles. "You can't manage on your own." He rose from his chair and walked over to Drusilla. Turning her a little, he took her chin between his fingers and thumb and forced her head up, making sure that she was looking him in the eyes. "Daddy will be very cross if you have damaged any of these people before I come back." "Yes, Daddy," she whined. Then he looked at Spike. His tone of voice was soft, but the words were steel. "You will help them, you and Drusilla. There is a truce between these humans and us until this is finished. Do you understand me?" Spike was the first to flinch. "Yeah, right, got it." Angelus was satisfied. He turned to Giles. "Is that correct, Ripper? There is a truce?"

Giles weighed the question carefully. A truce with a demon? Three demons? Killers, all? And why did this demon want Buffy back? He hoped that it was simply the residual obsession that had replaced Angel's love. For now, that reason would have to do. And he would do anything to get Buffy back unharmed. "Yes, there is a truce. Until Buffy is back." There were shouts of protest. Xander was at his most vehement. "Giles! Are you insane? You're not thinking of sending thisthingto get Buffy. No! A truce with Jenny's murderer? I don't think so!" Cordelia had a more pragmatic grasp of what was at stake, though. She dug her nails into Xander's arm. He didn't feel a thing. She dug deeper. "Ow! Cordelia" None too gently, she turned his face to hers. "Xander. Nothing else matters at the moment, except getting Buffy back. Nothing! It's all on hold until Buffy is safe back here. Do you understand?" He flung away from her, still in a towering rage. Long moments passed. Cordelia stared at Xander's back. Oz moved to stand by Willow. Giles looked as if he wanted to be sick. Drusilla had a faraway look on her face, and Spike just looked bored and impatient to get away. Angelus was barely holding his temper in check. They needed to be getting on with things. Who knew what was happening with his possession? She had been in Hylek for eight days now, so far as he could tell. The games had probably started. It was his low growl at the thought of someone else damaging his plaything that brought Xander back to the group. He looked tired, defeated. "I understand. But when this is over, all bets are off." Cordelia gave him an encouraging smile. Angelus gave a curt nod. "Very well. Giles, what have you learned about Hylek?" Giles gave a competent summary of their findings. Angelus scowled. He really didn't like the sound of anything that he heard. This was going to be one bitch of a rescue. He paced for a moment or two, assimilating what he had learned, then walked over to Willow, who was deeply engrossed in her work. "Are you finished yet, Willow?"

She hadn't heard him approach, and thought that her heart would burst through her ribs, it was pounding so hard with fear. "N..not quite. I'm almost there. Maybe 15 minutes." "Very well. I'll be back shortly. I need to feed first." "Damn it, no! I won't allow that." That came from Giles. "Rupert, I'm off to rescue the damsel in distress. I don't know how long I'll be gone or when I'll get to eat again - demon blood is no help. Would you prefer me to be snacking off the Slayer?" Giles' mouth pursed into a moue of distaste. He turned on his heel and marched out of the library. He could not sanction this, but the vampire did, indeed, need to feed. Damn. Angelus left the building and quickly found a couple of vagrants and a well-satisfied mugger. They would do - it was not a gourmet meal he was looking for, after all. He just needed to be as well fed as possible. When he returned, Willow was ready and Giles was back. "Willow, do you have the spell yet?" "Yes." It came out as a breathless squeak. She was terrified of him. "What do we need to do? Make sure that I thoroughly understand everything. The last thing we need is a screw-up." Willow could feel herself start to hyperventilate. She closed her eyes and took a few moments to calm herself. "I have a spell to find Buffy." She picked up the claddagh ring. Angelus had an odd look on his face. Willow continued, "This ring means everything to Buffy. The spell will use this, and her feelings for it, to link it to her physically. It will take you with it. I'm going to do a conjuration so that the ring will exist in a split state, a duality. One state will exist in Hylek; the other will exist in this dimension. You will be in possession of the more solid Hylek counterpart, and you will have a spell to bring both existences back together here. Give the ring to Buffy as you do the incantation, and she will come back with it. If something goes wrong, if you fail, our counterpart here will disappear. That's how we'll know" She paused for breath, ready to ask Angelus what object she could use for him, when Giles continued smoothly.

"If you hold Buffy's hand, you will be brought back too, but you must not lose contact with her, otherwise you will stay behind." Angelus would be alive, rather than dead, or as much as those statements applied to a vampire. That would be his repayment for rescuing Buffy. His banishment from this dimension would be Giles' revenge. Willow frowned. She knew exactly what Giles was doing. She wondered whether Angelus did, too. It seemed to her like a breach of the newly-declared truce. Someone had to be honourable here. Humans were more honourable than demons, weren't they? Surely, dealing with Angelus must wait until the truce was over? Yet, how could she gainsay Giles? She turned a clear gaze on Angelus. "Do you still have Mr Pointy?" He pulled the stake out of his pocket. "Give it to me." He handed the stake over, saying not a word. His stare, though, was intense. She turned the length of wood over in her hand. It was heavily stained with Angelus' blood. Would blood bring a vampire back? Perhaps it would be enough. "The claddagh won't fit on your finger, and you don't want to lose it. Can you push it on to here as firmly as you can? I don't think Buffy needs to wear it - just holding it should do." Angelus gave her as close to a genuine smile as he had ever given anyone in his life. He knew exactly what had happened here. The Watcher had tried to strand him; despite her fear, the witch had given him a way back. That was an honourable act. He owed her a favour. He would not forget. But he said nothing, just took both stake and ring, and pushed the ring up the slim point of the stake until it was firmly embedded in the blood-stained wood. He needed something else, though. He pointed to her necklace, a Wiccan symbol pendant on a strip of leather. "Give me your necklace. Please" Silently, she handed it to him. He returned the pendant itself, then tied the leather thong tightly around the top of the stake. He hung the makeshift pendant around his neck. It was Spike who spoke everyone's thoughts. "Living dangerously there, aren't you mate?" "Perhaps, but I need to have my hands free. OK, Willow. What else?"

"My spell will land you a little way from Buffy, in the nearest available cover. I didn't want you dropping straight onto her and killing her with the fall, and I didn't want you landing in sunlight. The real problem is, the whole thing is powered by the moon. It seemed safest, you know, with you burning up in sunlightIt's full moon tonight. The return spell will only have power to bring you back at full moon in Hylek. Any full moon night will do, it doesn't have to be the next one. But I haven't been able to find out the periodicity of Hylek's moon. I know it has just one, and I know it waxes and wanes. That's all I know." That was a long speech for her, especially when the auditor was their mortal enemy. She sat back, shaking. Angelus frowned, as he thought about that. The witch had done well in the time allowed. Better than well, really. It couldn't be helped that one piece of information was missing, important as it was. "And the incantation to get back?" She handed him a piece of paper. He read the incantation. It was simple, and he had it committed to memory in a second, but he still pocketed the slip of paper. "How long will your preparations take?" "About five minutes - just candles and herbs and stuff." All the humans helped with the preparations, anxious to get this over. The spell was simple enough. Angelus stood in the centre of the circle of fragrant candles and sharp-scented bowls of burning herbs, his fist wrapped around the ring embedded in the stake. Willow chanted, and then he was simply gone. A stake with a ring embedded in it lay in the centre of the circle, the ring glittering in the moonlight that played over that part of the floor. Willow prayed to the Goddess that Angelus still had his version with him. There was an exchange of glances amongst those left, as they wondered whether the truce would hold.

To Kill A Cat
Author: Jo Feedback : Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Part 3

Buffy was readying herself to go into the arena again. She had already won

three bouts, each with a different sort of demon. They hadn't been fights to the death, but she wondered if that would come. She'd been told that the first seven days of contest were for preliminary bouts, to test the strength of the gladiators, find which ones were fit to go, so to speak. This was the seventh day. She still hadn't found how to get out of the arena. Oh, she'd tried. The walls were high and smooth, up to the tiers of seats, but she'd managed to get a hand on the top, only to discover that an invisible shield barrier covered the whole floor of the arena. The harder she'd tried to break through it, the greater the pain. Herkeeper?had explained later that the barrier would keep all life forms inside. The Hylekians were no fools. They had no intention of permitting pressed and reluctant gladiators to escape. She was wasting her time. The barrier would stay in place during the entire period of the Games. These had been known to go on for months. Great. So, it was her turn again. Quarterstaffs this time. She wondered about her friends and whether they were trying to find her. She wondered about Angelus, and how much he had had to do with her abduction. She owed him. Big time. **************** When Angelus came to, he was lying amid stone rubble. He could tell by the bruising to his shoulder and the ache in his head that the stone was rubble because of him. Ouch! His arrival had demolished a half-height wall. He was inside some sort of structure - it looked like stables. The door was open, and he could see that it was daylight outside. Different time frame, then. Oh, that could be fun. He moved carefully to the door, stuck his hand out into the sunlight and waited for the reaction. And waited. Nothing happened. Gingerly, he walked outside. Nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. That would make things easier. He could see that the arena was not very far away. By the sounds coming from it, the day's proceedings were already under way. He tucked Mr Pointy carefully under his shirt, dusted off the remnants of stone rubble, assumed his demon face, and strolled off to the arena. Entrance was free. Angelus grinned. Bread and circuses; keep the masses happy. Same the universe over, really. The gatekeepers scrutinised him carefully, but allowed him in. When he got up to the seats, he saw that although most spectators were clearly Hylekian natives, there was a smattering of others. No vampires, though. He wondered if that might be significant. Then he saw what was happening in the arena. Buffy was fighting a large, strong but lumbering demon with quarterstaffs. She was clearly winning, and her opponent was retreating as fast as he could. That's my girl, thought Angelus, proudly. Then he scowled. She was wearing entirely too few clothes to be seen out in public. She was his property, and was not to be gawped at by

the likes of this crowd. Just wait until he got her home He shook his head, bringing his mind back to the task in hand - getting her away. He could see the cages where the gladiators were presumably kept. Most had leather screens pulled over the front - the occupied ones, perhaps? If she were kept in there, and they were the same as the empty ones that he could see, he rather doubted that he could get her out without a key. He wondered why she hadn't made a break for freedom, but was pleased with her good sense for not doing so. Where would she go, in this strange land? If she had run and hidden, she would have been the devil to find, magic not withstanding. He wandered around the back of the seating area, assessing the arena, weighing and discarding options. He had almost come to the conclusion that the best way to free Buffy was to wait until the arena emptied then find someone with a key to the cages. He had no doubt he could force the unlucky demon to open up. But first, he must establish the phase of the moon. He didn't really want to be on the run, with what might be a recalcitrant Slayer, in unknown country for a prolonged period. Then his plans were completely forgotten. The crowd had started booing the Slayer's opponent for cowardice, and were throwing stones into the arena. Stewards were trying to stop them, but it was a lost cause. One stone, thrown particularly hard, hit Buffy on the temple, causing her to stumble and fall, disoriented. The other gladiator saw his opportunity and was now closing in to finish the fallen girl. Angelus, not knowing whether this was a fight to the death, took no chances. He didn't even stop to consider. He leapt over the top of the wall onto the sand of the arena floor, sprinted to the combatants and broke the demon's neck with one easy movement. The barrier had been no barrier at all. It had been conceived to keep gladiators in, not to keep enraged vampires out. There was pandemonium. Handlers ran in from all directions with nets and staffs. They also had the small pain guns, but Angelus could not have recognised those yet. The crowd were on their feet, shouting and gesticulating, those at the back standing on the seats to get a better view. Buffy, by this time, was back on her feet, if swaying slightly. As her vision cleared, she saw before her the being that seemed to be the architect of all her woes and her temper snapped. She hit him, hard. Then she hit him again and again, with her fists and her feet, and any other part of her body hard enough to hurt him. All the time, although she was not aware of it, she was chanting, "Bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard" And all the time, he was simply absorbing her blows, blocking them where he could, but otherwise simply going with the punches. Not hitting her back. Not trying to stop her.

This was a new development in gladiatorial combat for the handlers, but the crowd was fascinated. So nobody tried to stop it. On and on she went, beating every part of him that she could, with as much power as she could. There was real venom in her blows, real pain that she visited on this creature that had caused her so much. Why wasn't he fighting back? Never mind the reason. Just hit him, and hit him again. Finally, she kicked him very hard in the genitals, and he went down with a gasp. She ran back to the dead gladiator and picked up his staff. It was the work of a second to stamp on it and break off an eminently usable stake. She sped back to Angelus, who was now curled around his private world of hurt, cupping his wounded parts. She threw herself down astride his chest, shoved him onto his back and raised the stake to strike. It was then that he spoke, in the pained tones of one who has been grossly put upon. "Are we quite done here, Buff? Because this *is* a rescue, you know." "What!" ****************** They were both in Buffy's cage. If she had thought it small before, it was positively claustrophobic now. He was stretched out on his side on the floor, leaning on one elbow, watching her, while she sat in the furthest corner of her sleeping pallet, as far away from him as she could get. The keepers were in a huddle further down the colonnade. Another contest was taking place in the arena, but he couldn't see what was happening. The keepers had rolled a screen over the front of the cage before retiring to their huddle - gladiators were obviously supposed to come fresh to their opponents, unaware of their strengths and weaknesses. Foolishness. When she had tossed the stake away in confusion, the keepers had moved in and tried to separate them. Angelus had simply swept her up into his arms and refused to put her down. After a brief struggle, beating his face and shoulders with her fists, she had decided to be pragmatic for the moment - a rescue attempt, even if abortive, from her mortal enemy was surely better than captivity here. She whispered to him about the barrier, and how they were trapped. He had sighed, then looked around for a way out. There were none that he could see. Oh, good. Trapped in an arena with a bunch of gladiators. Just what he wanted. The keepers had tried beating him with their staffs. He had growled and snapped at them. They had used the pain guns, and he had howled with rage and pain, then, still carrying Buffy, had kicked out at one of the keepers, breaking his wrist. He had dropped the little pain gun. When the angry vampire made no move to attack the rest of them, they had shaken out their nets and

herded him towards Buffy's cage. He'd had no option but to let them. At least they hadn't been separated. If he could keep it that way, the cage wasn't a problem. The magic would simply magic them out of it. He hoped. As soon as they were locked in the cage, he had put her down and she had retreated into her corner. He lay down, stiff and sore from the beating he had taken from her (just why he had permitted her to do that, he didn't wish to reflect upon), and watched her whilst listening to the debate going on further down the colonnade. That was fascinating. He didn't understand the words, but he thought he got the drift. Some of the keepers had rushed off, then come back clutching books and scrolls. There was heated debate, with much arm waving. He was pretty clear that they were checking the rules to see whether two gladiators were allowed to fight together. Because that was what he had just allowed himself to become. He would have to prevent them from taking Mr Pointy. He *had* to keep possession of that stake. It was their only chance of getting back. Well, *his* only chance. He was sure that, if he failed, Giles would come for Buffy, and he was under no illusions about whether that rescue would include him. He didn't want to discuss their business while the keepers were in earshot, so he simply lay there, watching her. Watching the curve of her cheek, the swell of her breast, the way her hair lay curled against her neck. Drinking in the scent of her. His possession. The arena had been warm in the sun, but here, in the shade of the colonnade, it was cooler, and the sun was sinking. She was trembling a little. Well, he could do something about that. He stood up and stripped off his leather jacket, leaving him dressed only in a wine-red silk shirt, and black leather trousers. He took the few steps towards her and draped the jacket over her shoulders. She shrank from him, but nodded her gratitude all the same. He was about to return to his chosen spot when one of the keepers broke away from the group and strode towards their cage. He didn't come close enough to be snatched. "You have presented us with an unusual situation, and it has been necessary to consult our records extensively. However, we are all now agreed." He looked directly at Buffy. "When you were purchased for the Games we did not know that you were part of a mated pair." Buffy's gasp of indignation alerted Angelus, who took her wrist and gave it a warning squeeze. "Had we known, we would have purchased both of you." Now it was Buffy who covered his large hand with her smaller one and squeezed in warning as the furious growl erupted from him. "With mated pairs, it is not only allowable, but mandatory for them to fight as a team." He looked directly at Angelus. "Your unorthodox entry to the Games, and your killing of a combatant in a non-lethal contest, do not prevent us from applying that mandatory rule, and are viewed as understandable actions in the circumstances. The error is considered to have

been ours. Therefore, our decision is that you will join your mate as the property of the House of Orbath, and you will be permitted to fight together in furtherance of the interests of that House. Other contestants in The Great Game will from now on, of course, field multiple opponents against you, as is only just and fair. Larger quarters will be made available to you shortly." He scrutinised Angelus again. "You are a vampire, yes?" Angelus nodded. "We have few sources of suitable blood, but whatever we have will be made available. Fight well." He turned on his heel and left. Angelus waited for the explosion. He wasn't disappointed. "Mated pair!" she spat, "What does he mean 'mated pair'? I'd rather mate a rattlesnake than you!" She was clearly working herself up to a tirade, and, with all his aches and bruises, he didn't feel up to that in the small cage. He grabbed both her wrists and held on. "Listen!" he hissed, "Just be grateful that whatever they think keeps us close together." The glare she directed at him would have put Medusa to shame and finished off Perseus in a nanosecond, shield or no. He sighed. "I've got the ticket out of here. You do want to come, don't you?" He felt her struggle with herself, but eventually her shoulders drooped, and she nodded in acquiescence. "Wait until everyone has left for the night and I'll explain. Tell me, what phase is the moon?" "What?" He sighed again. Had she always been this difficult? Of course she had - that was one of the things that appealed to him. "Just answer the question." She furrowed her brow in thought. "Just past full moon." Damn. It wasn't too long before the keeper returned, with a crew of demons manhandling a cage identical to the one they were in. The crew would fit the two together, then simply release the centre panels and slide them away, making a double size cage. The keepers needed adjustable cages. One never knew what the House representatives would find for the Games. But this pair was special. He should have seen it, even when they just had the female. Anyone should have seen it. What had those foolish representatives of the House of Orbath been about, leaving the male behind? Dolts! Not only was it

extremely rare to get a mated pair of warriors, but a Slayer and a master vampire? Never before. And what a team they made. They would be magnificent together. Why, the male had even crossed dimensions to find his mate. What would they not do for each other? They were his charges, and he was filled with certainty that, together, they would defeat everything that the Great Game would throw at them. His demon heart swelled with pride. The cage was quickly fitted. Buffy was alert, looking for a chance to run, Angelus was sure, but he held her wrist tightly. Until the next full moon, there really wasn't anywhere to run to. A larger sleeping pallet was provided, and the crew were done. "Are you hungry, vampire?" "No. I shan't need to feed until tomorrow." "Very well." The keeper looked at Buffy. "Your supper will be provided as usual, then." He reached into the bag he was carrying and drew out a small bundle of leather, which he passed through the bars to Angelus. "Here is your clothing for the arena. You will put this on and give me your own." Angelus shook out the bundle to reveal a loincloth. "What!" ************ As evening deepened into night, he could see that the moon, indeed, was just past full. He wondered how long a month might be, here. The way things were going, it could be half a year Buffy had eaten, and now lay curled on the pallet. She had made it perfectly clear without using any words at all that Angelus would trespass on that pallet at his peril. He had explained to her about the properties of the ring, and had seen her face close down, her expression impenetrable, her eyes as hard as diamond. It had made her look even younger and more vulnerable, and he was surprised to find himself wanting to hold her. But he hadn't. Now, she was asleep, her back to him, and he lay a little way away, watching her again. Watching the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed, the slight twitching of her muscles as she dreamed. The moonlight silvering her golden skin. Listening to the slow, steady sleep rhythms of her heart. Savouring the scent of her. There was only a faint trace of lavender and vanilla now, but the rest was pure Buffy. It was as he dwelt on her delicious fragrance that he noticed a new scent. Tears. She was crying in her sleep. He moved towards her and stretched out on the pallet, spooning behind her, his right arm and right leg thrown possessively over her, his hand cupping her

left breast. She fitted him perfectly. Mine, he thought, savagely. He held her close and whispered soothing nothings to her until her tears stopped. Then he just continued to hold her close, feeling the softness of her hair on his face. He didn't notice for a moment that she had awakened, until she spoke, softly. "Why do they think we are a mated pair? All you've ever done is rape me." What to tell her? The truth, he supposed. He looked at Angel's claddagh ring on his own hand. For some unfathomable reason that he did not wish to examine, he had never yet removed it. "When Angel gave you the claddagh ring, he didn't tell you all the truth. He said that it was for friendship, and could show that your heart was given, but back in his day, the claddagh was a wedding band. That was how he thought of you - as his mate, his wife. He knew that you wouldn't know that, but even so, he committed himself to you for life. A life commitment for a vampire is a serious matter. And that marriage was consummated. I was there at the time, this body was there at the time, so I suppose the Hylekians just picked up on the residue of that." He didn't really know why the Hylekians had considered Buffy to be just as committed, but it did no good to question that. Buffy lay in the arms of the demon, feeling his strength around her, his cool chest pressed reassuringly against her back. She wished to God that she could wake up and find that her Angel had been returned to her by some miracle. And she remembered when Angel had given her the ring. How could she ever forget? As luck would have it, she had already known the deeper meaning of the claddagh, although she hadn't told Angel that. Before her calling, she had read about it in one of the fluffy novels she'd occasionally indulged herself with. She'd thought it incredibly romantic, and it had stuck in her mind. On the night that he had given it to her, he had obviously not meant to tell her the whole, but she had still made vows of eternal love in her own heart. Her life expectance as a slayer might be short, but the commitment was just as serious as a vampire's. She hoped that this demon never found that out - he would twist it to his own advantage, use it as another thorn to prick her with. So the demon and his Slayer fell into a troubled sleep. ************* It had been 26 days. Giles and the teenagers, sat in the library, not knowing what else to do. The beringed stake still lay on the floor where it had appeared when Angelus had left the dimension. During the day, it simply vanished, but as soon as moonlight fell on that spot, it reappeared. And its solidity waxed and waned with the moon. Willow broke the silence, and said, for perhaps the 26th time, "I guess the

moon might not run to the same cycle there." Everyone else nodded moodily. They were tired, and they were hurting. They were fighting a running battle with the Kahlavi demons, with cult members moving into town in greater and greater numbers. The demons were good fighters. Astonishingly, Spike and Drusilla were holding up their end of the truce. In fact, they were the ones who generally did the hardest of the fighting. They were the only ones with sufficient strength, after all. That was what they were doing now. The group here had done as much as they physically could, then gathered in the library, as they did every night, for a brief vigil. And to pray to any god that would listen. They sat, silently, determined to wait for a little while longer. Hoping that the moon in Hylek was even now waxing to full. ************ It had been 26 days. As a pair of warriors, they were unbeaten. The contests were for real now. Death in the afternoon. Admirers had sent pieces of pagan jewellery, gold and silver and precious stones, as tokens of appreciation of their skill. They had been allowed to keep those. Indeed, they were expected to wear them, and they did. The keeper had initially tried to remove Mr Pointy from Angelus, but when the vampire, crossing his fingers for luck, had explained that it was a religious devotional object in his clan, the keeper had simply bowed and walked away. And they had found something that he could eat. Horse. He'd had much worse. At least it was living, fresh blood. Twice each day, they would lead a different horse to the cage, and allow him, under armed guard, to come out and feed. Buffy was pleased, because the horse could afford to lose enough blood to meet his needs, and still live. Buffy and he had come to some sort of truce in the cage. They didn't needle or snipe at each other. Well, not much. When she cried in her sleep, she allowed him to hold her and soothe her. Otherwise they slept separately, even if they were only separated by inches. He had wanted to fuck her since the moment he had first arrived in the arena, but he didn't. Not because he was put off by the other demons watching - vampires weren't shy when it came to sex, after all - but because she would be. And for some reason, he still wanted her to be willing in their next encounter. So when the need became too great, he'd simply brought himself off as discretely as possible, and waited for the moon to change. The night before, though, something different, something new and unwelcome, had happened. When he had finished feeding, a different keeper had told him that he would be taken somewhere else for an hour, but would be returned to his mate at the end of that time. There was no escape, so he had allowed himself to be shackled and escorted to a small, bare underground room where

he had been pushed to his knees and his shackles attached to bolts in the floor. The chains were short enough to keep him on his knees, whilst still allowing some movement. A broad strip of leather was tied over his mouth. No biting, then. The guards had left, but the keeper stayed, seating himself on the room's only furniture, a chair tucked into a corner alcove. A few minutes later, two Hylekians had entered, a man and a woman, richly clad. The man had given something to the keeper. It might have been money, but Angelus could not be sure. He thought he knew now what was happening here. He knew it had been common practice in Roman arenas. Why should it be different here? The rich paid for time with the strong. The keeper would stay to ensure that neither gladiator nor client was harmed. The couple moved towards him, the woman to his front, the man to his rear, and together they loosened the fastenings of his loincloth. When it was done, he felt soiled. A vampire will fuck anything, true, but only the sire has the right to take a vampire without their consent. Anything else, be it by male or female, is rape and punishable by death. The vampire's family would hunt down and kill any offender. As the keeper sponged him down, removing traces of his own and the other man's seed, the woman's secretions, he knew that it wouldn't be enough to wash away how he felt. Aurelius had been preferable to this. The keeper told him that he and his mate could expect many such encounters. Others had asked for them, but the rules on hiring mated pairs had been unclear. A properly processed codicil had been added now, and the demand could be met. Angelus could never allow Buffy, his property, to suffer such defilement. He would defend her to the death, and he knew it. Or he would negotiate, and give his own body in place of hers. If he went willingly, without restraints, perhaps that would be enough. When he was returned to the cage, he refused to speak of what had happened, and lay apart from her, needing to be cleansed, yearning for a familiar touch, waiting for the moon to change. She was amazed at the restraint that he was showing, but preferred not to question it. Or discuss it with him. And for her part, she affected not to notice what he had done for sexual relief. She wondered what had happened to him the previous night, when he had been taken away for an hour. He had brusquely turned aside her question, but she had sensed the anger roiling through him. And something else that she couldn't quite identify. In a human, she would have said vulnerability, almost as Angel had been vulnerable, but how could that apply to the soulless demon that he was now? So she didn't try to press the matter and had left him alone. At present, it was enough that they had fallen into the beautifully matched fighting style that she had had with Angel, and that they were still alive. Had saved each other's lives over and over. And although she longed for home, she wondered just how she could kill this demon who comforted her in the night and saved her life in the killing arena. She, too, was waiting for the moon to change, but for her the waiting was hope and pain entwined. She wondered what it was like for him.

To Kill A Cat
Author: Jo Feedback : Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Part 4

Their keeper approached their cage now. There were still armed guards when he intended to open the door, but they were easier in their relationship since it had become clear that the pair were not thinking of immediate mayhem and escape. He carried something with him. "May I enter?" Well, that was new. Angelus looked at Buffy, who acquiesced. Angelus nodded to the keeper. "Today you will have a very important contest. All the minor houses have been eliminated now, and the major houses are represented by only the very best of the chosen warriors. You will meet a pairing from House Rohath, and they will be difficult for you. Since we have moved into the final stages of the Game, it is usual for competitors to wear symbols of the House they represent. I have come to do that." He held in his hands an inkpot and a brush. "Who will be first?" Angelus went first. He lay supine on the pallet as the keeper started his work. It was immediately clear that the demon was a talented artist, something that Angelus himself could appreciate. Deftly, using minimal lines to maximum effect, he used the blue ink to sketch out two stylised dragons coiling over the vampire's torso. Stylised, elongated wolves twined around his arms and legs, and his wrists and ankles were encircled by thick intertwining bands of thorned vines. On his right cheek was drawn the spiral of eternity. It could easily have been mistaken for pure Celtic art. Angelus was impressed. Whilst the ink dried, the keeper repeated the designs almost exactly on Buffy. Then he returned to Angelus. "Onto your stomach please." The vampire did so. The wolves on his arms and legs were completed. The keeper then turned to Angelus' back. He felt the demon's fingers run lightly over the tattoo. "This is beautiful work."

"Thank you." Then the brush started work again. "The designs on your front, as you face your opponent, are for the House of Orbath. The design on your back is for you, to spur you forward." "What design have you done?" It was Buffy who answered. "A cat. A beautiful big cat." As if she needed a reminder, she thought. The keeper then returned to work on Buffy. As he did so, he kept glancing at Angelus' back. When he had finished, he invited Angelus to look. It was beautiful. On her right shoulder blade, he had perfectly reproduced Angelus' tattoo. Except for one thing. Where his lion's paws held the letter A, hers held the letter Omega. Alpha to Omega, he thought. How very mythic. Padding across her back was the sinuous figure of a leopard. They were, indeed, a matched pair. The keeper stood silently, apparently admiring his handiwork. Then he raised his eyes to Angelus' own. "You should be wary of one of your opponents today. He has a talon that he can extend from the heel of his palm. This talon contains a venom that weakens other demons. I tell you this because in your case, the effect is more severe than in any other race of demon. It will prevent you from healing your wounds. It will be possible for you to bleed to death if you are injured. This is a thing that you should know." He looked at Buffy. "The venom affects only demons, not humans, even those who are slayers. The other competitors know this; you did not." He turned and left the cage without a further word. Angelus and Buffy looked at each other in surprise. Never before had the keeper offered information about opponents. Buffy voiced both their fears. "This sounds really bad. You'd better watch yourself, Angelus." She tried for flippant, but missed the mark. "Let's face it, you're my ticket home - can't lose you now after you've cluttered up my cage for this long." And there was another first. Never before had she called him Angelus. Usually, she didn't call him by any name at all, but if she needed to attract his attention in the arena, she *always* called him Angel. Just to annoy him, he suspected. Not long after that, the afternoon's Games started. By the time the announcer

called out for the Slayer and the Master Vampire, the Mated Pair, fighting in star position, the sun was getting low in the sky. They both had hopes that tonight the moon might be full. Last night, it had looked to be close. When they entered the arena, Angelus was holding her hand. Buffy wished that the occasion weren't so deadly. He might be her mortal enemy, but as a warrior, she loved to see him fight. He moved with lethal feline grace that was the more clearly displayed for the lack of clothing other than that simple loincloth and the pagan jewellery. She had learned the play of every muscle. He performed a deadly ballet of motion, and he was beautiful to watch. She did not realise that he loved to watch her for exactly the same reasons. They could see why the keeper had thought their opponents would be difficult. The first one was introduced to the crowd as the Trigon. It was a they, and they were hive demons. They were three beings who acted as one. For the purpose of the Games, they were considered to be a single opponent. They were big, and very strong. Great. The second was simply introduced as Gigas. The Giant. It was. Angelus squeezed Buffy's hand when he saw it. They were going to have trouble with this one. It was massive, with two dangerous-looking horns on its head. Its claws were daggers. He guessed that might be the one with the venom. Oh, good. This was not going to be pretty. Angelus, Buffy, and Gigas, were unarmed. Weapons would be thrown in to the arena later, usually at a difficult moment for one fighter or another. That seemed to add to the entertainment value. Starting with unarmed combat made for a longer contest. More of a crowd-pleaser. Bread and circuses. The Trigon were a different matter, though. They had a natural weapon other than teeth and claws. Extending from one forearm each had a long length of hardened tendon and scaly skin. It was an extremely effective bullwhip. Great. The Trigon were the first to approach, with Gigas holding back, waiting for its partners to weaken the vampire and the Slayer. Despite her protests, Angelus wrapped himself around Buffy and positioned them so that he took the fall of the lash. He would not scar; she might. *Nothing* other than himself was permitted to mark his property. For long moments he simply endured the pain, then came the opportunity he was waiting for. One of the whips tangled around his legs. Before it could be freed, he held it fast and yanked it towards him. The owner, of course, could not let go, and followed the whip. He dragged the demon close to his chest and with a burst of vampiric strength he tore the whip from its anchor at the wrist. But not before he had seen the Trigon raise its other palm, from which a foot-long dagger of bone protruded. The dagger was

pointed at his heart. It seemed as if it happened in slow motion, but in truth, the action was almost faster than the human eye could see. He had one hand full of Buffy, and one hand entangled in the whip. He could do nothing. He felt a sharp, piercing pain in his chest, and then the talon was withdrawn. Roaring his fury, he released Buffy and wrenched both hand and dagger from the Trigon's arm, then pushed the demon to her to deal with. He didn't think that she had seen, but she had. Her face was shocked. No time for any of that now. He turned to face the other two. This time, it was his chest rather than his back that took the brunt of their lash. Gigas saw that it was time to make a move. When he and the Trigon had entered the arena and learned the identity of their opponents, they had decided to concentrate first on the vampire. Take him out and the slayer's emotions would surely prevent her from fighting well. She would be easier meat. Roaring in challenge as it came, it pushed through the remaining two members of the Trigon and shouldered into Angelus. It was much more massive than he, and he went down. He was up in a moment, though, grabbing Gigas's clawed hands in his own and leaning into what was now essentially a pushing match. It couldn't last, but he needed to give Buffy time to deal with her demon. She did, crushing its throat. Then she leapt onto Gigas's back and used the whip from the dead demon to throttle the monster. The Trigon, unable to lash at her without hurting their partner, concentrated their efforts on Angelus. Again, he simply endured the pain. He was in game face, calling on every ounce of strength to give Buffy time to succeed. He might have made it work - even Gigas needed to breathe - but neither he nor Buffy noticed that the weapons had been thrown into the arena. When the Trigon stopped flogging him he knew something had happened, and looked around desperately for them. If they attacked BuffyBut they were halfway across the arena, sprinting for the pile of swords that had appeared. 'Swords' was probably the closest word, but these were like sharpened chain saws, broad-bladed, sharp-pointed, with large razor-edged teeth running the length of the blade on both sides. They would do enormous damage. And he couldn't let go of Gigas. If he did, it would drag Buffy off its back in a heartbeat. Two heartbeats later she would be dead. Never. Not so long as he could raise a finger to prevent it. His possession. His responsibility. "Buffy - go get a weapon," he gritted out. But she knew that her stranglehold on its throat was all that was preventing Gigas from overpowering him. Once it was loose Then it was too late - the Trigon were racing back towards them. Buffy, having seen the danger, was desperately yanking on the whip, but Gigas's neck was massive and tough. It suddenly reared its head backwards, impaling her shoulder with one of its horns. She cried out, but kept on tightening the garrotte. And then the Trigon were back. Pain seared through him as one slashed at his side with its sword, tearing a gaping wound. The other rammed

its sword through the small of his back. An eighteen-inch length protruded from his stomach. The sword stuck as the Trigon wielding it tried to rip it out. Angelus roared in agony. The sword wouldn't move. He could see what must be done. Gritting his teeth against the pain, and before its partner could take another slash at him, he pushed back against the Trigon, driving the sword further through. The Trigon, taken unawares, let go its grip on the weapon. Angelus released Gigas's hands, and leapt for its head. His leap was angled to drive the sword, which now protruded two feet from his belly, deep into the eye of Gigas. And it did. He felt its razor claws tearing at his ribs in its fury and pain. "Buffy" he gasped, as Gigas howled in agony. She knew what he wanted. She leapt onto his back, driving him further down. Then she took hold of the sword hilt and shoved. Angelus cried out again, but the sword penetrated Gigas's brain, and the demon fell to the bloody sand. There were still two members of the Trigon to finish. One was racing back to the weapons pile to replace the sword left in Angelus' body. The other was approaching them warily. He was pinned to Gigas, unable to free himself. Once again he gritted his teeth. "Do it." She placed her foot onto his back and gripped the hilt. His scream echoed around the arena as she yanked the sword out. He fought to remain conscious as he watched his partner, but the venom was taking effect. His demon was weakening, fainting, unable to do what needed to be done to heal his wounds. Shit. Buffy saw, and knew that he was in serious trouble. He didn't think that he had ever seen her in such a deadly rage. She faced the first Trigon and had beheaded him in seconds. The other fared no better, the sword left jutting from his chest. And the contest was over. She returned to where Angelus was slumped across the head of the dead Gigas. She tried to stop him - he was losing so much blood - but he struggled to his knees. Then she wrapped her arms around his head and pressed him to her abdomen. He put his own arms around her and allowed himself to just feel the soft warmth for a moment, a few seconds of comfort in the midst of his agony. Her blood, from the wound in her shoulder, trickled over her belly, and he lapped at it, desperate to taste her before what he thought might very well be his end. Even from so small an amount, he felt the power coil through him, easing his pain a little, giving him some of her strength. But she had little enough to give; he could feel her legs trembling with fatigue. Then they both became aware that the crowd were roaring their approval. They

had never heard such acclamation. At least someone enjoyed it, Angelus thought grimly. He saw the keepers coming towards them over the sand. And in that same moment, he also saw that the setting sun had dimmed enough to reveal the moon standing pale and high in the sky. The full moon. He staggered to his feet and, with the last of his strength, swept Buffy into his arms. "Take hold of the stake," he urged. She looked puzzled, so he turned around. "Look." She saw, and she took hold of Mr Pointy, wrapping her hand around the claddagh ring. The other arm was hooked around Angelus' neck. Balancing her weight on one arm, he took hold of the stake with his other hand, grasping it above her fist, on the part where his blood had stained the wood. Then he recited the incantation, and prayed that it would work. They were gone before the keepers reached them. ************** The teenagers were about to bid Giles goodnight after another fruitless vigil when there was an explosion of light from the beringed stake on the floor. What followed left them all breathless and speechless. And aghast. The game-faced vampire stood where the stake had been, holding Buffy in his arms, her face pressed close to his shoulder. They looked as if they had been painted in blood and ink. Both seemed to have full body tattoos. Both were dressed in skimpy loincloths, and in Buffy's case, a skimpy bandeau around her breasts. They wore heavy pagan jewellery. And there was the blood. There was so much blood. Blood everywhere, fresh blood and clotted gore. A pool of blood was forming at Angelus' bare feet. His chest was covered in lash marks, but there must be something worse than that. Blood was flowing down the front of his left thigh, from somewhere beneath Buffy's body. More blood was pouring down his right side from a wound beneath his ribs. There was a deep, penetrating wound in Buffy's shoulder, but that couldn't account for anything like the amount of blood sliding onto the floor. Neither of them seemed able to speak, and Angelus could barely stand. The teenagers were frozen in horror, and it was left to Giles to approach the stricken pair. "I'll take her." He held out his arms for the Slayer. Angelus started to hold her out towards the Watcher, then, before Giles had time to reach for her, he withdrew the gesture and held her close once more.

He looked searchingly into her eyes, then turned and walked unsteadily towards the door. They could see then the dozens of lash marks that covered his back, the deep claw marks over his ribs and the gaping slash in his right side. But the worst was the dreadful hole torn in his lower back, from which blood was flowing freely. The wound must go all the way through, they realised. There was no sign that any of the wounds were healing. They stood shocked into stillness as the vampire walked out of the library. Xander was the first to move. He looked at the others. "Well, we're not going to just let him walk out of here with her, are we? He's in no condition to put up a fight. Come *on*!" It was Willow who took hold of his arm and pulled him back. "Leave them. He won't hurt her." "What? Are you insane?" "If she had wanted to stay here, he couldn't have stopped her. He can't hurt her, he's too weak." Xander opened his mouth to expostulate, but this time it was Giles who stopped him. He looked to have aged ten years in two minutes. "Leave it, Xander. Willow's right, he won't hurt her. She'll come back tomorrow, I'm sure." Yes, he was indeed sure. Giles had never considered himself as having prescient moments, but he seemed to feel one now. The vampire had looked as if he was walking away to die. ********** They hadn't spoken. Halfway to the mansion, Angelus could go no further. He fell to his knees, still cradling Buffy to his chest. As he sank to the ground, she freed herself from his embrace and sat, nursing his head in her lap. She wondered if she were quite mad. But this demon had taken this agony upon himself to save her. She couldn't desert him until that debt was repaid. She held her wrist to his mouth. "Drink!" He looked at her, his gaze barely focused. His cheeks seemed to be sunken, and his eyes dull. Then the demon faded away, and he was left with only his human face. If anything, he looked even closer to death. Panic thrummed through her. He couldn't die now! If he was going to be dusted, it shouldn't be like this! She repeated her instruction, urgency harshening her voice.

"Drink!" But how could he, with only his human teeth? She lifted him a little, and pressed his mouth to the bleeding wound in her shoulder. Relief flooded her as she felt him suckle. She knew, though, that drinking from her wound simply wasn't going to be enough. He was losing blood much too quickly. She prayed that she would be allowed to discharge her debt to this demon, to give him his life back. She refused to contemplate why that seemed to be so important. Then she felt a change in him. She was afraid to look down but when she did, he was back in game face. He pulled away from her. He was still ashen. "Drink!" She reinforced the command by pressing her wrist against his fangs. She felt him bite down and draw from her. But it was over too quickly. He couldn't have taken as much as a pint before he released her wrist. "More." "No." His voice was weak, but she thought she saw some colour come back to his cheeks. She thanked God for slayer blood. She tried again, but he was adamant. "No. You're wounded. You can't spare it." She swore, then looked round at where they were. In the park. A thought came to her. "Stay here. Don't even think of moving, mister." She sprinted away on legs that were only slightly unsteady. The loss of her touch was unbearable. For some reason, he didn't want to die alone. He could feel the demon struggling as if trapped in a sticky gossamer spider shroud. It had no control of itself, as if it were fading in and out of consciousness. It couldn't heal. It really was possible for a vampire to bleed to death. He was doing it now. But he could also feel her blood, trying to work within him, to restore the demon. He hadn't dared take more, but he hadn't taken enough. It might well have been enough whilst he still had more blood in his body. Now, though, he had almost bled out. There was not enough fluid in his veins to carry the Slayer's blood to where it was needed. Unless he got blood in very large quantities, he would, indeed, die. And soon. He was only alive now because his heart was still and silent in his chest. If it had been pumping the blood round more quickly, he would be dust. She was gone no more than ten minutes. Never since her calling had she run

so fast. She could see from a distance that he was still exactly where she had left him. She had been unable to find a mugger or a junkie, although she had looked. She would deal with the implications of that later. Not now. She hadn't dared spend more than a few moments searching, though, as she sped on her way to her goal. Something that she remembered from her patrols. She had found what she was looking for. She ran faster, tugging that something behind her. A horse. She didn't know whether her blood had the power to help him. He had seemed a little better after drinking from her, and that had given her hope. When she reached him, she saw that the bleeding had slowed. She felt a frisson of fear. Perhaps it had slowed not because he was healing, but because he was running out of blood. Could a vampire truly bleed out? Looking at him, she feared that the answer was staring her in the face. He couldn't last much longer. She tethered the horse to a park bench. Angelus was a big man, but fear lent strength to her tired muscles. She managed to get him to his feet, taking virtually all his weight as she guided him to the horse's neck. She knew the horse would feel very little pain, but took hold of the head collar just in case. Angelus managed to do the rest. When he was finished, he had taken seven or eight pints and that fresh, living blood was sweeping Buffy's blood around his body. He could feel the power of slayer's blood working within him, supporting his own, reviving the demon, freeing it from the deadly embrace of the venom. Just in time. He was almost able to stand by himself, and the flow of blood had slowed to a trickle. The wounds, still ugly, were at least starting to close. With her help, he was able to get on to the horse's back. The horse staggered, weakened now, so she spared it her own weight, and led it slowly towards the mansion. When they got there, he was still unnaturally pale, even for him, but he looked stronger. Together, they entered the mansion, leaving the horse to find its own way back to its stable. They went straight to his rooms, and into the bathroom. There, in silence, they stripped off and washed the dirt and the blood and the memories from each other, kneeling in the shower because he was still too weak to stand unaided. Perhaps surprisingly, he had a large first aid kit, and in silence they tended to each other's wounds. Buffy was surprised to notice that, where the inked designs on his body had been damaged, the wounded skin was returning complete with the colour of the ink. Would they both remain tattooed for life? Or would it simply wash away with time? Well, they'd find out soon enough. Bandaging complete, she helped Angelus lead her into his bedroom. In silence, holding the bedpost for support, he pulled back the crimson cotton sheet and stood back for her. She climbed onto the bed and under the covers. He

followed. In silence she curled up, and he curled around her, one arm and one leg thrown possessively over her, his mouth buried in the crook of her neck. Mine, he thought, as he relaxed into sleep. Buffy tried not to think at all as the darkness enveloped her. They slept until the following evening. Angelus was first to rise. He lay for a moment savouring the feel of the naked girl in his arms, the clean, fresh smell of her. And the pounding of her in his blood. He knew that he had been as close to death as he wished to come, and that it was her blood that had brought him back from the brink. She was in his blood forever now, even if she hadn't been before. Reluctantly, he let go of her, and got up. He walked over to the telephone and dialled Willow's number. He had them all committed to memory. She answered on the second ring. "Willow. Bring a set of Buffy's clothes to the mansion, will you? And some orange juice." "Angelus! We thought, I meanermwhat sort of clothes?" "Anything. Whatever you want. She can't go home in a loincloth." Willow's sigh of relief was audible. "I'll be there in half an hour." He crossed the room to where she still lay sleeping and he sat down on the bed, stroking her cheek, tracing the blue spiral that was inked there. His golden girl. His obsession. Buffy. She woke, and smiled at him. It seemed to him that it was a smile of love, until she remembered who it was she was smiling at. "Willow will be here in half an hour with some clothes for you to go home in." "You're letting me go?" she whispered. He continued to trace the spiral. "You aren't a prisoner. And your mother and your friends need to know that you are OK. You know where the bathroom is." He got up, gathered some clothes for himself, and walked from the room, leaving her, for reasons she couldn't fathom, feeling bereft. By the time she had showered, Willow had arrived. Giles had driven her, but he remained outside. Angelus took the orange juice from her, and poured out a large glassful. He motioned to Willow to follow him, and climbed the stairs to his rooms. Buffy was wrapped in a towel, drying her hair. He handed her the glass and the carton. "Counteracts blood loss," he said simply, then turned back to Willow. He was amused to see that she was staring at the bed, at the rumpled sheets and at

the indentations made by two heads on one pillow. She was blushing furiously and her knuckles were white as she gripped the bag she had brought. Gently, he prised the bag out of her hand and gave it to Buffy. Then he left them alone. As he descended the stairs, he saw that Giles was standing in the doorway. His face was a frozen mask of hate, but at least he wasn't holding a weapon. Angelus waited for him to speak. "I shall never forgive you for murdering Jenny, nor for what you have done to Buffy. But I think I must thank you for saving her life. I don't know what happened there, and I don't know why you did it, but I don't think she would have survived alone. For that, I am in your debt." He spat the words out as if they were acid, but Angelus had no doubt that he meant them. He simply nodded. After a few moments he said, "I'm a demon. To her I look like Angel, and I know that she hopes the soul will return and give him back to her. But you and I both know that Angel's soul is lost and gone. I'm not him. I will never be him. But she is *mine*, and I will not permit her to be hurt. Of that you can be certain. Not by humans, not by vampires, not by other demons. Only I have that right." Giles shivered slightly at the implications of that statement, and the vehemence of it; he wondered, what was to become of them all? Had any other slayer in history, or even in prehistory, ever had a guardian demon as fierce as this one? As her Watcher, as her surrogate father, what should he do? What *could* he do? His hatred for this vampire was a white-hot flame in his heart, but he could somehow feel the shape of the future, and it included thisthing. He looked in the vampire's face and saw only truth and absolute conviction. Their gazes locked, each assessing the other's commitment to one golden girl. Then the spell was broken as Buffy and Willow came down the stairs, silent, but otherwise like two normal teenagers. ************* Buffy didn't patrol for the next week, whilst her injury healed. On the day after she had left the mansion, a note was delivered to Giles. It was from Angelus, saying that the Kahlavi cult were being dealt with by him. They would be no immediate threat to the Hellmouth, and his negotiations would be helped if no one killed any more of them. He would let Giles have further news when there was news to give. And he understood that the truce between them was now over.

Giles showed the note to Buffy before he told the others. Buffy's lips tightened, but she gave no other response. Nothing more was seen or heard of Angelus for the week that Buffy remained off patrol. *************** It was Friday night, again, and Buffy was back in the Cemetery of Eternal Rest. She was standing in front of the mausoleum. That mausoleum. She was remembering those terrible occasions and wondering whether the claw marks on her soul had perhaps eased a little. She thought they might have. And then she felt that tingle. That special tingle. *That* vampire. Before she could even turn, she was face down on the grass, subdued by his weight, his hands clasping her wrists, holding them down to the ground. "Hello, lover," he purred in her ear. She had never believed that hearts actually broke, but she believed it now. She had heard and felt hers crack. She didn't try to move. She supposed she still owed him a debt, and anyway, she didn't think she had it in her tonight to fight him. Tomorrow, perhaps, but not tonight. After all they had been through together, she had hoped that he wouldwould what? Show more respect, perhaps? She didn't know. But she should have remembered that vampires and cats were definitely not respecters of people. And nothing would ever change. This was a demon, not her beloved Angel. Oh, he wore Angel's flesh, but that was all. She should have known. It was several moments before she realised that some things had indeed changed. He hadn't bound her hands. He hadn't ripped her panties off. And he wasn't gripping her neck with his teeth. Instead, he was gently licking the pulse point in her neck. Nuzzling her, like a large, affectionate cat. Rubbing his cheek over her jaw, as if marking her with his scent. The sensual feel of his tongue on that sensitive skin in her throat was enough to flood her with heat. He would surely smell her arousal. He did, and smiled. Then his weight was gone from her back, and he swept her up into his arms. Taken by surprise, she didn't struggle. He looked at her, his eyes dark and unfathomable. She thought that she was beyond being surprised by him, but what he said next showed her she was wrong. "You know, there were a great many things that I wanted to do to you whilst we were in that cage. I thought we'd start tonight, and see how many we got through by Monday morning." "What!"

He grinned. He looked almost boyish when he did. He also looked like a complete rake. "You need a vacation. This weekend is it." He started to walk towards the mansion, still holding her to his chest. She could see that the spiral of eternity was still inked on his cheek, as it was on hers. "I've sent Spike and Drusilla away on an errand. They'll be gone for at least a week. I've got food in for you - proper human stuff, four food groups and all and we can send out for the rest. You can telephone your mother and Giles when we get there, and say you are staying with a friend. Apart from that, you are MINE." He bent to kiss her mouth, raised so alluringly to his. She turned away. He stopped. He looked at her face. For once, he couldn't read her. He felt a small thrill of fear. "Have you fed tonight?" No point trying to hide what he was. "Yes. I picked off a couple of muggers in the park on the way here. They'll keep me going most of the weekend. I've got some bagged blood for Sunday, so I won't have to go out." She frowned and beat at him with her fist. "And you want to kiss me with a mouthful of blood? You can just make sure you clean your fangs first, mister! I'm not kissing you until you have!" He threw back his head and gave a shout of pure laughter. She was going to be so difficult. That was one of her attractions. But she was going to make his life so damned interesting. He didn't know what the future held with her, although he was positive that he would have fun finding out. And he would never, ever be bored. To think that in his madness he had nearly thrown it all away on Acathla He gripped her more tightly, and they started off again for the mansion, the Slayer and her demon. She wrapped her arms around his neck, entangling her fingers in his silky hair. She wondered if she would be damned to Hell for trying to see the bigger picture, cast out of Heaven for all eternity for saving this demon and permitting him to continue in his evil. For not killing him. But she thought of the cat again, as she felt the ripple of muscle under his shirt. And then she thought that, after all, there *is* more than one way to kill a cat. THE END

Tyger, Tyger
Author: Jo Feedback : Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com Disclaimer: Wish as I might, most of these characters aren't mine, not even Mr Pointy. If they were, I'd look after them better. The ones you've never heard of? They're mine. No money will ever be made from this fic. Distribution: Angel Elders. You want it? Really? Gosh. Just tell me where it's going please. Spoilers: BtVS season 2. Angel never got his soul back. Oz isn't a werewolf - yet. Do not get me started on who sired Spike - it's exactly as it says in this story. Rating: NC17 for sex, some of which is non-consensual, the odd bit of bad language and some violence. Content: B/A(us) Alternate future reality Summary: The follow-up to 'To Kill a Cat'. If you haven't read that, it might be best if you do. Author's notes 1 The title 'Tyger, Tyger' is taken from the poem 'The Tyger' by that driven genius William Blake. For purists among you, I looked at about a dozen versions, and the punctuation is different in every one. I've used the one that had a picture of the original illustrated page from Blake's book, 'Songs of Innocence and of Experience'. The printed version seemed to match. I can give you the web site if you want it. 2 I know nothing of military strategy. If you need to borrow, borrow from the best, I always say. The battle scene is therefore based on the Battle of Issus, 333BC, where Alexander the Great and his Macedonians comprehensively defeated a very much larger Persian army under Darius. I'm told it works very well if read to the soundtrack of the battle scene from 'Lord of the Rings:

The Two Towers'. Thanks, Rusty. 3 Droit de seigneur - strictly, a lord's right to sample a bride on her wedding night. It's close enough. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Angelus awoke to the setting sun, savouring the naked female flesh in his arms. She had been willing and compliant last night. As always. She had catered to his every appetite. She had given him pleasure. She had given him release. But she had not given him satisfaction. Damn. He rolled out of bed quickly, pushing Drusilla away, refusing for the moment to think about the woman who would have given him satisfaction. He wouldn't think about her. He simply wouldn't. He showered and dressed quickly. The leather suited his mood. Dark. He set off to find a kill that would also suit his mood. In the end, he settled on a male witch practicing some dark magic in the Cemetery of Eternal Rest, the cemetery he had come to regard as peculiarly his own. Well, his andNO! He was not going to think about that. The spell-spiced sweetness of the blood as he tore into the man's throat was a welcome, if brief, distraction. He had thought about the Slayer every night for the 21 nights since he had let her return to her home after their stolen weekend. Now he wondered if she had infected him, rather as a vampire infects a human. Had possessed him. NO! He had already had too much experience of possession. A century of being possessed by that whiney soul was definitely a hundred years too long. Nothing would ever possess him like that again. *Nothing!* But that weekend had been one of the most erotic of his life. Unlife. Any of them, really. Oh, she was innocent - that had only made it better. Of course, he hadn't introduced her to any of the darker pleasures. An innocent such as she would not have been ready for those, yet; would not have enjoyed them. He scowled at that thought, as he allowed the cooling, emptied body to drop from his deadly embrace. NO! He was simply saving those until later, for when he wanted variety - there was no need to rush into everything at once. Time was something he had plenty of. There would be time enough before he tired of his toy. At first he had stayed away from her because there were plenty of other pleasures in life, weren't there? Other things to do, places to be, people to sample. Weren't there? Then he had decided that what he was really doing was

playing a game. The teasing game. Give them - her - a taste and leave her wanting more. Make her desperate for his attentions. It would spice the next encounter, wouldn't it? But now he was afraid. Afraid that he might actually be hunting in earnest. And he was even more afraid that he didn't know, even in the innermost depths of his demonic mind, what the truth of it really was. Damn! He flung away from the site of his latest kill in what, had it been Drusilla, he would have described as a childish tantrum. He was just understandably pissed, of course. Time to find the Slayer, and do what he had done for the last 21 days. Watch her from afar, relish the pure animal grace of her, make sure she wasn't taken unawares anddamaged. Well, unless it were by him. ******************* Buffy dusted off the remnants of her latest kill and headed out of the Shady Elms Cemetery, making for the next one on her patrol route, the Cemetery of Eternal Rest, the one she had started to think of as peculiarly her own. Well, hers andNO! Don't go there, she thought. Not again. But it was too late. Her thoughts had already travelled the road to that weekend in the mansion, just as surely as her feet were travelling the road to Eternal Rest. She could never imagine anything moremore, well just *more*, than that weekend with her demon lover. That was what he had become. Not the demon who raped her in cemeteries. Her lover. He had been so gentle, so tender. No. Those weren't the right words. After all, at times he had been almost aggressive, almost violent. It was just that he had been unfailinglyconsiderate. That was the word. Everything that would please her, he had known about. Had done. He had done nothing to hurt or displease her. She was sure that he had held back - he was a demon, after all, a demon of passion and excess, and she was an innocent, an almost virgin. But the things he *had* done - she blushed now, to think of them, swiping her hand angrily across her reddened cheek, as if anyone could see her in the darkness. She was even more angry that she had wanted him to do those things again. And other things, perhaps, that she as yet knew nothing about. But he hadn't. She hadn't seen him since. Oh, he'd left plenty of bodies around, almost as a calling card. Just to remind her that he was still there, and what she was missing. Just like all men, once he'd had his way. Why should vampires be different? Bastard! *************

He could smell her anger and arousal from where he lurked behind the mausoleum. Good. He was a demon, dammit! He shadowed her along the rest of her patrol route, watching with unacknowledged pride the ease with which she had taken out a newly risen fledgling in the Golden Memories Garden of Rest. He smiled, fondly. He'd left that one just for her. A present for her, like the half-dead birds and mice that a cat will leave its human, a training aid to teach them how to hunt and kill for themselves. She returned to Eternal Rest. For some reason, she always finished off here, sitting in the doorway of the mausoleum for a few minutes. She had done for the last 21 nights. Having satisfied himself that the night now held nothing more dangerous to her than himself, he quickly headed back to the mansion. Drusilla could take care of the painful erection he'd had for the last two hours. Had had for the last 21 nights. **************** She stayed sitting in the mausoleum doorway for a few moments longer, leaning her back against the coolness of the bronze cladding, cool and firm as hisNO! Don't go there! Sighing, she stood up, tucking her stakes away, preparing to go home. She could feel that there was no threat in Eternal Rest tonight. What she didn't expect was the small, neat portal that opened several yards away, disgorging the unwelcome but familiar form of the Keeper, and then winking out of existence. What the? She stood her ground as the Hylekian demon approached her, surreptitiously drawing one of the stakes out of the back of her waistband. She probably wouldn't need it - the Keeper had never represented a threat to them, but there's always a first time The Keeper smiled in welcome. "Slayer! I am so glad I found you. Your mate is here, too?" "No! He most definitely isn't!" It came out almost as a snarl. The Keeper looked puzzled, and glanced down at what he held in his hands two sets of clothing and a scrap of paper. "Oh? I felt sure that the two of you were here. Never mind." He smiled again, trying to be at his most charming. "He can join us later, I suppose. I have a

proposition to negotiate with both of you." "What!" ************* Giles had just told everyone to wrap up what they were doing. It was late enough, and they were too tired to carry on. Whilst Buffy patrolled, the rest of them were trying to find more information on a current planetary conjunction that he was concerned about, but all they had managed to uncover was the worryingly familiar 'Trouble ahead' signals. Nothing more specific. Well, tomorrow was another night. He was slightly worried about Buffy, too. She hadn't seemed quite the same since her stay in Hylek. He knew that three weeks ago, she and Willow and Cordelia had had a girls' weekend together - Buffy had rung him that Friday night to say she needed some time with her girlfriends, and would be out of touch until Monday - although, unusually, all three of them were saying nothing about what had happened. He assumed that they had shared some of their teenage woes. Buffy's woes, of course, were in a different league to other teenagers, but he'd hoped the girls' weekend would give her a bit of space, a bit of normality; that sharing with them about her experiences in Hylek, with *that thing* - no, he amended reluctantly, with *him* - would lighten her burden a little. And it had. For a few days. She had smiled more, looked almost happy. Then the load had seemed to settle more heavily than ever before. He was probably worrying for nothing. What did a middle-aged man know of the cares of a teenage girl? At least Angelus hadn't been around after that extraordinary night when he had almost died returning her from the demon dimension. Buffy had given him what was clearly an abridged account of what had happened in Hylek. Equally clearly, the vampire had protected her. Had not forced himself upon her. Had acted almost as Angel would have acted. Giles didn't like to think about the implications of that. It was a good thing that Buffy hadn't seen him since, despite the demon's claim that Buffy was his. He could only cut up her peace even more, and lacerate her soul. Of course, there had been the bodies. Angelus seemed to be in a particularly destructive mood. True, most of the bodies had been those of drug users, pushers, muggers and other assorted lowlifes, which in itself was strange Angelus usually chose the more affluent or more innocent. Not all were lowlifes, though. In one apparent fit of whimsy or temper - who knew, with that demon - he had turned fully a quarter of the high school football team in a single night. Some of them were still around, but Giles was sure Buffy would find them all eventually. It was during these musings that he heard Buffy coming back down the

corridor - he could distinguish her footsteps now, in the late night silence. He sighed. There was a certain quality ofstompingperhaps, that he was sure boded no good. He was even more certain of it when she burst through the library doors, followed by a strange demon. A smiling, personable one to be sure, but a demon nonetheless. Oh dear. Trouble ahead. "Giles. Guys. Here's someone I so want to introduce you to." The sarcasm positively dripped from her voice. Oh dear. Definitely trouble ahead. "This is the Keeper. He's the guy from Hylek who kept our cage clean! And who painted us up - when *are* these things going to wear off, by the way?" She glowered at the hapless demon, who stood clutching a bundle of assorted clothing and a scrap of paper. There was an astonished silence, and then all the teenagers started talking at once. Or shouting, in the case of Xander. Giles moved in to quell the noise. "I'm Rupert Giles. You are?" "I am Ezrafel, Keeper of the Great Games, currently assigned to House Orbath. Are you the Slayer's Watcher? Is her mate not here?" The silence was deafening. And even more astonished than the last one. For a few seconds. Then Xander became even more strident. "Mate? MATE? You don't mean that blood-sucking fiend who ought to have been left in Hylek?" Giles shushed him. Ezrafel looked shocked. "The Master Vampire, yes. Both he and his mate should have stayed in Hylek. I have come to speak to them, to negotiate with them, about returning to finish the Games. It is necessary. In exchange, I have important information for you." The pandemonium was absolute. ************* Giles could feel the beginnings of a headache. Were all young people so loud? Just when he needed to be able to think particularly clearly, he had that ominous throb in his temples. Just ignore it. He had managed to get everyone quietened down, and was now making tea. Tea always helped. He looked out into the main library, and saw the demon, sitting uncomfortably at the table, surrounded by a group of hostile teenagers. Maybe tea wouldn't be enough. He sighed again.

Ezrafel could sense every hostile emotion from the people around him. Perhaps it wasn't surprising. He knew that the Slayer had originally been taken without her consent. Well, at least he had come with something in his pocket for the negotiations. The Watcher seemed a man of wisdom - there was something of interest for him. And when the Slayer's mate came, Ezrafel hoped he would have something of interest for him, too. He had been pleasantly surprised by what he had seen of this world so far. He had expected it to be far more primitive. Perhaps the trade would be easier than he had initially supposed. He didn't mind the young ones staying - they were undisciplined, but surely they would learn something from their elders. He just wished they would find the vampire. Time was pressing. Giles returned with the tea and made a small ritual of pouring it - it gave him a little more time to think. Just as he was finishing, Buffy broke the silence. "You didn't answer my question. When does this blue stuff wear off?" "Oh, when the Games are finished, of course. After that they will fade naturally, unless you choose to keep them." "No, I don't think so!" "Then they will fade. But not until the need for them has ended." Buffy had to be satisfied with that. "Where is your mate? I must speak to both of you together. And your Watcher, of course." Giles interrupted hastily. "Do we need Angelus? Can you not say what you have come to say without him?" Again, the demon was shocked. "No! The offer I have is for the mated pair." Xander could restrain himself no longer. "You keep saying that. Mates, mated pair. No way! That *thing* is her mortal enemy. No mating here." It was Buffy who hurriedly interrupted, deflecting the demon who had started to speak in puzzlement, and deflecting Xander who looked as if he would continue his rant. One of them might start asking the wrong questions. The right questions, really "Even if we ask Angelus to come, he might decide not to." "Why would he not answer the call of his mate? Besides, I have information for him, too."

Giles sighed. He really wanted this demon to go away and leave them alone. But he said he had information. Ignoring information was often unwise. And there was this wretched planetary conjunction If the two things were tied up, he would be foolish not to at least hear what the Hylekian had to say. And the only way to do that seemed to involve getting the vampire here. Giles could hardly bear to think his name. Well, if something hurts, get it over quickly. "I suppose I could go over to the mansion, see whether he's there," he offered. "ErmI've got his 'phone number." Everybody looked hard at Willow. "Um, you remember, he 'phoned me for Buffy's clothes. I made a note of the number. Just in case." Giles dialled it. Angelus was at home to callers. *********** The phone call took him quite by surprise. He was unaware that the little gang even had his number. Giles had been extremely cryptic, and that alone had piqued Angelus' curiosity. He had been waiting for Drusilla to get back from hunting, but perhaps it would be amusing to visit the Watcher, find out what he wanted. So he agreed. When he arrived, he was even more surprised by the size of the reception committee that awaited him. Giles was frosty, Xander was openly hostile, Cordelia was angry, and Oz and Willow were frankly interested. He found to his surprise that he liked those two. Buffy. Ah, Buffy. She was what she always wasa melange of the most delectable teenage hormones laced with the power of the Slayer. With his mark on her. He'd made sure of that, on that dreadful night in the park, when he'd thought he might die. His reasons had been complex, but his scent was there. He wondered, not for the first time, whether perhaps he ought to ask himself just why he wasn't taking full advantage of her delights as often and as thoroughly as possible. And the Hylekian Keeper. My, my, he thought sourly, what a surprise. He stood and surveyed the assemblage, and their varied reactions to him. "Tea?" Trust Giles to try to normalise everything. "Thank you, yes." He would add a touch of normality himself - until he found out what was going on. The Keeper, unable to wait any longer for formalities to be observed, rose and

bowed elegantly to both Master Vampire and Slayer. Then he handed to Buffy the clothes she had worn when she had been taken to Hylek, and to Angelus those he had given up in the cage. And the slip of paper. It was the incantation that Willow had written down. "I return these to you as an act of good faith." He was addressing himself to Angelus now. "I am here to negotiate with you both for your return to Hylek, to complete the Games." Angelus blinked in surprise. That was the last thing he expected to hear. He shuddered at the memory, though, and his reply was unequivocal. He hoped never to go near Hylek again. If he did, there was a pair of Hylekians and a keeper who would never see the light of day again. That would be just for starters. "No. Not under any circumstances whatsoever." Buffy voiced her agreement to that, in no uncertain terms. Giles breathed a sigh of relief. For some reason, he had worried that she might actually go. Foolishness. Then the Hylekian dropped his bombshell. "I am authorised to speak to you of a new Hellmouth, to tell you that we can give you information about where and when it will open, and who is performing the opening, so that you can prepare for it, or, indeed, prevent it. You do not have the means at your disposal to anticipate it yourselves, and it is imminent. We will tell you this if you agree to come to Hylek, and are successful in promoting the interests of House Orbath." Oh dear. Trouble ahead. The Keeper turned his attention from the Watcher to the vampire. "You will find that information of interest, too, since the new Hellmouth will threaten your mastery of this one. Additionally, I am authorised to offer you this." He reached into his travelling scrip and pulled out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle and a scroll of parchment. He put both on the table, and unwrapped the little bundle. It was a blue-white diamond of the first water. A large one. "I am instructed to leave this here, as payment for your time already spent in Hylek, and to offer you 5,000 similar diamonds in the event that you agree to come to Hylek and are successful in promoting the interests of House Orbath. I understand that these have some substantial value on this world." That was an

understatement of massive proportions. "I also offer this." He unwrapped the scroll. The language was unfamiliar to Angelus, and he said so. "It is land and title in Hylek. It was the estate of one of the smaller Houses, now defunct, and will come into the possession of House Orbath, if they succeed in the Games, since that is the most closely related House. The House of Hantar became defunct because of their inability to breed, not because of lack of wealth and assets. This will make you a substantial landowner, although you would be subject to House Orbath. I am also authorised to offer you the wherewithal to come and go between our dimensions as you please. This estate would make an ideal retreat for you and your mate, and has excellent income earning potential." Angelus' nostrils flared at that. So did Giles'. For different reasons. Xander had to be physically restrained by Oz and Cordelia. "All of these offers are made contingent upon you, both of you, that is, returning willingly to complete the Games, and completing them successfully. Except for this, which is now yours by right." He held out the diamond to Angelus, who took it, and examined it in silence. The whole package was a king's ransom. Well, it would put a new king on the throne, so perhaps it should be. He was, indeed, tempted. With the wealth and influence offered here, he could begin to establish an unassailable power base on Earth. Even when he had spent some of the wealth on Buffy. And if he could prevent another Hellmouth from diverting demonic power away from Sunnydale The world would not be enough to contain him. But Buffy He looked at her, and saw that she was frowning in thought. Ah, at least it wasn't an immediate no, then. He tested the water. "If a new Hellmouth is to be opened, that could create difficulties for all of us. Perhaps you and I and Giles should discuss this, think about our response? We could gather again tomorrow night after sleeping on it? It might be foolish to turn this offer down out of hand." It was the Keeper who answered him. "My apologies. I have failed to make everything clear. It has taken all this time for the Council to agree to these negotiations, and those contests involving House Orbath have been suspended during deliberations. It is the Council's decision that the Games cannot be delayed - House Orbath must compete in tomorrow's contest. If you agree, I need you to come with me now. That is why I have not held back in the negotiations, not bargained as you might

expect. I have offered all that I have to offer so as not to waste time. If you do not return with me, House Orbath will be eliminated from the Games, and may not contend until the next Heptad - in seven years time." Oh. Buffy walked over to the Keeper until she was almost nose-to-nose with him. "Is this true? About the Hellmouth?" He assured her that it was. She looked askance at Angelus. Reluctantly, he nodded. The scent coming from the Keeper told him all. "He's telling the truth - or at least the truth as he knows it." Buffy turned to Giles. "Then we have to go. We can't have another Hellmouth popping open without any warning. I have no choice." She glowered at Angelus. "What about you?" He frowned in thought as Giles, then the teenagers, remonstrated with her. Eventually, everyone was silent again. Giles looked drawn and grey. The Watcher had accepted it then. He made his decision. But some things must change. "We would require different accommodation than before." The Keeper thought for a moment. "You will be required to enter the arena from the cages, and to return to there. However, there should be no difficulty about providing different, more private accommodation at all times other than during each session of the Games. You have my word." That would do. And something else. His voice was pitched so softly that it was hard for the others to catch, but had steel in its inflection. "There will be no more Hiring. None." The Keeper was honestly perplexed. "But there is much demand for both of you. You could choose whoever you wish" Angelus ruthlessly cut him off before he could say more, before he said too much. "That is non-negotiable and you will not discuss it further. Yes or no." Buffy, too, was honestly perplexed. "What do you mean, 'No more hiring'? I don't understand." Angelus stared at her, his eyes flashing amber in warning. Giles, looking just a little greyer, squeezed her wrist, and shushed her. The teenagers were looking from one to another in puzzlement. It was Willow,

seeing Giles' grim expression, who finally understood, although she said nothing, just clapped her hand to her mouth in shock. Since Buffy's return, Willow had, from interest, read a little of the practices in Roman arenas. Just for comparison. Clearly Buffy didn't understand. Had theyto Angelus? If so, why hadn't Buffy? Dear Lord. She felt an unwonted rush of sympathy. Looking at Giles so did he. Angelus felt anger roiling through him. This was not a matter for public consumption. Already the witch and Ripper had understood. He looked at Willow. She gave a tiny shake of her head. Oh? She wouldn't tell. And he believed her. If she was true to her word that was another debt he owed her. She was rapidly building up an account with him. He looked at Giles. Ripper looked vaguely sickened, but he, too, gave a tiny shake of his head. Good. His word was trustworthy. Especially given the circumstances. The Keeper felt the vampire focus all his attention onto him. He did not understand. Vampires were creatures of sexual excess, surely? Yet he knew that this one had not taken his mate during the 26 days they had both been in Hylek. And his fury, after that one and only hiring, had been palpable. Perhaps vampires were more complex creatures than he had been led to understand? He had certainly thought so, during his dealings with this one. He could not give his word on this, though. He was not authorised. The codicil on Hiring the mated pair, separately or together, had the full weight of the law behind it. Clearly, none of those here had known of the Hiring, not even the Slayer, the vampire's mate, which was a surprise. Perhaps it was a taboo? He hadn't thought that vampires had any. Oh, he would dearly love to study this one, write an academic treatise on him and his Slayer mate. It would surely earn him a place in the Society of Merit. But it was not his intention to conclude these negotiations fraudulently. That would be beyond the pale. He chose his words with care. "I am not authorised to make any agreement with you on this, and the codicil is now part of our statute. However, if you choose to return with me, leaving our agreement inconclusive until my seniors are able to give you a response, you have my guarantee that I will return you immediately if that response is unacceptable to you." The vampire considered carefully. Buffy watched, still mystified. "Done." And it was. ************* There had been a moment of uncertainty, when the Slayer had asked the Keeper to give Giles details of the new Hellmouth before they left. She had offered her word that she would see the bargain through.

"I am sorry," he had replied, "but I do not have that information. Neither does House Orbath, yet." There had been some protests at that. "You do not understand. All of these things are contingent upon success in the Games, because all I have offered are perquisites of the Royal Household. Only by succeeding can House Orbath honour the bargain, but honour it they will in the event that you win the throne for them." The vampire had clearly understood that already, but the humans had to be satisfied with what he told them. It was the truth. It was arranged that Angelus would rejoin the group in an hour, after briefing Spike and Drusilla. He spoke privately to Willow before he left, staring down the questions from her friends with haughty disdain, and a flash of amber eyes. His main purpose in returning to the mansion was precautionary. He wanted to collect Mr Pointy. He had the stake in his rooms. The claddagh ring remained embedded in it, and it was still stained with his own blood. It had brought the two of them back once. He hoped that if push came to shove, it would do so again. The Keeper thought that it was a religious devotional object and wouldn't take it away; and he still had the incantation from Willow committed to memory. Better safe than sorry. Now, if Willow could just adapt the spell she had used to make sure there was something here to call them back *************** Spike was frankly aghast that Angelus would even contemplate returning to Hylek. He feared that it would be certain death for his Sire. Oh, yes, there would have been a time, not so very long ago, when he would have welcomed that; would have been pleased to be rid of the insane creature that had replaced the Angelus of a century ago. That Angelus was a very different demon. Spike remembered even all these years later how he had fretted and chafed at Angelus' hand on his bridle, but he had worshipped the ground his Sire had walked on. His Sire. His Yoda. Now, the insane creature made fewer and fewer appearances, to Spike's relief, and the old Angelus was being restored. And since Egypt, since that dreadful debacle, his devotion to the older male was completeagain. Well, now that the wanker wasn't trying to send the world to Hell. And not that he was going to show it very often Spike didn't want to lose this restored demon. He'd had a run as an alpha male, but never established much of a territory. Something had always been missing. The hand on the bridle. He'd resented the losses suffered by giving up his alpha status, true, but as Angelus' beta male, the gains were so much greater. Spike had been amused that the poor bastard had still been as

obsessed with the Slayer as the soul had been, but there were possibilities there, too. Not the least of them was that if his Sire were more occupied Spike himself would get more time alone with Drusilla. Although the real Angelus had always made sure he kept his whole family satisfied in every way. Whatever, he simply didn't want to lose this newly restored relationship, this *belonging*, for some bloody quixotic adventure that could easily come back and bite them on the ass. So he bitched and whined and shouted. Angelus simply cocked an eyebrow at him and let him rant. Drusilla definitely pouted. Insane she might be, but she knew her restored Daddy when she saw him, and she was just as determined as Spike to keep their Sire safely in the bosom of their little family. Never mind - Angelus had made them both understand that this was his will. He also made them understand the need to leave Buffy's friends alone whilst he was gone - he didn't want the Slayer sulking because one of her little gang had finished up as someone's dinner during her absence - and the need to keep a sharp eye on the Hellmouth in his stead. He had no intention of allowing the Kahlavi cult to sneak back in after so much strenuous effort recently to keep them out of it. Carefully tucking Mr Pointy, still hanging on Willow's necklace, inside his shirt, he set off back to the library. ************** The atmosphere was tense when he returned. Willow and Oz sat by the computer, Cordelia was whispering angrily to a sulking Xander. Buffy had been home to spin her mother some extremely thin story about a last minute place on a residential study course. She sat by herself, a packed suitcase nearby. Only Giles' confirmation in a telephone conversation had mollified Joyce. And Giles and Ezrafel were in earnest conversation. Clearly they had found something in common, and had circumstances been less dire, Angelus suspected they might have enjoyed each other's company. At his glance, the witch gave a brief nod. Good. She had found a way to anchor them back in this dimension. Willow walked over to meet him in the doorway, out of earshot of the others. She handed him her necklace. "Use the thong from this instead of the one you have," she whispered. "It's already spelled to anchor Mr Pointy here. The same incantation will bring you back." Then she returned to sit next to Oz. The others were frankly curious, but Angelus merely smiled enigmatically and

went to join Buffy. He held out his hand to her. "Shall we?" As if they were at a ball and he were simply asking her to dance. He liked the picture that presented. She regarded him steadily, her gaze flat and expressionless. Her scent, though, was like a wildly swinging pendulum, beating between loathing and attraction, spiced with fear of what they were going to do. But she simply nodded curtly and allowed him to hand her out of her seat. She did not pick up her suitcase. He looked askance at it, and she shook her head. "Just for show. I don't suppose there's anything useful I could take that I'll be allowed to keep." She turned that flat stare upon the keeper, seeking confirmation or denial. "Everything that you need will be provided for you." He bowed to his two latest charges. "If you are quite ready, we must leave now." He made a few motions in the air with a small device he carried, spoke a few words, and a neat little portal appeared. He stood back and gestured to Buffy and Angelus to precede him. Seconds later, the portal was gone. ************** True to his word, Ezrafel took them to see his seniors, those in charge of the Games. Angelus was surprised to find that representatives of House Orbath were also present. The Keeper introduced him to the head of the small delegation from House Orbath, a young demon named Haraeth. "My House welcomes you, AngelusSlayer. I was chosen to meet you, since it was felt that I might be more acceptable to you than my father and grandfather. I am Heir to the House, but if their absence is offensive to you, they are close by, and could join us." Angelus regarded the young demon intently. Intelligent and steady, was his assessment, but ripe for youthful mischief. Perhaps he could get to like this one. "No offence is taken, provided you are authorised to negotiate. I," he glanced at Buffy, and continued smoothly, "We have not yet agreed to remain. There is one outstanding matter." Haraeth looked disconcerted. Angelus motioned to Ezrafel. "Explain." Ezrafel had never been accused of being stupid, and he understood. The vampire did not wish the Slayer to know what was being discussed. He

explained the issue of Hiring, using the Hylek tongue. Haraeth replied to Angelus in English. "I have authority to speak on behalf of the House in this matter, but the decision does not belong to House Orbath alone." "Then find me the others!" It was at that moment that the Council, trailed by a small caravan of bureaucrats and assorted hangers-on, entered the chamber. Wonderful. A public hearing, if ever he saw one. The snarl was instinctive, and caused no little edginess amongst those in the chamber. At least, the newly arrived hangers-on edged as far away as possible. Haraeth simply looked amused. Yes, Angelus could like this demon. He made Buffy wait outside the council chamber. A strange keeper waited with her. The Hylekians were bemused that the Slayer should be excluded from the discussions, but Angelus was adamant. She was furious, and he knew that he would suffer some dire consequences - he was already anticipating with enjoyment how that might turn out - but this was not a conversation he wished to share with her. The Keeper turned to him. "The discussions will be in the Hylek tongue. If it is acceptable to you, I will translate. If you prefer someone else, a translator can be found quickly." "No! You do it." The discussions were difficult. Hiring was a popular and profitable venture. Both the owning House and the Arena benefited from the Hiring fee, and from the kudos of the most popular gladiators. House Orbath waived all rights to Hire their Mated Pair. The Arena did not. House Orbath offered recompense to the Arena for lost income from the Hiring. The Arena could not possibly agree to forego the Hiring. House Orbath offered a handsome extra sum to soothe the Arena bursar. The Arena had no wish to disappoint its other wealthy and desirous patrons. House Orbath offered to replace the Mated Pair with other entertainments to

appeal to the Arena's patrons. Entirely at House Orbath's expense, of course. The Arena regretfully declined. House Orbath asked what it could do to assist the Arena in waiving their Hiring rights. Nothing. Angelus, the Keeper and Haraeth retired to one end of the chamber. Haraeth admitted defeat, and asked whether he should seek counsel of his father and grandfather. It would be pointless, Angelus thought. The demon had done everything conceivably possible. Quite clearly the Arena had already taken bookings, contingent upon his and Buffy's return, from powerful patrons whom they did not wish to offend. Perhaps currently more powerful than House Orbath. He wondered who that could be. Did one of the other challenging Houses have a hot favourite up their sleeves? Or did the Arena know something about the current rulers and their chances of making a second term of office? That was for the future, though. The question for now was, was the prize worth the cost? And who would have to pay it? If it were simply the diamonds and the estates, well, they were attractive, but he had time. He could find other routes to power. But the new Hellmouth? A Hellmouth not under his control? That was definitely a horse of another colour. Could he afford to turn down House Orbath's offer to give him all the information needed to scotch that opening? He rather thought not. And Buffy If a new Hellmouth opened, she would be there, fighting. She might be hurt. She might die. A growl rumbled up from deep within his chest. Never! She was his plaything, not some other demon's. The only way that he could ensure her safety would be to chain her to his bed. He seriously considered that. But only for a moment. If he went to contend for mastery of the new Hellmouth and were dusted, she wouldn't be safe even there. He saw no choice. Gritting his teeth, he motioned his companions to return to the Council members, and asked Ezrafel to translate for him. "What is your minimum requirement? Speak the truth, or I shall know." The bursar spoke for them all. "6 sessions, between you, or three double sessions as a pair." He was a dominant, alpha male, master vampire, dammit. Could he possibly submit to this? The Hellmouth, he reminded himself. The price must be paid.

"The Slayer will not be involved. Neither will she know. That requirement is absolute. If you don't like it, you can stuff your patrons and their bookings up your collective asses." He glowered at the assembled Council. There was hasty, murmured consultation. The Bursar opened a ledger. The bookings ledger, thought Angelus grimly. He wondered what was in it. There was more discussion. The bursar responded. "For you alone, 2 double sessions plus one entire night. That is final." Angelus looked at the Keeper and Haraeth. They nodded. They saw no way to reduce that price. His jaw clenched. "Done," and on that he turned and stalked out of the room, wrapped in a black cloud of rage, Ezrafel and Haraeth scurrying in his wake. ************

Tyger, Tyger
Author: Jo Feedback : Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* They had, of course, been given a room together. Just for the moment, he wished they hadn't. Ezrafel and Haraeth had gone, after ensuring they had everything for their comfort. Haraeth had thanked them for returning to fight for House Orbath. Ezrafel had said that supper would be brought for them shortly, and then they would be undisturbed until morning. Buffy had said nothing. She didn't need to. Her body language said it all. The Keeper and the Heir of House Orbath were pleased to make their escape and leave the master vampire to the fury of his diminutive slayer mate. Since then, she hadn't shut up. Servitors had come with supper. Cheese, meat, bread, dried and fresh fruits for her. A jug of fresh, warm horse blood for him. A very good red wine for both of them. The tirade had continued without falter. The servitors had escaped, breathing sighs of relief. Outside the door, they had nudged each other in sympathy for the vampire and fled the rising tide of complaint. And still it had gone on. She flung across the room, a fury of perpetual sound and motion, while he lay

on the bed trying not to get a headache. Suddenly, in one fluid movement that should have been impossible, even for one with slayer strength, she grabbed him by the shirtfront and hauled him from horizontal to vertical, pinned against the wall. Then she hit him, her fist connecting with his jaw with every ounce of her strength. "And that's for dropping me, likelike some street walker!" He lay in an untidy heap, trying to get some feeling back into the left side of his face. It took a moment for the last complaint to penetrate, and from what he could remember, it bore no relation to anything she'd said before. Despite his aching, and possibly broken, jaw, he grinned. He was definitely under her skin. The teasing game had worked. Just as he'd wanted. Hadn't he? Then she said something that wiped the grin off his face. "And you excluded me from the discussions with your demon buddies for reasons you aren't prepared to share. What have you DONE? Have you sold me to them when all this is over? You got tired of me so they can have me now? Is that it? When should I expect the first of them? Tonight? You both going to have me at once? Well, mister, you're going to have a hard time trying, let me tell you!" With that, she burst into tears and flung herself onto the newly-vacated bed, sobbing out her misery. Gingerly, he rose to his feet and crossed over to the bed. He sat on the edge and, tenderly, laid his hand on her neck, stroking her as he might a frightened bird. The smile on his face was bitter and humourless, but his voice was a caress. "Nothing, absolutely nothing, will hurt you here. I will not permit it." His voice might have been gentle, but it rang with conviction. To him, it was absolute truth. A strange thing to say to a gladiator about to re-enter the arena? Perhaps, but she was the strongest slayer there had ever been, and he was a legend among vampires. Nothing would hurt this girl. She was his property. If he had harboured the least doubt about that, they would not have returned to Hylek, Hellmouth or no Hellmouth. "You mean that?" Her voice was small, scared. "Yes." "Then what were you talking about, that I couldn't be there?" "It wasvampire stuff. It need not concern you at all. I promise. Nothing from

that will ever cause you difficulty or pain. Word of a demon." He tried to make his smile warmer, in case she turned over. She didn't. "Oh." He lay down on the bed behind her, and moved forward to nestle against her warmth, his arm around her waist. "You are MINE," he whispered. "NO-ONE will ever touch you without my permission, and that will NEVER be given. If you believe nothing else, believe that." She did believe. And she hated herself for her weakness and neediness, but she wanted this vampire. If only it could be body and soul. He contemplated what he had just said. Every word of it was true. He was never going to tire of her and he knew it. Possessed! He fought the snarl of rage that threatened, the sudden need to tear this woman to shreds and feast on her remains. Buffy never knew her danger that night, but she had never been closer to death than she was at that moment. They fell asleep like that, the vampire and the Slayer. *************** They had a battle the next day, and it was hard. They had been given battle wear again, just loincloths and the breast band. Everything seemed even skimpier than before. The Keeper had scrutinised the artwork that still adorned their bodies and pronounced himself satisfied. Then they had been led to the cages surrounding the Arena, and installed in their old quarters. Their opponents were two demons, from different houses, co-operating against this Mated Pair from House Orbath. For the first time they could recognise someone in the tiered seating. Haraeth was on the front row. He seemed to be surrounded by the rest of his House. The demons from House Demeral and House Ryath were strong and fast. They were also very experienced warriors. Angelus and Buffy were better. They didn't come away unscathed - Angelus took in his right thigh the spear thrust intended for Buffy, and Buffy was scored across her back by razor sharp talons intended to rip out Angelus' throat - but they did come away the victors. House Orbath was not fighting the following day. They had time to heal. After that day's session ended, when they were returning to their quarters, Ezrafel whispered to Angelus that the next encounter, the one of the other sort, would be the following night, after the vampire had rested and healed. Should he send a strange keeper to Angelus, one that he wouldn't have to see again?

Angelus was oddly touched by this consideration. "No. I prefer it to be you." Ezrafel blushed at the implied trust, and nodded. He had known that the encounter would be bad. He hadn't imagined how bad. He had been Hired for two hours, and taken in shackles to a different part of the Arena. One with comfortable facilities for private parties. A powerful patron was rewarding some of his acolytes. It was clear that the gathering had worked its way through the starters and the entrees. Angelus was the main course. The patron lounged on a couch on the dais. He would have droit de seigneur, of course. When that was done, Angelus was shackled, on his knees, on the dais, available to all. They preferred him shackled, of course. It gave them such a feeling of power over this mighty gladiator, this darling of the masses. On his knees. At their mercy. He pictured the alternatives. Buffy, her diminutive body kneeling in his place, her golden limbs encircled by the rough embrace of the shackles. Here, in this arena of sex and death, or there, where a new Hellmouth might see him dead and unable to protect her from this. So he endured. Afterwards, the Keeper helped him bathe in a nearby bathhouse area, and brought fresh blood. It was human. Angelus decided not to ask how it had been obtained. He was grateful for it - it would help the scratches, bite marks and other assorted injuries to heal more quickly. Buffy might not see. He was then returned to their quarters. She was feigning sleep. Good. He climbed into their bed, turning his back on her as he did so. He was unclean, and couldn't bear to touch her, pollute her golden beauty with his soiled body. Not yet. Sleep was a long time coming. The next morning, most of the marks had disappeared. A few, the deeper ones, were only half-healed, and she saw those, frowning, but said nothing. He was grateful for that, too. ************* They were, indeed, unbeatable in the arena. They were real crowd pleasers, their fighting elegant, their kills quick and clean. But they had a lot of catching up to do. In one of the battles, they had been pitted against a family of five demons fighting as one. The Keeper hinted darkly that huge bribes had been given to have that accepted as a single unit warrior. He was sure there would be a stink about it after the Games. It would almost certainly never happen

again. But it was happening now. Five demons, powerful creatures, like lithe and slender bears, but sufficiently humanoid to enable them to swing a sword with rare skill. Three had already fallen to the Master Vampire and the Slayer, and Buffy was just finishing off the fourth. Angelus was stalking the fifth. Stalking. There was no other word for it, she thought, as she pulled the sword from the bleeding body. If he had had a tail, it would be swishing. She watched with admiration the ripple of muscle as he made his final charge, and she was reminded of a poem she had once read. Tyger, Tyger. burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? She had seen the pair of white Siberian tigers at Sunnydale Zoo. Most of the time they were somnolent beasts, soaking up the sun among the bushes, trees and play gear of their enclosure. But one day, one of them had been missing. Then, a peacock had unwisely fluttered down into the enclosure and started to display. The missing male tiger had risen silently from the shadows, and before anyone knew it, the peacock was just feathers and a meal. He had come from nowhere, his camouflage perfect, his muscles rippling, every fibre of his body attuned to the hunt. He was a clumsy beginner, compared to Angelus. The crowd were ecstatic with their darlings. The next encounter for Angelus was that night. While the blood of the kill was still hot, he thought. It was even worse than the last one. As the Keeper helped him bathe afterwards he thought of how the party was more drunken, the things that had been required of him more demeaning. NO! Better not to think about it. He could never forget - a demon's memory was an eternal steel trap, after all - but there was no need to score the wound so deeply that even the scar tissue would hurt. Even after the most thorough bathing, the stink of them was still all over his skin, ground into his bones it seemed. He couldn't escape it. There were more bites and claw marks to keep the memory fresh. Some were so deep, it would be a day or two before they completely healed. He wondered whether to ask the Keeper to simply put him into their cage until morning, but Buffy would ask questions he couldn't answer. No. Best to slip in quietly, hope that she was asleep, and lie in the shelter of the bed until afternoon. The Keeper finished drying him off, and offered his clothing back. Such as it was. As he was fastening the ties, the Keeper stood with downcast eyes. "I am sorry, Angelus." The vampire looked up in startlement. The Keeper never used his given name.

Just like Buffy. The Keeper's eyes were sad. "When you first came here, I understood nothing of you and your people. I know more now. I am beginning to understand how unbearable this is for you. I am sorry." Angelus smiled, a thin, papercut smile. "Don't. I did it to myself, and you know there was no other option. But if I do not get what has been promised to me, if I am not given every last iota of information about the new Hellmouth, a great many people will regret not only that, but also what has happened here." "House Orbath is one of the most honourable of our houses. They will keep their promise." Angelus gave a curt nod. There was nothing more to say. The Keeper bade him goodnight at the door to their rooms, then went on down the corridor. Angelus stood for a moment steeling himself, then entered. His heart sank. Buffy was awake, and not in a good mood. He could tell she had been pacing. Normally, she reminded him of a leopard or a cheetah, depending on whether she was stalking from cover or sprinting for her prey. Now, as she turned and walked towards him, fury in every line, she resembled nothing so much as an enraged lioness. He didn't need to wait long to find out what had enraged her. She drew herself up to her full height, and despite the discrepancy, managed to stand almost nose-to-nose with him. "How. Many. More?" She was practically spitting. "I beg your pardon?" She looked as if she wanted to grab something - his throat, perhaps, but lacking any clothing to wrap her fist around, she made do with Mr Pointy. She clenched her fist around it, then turned it so that the needle-sharp point pricked the skin immediately over his heart. "How. Many. More? Don't lie to me - ever! I can see the marks of them on you. You're covered with demon stink again." Fuck. Slayer senses. "When are they coming for me? How many and how often?" Mr Pointy pressed a little further home and a tiny bead of blood ran down his chest, like a raindrop on a window, a herald of more to come.

He remained mute, unable to form words, not knowing what to say and what to hide. He, the supreme hunter, never saw her fist, the one not holding Mr Pointy, as it crashed into his face, knocking him off his feet. He finished up sprawled sideways across the bed. Before he could recover, she had straddled him and was once more pressing the point of her question home. The stake was in about half an inch now. The raindrop was joined by others. But the important thing was that she be reassured. He could not allow her to think that she would be defiled as he had been. He clasped his hand around her wrist, not pushing the stake away, simply holding it steady. With his other hand he cupped her cheek. "I have already told you. No one here will bother you. You are not for Hire." Damn. He hadn't meant to mention that word. She picked up on it though. "But you are?" "Don't worry about anything. Just trust me." The stake pressed in a hairsbreadth further. "I'll trust you when you trust me. Now. Tell. Me. The. Truth." At each word, the stake pressed harder. She looked down at some of the marks on him, then locked her gaze with his. It was as if she had laid the demon bare. Understanding flooded her face. "This is what you meant by Hiring, isn't it? You've been" she couldn't say the words. "But you said there wouldn't be any. I remember, because I couldn't understand what you meant." The understanding grew. "You wouldn't sell them me, so you sold them you. Is that it? Why? I thought you were too alpha for that? I didn't think Angelus would stoop to prostituting himself! What did you get for it? A nice fat fee?" He sighed. Nothing to hide now. The lie was worse than the truth. "The Hellmouth." "What?" "It was the only way we could be readmitted. House Orbath waived their rights, but the Arena wouldn't. We have to know about the Hellmouth. You said so yourself." "What about me - am I sold too?"

"NO! I have told you. No-one touches you without my permission, and that will never be granted." She could see the truth of that in his eyes and her expression softened. Mr Pointy lifted a little, and she ran the fingers of her other hand over his cheek. "What have you done?" He said nothing. What was there to say? Mr Pointy pressed down a little more. "Don't lie to me. A price had to be paid, yes? And you've protected me with your own body again?" He had no reply to give. She must have seen something in his face, though. "Have you bathed?" "Yes." "Doesn't help, does it?" He knew what she meant, and for some reason couldn't look her in the eye. He just shook his head in quiet misery. She remembered those times in the cemetery, and how she had felt. This demon surely had retribution coming to him. But she also thought of why he had done this. She needed to know about the Hellmouth. Oh, he wanted to know, too, but he would have managed, she had no doubt about that. Humanity's need was greater. Her need to know. He could have expected her to pay the price for the knowledge, but he hadn't. He had paid it for her. She couldn't imagine what it might mean for a creature such as him to submit as he must have done. And she remembered their last stay here. That night before they came home; his absence from the cage; his anger and vulnerability. She hadn't understood, then. She'd done nothing to help him then, but he had still saved her life, over and over. And he had never spoken of his shameful ordeal. She thought of how their stolen weekend had helped tocleanseher, in body and in spirit. She released her hold on the stake, and reached down to the fastenings of his loincloth. Then she rose slightly and loosened the ties of her own, throwing them both to the floor, together with the breast band.

"Bathing doesn't help. This might, though." She stretched along his length, like the big cat he saw in his imagination, skin to skin and reached forward to kiss him. It was a little while before the kiss broke. When it did, he was hard, and ready. She straddled him again, and moved into position. He wanted to reach up and touch her, his palms burning with need, but this was her idea, so he lay still, letting her decide what to do. She ran her fingers over his chest, making him purr in pleasure then she bent over and licked his ear. "Do you need to be cleansed? Reclaimed?" He knew exactly what she was offering. "Yesss." And she did. Thoroughly. He let her do exactly as she wished. Here, his submission seemed right, seemed essential to the magic of ritual purification that she was working on him. Then, as she was impaled by him and nearing her climax, she took his hands in hers and pushed them outwards and downwards until the two of them were breast to breast. And she bent her head and bit down on his jugular with her little human teeth. His howl of pleasure must have echoed through the building, but he was mindless, beyond caring, as he burst into orgasm. It was only as he came back to himself, and saw her enter the first spasms of her own fulfilment, that he saw the bead of blood on her lip. His blood. He wanted to reach up, to wipe away something that she could not understand the consequences of, but then her tongue darted out to lick it away as she entered the throes of rapture, and it was too late. And then he ceased to care, as he felt himself harden and reach fulfilment again, in company with her. It was later, as he lay with his head cushioned on her breast that he thought of that bead of blood. When a vampire takes a human mate, the vampire is always the dominant partner. When he had drunk from her, back in the park, he had marked her as his and, weak as he was, he had willed himself to dominance. That was as it should be. Now, she had taken him, she had drunk his blood, from a wound that she herself had made, whilst he had submitted to her will. She had been the dominant one. She had marked him as hers. In all things now, they were equals. It had never been done that way before, so far as he knew. Still, he was certain that no vampire had ever taken a slayer as mate before, so perhaps it was fitting that they do things differently. They were true and equal mates now, although the ritual had been a bit flaky, and she was quite

unaware of the fact. Damn. He would either have to kill her or make sure the ritual was done properly at some time in the future, with her full knowledge and understanding. But nothing, absolutely nothing, other than death would change the nature of their relationship as it was now established. Damn. He really wasn't sure which alternative to opt for. Fuck. The next morning, she awoke with Angelus' head on her breast. For the only time in her brief experience, he had fallen asleep in her arms, rather than the other way round. She felt what it might be like to have power over this demon, as she was afraid that he had power over her. If only it could be her Angel. But he was gone, and she was afraid he was never coming back. This was all she might ever have of him - was it enough? Could she set aside her sacred duty for this vampire? She looked at him, relaxed in sleep, impossible to tell apart from Angel just at this moment. She thought of the beauty and deadliness of this tiger again, and then she remembered another small piece of the poem. She thought it had stuck in her mind because Angelus seemed to be essence of tiger; tiger writ large, as it were. So had Angel, when he had fought alongside her. When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Are we all God's creatures, she wondered? All playthings for the powers that be? If she could not be with Angel, if she and he could not fulfil their destiny together because of that insane happiness clause, could Angelus take his place? Was that meant to be? That she take this demon and mould him to her own purposes? Just what was the difference between a soul and a demon anyway? When the soul at times acted like the demon, and the demon at times acted like the soul? In this being, did they complete each other? How could she ever know? If only Angel's soul were here, she would cleave to this demon for eternity. Small steps, she thought. One at a time. And go with gut instinct. It seemed to serve slayers well. Her arms tightened of their own accord, and she dropped a light kiss on the

top of his head, trying not to awaken him. The rest would do him good. But he was awake already. When he felt the kiss, he feathered one of his own across her midriff. Neither of them slept for a while after that. ************* In the afternoons, they rested in their cage, or fought and won their battles. Then it was time for the very last battle. All but one of the other comers had been defeated. At night, they had waited for the call that didn't come, the summons to Angelus for his third and final humiliation. Each night, when they were sure there would be no call, they had offered each other comfort in the oldest way known to man and demon. Nothing fancy. Just simple lovemaking. Simple as it was, it took both of them to the places where galaxies are born, and universes die. It left them sated, cleansed and claimed. Each night the demon fell asleep curled around the Slayer, one arm and one leg thrown possessively over her. Then it was time for the final humiliation, too. Ezrafel came to them one afternoon, when they had been in Hylek for almost a month, bringing with him the servitors that supplied their meals. They brought fish, a dish of eggs, hot crusty bread and fresh fruit for Buffy, and a jug of blood for Angelus. Human blood. When the servitors had gone, Ezrafel lingered. "I must come for you tonight." He hesitated, and as they waited, Buffy wrapped her arms around Angelus' waist, leaning her head against his chest. Suddenly the Hylekian picked up the water jug from the table and hurled it across the room. They had never seen him angry before. He stood silent, hugging himself, his head bowed low. Angelus disengaged himself from Buffy, very gently, and moved over to the Keeper. He put a hand on the demon's shoulder. "Tell me. It is better that I know and can be prepared." When the Hylekian looked up, there were tears standing in his eyes. "Never has this been done before! It is beyond all fairness. It is quite unthinkable. Infamous!" For a moment he was unable to continue. Angelus looked helplessly at Buffy. She, too, moved over to join them, and together they embraced the distressed Keeper. At that moment, Buffy saw little difference between the demon Keeper

and her human Watcher. They both seemed to be made of similar stuff. Angelus tried again. "Come. Tell me what is wrong." The Keeper straightened himself. "Your third Hiring is at the Palace, and may not be gainsaid. You will be there all night tonight, returning at dawn." Oh. "Very well. But we knew that one of the Hirings must be all night." He felt Buffy stiffen - she hadn't known. Damn. "What is so terrible about this?" "Your final battle, the one to determine which House will take the Royal Standard, is tomorrow, at noon." Sonofabitch! He had a suspicion of what was happening. "Which House are we competing against? Which is the one left?" "The House of Vermald. The current Royal Household." Ah. They were the ones in the Bursar's ledger, then. This was their back-up plan. "And the Council thinks that's fair play?" That was Buffy, his angry lioness. He had to smile. The Keeper went on, "It has been deemed fair because only one of you is involved. The other will be fresh anduninjured." Buffy intervened again. "Can we appeal? We must be able to, right?" "No. The only appeal is to the Royal Household. They have done this deliberately. There is more. There is intelligence that they are unwilling to relinquish their current status and are taking steps to make sure they are not ousted. I do not believe you will be killed tonight - there is too big a risk of mob riots, you are so popular - but you may be harmed so that you cannot fight, or at least cannot fight well." They both took in the implications of what the Keeper had said. All three remained in an embrace of mutual comfort for a long time, before Ezrafel called in a servitor to clear up the broken glass. ***************

When it was over, when Ezrafel helped Angelus back into their room, Buffy was shocked. The claw and bite marks were only a little worse than she had seen before, but the vampire was stiff and ungainly, with none of his accustomed animal grace. When the door had opened, he had not tried to hide the pain on his face, a reflection of both mind and body. When he saw her companion, though, his expression closed down, became carefully neutral. Haraeth. He had come a little before dawn, with a gift. Haraeth rose from his chair now and stood before Angelus. He seemed lost for words. His jaw tightened, and he simply pressed the small enamelled box into Angelus' hand then strode from the room. Buffy moved to help Ezrafel, and together, they lowered Angelus to the bed. She took the box from him. "The Orbaths are furious. The entire House has spent all night finding this. They had to go outside this dimension. It's spelled, and they say it'll heal you in time for the contest. I think Haraeth would be happy to take a swing at those rulers himself." She ran her fingers down his cheek. "Those sonsofbitches aren't going to know what's hit them when I find them!" He smiled for her. His lioness. Ezrafel hurried off to fetch some more blood. He had a small supply of fresh human blood, obtained against this day. It would help Angelus heal more quickly, give him more strength, than animal blood. Buffy had something else in mind. She put her wrist to Angelus' mouth. "Drink." "No." He pushed her arm away. "You will need all your strength. You cannot afford to lose any." He reached up and stroked her hair. "But thank you." She started to argue, but he put his finger over her lips. "No. That is final." He looked at her. His golden girl. His obsession. He had to admit that now. An unaccustomed warmth swept through him. "I" He bit off the rest of the words he had been about to say. They had nothing to do with demons. They were impossible. Unthinkable. He wouldn't lie to her, make her think that he was capable ofNo! "Turn over." He didn't; he simply reached for the box. "I can manage."

She wouldn't let go of it. "Turn over. Now!" She stroked his face again. "Angelus, I know you've got a chunk of pride as big as Texas, but we're in this thing together. Turn over, dammit or I'll turn you over!" He did. His lioness. She was a fit mate for him. She was the only possible mate for him. In a fit of unaccustomed self-introspection, he wondered whether he was ready for her as his mate, whether the Hylekians had seen something that he hadn't acknowledged? Well, perhaps time would tell. She unfastened the loincloth, and he heard her sharp intake of breath at the damage she found there. Then she set to work. The ointment felt wonderful. Soothing and cooling. Buffy's little fingers made sure it reached where it was needed. He could feel it working immediately. She was in the middle of her ministrations when Ezrafel returned, carrying a pitcher of blood. The demon blushed when he saw what he had interrupted. If Angelus could have blushed, he would have too. It was an unaccustomed feeling for him. Only Buffy seemed completely unfazed. "Thank you Ezrafel. Can you bring a glassful over here?" She finished her work, and Angelus turned over to take the brimming glass of blood. It was good. He felt better already. "You have 6 hours to rest and heal. I will come for you then. The servitors will bring your breakfast, Slayer, in about an hour. Otherwise you will be undisturbed." With a small bow, he turned and left. Buffy ran a fingernail down Angelus' chest, scraping over his nipple as she did so. He hissed in pleasure. She smiled, and as she bent to kiss him she murmured, "We've got an hour, anyway." Then she proceeded to purify him and reclaim him in her own special way. ************** When they entered the arena, Angelus looked towards the Royal Box. He saw a number of faces that he recognised. Smug faces, pointing and gesturing. He was unaware of the deep growl that rumbled through his chest. More demons with a reckoning to settle. He walked stiffly, deliberately feigning discomfort and pain. No point giving away their advantage too soon. He saw Haraeth and the rest of House Orbath. They looked concerned, afraid that their efforts on his behalf had been fruitless. Never mind. They'd find the truth soon enough. Their opponents, as representatives of the reigning champions, were last out;

two demons, with dragon's scales. The scales were armour that was light enough not to slow them down, but strong enough to protect against an edged weapon such as a sword. The two performed some showy warm-up exercises, demonstrating that they were fast and agile. This was going to be interesting. The four gladiators were already armed with broadswords and long, slim daggers, almost swords in themselves. With these two pairs, there was no need to spice the event with an initial period of unarmed combat. The crowd would have its entertainment. And they did. The dragon demons were possibly the stronger pair. There was little to choose otherwise, except that they were naturally armoured, Angelus and Buffy were not. Vampire and Slayer landed many blows on those glittering silver scales, but they simply glanced off. Angelus knew that the earthly knights of old, with their plate armour, unable to land a single killing blow, had simply used their broadswords to beat each other to death. He desperately hoped it wouldn't come to that. He didn't think that he and Buffy would last long enough. Already they had taken a few superficial wounds, and too much of their energy was spent in dodging their opponents' weapons. As soon as battle was joined, he had given up any pretence at infirmity, and regained his true feline agility. He was too hard pressed to notice the looks of relief that members of House Orbath wore, and the looks of hatred from House Vermald. In the end, it was probably decided by the word that neither vampire nor slayer were yet willing to consciously acknowledge. Love. Not lust, not affection, need or worship. Not even obsession. Love. Although they would have denied it if asked, neither was willing to allow the other to die, and both were willing to spend every drop of their own blood to ensure that the other survived. It made the difference. The dragon demons did not have that level of devotion. There was a long period of desperate sparring, accompanied by shouts and cheers from the crowd. When the first opening came, it was tiny, a small movement in the wrong direction from one of the dragon demons. Angelus saw it, and leapt. He took the sword in his midriff, making sure that it was trapped there. His own dagger found its way underneath one of the silver scales where the scale overlay the one beneath, thrusting upwards towards the heart. His fangs found the softer skin at the creature's throat and tore. The rest was simple. Comparatively. The demon did not die easily, but it did die. With his opponent dispatched, he could help Buffy, even weakened as he was by the sword thrust he had taken. With his help to distract the second demon, she managed to angle her sword into its groin, where the scales were softer. As it sank to its knees, her dagger thrust up under its chin into its brain.

It was over. And then it wasn't. The crowd went wild. With the level of mayhem, it took a few moments before they realised that all was not as it should be. Armed Hylekians - and others - were pouring into the seating area. In no time at all, the area would be under martial law. Already, soldiers had surrounded the boxes where the Houses sat. They sprinted to the arena wall. Angelus boosted Buffy up to reach the top, but as soon as she did, she dropped back down again, clutching her arm in pain. The shield barrier was still in place. They heard a piercing whistle. It came from the area of their cage. The Keeper was crouched there, gesturing to them. He showed them a way out. Armed demons - mercenaries, by the look of them - commanded the surrounding streets, but somehow they managed to avoid them all. When they came to a sewer entrance, they slid gratefully down. ************** They waited until nightfall. Angelus, ignoring the pain from his half-healed wound, and the hunger caused by the need to heal, slithered out. He brought back two dead mercenaries. The clothes of the smallest were still much too large for Buffy, but they were the closest he had been able to find. They were wearing good, strong leather, though, which was as good armour as they were going to find in a hurry. The softer leather of the loincloths they used to bind up their wounds from the contest. They managed to find a quiet place to exit the sewers. The Keeper led them into an area of grand mansions and estates. There was a low level hubbub from each one. Angelus could smell the panic of the beta males left leaderless. He told Buffy and Ezrafel what he could sense. "If House Vermald has slaughtered all the main members of the Great Houses, who is there to fight them?" The Keeper shook his head in despair. At the next mansion, there was a different scent. It was an alpha male, clearly in charge. They decided to take a closer look at House Demeral. The Keeper recognised the alpha male as the Head of the House. They approached him with weapons sheathed. Well, belted, at least - they'd taken as many weapons from the dead mercenaries as they could. He greeted them warmly when he recognised who they were. His courtesy came as a surprise, in the midst of the chaos. "I'm sorry that you should see our society descend into such lawlessness. If

you are patient, I am sure I can find someone who can return you to your own dimension." Angelus looked at the Keeper, who produced his own little gadget. He could send them, if necessary. Angelus then looked at Buffy. She was adamant. "Not without the information on the Hellmouth! And I seem to recall that we've got a pay cheque coming." He gave a shout of laughter, then turned to Demeral. "I think we'll stay around and help. Just to safeguard our interests, you understand." "You are more than welcome! We had some intelligence that a coup was planned. House Orbath had to appear in full at the Games, of course. Most of the other Houses sent their Heirs and men at arms to a rendezvous. I think we're the last to leave - we've done a few sweeps to pick up useful stragglers, but we must go. A siege will do us no good at all." Horses were found for them, and the whole party, masters, servants, household guards and guests headed for the mountains. Angelus and Buffy rode side by side. At their first resting place, where the band stopped to water their horses and give them a breather, he took her to one side. "You should allow the Keeper to send you back. If anything happens to him, I'll still have Mr Pointy." She shook her head. "Angel, I'm in so much trouble now, I really don't think it could get worse. When I get back, I'm going to have to come clean with my Mom about who I am. What I am. She needs to understand what's what. But I'm staying." He held her close, troubled by his feelings. Part of him was roaring in anger, wanting to beat her until she called him by his true name, not the name of that loser soul. The other part was determined that, when she faced her mother, he would be by her side to help her. And all of him wanted to howl in triumph that she chose to stay with him, here. But all of him also wanted to get her out of danger, send her to safety back home. Dammit, he thought he'd left schizophrenia behind when the soul had gone! It was worse than ever, now. In any event, she stayed. A few hours later, they reached a fortified country estate. A well-disciplined guard challenged them, only admitting them when they were recognised as the Demeral party. A surprising number of Hylekians had converged on this estate. It became clear that there were others, men at arms mainly, on nearby estates, waiting to be

called. With Demeral's arrival, the Families went into conclave. Angelus went outside to find a likely looking horse and sate his hunger. The conclave took hours. Angelus and Buffy lounged outside, in the warm afternoon sun, taking what rest they could. She was sitting in his loose embrace, her back leaning against his chest, when Demeral came to find them. He seemed uncomfortable. "The Houses need to co-operate to defy this coup. This is not something they have ever had to do, and we are sure that House Vermald is relying on this. We are essentially a peaceable society. We have few battle skills - for hundreds of years, our battles have been fought in the arena. Household guards are primarily for show. They are trained and can fight bandits and such, but they are not experienced in actual warfare, and they are few, compared to this army of House Vermald. We believe they have brought in a large number of mercenaries, men more accustomed to fighting. So, we have to acknowledge that we have a problem there - not enough soldiers and not enough skill. "But there is another problem. The Houses would unite behind House Orbath, since they are now our rightful ruling House. They will not unite behind any one else. But Orbath is not here. Only you. You are warriors and you represent House Orbath. We are agreed. One or both of you must lead us." What! ************

Tyger, Tyger
Author: Jo Feedback : Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Angelus had never fought in a pitched battle. Oh, he'd been around plenty of battlefields, back in the day, but usually making free with the officers' women whilst their men bled and died. But he'd read many works by military commanders through the ages. He drew now on every bit of knowledge he'd ever learned. He sent out scouts. The first one to return came back at a flat gallop. An army was on its way. He estimated that around 10,000 soldiers were marching, of which only about 2,000 seemed to be from Hylek. The remainder looked like paid mercenaries, demons of many species. A tally of House troops had given a

number around 3,000. They were outnumbered more than 3 to 1, by experienced troops. He reviewed his options. He could fight a guerrilla war, during which time he was certain half his troops at least would take fright and desert. That was no strategy at all with untried green warriors. Even worse, if he did that, it was certain that the captured Heads of Houses, or at least House Orbath, would be executed. Every sensible tyrant in history had learned that removing the focus of a rebellion would cause that rebellion to fizzle out - why fight, when there is nothing left to fight for? He could stay here and endure a siege. That was not an attractive option. The Houses had had little time to prepare a stronghold. The fortifications could be described as fair, at best. An army of 10,000 would make short work of them. And there weren't enough supplies. Or he could join battle, outnumbered 3 to 1. They were dead in the water. Nevertheless, he was not prepared to do nothing, to tamely surrender. That was the only remaining option, and the worst of all. He went with his instincts. Taking Buffy to one side, out of earshot of the others, he gave her his analysis. She agreed. He gave her his preferred option. She agreed. Battle it was. The army was estimated to be about thirty miles away. There were no maps available, but Demeral described the terrain over that distance. There was a great deal of forest, large stretches of open grassland and a large lake lying underneath the shoulders of a mountain range. There was only one area that seemed to offer hope. It was a place where the road passed close to the mountains, by a summer-dry riverbed, with the lake behind it. Here, the larger army would have less opportunity to manoeuvre, and would lose some of the advantages of size. And it would fence in his own army, reducing the opportunity for frightened troops to run. It was about 10 miles away. They would have to move swiftly, or the attacking army would be past it. He pressed into military service every demon who could wield a weapon or fire an arrow. He had mounted soldiers, foot soldiers, archers and some who were good with a slingshot, and he appointed his lieutenants on that basis. They set off at a forced march. They reached what he had decided would be the battlefield less than two hours before dusk. It was as good as could be expected. The opposing army was in sight. Its general was no slouch; on sighting the army deploying before him, he summoned an aide and sent a large detachment of soldiers up the flanks of the mountain where, once Angelus attacked, they could rain arrows down upon Angelus' men, no matter how he deployed. The general then settled in with his

back to the mountains, behind the dried out riverbed, daring Angelus to come forward. His spearmen formed the front line of defence, with mounted soldiers and swordsmen behind. More mounted soldiers were starting to deploy away from the centre. So far so good. Angelus called first for Demeral, his chief lieutenant. "Can you find a couple of hundred archers and slingers who are good in mountains. I need someone with them who can speak English." Demeral galloped away. "Slayer." Formality was required here, within earshot of his commanders. "Will you take the men that Demeral selects, and guard our flanks? I need you to take out all those men up on the mountain side." Buffy almost protested. She could see immediately that he was sending her to one of the safer places in the coming battle. Then her warrior's instinct saw something else. She was the only one that he could trust. If those archers on the mountain weren't removed, he and the army were dead. Everything depended on that. "Angelus," she acknowledged, and wheeled her horse round to follow Demeral. "Wait!" She stopped, and he galloped over to her. He pulled her from the saddle and clasped her to him. In sight of both armies, they kissed with desperation. Then she was back in the saddle, and gone. The opposing army was deploying its horsemen onto the right wing, along the lakeshore, where the terrain was flatter, and better suited to the use of horses. A phalanx of foot soldiers, mainly inexperienced Hylekians, by the look of it, were deployed on the left wing, covered by archers and slingers. That was the weak link, then. No general uses archers and slingers to cover troops he can trust. Angelus had wondered whether to leave the situation as a standoff until morning, but having found the weakness, he didn't want to give their general time to reconsider, to stiffen the inexperienced Hylekian wing with tougher mercenary troops. Nor did he want to give his own troops time to melt away, having seen the size of the opposition. It was now or never. His own mounted horsemen he divided into two groups. The larger group would face the horsemen by the lake. The smaller group would follow him to

take on the weak left wing. His foot soldiers would meet the enemy centre. The rest was up to them. A small number of fast, lightly armed troops were kept back, in reserve, under Demeral himself. They were to go wherever they were most needed once the fighting started. Demeral had discretion, but his instructions were that if there were any danger of either wing being turned, he must at all costs prevent that. Seeing them all deployed to their assigned positions, he rode along the battle line, making a final check. It was as good as it could be. Time to say a few words. His voice carried on the still evening air. Demeral roared out the translation. "Men of Hylek! This may be our only chance to restore freedom to your land, to restore the traditions by which Rulers are selected. All I ask is that you kill three men. When you have done that, you will be free! Kill three men for freedom!" The cry was taken up by every throat there. "Kill three! Kill three!" Satisfied, he rode back to his right wing, drew his sword and waited. The battle cry behind him roared to a crescendo, and he charged. He desperately hoped that the army was following him, although there was no time to look, and he prayed to any god that would listen that the Slayer had her job well in hand. The archers and slingers facing him loosed a volley of arrows and stones, but clearly had not expected any real opposition. They were inexperienced and afraid, as were the troops they were supposed to protect. They were taken aback by the speed of Angelus' charge, and after the second volley, they broke and fled. Angelus and his mounted wing were among the infantry like a fox in a henhouse. The slaughter was bloody, and even with his vampiric strength, his arm was growing tired of wielding the sword and delivering death with each swingeing blow. In minutes, he was covered in gore, most of it not his own. The men with him were just as blood spattered, their faces masks of determination. He risked a glance at the other troops. The enemy centre was holding his infantry attack, but at least his troops were still trying to press forward. His left wing, the stronger of the two mounted groups, was hard pressed by the much more numerous enemy, and in danger of being pushed back. It would be disaster if that left wing were turned, allowing the enemy's mounted soldiers to circle behind him and attack from the rear. Demeral had seen the danger. He and the reserves were sprinting to the wing, to prop it up. Good man! And then his own opposition started to melt away as soldiers tried to flee the battlefield. Some ran to the shelter of their own centre, to be followed and slaughtered by his men. Others tried to run from the battlefield altogether, back the way they had come. He wanted to howl for joy - he thought that he

probably did - when he saw the Slayer and her archers block the road and pick them off one by one. He had no intention of allowing news of the battle to reach House Vermald. Not until he was ready. And then he was behind the enemy centre. His centre, seeing that the enemy were now surrounded, pressed forward with greater courage, whilst Angelus, accompanied by a few willing and courageous troops, drove into the melee. His intention was to find the opposing general. When he did, the contest was short. The general, and his head, were lying on the battlefield, and the enemy were laying down their arms. It had all taken much less than an hour. He had survived. His horse had survived with him. Both of them were almost on their knees with exhaustion, his horse's head hanging almost to the ground. Exhausted, too, were the remnants of both armies. It was difficult to determine how many had survived, but he thought that the majority of his had. That was a miracle. He pulled up the horse, and started to pick his way over the bodies. It really had been carnage. His troops, seeing him, started to follow. Demeral rode across to him, covered in blood but smiling and happy. "You have won a great victory Angelus! Against the odds, you have won!" Angelus gave him a tired smile. "No. The Hylekians have won it. You did well, all of you." He looked around for Buffy, but couldn't see her yet. Her band had been a little way away. "I'll be back in a few minutes - we haven't finished the day's work yet. Can you get some parties out hunting for the wounded. They'll need some attention." Already the black scavenger birds were flapping amongst the fallen. Demeral nodded and set about the task. Angelus turned his tired mount to where he had last seen his Slayer. The light was fading now, but that wasn't a problem for him. He saw the remaining archers in a group, not moving towards the main army. As he drew closer, he felt his heart lurch. They were bent around something on the floor, and he couldn't see Buffy. His chosen mate. Where was she? He kicked the horse on. The men parted silently, to let him through. The Slayer lay on the ground. A long arrow stood from her breast. It was as if he were moving through spun glass. Everything was slowed, nothing seemed to be within reach. His mind was screaming, and he was sure that he was making whimpering, keening sounds. And then he was kneeling by her side. She was still alive, barely. She was losing blood fast, her face paler than his. Her lips were becoming blue from lack of oxygen. But she was still just conscious. She tried to reach for him, and he saw her mouth the words, "My love" At least, that was what he thought she said. She must be hallucinating

then and believe that he was Angel. He tried not to let that hurt him - it didn't matter. Only she mattered. He knelt beside her, careful not to move her and make things even worse. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips and held her hand. She rallied a little and fixed her gaze on him. "Hurts" "Please, don't leave me. I need you. I love you." It was true. But was it too late? She hadn't heard him though; she had faded into unconsciousness before the words were out. Later, he thought that he should be grateful for that. He had never wanted to lie to her, and demons could not feel love. Now, if he did nothing, she would be gone in minutes. There was only one thing to be done, but he must be careful. He didn't even need to think about it - he didn't want to turn her. He wanted her warm and human - or as nearly human as a slayer could be. He morphed and made a small bite mark on his wrist. Then he gave her a few drops of his blood. Just a few, to strengthen her, to try to close her wound, not to turn her. It could be done, with the human mate of a vampire, but it needed care. He'd never done it, and hoped he had it right. The flow of blood from the arrow wound seemed to falter a little and her fluttering heartbeat steadied. She needed a hospital. He looked around for help, for anyone who might have the means to send her back home, but there was no one nearby other than men-at-arms. Then he saw the moon, standing on the horizon in the gathering gloom, huge and pale. The full moon. He took the stake from around his neck and pressed her fist around the claddagh ring. Then he recited the incantation. As he did so, she rallied, and he felt her claw at his hand, trying to get him to grasp the stake too. But he still had something to do. The war wasn't over. If House Orbath were slaughtered, he might never get to know about the new Hellmouth. He had a feeling that, alive or dead, she would never forgive him if he allowed that to open. He couldn't take that chance. It wasn't him she clung to anyway. He understood that. It was Angel. In her delirium, she thought he was Angel. That hurt, more than he thought that he could bear. And then it was done, and she was gone. But in clawing at his hand, she had taken with her Angel's claddagh ring. His hand felt naked and his heart empty. His face was bleak, his eyes devoid of anything but an all-consuming rage as he stood in the spot where his mate had lain and started to issue his orders. Those fit to ride fast would accompany him to rescue House Orbath. House Vermald would not survive this night. ************** Giles and the teenagers were taking shifts in the Library, in case Buffy and

Angelus came back in the same condition as last time. Giles was on shift tonight. He had a blanket and a pillow, and made himself as comfortable in his office chair as possible. The chair was placed so that he could see the main library floor, where the shadow Mr Pointy had been last time. Willow had told them what she had done for Angelus. She was sure that Mr Pointy would return them to the same spot. It did. There was a flash of white light, and Buffy lay bleeding on the floor, pierced close to the heart by a long arrow. Her right hand was tightly clenched. There was no sign of Angelus. Without thought, acting purely on instinct, Giles scooped her up and raced out to the car. Sunnydale Hospital was his next stop. ************* In the end, the number of men who could accompany Angelus was dictated by the number of horses fit to travel. They found a picket line of horses that had been ridden by those enemy soldiers sent on to the mountainside. These were relatively rested and all uninjured. They used the best of them, each man taking a horse to ride and leading a spare remount. Demeral came with him, and some men of the other Houses. The rest stayed to deal with the aftermath of the battle. The journey was too slow for Angelus, and it was Demeral who persuaded him to allow horses and men some small respite for rest and water, Demeral who persuaded him that he would get there quicker on the horse than by dismounting and running, Demeral who persuaded him that if he raced ahead and arrived alone, he could never accomplish his purpose; he would be killed. It was Demeral who, at their first stop, insisted that he remove his shirt and trousers, and who bound up the four sword slashes he hadn't even realised he'd got. And it was Demeral who, at the second stop, brought down a small deer and gave it, still living, to Angelus. The blood helped his wounds to heal, gave him strength for what he now needed to do. When they reached the city, the horses were staggering with exhaustion, but their ride had been epic. They had accomplished it in a time that would almost certainly never be bettered. There were less than fifty of them left. Angelus went over the palace wall first. When he had killed all seven of the guards in that area, the others joined him. They found a small window guarded by a rusted iron grating and, muffling the sound as well as they could with their jerkins, they stood back as Angelus pulled the grating out with one mighty effort. Then they waited again while he slithered in and looked around. So they progressed through this lower part of the palace. Angelus could smell Haraeth, and it was a live scent. And he could smell some of his past tormentors. That

was all he had to go on. No guard survived in any area that he wished to pass through. Eventually, he reached a grating in the floor of a large, empty hall. Another large, bare room could be seen below. Bare of furniture and comforts, that is. There were bodies enough. Hylekians were chained around the walls, and to posts in the centre, some dead, some alive. Haraeth was one of them, mercifully still living. Shockingly, at Haraeth's feet were two headless corpses. A swordsman walked into view, and took a stance. In seconds, Haraeth would join his kinsmen. With a sinew-bursting effort, Angelus ripped the grating from the floor and dropped onto the swordsman. It wasn't Haraeth who lost his head. There were about twenty men-at-arms in the room, and half a dozen demons who by their dress and adornments were clearly senior members of the Royal House Vermald, here to watch the executions. Angelus didn't need the clues of dress or adornment, though. He recognised the demons from his ordeal in the palace. And he recognised one in particular. The snarl came unbidden. It was like putting a stoat amongst chickens. Angelus didn't even stop to draw his sword until he had beheaded five men with his bare hands. By then, his companions had caught up to join him in the slaughter. The members of House Vermald were prevented at sword-point from leaving the chamber until they were the only ones left alive. Not for long. Angelus stalked over to them as the last man-at-arms lay twitching on the floor. His voice slightly distorted by his fangs, he invited the king to join him. His companions pulled out a portly middle-aged demon from the huddled courtiers. Without even pausing, Angelus tore out the throats of the others. Then he went back to the king, standing only a hand's breadth away from him. His voice carried only a promise of death. "Your actions have caused the deaths of too many of your countrymen and have threatened me and mine. My mate may even now be dead because of you." He looked at Demeral. "Do you have any procedures for dealing with a traitor such as this." "No. There has been no such treachery for the last eight hundred years, at least. We would need to find a mechanism for dealing with this." Angelus took that as acceptance of what he would do next. "Are there any more of House Vermald? Any heirs, any young ones, any illegitimate brats?" Demeral whispered to the companions. A group left the chamber, while others moved around the chained Hylekians, freeing them from their fetters. Angelus turned from Vermald, and walked over to Haraeth. He unfastened the

fetters. "Thank you." The young man was pale, and the side of his tunic was bloodied. He had been wounded, and was weak, unsteady on his feet. Angelus examined the wound. It was festering a little from lack of attention, and would leave an interesting scar, but the young man should heal. There was movement in the doorway, and a group of demons were ushered in. Women and children, and half a dozen adult men. The rest of House Vermald. Accompanied by their screams of terror, Angelus took their throats out in the sight of their appalled patriarch. Then he leaned towards the man, his voice soft but sharp as flint. "I will save your countrymen the need to invent a process of justice for you. Here, in this chamber, I AM justice." He took the king's head in one easy movement. ************** Giles sat by Buffy's bed. Joyce sat on the other side. The small hours of the morning were moving towards the not so small. The arrow had been removed and blood transfusions given. She was still unconscious, but she would live. The doctors had no idea why she was still alive. The arrow had grazed her heart, and the blood loss had been immense. She should be dead. They had been unable to open her clenched right hand, and they had left it alone, needing to concentrate on the more critical issues. Now Joyce was stroking her daughter's arm and hand, trying to relax the muscles, trying to make her release her grip on what was so important to her. It gave the overwrought mother something to do. She had not yet asked Giles for an explanation, but he knew that would come. What he didn't know was what to say in answer. How could he tell her about the things her daughter had been doing? And the creature she had been doing them with? He couldn't imagine why cloth yard war arrows would be used in the arena. Something quite dreadful had clearly happened. He was almost sure that the vampire was the one who had sent her back, but why he hadn't also returned was a mystery. Whether they would be getting any information on the incipient Hellmouth seemed to be moot. He watched Joyce smoothing Buffy's clenched muscles, tracing the entwined wolves that were inked over her golden skin, then suddenly her daughter relaxed, a soft smile of welcome coming to her lips, and she opened her hand. Lying on her palm was a silver ring. A man's claddagh. Angel's ring. Giles bowed his head in sorrow. Sorrow, he was ashamed to realise, not because he thought that Angelus must be dead, or because Buffy would

perhaps grieve for that, but because if the vampire were dead, it had not been his hand that killed him. Perhaps Buffy could get on with her life, now. Perhaps he could, as well. They'd deal with the new Hellmouth as they had dealt with everything else. Joyce picked up the ring and looked at it. She turned to Giles. He knew she was going to ask about it, and again he had no answer that seemed suitable. That, Mrs Summers, is the ring worn by your daughter's creature of the night, murderous, vampire ex-boyfriend. That would go down well. It was just as Joyce was trying to frame the question that the light in the room seemed to brighten, and a small, neat portal opened. Then it winked out, leaving Angelus standing by the foot of the bed. Joyce was aghast, as well she might be, and not only at his magical entrance. The vampire was covered in blood. His face was streaked and splattered with it, his hair matted. His clothes were drenched in it. Rents in his clothing showed bloodstained bandaging on his thigh and his ribs. His face was gaunt and grey, and his eyes bleak and empty. A bloody sword and dagger were thrust barebladed into his belt. A pall of road dust coated his entire figure, blood and dust congealing together on his clothes and on his skin. Joyce tried to scream, but no sound came out. Silently thanking the gods for that, at least, Giles moved round the bed towards her. Maternal instinct to the fore, Joyce moved towards the dreadful apparition, intent on keeping her daughter safe. "Get away from her!" she hissed. "Don't you dare touch her!" She opened her mouth as if to scream for help. Giles placed himself in front of her and took her by the shoulders. "Joyce. For God's sake don't scream." She wasn't even looking at him so he shook her a little until he had her attention. He repeated what he had said, urgency harshening his voice. "He's not going to hurt her. He got that way fighting for her." He was sure of that. "I'll explain, but not now, not here." Mercifully, she remained silent but she shook him off and moved to stand bravely between the gore-soaked vampire and her unconscious daughter. Angelus just moved around her, took no notice of her, walked stiffly to the side of the bed, where Giles had been. He ignored the chair, and simply knelt on the floor. He reached over for Buffy's hand, the one that had clutched the ring, and brought it over to meet the other. Then he held both gently in his own.

"I'm here now, my love, nothing can hurt you. I'm here." He continued murmuring soothing nonsenses to her until suddenly she opened her eyes. The dam that, since he had sent her back, had walled away everything inside him except his rage, burst. He leaned his head on her stomach and, regardless of Giles and Joyce, wept in relief. It was Buffy, then, who murmured soothing nonsenses to him until his tears ceased. *************** It was Giles who telephoned Willow, and Willow who telephoned the mansion. Fortunately, she got Spike, rather than Drusilla. And it was Spike who brought fresh clothes for Angelus, Spike who prised him away from the now-sleeping Slayer, who steered him into the tiny bathroom area, and who helped him to wash the worst of the blood off and to change. The bloodied clothing and the weapons he put into the holdall he had brought. Spike stayed, and it was as dawn threatened that Spike persuaded Angelus to leave the hospital room, where there was every chance of the sun catching him, and return to the mansion for some much needed sleep. Apart from the time in the bathroom, Angelus had spent the remainder of the night on his knees at Buffy's side, exhaustion etched into his every lineament. As he rose to his feet, he turned to Joyce and Giles. Giles' face was still a frozen mask, and Joyce was still in shock. He gently took her hand. "Mrs Summers, I know that you don't yet understand any of this, and we will explain it to you. But explanations must wait until tonight. I'll come back then, and Buffy, Giles and I will tell you what you want to know. Not until then, though. Do you understand?" Joyce nodded, white faced and tight lipped. Angelus turned his gaze to the Watcher. "Well?" Giles hesitated, then nodded. Before he could say more, Angelus and Spike were gone. ******************** To say that Joyce was troubled would be a statement of the blindingly obvious, and would not even scratch the surface of the truth. She couldn't even find a word to describe how she felt. She had never considered herself to be a woman who had flights of fancy, and she knew what she had seen. A man had appeared in a flash of light in the middle of a hospital room, looking like a fugitive warrior from a mediaeval battlefield. This was clearly impossible, yet

she had seen it with her own eyes. And that grim, blood-soaked man had knelt by her daughter's side, called her his love, and wept to see that she was alive. Rupert had clearly known what was happening. Rupert had lied to her about where her daughter had been for the last month. How many more lies had Rupert told her? How many lies had Buffy told her? What secrets had they been keeping, that neither of them dare tell her the truth? What the hell was going on? So she waited for the night, and the explanations she had been promised. Giles got to the hospital first. When Angelus came, he came alone. Joyce's inconsequential thought was that he certainly scrubbed up well, and that although he still looked very pale, the greyness was gone. Not the grimness, though. He looked like a man going to his execution. Or perhaps going to do the executing. Buffy was still sleeping, and Joyce and Giles had made sure they didn't wake her. When this man arrived, Joyce noted that he moved even more silently than they had done. She knew who he was. Buffy had had a brief relationship with him, and had left him because he hadchanged. Taken on an air of instability. Angel. That was his name. He reached the side of the bed without looking at either herself or Rupert; he simply stood there, looking at Buffy. And Buffy awoke for him. The smile she bestowed on him would have lit up half of Sunnydale. So would the one he gave back to her. "You won." It was a statement, not a question. She had never doubted. "We won. We won the battle, and House Vermald has beenextinguished. House Orbath is in control, aided by the other Houses, especially House Demeral." "You'll tell me everything I missed - later." "Yes." "And you'll tell me about our prize. Don't tell me you came back without it." "I came back the second that I'd finished with House Vermald - well, as soon as I could find someone to send me back. Haraeth is going to send the Keeper

to fetch us back for our prize. He'll be here tomorrow." She smiled again. "Good. We still have a couple of weeks of vacation left. Do you think we could have a look at that estate?" Angelus looked uncomfortable. "I think there are one or two things to do first." He looked pointedly at Joyce. Then he took Buffy's hand. "Best get it over with, while we're all here." His smile was reassuring. And so, the explanations began. Joyce was incredulous at the prospect that vampires might be real, and that her daughter might be a vampire slayer. Angelus obligingly demonstrated. Well, the vampire bit, anyway. So she had to believe. And Rupert Giles a Watcher, indeed? Whatever one of those turned out to be. It took a while before she could absorb what she had been told about that, what she had been shown. Buffy, Rupert and the vampire sat silently whilst she wrestled with this new knowledge. The thing that her mind kept coming back to was the simple fact that her daughter was holding hands with a demon. When she was as ready to hear more as she would ever be, they continued. The matter of the soul was explained, and the difference between Angel and Angelus. That worried her. What mother wouldn't be worried to find her daughter holding hands with a vicious, psychopathic killer? The soulless vampire part was quite superfluous. Again she focused on small facts, trying to keep at bay the larger truths. "Just how old are you, anyway?" "I was made in 1753. I was 26 at the time." "You know how old Buffy is? Don't you think you're taking advantage of her?" He smiled that billion-megawatt smile again. "I need every advantage I can get!" Tick the sense of humour, and understanding of the female psyche, columns. The duties of a slayer were explained. And the physical differences to ordinary mortals. Her worldview was rapidly crumbling, a new one not yet ready to emerge. Maternal instinct filled the gap, as it had the previous night. "Is that why you've healed so fast?" So fast, indeed that the doctors were starting to ask questions. Joyce began to feel that the hospital might not be the best place for her daughter much longer. Buffy started to answer, but Angelus interrupted. Buffy needed to know what he had done. It was probably best that her Watcher knew, too. Blood tests in future might be a problem.

"Slayers do heal fast, but she has some of my blood now." "What?" "What!" "I beg your pardon!" Joyce had gone as white as one of the hospital sheets. Buffy was scowling furiously. Rupert was positively snarling. Angelus surveyed his audience with a bland face. But he knew he was in trouble. He looked directly at Buffy. "You were almost dead. Your heart was damaged and you had lost so much blood you would never have lived to even make it back to the Library, let alone the hospital. Believe that. I didn't want to turn you. That left only one thing. I gave you just a few drops of my blood. Vampires can do that with a mate without fear of turning, if they do it right. It was just enough to strengthen the heart and start to seal the wound until you could get medical attention. Apart from making you a vampire, it was the only thing to do, other than watch you die, and I wasn't prepared to do that." He paused. "But it will always be in your blood. Because of it, you will always be able to sense me, even from so small an amount, just as I can sense you. Should I have done differently?" All three of them, Buffy, Joyce and Giles, started to say that of course he should have done differently. Then, in fairness, they all stopped. There was nothing else he could have done for her. At least, nothing else that Joyce or Giles would have wanted returned to them. Tick the resourcefulness column, and probably the courage column for owning up to that. "Why don't you want to turn me?" He wasn't prepared to answer, so he warned her off with a flash of golden eyes and a flippant answer. "This way, you can warm my feet when I'm cold." Buffy blushed and shut up, as he had intended. The mother in Joyce picked up on something, though. "Mates. Does that mean what I think it means?" Her eyes would have flashed golden if they could. "Mrs Summers, your daughter and I have a relationship that will last forever. The details of it are no-one's but our own, but do not doubt that she is mine. No one else will ever touch her or harm her, human, vampire or demon." He folded his arms across his chest and glowered.

Joyce recognised the testosterone-fuelled bluster for what it was. After all, her daughter had been under his care when she had been almost killed by that arrow. But she recognised something else, too. If her daughter were truly a slayer, and she had no reason to doubt the truth of that, then she was unlikely to have a long life expectancy. Surely, you can't hunt demons every night and stay safe? This creature was perhaps the best defence possible. After all, at his age, he had to have learned a lot of survival skills. Tick the provider and defender columns. She had also picked up on Rupert's hostility. Hatred and loathing, even. She asked about that. The emotional temperature in the room fell to somewhere near absolute zero. It was a long time before she got an answer, and it was Angelus who gave it. "His lover, Jenny, tried to restore the soul. I killed her before she could do it." There, it was out. Joyce was appalled. Unthinkingly, running on maternal instinct again, she took Rupert's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Rupert, I'm so sorry - I knew Miss Calender had died, but I had no idea" She trailed off, unable to find any words that sounded right. Rupert hung his head in sorrow; so did Buffy. Angelus looked defiant. Joyce asked the only thing she could think of that might help her understand this creature. "Do you regret doing that?" He looked startled that she should ask that, but appeared to give serious thought to his answer. "Yes. Oh, don't misunderstand me. I would do it all over to prevent that nauseating soul from possessing me again. But it has distressed Buffy, and it has distressed one whom Buffy loves. So yes, I regret that. But I can't undo it." Joyce pondered that answer. Leaving aside the demonic, vicious, killer part, it was the sort of answer a mother would look for. Tick the devotion column. But her beautiful daughter, so full of life, keeping company with a demon? Every finer feeling revolted against that thought. She was almost overwhelmed by the desire to scoop up her child and run from the hospital, away from this creature, keep her at home and safe. Then she looked at the others in the

room, and really saw what she was looking at. She looked at Rupert. He was grim and grey, remembering, no doubt, his lost love. And yet, much as he loathed the creature sitting at the other side of the bed, he still managed to work with him where it was necessary to do so, and he obviously loved and took care of her daughter. Just as a father would have. Terrible as the vampire was, he might be the best possible match for a vampire slayer. And her daughter loved Angelus, that much was clear. Joyce had seen how she smiled at him, starting with the previous night, when unconscious, even, she had felt his arrival and smiled her welcome for him. And Joyce had no doubts at all that the vampire loved her daughter. She had no idea what love meant to a demon, although she was pretty sure it was not something a normal human would necessarily survive, but this one loved Buffy. It was there for all to see. If she tried to deny them, what would happen? At best, there would be a breach between Buffy and herself, one that might never be healed. Particularly if Buffy met an enemy too strong for herNO! Thinking like that would do Buffy no good at all. And what was the worst that could happen, if she refused to countenance this unnatural liaison? At worst, this creature would simply kill her for standing in his way, as he had killed Jenny. Who would be a mother for Buffy then? Most likely, though, he would simply steal her daughter away, and she might never see her again. She realised that she couldn't deal with this vampire as if he were an undesirable human suitor. That would never work. If Rupert could handle it, so could she. And perhaps time would bring a change. Perhaps fate would intervene. Whatever, she must be there for her only offspring. She reviewed the mental balance sheet and squared her shoulders, metaphorically speaking. "I expect to know where she is at all times that she isn't at home or in school!" A look of shock crossed all three faces. "And when you see her I expect you to come and pick her up from home like any normal person. You'll come and introduce yourself to me properly, and you will treat me with the respect a mother deserves. The very first thing you are going to do is explain to me exactly where Buffy has been for the last month. And if you hurt her, I'll kill you myself. Is that clearly understood?" Angelus gaped in disbelief. Buffy started to remonstrate with her mother, terrified that she had mortally offended the mercurial vampire. At the same time, she put out her arm, weak as she was, to restrain him. Rupert went to

her aid, trying to insert himself between Joyce and the creature who had killed Jenny for less. Both of Joyce's defenders felt a thrill of fear at the growl coming from the vampire, until they realised it was a different sound; one they weren't used to hearing. A rumbling chuckle, deep in his chest. Like mother, like daughter, Angelus thought. Up to now, he had considered Joyce to be rather an irritation. But he had been wrong. She was so like her daughter he couldn't help but take to her. And he always respected a show of strength. He stood then, and made her an elegant bow. "May I start by calling you Joyce?" ************** Giles could not be happy about the turn of events, but he understood why Joyce had come to terms with the relationship. After all, he needed to do that himself. Oh, he still hated the vampire, and yearned to kill him. But the demon was the best protection his Slayer could have. An extremely rough road no doubt lay ahead of them, but he would not desert his charge. So he did his best to put his personal feelings behind him, as Joyce had done, and face the future as it actually was, not as he would wish it to be. ************ Joyce took Buffy from the hospital early the next morning, to avoid questions from the medical staff about her miraculous recovery. Soon after sundown, Angelus knocked on her front door, accompanied by a creature who looked almost human, but was just a little scaly around the edges. He was extremely polite, though. Angelus brought a large bouquet of red roses, and a large box of the most expensive chocolates. His experience showed when he left it to his two women to decide how to divide up the gifts. The other demon brought a small gadget, and an invitation to return to his home. Buffy and Angelus would go. Joyce regretfully declined. One day, perhaps. So, after visiting for an hour, during which both malesmenwere affable and charming, they carried Buffy away through one of those portals. For Buffy, weak, still, but recuperating, a few days at least of the long summer vacation were divided between helping Hylek deal with the after effects of House Vermald's treason, and lying in the arms of her demon lover.

THE END

Cometh The Hour

Author: Jo Feedback: Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com Disclaimer: Wish as I might, most of these characters aren't mine. If they were, I'd look after them better. The ones you've never heard of? They're mine. No money will ever be made from this fic. Distribution: Angel Elders. You want it? Really? Gosh. Just tell me where it's going please. Spoilers: BtVS season 4. Angel didn't get his soul back in season 2. Oz didn't get to be a werewolf in season 2. Do not get me started on who sired Spike - it's exactly as it says in this story. Rating: NC17 for sex, some of which is non-consensual, and some bad language. Some of the thinking is from Angelus' point of view and it's, well, demonic. Content: B/A(us) Alternate past reality leading to an alternate future, which is where we began, in 'The Nature of the Beast'. Keep that in mind. Summary: The follow-up to 'Tyger, Tyger'. If you haven't read that, it might be best if you do.

Author's notes: 1 Because this series is changing the events of the past, and because the inertia of narrative history is trying to tie knots and carry on, you can expect to see artefacts, and events, and perhaps meet people, in unexpected times and places. The timeline is fractured. If you don't like it, that's fine. Just make it your turn to write something for the rest of us to read. 2 Heath Robinson - if you aren't familiar with this guy, look him up. He drew the most wonderful contraptions for performing the simplest jobs.

3 Simon Magus - a sorcerer named in the Bible. See Acts of the Apostles, chapter 8 verses 924. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My name's Angelus, and I'm a demon. But then, you knew that. After so many years of being chained and caged and suffocated by that nauseating soul, I just can't describe how good it is to be free. Like coming back from Hell would be for you. Or for the soul. The soul is *never* coming back here, let me tell you. They say 'cometh the hour, cometh the man'. I may not be a man, but I've definitely come. In more ways than one. Well, a lot more ways than one. Double entendre. Hard as it is (see, I've done it again), just leave the sex aside for a minute. I'm back. And I'm hungry. Hungry for everything. Blood, sex, and power. Those are the only things that matter. Everything else follows from those things. Have you ever wondered what it's like to be me? No? Liar. Never wondered about the thrill of the hunt? The pleasure of the kill? The feel of that hot, fear-spiced blood hitting the back of your throat? Mmmphmakes me hungry just to think about it. Never thought about what it's truly like to be a vampire? All those extraordinary senses? All that physical power? Or what it's like to be *with* a vampire? Fucked by a vampire? Drunk by a vampire? Of course you have. You wouldn't be human if you hadn't. Prey animals are always fascinated by their predator. Me, now, I've nothing of humanity in me. And let me tell you a secret. Neither did the soul. He wanted everything I want. He enjoyed everything I enjoy. He just wasn't man enough or vampire enough to go for it. Guilt kept getting in the way. Well, I'm a guilt-free zone now. And I'm going to have it all. Blood, sex and power. Blood? Keep the butcher's brew that the soul used to make do on. Let me tell you, Sunnydale has the widest variety of blood you could ever want. Young and innocent (not a lot of that, so I leave that for special occasions), rich, poor, drugged, corrupt, happy, afraid, miserable, angry, drunk, and oh so many more - every variation you can possibly think of, here on the Hellmouth. And, perhaps best of all, rampantly hormonal teenagers. Lots of them. Did you know that every person's blood tastes different, not only from every other person, but also from how they tasted yesterday, or will taste tomorrow? A skilled vampire, like me, can

change the taste, while I'm drinking. It depends on what I'm doing to them as they die. On how long I keep them alive before they die. Pain and pleasure, it's wondrous what those two emotions will do to the taste of blood. Buffy may be the Slayer, but you don't think she's going to cramp my style, do you? I remember the last group of teenagers I took down. I think it was a quarter of the High School football team. They were high, they were adrenaline-fuelled, and they fought me, hard. At the end they were terrified and in pain. They were delicious. No need to remember the reason I chose them. No need to tell Buffy Sex? I've got sex. Real, red-hot sex. Vampires have often been involved with humans before. Just occasionally, vampires have been involved with slayers, although that is very rare, and the names of the lucky bastards who did it are a mantra to vampire-kind. NEVER has a vampire been involved with a slayer like my Buffy, and NEVER has a slayer been so enslaved as she is. So far as I know, no vampire and slayer have ever been mated before and believe me, I'd know. She's one of a kind. So am I. No point in false modesty, is there? And, of course, there's always Spike and Drusilla, when we get back. Separately or together, I don't mind. It'll be whatever I feel like at the time. But I'll never share her, of course. Any vampire who touches her, who encroaches on my possession, my plaything, is dust. Any human male who touches her, who sullies my mate with his grubby, sweaty fingers, will pay for that insolence in pain every day for the rest of his life. And I'll make sure it's a very, very long life, chained to my wall. I'm a master of pain, believe me. I've got money. Although that isn't quite the same as power, it gives you a good start down the road. Not that I didn't have money before, although *he* would never let us use it - and it might be hard to reactivate century-old investments. I'll have to get some lawyers on to that. Anyone know a good law firm? But the money I've got now makes that investment look like chicken shit. 5,000 blue-white diamonds of the first water. Average them at 30,000 bucks apiece - some of these babies are *big*. That's a cool 150 mill. Although I'll need to spread out my selling if I don't want to flood the market. No problem. And the estate here? At a conservative estimate the income is worth 10 mill a year, if I use the local proceeds to buy things that are highly portable and highly marketable back in our dimension. And cheap here in Hylek. More diamonds, maybe. Or other gems. Platinum is readily available here, too. And other things. Decisions, decisions. Power? Well, I'm coming to that. I'm Master of Sunnydale. The Hellmouth is mine and mine alone. The rest of California won't be far behind. It's the seventh largest economy in the world, did you know? Oh, I don't want to be Governor, or some other half-assed politician. I'll just take over the underworld. That's where the real power lies, no matter what you humans think. We rule you. Nothing happens without our permission. Anything that we want - well, we get it. With money, the Slayer, the power of the Hellmouth, and my own particular

talents, all the underworld powers of California will be mine in months. After that? I'm the Big Bad Wolf and I'll just eat it all up. The Northern Hemisphere will be my territory, I think. That's where all the real power is. The rest is hardly worth bothering about, but I'll see how I feel. It's nice to lie here and plan, under the sun of a different dimension, with my pet Slayer ready to take care of my every need. She still loves the soul, she said so on the battlefield when she thought I was he, but she'll come to love me more than she ever loved him. I'll make damned sure of it. She'll forget him. She'll forget him quicker when I stop her calling me by his name. I've held my hand so far because she was so close to death. She's better now - every one of my senses tells me that - so no need to hold back. She'll learn. Me? Don't be stupid. Demons don't love. We *own*. She is mine. Nothing touches my property. We're very territorial, did you know? Not just for living space, but for everything on the space that we claim. Rather like the master of a pride of lions. We'll fight to the death for our property. It's all mine. Nobody touches anything I've claimed. Not without my permission. She's top of the list. At the moment. I might tire of her, I might not. She'll be whatever I want for as long as I desire. It's been a good day so far. We've made lofucked in bed, in the shower, on the floor, up against the wall, in the shower again. Then we came out to this jewel of a lake, sapphireblue, set in green and purple hills. We fucked in the lake and we fucked out here on the hillside. I think I fucked her into near unconsciousness, that last time. In fact, it was such a thorough fuck that I feel a bit somnolent myself. I've got a lot of time to make up, you understand. I've held back in the arena of sex, lately, as well. I want her warm and willing. I want her addicted to me in every conceivable way. Oh, I could just as easily have taken her any way I pleased, whenever I pleased - she can't resist me, you know - but I want her willing. And it's what *I* want that counts. Right now, I'm thinking that I want to fuck again. Hard and fast and now. Oh, I can be tender, when I want. When it serves my purpose. You've seen it, so you know I can. But it's what I want, and when I want. Right? What's that you say? That lamentable scene in the hospital? A momentary weakness, that's all. We vampires do not like to be deprived of any of our

possessions, and I certainly didn't want to lose my prize slayer. And I was tired. I know I've been back for a year now, but it's been action packed. Even a vampire can get tired. And for some of that time I was almost as deranged as Drusilla. Just look at the whole Acathla incident. Why, in the name of everything that's unholy, would I want to get the world sucked into *his* particular Hell? A loser like that? It would have served the Rom right, though, for putting that curse on me, but it would have been the devil's own job getting back out. I'd have done it, mind you, when I came to my senses. The devil? That's me. And Egypt. That took up a lot of my time. And energy. I have a score to settle with Aurelius, the head of my clan. I'll do that when the time is right. He'll see me take everything away from him, just before I dust him. The clan will be mine. There are some others who'll see what's coming, too. Some demons here who know what I did to House Vermald, and who have made themselves scarce. I'll find them. You know what I'm talking about. I can wait. In fact, waiting adds to the pleasure - my pleasure - as it adds to their fear. My suffering here may not have lasted long in terms of time, but they'll pay it back a hundred-fold. Starting with that corrupt Council. Word of a demon. House Orbath? They were honourable and they kept their word, held to their bargain. We are allies, now. On the estate, here, I'm subject to them. I hold it at their pleasure. That's right and proper, and how it was agreed. On my world, perhaps I'll let them have territories at my pleasure. Something in Western Europe, perhaps? What goes around comes around. There aren't many of them left, after the civil war, but they hold the throne. Haraeth is ruler of Hylek for the next seven years. In my opinion, it will be for a lot longer than that, provided he does a half-decent job. The war has almost wiped out the House structure and what the war didn't kill, the Vermald assassins did a pretty thorough job of - we didn't rescue that many from the dungeons. It will be at least a generation, perhaps more, before the structure is workable again. Who knows, maybe they will never go back to how it was before. That's their decision, and only time will tell. House Demeral? They are one of the good guys - my sort of good guy, that is. Perhaps I'll give them some territory, too, to hold in my name. Britain? Japan? We'll see how it goes. It's good to have allies you can trust, who cleave to you because of shared history, loyalty and debt. Orbath, Demeral and Aurelian, we all owe each other for the last few weeks. That'll be good enough to last a lifetime, is my guess. An immortal lifetime.

Whilst I've been musing, I've been playing. Guess what with? And whose? She's awake now. See you later. *************** My, my; things are galloping on apace. We've come back from our secluded mountain glen. I'm not going to tell you what you missed. That's mine to know about, yours to imagine. I'll just say it got a bit rough - and I do like it that way. Right in the middle of things, she called me Angel, and I lost it, rather. She's felt my fists before, but not like this. This was punishment, not battle, and caught her by surprise. To ram the lesson home, so to speak, she got it where she didn't expect it, and she didn't get to come. Well, not for a bit. She'll learn, and I'll have fun teaching her. Pain is almost as important to a vampire as blood, you know. It's the demon in us. Hah-hah. Of course, it wasn't that much pain, as a first lesson. Just a touch. By my standards, anyway. And I kissed it all better afterwards. In a manner of speaking. Like I said, I want her willing in every way. Enough! I'm getting hard as a rock again, just thinking about it. Anyway, we came back to our house - the best way to describe it is as a moated manor house; that'll give you the picture. There was a message from Haraeth. I should probably call him Orbath now, and I will, in public. That is as it should be. But he owes his throne to me, twice over. It'll be Haraeth in private. Seems that he's decided to have an advisory council, and not the one that ran the Great Games. He wants Buffy and me as members. Buffy backed off that - feels she's more of a doer than an advisor. Good girl. Knows her limits. She'll still sit on it though, at my insistence. She has to learn about power, if she is to rule as my Consort. That is what I intend for her, after all. *********** Loving a demon is never going to be easy. Yes, I have to admit it, although I haven't told him yet, except for that day on the battlefield, when I thought I would die. I don't think he heard, though. At least, he's never brought it up, and I'm sure he would have. It's what he wants, I think. I love this demon. My demon. He isn't Angel, and he'll never be Angel. I wish he were. Every night, I pray that Angel can somehow be restored to me, and every morning, I wake up wishing that he were with me. But all I have is this demon wearing his flesh, and yes, I love him too. Somehow, in some way that I don't yet understand - may never understand - it's all him, Angel and Angelus. It doesn't mean I don't still want my Angel, but perhaps I can never have him again. I hang onto everything of him that I can. I remember every word, every expression, every touch, every taste of him; every feel of his skin against mine. Everything.

And I treasure those memories. I'll let none of it go, ever. But he's not here. His alter ego is. He's mine, and I'm his. He's said nothing yet about our status as mates, but there is something very real between us. I know it. I feel it in my blood. Does he love me? Can a demon love? What is love, anyway? He'll cherish and protect me, I know that. He can be very tender, when he wants to be; veryAngel-like. Unlike Angel, he'll try to dominate me in every conceivable way, and he'll try to use my status as Slayer to his advantage. But he won't deny what I am. He gets off on pain. I'm going to have to learn how to deal with that, deflect it where I can. But I'm the Slayer - I'm not exactly normal myself. And he will never, ever let me go. Not unless he tires of me, then he'll probably kill me. But until that day, I can use him, just as he will use me. I'm going to have to stop thinking of saving individual souls, and think of the greater good. I can never kill this demon. Leaving aside the fact that he's Angel, he's very strong. I really don't think I *can* kill him. So, for the sake of the world, this is better anyway. I can try to control him. It will take time, but I think I can do it. And I'm the only Slayer who has the slightest hope of doing so. I must remember that. And I know that he isn't as secure in himself as he would have us all believe. I told him today that I'll be starting at college after the vacation. He wouldn't even let me finish. He raged at me, and absolutely forbad me to go. But here's something I've worked out, and can use in the future. He's at his most brutal when he's afraid. I felt it in him. Fear. He's afraid of what will happen if I'm out of his territory. He knows Mom wants me to go to UCLA, and he can't bear the thought of me being in LA. So I admitted to him that I had decided to go to college in Sunnydale. What else would I do? That is where the Hellmouth is. That is where I have to be. He took that as a victory and made up for his earlier rage, then. Just how he did that is something I don't intend to share with you. We had another problem, though, today. He beat me andpunished me in other ways. I still hurt from that. It was fear again. I called him Angel, and I'm sure he's afraid that he'll never have the same sort of love from me that Angel had. Silly boy. But this is a battle I can't and won't lose. If I give way on everything, I might as well be his slave and I won't be that. I'll call him Angelus in public. That's right and proper. He has a standing to maintain, and so do I. We must support each other there. But something tells me that if I want to survive this relationship, I must be his equal, and to do that, he needs to accept some things. Calling him

Angel is the first and the smallest of things that I can choose to fight him on. You can't talk things like that through with a demon. You just have to fight them until they give in. I will win, so I guess I'm going to have to take my lumps - and give him some back when I can. Small steps. And it makes me feel that Angel is still around somewhere. I need that. What if I do, somehow, manage to get Angel back? He'll remember everything the demon did. Everything *we* did. Will he be able to live with it? Will he be able to forgive me? I really can't think about that. Not unless that hour ever comes. ************** Haraeth gave me the information about the new Hellmouth, just as soon as he had wrung it out of the court astrologers. Almost literally. He's a good boy, that one. And the sheer nerve of it! Remember I had a run-in with the Kahlavi cult when they wanted to take over my Hellmouth? And how we settled our differences after I made them see things my way? They are the bastards who are going to open a new one. I have two reasons to go after them now - opening a Hellmouth, and breaking their agreement with me. If I'm going to rule most of the known world - and I *am*, trust me on that - the underworld needs to know that I'm a demon of my word. Our treaty contained certain dire consequences for any party breaking their word. I like dire consequences when I'm visiting them on somebody else. We've got a few weeks yet - they'll be gathering at the specified spot, just over the Canadian border, whereas now they're scattered all over. I'll wait until the gathering, and then do a bit of visiting. I don't think I'll take Buffy, just in case there's any jiggery-pokery at our Hellmouth while I'm gone. We have to leave Hylek for a while now, but I like it here. We'll be back before long. ************* My daughter and her boyfriend are back from wherever they've been to. I can't like it, of course, but she seems happy. Happier than she has been in a very long time, anyway. Happier than sinceAngelwent away. I cried at night while they were gone; cried for her, for me, for the lost Angel as well, strangely enough. I can't do that now she's back. Mothers have to remain strong. She's told me about the Games. I can only feel relief that she didn't tell me before. They say ignorance is bliss, and in my case, it was true. I know she hasn't told me - will never tell me - all the truth about this or anything else, just the edited highlights, but I'll

never know blissful ignorance again, will I? One thing I now know is the truth about that pagan artwork all over her body - he has it too. When I first saw it, all those weeks ago, I thought she'd been tattooed, and almost went out of my mind. Then, when I realised it was just surface ink, she told me it was a practical joke that had gone wrong - it was supposed to wash off, but now it would have to wear off. And it is. She tells me that's because the Games have ended, and the need for these body paintings has gone, so they will go too. She's wearing long sleeves to hide them, but I can see from the spiral on her cheek. And on his. They tell me that's the spiral of eternity. Fitting, I suppose, although I wish it weren't. And it is wearing off, so perhaps that's a sign to me of hope for the future. I know I'm clutching at straws, but what else do I have to clutch at? We're getting things ready for her start at college the week after next. I wanted her to go to LA, where her previous friends and our family are, but she said no. She has to stay on the Hellmouth, she said. That's her job. Maybe so. But I don't think he would have let her leave anyway, and I'm afraid that was just as important to her. I'll just have to keep thinking of ways to put some distance between them. Tonight, she's off to the Bronze with her friends, so I'm going off to the movies and dinner with one of mine. Girls' night out. *********** I have a little job for Willow the Witch. I'm already in her debt. Twice. There's something I want her to do for me, so that will make it thrice. There's magic in numbers, you know. You believe in magic, don't you? You've seen Willow do it, dammit! Well, three is a particularly powerful number. It's the number of creation. It represents the special moment, the carpe diem, the 'goddamit *that* was the moment' feeling. It stands for the magic itself, and for the spark of life. It's also the number of completion, which is why so much of magic has to be said in threes. It's the shortcut to infinity. As I said, powerful stuff. Not to worry, we're just talking about the burden of debt here, but you need to be careful of threes. Come to think of it, I already owe Willow for three. There were the two spells to get us back from Hylek and, so far as I know - and I *would* know - she's kept her silence aboutwell, you know what about. As I said, you need to be careful of threes. So I'm here, knocking at her bedroom doors which, so very handily, lead straight out onto the

balcony. I don't need an invitation, of course. I've been in here once - or at least the soul has. That's good enough for me. I'm just being polite. I am, you know, sometimes. She opens the door and stands there, rather flustered. You may have noticed that Willow flusters easily, although she always comes through in a pinch. "Um...Angelus...erhi. Erm." "May I come in?" "Erm." Enough of being polite. "I don't need an invitation, Willow. Remember?" I push past her. Oz is there. I notice that his hand is bandaged - perhaps that's why he's here on a Friday night, instead of playing in his band somewhere. I haven't interrupted anything, not that I would have minded, of course. Vampires aren't shy about sex. I think I've said that before somewhere. But I have no reason to hold them up if they want to push things along. I might want to sample her some time, but that can wait. I won't enforce droit de seigneur. Not on these two. They've helped me, and I can't say that for a lot of humans or demons. So I come straight to the point. "Willow. I'm already in your debt for three favours. I need another. I want you to use your hacker skills. Find me the best possible firm of lawyers to retrieve my investments. My *past* investments. I'll deal with future ones, but I need to be able to access those I made before." There's something in that room that's bothering me, but I can't immediately place what it is. A scent. It'll come to me. Willow may be diffident, but nobody ever accused her of being stupid. "Ohoh, my! You had investments before the Rom..?" She reddens, thinking she's said something to upset me. On another day it might. "Yes. By my reckoning, they're going to be worth collecting. I need a lawyer who can deal with a hundred-year gap. Can you find me one that has a big success record at shady deals in

this kind of area?" The scent is distracting me, now. I know it, I just can't place it. She gives me the best answer I'm likely to get from diffident Willow. "I'll try." Good enough. I smile my thanks to both of them and leave. I think I'll go for a prowl, and see what the night has to offer. It's almost full moon. That brings back memories Town centre, I think. It's Friday night. I'll look for some one who's had some fun. *********** I am so angry. My girlfriend was only half an hour late for the movie when she rang to say she wouldn't be coming. Domestic crisis. Thank God for mobile phones, I suppose. I'd taken a cab down here, and there isn't one to be had for love or money now. It's still quite early so I decided to take a shortcut through a couple of alleys to see if I have better luck a couple of streets over. That's been a mistake, I see now. The alleys are deserted except for me and thisthing. It looks like Angelus when he turned himself into a vampire to prove to me that they exist. Uglier, though. Even more brutish. So perhaps this is one of hisget? Is that the right word? Well, I doubt it will matter soon. He's bared his fangs, and he's coming for me. I can hear the scream ripping out of my throat. Please, let someone hear. Oh, my. Someone did hear. Him. I've never seen anything like it. Angelus drops from the roof of a three-storey building, as if he were stepping off the pavement. Like a cat. He takes the thing from behind and sinks his fangs into its neck, drinking from it until it stops struggling, then he picks it up and snaps its spine across his raised knee, as if it were no more than a dead branch. Then he finds a sharp piece of wood lying near a dumpster and he stabs it in the heart. It simply explodes into dust. Is this what Buffy does, I wonder? My tiny, delicate daughter? Well, presumably not the drinking part. But the rest? The killing? Of course she does. This is when I really begin to believe. Now he's coming towards me. Is he going to finish what thatthingstarted? No. He's offering me his arm, but I seem to have lost the power of movement. "Joyce," he says, in a mildly chiding tone. "What are you doing in a place like this? I would have expected the Slayer's mother to know better."

He lifts my hand, and tucks it firmly into the crook of his arm. He draws me out towards the lights of the beaten track. Somehow, he finds one of those elusive taxis as if it had been waiting just for him. I expect him to leave me then, go about whatever business I interrupted I'm terrified to think what that might be - but no; he gets into the taxi with me, and gives the driver my address. When we get out, he pays for the taxi, although I try to. He looks mildly annoyed as I do, so I put my money away. I really don't want to make him angry. Then he walks me to my door. "Is Buffy in?" "Noshe's gone to the Bronze with her friends." "I'll look her up there, then. And Joyce, none of my women puts themselves in danger like that. Please don't go near dark alleys. Just in case, you'll have an escort from now on. One of my minions will follow you any night when you go out. Oh, and you shouldn't expect Buffy back until late on Sunday." And with that, he's gone without waiting for an answer, as if he had never been here. I have to be thankful for his arrival. But just what did he mean by 'his women'? Providing me with a permanent escort? And kidnapping my daughter? Insufferable! I hope Buffy knees him in the groin. No, he'll only hurt her if she does. And yet, she doesn't seem afraid of him, the way the rest of us are. Perhaps it's like having one of those big fierce dogs that are fine if you master them, show them you are leader of the pack? No, I'm pretty sure it isn't like that. Whatever, she seems able to manage him. Thank God. ************ I have a surprise for my girl. Well, two of them. I'm sure she'll like them, especially when she finds out that one of them is me. When I get to the Bronze, I see that she's dancing with Xander and Cordelia. Willow and Oz aren't here. Bet I can guess where they are. My investments have waited a long time; they'll wait a little while longer for a bit of teenage lust. I'll need to grab a bite at some time during the evening, but the vamp I've drunk has taken the edge off my hunger, at least. I just need something fresh to top it off. Later will do. I know she feels me coming, but she doesn't show it until I slink up behind her, my arms

wrapped around her waist and my body moulded against her back. Just the sight of her has made me hard, and I rub against her. She purrs in pleasure. She's halfway to being a vampire already. We spend an hour just dancing and hanging out. I'm amused at Xander. He's filled with anger and outrage. He'd be such a tasty treat but, sadly, I'd better pass on that. Buffy really wouldn't appreciate it. Cordelia has a more measured approach. Maybe she'll drum some sense into him. But she's not drumming much else. I can tell that he's still a virgin. That only increases my amusement. And that makes him angrier. When I've had enough, we say goodnight. I'm taking her back to the mansion. We haven't spent time there together since our stolen weekend. I'm going to steal another one, now. Forget the snack. This is morepressing. I'll send Spike out for something in a bag. He'll take the piss, but a taste of my fist will shut him up. Vampires drink bagged blood more commonly than we let on. I just prefer not to. When we get back to the mansion, Spike and Dru have come back from hunting. He grumbles at being sent out again, but does so. Wonders will never cease. And I don't forget my words to Joyce. Spike will also make sure the minions set up a rota for escort duty. The one I staked? He wasn't one of mine. He belonged to another clan that I've tolerated here. I'll take care of that when I've finished this weekend, and not before. When we get up to my rooms, I tell her what happened to her mother tonight. She looks pale and shocked, and wants to leave, but I hold her. Firmly. I tell her what arrangements I've made for her mother's protection and she slaps me! Me! She then starts to give me a tongue lashing, starting with my character and antecedents, and dwelling at length on the insufferable nature of my highhandedness. She's beautiful in a temper. I let her rage for a while, watching her prowl back and forth across the room like the lioness I keep comparing her to, savouring the aroma of her anger and her arousal, and then I shut her up by pushing her onto the bed and giving her a different sort of tongue lashing of my own. All I get from her then are mewls of need. I don't let her come, though. Not yet. I'm a damned good lover. The best, really. And my girl is one hell of a fuck. The fuck of a lifetime, actually, even one as long as mine. Together, well, what can I say? Eat your heart out. When I go to Canada to sort out this traitorous bunch of Kahlavi, I'll likely be away a little while. Before I go, I'm going to fill her life with pleasure. She's beautiful, but never so

beautiful as when she has that look of breathless rapture as she enters orgasm. Then, I never want to stop looking at her, and I never want to stop bringing that look to her face. So, I bring her gently back down, then make her climb that peak again. And again. And again. Until she's clawing at me in her need, and her pleasure is just about to turn to pain. Then I finally relent and let her reach the summit. My reward is that look on her face. Not that I can see it from where I am, of course. Never mind, I'll see it many times during this weekend, and in the long hereafter. We're only into openers, now. I haven't even undressed her yet, I just shredded her panties in my impatience. They were only two scraps of lace and two pieces of ribbon anyway - they couldn't possibly be called panties. Just the way I like them. When I've finished feasting on her - only for the moment, you understand - I clean her up and draw her gently to her feet. She's having a small problem with her legs, which are none too steady. Good. I hold her close, so that she doesn't fall, and so that she can feel what's coming to her before too much longer. I think she likes what she feels. When she's steady again, it's time for my second surprise. I take her to a wardrobe next to my own. It's for her. There's hardly anything in there yet. I want her to choose her own wardrobe. I'll advise her, of course. As my Consort, there are certainexpectations. She'll have the pleasure of choosing, though. I've started her off with one thing. A black dress. It's simple, and it's long. It's dcollet, with a deeply plunging neckline to show her off to advantage, and it's cut on the bias, so that whilst it drapes in elegant folds, it also clings to every line and curve of her, and moves with her like a second skin. And it's in silk, that most wondrous fabric. Not that dreadful thin stuff that passes for silk nowadays, and not the heavy bombazine beloved of Victorian dowagers. A nice, medium weight silk that reflects the light and accentuates the whole of her. Every demon in Hell can slaver over her, lust after her, envy me. She is mine, and none will dare to touch her, except me. When she gets the dress on, it's breathtaking. Or rather, she's even more breathtaking in it. If I had to breathe, I'd be having trouble now. There's something to go with it. I've had it made for her. A high, ornate choker of garnets and jet, with lacy loops of tiny jet and garnet beads forming a tracery at the base of the neck. Hanging from the centre is my blue-white diamond, in a pendent setting of white gold and surrounded by small black diamonds. I fasten it around her slender throat. Even I'm having

trouble with the breathing now. I want to rip everything off her, but she clearly likes it, so I don't. "That's the first part of your wardrobe here. I want you by my side for important occasions. I want the community to know that you are my Consort. We'll go to a modiste, you can choose some dresses and all the other bits and pieces, and we'll take it from there." My voice doesn't sound as if it belongs to me. It's roughened and husky with lust. I'm sure my eyes have turned to amber and I don't know how I'm keeping my claws off the front of the dress. I want to ravish her in its rags, she wearing nothing but that trumpery bit of jewellery. But she likes the dress. She reaches out her little hand and presses it just where it will do most harm to my selfcontrol. My chest tightens another notch. That dress is going to come off her in the next fifteen seconds, one way or another. I unzip it with hands that are almost steady, and she steps out of it. I leave the choker, though. It's like drops of blood at her throat. For a vampire, that is one hell of a turn-on, I can tell you. She's got nothing else on but her skin. I can wait no longer, and I scoop her up and toss her onto the bed. It's my clothes that get ripped off instead. Dammit, I liked that shirt. It's afterwards, long afterwards, just as the sun is starting to rise, and we are drifting off to sleep - for a while - that I notice something. I'm curled around her back and I trace my fingers over the blue wolves entwined around her arms, the spiral of eternity on her cheek, and the prowling leopard on her back. She has more wolves around her legs, just as I do, and dragons on her stomach, but just at this moment I can't see those. The wolves, the spiral and the leopard are all visibly fading. One thing isn't, though. The copy of Angel's tattoo. Of MY tattoo. That is as fresh and crisp as the day Ezrafel drew it. He said that the drawings would fade, unless we wished to keep them. Has she wished to keep that, and why? Is it for me? Or for her lost love? If it's for him, I might just have to kill her. I doubt it would end there. ************ We've made love for hours. He calls it sex, or fucking, but the way he fucked me? It's making love. I may not have much experience to go by, but it's almost what Angel and I had. Would have had, if we'd had time for more than one night together. As morning broke, I fell

asleep in the arms of a demon, feeling warm and safe and cherished. When I wake up early in the afternoon, though, I know I am in trouble. They say that prey animals can smell danger. As the Slayer, I may be a hunter, but my species is still a vampire's prey, and I can smell danger. If I want to end up as more than a brief, damp squeak, I need to be very careful indeed. I can tell that he's awake. His finger starts carefully tracing a pattern on my back, although I can't tell what. I move to turn over, to face him, but he holds me steady. His arm is like the arm of a marble statue, hard and unyielding. I can't see them, but I'd hazard a guess that his eyes, his face, have that same quality. Hard as stone. He must be able to scent my fear - I can't hope to fool him - so I try to distract him. I wriggle backwards. He's hard there, too. Somehow, though, everything feels different. More threatening. Nevertheless, I reach around and start to stroke him, just as I know he likes it. And he does. But the hand that has been tracing patterns on my back reaches down and clasps my wrist, hard enough to grind the bones together painfully. I don't struggle, though. Now is the time to submit. I wait for him, and try to calm my racing heart. A predator, wired for the hunt, might go into a killing frenzy out of sheer instinct if faced with a helpless prey oozing the pheromones of fear. How many cat owners have lost their beloved moggy to an equally beloved pet greyhound? It's in the blood. When he speaks, his voice is light and teasing, and has that edge of madness that it had a year ago. Dear God. I think I'm in such trouble, and I have no idea why. Whatever made me think I could do this? Could tame this most vicious of all demons? "It isn't fading, Buff. Why not? The others are." "What?" Not the best response I could have mustered, but my brain is still a bit sleep-fogged, and I have no idea what he's talking about. He releases my wrist, which starts throbbing in agony, and goes back to tracing patterns on my back. "Do you like it so much that you wanted to keep it?" I have it now. The tattoo. My response is pure instinct, not thought out at all. A shriek of womanly indignation. "Not fading? That shyster keeper said it would all fade. Everything, except what we wanted to keep"

My voice trails off as I realise what I've said. The meaning of what he's said. Not fading? Shit. I try not to remember how hard I've been praying for Angel's return, how hard I've been husbanding every memory of him. Look where it's got me. I try to concentrate solely on the world as it is. "Well, I *do* like it. I just didn't realise the magic would take that so literally." I say that with some asperity. It's the truth after all. He gives a low chuckle that sounds just a little morenormal. Please God. I wish the thing away, as if it might suddenly start fading under his nose. No such luck, of course. "Do you like it for me, babe? Or for him?" Ah. There we have it. What was I saying about the relationship between his fear and his brutality? I think we're seeing an example in spades, here. And if I lie, he will know. Those damned vampire senses. He'll literally sniff out a lie before I've finished it. Only the truth, then. Carefully selected. "Both of you." I feel his body stiffen, and I think my life probably hangs by a thread, now. If I look round, I believe that I'll see the vampire face. Certainly, his fingers feeldifferent. I sigh, and press on. Dear God, let me be making the right decisions, here. For all our sakes. If he murders me, I suspect that the insanity will return and Sunnydale will see a bloodbath. Perhaps more than just Sunnydale. And he might not only kill me. "You know I love him, and always will. I can't stop that, just like you can't stop drinking blood. It's part of who we are." I feel him shift a little behind me, and I'm certain now that the vampire fangs are close to my neck, reaching for me. If he were warm and breathing, I would feel his hot, moist breath on my nape, smell the rankness of predator on his exhalations. I hurry on, without seeming to, I hope. Try not to show fear, little animal. "I love you too, now. I told you that, on the battlefield, when I thought I was going to die. I needed you to know, but I think you didn't hear me. I don't know whether you want me to love you, or whether you'll kill me because of it, but there's no help for it. I do. I love you as I loved him. And I'm yours. You know I'm yours by blood. I'm yours by choice, as well, now. So I guess part of me wanted to keep the tattoo for both of you. But you're the one I'm with, you're the one I choose to be with. Anyway, I didn't know it wasn't fading. I can't see that

bit." I allow myself to sound a bit querulous at the end. Well, how many times do you gaze at your shoulder blade, for goodness' sake? He says nothing for several very long minutes, and I remain silent, but then his fingers start to move over me again. This time, they feel less like claws. When his mouth touches the nape of my neck, it's his human lips I feel, and I shudder with pleasure as well as relief. I think I might survive this day. Then he's turning me over, and kissing me as if he were starved for me. And I for him. He makes love to me then - and it *is* making love, there cannot be the least doubt of it - with fevered desperation. Something has changed, and I don't know what. But I think it might be a good thing. ********** I almost killed her. There is, of course, dead and dead where vampires are concerned. I'm not sure which it would have been, but it was almost one of them. I would haveregrettedthat. The world would have felt the weight of my regret, believe me. But passion rules me as much as it rules you; more perhaps; passion is certainly ruling me now. I have lain here all morning, anger roiling through me. I was sure that she had kept the tattoo because of her feelings for the hated soul, and for hours, I've wanted to tear her to shreds and feast on her remains; or fuck her to death, making her come again and again in her own blood, die screaming my name in ecstasy; or perhaps chain her to my wall and spend the rest of our eternal lives showing her every nuance of pain I've ever learned; or chain her to my bed and spend the rest of our eternal lives making her love me. I've visualised every one in exquisite detail. One of them and all of them. How I've kept control I don't know. I hear the change in her heartbeat as she starts to rouse from sleep. Still I can't decide which of the variations to visit on her. I continue to hold her with my left arm. Her neck is lying in the crook of my elbow, my forearm across her breasts, my hand lying loosely over her right shoulder. She's so tiny. It would be so easy toNo! That would be too quick. With my right hand, I start to trace the outlines of the tattoo. And now she's awake, although still a little drowsy from sleep, drugged by satiation from our recent couplings. She tries to turn over, but I can't and won't look at her face. Not yet. Not until I've made my mind up what to do. I tighten the grip of my left arm, holding her firm against my chest. She feels her danger, somehow. Slayer senses, perhaps? Human instinct, maybe? More likely, I think, she feels me in her blood. She's my mate, and it is this that tells her of her danger, although she might not

yet understand the power of our bonding. Whatever, now I can smell the delicious aroma of her fear. My predator instincts kick into overdrive, and my control starts to slip. Now she's trying that oldest of feminine tricks. She presses backwards, her lush rear end enveloping and caressing the erection I've had through all my tortured musings, the erection that long since ceased to be pleasurable and has caused me exquisite pain for hours. My control slips a little more. Perhaps I'll settle for fucking her to death, making her come in her own bloodNo! No decisions, not yet. I keep up the soothing rhythm of tracing the tattoo, concentrating on that, trying to ignore, as I have for all these hours, the pain of my desire. Her fear spikes upwards. It's my blood in her, my enslavement of her, warning her of her danger. I remember that bead of blood on her lips, on that night in Hylek, my blood; the unexpected bead of blood that completed the circle of mated bonding, bringing about my enslavement to her. I remember how I thought of killing her then to end that enslavement, and now I'm hanging onto control by a thread. One more little push, and my passion will make playthings of us all. And then she reaches backwards with her free right hand and starts to stroke me. For a moment, everything stops, times ceases for me, and I just AM. I'm nothing more than a hungry erection and I want to fuck NOW. If I do that, it will be in her blood, and I'll drink her down, impaled on my cock and my fangs, and the world will burn. I fight, as I have never fought before, to hang onto that thread of control. And time starts to run again. With the hand that has been tracing the tattoo, I reach down and grasp her wrist, pulling her away from me before it's too late. I know that I'm hurting her, badly, grinding the bones of her wrist together. If she were truly human, her wrist would have been crushed beyond repair. I can't help it though. I'm still fighting for control and I have no capacity for exercising restraint elsewhere. Long minutes pass before it's safe for me to speak. She doesn't try to move, and I feel her absolute submission. That helps. I hardly recognise the voice, when I do speak, but I know where it comes from. The edge of madness. Does she understand the danger we are all in, I wonder? "It isn't fading, Buff. Why not? The others are." "What?"

Insolence! That's no answer for me, her mate, her lord and master! I'm back to fighting for control, so I release her wrist and go back to tracing the pattern on her back until I can speak again. "Do you like it so much that you wanted to keep it?" Her reply surprises me and, strangely, ratchets down my struggle for self control by a notch. "Not fading? That shyster keeper said it would all fade. Everything, except what we wanted to keep" She trails off there, realising what she's said. The ratchet works the other way now and I try to think of some of the finer things this world has to offer, the reasons why I shouldn't destroy it. They all taste like ashes. "Well, I *do* like it. I just didn't realise the magic would take that so literally." Her tone is sharp and acerbic. Typical Slayer Buffy. And she doesn't smell of a lie. I find that I can take a small step back from the edge, and, unbidden, a small laugh of relief rises to my lips. It's only been a small step, but any amount of release from the grip of that madness has to be welcomed. I have just enough control now to press on. Only just, though. "Do you like it for me, babe? Or for him?" She fully realises her danger now. I can sense it in her blood. In my blood. "Both of you." I stiffen, involuntarily, and take a large stride back into that grey cloud, back to the very brink. The smallest thing now, and we'll be lost. I've fully morphed, and my claws are ready to rip at her heart, to tear that traitorous organ out of her body and eat it before her dying eyes. "You know I love him, and always will. I can't stop that, just like you can't stop drinking blood. It's part of who we are." That's it. I shift behind her, bending my head to reach her, my fangs opening to embrace her neck, above the jewelled choker, those bloody drops of stone, to sink into her carotid and draw the life from her. I'll turn her, and she will feel my anger for eternity. She will know pain that she has never dreamt of, even in her wildest nightmares. For this betrayal, she will

know agony for every second of forever; she will never be free of it, never be free of me and my revenge. Fear has been pouring off her in waves, but now it's replaced by acceptance. She knows what is coming to her, what she deserves. I close my golden eyes as the pain of her betrayal lances through me. In a second, it will be done. "I love you too, now." What? I will myself to absolute stillness, my fangs still poised, not quite touching yet, but so close that I can taste the salt of her sweat on the air between us. "I told you that, on the battlefield, when I thought I was going to die. I needed you to know, but I think you didn't hear me. I don't know whether you want me to love you, or whether you'll kill me because of it, but there's no help for it. I do. I love you as I loved him. And I'm yours. You know I'm yours by blood. I'm yours by choice, as well, now. So I guess part of me wanted to keep the tattoo for both of you. But you're the one I'm with, you're the one I choose to be with. Anyway, I didn't know it wasn't fading. I can't see that bit." I am absolutely motionless, as only a predator can be. Only a predator that almost made the worst mistake of his life, for whom disaster has been averted by the merest sliver of a hair's breadth. As the grey fog of madness recedes, I step away again from the precipice, moving back until it is a pencil line in the distance. Thoughts skitter around my mind like cockroaches. Thoughts of what I had planned to do to her, what I would have done to the world. What I would have done to me. Thoughts like a sea of corruption, a tide of foulness, washing up against the base of a lighthouse, a beacon of hope, a radiance in this hellish darkness. A beacon made up of three intertwined elements. I told you, beware the power of three. She loves me. I can smell the truth of that on her. I can feel it, like a pounding in my blood. I've known it for a long time, without knowing it, if you take my meaning. I think I've known it since that first stay in Hylek, long before she saved my life that night in the park. But it was in the park that I should have recognised it. Foolishness. Shame on you, Angelus. I love her. I've known it for a long time, and I haven't had the wit to recognise it. I've felt it, like a fever in my blood, and it has driven so much of what I have done since I returned. It has been my lodestar, my guiding light. It will be my damnation. It is this love that forms the pillar of strength around which the other two elements entwine. No matter what else, I love her. Even though demons cannot love, I do. I'll be damned for eternity, but I do. With every

fibre of my being. I don't know what this means, how it will manifest, whether it will temper my behaviour towards her, or whether loving the Slayer will end up killing her, or killing me, but I do know that just as she is enslaved by me, I truly am utterly enslaved by her. And I would have it no differently. Though it means that I will suffer the torments of hell forever, as a recusant and an outcast, whilst that slippery soul will spend eternity in the aether with her, yet I would have it no differently. She loves Angel. I am surprised to find that I will let her. I just want her to love me more. I don't want her to stop loving that spineless creature. She isn't fickle; she is more steadfast than that. Once she loves, she loves for eternity. If she can love him for eternity, perhaps she can love me for eternity, too. If she ever stops loving him, perhaps she will stop loving me. Then the world will certainly burn. I understand now how entwined the three of us are. I think. Slowly, I close my jaws. It takes an enormous effort to change back. It's never been as hard as this. I swallow back the taste of her and I allow myself to truly feel, to be, to just bask in her. And I have control again - except in one important area. Everything that has happened, every passion that I have felt, am feeling now, is concentrated in one exquisitely painful area. If I don't do something about that, I'm going to come where I lie. I press my lips to her neck. I want to reach for her pulse point, to suckle it, to feel the life pounding through her, but I daren't. That would put the seal on my lack of control. I turn her over, and I kiss her as if I'm starving for her - which I am. She returns the kiss with the same fervour. I want to worship her body, offer her the adoration she so deserves, silently beg her forgiveness for the horrors I have almost perpetrated, but the worship must be fleeting or I shall disgrace myself. I suckle at her nipples a little, and feel the jolt of desire that runs through her body. There is no time for more. I will make it up to her later, but now, I cannot. When I was first turned, Darla delighted in exerting the authority of a sire over me, in showing me how absolutely I was in her power. One of her favourite games was to suck me and fuck me with every ounce of her vampiric strength and endurance, and with one hundred and fifty years' worth of experience, for entire nights at a time. And not permit me to come for entire nights at a time.

Without even the aid of a cock ring. Young, inexperienced vampires have as little control as young, inexperienced human males. I learnt control at the hands of the harshest taskmistress memories of her punishments whenever I failed make me shudder even now. It is only those lessons that have so far prevented me from spending myself all over my beloved. But Darla never had her hand around my heart, as Buffy does. And even Darla never had this grip on my balls. Silently vowing to do whatever is necessary, to abase myself in whatever way will ensure her greatest pleasure for the rest of this weekend, to bring her to raptures she has never even dreamed about, for her own sake and as penance for the haste I am now in, I plunge into her in one long, smooth stroke. She opens for me, welcomes me, clenches down on me as if she will never release me. I bite through my lip in my efforts not to let go, to hold out just a few moments longer. I feel the blood leaking from the wound, and the smell almost finishes me. Then, she raises her head and kisses me. When she tastes the salt of the blood, she suckles on it, exactly as I would have done had it been hers. And I am gone. My orgasm explodes from me with a power I do not believe I have ever experienced in all my years. I am mindless and lost. I am caught in the darkness of la petite mort. It is many seconds before I realise that, far from being left unsatisfied, she, too, is in the throes of rapture. My blood has brought her to completion. She is truly my mate in every aspect. Everything between us has changed. I don't realise that I am in game face until she presses her finger against one of my fangs, drawing just a few drops of blood, which she allows me to suckle. And I am lost again, drowning in her velvet depths, our passion feeding off each other's. We cleave to each other as we fall, together, down into a welcoming darkness. When I recover myself, I am utterly and completely spent. You know that vampires need no recovery time. At least, I don't. I am a demon, with complete control of this dead flesh that I inhabit. I just need to think that I want it, to allow my flesh to do it, and it is there for me, ready and willing. Not now. I am completely sated and drained, satisfied as I have never been before. I can sense that my beloved is the same. I am sprawled over her, but there is something I must say, so I stay where I am, holding her fast. As I wait for her to come back to herself, I feel every inch of her skin cleaving to me and I think of my darkness pressing down on her light, trying to extinguish it; my cold, dead flesh

draining her heat. Then I realise that I am wrong, that something different is happening. The chill of the tomb is being dispelled by her warmth, her living, loving warmth. She has already started to warm my still heart, and now her flesh is warming mine. It's only temporary, of course, but I wonder what other effects she will have on me. I can feel the smile on my lips. I *know* I'll enjoy finding out, even if she does have to drag those changes, kicking and screaming, from me. And now she is rousing, and claims my full attention. She is flushed from our mating, and her full lips are smiling with that particular sweetness of the well satisfied. Her golden hair is fanned out across my pillow and she looks like a wanton, willing lover. I want to see her like that forever. But I will not, and a small icicle of fear lodges itself in my heart. I realise now that I want her always with this warmth, this spirit, this *life* that seeps into even my cold bones. I will keep her with me for the rest of her life, but I will never turn her. I refuse to even contemplate what will happenafter. Let the now be enough for now. She raises her hand to my face with a look of love that any man of either of our species would impale himself to earn. It is only as she touches me that I realise I am still in game face. She does not care. I must be squeezing the breath from her, her tiny body engulfed by my larger one, but she seems not to care about that, either. She strokes my roughened brow, and I can feel the waves of love coming from her. I must say it now. I will leave my countenance as it is, so that she will truly know who speaks to her. I take her face between my hands, careful not to mar her with my claws. We stay that way for a moment, gazes locked, and the word is forced from me as a groan. "Buffy"

***********

Cometh The Hour

Author: Jo Feedback: Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* The depth of his need was clear, even to me in my inexperience. What surprised me was the depth of my own. He plunges into me, and I want to take him further and further, until I no longer know which is his flesh and which is mine. I raise my head to kiss him, to have the unique taste of him, and I see that his bottom lip is bleeding, although I don't remember it being cut. I suck his lip between my own, tonguing the blood off, savouring the richness of

even those few drops. He doesn't stop me, and I am too far gone myself to wonder whether it willchangeme. It tastes of cinnamon and power and Angel. As I suck on the tiny wound, seeking more, he shudders, then howls his fulfilment. The feel of his seed within me triggers my own, and as I enter the first throes, the last thing I remember is that the face I have kissed is the face of the vampire. I need to acknowledge that I love the demon as well as the man. I raise my hand and press my finger to his sharpest fang. A little blood wells up and I smear it against his tongue, allowing him to suckle on my finger as I did on his lip. Then we are both lost, again, in bliss. I have no words to describe it. When I come back to myself, his body is still resting on mine. I raise my hand to touch his face, the face of the demon, and love sings through me. He takes my face in his hands and speaks my name with a groan. "Buffy" I want him to know how truly his I am. With vampires I am sure that actions speak louder than words. Instinctively, it seems, I know what to do. I lift my legs and lock them around his waist, not a request for him to enter me - I know that we are both too sated just now for that but a gesture of submission, opening my body to him for his pleasure whenever he should choose. Without breaking gaze, I stretch my neck, baring my throat for him. He gives something between a sob and a groan, but he doesn't move. I wait, for whatever it is I know he wants to say. ************* My Consort, my mate, my beloved. She lies beneath me, her body open to me in invitation, her neck offered to me in submission. It makes me want to roar in triumph. This woman, this Slayer, is displaying her acceptance of anything I might wish to do; has opened herself for me, and only for me. For the moment, I am overwhelmed. I am used only to the demonic emotions, which mainly spring from anger and from selfish desires. The demonic thrill of possession and of mastery over this wondrous creature is thrumming in my blood. Different emotions are also coursing through me. Human emotions, yet still ones that I am not very familiar with. The man I was, Liam, was not used to the finer feelings. I'm not sure how to handle all of this. A trip to Canada will be good, I think, despite the enforced separation from my beloved. It will give me a chance to get someperspective. But there are still things I need to say. "When you told me you loved me, there on the battlefield, I heard you." I stroke her throat

with my thumbs as I speak, lightly, delicately, as if I were preparing to accept her offering. The choker glistens almost as temptingly as her skin. "I thought at the time that you were hallucinating, that you believed me to be Angel. You were so close to death" My throat closes and I cannot for the moment continue. She remains still whilst I swallow past the lump in my throat at the memory of that terrible moment. "It was you who didn't hear what I said. You faded from consciousness too quickly. I asked you not to leave me. I said that I loved you, and that I needed you." I still the movement of my hands, and both she and the world seem to wait, breathless, for this unnatural declaration to be completed. "And I swear to you, by all the powers of light and darkness, by every god in every dimension, that I love you now and forever. You are mine, for eternity. I will never be him, not ever again. I am only and always a demon. But I love you. You will stand by my side as my Consort, and I will cherish and protect you in every way known to human or demon kind. I will never leave you or abandon you, and we will face together everything the future brings to us." There. It is done. There is a moment of stillness and the word 'forever' seems to echo mockingly around the room. The sliver of fear in my heart makes itself felt, and I know that, since I will never turn her, I will feel that shard in my heart every day for the rest of my life. I must learn to live with it. She brings her hand back to my face, wraps it around the back of my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. She whispers only one word. "Beloved." When the kiss breaks, I move aside, and we curl together, sated and at peace. There are many things that we will need to work through in this most extreme of pairings, but none of them are beyond us and they can all wait. We sleep until evening. When we awake, it is because someone has knocked on the door. Spike enters the outer room and stops to look at us, a sardonic expression on his face. I know that we are curled together like kittens in a basket, but he'd just better damn well get used to it. He's going to see this a

lot. Buffy is awake now, as well, and a lot less comfortable about Spike than I am. Well, she's going to have to get used to it, too. He walks forward, into the bedroom, clearly trying out certain introductory phrases in his head. Spike is so transparent. Eventually he decides just to plunge in to what he has to say. "You might want to get up now - there's a delegation of Norag demons, come to pay tribute and make peace with you." Really? Who are the Norag, and what do they want with me? Why do they think I am at war with them? Still, homage and tribute make a good introduction. We'll meet them, Buffy and I. I tell Spike to keep them occupied for half an hour, and we'll be down. I can get ready more quickly, but Buffy might appreciate the time. I know how women are. I feel different, somehow. Demons are driven, you know, creatures of appetite. Oh, we feel satisfaction, for a while, when we've had our fill of a particular appetite. But there are always other things to do. Everything in our existence is about meeting our own desires, always thirsting for something else. Now? I feelcontentment. Peace. Is this, I wonder, how Soul Boy felt when he handed our body over to me? If it is, then he feltgood. I'm waiting for Buffy to have her shower - she needs more time afterwards than I do. I think I'll pop in there and torment her a little, put an edge on *her* appetite for later That was nice. I still feelhappy. That's the only word I can find to describe it. It isn't a demonic feeling, let me tell you. I've still got all of those but, now, there's more. It won't change any of my plans. I just feel moreamenable. How interesting the future is going to be! ************ This day has been really weird, and it isn't getting any more normal. I didn't realise that he had food in for me, but he has - just some quick snacks, anyway. Apparently dinner out was on the agenda for tonight, but we have demons first. I've put my hair up, using some black combs that he borrowed from Drusilla for me, and I have the black dress, the choker and some very classy black shoes. Nothing else. My underwear got shredded, remember? The outfit he bought for me doesn't seem to include underwear and, by his smirk, that was deliberate. Now we are descending the staircase to the grand hall, my hand on his arm. I hope I don't trip and spoil the effect!

The three demons are robed and cowled, although the cowls are pushed back. I don't remember these ones. We remain standing to receive them. They have some boxes with them. Tribute? Spike does the introductions, in a rather casual manner that I can see annoys Angel. The one called Ixolon comes forward to speak on behalf of the group. He bows deeply before he speaks. "We come before the Master of the Hellmouth in supplication, seeking your forgiveness and your blessing on our humble clan." Uh-oh. Forgiveness? I don't know how mellow my lover is feeling, but forgiveness doesn't often feature with him. I wonder what for? He asks them. There's only a slight edge to his voice. "The Kahlavi cult tricked us into selling the Slayer to the Hylekians. We had no idea that she was yours. We come to make such amends as are possible." What! It was this bunch that I want to take them apart myself, but then I remember all the good things that have come from that kidnapping. Perhaps we owe them rather than the other way round. My anger disappears - more or less. Not so with my demon. He's still on first instincts. My lover is filled with rage, and a growl is rising from him. Well, at least they get the merit of making the confession. If he had had to hunt them down - which he intended to do - they wouldn't have got this far into their explanation. They are hurriedly opening up the boxes. "We were paid 100 Hylekian diamonds. We have sold 4 and much of the money is spent, but we offer to you the 96 that remain, together with as much of the sale price as we have left. $35,000." Two of the boxes are opened, now, one containing the wonderful, glittering jewels. I didn't realise that diamonds come in different colours, but these do. The other box contains cash. Bundles of crisp, new notes. "What makes you think that these will make reparation for what you did to my mate, my Consort?" His words are cold and icy, and all the more deadly for that. But at least he hasn't killed them yet.

"They cannot, my lord. They are merely to show that we will not profit by our error. We hope that our other gift will show you the depth of our repentance." Ixolon takes a small box from one of his comrades. He comes forward gingerly and opens it. It contains a not very attractive ring, in rather an old-fashioned setting, but Angel's gaze is riveted to it. So is Spike's. "We have the Gem of Amara, my lord, and we make a gift of it to you. We hope that you might consider this as our reparation." He reaches for the gift. He sees that I do not understand its significance. As he puts it on, he turns to me. "It makes a vampire invulnerable, my dear. Sunlight, stakes, it doesn't matter. Nothing can kill me whilst I'm wearing this." He seems pleased. Oh, my. ************ The Norag demons have, indeed, given me a gift beyond price. If they are able to find magical artefacts such as this, then perhaps they can find more. "Your gift is pleasing to me, and is accepted. So is the tribute. But your sin against me was a mortal one, and if your clan wishes to live, this does not end your debt to me. How many are there, in your clan?" "Less than 50, my lord. We have never been numerous." "You will select three of your members to be attached to my court. They will do my bidding. Once they have been accepted by me, you will not change them for other individuals without my express approval. Your service to me will last for 50 years, one year for each member of the clan. After that, if the alliance has proved useful to both parties, it may be continued at my discretion. Should they prove unfaithful or unsatisfactory, I will kill first them, then the rest of you. Is that clear?" "May I have a moment to confer, my lord?" I incline my head graciously. You see what I have just done? They have pre-empted my anger at their taking of the Slayer. They knew that I would

eventually find them, so they have come forward of their own accord. They have told me who bears the blame for Buffy's abduction whilst accepting their part in it. This shows wisdom and courage that I can put to use. They have brought me just about the best present you could imagine, in the Gem, and have indicated, by bringing tribute, that they have placed themselves in the position of my vassals, subject to my will. I have further tied them to me for 50 years. But to do so will also be seen by them as a reward. They are the first to pay homage to me, and they will have seniority at court. They will have prestige and influence if they can carry it off. And after the 50 years, they have a shot at a different sort of alliance. I don't think they can believe their luck. They'll pick the best and smartest to come here. They won't want to waste this chance. And if they don't live up to expectations? I don't think you need me to answer that, do you? Mind you, they escaped by the skin of their teeth. They took my woman and my first thought was to slaughter them. But Buffy The scent from her is, well, pleased, as if she had just met old and valued friends. That held me for a moment. And I think of all I have gained from their sin. Things might have been different, had I not gone to Hylek to look for Buffy. I will be generous. I'm not sure Buffy understands, yet, just what has happened here. She is such a great warrior, with so many otherdesirablequalities that I tend to forget how young she is, how unschooled in diplomacy. I'll explain it to her later. She must learn, and I am confident that she will. Ixolon accepts the deal with some alacrity. The three will be here in two days. I take my beloved out for dinner. We are going to the best that Sunnydale currently has to offer. I'll make sure that it has much more in the years to come. This will be an important city instead of a hick town. It should be. I'm here. You know, I rather like this new state of mind. Had this happened a day or two ago, I would have killed the demons out of hand. Now I have something much more useful than some corpses. I told you I was feeling more amenable. Still, I have a score to settle yet with the Kahlavi cult. Their debt to me has increased considerably. I intend to collect in full. With interest. ************* I've enjoyed this night. I'm still feelingmellow. Buffy, too, enjoyed her meal. I can eat

human food, so I did. Aged beef, very rare. It made a change. After that, we came back here and satisfied otherappetites. So now, we are back to kittens in a basket. I am curled around my lover, as she lies drifting off to sleep. But there is something wrong. It is to do with the Gem of Amara. She has said nothing, but she does not need to. She is worried, in her capacity as Slayer, about invulnerable vampires, and those same vampires moving around during daylight hours. Even me. But others as well, if I choose to lend out the ring. As if I would be so foolish. Well, strange as it may seem, I have no intention of using the Gem often. I don't need to. The night is my milieu, and I am more comfortable there. Most of those I shall be dealing with are also more comfortable at night. The Gem will be useful for other times. And for protection when I need it. Besides, I don't want word of this leaking out until my position is more unassailable - I'd spend all my time fighting off every vamp in the hemisphere if they knew I had the Gem. I leave our bed and search through a drawer in the dresser. Mr Pointy lies in there, still stained with my blood. Next to it is a fine but strong silver chain, a beautifully worked figaro, onto which is threaded the claddagh ring that Soul Boy gave her, the one that I have recently removed from its place on the stake. It is still a little deformed, but not much. Next to it on the chain is the claddagh that he wore. It doesn't take much thought, really. There is a time for compromise. A time for giving, rather than taking. This is that time, that hour. I haven't yet told her that I no longer resent her love for Angel - well, not as much as I used to, anyway. I can kill two birds with one stone here. I'm a demon. I can only tolerate so many unselfish acts in a day. I take the Gem off my finger and thread it onto the silver chain. I take both claddagh off the chain and put his back on my finger. Then I return to the bed. She has roused a little. I fasten the chain around her neck and slide her claddagh onto her finger. Her left ring finger, of course. "When I return from Canada, you and I will have a mating ceremony. You *are* my mate, and I am yours, but the ritual has been a bit flaky, to say the least. We will do it properly. There are some auspicious days for these rituals in the next few months." Not that I'm superstitious, you understand. Never. It is just that some days are auspicious.

Right? "For that ritual, I'll have some rings made. Rings just for us. Until then, I want you to wear this one, the one that SouAngel gave you, and I will wear his. I know he still has a place in your heart, and I won't try to deny that, so long as you love me as well as you do him. "I know you're worried about how I'll use the Gem. I want you to know that you can trust me, so I'm giving it to you as a pledge. You will be guardian of the Gem. I'll ask for it whenever I need it, but you will be its keeper." I seem to have said something that's made her all warm and fuzzy and emotional. I'm definitely going to take advantage of that, right now *********** I let Buffy go back home on Sunday. I'm still feeling happy, though. I'll drop by her window later, when my business is finished. First, I'm off to see the Aventi clan. Remember the stupid fledgling who almost took Joyce out? Time for me to tidy up that loose end. I know where they live. What a dump. They're a disgrace to vampiredom. I knew they'd fallen on hard times, what with me being back and all, but will you just look at this joint? I'll just sit in what looks like the master's chair, and wait. I don't think they'll be long. They aren't staying out hunting much in case I find them out in the open. They think they are safe here. Foolishness. Ah! Here they come. There are six of them. I have enough stakes. ************ Well, that was bracing. The four minions are gone, dusted. I have the childe at my mercy, my stake pressed to his silent heart, and the head of the clan, Estevan, is definitely far too fond of him. He's going to give in. I'm going to let him. I'm going to take Estevan and the childe Thomaso, into my service. In more ways than one. Estevan first. I've come prepared and I handcuff Thomaso to some convenient ironwork. He can watch. I explain what crime I am punishing. They both look a bit sick. Still, they aren't dust. They should be grateful for this moreamenableside of me. There are a number of ways to deal with survivors from another clan. In your tribal wars, you

kill them, enslave them or ransom them. We're much the same. I'm going for the enslavement route. For us, it doesn't quite mean what it does for you, but it's a close enough description. I've had my eye on these two for a while as brighter than the average. I offer them that alternative or the stake. They choose to live. Both of them are good looking enough to serve me. They will start as minions, but they will be able to work their way up. Why will I be able to trust them, these two who are no better than conquered enemies? They'll have my blood, after all. This isn't going to be the same as making a childe, but it will bind them to me just as surely. Watch, and learn. Estevan has stripped for me now. There need be no preliminaries or preparations. This is not a lover's tryst. This is a bonding, master and servant. He bends over the arm of the chair. Good boy. I enter him in one swift thrust, and it's all he can do not to cry out. He's *very* tight. He's about a century old, and I guess it's been most of that time since this was done to him. The boy watches, wide-eyed. He's next. I ride Estevan hard, and as I approach my peak, I slam my fangs into his neck, and drink long and deep, draining him as thoroughly as I safely can. His blood is good, better than I had expected. Old and powerful. Nothing like mine, of course, or like any other Aurelian. Not bad, though. He hasn't struggled, much; he knows I'll drain him dry if I'm not pleased with him. At last, I've taken as much as I think is necessary. I reach forward and offer him my wrist. He takes it, and drinks. That's when I explode into him. Let me tell you, absolutely nothing gets me off like being drunk from. And being drunk from whilst enslaving a master vampire? I let out a roar of triumph, and he is mine. My bondservant. The whelp is next. He pleases me, too. When I am done, they are both weak and hungry. They need blood. I've given them as much of mine as I'm prepared to - enough to remake them as vampires, enough to make them mine, not enough to make them any stronger than they were before. I'll bring something fresh for them, then they can sleep it off and join me tomorrow night. I feel pleased with myself. Not only have I got a couple of top class minions who have potential for much more than that, who are tied to me in ways that you could not possibly understand, but there is one less clan operating in Sunnydale. Buffy will be pleased with me for that. I've left them a couple of muggers I picked up in the park, after drinking my fill, of course is *anyone* still stupid enough to go through the park after dark? What with the vamps, the

demons and the muggers, I'm not sure any ordinary humans have a chance of making it out alive! Although it has to be said, I'm going back through the park. The night in Sunnydale has nothing more dangerous than me; I'm off to see my woman; the full moon is riding high; I've got a belly full of blood, and all's right with the world. I'm in the middle of the park when I smell something. I recognise it instantly. It's the smell from Willow's room, when I last saw her and Oz. It'soh my. Now I know exactly what it is. It's been a very long time since I last came across that scent. It's Oz and it's werewolf. And it's coming from the same personbeing, whatever. I don't think little Willow knows. I wonder whether Oz knows, and I remember that bandage on his hand. I'm damned sure Buffy doesn't know. Here's a pretty pickle! I think I'd better take a detour and investigate. This is my town, and I really don't want werewolves operating around here. They leave far too much mess behind them. Then I see Oz, and he's definitely gone through some changes. He's an infant at hunting though, and he's going to make a mess of it. I guess this is his first. And he's after some more of the football team. I've already had grief from Buffy about that. I've had to 'fess up to her why I turned so many of them in one night. They were doing something that she definitely wouldn't approve of to a couple of unwilling girls, right here in this very park, so I exacted revenge for her. My sort of revenge though. I enjoyed them, as they had been enjoying the girls, then I turned them, so I could enjoy them some more. She's staked the lot of them now. Shame. I wasn't going to tell her about it - I don't want her thinking I'm going to act as her proxy or her white knight, in any way whatsoever - but at the time that she was putting her question she kind of had me by the balls. Literally. So I told her. She's got Slayer strength, remember, even if she was just teasing. So, I can't let Oz take any more of the team, or I'll be in serious shit. I'll be even deeper in it, I think, if I let Oz get hurt. The trials of being a master vampire, I ask you I'm behind Oz before he knows it, and before he can spring. He's no match for me, of course, so I take him down andshit! He's *bitten* me! Me! What effect do you think a werewolf bite has on a vampire? What do you mean, me tell you? How the hell should I know? I was born in Ireland not the damn Carpathians. I knock Oz over the head, heft him over my shoulder, and set off for the mansion. My goodwill is rapidly evaporating. It isn't just that I have a werewolf bite, nor that I have a werewolf to deal with now; I'm missing time with my woman here.

When I get back to the mansion, Spike takes the piss, just as you would imagine. In fact, he's howling with laughter, and he simply doesn't see my fist, the one that knocks him clear across the main hall. That shuts him up. We manage to rig up some of the chains (if you don't want to know, you shouldn't ask) to form a collar and harness, and get Wolf Boy securely fastened to the wall. A vampire can't tug those chains loose, so he won't. It's all a bit Heath Robinson, but it'll do. Now what? I'm not so worried about Oz. What's done is done, there, and he's a werewolf for life. What about me, though? Spike has seen the teeth marks in my hand and started to laugh again. I'm too tired to hit him, this time. Then just to put the seal on this evening, the one that started so well and is now degenerating into farce, the hostages arrive. The three Norag demons. *********** I'm laughing so hard that if I were a human, I think I'd piss myself. It's not really funny, though, and I soon sober up. A vampire bitten by a werewolf. I don't remember that being done before. Perhaps it's just never been recorded, which might not be a good sign. Usually weres stay well away from us, but this one's just a baby, with no more sense than a puppy. And now we've got demons. It's that Ixolon, come back with two of his buddies, holding to their word. My sire is not in his most receptive mood. "Don't just stand there gaping, make yourselves useful!" he snaps (yeah, that is exactly the right word). It's just at this moment that Dru chooses to come back from hunting, and she goes off into gales of laughter as well, until tears are running down her face. Can't be too serious, then. I have to admit that she's mad as a March hare, but she'd never let anything bad happen to her Daddy if she could help it. And I think she'd have one of her visions, if it was going to be all doom and gloom. He pulls himself together with a visible effort - only because of the demons, I think. "Spike. Get the wolf fed. See what you and the Norag can find out about the bites. Dru, you help him. I'll be back later." And without another word he storms out of the door. Off to see his ladylove, I suppose. She's

changed him, has that one, although I don't know if he knows it yet. Something happened on Friday night. Oh, he's still the old Angelus, who can take the skin off my back while whistling a merry tune, but he's different. More. Not more anything, really. Just more. I like it, although I'm damned if I'll tell him. And the Norag should like it. Their skins would have been decorating his trophy room, not many days ago, for what they did to one of his. I send one of the minions out with one of the Norags - they need to find their way around town, might as well start now. The minion couldn't believe his ears when I told him what to look for. You see, ol' Spike likes his body arranged the way it is. I think it might get rearranged if I bring the wolf a human to eat. That's a change I'm not too keen on in the Sire - he's starting to get picky about who we can eat. Slayer-whipped, that's what he is, but you won't catch me calling him that to his face. We've got all that money from the Norags - he thinks I don't know where it is, but I do - so I could send the minion out to get as much steak as the wolf can shove down his gullet. I won't, though. I can have more fun than that. I set the other two Norags on to Angelus' library - I was never one for research, myself. Learning by doing, that's my style. Dru and I go upstairs for a bit of mutual learning by doing. And we're in the middle of a particularly intense piece of doing when all hell breaks loose downstairs. Bloody hell! When we get there, Dru and I are back to hysterics. The wolf is going frantic at the smell of blood. The minions are tripping over themselves trying to catch the wolf's dinner. The Norags look bemused. There's a lot of blood spatter. There's a lot of other, rather more smelly, spatter. Angelus will be displeased. I'd better take a hand. Here, piggy, piggy, piggy Hell's bells, I can't do this for laughing. ********** I'm sitting in the tree outside my lover's window, watching her undress, letting the sight of her assuage the fear and the anger that is running through my blood. I've told you before that anger is innate to demons. Not like this. Oh, I've known rage such as you humans can barely imagine, but I am always in control, and my rage does not make me irrational. Now is different. I can feel my blood boiling, filled with the rising red tide of ungoverned, unreasoning rage. My veins itch with it. My fangs are down, and I cannot control my appearance. This has *never* happened to me since I was a few days old. Darla made sure of that. But I have always been strong, always able to control. Not now. I look at my beloved, and I can taste the

hot, sweet spurt of her blood in my mouth, feel her torn flesh under my claws. I can taste the tender meat of her, melting on my tongue. I am not *safe*. Not even for her. I should leave here. But if I do, wherever I go, I will destroy everything I find. The need to destroy is pounding through me, the heat of my rage burning through my flesh. My claws are shredded and gory, stained with my own blood, as I clench my hands around the wood of this bough, splitting and splintering it in an effort to restrain myself. If I stay, she will hear me, I'm sure, and I cannot think of what might happen. If I go, I will do things that will seriously piss her off, and that she might not forgive. I must cling onto that, as this dark cloud of madness tries to steal my sanity. And yet something else is happening. Something is rising within me to challenge this rage. I cannot describe it. I do not know what it is. It is not me, Angelus, and it is certainly not that puling man-child, Liam. Just for a moment there, I wondered if it was some residue of *soul*, something of Angel that was left behind. But I shared this body with that ridiculous whining spirit for a century, and I know every tint of his thoughts, every shade of his emotions. Everything. It isn't him. And what help could he be, indeed? So, what is it? There is nowhere else for me to go until I can master myself. If I lose this battle, she will die. So will everyone and everything else. And I will die in the ashes of the burning world. I *must* master myself. I do *not* want to tear the red, bleeding flesh from her golden body, feel the hot, thick blood drip down my jaws, feel the gush of slaver at the taste of her. I do *not* wish to crunch my teeth around the whiteness of her bones, feel them splinter in my teeth, savour the sweet marrow that they contain No! I will stay here until I am safe. Until she is safe with me It is a long time before I can retract my fangs; before I can look on her as anything but meat; before I can override the urge to tear into her most tender places and feast in truth on her silken flesh. But whatever else came to my aid has done its work. I am almost a vampire again, with only a vampire's rage and desires. These I know. These I can master. I can only pray to the powers of hell that that *other* rage does not return, does not catch me unawares. That my demon self is strong enough if it does. Predators can stay still and silent for hours, waiting for prey to come along. Ambush hunting, it's called. Even Soul Boy loved to sit here, watching her. Half the time she never knew. She

doesn't know I'm here. We are mates. We can sense each other. But I'm better at this than she is. Even in that uncontrolled state that almost brought me to disaster, I could still hide from her senses. When she gets more experienced, I won't be able to do it, so I'll take advantage of it while I can. I think I've been here for about an hour, and she's ready for sleep now. She doesn't think I will come to her. Not much longer, and she'll put out the light. She's wondering why I've left her alone for the night. Her mother's out, so we don't need to go back to the mansion. Just a little while longer, and I'll introduce her to things that go bump in the night. Give her a thank you for anchoring my sanity tonight. Meanwhile, I just love watching her. Must be the only thing Soul Boy and me have in common. ************ I lie in the dark, and I'm lonely. I don't know why he hasn't come to see me tonight. I miss him so when I'm not with him. I used to think that Angel and I are soul mates. I still think it, in fact, and I will never be persuaded to think differently. Strangely, though, I feel the same way about my demon. How can a demon be a soul mate? And as with Angel, I feel that I've known him forever, *will* know him forever. Do you think that could be true? Do you think that we get more than one go round? More than one shot at life? I wish I understood more about what happens afterwards. Somehow, I think that Angel or Angelus, it's all him. I don't know how that could be, but I just think it is. Don't you ever feel certain about things that you can't really know about, but you do? That's how I feel. Slayers never get to live very long, you know. The hereafter is therefore a matter of some concern. We just never seem to get chance to look into it. We find out by doing, mostly. But, you know, I get the feeling that, with Angelus by my side, my chances of a longer life have improved considerably. Do you think I might be right? If Angel and Angelus could be with me together, I think my life would be as happy as it could possibly be. I don't feel as if I'm betraying my sister Slayers. It just feels right. What theGet OFF me, where are my weaponsOh. It's him. Dear God, I should have felt him coming. I put the light back on - I've been starved of the sight of him for twenty-two hours and seventeen minutes. I want to see him. He looks beautiful to me. His face is gentler than I've been used to since he lost the soul. Have I done that? I hope so. I see that his hand has been bitten and I ask him about it. He gets the slightly sheepish and

slightly shifty look that I've learned means he doesn't want to answer because the answer doesn't help his macho image. It looks like a dog bite, although that seems most unlikely, and it's fresh, still bleeding. I bring his hand to my lips. I'd planned just to kiss it, but I find myself sucking at the puncture wounds, drawing on the tiny drops of blood. He rips himself away from me! Why would he do that? He sees my look of hurt and comes back to the bed, settling himself behind me so that I can lean against his still and silent chest. So peaceful, so right. He has his hands resting on my stomach, his left hand clasped over the injured right one, and won't let me look again. I thought that he would want to make love, but he seems content just to sit, for the moment. I can feel his desire, though, in the small of my back and the depths of my blood. He whispers a few endearments, and I whisper back. Then he talks about something that has been on my mind. "I'll have to leave for Canada soon. I may be gone for some time. Something around 10 days if I'm lucky, 2 to 3 weeks if I'm not. I need to spend some time in Hylek before I leave maybe a week. Will you miss me?" "Between settling into new accommodation, settling in as a freshman, and keeping Spike, Dru and your minions from dining off the entire town in your absence, do you think I'll have time to miss you?" I say airily. I suddenly don't want him to know how empty I'll be while he's away. He sees through me, though, and chuckles. Then he becomes serious again, and I feel him shift slightly behind me. He's uncomfortable about something. "You aren't going to stake Spike and Dru while I'm away are you? Feel free to stake the minions if they get out of line, but Spike and Dru?" That wasn't what he was going to say, I'm sure. This is one of those conversations where we keep fencing around each other, looking for the right opening. "Well, I've seen plenty of chains up at the mansion, I guess I can keep them around until you get back." I remember something he said - he rarely says things without a purpose, this one. "What do you mean out of line? Have you given them a line to stick to?" His arms tighten around me. His answer is bit mumbled. "Yeah. I've put strict limits on who they can kill. Spike thinks I'm Slayer-whipped although he daren't say it to my face." "He's damned right you're Slayer-whipped" I try to turn around to face him, but his arms

tighten and hold me still. I remember Friday night. Should I be worried? I don't sense that I should, but "I'm your Consort, aren't I? I guess there are someexpectationsof what I should do? Am I responsible for anything in your stead, or is that Spike?" "Who do you want it to be?" What sort of answer is that? "I think I'd have to be responsible. But the minions had better damn well stay in line or Spike will be vacuuming them up for you!" "I've got more responsibilities now." What! Please don't let him have been out making another childe. We've never discussed this so far, but I don't want him turning people. Please let that not be it. "Tonight I've dealt with the Aventi clan, the ones responsible for the attack on your mother. The minions are dead, and the master and childe have become my bondservants. And the three Norag demons have arrived. I was also thinking of asking Ezrafel to come back with me from Hylek, to take a position at court, liaise between us and our Hylek estate." Well, he has been a busy boy. I still want to know where he got the bite. A small trickle of blood is coming from under his hand. He ought to have healed now. "I guess I can deal." He nuzzles my neck, and my spine tingles with pleasure. He must be able to sense my arousal, but he doesn't move. "Whatwhat would you do if anything happened to me?" Full-blown panic sleets through me. Even the thought of losing this man, for that is what he is to me, is more than I can bear. I struggle much harder to turn around, but again he denies me. "Well?" "II don't know. I'd have to carry on, I suppose, sacred duty and all. But I'm not going to

let it happen!" I'm really fierce about that. He's nuzzled up to my cheek, and I feel his face break into a smile. He whispers something, so low that I'm not sure I heard right. It sounded like "My lioness." "Would your sacred duty involve staking Spike and Dru?" He's serious about this, so I give it some thought. Part of my mind is gibbering in fear, but another part sees the need to reassure him. He's never seemed worried about dealing with the Kahlavi cult before, but no way do I want him up there worrying about what's happening down here. I must make him believe that all will be well in his absence. He won't be able to afford any distractions. And he's building an empire here. Just a few building blocks for now, but everything starts with just a few bricks. I'm part of it. Could I make it work without him? Can I truly act as his Consort, and use what he has made for my own Slayer-purposes. I think I can. Maybe. I can try, at the very least. "Not if they'll live by the rules I set them. But you aren't only worried about them are you? You are the Master of Sunnydale, and you're worried about all those who consider themselves to be tied to you, to be your property. Aren't you?" He's silent for a few moments, then, "Yes." "Is that the vampire way?" "It's the Aurelian way. Somehow, we tend to be a bit different to your average vamp." You can say that again. "Are you going to teach me everything I need to know about being your Consort?" "Yes." "Then I guess I'd better act the part, hadn't I? They'll all be under my protection while you are away. Them, and any other lost lambs or stray dogs you happen to take in before you go." I feel his body stiffen behind me. "You didn't get bitten by a DOG did you?" If he did, I'm going to laugh, I know I am, and his pride might not take that well.

There is a very long silence now. Something important is happening here. "Angel, you asked me to trust you. Now I need you to trust me. What's wrong?" The silence stretches on. Then he tells me. Oh, God. I turn around using sheer Slayer strength, and I cup his face with my hand. "We'll look after Oz, and I'm going to make absolutely sure that nothing will happen to you. We'll get Giles on it as well as the Norags. And Ezrafel - he's a scholar. I. Will. Not. Let. You. Be. Harmed. Do you understand?" He must understand and believe. The look of love that he gives me is so pure, so much like Angel that I cannot believe this demon does not have his own soul, or at the very least part of Angel's. There is nothing of evil in that look. Nothing. I want to make love to him now. I want to show him, with every cell of my body, that I love him and that he is mine to protect, just as I am his. But we need to muster our forces over the bite and over Oz. Giles. We have to call Giles. And Willow. Oh, God, Willow ************ It's Thursday night and the gang's all here. Some of 'em don't want to be, but they've come. The Slayer has laid down the law on behalf of the old Sire, and here they are. When he got back on Monday night, I thought I would be a goner for sure. There was pig's blood and pig shit all over the mansion. Not much pig, though. Between us, we eventually got the little porker within reach of the wolf, and he fell asleep with a full belly. The Sire was definitely not amused - I guess you had to be there, really. He made me clear it all up. Now is that the way to treat your beta male, I ask you? Dru and me made up for it afterwards, though. He'd gone up to his rooms, and I hadn't liked the look on his face at the time, so we went to see him. He stank of slayer. I don't like it, but I think I'm going to have to get used to it. Dru curled her lip, but didn't say anything, so maybe she sees something that I don't. Then again, whoever does see something that Dru sees?

He's worried about the werewolf bite, I can tell, but he didn't say anything, even afterwards, when we were all curled up together, just like it used to be a century ago. I think I've said it before. I do not want to lose this family that I've been given back, after all this time. I need him, just as much as I need Dru. I'll be damned if I lose him to a werewolf! But it seems that on Monday night, all the slayerettes were mobilised, together with Angelus' resources. The Keeper had been summoned, and he was searching the scrolls and texts in Hylek. The House of Orbath, when they found out about their pet vampire's predicament, started scurrying around like spiders in the bath. Since then, Wolf Boy has been let out during the day, but back here in chains for the two remaining nights of the full moon. He's had steak to eat. The Sire has put an absolute interdict on any more livestock in the house. I argued that would mean that humans should stay away too, but he looked down that patrician nose at me and his eyes promised a very painful time indeed if I persisted. And we've all been hunting through the texts, trying to find out if the Sire will need to have a basket for three nights a month. I asked whether I should get the large economy pack of flea powder, and got a backhander for my concern. So here we are at Thursday. Apart from me and Dru, we've got Sire and Slayer, the redhead and Wolf Boy, the Norags, the Keeper, a young cousin of Orbath who brought with her a Hylekian who claims to be a shaman, and the Watcher, would you believe. Oh, and the Harris boy is here, too, with the cheerleader, but I reckon all they'll be good for is snacks afterwards. Like I said, the gang's all here. The minions are being kept away from this. That includes the two new minions who turned up on Tuesday. I recognise them. The Sire's been bonding, then. That's not something I've known him to bother with before. I wonder why he's doing it now? We've got a ceremony going on just now, and I'm bored. Dru is fascinated. She seems to be in one of her saner moods. We've got blood from Wolf Boy and blood from Angelus, side by side on a crystal plate. The shaman is doing whatever it is that shamans do, and Witchy Willow is helping him. Everyone else is doing as they're told - do this, do that, chant this, chant that, slash this, slash that. I hate rituals. I'm bored. So I'm people-watching.

Harris wants to stake Angelus. Well, that's a given, I suppose. The stripling is still infatuated with Buffy, and the thought of her giving herself to a demonically animated corpse is more than he can stand. The Watcher would like to visit on Angelus every single torture he can imagine. I never realised the depths of his hatred until tonight. I wonder why he's helping, then? You'd think he'd settle for having a werevampire he could shoot at the next full moon, just one more rabid dog. There wouldn't even be a body to account for. Hell's bells, we've finished at last. That's only taken a little under three hours. The Sire is explaining it to me, 'cos he knows I haven't a clue, but I'd need Noddy language, and all I'm getting is physics. It's about matter and energy. A human body is possessed by a demon as matter, which becomes energy when it enters the body. Or perhaps it's the other way round. Anyway, Angelus' resident demon has somehow taken care of the werewolf possession, although the shaman is vague on how, and thinks that something else has helped. He's not prepared just now to say what that something else is, but between them, the demon and his helper have made sure the matter has turned to energy, which has had to go somewhere. It's simply increased his strength. Permanently. They can't find any other effect. Lucky bastard. Oh, there will be one effect? Do I detect a future full of baskets and flea powder, after all? No such luck. Werewolves will still detect their energy in him, and will permit him to act as one of their clan. The Aurelians have always been a bit different, I know, but this? What now? Angelus is asking about the effect if someone drinks any of his blood, even a single drop, or if he bites them. Hey now, that has definitely brightened up this boring evening. The Slayer is looking defiant. She's drunk from him recently, I can tell. I wouldn't mind having her on a leash three nights a month. I must look hopeful, because Angelus has raised his lip to me, exposing a fang. I don't know whether that's vampire or werewolf, and I'm not sure whether he knows, either. OK, shutting up now. I do not believe it! We are all sitting back down and the ritual is starting *all over again*! It's Wolf Boy's blood and Slayer's blood on the table now. Bloody Hell, don't tell me this is going to take another three hours. Back to people-watching, then. Harris and the Watcher look as if they've eaten acid. Don't like to be told what their little slayer gets up to with the Big Bad Wolf. And I don't mean Oz.

Well, that's all I bloody need. The shaman doesn't have all the right words in English. Soul won't do. Neither will demon, although he seems to think that's the closer of the two. What he's trying to explain is that Angelus had already changed the matter/energy thing when she took that blood from him (I'm getting hot under the collar thinking about that!) and it was in the wrong phase to infect her. But the energy had to go somewhere. So, as I said, that's just what I need. Like Angelus, like Dru and me, she has something, some darkness, at the core of her that can change the energy, and the super-strong Slayer is now a bit stronger. Well, I'll be getting me some of that energy before long, I guess. Angelus always did like some blood play in moments of passion. He didn't offer, the other night, but he will. He'd better be careful who tastes his blood from now on, though. They are going to keep looking into it, so I'd better get me some soon, in case they find a way to control what he passes on. The silver? Don't worry. They've checked that out. It's just an ornamental metal for him. But this unknown factor is worrying Angelus, and the shaman too, although Dru seems unconcerned. I'll trust her instincts. But the shaman is going to take some of Angelus' blood, some of the Slayer's blood, some of Dru's and mine, and do some more work back in his home dimension. Wherever that is. As I said, the Aurelians have always been a bit different to other vampires. Looks like we might be even more different that I thought. It's interesting to think that the Slayer is more like us than you might have thought. She has something like a demon at her core. Not quite, but something like. I bet both the Watcher and the Keeper will start looking into that, but I think the Keeper will get more pleasure out of it than the Watcher. He looked sick at the thought. Anyway, it'll make it easier doing business with her! *********** I can't describe how relieved I am. Ezrafel's researches suggest that, just occasionally, a vampire is bitten by a werewolf. When that happens, the vampire is overcome by ungovernable rage. I can vouch for the truth of that. There is no credible record of a vampire surviving that initial period, but there is a rumour that one once did, and became almost invulnerable. It was as if he had been given the powers of the gem of Amara. Half a sentence,

in one scroll. Nothing more, and it was probably not even in this dimension. But the rage was truth enough. I am a powerful alpha demon, and I have no false modesty about my own personal abilities. But how I am alive now, and how I stopped myself from mindlessly ravaging everything around me and incinerating myself in the ashes, I truly do not know. I do not believe I have any added invulnerabilities. Sunlight and holy water still burn me I've tried them. If you think I'm going to test the effects of staking or decapitation, you're madder than Drusilla. In fact, Drusilla is the biggest comfort to me right now - she clearly does not believe anything to be seriously amiss, and she always knows. She has the sight. Her insanity may prevent her from understanding, but her powers affect her emotions. She just thinks it's funny. I would somehow have managed three nights a month as a werewolf if it had come to that, but I have to confess that I was terrified when Buffy took those few drops of my blood. To visit that possession on my golden girl, that would be heinous, even for a vampire as evil as me. Mind you, she would have made a beautiful werewolf And I could tell that Dru and Will were hurt when I didn't offer them blood the other night, in my bed. They thought I was displeased with them. I wasn't - well, not much. I would have loved to see the pig, although as the Master here I had to put a stern face on. No, it wasn't that. I was afraid of what my blood might do to them. Unless I can get the right assurances, I may never make another childe again. I may never bond another vampire either. I'm going to have to be careful, until I know for certain. I cannot risk passing on that rage. At least it seems as if Buffy is safe with my blood, but I will wait for further news from Hylek before I allow her to taste it again - before I taste her, too. Well, wouldn't you? I would be the monster you all think me if I did otherwise. They have said that there is no werewolf essence, as such, left in me to pass on in my bite, but can we be sure? Perhaps I should try with some test subjects, human and vampire. I'll speak to Ezrafel, and when I come back from Canada we will set that up. It will make me easier in my mind. Until then, I will only bite those who are food, and they will all die. Everyone who doesn't live here is getting ready to leave now. Giles has proven himself to me. He hates me, and I can't argue with that, but he will work with and for me if his Slayer needs him to do that. I will do the same. Orbath and Ezrafel have proved themselves again, and Ezrafel will be coming back shortly to join my court. The slayerettes are of no importance, other than Willow and Oz. Oz will spend three nights of each month here, chained to my wall,

until we can sort out more permanent secure accommodation. I shall make sure that he is safe. We've all said our thanks and goodbyes, but Oz and Willow are lagging behind a bit, and I walk over to them. She's nervous, as usual, although Oz is more laid back. Also as usual. "AngelusermI, er, looked at law firms for you, and found this. They cover all sorts of law areas and they hardly ever seem to lose." She presses a piece of paper into my hand and turns to leave. I stop her by the simple expedient of placing my forefinger under her chin and lifting it so that she must look me in the face. "Thank you Willow." I look at Oz, then look back at Willow. He knows that I'm not at the moment intent on trespass. "Willow, you need not be afraid of me. You will take no harm from me," I tell her gently. "I am even more in your debt. You may ask of me whatever you need, whenever you need it." I mean what I say. She's still terrified of me. "No, no favours needed. Youyou're looking after Oz, that's more than enough. Thank you." And she flees. Oz gives me a nod, werewolf to vampire, and we understand each other. I look at the piece of paper Willow has pressed into my hand. It has a company name and address on it. Wolfram and Hart, Los Angeles. I'll look them up as soon as I get back from Canada. Buffy has remained behind, too. It has been a difficult few days for us both. She takes my hand, and I let her. She leads me to the stairs, and up to our rooms, and I let her. I let her do everything else she wants as well. Then it's my turn. It's a long time before we fall into a comfortable sleep. It's my last full night with Buffy before I leave. She spends Friday with her mother, although I drop in for an hour or two through the window. Then, on Saturday, she moves into her college dorm room, with Willow. I visit on Saturday night, to check the place out. I need to make sure there is nothing here to threaten my mate. I don't like the campus, but there is nothing that presents an obvious threat. I suppose it's just that it will keep her away from me more than I would like. However, I'm a firm believer in education, even for women (before

you fly at me, remember what it was like when I was brought up as a human, and admit that I've moved on). Buffy is my Consort, and it is right and proper that she should be well educated. When she has finished here I'll take care of other things, such as introducing her to the wonders that are to be found in the rest of the world, and how to rule an empire. I have a great deal to teach her, and not just in the erotic arts, I'll have you know. She will visit the mansion each evening whilst I am away, and either Spike will patrol with her or a minion will shadow her. The Norags and Ezrafel will generally make themselves useful until I am back, as will the Aventis. Most of the other minions will come with me. What? You thought I was stupid enough to take on an entire cult alone? Spike, Drusilla and Buffy would have come too, but I would not permit it. I need Spike and Dru here to guard the Hellmouth and to guard Buffy, and I need Buffy here to continue with her education and keep a rein on Spike and Dru. A sort of triumvirate. The power of three. And now I am on my way to the Canadian border with a dozen of the strongest minions. The plan is really very simple. We will allow the cult to finish gathering, then the minions will surround them, to prevent them disappearing off into the Canadian hinterland, and I'll take it from there. Information has it that there are no more than a dozen to twenty of them. It'll be a walk in the park. **************

Cometh The Hour

Author: Jo Feedback: Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* My name is Lindsey McDonald, and I'm a lawyer. I work for a firm called Wolfram and Hart out of Los Angeles. Most of my work is done in the office or in the courtroom, but this job is different. I've been given it because I'm bucking for promotion. There's a saying. 'Cometh the hour, cometh the man'. It means that, when circumstances at a particular time require a special sort of person, the right man will come forward and fill the gap. Wolfram and Hart need someone like me, and I intend to step right on forward. I'm going to be the man. This case involves a vampire. We aren't the sort of law firm that won't deal with clients just because they are demons, or dead, or some other trivial inconvenience like that. If they can

pay, and if they'll do exactly as we say, we'll sort out their problems. Our Senior Partners are something other than human, after all. There is some conflict of interest over this particular vampire. There is a prophecy about him. It says he will be important in the forthcoming apocalypse, but it doesn't say how, or on which side he will be fighting. The Senior Partners want him alive and demonic, and were rather distressed to learn that he was given his soul back in 1898, since when he has been carefully avoiding his demonic nature. They were naturally pleased to hear that he had lost that soul a year or so ago, and was bidding fair to redefine the word 'demonic', but have been less pleased to find that he has declared the current Slayer to be his mate and his Consort. They have been even more displeased to find that his demonic nature has been rathertamedof late, presumably by said Slayer. They don't like that one little bit. He's the most vicious demon that ever stalked the face of the Earth. A real power in the making. They want their boy back and hungry. They don't need him yet - we've got a few years - but if we want the vicious demon back in all his glory, we need to get to work now. After all, it's not something you can do in a day. We intend to keep the Slayer occupied with a few problems of her own while we sort him out. He's my project. We have clients of longstanding, though, rather powerful ones, who want a contract taken out on this vampire. They want him dusted and out of their way. The Senior Partners don't. I don't want the Kahlavi taking their own independent action against him in defiance of the Senior Partners' wishes, and so I have spent several weeks in negotiations trying to broker a deal. We have it now, and I'm about to put it into practice. He's spent a week or so in Canada, waiting patiently for the Kahlavi cult to start opening a new Hellmouth. They are gathered now. They know where he is, the trap is set, and is about to be sprung. I have two demons with me who will do the springing. And a whole cohort coming through a portal as we speak - they will take him in the rear. I really do have a surprise for him. ********** I'm following the group of Kahlavi towards a small cave entrance. I'm not entirely lost to all sense of personal safety so, after waiting for a while, I send one of the minions in. He reports that there is no sign of them in the first couple of hundred feet. That's all I asked him to scout. The cave opens up considerably beyond the cramped, narrow entrance passage, which runs

for about twenty feet. Once inside, I see that we have a substantial cave with two main tunnels running further back beyond this first hall. It's dank, with water dripping all around, and is a thoroughly unpleasant place. The scent of the Kahlavi clearly continues towards the tunnels. We start to follow, and there is a commotion behind me. My mind screams ambush, and it is. Then there is no more time for thought. The Kahlavi are pouring back out of the tunnels, with crossbows that they weren't carrying earlier. A lot more demons are coming through the entrance behind us. We fight, but in short order, all the minions are dust, and there is only me. I'm completely surrounded by crossbows, so I stay where I am. I hope I can get out of here alive, but I must wait for my moment. How did this go so wrong? A new demon scrambles in to the hall from outside. He chants. Shit. A magic-user. As he finishes his chant, he waves his hand negligently towards me, and I am thrown backwards into a small recess in the darkest corner of the main chamber. As I start to rise, he chants again, and I realise how much trouble I am in. My legs and arms are broken. They will heal, certainly, but without blood - and I'm not at all sure I'm going to be getting a quick supply of that - they will only heal slowly. The healing process for such major injuries will generate a bone-deep hunger that will undoubtedly cause me some difficulties. The worst, though, is that I am cramped into this small niche, in which I couldn't stand even if I were able, and I cannot fully lie down. And I cannot get out. There is a barrier, a magical barrier of some sort, and I cannot get out. I feel a growl of anger rising. I am helpless and impotent and trapped, sitting in a tiny cell, amid a continual runnel of icy cave water, on a floor of thick mud. A man is coming forward to speak. "Angelus. My name is McDonald, Lindsey McDonald. I'm a lawyer with Wolfram and Hart. I've been looking forward to meeting you." I decide to brazen it out. "You didn't need to go to all this trouble. I'd intended to come to your offices anyway. The firm comes highly recommended for what I want." "Sorry," he says. "I'm afraid we have a prior contract - two, in fact - that would preclude us representing you in any way. Myclientswant you out of the way for a bit, so we're going

to let you stay here. In cold storage, so to speak. No-one knows you are here, no-one will find you, so you're my prisoner really." I am terrified at what has come to pass, but I cannot let him see my fear. I roar my defiance at him instead, but he laughs in my face. "Do that as much as you like, Angelus. It won't get you out of here any quicker. The Kahlavi will keep a regular eye on you, and I'm not an unreasonable man. We'll feed you, although not very often. I know a vampire can't starve - quite. If you're a good boy, you'll get a virgin to drain, but only once a year on this day. A sort of anniversary present. It'll keep body and demon together for another year, and you'll be so much less trouble like that. We are going to use you, you see. You've got a big future with us, if we can get you into the right frame of mind. Not for a few years yet, but you'll keep. You won't enjoy it, but you'll keep. You'll see me again when I decide to release you. That won't be until we are ready, and it might be a long time. I've got a last gift for you, though." With that he waves me a jaunty farewell, and stands back to make room for another demon. I must try to delay, to get him to change his mind, to negotiate. "What about the new Hellmouth?" I ask, trying to keep my voice unafraid. He laughs. "There is no new Hellmouth. We just made the Hylekians think there was. You've been well and truly suckered. The mighty Angelus! It was like taking candy from a baby. You were much too concerned about the Slayer to properly analyse what was happening. I like you like this, on the floor, at my feet. Let's get on with it." That last is to the demon, who starts to chant. A different chant, this time. There is *nothing* that I can do. Recriminations are no good. This has been planned for some time. I want to rage and storm, but my broken limbs and my dignity prevent that. If they are leaving me alone here, there *has* to be a way out. If they could get me into a trap, there must be a way out. I will wait until they have gone, and see what I can do. And then I understand. Pain spears through me, exploding in my gut and I feel the shackles and the cage cramping me, confining me, the darkness descending. I know that I howl in fear and pain. I think I probably cry. And then I do rage and storm, and beg and plead. My responsibilities will go unfulfilled and that hurts. But Buffy, my golden girl, my eternal love; I

swore that I would never leave you, never abandon you. And I will. I am lost. Still I beg and plead, then rant and gibber, but it does no good at all. This body is curled into the smallest ball it can make, shivering and trembling in pain and memory. Buffy my love, my heart, remember me ************ My Sire isn't back yet. He said that he would be away for possibly two weeks, three at the most. He's been gone for a month. Dru has gone into one of her almost catatonic states. Unless she's feeding, she lies on our bed weeping and calling for her Daddy. The Slayer is worried, although she tries hard not to show it. I can smell her, though, the scent of her fear. We have an uneasy truce, demons and humans, but no-one here would dream of going against my Sire's expressed wishes. Demons and humans are working to maintain the balance of the Hellmouth. Between us, we are still having a hard time. Some organisation is operating around Sunnydale. It's new, and it seems to be taking demons of all sorts, even the neutrals. We all have to be extra careful. I wish he would hurry home. I miss him. ************ Hungry. Hunger screaming through blood, clawing through belly, gnawing into bones. Hunger, making a mindless ravening animal of me. Darkness, all around me, nothing but darkness and bonds that cramp and confine medarkness can't stop it, darkness won't keep them away Pain. Everything is pain. My world is nothing but pain. Buffy.. ********** He is missing. He has been gone for two months now. She misses him. Some of the rest of us miss him, some of us do not. I cannot help but rejoice, for my part. I have never forgiven him for killing my lover, Jenny. She says that she knows he is still alive. She has a bond with him, through their mating - I cannot contemplate such a revolting pairing, such a sickening act, without wanting to stake him, although that would be too easy a death. She is a beautiful girl, full of life, the daughter I have never had. I cannot imagine her coupling with a demon wearing the cold flesh of a corpse. And yet she loves him. And from what I have seen, he has come to love her. They have

started to build something here that may show that she is the best Slayer there has ever been. They have started something that may tame the minions of Hell on Earth. I must support her in whatever she wishes to do. She is my responsibility, but she is his. And she has this bond. It tells her that he is still alive, although she feels pain through it, and has done for weeks. But she cannot sense where he is. Is he still in Canada? Or is he somewhere else. We do not know where to start looking. And even if we did, we could not. Matters have progressed apace here, since he left to deal with the Kahlavi cult. An organisation is capturing, and experimenting on, demons of all sorts, even harmless ones. We don't know who or where they are. Oz has been forced to remain in the mansion. Even outside his time of change, he has been hunted down three times, and only escaped by the merest luck on two occasions, and by Spike's intervention on the third. Unfortunately, Spike was taken while saving Oz. He was missing for days, but has come back to us now. He is damaged. He can no longer hurt a living human being in any way. He says a chip was put in his head to control him. It is from him we know that experiments are taking place. I can't say I mind Spike not being able to kill and maim, but I do not like the sound of experiments. That smacks of Government, and, since they are after demons, perhaps it also smacks of the military. We could all be in trouble if that is the case, because whoever is working on this is bound to be incompetent. They cannot possibly have the centuries and generations of experience that we can call on. They will be flapping around in the dark, and something will get loose. God help us then. We cannot leave Sunnydale to that, even to hunt for her lover. And she really does miss him. Joyce tells me that she cries in her sleep on the nights when she comes home. Willow, who is her roommate, says nothing, but Willow always looks worried now, and not just for Oz. I suspect that she is trying to do magic to locate the vampire, but clearly she has had no luck. It is something I never thought to see, but demons and humans are working together to maintain the balance here. Even so, we are losing. I hate to say it, but we could do with Angelus back. ********** Huuunnnggerrr. Bloooooood. BUFFY Things in the darkness with me. Pain without end. NO, please, make it go away! Huuunnnggerrr. Bloooooood.

BUFFY! ************* It has been three months and I can bear it no longer. I can feel that he is alive. I can feel that he is in pain, and that is with me always, but the feelings are damped, dulled, and numb, as if they are wrapped in cotton wool. Willow thinks that he has been magically hidden from us. She has tried scrying, and cannot find him. It has been all that we can do to maintain the balance here, and for that I thank Angel's foresight in bringing to his Court the Norags, the Aventi and the Keeper. I thought at first that whoever is kidnapping demons must be on the side of the good guys, but I have changed my mind. Spike says little, but he is suffering in a way that is difficult to imagine. It would have been much kinder to stake him. We have found others that have been experimented on, tortured, and then released. Some were neutral demons, some not, but we have had to kill them all, out of mercy. They begged me to do it. And I am afraid for my mate. If he were here, captive, would I know? I cannot find the people who are doing this here, so I will start with Canada. Ezrafel has been back to Hylek and been given the location of the new Hellmouth. That, by the way, hasn't opened, so Angel must have succeeded. Tomorrow, Giles, Spike, Dru, Ezrafel and I will set off for Canada, and see what we can find. The rest of our people, the demons, anyway, have been taken to Hylek, to our estate. They may not be safe even in the mansion with the rest of us gone. Willow will continue to try and locate him magically. She will contact me if she has the smallest success. Mobile phones are a wonderful thing. Our party is a strange one, but there are reasons. Giles, we need for his experience and knowledge. We are hoping that Spike and Dru and I will somehow, between us, be able to sense him. Ezrafel will simply not be left behind. He is strong, though and we may need that in the days to come. It is almost Christmas. Snow has fallen where we are heading. The journey will not be easy. I wonder if I have waited too long. ANGELUSMy love, my heart, I am coming. Give me a sign. ************* Thirst. Blood. Hunger. Darkness. Pain.

Thirst blood hunger darkness pain. Thirstbloodhungerdarknesspain.

Thirstbloodhungerdarknesspainthirstbloodhungerdarknesspainthirstbloodhungerdarknesspai n thir BUFFY. *********** We are exhausted. We have searched these forests for over a week, and there is no sign. We have to almost carry Drusilla; she seems to be in a trance most of the time. It is a pity that we can get no sense from her, and that she hasn't had one of her visions. Or if she has, she isn't telling us about them. My Slayer is at the point of despair, although she hides it with manic activity. I'm finding it hard to keep up with her. And now we are lost in the forest. The snow-bound forest. This is very dangerous. Spike thinks he knows where he is in relation to the camper that we have rented for this journey, but he thinks that we will have trouble getting there by dawn. We are looking for shelter. If all else fails, Ezrafel can take us to his dimension. The problem then would be that, because we do not know exactly where we are, he couldn't bring us back here to either retrieve the camper or continue the search. So we will leave that as a last resort. We have about an hour. I'm trying to work out what day it is. It's probably New Year's Day. I wonder if that will be significant. Only of a change for the worse, in my cynical experience. And now Drusilla is coming out of her trance, and she is sniffing the air, like a bloodhound. She is struggling against Ezrafel, who is holding her up. I go to help him and we set off in the direction she seems to want to go. It's as good as any at the moment. I see glances being exchanged between Spike and Buffy. Buffy tells me that they are both sensing something, something weak and frail, a tenuous lead in this tenebrous place. We see a tiny cave entrance at the base of the hillside. It is blocked by snow, and we would not normally have noticed it, I think, except that some small animal must have used it as a den, and has trampled the snow. Hopefully small. There is a path leading to it, hard to see except from the right angle. Why would he be there? Well, even if he is not, it might serve as shelter for the vampires during the day. Small and not so small animals of the Canadian

wilderness should not bother them. We scramble through the tiny passageway, and come into a larger cavern. The torches we carry serve only to emphasise its size. It is dank, with icy water running down the walls. The floor is muddy and slippery. No wonder the little animal didn't stay here. Drusilla has collapsed into a weeping heap, again, and Spike is trying to quieten her. He has reason. I think I can hear a voice, chanting a litany, almost too soft to hear, a voice that sounds almost worn out, repeating one word again and again. "Nononononono." At first we can find nothing, but Ezrafel takes Dru back from Spike and pulls her to the side of the cavern, back towards the entrance. Spike and Buffy stand in the centre, trying to hear. Then Spike gives a cry, and runs to the darkest corner. I turn my torch in that direction, and suddenly see what I take to be a bundle of rags. But it can't be, because the sounds are coming from it. Dear God, what has happened here? Spike reaches for the bundle, and then is suddenly pulled up hard against the wall. There is a small, shallow niche there, not large enough for a man to stand up in. Spike is dragged down into a crouching position, although by nothing that I can see. He appears not to be able to move. What the bloody hell is going on here? Ezrafel sees what is happening, and stays where he is with Drusilla. She is now calling for her Daddy, another never-ending litany. Buffy and I move carefully towards the back corner, where Spike is. He is making himself as small as possible, crouched down, reaching for the bundle on the floor. I can now see that it is about man-sized. He doesn't seem able to move it because there is no room for him to manoeuvre. Nevertheless, he has seen enough. He throws back his head and howls in grief. Buffy has reached him now. I try to call her back, but she is too quick. She is crouched down in the corner, and the mysterious force seems not to have affected her. "Spike. Is it him?" she asks.

He looks at her. "You know it is. You can feel him, too." "Let's get him out of there, and see what's wrong." That's my bright idea. Spike turns a withering look in my direction. "I can't, you pillock. This is some sort of magical vampire trap. There's a barrier," and he demonstrates, holding his hand about 3 feet from the back wall, and moving it upwards to a height of about 4 feet, "and we can't bloody well get out." Oh. Between them, they find that they can turn Angelus onto his back, Buffy from outside the trap, reaching through, Spike from his crouched position. I hear a sharp intake of breath from Buffy. Spike just says, "Shit." I move closer. I am appalled. Angelus is haggard and grey, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. He looks as if he hasn't fed for three months, and I don't suppose he has. His clothing is soaked from the constant runnel of water, and he is caked in mud. He cannot uncurl from his foetal position. I try to tell myself that it is because of the restricted space, but I suspect he has been in this position for the last three months. Suddenly, his eyes snap open. That makes it worse. The expression in them is haunted, an expression of madness. He looks as if he has lost his mind. He sees us, and I am sure of it. He can barely move, but he tries to scuttle back, pressing himself as far away as he can, trying to bury himself in the rock. He tries to hide his face against his arm, and the litany of denial takes on a new urgency. We *must* get them out of there, but how? What is the nature of this magic? And we don't have Willow. Whilst I am thinking, Spike is rolling up his sleeve. He thrusts his arm down to the mad creature that is his Sire, urging him to drink. But Angelus becomes even more frantic in his efforts to get away. Eventually, Spike loses patience, and he morphs, then rips his wrist open with his fangs. Awkwardly, because of their cramped positions, he presses the wound to Angelus' lips. Instinct takes over, and the vampire starts to drink, greedily. But not for long, and judging by Spike's reaction, not for long enough. Angelus pushes away from his childe, albeit only for a few inches, trying to scrabble further into the wall.

Buffy thrusts her own arm through the barrier, but Angelus starts screaming, a hoarse, painracked noise. I pull her back, and replace her arm with my own. I stare at Spike and hiss, "Do it!" He does, tearing a gash in my inner forearm. Between the three of us, we bring Angelus, who is fighting us but has not the least amount of strength, to a partial sitting position, and again instinct and hunger take over. He has remained human all this time, and his mouth clamps over the wound Spike has made, as he sucks in the flow of blood. And again he stops too quickly. He can't have taken as much as a pint from the two of us, and he is starved. But now he becomes even more distressed. Spike takes direct action and knocks him unconscious. It's probably the best thing to do, while we try to work something out. Hours later, and we are no closer to a solution. I have asked Spike to try and break away pieces of the rock, to see if he can create a tunnel behind the barrier, but he cannot. Ezrafel has tried to give Spike the little gadget that would open a portal to Hylek, but the gadget will not work inside the barrier. We have pooled our knowledge of spells for opening things, for removing obstacles, for moving things from one place to another. Nothing works, here. And we are so very tired now. This cave is an awful place. There is nowhere to sit that is not several inches deep in mud. The temperature is only just above freezing, and you try sitting in several inches of mud in the depths of the Canadian winter, even in a milder spell such as this. Not a good idea. In lieu of anything better to do at present, Buffy and I are setting off down one of the tunnels to see if we can find a piece of rock, anything, for us all to sit on. It looks as if Angelus has been crouched in that mud for three months, and that has been the least of his ills. I begin to feel sorry for him, until I remember Jenny again. Down the left hand tunnel, we find another, smaller cavern. There are perhaps forty bodies stacked in there, all Kahlavi demons. Apparently Angelus didn't go out easily. I see Buffy

pull something from one of the bodies and wipe it on the dead demon's cloak. A sword. "It's his," she says tonelessly, and thrusts it into her belt. They've fought together enough, she should recognise it. This cave is drier, and has clearly been used as a temporary barracks. There is wooden furniture, primitive, but usable. We carry a couple of benches back to the main hall. Soon, we can all at least sit down. Hunger will soon become a problem, but there is water in this cave - rather an excess of it, if truth be told. Angelus has suffered his hunger for three months. Let's hope Spike and Drusilla will be okay for another day or so. There is a bigger problem, though. Someone stacked those bodies - perhaps the same someone who has been visiting the cave. When are they next due, I wonder? Still we keep trying different spells. We try to telephone Willow, but can get no signal. Aren't mobile phones a wonderful thing? Spike is continually whining that he's getting a pain in his back from bending and crouching, without being able to straighten up. The rest of us know that really he's afraid that we will never get them out, so we let him bitch and whine as much as he likes. He daren't voice his real fear, though. Sometimes we feel that speaking of something dreadful, saying the words out loud, will make it come true. A little while ago, I would have said the words in the hope that they would, but not now. Despite his whining, Spike is trying to massage some feeling back into Angelus' body. The muscles are terribly wasted, and he tells us the arms and legs have been broken and have only just finished healing. These muscles are even more withered than the rest. He says that the healing process will have hastened the process of starvation. He's managed to get some flexibility back into the limbs, though. The Keeper has been silent for a while. When he speaks, it is at the point when I am truly beginning to think that we're going to have to knock the hillside down. Even that might not work. Buffy has placed one of the benches close to the barrier and is sitting on it, holding Angelus' hand. "This force only affects the vampires amongst us, yes?" "Yes." That's from me, Buffy and Spike. Angelus and Drusilla are comatose and in quiet hysterics, in that order. "What do you know of the vampire barriers in this dimension?" I answer. "Vampires cannot enter a human's home uninvited. Vampires are burned by the crucifix. What more do you want to know?"

"Why only the crucifix? Why not the symbols of the other great religions? And why does the cross only hurt vampires, and not demons of other species?" This has occurred to me before but I don't know the answer. I say so. Spike simply shakes his head and Buffy says nothing. She just looks at Angelus, and the fear and sorrow on her face make me want to do anything, sacrifice anything, to give this girl, my surrogate daughter, her demon lover back again. I am surprised at myself. And then I notice something else. Even in his unconsciousness and his madness, in the grip of whatever spell has done this to him, he knows her touch. His hand is clinging to hers like that of a drowning man. And I understand things that I have denied because of my own feelings, his betrayal of my friendship with the murder of my lover. Buffy and Angel or Angelus have a destiny together. I think the world may be at risk if they do not find each other again, and live out that destiny. I *must* help them. I must put my own feelings aside. Ezrafel has seen my preoccupation and waited for me, before continuing. "It was sorcery. Have both your species forgotten?" "What?" "Eh?" Buffy still says nothing, but she is listening. "Christianity is only about 2,000 years old, and at the beginning, the cross was not an important symbol. That place was occupied by the chi-rho, the XP symbol of your Christ. It was other, older symbols that hurt the vampire demons, symbols created specifically to do so. One of your early Christians, Simon the Magus, was a sorcerer, before Christianity condemned magic. He lost his daughter to a vampire. She was his only child, a girl who would have become a powerful sorceress in her own right. He was deranged by grief, and he cast a spell of the most enormous potency to transfer the power wielded by those older symbols to the symbol of the Cross, and to the Christians' holy writings, so that true Christians might never be hurt by vampires again. He died as part of the casting, pouring his life essence into the force of the spell, so that it would be maintained forever, across the planet. He was powerful, but such a spell must have its limits. He had not enough power to protect against other demons. But his spell holds good almost 2000 years later." "How do you know this?" I am amazed. Can this be true? Simon Magus certainly lived - he's mentioned in the Bible, of course, so perhaps it is true? Why is this not known to the Watchers' Council? Or is it? Sequestered away, perhaps, as forbidden knowledge? "We have contacts with the Adraste dimension, where they make much use of magic." He turns to Buffy. "It was the Adraste that supplied Orbath with the salve for Angelus." She acknowledges that with a nod of her head, but she still does not speak. I can see that Spike does not understand the reference either. It isn't important now, except that Buffy

accepts the magical credentials of these Adraste. Ezrafel continues. "After I first met the Slayer and the Master Vampire, I started to research vampires. The Adraste have supplied me with some volumes, which I have not yet finished reading, but this is a story contained within one of those volumes. The sorcerer Simon knew of the Adraste, and went to them for the spell. They sold it to him, and then they watched, and learned and recorded." Spike makes a sound of derision. "Well, that's one vampire that's got a lot to answer for." There is a pregnant silence, and I just know that Ezrafel has more to tell, and is deciding whether he should answer or not. Eventually, he does. "The vampire was called Aurelius." Ah. I believe there must be a certain inevitability to history, don't you think? And a sense of bloody irony, too. No wonder destiny is tangled around Angel, like a snare of barbed wire. Just for once, Spike, the master of the witty comeback, is left speechless. Having left that bombshell to hatch for a few minutes, Ezrafel gently continues. "I raise the matter because of the other sort of barrier you mentioned, the barrier preventing a vampire from entering a human dwelling. That was cast in much the same way, you know, before Simon's spell. It was that which inspired Simon. I do not yet know all the details, but it was cast by a sorcerer who again gave his own life force to power the continuing spell. Could this barrier we face here be the barrier of invitation, twisted to a different purpose?" Can it be so simple? Do we merely have to invite Spike and Angelus to join us? Invite them in? Buffy speaks, then. "Giles, you are the most human of any of us." My heart aches for her. "You had better do it." Perhaps she's right. If this is a twisted spell, who knows what else might have been twisted into it? Perhaps it's like one of those wretched money machines that swallows your bankcard if you can't remember the PIN number. They give you three tries, but if there is a booby trap

in this spell, perhaps we only get one go at it, and we'd better get it all right the first time. I nod my acquiescence, and prepare myself. How on earth can this be considered my home? Or to belong to me in any way? It will have to be in my imagination. I think of this cave as being everything I have ever desired, as being my territory, my home. I try to bring about a cast of mind that makes such an unlikely thing possible. Then I think of the two vampires. To be safe, I must surely consider them to be welcome guests in this, my home. Angelus is the most difficult, of course. But I think back to a time when he was still Angel. A time after I had overcome my initial suspicion of him, to when I welcomed him as a good friend, a personal friend. A true companion. I cultivate those thoughts, and include Spike, the pitiable, unthreatening stray with the damaged mind. Then I put the pictures together in my mind, and I speak the words. I invite them in, by name. Spike tumbles through the barrier into the mud at Buffy's feet. Before anything can change its mind, she and Spike drag Angelus out. Even with the blood that Spike and I have given him, I can see now that he is in even worse condition than he had appeared to be whilst cramped into the niche. Drusilla tears herself away from Ezrafel and throws herself over his body, weeping. I can still make no sense of her ravings, but there's time enough for that, now. We have been here for the remnants of the night and for most of the short northern winter's day. It is only just past solstice, so we have almost maximum periods of darkness, thank goodness. We are going to need all the darkness we can get if we are going to have to manhandle two vampires back to the camper. The sooner we get back to Sunnydale the better. Ezrafel bends down to pull Drusilla off Angelus, so that we can check him for any further injury, and get him out of the mud. As he does so, Buffy flashes him one of those smiles that lights up the world and squeezes his hand. "Thank you, Ezrafel. Thank you." I could swear he blushes, and then he has Drusilla back in his charge. Spike and Buffy lift Angelus onto the bench - he seems to weigh almost nothing, and then they do something I would not have expected. Spike straddles the end of the bench, supporting his Sire's shoulders in his lap. Buffy straddles Angelus' lap, then she hits the unconscious vampire. Hard. He starts to rouse slightly, and Spike tightens his grip. Then she hits him again, and again. He struggles, and changes into game face, although he has not yet reached full consciousness. Quick as thought, Spike and she straighten Angelus' upper body so that his face is against her

neck. He drinks. She daren't give him too much, so when he has taken perhaps a pint or two, they pull him away, and Spike thrusts his own arm back in front of the fangs. Once again, instinct and hunger take over. Surprisingly, those of us watching find nothing dreadful in these acts of love and mercy. I think I'm the most surprised of all at that. I make my own offering, again. It only stops when we have all given as much as we safely can, even Drusilla. Not Ezrafel, though - demon blood is no use to a vampire. Angelus is still not fully conscious, but there is a little colour in his face and he seems less wasted. He is still gripping Buffy's hand. Spike stoops down into the entrance passage and announces that the sun has just set. I think we'll get out of here. Spike and Buffy start to lift Angelus between them, when he suddenly regains awareness. Spike supports his weight, and Buffy smiles for her lover, reaching one hand to his cheek. For a second, he looks into her face, then, with a cry of utter anguish, he tears himself away from both of them. He cowers back towards the cave entrance, staring at the ground, unable or unwilling to look at any of us. Buffy turns on him a look of love such as few men, or demons I guess, can ever expect to see in a hundred lifetimes. If only he would look at her, he would be reassured. But he doesn't. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't make it up to any of you, but I'm so sorry. You'll never have to see me again." And with that, he is gone from the cave, into the Canadian winter. We are stunned, every one of us, Buffy most of all. No, that is not entirely true. Spike and Drusilla seem to understand something we do not. Buffy races to the passageway, her scream of "ANGEL!" echoing out into the wilderness. Spike catches her, holds her still. "You'll never catch him if you get lost in the forest. I'm buggered if I spend weeks looking for you as well. We'll find him, luv, we'll find him, don't worry." Drusilla is crouched in the mud, howling and screaming. "Spike!" I say, more sharply than I intend. I have no idea what the hell is happening. "Is Angelus still enchanted? What is wrong with him?" He gapes at me in disbelief. "Don't you know?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," I say with some asperity. He turns to Buffy, who is held tight to his chest. He uses one forefinger to raise her face to look at him. "Do you know what's happened, luv?" She shakes her head. He gives a bone weary sigh, as if faced with particularly obtuse students who should have been much brighter than this. "Whoever did this to him, they've given him his soul back. He's Angel again." Through my own shock, I watch her. Her mouth forms a perfect O of horror, and then she seems to just close down. She says nothing more on the long, dreadful journey back to Sunnydale. Dreadful is much the most appropriate word for that odyssey. At first, we remain in that hated cave while Spike sets off to search for Angel. He will be able to follow his own trail back. But it starts to snow again. Angel's trail is lost to him, and he barely makes it back before his own tracks would have been covered. Despite the snow, we set off to find the camper. It has been stolen. Dear God, how are we to get everyone back? We are not too far from civilization - about 15 miles to the nearest small town, with a reasonable road. We have good clothing, we won't die - we might even get a lift - but we are such a motley crew, the prospects seem daunting. We decide that Spike and Ezrafel will go ahead, bearing Drusilla. They can travel more quickly than I can. Spike will find shelter - a motel room or something- and come back for us. Buffy and I will continue behind them. Buffy takes no part in these discussions. She is entirely apart from us, locked into her own private suffering. I would have thought she wanted Angel back, although he might take some finding again, and I am worried by her withdrawal when I would have expected her to be urging us to frenetic activity. Still, surely Spike and Drusilla will be able to help her locate him, and we can all help him to heal, to adjust, to come to terms with the things that his alter ego has done. Whilst there's life there's hope, even for a vampire, isn't there? It takes many days to get back to Sunnydale. Spike takes care of Drusilla, who remains either

hysterical or locked away in quiet madness. Personally I prefer the madness. It's more peaceful. Ezrafel takes charge of Buffy, who is like an automaton. She does as she is told. She eats when she is told, a little anyway. She goes where she is told to go, and so on. If we do not tell her, she simply stands in silence. This is a quietness I do not prefer, and I am terrified her mind has retreated to some unreachable place, that it has become all too much for her to bear. She is simply not with us in any meaningful sense. I do the human things, present the human face of our tragic little quintet. Hire the car, the motel rooms, buy the food, and so on. The Canadian wilderness has some advantages in our current predicament. Spike cannot hurt humans, but he can hunt animals, and he keeps himself and Drusilla fed. Not well, we don't have time for that, but enough. I drop the vampires off at the mansion, and Ezrafel and I go to face Joyce. When she answers the door, she gives a little cry of shock. Standing in her hall, I tell her the barest minimum. I'll tell her the rest later, but all she needs to know now is that we found Angel. In all senses of the word. And that he has run away in shame and guilt. We help her get Buffy upstairs, where they lie together on Buffy's bed, the daughter, still fully clothed, wrapped in her mother's arms. It is then that Buffy gives the first sign of awareness since that terrible day in the cavern. "Mom? Mommy? He's gone! Mommy" And she breaks down into body-racking sobs. We can only hope that these are healing tears. Ezrafel and I are too tired to go back to the mansion, so we let ourselves out, and Ezrafel sleeps on my couch for the night. At least, I think he sleeps. For my part, I lie in my bed, but sleep is a very long way away. ************* I remember almost nothing of the journey back to Sunnydale. I was otherwiseoccupied. My last real memory is after Spike told me that someone had given Angel his soul back. It was then that I understood the barrage of emotion that had been battering at that special link I have with him, with Angelus. Terror, agony, remorse, grief. Not thoughts or ideas. Just sheer, raw emotions. And I remembered how hard I had wished to have Angel's soul back again;

how I had thought that if I could have Angel and Angelus together, my life would be perfect. Foolishness. Be careful what you wish for. You might get it. All my fault. It's all my fault. Perhaps if I had made him wear the Gem of Amara, he would not have been captured? Whatever, it is all my fault. I wished it so. I didn't understand. He left me. That was all my mind could think of. He's Angel, he's back, and he's left me. It was a little while before I could comprehend the other tragedy - what has happened to Angelus? - and could understand that the emotions tearing at my heart were from both of them. The angel and the devil. The two beings that I love. All through that dreadful journey, I had no mental space left even to deal with the everyday requirements of living. Certainly, I could not abandon my link with my lover - lovers - to react to my companions. The pain and the grief from my lost vampire seared through our bond. And I tried to help, to reach those two tortured souls. To soothe and reassure, to return love. I tried to find Angelus. I tried to open myself to Angel and make him understand that he was loved and wanted. But I have failed. And now Angel has cut himself off from me. I have tried and tried to reach him. I know he is still alive, but he has cut himself off. He is alone and in pain. And so am I. My guardians hand me over to my mother. They help me up the stairs, taking off my coat and shoes, then they lay me down with her. She wraps her arms around me and the pain and anger and loss overtake me. "Mom? Mommy? He's gone! Mommy" I cry, in great, heaving sobs. She holds me even tighter, as she used to do if ever I cried as a small child. A long while later, I realise that she is crying, too. I think she's crying for me, and for Angel. I wonder if she's crying for Angelus. And if she knows that I am crying for all of us, as well as for myself and the beings I love. I think something has gone wrong in the Grand Design of the Powers that be. I see by the lightening sky that it is almost dawn. And then I know true terror. I only thought I'd known it before. I feel him. I feel my sweet, gentle Angel. I feel the iron grip he has on my

demon lover, who is begging, pleading and raging. Who is crying. And Angel is saying goodbye. He is saying goodbye and it is nearly dawn, and I don't know where he is, and I cannot reach him. I feel my scream echo through the bond. "NO!" The sun lifts above the horizon. The rest is silence. ********** 'Call me Ishmael.' Those are Ahab's words, that tragic figure from literature. Ishmael. His hand was turned against every man, and every man's hand was against him. That's me. I am outcast, and so should I be. I am the vilest, the most despicable creature that ever crawled on the face of this planet. My name is Angel and I am a vampire. I am anathema. I am accursed. I have my soul back now, and it is as if I had never had it before, as if the Rom had never raised their hand against me. I see with fresh eyes my base and contemptible evil. I don't know what the man from Wolfram and Hart has done to me, but it is as if it were 1898 again. All those thousands who suffered and died at my hands cry out to me to be avenged. I remember every single one. The acts of casual cruelty play out over and over before my mind's eye. I am weighted down by thoughts of the harm I have done. I had thought I might be able to win forgiveness, but I see now that I can never aspire to such a dream. My depraved acts of wickedness in the time before I was first given back my soul will ensure that I burn in the deepest fires of Hell forever. My demon will rejoice at that, I am sure, since he will no doubt have absolute sovereignty over my damned and suffering soul. It is no more than I deserve. But worse, even, than those sins that I committed before the vengeance of the Rom, are the vicious iniquities I have perpetrated during the last year. I have killed and maimed and terrorised. I have murdered Jenny, who tried to help me, who was the lover of the man who called me friend. These are dreadful things. But oh, the things I have done to the woman I say I love. How could I? How dare I even inhabit the same landscape as she? When they freed me, I could not even look at her, for shame, because I could not have borne the accusation and loathing I would have seen in her eyes. I have raped her, brutalised her and terrorised her. I have shown her some of the darker parts of the demon's nature though, thank God, not the darkest. But the demon has wanted to

show her all those dark desires. He has cozened her with lies of love, but he has wanted to kill her, hurt her, damage her, have her screaming his name in pain and pleasure. And the demon is me. I have wanted all those things. No more. Not ever again. And, despite the cries for vengeance that have engulfed me for all these weeks, despite the shame and pain and guilt of what I have done, I drank from them. I drank from them all. I drank from my beloved. I can feel them in my blood now. Even the Watcher, who detests me, has offered me his blood, and I have taken it. Human blood. Monster. Buffy, Spike, Drusilla, Giles. I drank from them all. Even though I do not know for certain whether I have visited upon them the horrors of the werewolf's bite. Monster. Those lawyers, Wolfram and Hart. He said they had a use for me. For Angelus. That can't be good. I cannot permit the demon ever to be free again. I cannot allow him to destroy any more lives. And Buffy. I cannot allow him near her ever again. At the thought of her, I can hear him, from where I have him caged. He's begging and pleading. I believe that he is weeping, and that is strange. I have never before known him to beg, let alone weep. Raging and storming, yes. Dripping depravity, like poison, in my ear. Begging, no. I didn't think he had it in him. But I cannot ever permit him to harm her again. Since my soul is such a slippery thing, there is only one way to prevent him from being freed the next time I lose control. I am sitting on a hillside above Los Angeles, which is the nearest I can permit myself to come to her. She used to live here. It is as close as I can get. There is a saying, 'Cometh the hour, cometh the man'. Well, if there is any man left in me, it is time for him to step forward and put an end to this farce. I cannot permit what has happened to ever happen again. Thoughts of her surround me, envelop me, draw me back to her. Never! There is a bond between her and me from our - their - mating. I have had to close it, so that she will not be corrupted by my misbegotten sin. I have felt her for days, trying to soothe me, to reassure me. Her kind and generous spirit opened itself to me, but I could only ever pollute it. There is nothing good to

be got from me or from my worthless carcass. So I ended the connection. I will open it one more time, to say farewell, and to let her know that she will be troubled by me no more. At least my ashes can fertilise next year's wildflowers, here where they overlook the city that she once lived in. That's the only good I can ever hope to come to. So I will sit on this hillside, and welcome the sunrise. I will not have long to wait.

THE END

Cometh The Hour

Author: Jo Feedback: Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com Disclaimer: Wish as I might, most of these characters aren't mine. If they were, I'd look after them better. The ones you've never heard of? They're mine. No money will ever be made from this fic. Distribution: Angel Elders. You want it? Really? Gosh. Just tell me where it's going please. Spoilers: BtVS season 4. Angel didn't get his soul back in season 2. Oz didn't get to be a werewolf in season 2. Do not get me started on who sired Spike - it's exactly as it says in this story. Rating: NC17 for sex, some of which is non-consensual, and some bad language. Some of the thinking is from Angelus' point of view and it's, well, demonic. Content: B/A(us) Alternate past reality leading to an alternate future, which is where we began, in 'The Nature of the Beast'. Keep that in mind. Summary: The follow-up to 'Tyger, Tyger'. If you haven't read that, it might be best if you do.

Author's notes: 1 Because this series is changing the events of the past, and because the inertia of narrative history is trying to tie knots and carry on, you can expect to see artefacts, and events, and perhaps meet people, in unexpected times and places. The timeline is fractured. If you don't

like it, that's fine. Just make it your turn to write something for the rest of us to read. 2 Heath Robinson - if you aren't familiar with this guy, look him up. He drew the most wonderful contraptions for performing the simplest jobs. 3 Simon Magus - a sorcerer named in the Bible. See Acts of the Apostles, chapter 8 verses 924. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My name's Angelus, and I'm a demon. But then, you knew that. After so many years of being chained and caged and suffocated by that nauseating soul, I just can't describe how good it is to be free. Like coming back from Hell would be for you. Or for the soul. The soul is *never* coming back here, let me tell you. They say 'cometh the hour, cometh the man'. I may not be a man, but I've definitely come. In more ways than one. Well, a lot more ways than one. Double entendre. Hard as it is (see, I've done it again), just leave the sex aside for a minute. I'm back. And I'm hungry. Hungry for everything. Blood, sex, and power. Those are the only things that matter. Everything else follows from those things. Have you ever wondered what it's like to be me? No? Liar. Never wondered about the thrill of the hunt? The pleasure of the kill? The feel of that hot, fear-spiced blood hitting the back of your throat? Mmmphmakes me hungry just to think about it. Never thought about what it's truly like to be a vampire? All those extraordinary senses? All that physical power? Or what it's like to be *with* a vampire? Fucked by a vampire? Drunk by a vampire? Of course you have. You wouldn't be human if you hadn't. Prey animals are always fascinated by their predator. Me, now, I've nothing of humanity in me. And let me tell you a secret. Neither did the soul. He wanted everything I want. He enjoyed everything I enjoy. He just wasn't man enough or vampire enough to go for it. Guilt kept getting in the way. Well, I'm a guilt-free zone now. And I'm going to have it all. Blood, sex and power. Blood? Keep the butcher's brew that the soul used to make do on. Let me tell you, Sunnydale has the widest variety of blood you could ever want. Young and innocent (not a lot of that, so

I leave that for special occasions), rich, poor, drugged, corrupt, happy, afraid, miserable, angry, drunk, and oh so many more - every variation you can possibly think of, here on the Hellmouth. And, perhaps best of all, rampantly hormonal teenagers. Lots of them. Did you know that every person's blood tastes different, not only from every other person, but also from how they tasted yesterday, or will taste tomorrow? A skilled vampire, like me, can change the taste, while I'm drinking. It depends on what I'm doing to them as they die. On how long I keep them alive before they die. Pain and pleasure, it's wondrous what those two emotions will do to the taste of blood. Buffy may be the Slayer, but you don't think she's going to cramp my style, do you? I remember the last group of teenagers I took down. I think it was a quarter of the High School football team. They were high, they were adrenaline-fuelled, and they fought me, hard. At the end they were terrified and in pain. They were delicious. No need to remember the reason I chose them. No need to tell Buffy Sex? I've got sex. Real, red-hot sex. Vampires have often been involved with humans before. Just occasionally, vampires have been involved with slayers, although that is very rare, and the names of the lucky bastards who did it are a mantra to vampire-kind. NEVER has a vampire been involved with a slayer like my Buffy, and NEVER has a slayer been so enslaved as she is. So far as I know, no vampire and slayer have ever been mated before and believe me, I'd know. She's one of a kind. So am I. No point in false modesty, is there? And, of course, there's always Spike and Drusilla, when we get back. Separately or together, I don't mind. It'll be whatever I feel like at the time. But I'll never share her, of course. Any vampire who touches her, who encroaches on my possession, my plaything, is dust. Any human male who touches her, who sullies my mate with his grubby, sweaty fingers, will pay for that insolence in pain every day for the rest of his life. And I'll make sure it's a very, very long life, chained to my wall. I'm a master of pain, believe me. I've got money. Although that isn't quite the same as power, it gives you a good start down the road. Not that I didn't have money before, although *he* would never let us use it - and it might be hard to reactivate century-old investments. I'll have to get some lawyers on to that. Anyone know a good law firm? But the money I've got now makes that investment look like chicken shit. 5,000 blue-white diamonds of the first water. Average them at 30,000 bucks apiece - some of these babies are *big*. That's a cool 150 mill. Although I'll need to spread out my selling if I don't want to flood the market. No problem. And the estate here? At a conservative estimate the income is worth 10 mill a year, if I use the local proceeds to buy things that are highly portable and highly marketable back in our dimension. And cheap here in Hylek. More diamonds, maybe. Or other gems. Platinum is readily available here, too. And other things. Decisions, decisions. Power? Well, I'm coming to that. I'm Master of Sunnydale. The Hellmouth is mine and mine

alone. The rest of California won't be far behind. It's the seventh largest economy in the world, did you know? Oh, I don't want to be Governor, or some other half-assed politician. I'll just take over the underworld. That's where the real power lies, no matter what you humans think. We rule you. Nothing happens without our permission. Anything that we want - well, we get it. With money, the Slayer, the power of the Hellmouth, and my own particular talents, all the underworld powers of California will be mine in months. After that? I'm the Big Bad Wolf and I'll just eat it all up. The Northern Hemisphere will be my territory, I think. That's where all the real power is. The rest is hardly worth bothering about, but I'll see how I feel. It's nice to lie here and plan, under the sun of a different dimension, with my pet Slayer ready to take care of my every need. She still loves the soul, she said so on the battlefield when she thought I was he, but she'll come to love me more than she ever loved him. I'll make damned sure of it. She'll forget him. She'll forget him quicker when I stop her calling me by his name. I've held my hand so far because she was so close to death. She's better now - every one of my senses tells me that - so no need to hold back. She'll learn. Me? Don't be stupid. Demons don't love. We *own*. She is mine. Nothing touches my property. We're very territorial, did you know? Not just for living space, but for everything on the space that we claim. Rather like the master of a pride of lions. We'll fight to the death for our property. It's all mine. Nobody touches anything I've claimed. Not without my permission. She's top of the list. At the moment. I might tire of her, I might not. She'll be whatever I want for as long as I desire. It's been a good day so far. We've made lofucked in bed, in the shower, on the floor, up against the wall, in the shower again. Then we came out to this jewel of a lake, sapphireblue, set in green and purple hills. We fucked in the lake and we fucked out here on the hillside. I think I fucked her into near unconsciousness, that last time. In fact, it was such a thorough fuck that I feel a bit somnolent myself. I've got a lot of time to make up, you understand. I've held back in the arena of sex, lately, as well. I want her warm and willing. I want her addicted to me in every conceivable way. Oh, I could just as easily have taken her any way I pleased, whenever I pleased - she can't resist me, you know - but I want her willing. And it's what *I* want that counts.

Right now, I'm thinking that I want to fuck again. Hard and fast and now. Oh, I can be tender, when I want. When it serves my purpose. You've seen it, so you know I can. But it's what I want, and when I want. Right? What's that you say? That lamentable scene in the hospital? A momentary weakness, that's all. We vampires do not like to be deprived of any of our possessions, and I certainly didn't want to lose my prize slayer. And I was tired. I know I've been back for a year now, but it's been action packed. Even a vampire can get tired. And for some of that time I was almost as deranged as Drusilla. Just look at the whole Acathla incident. Why, in the name of everything that's unholy, would I want to get the world sucked into *his* particular Hell? A loser like that? It would have served the Rom right, though, for putting that curse on me, but it would have been the devil's own job getting back out. I'd have done it, mind you, when I came to my senses. The devil? That's me. And Egypt. That took up a lot of my time. And energy. I have a score to settle with Aurelius, the head of my clan. I'll do that when the time is right. He'll see me take everything away from him, just before I dust him. The clan will be mine. There are some others who'll see what's coming, too. Some demons here who know what I did to House Vermald, and who have made themselves scarce. I'll find them. You know what I'm talking about. I can wait. In fact, waiting adds to the pleasure - my pleasure - as it adds to their fear. My suffering here may not have lasted long in terms of time, but they'll pay it back a hundred-fold. Starting with that corrupt Council. Word of a demon. House Orbath? They were honourable and they kept their word, held to their bargain. We are allies, now. On the estate, here, I'm subject to them. I hold it at their pleasure. That's right and proper, and how it was agreed. On my world, perhaps I'll let them have territories at my pleasure. Something in Western Europe, perhaps? What goes around comes around. There aren't many of them left, after the civil war, but they hold the throne. Haraeth is ruler of Hylek for the next seven years. In my opinion, it will be for a lot longer than that, provided he does a half-decent job. The war has almost wiped out the House structure and what the war didn't kill, the Vermald assassins did a pretty thorough job of - we didn't rescue that many from the dungeons. It will be at least a generation, perhaps more, before the structure is workable again. Who knows, maybe they will never go back to how it was before. That's their decision, and only time will tell. House Demeral? They are one of the good guys - my sort of good guy, that is. Perhaps I'll

give them some territory, too, to hold in my name. Britain? Japan? We'll see how it goes. It's good to have allies you can trust, who cleave to you because of shared history, loyalty and debt. Orbath, Demeral and Aurelian, we all owe each other for the last few weeks. That'll be good enough to last a lifetime, is my guess. An immortal lifetime. Whilst I've been musing, I've been playing. Guess what with? And whose? She's awake now. See you later. *************** My, my; things are galloping on apace. We've come back from our secluded mountain glen. I'm not going to tell you what you missed. That's mine to know about, yours to imagine. I'll just say it got a bit rough - and I do like it that way. Right in the middle of things, she called me Angel, and I lost it, rather. She's felt my fists before, but not like this. This was punishment, not battle, and caught her by surprise. To ram the lesson home, so to speak, she got it where she didn't expect it, and she didn't get to come. Well, not for a bit. She'll learn, and I'll have fun teaching her. Pain is almost as important to a vampire as blood, you know. It's the demon in us. Hah-hah. Of course, it wasn't that much pain, as a first lesson. Just a touch. By my standards, anyway. And I kissed it all better afterwards. In a manner of speaking. Like I said, I want her willing in every way. Enough! I'm getting hard as a rock again, just thinking about it. Anyway, we came back to our house - the best way to describe it is as a moated manor house; that'll give you the picture. There was a message from Haraeth. I should probably call him Orbath now, and I will, in public. That is as it should be. But he owes his throne to me, twice over. It'll be Haraeth in private. Seems that he's decided to have an advisory council, and not the one that ran the Great Games. He wants Buffy and me as members. Buffy backed off that - feels she's more of a doer than an advisor. Good girl. Knows her limits. She'll still sit on it though, at my insistence. She has to learn about power, if she is to rule as my Consort. That is what I intend for her, after all. *********** Loving a demon is never going to be easy. Yes, I have to admit it, although I haven't told him yet, except for that day on the battlefield, when I thought I would die. I don't think he heard, though. At least, he's never brought it up, and I'm sure he would have. It's what he wants, I think. I love this demon. My demon. He isn't Angel, and he'll never be Angel. I wish he were.

Every night, I pray that Angel can somehow be restored to me, and every morning, I wake up wishing that he were with me. But all I have is this demon wearing his flesh, and yes, I love him too. Somehow, in some way that I don't yet understand - may never understand - it's all him, Angel and Angelus. It doesn't mean I don't still want my Angel, but perhaps I can never have him again. I hang onto everything of him that I can. I remember every word, every expression, every touch, every taste of him; every feel of his skin against mine. Everything. And I treasure those memories. I'll let none of it go, ever. But he's not here. His alter ego is. He's mine, and I'm his. He's said nothing yet about our status as mates, but there is something very real between us. I know it. I feel it in my blood. Does he love me? Can a demon love? What is love, anyway? He'll cherish and protect me, I know that. He can be very tender, when he wants to be; veryAngel-like. Unlike Angel, he'll try to dominate me in every conceivable way, and he'll try to use my status as Slayer to his advantage. But he won't deny what I am. He gets off on pain. I'm going to have to learn how to deal with that, deflect it where I can. But I'm the Slayer - I'm not exactly normal myself. And he will never, ever let me go. Not unless he tires of me, then he'll probably kill me. But until that day, I can use him, just as he will use me. I'm going to have to stop thinking of saving individual souls, and think of the greater good. I can never kill this demon. Leaving aside the fact that he's Angel, he's very strong. I really don't think I *can* kill him. So, for the sake of the world, this is better anyway. I can try to control him. It will take time, but I think I can do it. And I'm the only Slayer who has the slightest hope of doing so. I must remember that. And I know that he isn't as secure in himself as he would have us all believe. I told him today that I'll be starting at college after the vacation. He wouldn't even let me finish. He raged at me, and absolutely forbad me to go. But here's something I've worked out, and can use in the future. He's at his most brutal when he's afraid. I felt it in him. Fear. He's afraid of what will happen if I'm out of his territory. He knows Mom wants me to go to UCLA, and he can't bear the thought of me being in LA. So I admitted to him that I had decided to go to college in Sunnydale. What else would I do? That is where the Hellmouth is. That is where I have to be. He took that as a victory and made up for his earlier rage, then. Just how he did that is something I don't intend to share with you. We had another problem, though, today. He beat me andpunished me in other ways. I still

hurt from that. It was fear again. I called him Angel, and I'm sure he's afraid that he'll never have the same sort of love from me that Angel had. Silly boy. But this is a battle I can't and won't lose. If I give way on everything, I might as well be his slave and I won't be that. I'll call him Angelus in public. That's right and proper. He has a standing to maintain, and so do I. We must support each other there. But something tells me that if I want to survive this relationship, I must be his equal, and to do that, he needs to accept some things. Calling him Angel is the first and the smallest of things that I can choose to fight him on. You can't talk things like that through with a demon. You just have to fight them until they give in. I will win, so I guess I'm going to have to take my lumps - and give him some back when I can. Small steps. And it makes me feel that Angel is still around somewhere. I need that. What if I do, somehow, manage to get Angel back? He'll remember everything the demon did. Everything *we* did. Will he be able to live with it? Will he be able to forgive me? I really can't think about that. Not unless that hour ever comes. ************** Haraeth gave me the information about the new Hellmouth, just as soon as he had wrung it out of the court astrologers. Almost literally. He's a good boy, that one. And the sheer nerve of it! Remember I had a run-in with the Kahlavi cult when they wanted to take over my Hellmouth? And how we settled our differences after I made them see things my way? They are the bastards who are going to open a new one. I have two reasons to go after them now - opening a Hellmouth, and breaking their agreement with me. If I'm going to rule most of the known world - and I *am*, trust me on that - the underworld needs to know that I'm a demon of my word. Our treaty contained certain dire consequences for any party breaking their word. I like dire consequences when I'm visiting them on somebody else. We've got a few weeks yet - they'll be gathering at the specified spot, just over the Canadian border, whereas now they're scattered all over. I'll wait until the gathering, and then do a bit of visiting. I don't think I'll take Buffy, just in case there's any jiggery-pokery at our Hellmouth while I'm gone. We have to leave Hylek for a while now, but I like it here. We'll be back before long. ************* My daughter and her boyfriend are back from wherever they've been to. I can't like it, of course, but she seems happy. Happier than she has been in a very long time, anyway. Happier than sinceAngelwent away. I cried at night while they were gone; cried for her,

for me, for the lost Angel as well, strangely enough. I can't do that now she's back. Mothers have to remain strong. She's told me about the Games. I can only feel relief that she didn't tell me before. They say ignorance is bliss, and in my case, it was true. I know she hasn't told me - will never tell me - all the truth about this or anything else, just the edited highlights, but I'll never know blissful ignorance again, will I? One thing I now know is the truth about that pagan artwork all over her body - he has it too. When I first saw it, all those weeks ago, I thought she'd been tattooed, and almost went out of my mind. Then, when I realised it was just surface ink, she told me it was a practical joke that had gone wrong - it was supposed to wash off, but now it would have to wear off. And it is. She tells me that's because the Games have ended, and the need for these body paintings has gone, so they will go too. She's wearing long sleeves to hide them, but I can see from the spiral on her cheek. And on his. They tell me that's the spiral of eternity. Fitting, I suppose, although I wish it weren't. And it is wearing off, so perhaps that's a sign to me of hope for the future. I know I'm clutching at straws, but what else do I have to clutch at? We're getting things ready for her start at college the week after next. I wanted her to go to LA, where her previous friends and our family are, but she said no. She has to stay on the Hellmouth, she said. That's her job. Maybe so. But I don't think he would have let her leave anyway, and I'm afraid that was just as important to her. I'll just have to keep thinking of ways to put some distance between them. Tonight, she's off to the Bronze with her friends, so I'm going off to the movies and dinner with one of mine. Girls' night out. *********** I have a little job for Willow the Witch. I'm already in her debt. Twice. There's something I want her to do for me, so that will make it thrice. There's magic in numbers, you know. You believe in magic, don't you? You've seen Willow do it, dammit! Well, three is a particularly powerful number. It's the number of creation. It represents the special moment, the carpe diem, the 'goddamit *that* was the moment' feeling. It stands for the magic itself, and for the spark of life. It's also the number of completion, which is why so much of magic has to be said in threes. It's the shortcut to infinity. As I said, powerful stuff. Not to worry, we're just talking about the burden of debt here, but you need to be careful of threes.

Come to think of it, I already owe Willow for three. There were the two spells to get us back from Hylek and, so far as I know - and I *would* know - she's kept her silence aboutwell, you know what about. As I said, you need to be careful of threes. So I'm here, knocking at her bedroom doors which, so very handily, lead straight out onto the balcony. I don't need an invitation, of course. I've been in here once - or at least the soul has. That's good enough for me. I'm just being polite. I am, you know, sometimes. She opens the door and stands there, rather flustered. You may have noticed that Willow flusters easily, although she always comes through in a pinch. "Um...Angelus...erhi. Erm." "May I come in?" "Erm." Enough of being polite. "I don't need an invitation, Willow. Remember?" I push past her. Oz is there. I notice that his hand is bandaged - perhaps that's why he's here on a Friday night, instead of playing in his band somewhere. I haven't interrupted anything, not that I would have minded, of course. Vampires aren't shy about sex. I think I've said that before somewhere. But I have no reason to hold them up if they want to push things along. I might want to sample her some time, but that can wait. I won't enforce droit de seigneur. Not on these two. They've helped me, and I can't say that for a lot of humans or demons. So I come straight to the point. "Willow. I'm already in your debt for three favours. I need another. I want you to use your hacker skills. Find me the best possible firm of lawyers to retrieve my investments. My *past* investments. I'll deal with future ones, but I need to be able to access those I made before." There's something in that room that's bothering me, but I can't immediately place what it is. A scent. It'll come to me.

Willow may be diffident, but nobody ever accused her of being stupid. "Ohoh, my! You had investments before the Rom..?" She reddens, thinking she's said something to upset me. On another day it might. "Yes. By my reckoning, they're going to be worth collecting. I need a lawyer who can deal with a hundred-year gap. Can you find me one that has a big success record at shady deals in this kind of area?" The scent is distracting me, now. I know it, I just can't place it. She gives me the best answer I'm likely to get from diffident Willow. "I'll try." Good enough. I smile my thanks to both of them and leave. I think I'll go for a prowl, and see what the night has to offer. It's almost full moon. That brings back memories Town centre, I think. It's Friday night. I'll look for some one who's had some fun. *********** I am so angry. My girlfriend was only half an hour late for the movie when she rang to say she wouldn't be coming. Domestic crisis. Thank God for mobile phones, I suppose. I'd taken a cab down here, and there isn't one to be had for love or money now. It's still quite early so I decided to take a shortcut through a couple of alleys to see if I have better luck a couple of streets over. That's been a mistake, I see now. The alleys are deserted except for me and thisthing. It looks like Angelus when he turned himself into a vampire to prove to me that they exist. Uglier, though. Even more brutish. So perhaps this is one of hisget? Is that the right word? Well, I doubt it will matter soon. He's bared his fangs, and he's coming for me. I can hear the scream ripping out of my throat. Please, let someone hear. Oh, my. Someone did hear. Him. I've never seen anything like it. Angelus drops from the roof of a three-storey building, as if he were stepping off the pavement. Like a cat. He takes the thing from behind and sinks his fangs into its neck, drinking from it until it stops struggling, then he picks it up and snaps its spine across his raised knee, as if it were no more than a dead branch. Then he finds a sharp piece of wood lying near a dumpster and he stabs it in the heart. It simply explodes into dust. Is this what Buffy does, I wonder? My tiny, delicate

daughter? Well, presumably not the drinking part. But the rest? The killing? Of course she does. This is when I really begin to believe. Now he's coming towards me. Is he going to finish what thatthingstarted? No. He's offering me his arm, but I seem to have lost the power of movement. "Joyce," he says, in a mildly chiding tone. "What are you doing in a place like this? I would have expected the Slayer's mother to know better." He lifts my hand, and tucks it firmly into the crook of his arm. He draws me out towards the lights of the beaten track. Somehow, he finds one of those elusive taxis as if it had been waiting just for him. I expect him to leave me then, go about whatever business I interrupted I'm terrified to think what that might be - but no; he gets into the taxi with me, and gives the driver my address. When we get out, he pays for the taxi, although I try to. He looks mildly annoyed as I do, so I put my money away. I really don't want to make him angry. Then he walks me to my door. "Is Buffy in?" "Noshe's gone to the Bronze with her friends." "I'll look her up there, then. And Joyce, none of my women puts themselves in danger like that. Please don't go near dark alleys. Just in case, you'll have an escort from now on. One of my minions will follow you any night when you go out. Oh, and you shouldn't expect Buffy back until late on Sunday." And with that, he's gone without waiting for an answer, as if he had never been here. I have to be thankful for his arrival. But just what did he mean by 'his women'? Providing me with a permanent escort? And kidnapping my daughter? Insufferable! I hope Buffy knees him in the groin. No, he'll only hurt her if she does. And yet, she doesn't seem afraid of him, the way the rest of us are. Perhaps it's like having one of those big fierce dogs that are fine if you master them, show them you are leader of the pack? No, I'm pretty sure it isn't like that. Whatever, she seems able to manage him. Thank God. ************ I have a surprise for my girl. Well, two of them. I'm sure she'll like them, especially when she finds out that one of them is me. When I get to the Bronze, I see that she's dancing with

Xander and Cordelia. Willow and Oz aren't here. Bet I can guess where they are. My investments have waited a long time; they'll wait a little while longer for a bit of teenage lust. I'll need to grab a bite at some time during the evening, but the vamp I've drunk has taken the edge off my hunger, at least. I just need something fresh to top it off. Later will do. I know she feels me coming, but she doesn't show it until I slink up behind her, my arms wrapped around her waist and my body moulded against her back. Just the sight of her has made me hard, and I rub against her. She purrs in pleasure. She's halfway to being a vampire already. We spend an hour just dancing and hanging out. I'm amused at Xander. He's filled with anger and outrage. He'd be such a tasty treat but, sadly, I'd better pass on that. Buffy really wouldn't appreciate it. Cordelia has a more measured approach. Maybe she'll drum some sense into him. But she's not drumming much else. I can tell that he's still a virgin. That only increases my amusement. And that makes him angrier. When I've had enough, we say goodnight. I'm taking her back to the mansion. We haven't spent time there together since our stolen weekend. I'm going to steal another one, now. Forget the snack. This is morepressing. I'll send Spike out for something in a bag. He'll take the piss, but a taste of my fist will shut him up. Vampires drink bagged blood more commonly than we let on. I just prefer not to. When we get back to the mansion, Spike and Dru have come back from hunting. He grumbles at being sent out again, but does so. Wonders will never cease. And I don't forget my words to Joyce. Spike will also make sure the minions set up a rota for escort duty. The one I staked? He wasn't one of mine. He belonged to another clan that I've tolerated here. I'll take care of that when I've finished this weekend, and not before. When we get up to my rooms, I tell her what happened to her mother tonight. She looks pale and shocked, and wants to leave, but I hold her. Firmly. I tell her what arrangements I've made for her mother's protection and she slaps me! Me! She then starts to give me a tongue lashing, starting with my character and antecedents, and dwelling at length on the insufferable nature of my highhandedness. She's beautiful in a temper. I let her rage for a while, watching her prowl back and forth across the room like the lioness I keep comparing her to, savouring the aroma of her anger and her arousal, and then I shut her up by pushing her onto the bed and

giving her a different sort of tongue lashing of my own. All I get from her then are mewls of need. I don't let her come, though. Not yet. I'm a damned good lover. The best, really. And my girl is one hell of a fuck. The fuck of a lifetime, actually, even one as long as mine. Together, well, what can I say? Eat your heart out. When I go to Canada to sort out this traitorous bunch of Kahlavi, I'll likely be away a little while. Before I go, I'm going to fill her life with pleasure. She's beautiful, but never so beautiful as when she has that look of breathless rapture as she enters orgasm. Then, I never want to stop looking at her, and I never want to stop bringing that look to her face. So, I bring her gently back down, then make her climb that peak again. And again. And again. Until she's clawing at me in her need, and her pleasure is just about to turn to pain. Then I finally relent and let her reach the summit. My reward is that look on her face. Not that I can see it from where I am, of course. Never mind, I'll see it many times during this weekend, and in the long hereafter. We're only into openers, now. I haven't even undressed her yet, I just shredded her panties in my impatience. They were only two scraps of lace and two pieces of ribbon anyway - they couldn't possibly be called panties. Just the way I like them. When I've finished feasting on her - only for the moment, you understand - I clean her up and draw her gently to her feet. She's having a small problem with her legs, which are none too steady. Good. I hold her close, so that she doesn't fall, and so that she can feel what's coming to her before too much longer. I think she likes what she feels. When she's steady again, it's time for my second surprise. I take her to a wardrobe next to my own. It's for her. There's hardly anything in there yet. I want her to choose her own wardrobe. I'll advise her, of course. As my Consort, there are certainexpectations. She'll have the pleasure of choosing, though. I've started her off with one thing. A black dress. It's simple, and it's long. It's dcollet, with a deeply plunging neckline to show her off to advantage, and it's cut on the bias, so that whilst it drapes in elegant folds, it also clings to every line and curve of her, and moves with her like a second skin. And it's in silk, that most wondrous fabric. Not that dreadful thin stuff that passes for silk nowadays, and not the heavy bombazine beloved of Victorian dowagers. A nice, medium weight silk that reflects the light and accentuates the whole of her. Every demon in Hell can slaver over her, lust after her, envy me. She is mine, and none will dare to touch her, except me.

When she gets the dress on, it's breathtaking. Or rather, she's even more breathtaking in it. If I had to breathe, I'd be having trouble now. There's something to go with it. I've had it made for her. A high, ornate choker of garnets and jet, with lacy loops of tiny jet and garnet beads forming a tracery at the base of the neck. Hanging from the centre is my blue-white diamond, in a pendent setting of white gold and surrounded by small black diamonds. I fasten it around her slender throat. Even I'm having trouble with the breathing now. I want to rip everything off her, but she clearly likes it, so I don't. "That's the first part of your wardrobe here. I want you by my side for important occasions. I want the community to know that you are my Consort. We'll go to a modiste, you can choose some dresses and all the other bits and pieces, and we'll take it from there." My voice doesn't sound as if it belongs to me. It's roughened and husky with lust. I'm sure my eyes have turned to amber and I don't know how I'm keeping my claws off the front of the dress. I want to ravish her in its rags, she wearing nothing but that trumpery bit of jewellery. But she likes the dress. She reaches out her little hand and presses it just where it will do most harm to my selfcontrol. My chest tightens another notch. That dress is going to come off her in the next fifteen seconds, one way or another. I unzip it with hands that are almost steady, and she steps out of it. I leave the choker, though. It's like drops of blood at her throat. For a vampire, that is one hell of a turn-on, I can tell you. She's got nothing else on but her skin. I can wait no longer, and I scoop her up and toss her onto the bed. It's my clothes that get ripped off instead. Dammit, I liked that shirt. It's afterwards, long afterwards, just as the sun is starting to rise, and we are drifting off to sleep - for a while - that I notice something. I'm curled around her back and I trace my fingers over the blue wolves entwined around her arms, the spiral of eternity on her cheek, and the prowling leopard on her back. She has more wolves around her legs, just as I do, and dragons on her stomach, but just at this moment I can't see those. The wolves, the spiral and the leopard are all visibly fading. One thing isn't, though. The copy of Angel's tattoo. Of MY tattoo. That is as fresh and crisp as the day Ezrafel drew it. He said that the drawings would

fade, unless we wished to keep them. Has she wished to keep that, and why? Is it for me? Or for her lost love? If it's for him, I might just have to kill her. I doubt it would end there. ************ We've made love for hours. He calls it sex, or fucking, but the way he fucked me? It's making love. I may not have much experience to go by, but it's almost what Angel and I had. Would have had, if we'd had time for more than one night together. As morning broke, I fell asleep in the arms of a demon, feeling warm and safe and cherished. When I wake up early in the afternoon, though, I know I am in trouble. They say that prey animals can smell danger. As the Slayer, I may be a hunter, but my species is still a vampire's prey, and I can smell danger. If I want to end up as more than a brief, damp squeak, I need to be very careful indeed. I can tell that he's awake. His finger starts carefully tracing a pattern on my back, although I can't tell what. I move to turn over, to face him, but he holds me steady. His arm is like the arm of a marble statue, hard and unyielding. I can't see them, but I'd hazard a guess that his eyes, his face, have that same quality. Hard as stone. He must be able to scent my fear - I can't hope to fool him - so I try to distract him. I wriggle backwards. He's hard there, too. Somehow, though, everything feels different. More threatening. Nevertheless, I reach around and start to stroke him, just as I know he likes it. And he does. But the hand that has been tracing patterns on my back reaches down and clasps my wrist, hard enough to grind the bones together painfully. I don't struggle, though. Now is the time to submit. I wait for him, and try to calm my racing heart. A predator, wired for the hunt, might go into a killing frenzy out of sheer instinct if faced with a helpless prey oozing the pheromones of fear. How many cat owners have lost their beloved moggy to an equally beloved pet greyhound? It's in the blood. When he speaks, his voice is light and teasing, and has that edge of madness that it had a year ago. Dear God. I think I'm in such trouble, and I have no idea why. Whatever made me think I could do this? Could tame this most vicious of all demons? "It isn't fading, Buff. Why not? The others are." "What?" Not the best response I could have mustered, but my brain is still a bit sleep-fogged, and I have no idea what he's talking about. He releases my wrist, which starts throbbing in agony,

and goes back to tracing patterns on my back. "Do you like it so much that you wanted to keep it?" I have it now. The tattoo. My response is pure instinct, not thought out at all. A shriek of womanly indignation. "Not fading? That shyster keeper said it would all fade. Everything, except what we wanted to keep" My voice trails off as I realise what I've said. The meaning of what he's said. Not fading? Shit. I try not to remember how hard I've been praying for Angel's return, how hard I've been husbanding every memory of him. Look where it's got me. I try to concentrate solely on the world as it is. "Well, I *do* like it. I just didn't realise the magic would take that so literally." I say that with some asperity. It's the truth after all. He gives a low chuckle that sounds just a little morenormal. Please God. I wish the thing away, as if it might suddenly start fading under his nose. No such luck, of course. "Do you like it for me, babe? Or for him?" Ah. There we have it. What was I saying about the relationship between his fear and his brutality? I think we're seeing an example in spades, here. And if I lie, he will know. Those damned vampire senses. He'll literally sniff out a lie before I've finished it. Only the truth, then. Carefully selected. "Both of you." I feel his body stiffen, and I think my life probably hangs by a thread, now. If I look round, I believe that I'll see the vampire face. Certainly, his fingers feeldifferent. I sigh, and press on. Dear God, let me be making the right decisions, here. For all our sakes. If he murders me, I suspect that the insanity will return and Sunnydale will see a bloodbath. Perhaps more than just Sunnydale. And he might not only kill me. "You know I love him, and always will. I can't stop that, just like you can't stop drinking blood. It's part of who we are." I feel him shift a little behind me, and I'm certain now that the vampire fangs are close to my neck, reaching for me. If he were warm and breathing, I would feel his hot, moist breath on my nape, smell the rankness of predator on his exhalations. I hurry on, without seeming to, I hope. Try not to show fear, little animal.

"I love you too, now. I told you that, on the battlefield, when I thought I was going to die. I needed you to know, but I think you didn't hear me. I don't know whether you want me to love you, or whether you'll kill me because of it, but there's no help for it. I do. I love you as I loved him. And I'm yours. You know I'm yours by blood. I'm yours by choice, as well, now. So I guess part of me wanted to keep the tattoo for both of you. But you're the one I'm with, you're the one I choose to be with. Anyway, I didn't know it wasn't fading. I can't see that bit." I allow myself to sound a bit querulous at the end. Well, how many times do you gaze at your shoulder blade, for goodness' sake? He says nothing for several very long minutes, and I remain silent, but then his fingers start to move over me again. This time, they feel less like claws. When his mouth touches the nape of my neck, it's his human lips I feel, and I shudder with pleasure as well as relief. I think I might survive this day. Then he's turning me over, and kissing me as if he were starved for me. And I for him. He makes love to me then - and it *is* making love, there cannot be the least doubt of it - with fevered desperation. Something has changed, and I don't know what. But I think it might be a good thing. ********** I almost killed her. There is, of course, dead and dead where vampires are concerned. I'm not sure which it would have been, but it was almost one of them. I would haveregrettedthat. The world would have felt the weight of my regret, believe me. But passion rules me as much as it rules you; more perhaps; passion is certainly ruling me now. I have lain here all morning, anger roiling through me. I was sure that she had kept the tattoo because of her feelings for the hated soul, and for hours, I've wanted to tear her to shreds and feast on her remains; or fuck her to death, making her come again and again in her own blood, die screaming my name in ecstasy; or perhaps chain her to my wall and spend the rest of our eternal lives showing her every nuance of pain I've ever learned; or chain her to my bed and spend the rest of our eternal lives making her love me. I've visualised every one in exquisite detail. One of them and all of them. How I've kept control I don't know. I hear the change in her heartbeat as she starts to rouse from sleep. Still I can't decide which of the variations to visit on her. I continue to hold her with my left arm. Her neck is lying in the crook of my elbow, my forearm across her breasts, my hand lying loosely over her right

shoulder. She's so tiny. It would be so easy toNo! That would be too quick. With my right hand, I start to trace the outlines of the tattoo. And now she's awake, although still a little drowsy from sleep, drugged by satiation from our recent couplings. She tries to turn over, but I can't and won't look at her face. Not yet. Not until I've made my mind up what to do. I tighten the grip of my left arm, holding her firm against my chest. She feels her danger, somehow. Slayer senses, perhaps? Human instinct, maybe? More likely, I think, she feels me in her blood. She's my mate, and it is this that tells her of her danger, although she might not yet understand the power of our bonding. Whatever, now I can smell the delicious aroma of her fear. My predator instincts kick into overdrive, and my control starts to slip. Now she's trying that oldest of feminine tricks. She presses backwards, her lush rear end enveloping and caressing the erection I've had through all my tortured musings, the erection that long since ceased to be pleasurable and has caused me exquisite pain for hours. My control slips a little more. Perhaps I'll settle for fucking her to death, making her come in her own bloodNo! No decisions, not yet. I keep up the soothing rhythm of tracing the tattoo, concentrating on that, trying to ignore, as I have for all these hours, the pain of my desire. Her fear spikes upwards. It's my blood in her, my enslavement of her, warning her of her danger. I remember that bead of blood on her lips, on that night in Hylek, my blood; the unexpected bead of blood that completed the circle of mated bonding, bringing about my enslavement to her. I remember how I thought of killing her then to end that enslavement, and now I'm hanging onto control by a thread. One more little push, and my passion will make playthings of us all. And then she reaches backwards with her free right hand and starts to stroke me. For a moment, everything stops, times ceases for me, and I just AM. I'm nothing more than a hungry erection and I want to fuck NOW. If I do that, it will be in her blood, and I'll drink her down, impaled on my cock and my fangs, and the world will burn. I fight, as I have never fought before, to hang onto that thread of control. And time starts to run again. With the hand that has been tracing the tattoo, I reach down and grasp her wrist, pulling her away from me before it's too late. I know that I'm hurting her, badly, grinding the bones of her wrist together. If she were truly human, her wrist would have been crushed beyond repair. I can't help it though. I'm still fighting for control and I have no capacity for exercising restraint elsewhere. Long minutes pass before it's safe for me to speak. She doesn't

try to move, and I feel her absolute submission. That helps. I hardly recognise the voice, when I do speak, but I know where it comes from. The edge of madness. Does she understand the danger we are all in, I wonder? "It isn't fading, Buff. Why not? The others are." "What?" Insolence! That's no answer for me, her mate, her lord and master! I'm back to fighting for control, so I release her wrist and go back to tracing the pattern on her back until I can speak again. "Do you like it so much that you wanted to keep it?" Her reply surprises me and, strangely, ratchets down my struggle for self control by a notch. "Not fading? That shyster keeper said it would all fade. Everything, except what we wanted to keep" She trails off there, realising what she's said. The ratchet works the other way now and I try to think of some of the finer things this world has to offer, the reasons why I shouldn't destroy it. They all taste like ashes. "Well, I *do* like it. I just didn't realise the magic would take that so literally." Her tone is sharp and acerbic. Typical Slayer Buffy. And she doesn't smell of a lie. I find that I can take a small step back from the edge, and, unbidden, a small laugh of relief rises to my lips. It's only been a small step, but any amount of release from the grip of that madness has to be welcomed. I have just enough control now to press on. Only just, though. "Do you like it for me, babe? Or for him?" She fully realises her danger now. I can sense it in her blood. In my blood. "Both of you." I stiffen, involuntarily, and take a large stride back into that grey cloud, back to the very brink. The smallest thing now, and we'll be lost. I've fully morphed, and my claws are ready to rip at her heart, to tear that traitorous organ out of her body and eat it before her dying eyes.

"You know I love him, and always will. I can't stop that, just like you can't stop drinking blood. It's part of who we are." That's it. I shift behind her, bending my head to reach her, my fangs opening to embrace her neck, above the jewelled choker, those bloody drops of stone, to sink into her carotid and draw the life from her. I'll turn her, and she will feel my anger for eternity. She will know pain that she has never dreamt of, even in her wildest nightmares. For this betrayal, she will know agony for every second of forever; she will never be free of it, never be free of me and my revenge. Fear has been pouring off her in waves, but now it's replaced by acceptance. She knows what is coming to her, what she deserves. I close my golden eyes as the pain of her betrayal lances through me. In a second, it will be done. "I love you too, now." What? I will myself to absolute stillness, my fangs still poised, not quite touching yet, but so close that I can taste the salt of her sweat on the air between us. "I told you that, on the battlefield, when I thought I was going to die. I needed you to know, but I think you didn't hear me. I don't know whether you want me to love you, or whether you'll kill me because of it, but there's no help for it. I do. I love you as I loved him. And I'm yours. You know I'm yours by blood. I'm yours by choice, as well, now. So I guess part of me wanted to keep the tattoo for both of you. But you're the one I'm with, you're the one I choose to be with. Anyway, I didn't know it wasn't fading. I can't see that bit." I am absolutely motionless, as only a predator can be. Only a predator that almost made the worst mistake of his life, for whom disaster has been averted by the merest sliver of a hair's breadth. As the grey fog of madness recedes, I step away again from the precipice, moving back until it is a pencil line in the distance. Thoughts skitter around my mind like cockroaches. Thoughts of what I had planned to do to her, what I would have done to the world. What I would have done to me. Thoughts like a sea of corruption, a tide of foulness, washing up against the base of a lighthouse, a beacon of hope, a radiance in this hellish darkness. A beacon made up of three intertwined elements. I told you, beware the power of three. She loves me. I can smell the truth of that on her. I can feel it, like a pounding in my blood. I've known it for a long time, without knowing it, if you take my meaning. I think I've known it since that first stay in Hylek, long before she saved my life that night in the park. But it was

in the park that I should have recognised it. Foolishness. Shame on you, Angelus. I love her. I've known it for a long time, and I haven't had the wit to recognise it. I've felt it, like a fever in my blood, and it has driven so much of what I have done since I returned. It has been my lodestar, my guiding light. It will be my damnation. It is this love that forms the pillar of strength around which the other two elements entwine. No matter what else, I love her. Even though demons cannot love, I do. I'll be damned for eternity, but I do. With every fibre of my being. I don't know what this means, how it will manifest, whether it will temper my behaviour towards her, or whether loving the Slayer will end up killing her, or killing me, but I do know that just as she is enslaved by me, I truly am utterly enslaved by her. And I would have it no differently. Though it means that I will suffer the torments of hell forever, as a recusant and an outcast, whilst that slippery soul will spend eternity in the aether with her, yet I would have it no differently. She loves Angel. I am surprised to find that I will let her. I just want her to love me more. I don't want her to stop loving that spineless creature. She isn't fickle; she is more steadfast than that. Once she loves, she loves for eternity. If she can love him for eternity, perhaps she can love me for eternity, too. If she ever stops loving him, perhaps she will stop loving me. Then the world will certainly burn. I understand now how entwined the three of us are. I think. Slowly, I close my jaws. It takes an enormous effort to change back. It's never been as hard as this. I swallow back the taste of her and I allow myself to truly feel, to be, to just bask in her. And I have control again - except in one important area. Everything that has happened, every passion that I have felt, am feeling now, is concentrated in one exquisitely painful area. If I don't do something about that, I'm going to come where I lie. I press my lips to her neck. I want to reach for her pulse point, to suckle it, to feel the life pounding through her, but I daren't. That would put the seal on my lack of control. I turn her over, and I kiss her as if I'm starving for her - which I am. She returns the kiss with the same fervour. I want to worship her body, offer her the adoration she so deserves, silently beg her forgiveness for the horrors I have almost perpetrated, but the worship must be fleeting or I shall disgrace myself.

I suckle at her nipples a little, and feel the jolt of desire that runs through her body. There is no time for more. I will make it up to her later, but now, I cannot. When I was first turned, Darla delighted in exerting the authority of a sire over me, in showing me how absolutely I was in her power. One of her favourite games was to suck me and fuck me with every ounce of her vampiric strength and endurance, and with one hundred and fifty years' worth of experience, for entire nights at a time. And not permit me to come for entire nights at a time. Without even the aid of a cock ring. Young, inexperienced vampires have as little control as young, inexperienced human males. I learnt control at the hands of the harshest taskmistress memories of her punishments whenever I failed make me shudder even now. It is only those lessons that have so far prevented me from spending myself all over my beloved. But Darla never had her hand around my heart, as Buffy does. And even Darla never had this grip on my balls. Silently vowing to do whatever is necessary, to abase myself in whatever way will ensure her greatest pleasure for the rest of this weekend, to bring her to raptures she has never even dreamed about, for her own sake and as penance for the haste I am now in, I plunge into her in one long, smooth stroke. She opens for me, welcomes me, clenches down on me as if she will never release me. I bite through my lip in my efforts not to let go, to hold out just a few moments longer. I feel the blood leaking from the wound, and the smell almost finishes me. Then, she raises her head and kisses me. When she tastes the salt of the blood, she suckles on it, exactly as I would have done had it been hers. And I am gone. My orgasm explodes from me with a power I do not believe I have ever experienced in all my years. I am mindless and lost. I am caught in the darkness of la petite mort. It is many seconds before I realise that, far from being left unsatisfied, she, too, is in the throes of rapture. My blood has brought her to completion. She is truly my mate in every aspect. Everything between us has changed. I don't realise that I am in game face until she presses her finger against one of my fangs, drawing just a few drops of blood, which she allows me to suckle. And I am lost again, drowning in her velvet depths, our passion feeding off each other's. We cleave to each other as we fall, together, down into a welcoming darkness. When I recover myself, I am utterly and completely spent. You know that vampires need no recovery time. At least, I don't. I am a demon, with complete control of this dead flesh that I inhabit. I just need to think that I want it, to allow my flesh to do it, and it is there for me,

ready and willing. Not now. I am completely sated and drained, satisfied as I have never been before. I can sense that my beloved is the same. I am sprawled over her, but there is something I must say, so I stay where I am, holding her fast. As I wait for her to come back to herself, I feel every inch of her skin cleaving to me and I think of my darkness pressing down on her light, trying to extinguish it; my cold, dead flesh draining her heat. Then I realise that I am wrong, that something different is happening. The chill of the tomb is being dispelled by her warmth, her living, loving warmth. She has already started to warm my still heart, and now her flesh is warming mine. It's only temporary, of course, but I wonder what other effects she will have on me. I can feel the smile on my lips. I *know* I'll enjoy finding out, even if she does have to drag those changes, kicking and screaming, from me. And now she is rousing, and claims my full attention. She is flushed from our mating, and her full lips are smiling with that particular sweetness of the well satisfied. Her golden hair is fanned out across my pillow and she looks like a wanton, willing lover. I want to see her like that forever. But I will not, and a small icicle of fear lodges itself in my heart. I realise now that I want her always with this warmth, this spirit, this *life* that seeps into even my cold bones. I will keep her with me for the rest of her life, but I will never turn her. I refuse to even contemplate what will happenafter. Let the now be enough for now. She raises her hand to my face with a look of love that any man of either of our species would impale himself to earn. It is only as she touches me that I realise I am still in game face. She does not care. I must be squeezing the breath from her, her tiny body engulfed by my larger one, but she seems not to care about that, either. She strokes my roughened brow, and I can feel the waves of love coming from her. I must say it now. I will leave my countenance as it is, so that she will truly know who speaks to her. I take her face between my hands, careful not to mar her with my claws. We stay that way for a moment, gazes locked, and the word is forced from me as a groan. "Buffy"

***********

Cometh The Hour

Author: Jo Feedback: Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* The depth of his need was clear, even to me in my inexperience. What surprised me was the depth of my own. He plunges into me, and I want to take him further and further, until I no longer know which is his flesh and which is mine. I raise my head to kiss him, to have the unique taste of him, and I see that his bottom lip is bleeding, although I don't remember it being cut. I suck his lip between my own, tonguing the blood off, savouring the richness of even those few drops. He doesn't stop me, and I am too far gone myself to wonder whether it willchangeme. It tastes of cinnamon and power and Angel. As I suck on the tiny wound, seeking more, he shudders, then howls his fulfilment. The feel of his seed within me triggers my own, and as I enter the first throes, the last thing I remember is that the face I have kissed is the face of the vampire. I need to acknowledge that I love the demon as well as the man. I raise my hand and press my finger to his sharpest fang. A little blood wells up and I smear it against his tongue, allowing him to suckle on my finger as I did on his lip. Then we are both lost, again, in bliss. I have no words to describe it. When I come back to myself, his body is still resting on mine. I raise my hand to touch his face, the face of the demon, and love sings through me. He takes my face in his hands and speaks my name with a groan. "Buffy" I want him to know how truly his I am. With vampires I am sure that actions speak louder than words. Instinctively, it seems, I know what to do. I lift my legs and lock them around his waist, not a request for him to enter me - I know that we are both too sated just now for that but a gesture of submission, opening my body to him for his pleasure whenever he should choose. Without breaking gaze, I stretch my neck, baring my throat for him. He gives something between a sob and a groan, but he doesn't move. I wait, for whatever it is I know he wants to say. ************* My Consort, my mate, my beloved. She lies beneath me, her body open to me in invitation, her neck offered to me in submission. It makes me want to roar in triumph. This woman, this Slayer, is displaying her acceptance of anything I might wish to do; has opened herself for me, and only for me. For the moment, I am overwhelmed. I am used only to the demonic emotions, which mainly spring from anger and from selfish desires. The demonic thrill of

possession and of mastery over this wondrous creature is thrumming in my blood. Different emotions are also coursing through me. Human emotions, yet still ones that I am not very familiar with. The man I was, Liam, was not used to the finer feelings. I'm not sure how to handle all of this. A trip to Canada will be good, I think, despite the enforced separation from my beloved. It will give me a chance to get someperspective. But there are still things I need to say. "When you told me you loved me, there on the battlefield, I heard you." I stroke her throat with my thumbs as I speak, lightly, delicately, as if I were preparing to accept her offering. The choker glistens almost as temptingly as her skin. "I thought at the time that you were hallucinating, that you believed me to be Angel. You were so close to death" My throat closes and I cannot for the moment continue. She remains still whilst I swallow past the lump in my throat at the memory of that terrible moment. "It was you who didn't hear what I said. You faded from consciousness too quickly. I asked you not to leave me. I said that I loved you, and that I needed you." I still the movement of my hands, and both she and the world seem to wait, breathless, for this unnatural declaration to be completed. "And I swear to you, by all the powers of light and darkness, by every god in every dimension, that I love you now and forever. You are mine, for eternity. I will never be him, not ever again. I am only and always a demon. But I love you. You will stand by my side as my Consort, and I will cherish and protect you in every way known to human or demon kind. I will never leave you or abandon you, and we will face together everything the future brings to us." There. It is done. There is a moment of stillness and the word 'forever' seems to echo mockingly around the room. The sliver of fear in my heart makes itself felt, and I know that, since I will never turn her, I will feel that shard in my heart every day for the rest of my life. I must learn to live with it. She brings her hand back to my face, wraps it around the back of my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. She whispers only one word. "Beloved." When the kiss breaks, I move aside, and

we curl together, sated and at peace. There are many things that we will need to work through in this most extreme of pairings, but none of them are beyond us and they can all wait. We sleep until evening. When we awake, it is because someone has knocked on the door. Spike enters the outer room and stops to look at us, a sardonic expression on his face. I know that we are curled together like kittens in a basket, but he'd just better damn well get used to it. He's going to see this a lot. Buffy is awake now, as well, and a lot less comfortable about Spike than I am. Well, she's going to have to get used to it, too. He walks forward, into the bedroom, clearly trying out certain introductory phrases in his head. Spike is so transparent. Eventually he decides just to plunge in to what he has to say. "You might want to get up now - there's a delegation of Norag demons, come to pay tribute and make peace with you." Really? Who are the Norag, and what do they want with me? Why do they think I am at war with them? Still, homage and tribute make a good introduction. We'll meet them, Buffy and I. I tell Spike to keep them occupied for half an hour, and we'll be down. I can get ready more quickly, but Buffy might appreciate the time. I know how women are. I feel different, somehow. Demons are driven, you know, creatures of appetite. Oh, we feel satisfaction, for a while, when we've had our fill of a particular appetite. But there are always other things to do. Everything in our existence is about meeting our own desires, always thirsting for something else. Now? I feelcontentment. Peace. Is this, I wonder, how Soul Boy felt when he handed our body over to me? If it is, then he feltgood. I'm waiting for Buffy to have her shower - she needs more time afterwards than I do. I think I'll pop in there and torment her a little, put an edge on *her* appetite for later That was nice. I still feelhappy. That's the only word I can find to describe it. It isn't a demonic feeling, let me tell you. I've still got all of those but, now, there's more. It won't change any of my plans. I just feel moreamenable. How interesting the future is going to be! ************ This day has been really weird, and it isn't getting any more normal. I didn't realise that he had food in for me, but he has - just some quick snacks, anyway. Apparently dinner out was

on the agenda for tonight, but we have demons first. I've put my hair up, using some black combs that he borrowed from Drusilla for me, and I have the black dress, the choker and some very classy black shoes. Nothing else. My underwear got shredded, remember? The outfit he bought for me doesn't seem to include underwear and, by his smirk, that was deliberate. Now we are descending the staircase to the grand hall, my hand on his arm. I hope I don't trip and spoil the effect! The three demons are robed and cowled, although the cowls are pushed back. I don't remember these ones. We remain standing to receive them. They have some boxes with them. Tribute? Spike does the introductions, in a rather casual manner that I can see annoys Angel. The one called Ixolon comes forward to speak on behalf of the group. He bows deeply before he speaks. "We come before the Master of the Hellmouth in supplication, seeking your forgiveness and your blessing on our humble clan." Uh-oh. Forgiveness? I don't know how mellow my lover is feeling, but forgiveness doesn't often feature with him. I wonder what for? He asks them. There's only a slight edge to his voice. "The Kahlavi cult tricked us into selling the Slayer to the Hylekians. We had no idea that she was yours. We come to make such amends as are possible." What! It was this bunch that I want to take them apart myself, but then I remember all the good things that have come from that kidnapping. Perhaps we owe them rather than the other way round. My anger disappears - more or less. Not so with my demon. He's still on first instincts. My lover is filled with rage, and a growl is rising from him. Well, at least they get the merit of making the confession. If he had had to hunt them down - which he intended to do - they wouldn't have got this far into their explanation. They are hurriedly opening up the boxes. "We were paid 100 Hylekian diamonds. We have sold 4 and much of the money is spent, but we offer to you the 96 that remain, together with as much of the sale price as we have left. $35,000."

Two of the boxes are opened, now, one containing the wonderful, glittering jewels. I didn't realise that diamonds come in different colours, but these do. The other box contains cash. Bundles of crisp, new notes. "What makes you think that these will make reparation for what you did to my mate, my Consort?" His words are cold and icy, and all the more deadly for that. But at least he hasn't killed them yet. "They cannot, my lord. They are merely to show that we will not profit by our error. We hope that our other gift will show you the depth of our repentance." Ixolon takes a small box from one of his comrades. He comes forward gingerly and opens it. It contains a not very attractive ring, in rather an old-fashioned setting, but Angel's gaze is riveted to it. So is Spike's. "We have the Gem of Amara, my lord, and we make a gift of it to you. We hope that you might consider this as our reparation." He reaches for the gift. He sees that I do not understand its significance. As he puts it on, he turns to me. "It makes a vampire invulnerable, my dear. Sunlight, stakes, it doesn't matter. Nothing can kill me whilst I'm wearing this." He seems pleased. Oh, my. ************ The Norag demons have, indeed, given me a gift beyond price. If they are able to find magical artefacts such as this, then perhaps they can find more. "Your gift is pleasing to me, and is accepted. So is the tribute. But your sin against me was a mortal one, and if your clan wishes to live, this does not end your debt to me. How many are there, in your clan?" "Less than 50, my lord. We have never been numerous." "You will select three of your members to be attached to my court. They will do my bidding. Once they have been accepted by me, you will not change them for other individuals without my express approval. Your service to me will last for 50 years, one year for each member of

the clan. After that, if the alliance has proved useful to both parties, it may be continued at my discretion. Should they prove unfaithful or unsatisfactory, I will kill first them, then the rest of you. Is that clear?" "May I have a moment to confer, my lord?" I incline my head graciously. You see what I have just done? They have pre-empted my anger at their taking of the Slayer. They knew that I would eventually find them, so they have come forward of their own accord. They have told me who bears the blame for Buffy's abduction whilst accepting their part in it. This shows wisdom and courage that I can put to use. They have brought me just about the best present you could imagine, in the Gem, and have indicated, by bringing tribute, that they have placed themselves in the position of my vassals, subject to my will. I have further tied them to me for 50 years. But to do so will also be seen by them as a reward. They are the first to pay homage to me, and they will have seniority at court. They will have prestige and influence if they can carry it off. And after the 50 years, they have a shot at a different sort of alliance. I don't think they can believe their luck. They'll pick the best and smartest to come here. They won't want to waste this chance. And if they don't live up to expectations? I don't think you need me to answer that, do you? Mind you, they escaped by the skin of their teeth. They took my woman and my first thought was to slaughter them. But Buffy The scent from her is, well, pleased, as if she had just met old and valued friends. That held me for a moment. And I think of all I have gained from their sin. Things might have been different, had I not gone to Hylek to look for Buffy. I will be generous. I'm not sure Buffy understands, yet, just what has happened here. She is such a great warrior, with so many otherdesirablequalities that I tend to forget how young she is, how unschooled in diplomacy. I'll explain it to her later. She must learn, and I am confident that she will. Ixolon accepts the deal with some alacrity. The three will be here in two days. I take my beloved out for dinner. We are going to the best that Sunnydale currently has to offer. I'll make sure that it has much more in the years to come. This will be an important city instead

of a hick town. It should be. I'm here. You know, I rather like this new state of mind. Had this happened a day or two ago, I would have killed the demons out of hand. Now I have something much more useful than some corpses. I told you I was feeling more amenable. Still, I have a score to settle yet with the Kahlavi cult. Their debt to me has increased considerably. I intend to collect in full. With interest. ************* I've enjoyed this night. I'm still feelingmellow. Buffy, too, enjoyed her meal. I can eat human food, so I did. Aged beef, very rare. It made a change. After that, we came back here and satisfied otherappetites. So now, we are back to kittens in a basket. I am curled around my lover, as she lies drifting off to sleep. But there is something wrong. It is to do with the Gem of Amara. She has said nothing, but she does not need to. She is worried, in her capacity as Slayer, about invulnerable vampires, and those same vampires moving around during daylight hours. Even me. But others as well, if I choose to lend out the ring. As if I would be so foolish. Well, strange as it may seem, I have no intention of using the Gem often. I don't need to. The night is my milieu, and I am more comfortable there. Most of those I shall be dealing with are also more comfortable at night. The Gem will be useful for other times. And for protection when I need it. Besides, I don't want word of this leaking out until my position is more unassailable - I'd spend all my time fighting off every vamp in the hemisphere if they knew I had the Gem. I leave our bed and search through a drawer in the dresser. Mr Pointy lies in there, still stained with my blood. Next to it is a fine but strong silver chain, a beautifully worked figaro, onto which is threaded the claddagh ring that Soul Boy gave her, the one that I have recently removed from its place on the stake. It is still a little deformed, but not much. Next to it on the chain is the claddagh that he wore. It doesn't take much thought, really. There is a time for compromise. A time for giving, rather than taking. This is that time, that hour. I haven't yet told her that I no longer resent her love for Angel - well, not as much as I used to, anyway. I can kill two birds with one stone here. I'm a demon. I can only tolerate so many unselfish acts in a day. I take the Gem off my

finger and thread it onto the silver chain. I take both claddagh off the chain and put his back on my finger. Then I return to the bed. She has roused a little. I fasten the chain around her neck and slide her claddagh onto her finger. Her left ring finger, of course. "When I return from Canada, you and I will have a mating ceremony. You *are* my mate, and I am yours, but the ritual has been a bit flaky, to say the least. We will do it properly. There are some auspicious days for these rituals in the next few months." Not that I'm superstitious, you understand. Never. It is just that some days are auspicious. Right? "For that ritual, I'll have some rings made. Rings just for us. Until then, I want you to wear this one, the one that SouAngel gave you, and I will wear his. I know he still has a place in your heart, and I won't try to deny that, so long as you love me as well as you do him. "I know you're worried about how I'll use the Gem. I want you to know that you can trust me, so I'm giving it to you as a pledge. You will be guardian of the Gem. I'll ask for it whenever I need it, but you will be its keeper." I seem to have said something that's made her all warm and fuzzy and emotional. I'm definitely going to take advantage of that, right now *********** I let Buffy go back home on Sunday. I'm still feeling happy, though. I'll drop by her window later, when my business is finished. First, I'm off to see the Aventi clan. Remember the stupid fledgling who almost took Joyce out? Time for me to tidy up that loose end. I know where they live. What a dump. They're a disgrace to vampiredom. I knew they'd fallen on hard times, what with me being back and all, but will you just look at this joint? I'll just sit in what looks like the master's chair, and wait. I don't think they'll be long. They aren't staying out hunting much in case I find them out in the open. They think they are safe here. Foolishness. Ah! Here they come. There are six of them. I have enough stakes. ************

Well, that was bracing. The four minions are gone, dusted. I have the childe at my mercy, my stake pressed to his silent heart, and the head of the clan, Estevan, is definitely far too fond of him. He's going to give in. I'm going to let him. I'm going to take Estevan and the childe Thomaso, into my service. In more ways than one. Estevan first. I've come prepared and I handcuff Thomaso to some convenient ironwork. He can watch. I explain what crime I am punishing. They both look a bit sick. Still, they aren't dust. They should be grateful for this moreamenableside of me. There are a number of ways to deal with survivors from another clan. In your tribal wars, you kill them, enslave them or ransom them. We're much the same. I'm going for the enslavement route. For us, it doesn't quite mean what it does for you, but it's a close enough description. I've had my eye on these two for a while as brighter than the average. I offer them that alternative or the stake. They choose to live. Both of them are good looking enough to serve me. They will start as minions, but they will be able to work their way up. Why will I be able to trust them, these two who are no better than conquered enemies? They'll have my blood, after all. This isn't going to be the same as making a childe, but it will bind them to me just as surely. Watch, and learn. Estevan has stripped for me now. There need be no preliminaries or preparations. This is not a lover's tryst. This is a bonding, master and servant. He bends over the arm of the chair. Good boy. I enter him in one swift thrust, and it's all he can do not to cry out. He's *very* tight. He's about a century old, and I guess it's been most of that time since this was done to him. The boy watches, wide-eyed. He's next. I ride Estevan hard, and as I approach my peak, I slam my fangs into his neck, and drink long and deep, draining him as thoroughly as I safely can. His blood is good, better than I had expected. Old and powerful. Nothing like mine, of course, or like any other Aurelian. Not bad, though. He hasn't struggled, much; he knows I'll drain him dry if I'm not pleased with him. At last, I've taken as much as I think is necessary. I reach forward and offer him my wrist. He takes it, and drinks. That's when I explode into him. Let me tell you, absolutely nothing gets me off like being drunk from. And being drunk from whilst enslaving a master vampire? I let out a roar of triumph, and he is mine. My bondservant. The whelp is next. He pleases me, too. When I am done, they are both weak and hungry. They need blood. I've given them as much of mine as I'm prepared to - enough to remake them as vampires, enough to make them mine,

not enough to make them any stronger than they were before. I'll bring something fresh for them, then they can sleep it off and join me tomorrow night. I feel pleased with myself. Not only have I got a couple of top class minions who have potential for much more than that, who are tied to me in ways that you could not possibly understand, but there is one less clan operating in Sunnydale. Buffy will be pleased with me for that. I've left them a couple of muggers I picked up in the park, after drinking my fill, of course is *anyone* still stupid enough to go through the park after dark? What with the vamps, the demons and the muggers, I'm not sure any ordinary humans have a chance of making it out alive! Although it has to be said, I'm going back through the park. The night in Sunnydale has nothing more dangerous than me; I'm off to see my woman; the full moon is riding high; I've got a belly full of blood, and all's right with the world. I'm in the middle of the park when I smell something. I recognise it instantly. It's the smell from Willow's room, when I last saw her and Oz. It'soh my. Now I know exactly what it is. It's been a very long time since I last came across that scent. It's Oz and it's werewolf. And it's coming from the same personbeing, whatever. I don't think little Willow knows. I wonder whether Oz knows, and I remember that bandage on his hand. I'm damned sure Buffy doesn't know. Here's a pretty pickle! I think I'd better take a detour and investigate. This is my town, and I really don't want werewolves operating around here. They leave far too much mess behind them. Then I see Oz, and he's definitely gone through some changes. He's an infant at hunting though, and he's going to make a mess of it. I guess this is his first. And he's after some more of the football team. I've already had grief from Buffy about that. I've had to 'fess up to her why I turned so many of them in one night. They were doing something that she definitely wouldn't approve of to a couple of unwilling girls, right here in this very park, so I exacted revenge for her. My sort of revenge though. I enjoyed them, as they had been enjoying the girls, then I turned them, so I could enjoy them some more. She's staked the lot of them now. Shame. I wasn't going to tell her about it - I don't want her thinking I'm going to act as her proxy or her white knight, in any way whatsoever - but at the time that she was putting her question she kind of had me by the balls. Literally. So I told her. She's got Slayer strength, remember, even if she was just teasing.

So, I can't let Oz take any more of the team, or I'll be in serious shit. I'll be even deeper in it, I think, if I let Oz get hurt. The trials of being a master vampire, I ask you I'm behind Oz before he knows it, and before he can spring. He's no match for me, of course, so I take him down andshit! He's *bitten* me! Me! What effect do you think a werewolf bite has on a vampire? What do you mean, me tell you? How the hell should I know? I was born in Ireland not the damn Carpathians. I knock Oz over the head, heft him over my shoulder, and set off for the mansion. My goodwill is rapidly evaporating. It isn't just that I have a werewolf bite, nor that I have a werewolf to deal with now; I'm missing time with my woman here. When I get back to the mansion, Spike takes the piss, just as you would imagine. In fact, he's howling with laughter, and he simply doesn't see my fist, the one that knocks him clear across the main hall. That shuts him up. We manage to rig up some of the chains (if you don't want to know, you shouldn't ask) to form a collar and harness, and get Wolf Boy securely fastened to the wall. A vampire can't tug those chains loose, so he won't. It's all a bit Heath Robinson, but it'll do. Now what? I'm not so worried about Oz. What's done is done, there, and he's a werewolf for life. What about me, though? Spike has seen the teeth marks in my hand and started to laugh again. I'm too tired to hit him, this time. Then just to put the seal on this evening, the one that started so well and is now degenerating into farce, the hostages arrive. The three Norag demons. *********** I'm laughing so hard that if I were a human, I think I'd piss myself. It's not really funny, though, and I soon sober up. A vampire bitten by a werewolf. I don't remember that being done before. Perhaps it's just never been recorded, which might not be a good sign. Usually weres stay well away from us, but this one's just a baby, with no more sense than a puppy. And now we've got demons. It's that Ixolon, come back with two of his buddies, holding to their word. My sire is not in his most receptive mood. "Don't just stand there gaping, make yourselves useful!" he snaps (yeah, that is exactly the right word). It's just at this moment that Dru chooses to come back from hunting, and she goes off into gales of laughter as well, until tears are running down her face. Can't be too

serious, then. I have to admit that she's mad as a March hare, but she'd never let anything bad happen to her Daddy if she could help it. And I think she'd have one of her visions, if it was going to be all doom and gloom. He pulls himself together with a visible effort - only because of the demons, I think. "Spike. Get the wolf fed. See what you and the Norag can find out about the bites. Dru, you help him. I'll be back later." And without another word he storms out of the door. Off to see his ladylove, I suppose. She's changed him, has that one, although I don't know if he knows it yet. Something happened on Friday night. Oh, he's still the old Angelus, who can take the skin off my back while whistling a merry tune, but he's different. More. Not more anything, really. Just more. I like it, although I'm damned if I'll tell him. And the Norag should like it. Their skins would have been decorating his trophy room, not many days ago, for what they did to one of his. I send one of the minions out with one of the Norags - they need to find their way around town, might as well start now. The minion couldn't believe his ears when I told him what to look for. You see, ol' Spike likes his body arranged the way it is. I think it might get rearranged if I bring the wolf a human to eat. That's a change I'm not too keen on in the Sire - he's starting to get picky about who we can eat. Slayer-whipped, that's what he is, but you won't catch me calling him that to his face. We've got all that money from the Norags - he thinks I don't know where it is, but I do - so I could send the minion out to get as much steak as the wolf can shove down his gullet. I won't, though. I can have more fun than that. I set the other two Norags on to Angelus' library - I was never one for research, myself. Learning by doing, that's my style. Dru and I go upstairs for a bit of mutual learning by doing. And we're in the middle of a particularly intense piece of doing when all hell breaks loose downstairs. Bloody hell! When we get there, Dru and I are back to hysterics. The wolf is going frantic at the smell of blood. The minions are tripping over themselves trying to catch the wolf's dinner. The Norags look bemused. There's a lot of blood spatter. There's a lot of other, rather more smelly, spatter. Angelus will be displeased. I'd better take a hand. Here, piggy, piggy, piggy Hell's bells, I can't do this for laughing. **********

I'm sitting in the tree outside my lover's window, watching her undress, letting the sight of her assuage the fear and the anger that is running through my blood. I've told you before that anger is innate to demons. Not like this. Oh, I've known rage such as you humans can barely imagine, but I am always in control, and my rage does not make me irrational. Now is different. I can feel my blood boiling, filled with the rising red tide of ungoverned, unreasoning rage. My veins itch with it. My fangs are down, and I cannot control my appearance. This has *never* happened to me since I was a few days old. Darla made sure of that. But I have always been strong, always able to control. Not now. I look at my beloved, and I can taste the hot, sweet spurt of her blood in my mouth, feel her torn flesh under my claws. I can taste the tender meat of her, melting on my tongue. I am not *safe*. Not even for her. I should leave here. But if I do, wherever I go, I will destroy everything I find. The need to destroy is pounding through me, the heat of my rage burning through my flesh. My claws are shredded and gory, stained with my own blood, as I clench my hands around the wood of this bough, splitting and splintering it in an effort to restrain myself. If I stay, she will hear me, I'm sure, and I cannot think of what might happen. If I go, I will do things that will seriously piss her off, and that she might not forgive. I must cling onto that, as this dark cloud of madness tries to steal my sanity. And yet something else is happening. Something is rising within me to challenge this rage. I cannot describe it. I do not know what it is. It is not me, Angelus, and it is certainly not that puling man-child, Liam. Just for a moment there, I wondered if it was some residue of *soul*, something of Angel that was left behind. But I shared this body with that ridiculous whining spirit for a century, and I know every tint of his thoughts, every shade of his emotions. Everything. It isn't him. And what help could he be, indeed? So, what is it? There is nowhere else for me to go until I can master myself. If I lose this battle, she will die. So will everyone and everything else. And I will die in the ashes of the burning world. I *must* master myself. I do *not* want to tear the red, bleeding flesh from her golden body, feel the hot, thick blood drip down my jaws, feel the gush of slaver at the taste of her. I do *not* wish to crunch my teeth around the whiteness of her bones, feel them splinter in my teeth, savour the sweet marrow that they contain No! I will stay here until I am safe. Until she is safe with me

It is a long time before I can retract my fangs; before I can look on her as anything but meat; before I can override the urge to tear into her most tender places and feast in truth on her silken flesh. But whatever else came to my aid has done its work. I am almost a vampire again, with only a vampire's rage and desires. These I know. These I can master. I can only pray to the powers of hell that that *other* rage does not return, does not catch me unawares. That my demon self is strong enough if it does. Predators can stay still and silent for hours, waiting for prey to come along. Ambush hunting, it's called. Even Soul Boy loved to sit here, watching her. Half the time she never knew. She doesn't know I'm here. We are mates. We can sense each other. But I'm better at this than she is. Even in that uncontrolled state that almost brought me to disaster, I could still hide from her senses. When she gets more experienced, I won't be able to do it, so I'll take advantage of it while I can. I think I've been here for about an hour, and she's ready for sleep now. She doesn't think I will come to her. Not much longer, and she'll put out the light. She's wondering why I've left her alone for the night. Her mother's out, so we don't need to go back to the mansion. Just a little while longer, and I'll introduce her to things that go bump in the night. Give her a thank you for anchoring my sanity tonight. Meanwhile, I just love watching her. Must be the only thing Soul Boy and me have in common. ************ I lie in the dark, and I'm lonely. I don't know why he hasn't come to see me tonight. I miss him so when I'm not with him. I used to think that Angel and I are soul mates. I still think it, in fact, and I will never be persuaded to think differently. Strangely, though, I feel the same way about my demon. How can a demon be a soul mate? And as with Angel, I feel that I've known him forever, *will* know him forever. Do you think that could be true? Do you think that we get more than one go round? More than one shot at life? I wish I understood more about what happens afterwards. Somehow, I think that Angel or Angelus, it's all him. I don't know how that could be, but I just think it is. Don't you ever feel certain about things that you can't really know about, but you do? That's how I feel. Slayers never get to live very long, you know. The hereafter is therefore a matter of some concern. We just never seem to get chance to look into it. We find out by doing, mostly. But, you know, I get the feeling that, with Angelus by my side, my chances of a longer life have improved considerably. Do you think I might be right? If Angel and Angelus could be with me together, I think my life would be as happy as it could possibly be. I don't feel as if I'm betraying my sister Slayers. It just feels right.

What theGet OFF me, where are my weaponsOh. It's him. Dear God, I should have felt him coming. I put the light back on - I've been starved of the sight of him for twenty-two hours and seventeen minutes. I want to see him. He looks beautiful to me. His face is gentler than I've been used to since he lost the soul. Have I done that? I hope so. I see that his hand has been bitten and I ask him about it. He gets the slightly sheepish and slightly shifty look that I've learned means he doesn't want to answer because the answer doesn't help his macho image. It looks like a dog bite, although that seems most unlikely, and it's fresh, still bleeding. I bring his hand to my lips. I'd planned just to kiss it, but I find myself sucking at the puncture wounds, drawing on the tiny drops of blood. He rips himself away from me! Why would he do that? He sees my look of hurt and comes back to the bed, settling himself behind me so that I can lean against his still and silent chest. So peaceful, so right. He has his hands resting on my stomach, his left hand clasped over the injured right one, and won't let me look again. I thought that he would want to make love, but he seems content just to sit, for the moment. I can feel his desire, though, in the small of my back and the depths of my blood. He whispers a few endearments, and I whisper back. Then he talks about something that has been on my mind. "I'll have to leave for Canada soon. I may be gone for some time. Something around 10 days if I'm lucky, 2 to 3 weeks if I'm not. I need to spend some time in Hylek before I leave maybe a week. Will you miss me?" "Between settling into new accommodation, settling in as a freshman, and keeping Spike, Dru and your minions from dining off the entire town in your absence, do you think I'll have time to miss you?" I say airily. I suddenly don't want him to know how empty I'll be while he's away. He sees through me, though, and chuckles. Then he becomes serious again, and I feel him shift slightly behind me. He's uncomfortable about something. "You aren't going to stake Spike and Dru while I'm away are you? Feel free to stake the minions if they get out of line, but Spike and Dru?" That wasn't what he was going to say, I'm sure. This is one of those conversations where we keep fencing around each other, looking for the right opening.

"Well, I've seen plenty of chains up at the mansion, I guess I can keep them around until you get back." I remember something he said - he rarely says things without a purpose, this one. "What do you mean out of line? Have you given them a line to stick to?" His arms tighten around me. His answer is bit mumbled. "Yeah. I've put strict limits on who they can kill. Spike thinks I'm Slayer-whipped although he daren't say it to my face." "He's damned right you're Slayer-whipped" I try to turn around to face him, but his arms tighten and hold me still. I remember Friday night. Should I be worried? I don't sense that I should, but "I'm your Consort, aren't I? I guess there are someexpectationsof what I should do? Am I responsible for anything in your stead, or is that Spike?" "Who do you want it to be?" What sort of answer is that? "I think I'd have to be responsible. But the minions had better damn well stay in line or Spike will be vacuuming them up for you!" "I've got more responsibilities now." What! Please don't let him have been out making another childe. We've never discussed this so far, but I don't want him turning people. Please let that not be it. "Tonight I've dealt with the Aventi clan, the ones responsible for the attack on your mother. The minions are dead, and the master and childe have become my bondservants. And the three Norag demons have arrived. I was also thinking of asking Ezrafel to come back with me from Hylek, to take a position at court, liaise between us and our Hylek estate." Well, he has been a busy boy. I still want to know where he got the bite. A small trickle of blood is coming from under his hand. He ought to have healed now. "I guess I can deal."

He nuzzles my neck, and my spine tingles with pleasure. He must be able to sense my arousal, but he doesn't move. "Whatwhat would you do if anything happened to me?" Full-blown panic sleets through me. Even the thought of losing this man, for that is what he is to me, is more than I can bear. I struggle much harder to turn around, but again he denies me. "Well?" "II don't know. I'd have to carry on, I suppose, sacred duty and all. But I'm not going to let it happen!" I'm really fierce about that. He's nuzzled up to my cheek, and I feel his face break into a smile. He whispers something, so low that I'm not sure I heard right. It sounded like "My lioness." "Would your sacred duty involve staking Spike and Dru?" He's serious about this, so I give it some thought. Part of my mind is gibbering in fear, but another part sees the need to reassure him. He's never seemed worried about dealing with the Kahlavi cult before, but no way do I want him up there worrying about what's happening down here. I must make him believe that all will be well in his absence. He won't be able to afford any distractions. And he's building an empire here. Just a few building blocks for now, but everything starts with just a few bricks. I'm part of it. Could I make it work without him? Can I truly act as his Consort, and use what he has made for my own Slayer-purposes. I think I can. Maybe. I can try, at the very least. "Not if they'll live by the rules I set them. But you aren't only worried about them are you? You are the Master of Sunnydale, and you're worried about all those who consider themselves to be tied to you, to be your property. Aren't you?" He's silent for a few moments, then, "Yes." "Is that the vampire way?" "It's the Aurelian way. Somehow, we tend to be a bit different to your average vamp." You can say that again. "Are you going to teach me everything I need to know about being your Consort?"

"Yes." "Then I guess I'd better act the part, hadn't I? They'll all be under my protection while you are away. Them, and any other lost lambs or stray dogs you happen to take in before you go." I feel his body stiffen behind me. "You didn't get bitten by a DOG did you?" If he did, I'm going to laugh, I know I am, and his pride might not take that well. There is a very long silence now. Something important is happening here. "Angel, you asked me to trust you. Now I need you to trust me. What's wrong?" The silence stretches on. Then he tells me. Oh, God. I turn around using sheer Slayer strength, and I cup his face with my hand. "We'll look after Oz, and I'm going to make absolutely sure that nothing will happen to you. We'll get Giles on it as well as the Norags. And Ezrafel - he's a scholar. I. Will. Not. Let. You. Be. Harmed. Do you understand?" He must understand and believe. The look of love that he gives me is so pure, so much like Angel that I cannot believe this demon does not have his own soul, or at the very least part of Angel's. There is nothing of evil in that look. Nothing. I want to make love to him now. I want to show him, with every cell of my body, that I love him and that he is mine to protect, just as I am his. But we need to muster our forces over the bite and over Oz. Giles. We have to call Giles. And Willow. Oh, God, Willow ************ It's Thursday night and the gang's all here. Some of 'em don't want to be, but they've come. The Slayer has laid down the law on behalf of the old Sire, and here they are. When he got back on Monday night, I thought I would be a goner for sure. There was pig's blood and pig shit all over the mansion. Not much pig, though. Between us, we eventually got the little porker within reach of the wolf, and he fell asleep with a full belly. The Sire was

definitely not amused - I guess you had to be there, really. He made me clear it all up. Now is that the way to treat your beta male, I ask you? Dru and me made up for it afterwards, though. He'd gone up to his rooms, and I hadn't liked the look on his face at the time, so we went to see him. He stank of slayer. I don't like it, but I think I'm going to have to get used to it. Dru curled her lip, but didn't say anything, so maybe she sees something that I don't. Then again, whoever does see something that Dru sees? He's worried about the werewolf bite, I can tell, but he didn't say anything, even afterwards, when we were all curled up together, just like it used to be a century ago. I think I've said it before. I do not want to lose this family that I've been given back, after all this time. I need him, just as much as I need Dru. I'll be damned if I lose him to a werewolf! But it seems that on Monday night, all the slayerettes were mobilised, together with Angelus' resources. The Keeper had been summoned, and he was searching the scrolls and texts in Hylek. The House of Orbath, when they found out about their pet vampire's predicament, started scurrying around like spiders in the bath. Since then, Wolf Boy has been let out during the day, but back here in chains for the two remaining nights of the full moon. He's had steak to eat. The Sire has put an absolute interdict on any more livestock in the house. I argued that would mean that humans should stay away too, but he looked down that patrician nose at me and his eyes promised a very painful time indeed if I persisted. And we've all been hunting through the texts, trying to find out if the Sire will need to have a basket for three nights a month. I asked whether I should get the large economy pack of flea powder, and got a backhander for my concern. So here we are at Thursday. Apart from me and Dru, we've got Sire and Slayer, the redhead and Wolf Boy, the Norags, the Keeper, a young cousin of Orbath who brought with her a Hylekian who claims to be a shaman, and the Watcher, would you believe. Oh, and the Harris boy is here, too, with the cheerleader, but I reckon all they'll be good for is snacks afterwards. Like I said, the gang's all here.

The minions are being kept away from this. That includes the two new minions who turned up on Tuesday. I recognise them. The Sire's been bonding, then. That's not something I've known him to bother with before. I wonder why he's doing it now? We've got a ceremony going on just now, and I'm bored. Dru is fascinated. She seems to be in one of her saner moods. We've got blood from Wolf Boy and blood from Angelus, side by side on a crystal plate. The shaman is doing whatever it is that shamans do, and Witchy Willow is helping him. Everyone else is doing as they're told - do this, do that, chant this, chant that, slash this, slash that. I hate rituals. I'm bored. So I'm people-watching. Harris wants to stake Angelus. Well, that's a given, I suppose. The stripling is still infatuated with Buffy, and the thought of her giving herself to a demonically animated corpse is more than he can stand. The Watcher would like to visit on Angelus every single torture he can imagine. I never realised the depths of his hatred until tonight. I wonder why he's helping, then? You'd think he'd settle for having a werevampire he could shoot at the next full moon, just one more rabid dog. There wouldn't even be a body to account for. Hell's bells, we've finished at last. That's only taken a little under three hours. The Sire is explaining it to me, 'cos he knows I haven't a clue, but I'd need Noddy language, and all I'm getting is physics. It's about matter and energy. A human body is possessed by a demon as matter, which becomes energy when it enters the body. Or perhaps it's the other way round. Anyway, Angelus' resident demon has somehow taken care of the werewolf possession, although the shaman is vague on how, and thinks that something else has helped. He's not prepared just now to say what that something else is, but between them, the demon and his helper have made sure the matter has turned to energy, which has had to go somewhere. It's simply increased his strength. Permanently. They can't find any other effect. Lucky bastard. Oh, there will be one effect? Do I detect a future full of baskets and flea powder, after all? No such luck. Werewolves will still detect their energy in him, and will permit him to act as one of their clan. The Aurelians have always been a bit different, I know, but this? What now? Angelus is asking about the effect if someone drinks any of his blood, even a single drop, or if he bites them. Hey now, that has definitely brightened up this boring evening. The Slayer is looking defiant. She's drunk from him recently, I can tell. I wouldn't

mind having her on a leash three nights a month. I must look hopeful, because Angelus has raised his lip to me, exposing a fang. I don't know whether that's vampire or werewolf, and I'm not sure whether he knows, either. OK, shutting up now. I do not believe it! We are all sitting back down and the ritual is starting *all over again*! It's Wolf Boy's blood and Slayer's blood on the table now. Bloody Hell, don't tell me this is going to take another three hours. Back to people-watching, then. Harris and the Watcher look as if they've eaten acid. Don't like to be told what their little slayer gets up to with the Big Bad Wolf. And I don't mean Oz. Well, that's all I bloody need. The shaman doesn't have all the right words in English. Soul won't do. Neither will demon, although he seems to think that's the closer of the two. What he's trying to explain is that Angelus had already changed the matter/energy thing when she took that blood from him (I'm getting hot under the collar thinking about that!) and it was in the wrong phase to infect her. But the energy had to go somewhere. So, as I said, that's just what I need. Like Angelus, like Dru and me, she has something, some darkness, at the core of her that can change the energy, and the super-strong Slayer is now a bit stronger. Well, I'll be getting me some of that energy before long, I guess. Angelus always did like some blood play in moments of passion. He didn't offer, the other night, but he will. He'd better be careful who tastes his blood from now on, though. They are going to keep looking into it, so I'd better get me some soon, in case they find a way to control what he passes on. The silver? Don't worry. They've checked that out. It's just an ornamental metal for him. But this unknown factor is worrying Angelus, and the shaman too, although Dru seems unconcerned. I'll trust her instincts. But the shaman is going to take some of Angelus' blood, some of the Slayer's blood, some of Dru's and mine, and do some more work back in his home dimension. Wherever that is. As I said, the Aurelians have always been a bit different to other vampires. Looks like we might be even more different that I thought. It's interesting to think that the Slayer is more like us than you might have thought. She has something like a demon at her core. Not quite, but something like. I bet both the Watcher and the Keeper will start looking into that, but I think the Keeper will get more pleasure out of it

than the Watcher. He looked sick at the thought. Anyway, it'll make it easier doing business with her! *********** I can't describe how relieved I am. Ezrafel's researches suggest that, just occasionally, a vampire is bitten by a werewolf. When that happens, the vampire is overcome by ungovernable rage. I can vouch for the truth of that. There is no credible record of a vampire surviving that initial period, but there is a rumour that one once did, and became almost invulnerable. It was as if he had been given the powers of the gem of Amara. Half a sentence, in one scroll. Nothing more, and it was probably not even in this dimension. But the rage was truth enough. I am a powerful alpha demon, and I have no false modesty about my own personal abilities. But how I am alive now, and how I stopped myself from mindlessly ravaging everything around me and incinerating myself in the ashes, I truly do not know. I do not believe I have any added invulnerabilities. Sunlight and holy water still burn me I've tried them. If you think I'm going to test the effects of staking or decapitation, you're madder than Drusilla. In fact, Drusilla is the biggest comfort to me right now - she clearly does not believe anything to be seriously amiss, and she always knows. She has the sight. Her insanity may prevent her from understanding, but her powers affect her emotions. She just thinks it's funny. I would somehow have managed three nights a month as a werewolf if it had come to that, but I have to confess that I was terrified when Buffy took those few drops of my blood. To visit that possession on my golden girl, that would be heinous, even for a vampire as evil as me. Mind you, she would have made a beautiful werewolf And I could tell that Dru and Will were hurt when I didn't offer them blood the other night, in my bed. They thought I was displeased with them. I wasn't - well, not much. I would have loved to see the pig, although as the Master here I had to put a stern face on. No, it wasn't that. I was afraid of what my blood might do to them. Unless I can get the right assurances, I may never make another childe again. I may never bond another vampire either. I'm going to have to be careful, until I know for certain. I cannot risk passing on that rage. At least it seems as if Buffy is safe with my blood, but I will wait for further news from Hylek before I allow her to taste it again - before I taste her, too. Well, wouldn't you? I would be the monster you all think me if I did otherwise. They have said that there is no werewolf essence, as such, left

in me to pass on in my bite, but can we be sure? Perhaps I should try with some test subjects, human and vampire. I'll speak to Ezrafel, and when I come back from Canada we will set that up. It will make me easier in my mind. Until then, I will only bite those who are food, and they will all die. Everyone who doesn't live here is getting ready to leave now. Giles has proven himself to me. He hates me, and I can't argue with that, but he will work with and for me if his Slayer needs him to do that. I will do the same. Orbath and Ezrafel have proved themselves again, and Ezrafel will be coming back shortly to join my court. The slayerettes are of no importance, other than Willow and Oz. Oz will spend three nights of each month here, chained to my wall, until we can sort out more permanent secure accommodation. I shall make sure that he is safe. We've all said our thanks and goodbyes, but Oz and Willow are lagging behind a bit, and I walk over to them. She's nervous, as usual, although Oz is more laid back. Also as usual. "AngelusermI, er, looked at law firms for you, and found this. They cover all sorts of law areas and they hardly ever seem to lose." She presses a piece of paper into my hand and turns to leave. I stop her by the simple expedient of placing my forefinger under her chin and lifting it so that she must look me in the face. "Thank you Willow." I look at Oz, then look back at Willow. He knows that I'm not at the moment intent on trespass. "Willow, you need not be afraid of me. You will take no harm from me," I tell her gently. "I am even more in your debt. You may ask of me whatever you need, whenever you need it." I mean what I say. She's still terrified of me. "No, no favours needed. Youyou're looking after Oz, that's more than enough. Thank you." And she flees. Oz gives me a nod, werewolf to vampire, and we understand each other. I look at the piece of paper Willow has pressed into my hand. It has a company name and address on it. Wolfram and Hart, Los Angeles. I'll look them up as soon as I get back from Canada. Buffy has remained behind, too. It has been a difficult few days for us both. She takes my

hand, and I let her. She leads me to the stairs, and up to our rooms, and I let her. I let her do everything else she wants as well. Then it's my turn. It's a long time before we fall into a comfortable sleep. It's my last full night with Buffy before I leave. She spends Friday with her mother, although I drop in for an hour or two through the window. Then, on Saturday, she moves into her college dorm room, with Willow. I visit on Saturday night, to check the place out. I need to make sure there is nothing here to threaten my mate. I don't like the campus, but there is nothing that presents an obvious threat. I suppose it's just that it will keep her away from me more than I would like. However, I'm a firm believer in education, even for women (before you fly at me, remember what it was like when I was brought up as a human, and admit that I've moved on). Buffy is my Consort, and it is right and proper that she should be well educated. When she has finished here I'll take care of other things, such as introducing her to the wonders that are to be found in the rest of the world, and how to rule an empire. I have a great deal to teach her, and not just in the erotic arts, I'll have you know. She will visit the mansion each evening whilst I am away, and either Spike will patrol with her or a minion will shadow her. The Norags and Ezrafel will generally make themselves useful until I am back, as will the Aventis. Most of the other minions will come with me. What? You thought I was stupid enough to take on an entire cult alone? Spike, Drusilla and Buffy would have come too, but I would not permit it. I need Spike and Dru here to guard the Hellmouth and to guard Buffy, and I need Buffy here to continue with her education and keep a rein on Spike and Dru. A sort of triumvirate. The power of three. And now I am on my way to the Canadian border with a dozen of the strongest minions. The plan is really very simple. We will allow the cult to finish gathering, then the minions will surround them, to prevent them disappearing off into the Canadian hinterland, and I'll take it from there. Information has it that there are no more than a dozen to twenty of them. It'll be a walk in the park. **************

Cometh The Hour

Author: Jo Feedback: Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* My name is Lindsey McDonald, and I'm a lawyer. I work for a firm called Wolfram and Hart out of Los Angeles. Most of my work is done in the office or in the courtroom, but this job is different. I've been given it because I'm bucking for promotion. There's a saying. 'Cometh the hour, cometh the man'. It means that, when circumstances at a particular time require a special sort of person, the right man will come forward and fill the gap. Wolfram and Hart need someone like me, and I intend to step right on forward. I'm going to be the man. This case involves a vampire. We aren't the sort of law firm that won't deal with clients just because they are demons, or dead, or some other trivial inconvenience like that. If they can pay, and if they'll do exactly as we say, we'll sort out their problems. Our Senior Partners are something other than human, after all. There is some conflict of interest over this particular vampire. There is a prophecy about him. It says he will be important in the forthcoming apocalypse, but it doesn't say how, or on which side he will be fighting. The Senior Partners want him alive and demonic, and were rather distressed to learn that he was given his soul back in 1898, since when he has been carefully avoiding his demonic nature. They were naturally pleased to hear that he had lost that soul a year or so ago, and was bidding fair to redefine the word 'demonic', but have been less pleased to find that he has declared the current Slayer to be his mate and his Consort. They have been even more displeased to find that his demonic nature has been rathertamedof late, presumably by said Slayer. They don't like that one little bit. He's the most vicious demon that ever stalked the face of the Earth. A real power in the making. They want their boy back and hungry. They don't need him yet - we've got a few years - but if we want the vicious demon back in all his glory, we need to get to work now. After all, it's not something you can do in a day. We intend to keep the Slayer occupied with a few problems of her own while we sort him out. He's my project. We have clients of longstanding, though, rather powerful ones, who want a contract taken out on this vampire. They want him dusted and out of their way. The Senior Partners don't. I don't want the Kahlavi taking their own independent action against him in defiance of the Senior Partners' wishes, and so I have spent several weeks in negotiations trying to broker a deal. We have it now, and I'm about to put it into practice. He's spent a week or so in Canada, waiting patiently for the Kahlavi cult to start opening a

new Hellmouth. They are gathered now. They know where he is, the trap is set, and is about to be sprung. I have two demons with me who will do the springing. And a whole cohort coming through a portal as we speak - they will take him in the rear. I really do have a surprise for him. ********** I'm following the group of Kahlavi towards a small cave entrance. I'm not entirely lost to all sense of personal safety so, after waiting for a while, I send one of the minions in. He reports that there is no sign of them in the first couple of hundred feet. That's all I asked him to scout. The cave opens up considerably beyond the cramped, narrow entrance passage, which runs for about twenty feet. Once inside, I see that we have a substantial cave with two main tunnels running further back beyond this first hall. It's dank, with water dripping all around, and is a thoroughly unpleasant place. The scent of the Kahlavi clearly continues towards the tunnels. We start to follow, and there is a commotion behind me. My mind screams ambush, and it is. Then there is no more time for thought. The Kahlavi are pouring back out of the tunnels, with crossbows that they weren't carrying earlier. A lot more demons are coming through the entrance behind us. We fight, but in short order, all the minions are dust, and there is only me. I'm completely surrounded by crossbows, so I stay where I am. I hope I can get out of here alive, but I must wait for my moment. How did this go so wrong? A new demon scrambles in to the hall from outside. He chants. Shit. A magic-user. As he finishes his chant, he waves his hand negligently towards me, and I am thrown backwards into a small recess in the darkest corner of the main chamber. As I start to rise, he chants again, and I realise how much trouble I am in. My legs and arms are broken. They will heal, certainly, but without blood - and I'm not at all sure I'm going to be getting a quick supply of that - they will only heal slowly. The healing process for such major injuries will generate a bone-deep hunger that will undoubtedly cause me some difficulties. The worst, though, is that I am cramped into this small niche, in which I couldn't stand even if I were able, and I cannot fully lie down. And I cannot get out. There is a barrier, a magical barrier of some sort, and I cannot get out. I feel a growl of anger rising. I am helpless and impotent and trapped, sitting in a tiny cell, amid a continual runnel of icy

cave water, on a floor of thick mud. A man is coming forward to speak. "Angelus. My name is McDonald, Lindsey McDonald. I'm a lawyer with Wolfram and Hart. I've been looking forward to meeting you." I decide to brazen it out. "You didn't need to go to all this trouble. I'd intended to come to your offices anyway. The firm comes highly recommended for what I want." "Sorry," he says. "I'm afraid we have a prior contract - two, in fact - that would preclude us representing you in any way. Myclientswant you out of the way for a bit, so we're going to let you stay here. In cold storage, so to speak. No-one knows you are here, no-one will find you, so you're my prisoner really." I am terrified at what has come to pass, but I cannot let him see my fear. I roar my defiance at him instead, but he laughs in my face. "Do that as much as you like, Angelus. It won't get you out of here any quicker. The Kahlavi will keep a regular eye on you, and I'm not an unreasonable man. We'll feed you, although not very often. I know a vampire can't starve - quite. If you're a good boy, you'll get a virgin to drain, but only once a year on this day. A sort of anniversary present. It'll keep body and demon together for another year, and you'll be so much less trouble like that. We are going to use you, you see. You've got a big future with us, if we can get you into the right frame of mind. Not for a few years yet, but you'll keep. You won't enjoy it, but you'll keep. You'll see me again when I decide to release you. That won't be until we are ready, and it might be a long time. I've got a last gift for you, though." With that he waves me a jaunty farewell, and stands back to make room for another demon. I must try to delay, to get him to change his mind, to negotiate. "What about the new Hellmouth?" I ask, trying to keep my voice unafraid. He laughs. "There is no new Hellmouth. We just made the Hylekians think there was. You've been well and truly suckered. The mighty Angelus! It was like taking candy from a baby. You were much too concerned about the Slayer to properly analyse what was happening. I like you like this, on the floor, at my feet. Let's get on with it." That last is to the demon, who starts to chant. A different chant, this time.

There is *nothing* that I can do. Recriminations are no good. This has been planned for some time. I want to rage and storm, but my broken limbs and my dignity prevent that. If they are leaving me alone here, there *has* to be a way out. If they could get me into a trap, there must be a way out. I will wait until they have gone, and see what I can do. And then I understand. Pain spears through me, exploding in my gut and I feel the shackles and the cage cramping me, confining me, the darkness descending. I know that I howl in fear and pain. I think I probably cry. And then I do rage and storm, and beg and plead. My responsibilities will go unfulfilled and that hurts. But Buffy, my golden girl, my eternal love; I swore that I would never leave you, never abandon you. And I will. I am lost. Still I beg and plead, then rant and gibber, but it does no good at all. This body is curled into the smallest ball it can make, shivering and trembling in pain and memory. Buffy my love, my heart, remember me ************ My Sire isn't back yet. He said that he would be away for possibly two weeks, three at the most. He's been gone for a month. Dru has gone into one of her almost catatonic states. Unless she's feeding, she lies on our bed weeping and calling for her Daddy. The Slayer is worried, although she tries hard not to show it. I can smell her, though, the scent of her fear. We have an uneasy truce, demons and humans, but no-one here would dream of going against my Sire's expressed wishes. Demons and humans are working to maintain the balance of the Hellmouth. Between us, we are still having a hard time. Some organisation is operating around Sunnydale. It's new, and it seems to be taking demons of all sorts, even the neutrals. We all have to be extra careful. I wish he would hurry home. I miss him. ************ Hungry. Hunger screaming through blood, clawing through belly, gnawing into bones. Hunger, making a mindless ravening animal of me. Darkness, all around me, nothing but darkness and bonds that cramp and confine medarkness can't stop it, darkness won't keep them away Pain. Everything is pain. My world is nothing but pain. Buffy.. **********

He is missing. He has been gone for two months now. She misses him. Some of the rest of us miss him, some of us do not. I cannot help but rejoice, for my part. I have never forgiven him for killing my lover, Jenny. She says that she knows he is still alive. She has a bond with him, through their mating - I cannot contemplate such a revolting pairing, such a sickening act, without wanting to stake him, although that would be too easy a death. She is a beautiful girl, full of life, the daughter I have never had. I cannot imagine her coupling with a demon wearing the cold flesh of a corpse. And yet she loves him. And from what I have seen, he has come to love her. They have started to build something here that may show that she is the best Slayer there has ever been. They have started something that may tame the minions of Hell on Earth. I must support her in whatever she wishes to do. She is my responsibility, but she is his. And she has this bond. It tells her that he is still alive, although she feels pain through it, and has done for weeks. But she cannot sense where he is. Is he still in Canada? Or is he somewhere else. We do not know where to start looking. And even if we did, we could not. Matters have progressed apace here, since he left to deal with the Kahlavi cult. An organisation is capturing, and experimenting on, demons of all sorts, even harmless ones. We don't know who or where they are. Oz has been forced to remain in the mansion. Even outside his time of change, he has been hunted down three times, and only escaped by the merest luck on two occasions, and by Spike's intervention on the third. Unfortunately, Spike was taken while saving Oz. He was missing for days, but has come back to us now. He is damaged. He can no longer hurt a living human being in any way. He says a chip was put in his head to control him. It is from him we know that experiments are taking place. I can't say I mind Spike not being able to kill and maim, but I do not like the sound of experiments. That smacks of Government, and, since they are after demons, perhaps it also smacks of the military. We could all be in trouble if that is the case, because whoever is working on this is bound to be incompetent. They cannot possibly have the centuries and generations of experience that we can call on. They will be flapping around in the dark, and something will get loose. God help us then. We cannot leave Sunnydale to that, even to hunt for her lover. And she really does miss him. Joyce tells me that she cries in her sleep on the nights when she comes home. Willow, who is her roommate, says nothing, but Willow always looks worried

now, and not just for Oz. I suspect that she is trying to do magic to locate the vampire, but clearly she has had no luck. It is something I never thought to see, but demons and humans are working together to maintain the balance here. Even so, we are losing. I hate to say it, but we could do with Angelus back. ********** Huuunnnggerrr. Bloooooood. BUFFY Things in the darkness with me. Pain without end. NO, please, make it go away! Huuunnnggerrr. Bloooooood. BUFFY! ************* It has been three months and I can bear it no longer. I can feel that he is alive. I can feel that he is in pain, and that is with me always, but the feelings are damped, dulled, and numb, as if they are wrapped in cotton wool. Willow thinks that he has been magically hidden from us. She has tried scrying, and cannot find him. It has been all that we can do to maintain the balance here, and for that I thank Angel's foresight in bringing to his Court the Norags, the Aventi and the Keeper. I thought at first that whoever is kidnapping demons must be on the side of the good guys, but I have changed my mind. Spike says little, but he is suffering in a way that is difficult to imagine. It would have been much kinder to stake him. We have found others that have been experimented on, tortured, and then released. Some were neutral demons, some not, but we have had to kill them all, out of mercy. They begged me to do it. And I am afraid for my mate. If he were here, captive, would I know? I cannot find the people who are doing this here, so I will start with Canada. Ezrafel has been back to Hylek and been given the location of the new Hellmouth. That, by the way, hasn't opened, so Angel must have succeeded. Tomorrow, Giles, Spike, Dru, Ezrafel and I will set off for Canada, and see what we can find. The rest of our people, the demons, anyway, have been taken to Hylek, to our estate. They may not be safe even in the mansion with the rest of us gone. Willow will continue to try and locate him magically. She will contact me if she has the smallest success. Mobile phones are a wonderful thing. Our party is a strange one, but there are reasons. Giles, we need for his experience and

knowledge. We are hoping that Spike and Dru and I will somehow, between us, be able to sense him. Ezrafel will simply not be left behind. He is strong, though and we may need that in the days to come. It is almost Christmas. Snow has fallen where we are heading. The journey will not be easy. I wonder if I have waited too long. ANGELUSMy love, my heart, I am coming. Give me a sign. ************* Thirst. Blood. Hunger. Darkness. Pain. Thirst blood hunger darkness pain. Thirstbloodhungerdarknesspain.

Thirstbloodhungerdarknesspainthirstbloodhungerdarknesspainthirstbloodhungerdarknesspai n thir BUFFY. *********** We are exhausted. We have searched these forests for over a week, and there is no sign. We have to almost carry Drusilla; she seems to be in a trance most of the time. It is a pity that we can get no sense from her, and that she hasn't had one of her visions. Or if she has, she isn't telling us about them. My Slayer is at the point of despair, although she hides it with manic activity. I'm finding it hard to keep up with her. And now we are lost in the forest. The snow-bound forest. This is very dangerous. Spike thinks he knows where he is in relation to the camper that we have rented for this journey, but he thinks that we will have trouble getting there by dawn. We are looking for shelter. If all else fails, Ezrafel can take us to his dimension. The problem then would be that, because we do not know exactly where we are, he couldn't bring us back here to either retrieve the camper or continue the search. So we will leave that as a last resort. We have about an hour. I'm trying to work out what day it is. It's probably New Year's Day. I wonder if that will be significant. Only of a change for the worse, in my cynical experience.

And now Drusilla is coming out of her trance, and she is sniffing the air, like a bloodhound. She is struggling against Ezrafel, who is holding her up. I go to help him and we set off in the direction she seems to want to go. It's as good as any at the moment. I see glances being exchanged between Spike and Buffy. Buffy tells me that they are both sensing something, something weak and frail, a tenuous lead in this tenebrous place. We see a tiny cave entrance at the base of the hillside. It is blocked by snow, and we would not normally have noticed it, I think, except that some small animal must have used it as a den, and has trampled the snow. Hopefully small. There is a path leading to it, hard to see except from the right angle. Why would he be there? Well, even if he is not, it might serve as shelter for the vampires during the day. Small and not so small animals of the Canadian wilderness should not bother them. We scramble through the tiny passageway, and come into a larger cavern. The torches we carry serve only to emphasise its size. It is dank, with icy water running down the walls. The floor is muddy and slippery. No wonder the little animal didn't stay here. Drusilla has collapsed into a weeping heap, again, and Spike is trying to quieten her. He has reason. I think I can hear a voice, chanting a litany, almost too soft to hear, a voice that sounds almost worn out, repeating one word again and again. "Nononononono." At first we can find nothing, but Ezrafel takes Dru back from Spike and pulls her to the side of the cavern, back towards the entrance. Spike and Buffy stand in the centre, trying to hear. Then Spike gives a cry, and runs to the darkest corner. I turn my torch in that direction, and suddenly see what I take to be a bundle of rags. But it can't be, because the sounds are coming from it. Dear God, what has happened here? Spike reaches for the bundle, and then is suddenly pulled up hard against the wall. There is a small, shallow niche there, not large enough for a man to stand up in. Spike is dragged down into a crouching position, although by nothing that I can see. He appears not to be able to move. What the bloody hell is going on here? Ezrafel sees what is happening, and stays where he is with Drusilla. She is now calling for

her Daddy, another never-ending litany. Buffy and I move carefully towards the back corner, where Spike is. He is making himself as small as possible, crouched down, reaching for the bundle on the floor. I can now see that it is about man-sized. He doesn't seem able to move it because there is no room for him to manoeuvre. Nevertheless, he has seen enough. He throws back his head and howls in grief. Buffy has reached him now. I try to call her back, but she is too quick. She is crouched down in the corner, and the mysterious force seems not to have affected her. "Spike. Is it him?" she asks. He looks at her. "You know it is. You can feel him, too." "Let's get him out of there, and see what's wrong." That's my bright idea. Spike turns a withering look in my direction. "I can't, you pillock. This is some sort of magical vampire trap. There's a barrier," and he demonstrates, holding his hand about 3 feet from the back wall, and moving it upwards to a height of about 4 feet, "and we can't bloody well get out." Oh. Between them, they find that they can turn Angelus onto his back, Buffy from outside the trap, reaching through, Spike from his crouched position. I hear a sharp intake of breath from Buffy. Spike just says, "Shit." I move closer. I am appalled. Angelus is haggard and grey, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. He looks as if he hasn't fed for three months, and I don't suppose he has. His clothing is soaked from the constant runnel of water, and he is caked in mud. He cannot uncurl from his foetal position. I try to tell myself that it is because of the restricted space, but I suspect he has been in this position for the last three months. Suddenly, his eyes snap open. That makes it worse. The expression in them is haunted, an expression of madness. He looks as if he has lost his mind. He sees us, and I am sure of it. He can barely move, but he tries to scuttle back, pressing himself as far away as he can, trying to bury himself in the rock. He tries to hide his face against his arm, and the litany of denial

takes on a new urgency. We *must* get them out of there, but how? What is the nature of this magic? And we don't have Willow. Whilst I am thinking, Spike is rolling up his sleeve. He thrusts his arm down to the mad creature that is his Sire, urging him to drink. But Angelus becomes even more frantic in his efforts to get away. Eventually, Spike loses patience, and he morphs, then rips his wrist open with his fangs. Awkwardly, because of their cramped positions, he presses the wound to Angelus' lips. Instinct takes over, and the vampire starts to drink, greedily. But not for long, and judging by Spike's reaction, not for long enough. Angelus pushes away from his childe, albeit only for a few inches, trying to scrabble further into the wall. Buffy thrusts her own arm through the barrier, but Angelus starts screaming, a hoarse, painracked noise. I pull her back, and replace her arm with my own. I stare at Spike and hiss, "Do it!" He does, tearing a gash in my inner forearm. Between the three of us, we bring Angelus, who is fighting us but has not the least amount of strength, to a partial sitting position, and again instinct and hunger take over. He has remained human all this time, and his mouth clamps over the wound Spike has made, as he sucks in the flow of blood. And again he stops too quickly. He can't have taken as much as a pint from the two of us, and he is starved. But now he becomes even more distressed. Spike takes direct action and knocks him unconscious. It's probably the best thing to do, while we try to work something out. Hours later, and we are no closer to a solution. I have asked Spike to try and break away pieces of the rock, to see if he can create a tunnel behind the barrier, but he cannot. Ezrafel has tried to give Spike the little gadget that would open a portal to Hylek, but the gadget will not work inside the barrier. We have pooled our knowledge of spells for opening things, for removing obstacles, for moving things from one place to another. Nothing works, here.

And we are so very tired now. This cave is an awful place. There is nowhere to sit that is not several inches deep in mud. The temperature is only just above freezing, and you try sitting in several inches of mud in the depths of the Canadian winter, even in a milder spell such as this. Not a good idea. In lieu of anything better to do at present, Buffy and I are setting off down one of the tunnels to see if we can find a piece of rock, anything, for us all to sit on. It looks as if Angelus has been crouched in that mud for three months, and that has been the least of his ills. I begin to feel sorry for him, until I remember Jenny again. Down the left hand tunnel, we find another, smaller cavern. There are perhaps forty bodies stacked in there, all Kahlavi demons. Apparently Angelus didn't go out easily. I see Buffy pull something from one of the bodies and wipe it on the dead demon's cloak. A sword. "It's his," she says tonelessly, and thrusts it into her belt. They've fought together enough, she should recognise it. This cave is drier, and has clearly been used as a temporary barracks. There is wooden furniture, primitive, but usable. We carry a couple of benches back to the main hall. Soon, we can all at least sit down. Hunger will soon become a problem, but there is water in this cave - rather an excess of it, if truth be told. Angelus has suffered his hunger for three months. Let's hope Spike and Drusilla will be okay for another day or so. There is a bigger problem, though. Someone stacked those bodies - perhaps the same someone who has been visiting the cave. When are they next due, I wonder? Still we keep trying different spells. We try to telephone Willow, but can get no signal. Aren't mobile phones a wonderful thing? Spike is continually whining that he's getting a pain in his back from bending and crouching, without being able to straighten up. The rest of us know that really he's afraid that we will never get them out, so we let him bitch and whine as much as he likes. He daren't voice his real fear, though. Sometimes we feel that speaking of something dreadful, saying the words out loud, will make it come true. A little while ago, I would have said the words in the hope that they would, but not now. Despite his whining, Spike is trying to massage some feeling back into Angelus' body. The muscles are terribly wasted, and he tells us the arms and legs have been broken and have only just finished healing. These muscles are even more withered than the rest. He says that the healing process will have hastened the process of starvation. He's managed to get some flexibility back into the limbs, though.

The Keeper has been silent for a while. When he speaks, it is at the point when I am truly beginning to think that we're going to have to knock the hillside down. Even that might not work. Buffy has placed one of the benches close to the barrier and is sitting on it, holding Angelus' hand. "This force only affects the vampires amongst us, yes?" "Yes." That's from me, Buffy and Spike. Angelus and Drusilla are comatose and in quiet hysterics, in that order. "What do you know of the vampire barriers in this dimension?" I answer. "Vampires cannot enter a human's home uninvited. Vampires are burned by the crucifix. What more do you want to know?" "Why only the crucifix? Why not the symbols of the other great religions? And why does the cross only hurt vampires, and not demons of other species?" This has occurred to me before but I don't know the answer. I say so. Spike simply shakes his head and Buffy says nothing. She just looks at Angelus, and the fear and sorrow on her face make me want to do anything, sacrifice anything, to give this girl, my surrogate daughter, her demon lover back again. I am surprised at myself. And then I notice something else. Even in his unconsciousness and his madness, in the grip of whatever spell has done this to him, he knows her touch. His hand is clinging to hers like that of a drowning man. And I understand things that I have denied because of my own feelings, his betrayal of my friendship with the murder of my lover. Buffy and Angel or Angelus have a destiny together. I think the world may be at risk if they do not find each other again, and live out that destiny. I *must* help them. I must put my own feelings aside. Ezrafel has seen my preoccupation and waited for me, before continuing. "It was sorcery. Have both your species forgotten?" "What?" "Eh?" Buffy still says nothing, but she is listening. "Christianity is only about 2,000 years old, and at the beginning, the cross was not an important symbol. That place was occupied by the chi-rho, the XP symbol of your Christ. It was other, older symbols that hurt the vampire demons, symbols created specifically to do so. One of your early Christians, Simon the Magus, was a sorcerer, before Christianity condemned magic. He lost his daughter to a vampire. She was his only child, a girl who would have become a powerful sorceress in her own right. He was deranged by grief, and he

cast a spell of the most enormous potency to transfer the power wielded by those older symbols to the symbol of the Cross, and to the Christians' holy writings, so that true Christians might never be hurt by vampires again. He died as part of the casting, pouring his life essence into the force of the spell, so that it would be maintained forever, across the planet. He was powerful, but such a spell must have its limits. He had not enough power to protect against other demons. But his spell holds good almost 2000 years later." "How do you know this?" I am amazed. Can this be true? Simon Magus certainly lived - he's mentioned in the Bible, of course, so perhaps it is true? Why is this not known to the Watchers' Council? Or is it? Sequestered away, perhaps, as forbidden knowledge? "We have contacts with the Adraste dimension, where they make much use of magic." He turns to Buffy. "It was the Adraste that supplied Orbath with the salve for Angelus." She acknowledges that with a nod of her head, but she still does not speak. I can see that Spike does not understand the reference either. It isn't important now, except that Buffy accepts the magical credentials of these Adraste. Ezrafel continues. "After I first met the Slayer and the Master Vampire, I started to research vampires. The Adraste have supplied me with some volumes, which I have not yet finished reading, but this is a story contained within one of those volumes. The sorcerer Simon knew of the Adraste, and went to them for the spell. They sold it to him, and then they watched, and learned and recorded." Spike makes a sound of derision. "Well, that's one vampire that's got a lot to answer for." There is a pregnant silence, and I just know that Ezrafel has more to tell, and is deciding whether he should answer or not. Eventually, he does. "The vampire was called Aurelius." Ah. I believe there must be a certain inevitability to history, don't you think? And a sense of bloody irony, too. No wonder destiny is tangled around Angel, like a snare of barbed wire. Just for once, Spike, the master of the witty comeback, is left speechless. Having left that bombshell to hatch for a few minutes, Ezrafel gently continues. "I raise the matter because of the other sort of barrier you mentioned, the barrier preventing a vampire from entering a human dwelling. That was cast in much the same way, you know, before Simon's spell. It was that which inspired Simon. I do not yet know all the details, but it

was cast by a sorcerer who again gave his own life force to power the continuing spell. Could this barrier we face here be the barrier of invitation, twisted to a different purpose?" Can it be so simple? Do we merely have to invite Spike and Angelus to join us? Invite them in? Buffy speaks, then. "Giles, you are the most human of any of us." My heart aches for her. "You had better do it." Perhaps she's right. If this is a twisted spell, who knows what else might have been twisted into it? Perhaps it's like one of those wretched money machines that swallows your bankcard if you can't remember the PIN number. They give you three tries, but if there is a booby trap in this spell, perhaps we only get one go at it, and we'd better get it all right the first time. I nod my acquiescence, and prepare myself. How on earth can this be considered my home? Or to belong to me in any way? It will have to be in my imagination. I think of this cave as being everything I have ever desired, as being my territory, my home. I try to bring about a cast of mind that makes such an unlikely thing possible. Then I think of the two vampires. To be safe, I must surely consider them to be welcome guests in this, my home. Angelus is the most difficult, of course. But I think back to a time when he was still Angel. A time after I had overcome my initial suspicion of him, to when I welcomed him as a good friend, a personal friend. A true companion. I cultivate those thoughts, and include Spike, the pitiable, unthreatening stray with the damaged mind. Then I put the pictures together in my mind, and I speak the words. I invite them in, by name. Spike tumbles through the barrier into the mud at Buffy's feet. Before anything can change its mind, she and Spike drag Angelus out. Even with the blood that Spike and I have given him, I can see now that he is in even worse condition than he had appeared to be whilst cramped into the niche. Drusilla tears herself away from Ezrafel and throws herself over his body, weeping. I can still make no sense of her ravings, but there's time enough for that, now. We have been here for the remnants of the night and for most of the short northern winter's day. It is only just past solstice, so we have almost maximum periods of darkness, thank goodness. We are going to need all the darkness we can get if we are going to have to manhandle two vampires back to the camper. The sooner we get back to Sunnydale the better.

Ezrafel bends down to pull Drusilla off Angelus, so that we can check him for any further injury, and get him out of the mud. As he does so, Buffy flashes him one of those smiles that lights up the world and squeezes his hand. "Thank you, Ezrafel. Thank you." I could swear he blushes, and then he has Drusilla back in his charge. Spike and Buffy lift Angelus onto the bench - he seems to weigh almost nothing, and then they do something I would not have expected. Spike straddles the end of the bench, supporting his Sire's shoulders in his lap. Buffy straddles Angelus' lap, then she hits the unconscious vampire. Hard. He starts to rouse slightly, and Spike tightens his grip. Then she hits him again, and again. He struggles, and changes into game face, although he has not yet reached full consciousness. Quick as thought, Spike and she straighten Angelus' upper body so that his face is against her neck. He drinks. She daren't give him too much, so when he has taken perhaps a pint or two, they pull him away, and Spike thrusts his own arm back in front of the fangs. Once again, instinct and hunger take over. Surprisingly, those of us watching find nothing dreadful in these acts of love and mercy. I think I'm the most surprised of all at that. I make my own offering, again. It only stops when we have all given as much as we safely can, even Drusilla. Not Ezrafel, though - demon blood is no use to a vampire. Angelus is still not fully conscious, but there is a little colour in his face and he seems less wasted. He is still gripping Buffy's hand. Spike stoops down into the entrance passage and announces that the sun has just set. I think we'll get out of here. Spike and Buffy start to lift Angelus between them, when he suddenly regains awareness. Spike supports his weight, and Buffy smiles for her lover, reaching one hand to his cheek. For a second, he looks into her face, then, with a cry of utter anguish, he tears himself away from both of them. He cowers back towards the cave entrance, staring at the ground, unable or unwilling to look at any of us. Buffy turns on him a look of love such as few men, or demons I guess, can ever expect to see in a hundred lifetimes. If only he would look at her, he would be reassured. But he doesn't. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't make it up to any of you, but I'm so sorry. You'll never have to see me again." And with that, he is gone from the cave, into the Canadian winter.

We are stunned, every one of us, Buffy most of all. No, that is not entirely true. Spike and Drusilla seem to understand something we do not. Buffy races to the passageway, her scream of "ANGEL!" echoing out into the wilderness. Spike catches her, holds her still. "You'll never catch him if you get lost in the forest. I'm buggered if I spend weeks looking for you as well. We'll find him, luv, we'll find him, don't worry." Drusilla is crouched in the mud, howling and screaming. "Spike!" I say, more sharply than I intend. I have no idea what the hell is happening. "Is Angelus still enchanted? What is wrong with him?" He gapes at me in disbelief. "Don't you know?" "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," I say with some asperity. He turns to Buffy, who is held tight to his chest. He uses one forefinger to raise her face to look at him. "Do you know what's happened, luv?" She shakes her head. He gives a bone weary sigh, as if faced with particularly obtuse students who should have been much brighter than this. "Whoever did this to him, they've given him his soul back. He's Angel again." Through my own shock, I watch her. Her mouth forms a perfect O of horror, and then she seems to just close down. She says nothing more on the long, dreadful journey back to Sunnydale. Dreadful is much the most appropriate word for that odyssey. At first, we remain in that hated cave while Spike sets off to search for Angel. He will be able to follow his own trail back. But it starts to snow again. Angel's trail is lost to him, and he barely makes it back before his own tracks would have been covered. Despite the snow, we set off to find the camper. It has been stolen. Dear God, how are we to get everyone back? We are not too far from civilization - about 15 miles to the nearest small

town, with a reasonable road. We have good clothing, we won't die - we might even get a lift - but we are such a motley crew, the prospects seem daunting. We decide that Spike and Ezrafel will go ahead, bearing Drusilla. They can travel more quickly than I can. Spike will find shelter - a motel room or something- and come back for us. Buffy and I will continue behind them. Buffy takes no part in these discussions. She is entirely apart from us, locked into her own private suffering. I would have thought she wanted Angel back, although he might take some finding again, and I am worried by her withdrawal when I would have expected her to be urging us to frenetic activity. Still, surely Spike and Drusilla will be able to help her locate him, and we can all help him to heal, to adjust, to come to terms with the things that his alter ego has done. Whilst there's life there's hope, even for a vampire, isn't there? It takes many days to get back to Sunnydale. Spike takes care of Drusilla, who remains either hysterical or locked away in quiet madness. Personally I prefer the madness. It's more peaceful. Ezrafel takes charge of Buffy, who is like an automaton. She does as she is told. She eats when she is told, a little anyway. She goes where she is told to go, and so on. If we do not tell her, she simply stands in silence. This is a quietness I do not prefer, and I am terrified her mind has retreated to some unreachable place, that it has become all too much for her to bear. She is simply not with us in any meaningful sense. I do the human things, present the human face of our tragic little quintet. Hire the car, the motel rooms, buy the food, and so on. The Canadian wilderness has some advantages in our current predicament. Spike cannot hurt humans, but he can hunt animals, and he keeps himself and Drusilla fed. Not well, we don't have time for that, but enough. I drop the vampires off at the mansion, and Ezrafel and I go to face Joyce. When she answers the door, she gives a little cry of shock. Standing in her hall, I tell her the barest minimum. I'll tell her the rest later, but all she needs to know now is that we found Angel. In all senses of the word. And that he has run away in shame and guilt. We help her get Buffy upstairs, where they lie together on Buffy's bed, the daughter, still fully clothed, wrapped in her mother's arms. It is then that Buffy gives the first sign of awareness since that terrible day in the cavern. "Mom? Mommy? He's gone! Mommy" And she breaks down into body-racking sobs. We can only hope that these are healing tears.

Ezrafel and I are too tired to go back to the mansion, so we let ourselves out, and Ezrafel sleeps on my couch for the night. At least, I think he sleeps. For my part, I lie in my bed, but sleep is a very long way away. ************* I remember almost nothing of the journey back to Sunnydale. I was otherwiseoccupied. My last real memory is after Spike told me that someone had given Angel his soul back. It was then that I understood the barrage of emotion that had been battering at that special link I have with him, with Angelus. Terror, agony, remorse, grief. Not thoughts or ideas. Just sheer, raw emotions. And I remembered how hard I had wished to have Angel's soul back again; how I had thought that if I could have Angel and Angelus together, my life would be perfect. Foolishness. Be careful what you wish for. You might get it. All my fault. It's all my fault. Perhaps if I had made him wear the Gem of Amara, he would not have been captured? Whatever, it is all my fault. I wished it so. I didn't understand. He left me. That was all my mind could think of. He's Angel, he's back, and he's left me. It was a little while before I could comprehend the other tragedy - what has happened to Angelus? - and could understand that the emotions tearing at my heart were from both of them. The angel and the devil. The two beings that I love. All through that dreadful journey, I had no mental space left even to deal with the everyday requirements of living. Certainly, I could not abandon my link with my lover - lovers - to react to my companions. The pain and the grief from my lost vampire seared through our bond. And I tried to help, to reach those two tortured souls. To soothe and reassure, to return love. I tried to find Angelus. I tried to open myself to Angel and make him understand that he was loved and wanted. But I have failed. And now Angel has cut himself off from me. I have tried and tried to reach him. I know he is still alive, but he has cut himself off. He is alone and in pain. And so am I. My guardians hand me over to my mother. They help me up the stairs, taking off my coat and shoes, then they lay me down with her. She wraps her arms around me and the pain and anger and loss overtake me.

"Mom? Mommy? He's gone! Mommy" I cry, in great, heaving sobs. She holds me even tighter, as she used to do if ever I cried as a small child. A long while later, I realise that she is crying, too. I think she's crying for me, and for Angel. I wonder if she's crying for Angelus. And if she knows that I am crying for all of us, as well as for myself and the beings I love. I think something has gone wrong in the Grand Design of the Powers that be. I see by the lightening sky that it is almost dawn. And then I know true terror. I only thought I'd known it before. I feel him. I feel my sweet, gentle Angel. I feel the iron grip he has on my demon lover, who is begging, pleading and raging. Who is crying. And Angel is saying goodbye. He is saying goodbye and it is nearly dawn, and I don't know where he is, and I cannot reach him. I feel my scream echo through the bond. "NO!" The sun lifts above the horizon. The rest is silence. ********** 'Call me Ishmael.' Those are Ahab's words, that tragic figure from literature. Ishmael. His hand was turned against every man, and every man's hand was against him. That's me. I am outcast, and so should I be. I am the vilest, the most despicable creature that ever crawled on the face of this planet. My name is Angel and I am a vampire. I am anathema. I am accursed. I have my soul back now, and it is as if I had never had it before, as if the Rom had never raised their hand against me. I see with fresh eyes my base and contemptible evil. I don't know what the man from Wolfram and Hart has done to me, but it is as if it were 1898 again. All those thousands who suffered and died at my hands cry out to me to be avenged. I remember every single one. The acts of casual cruelty play out over and over before my mind's eye. I am weighted down by thoughts of the harm I have done. I had thought I might be able to win forgiveness, but I see now that I can never aspire to such a dream. My depraved acts of wickedness in the time before I was first given back my soul will ensure that I burn in the deepest fires of Hell forever. My demon will rejoice at that, I am sure, since

he will no doubt have absolute sovereignty over my damned and suffering soul. It is no more than I deserve. But worse, even, than those sins that I committed before the vengeance of the Rom, are the vicious iniquities I have perpetrated during the last year. I have killed and maimed and terrorised. I have murdered Jenny, who tried to help me, who was the lover of the man who called me friend. These are dreadful things. But oh, the things I have done to the woman I say I love. How could I? How dare I even inhabit the same landscape as she? When they freed me, I could not even look at her, for shame, because I could not have borne the accusation and loathing I would have seen in her eyes. I have raped her, brutalised her and terrorised her. I have shown her some of the darker parts of the demon's nature though, thank God, not the darkest. But the demon has wanted to show her all those dark desires. He has cozened her with lies of love, but he has wanted to kill her, hurt her, damage her, have her screaming his name in pain and pleasure. And the demon is me. I have wanted all those things. No more. Not ever again. And, despite the cries for vengeance that have engulfed me for all these weeks, despite the shame and pain and guilt of what I have done, I drank from them. I drank from them all. I drank from my beloved. I can feel them in my blood now. Even the Watcher, who detests me, has offered me his blood, and I have taken it. Human blood. Monster. Buffy, Spike, Drusilla, Giles. I drank from them all. Even though I do not know for certain whether I have visited upon them the horrors of the werewolf's bite. Monster. Those lawyers, Wolfram and Hart. He said they had a use for me. For Angelus. That can't be good. I cannot permit the demon ever to be free again. I cannot allow him to destroy any more lives. And Buffy. I cannot allow him near her ever again. At the thought of her, I can hear him, from where I have him caged. He's begging and pleading. I believe that he is weeping, and that is strange. I have never before known him to beg, let alone weep. Raging and storming, yes. Dripping depravity, like poison, in my ear. Begging, no. I didn't think he had it in him. But I

cannot ever permit him to harm her again. Since my soul is such a slippery thing, there is only one way to prevent him from being freed the next time I lose control. I am sitting on a hillside above Los Angeles, which is the nearest I can permit myself to come to her. She used to live here. It is as close as I can get. There is a saying, 'Cometh the hour, cometh the man'. Well, if there is any man left in me, it is time for him to step forward and put an end to this farce. I cannot permit what has happened to ever happen again. Thoughts of her surround me, envelop me, draw me back to her. Never! There is a bond between her and me from our - their - mating. I have had to close it, so that she will not be corrupted by my misbegotten sin. I have felt her for days, trying to soothe me, to reassure me. Her kind and generous spirit opened itself to me, but I could only ever pollute it. There is nothing good to be got from me or from my worthless carcass. So I ended the connection. I will open it one more time, to say farewell, and to let her know that she will be troubled by me no more. At least my ashes can fertilise next year's wildflowers, here where they overlook the city that she once lived in. That's the only good I can ever hope to come to. So I will sit on this hillside, and welcome the sunrise. I will not have long to wait.

THE END

Pride Spoilers: BtVS seasons 4/5. AtS seasons 1/4. Do not get me started on who sired Spike - it's exactly as it says in this story. Rating: NC17 for a bit of sex, a couple of bad words, a bit of torture and some violence. Angelus is here, right? Some of the thinking is from a demonic point of view and it's, well, demonic. Oh, and there are some character deaths. Sort of. Content: B/A/A(us) Alternate past reality leading to an alternate future, which is where we began, in 'The Nature of the Beast', and continued in 'To Kill A Cat', 'Tyger, Tyger', 'Cometh the Hour' and 'Lionesses'. Summary: In 'Cometh the Hour' we left Angel on a hillside waiting for the sunrise. This is what happened next. It might help you to read the previous stories in this cycle first, but it probably isn't essential. The story is told from several different points of view. Some people like to see these notes at the beginning, and some people like to see them at the end. They're here. You choose when to read them. If you don't read them at all, you'll miss stuff, but that's up to you. **** At the end of 'Cometh the Hour' Buffy I see by the lightening sky that it is almost dawn. And then I know true terror. I only thought I'd known it before. I feel him. I feel my sweet, gentle Angel. I feel the iron grip he has on my demon lover, who is begging, pleading and raging. Who is crying. And Angel is saying goodbye. He is saying goodbye and it is nearly dawn, and I don't know where he is, and I cannot reach him. I feel my scream echo through the bond. "NO...!" The sun lifts above the horizon. The rest is silence.

Angel I have felt her for days, trying to soothe me, to reassure me. Her kind and generous spirit opened itself to me, but I could only ever pollute it. There is nothing good to be got from me or from my worthless carcass. So I ended the connection. I will open it one more time, to say farewell, and to let her know that she will be troubled by me no more. At least my ashes can fertilise next year's wildflowers, here where they overlook the city that she once lived in. That's the only good I can ever hope to come to. So I will sit on this hillside, and welcome the sunrise. I will not have long to wait. *** Now The brightest intellects in Physics today have concluded that, in String Theory, they have the much sought after Unified Theory of Everything. String Theory requires that there be eleven dimensions. We see three of them - these we know as, breadth, length and depth, or words to that effect. The fourth one is time. Six of the others are small and curled up on themselves, so that we cannot see them. But the eleventh? Ah, the eleventh; that is a dimension in which universes are carried on membranes, or branes, drifting around and perhaps colliding with each other from time to time. They think that may be how the Big Bang happened. And this, indeed, is the nature of the beast, that universes are carried in stately patterns around their dimension, a saraband of star systems, a pavane in the cosmos. These universes do not connect; they cannot be felt or seen, since they are in a different dimension, yet they may be only an inch away. If we could only reach out and touch them... They are parallel universes, many much like ours, and yet, there are some that have learnt other ways. Or perhaps they never moved on from their primitive beginnings. Who knows? They are not just parallel universes, they are para-universes. Parasite universes. And just as the cosmos as we know it has an order, a rhythm, of planets sweeping around suns and of suns circling galaxies, so there is a rhythm to the dance of the branes, and their freight of matter. Every so often, as branes circle around they bring universes into contact. Bring them into a position in which a parasite universe has a chance to feed, to stock up on resources for the next long hunger. To find new hunting grounds. When that happens to our universe, no planet or star is safe, not even whole galaxies, and Earth suffers a Mass Extinction, a Great Dying. In another place, another dimension, perhaps, an indistinct figure, a creature of smoke and mirrors, examines the gaming pieces on the ornate board in front of...him. It. Let's call it 'him' as a matter of convenience. He picks one of the pieces from the board, a fearsome warrior, his face as stern and grim as an angel, his body that of a winged lion. It had been standing next to the figure of a woman, her hands resting on a sword, a victor's chaplet of leaves around her head. He places the warrior amongst a clutter of other fallen pieces, and, sorting through the pile, he picks up a new one. A male, with battle-scarred and broken wings, his sword held easily in one hand. As he peruses the new piece, contemplating its placement, perhaps, another comes to join him. The newcomer is as indistinct as he, but this time a creature of mists and rainbows, with crystalline edges sparkling in an unseen sun. He points to a square far from the figure of the woman, and his seated companion obediently places the piece. The creature of light asks, "There is no weapon to replace Acathla?" The reply is a shrug. Probably. "Are they strong enough yet?" The creature of shadow has no face as we would define a face, no features to give expression to his thoughts, yet he smiles, a small feral smile. "No." *** 'And nothing to look backward to with pride, And nothing to look forward to with hope.' Robert Frost 'The Death of the Hired Man' (1914) January

Sunrise seems to be such a long time coming. I can hear them all, screaming for vengeance. All the ones I have killed, maimed, tortured. All the families I have left bereaved of husband, wife or child. My soul can never be free of them, even in the afterlife. They will be my Furies throughout all eternity. I hear them in my mind, and always will, but there are others, too. Others whom I only hear in my blood. And oh, I can hear her, fused into every cell of me, wrapping her thoughts around me like the warmth of the morning sun, trying to stop me, telling me she loves me. Loves him. Weeping for loss of us. And I can hear him, raging, begging, weeping. Nothing will change my mind, though. Not even her. The world will breathe easier without me. I am a vicious, unredeemable demon. There is nothing of humanity in me - the Judge told me so, remember? Having my soul back doesn't change a thing. It only gives me the strength of purpose that I need to bring an end to this farce that has been my life. She will find someone better. Someone worthy of her. That can never be me. I can hear the others, too. Those demons with whom I share blood, so many of them, evil like me. The call of some is stronger than others. The Aventi, that shamefully bonded master and childe; Ahmed, my latest childe, whom I was pleased to call Bariel after one of the rulers of the guardian angels. Another unconscionable fit of whimsy. I make my apologies to those three; say my farewell. Even though they cannot hear the words, they can feel me, sense something. They seem sad. I don't know why that should be. Dru is catatonic somewhere. Her voice in my blood is just a litany of pleas. Will is pacing like a caged lion. He wants to tear something apart, and he doesn't know whether it should be himself or me. But I know. Estevan, Thomaso, Bariel. Dru. Spike. Buffy... My sad little pride. Buffy will care for them. And the others. And Aurelius. I know him now. I should have recognised it before - all that time I was with him, and my mind skirted around it. But I know him now, him and his soul. Did he try to beat the demon out of me? I don't know, but I should have let him kill me. It would have been more merciful. Not long now. I can see the sky lightening. Once, such a long time ago, it seems, I was given another chance, a chance to redeem myself, a chance to save the world. But everything comes in its own fashion. I can and will save the world. Save it from me. My death will do that. There can never be redemption, though. That was just smoke and mirrors, a palatable lie. There will only be punishment. Forever. Does that work for you? *** My name's Whistler, and I'm in a bit of a rush, so do you mind if we talk as we walk? Or run. Running would be better. I'm on my way to a case right now, a really important one. I've been assured that I shall be in a world of pain if I fail this one, and I believe it. I believe it absolutely. This case? He should have been here *months* ago, but things went very wrong. Now it's a case of tying knots and carrying on. I think it was the Duke of Wellington who said that about the Battle of Waterloo. Pretty appropriate for me today as well. If I'm too late, all I'll find is ash. If I'm not too late, it still might not be any better. He's one stubborn demon. It's dark as Hades up in these hills. The darkness before the dawn, you know. Moon's gone down, sun's not up yet. Makes sense. Thank the Powers for demonic eyesight, or I'd be stumbling around all over the place. Ah, there's a dark-looking huddle that could be him. Just where he was supposed to be. I get messages from the Powers, you know - I'm their errand boy, I suppose - but normally all I get are vague instructions that could use 30 pages of interpretation and commentary. Not this time. The message I got was very specific and very, very clear. Oh, and very, very late. I know he's really important, I just don't know who to, or why. Still, at present that's not my problem. My problem is much more immediate and it will be hauling its ass over the shoulder of yon high eastern hill any minute now, giving us a definite rosyfingered dawn and one very crispy vampire. What, not up on your Shakespeare and Homer? Kids today! What? Even Angel's a kid to me.

Nearly there now. "Hey, Angel. How're you doing?" Okay, so it's not my best line, but I'm a little out of breath. And ideas. And time. I'm coming up behind him, and he turns round, very slowly. "Whistler." His expression is as grey as his face. He looks worse than he did when I found him in 1996. Much worse. He doesn't say anything else, just turns back around and looks at the skyline that will mean his death. The inky blue darkness there has already turned to a lighter turquoise. "Angel, man, why don't we get out of the sun and talk? If you really want to end it all, you can still do it tomorrow. The sun isn't going anywhere." "I'm not a man." Oh, for goodness sake! "Angel, I've been sent to help you fix what needs fixing. Come on, man, not everyone gets personal service." Nothing. "Angel, the sun is going to be up any minute. Talk to me!" Nothing. "You want to die as a nobody then? As someone who was too weak to make a difference? Or as someone who didn't give a shit?" Nothing. "Look, it's awfully hard to have a meaningful conversation with a pile of ash. Can we continue this somewhere else? Like I said, there's always tomorrow to do this." Nothing. The eastern sky contains colours now, purples and pinks as well as the pale grey of clouds across the horizon. Each cloud is limned in silver, illuminated by the approaching sun. There's something romantic, even mythic, about sunrise, as if that simple event, that simple driving away of the shadows of night, could also wipe away all our doubts and fears and troubles; as if it could bring new hope to blighted lives. Just now, it's an extremely unwelcome ball of flaming gas, bringing death and destruction in its wake. And a world of pain for me. Any second now, and the topmost sliver of sun will clear that hill. I look around for what I need. It's there almost at my feet, but I try again. "Angel, do you think that you'll get any peace in the afterlife, if you go like this? Do you think this will make it all better? What are you looking for?" And as the very first sliver, the thickness of a fingernail, tops the shadow of the hill, he answers. "I'm praying for oblivion." Okay, I can do that. That's when I hit him, hard, from behind, with the rock that I have picked up. Twice, just to be sure. He's sick and weak, but it still pays to make sure. The line of light is racing down the hill, now, almost faster than the eye can follow. It will be here, on our hill, in

the blink of an eye. I just have time to pull the blanket out of the satchel I'm carrying, and roll him in it. A quick fireman's lift, and we're off to the Powers' contingency plan, a culvert in the hillside. I can't resist muttering, "Angel, I really don't have time for this suicide crap." When we get into the culvert, I find a nice dry spot - well, as dry as it can be in a culvert - and rig up the chains I also have in my satchel. Like I said, it pays to be sure. I'm going to have to leave him here alone for a while, because I had no time to get supplies, and I can see that this guy is starved. Perhaps he'll feel better when he's eaten. Well, we can only hope. There, manacles nice and secure, and we have one chained vampire. Sleep tight, Angel, I'll be back soon. *** February My name is Ezrafel. You may remember me. I am a demon from Hylek, and I was lucky enough to be the Keeper for the Master Vampire and the Slayer, the Mated Pair, during the Hylekian Games. When I have finished my treatise on them, it will be submitted for review by the Society of Merit. There is no greater academic honour here than admission to that august body. All that is on hold, though. We must first help them survive, we who consider ourselves bound to them. Our king, Haraeth of the House of Orbath, has many cares in dealing with the aftermath of our civil war, but he does not forget that he owes his throne to Angelus and Buffy. It is more complicated than that, though. On Hylek, Angelus is his liegeman, lord of the Hantar estate. Here, heads of Houses have responsibilities to their liegemen. Is it not the same with you? And to spice the brew a little more, Haraeth feels responsible for what happened. It was his House that persuaded the Mated Pair to fight in the games with promises of information on a new Hellmouth, a Hellmouth that we now know does not exist. Oh, we thought it did at the time. The Seers working for the Royal Household had found it, and they have never been wrong. Until now. We have consulted the Adraste, who found residual magic around the casting. Someone had interfered with the visions, someone of enormous power, but we don't know who. Our king feels the weight of this turn of events on his shoulders, and he is not inclined to differentiate between Angelus and Angel. He wants to help. But what to do? He has called a counsel meeting. Not a meeting with his royal council, but a meeting of those who might give counsel to him in this specific matter. It is a very mixed bunch. We have the Watcher, who has brought the youngsters with him, including the witch and the werewolf; Angelus' servants, the Aventi and the Norags; his childer, Drusilla the Mad and William the Bloody; myself; and the Slayer and her mother. These are the people that Angelus considered to be his pride, his responsibility; at least, they are the ones we know about. These discussions will not be easy. *** As a Watcher, I have had to do many difficult things, but this may be the most difficult of all. To simply watch. Now that she knows he is still alive, Buffy's first and only instinct is to go to Angel. At the moment, he is chained in a culvert, where he has been for the last two weeks. Whistler is caring for him, but for Buffy, it isn't enough. We are all agreed, though. He ran from her, and in his state of mind, her presence could only make things worse. Spike will go and the rest of us will wait. She's not happy, but she sees the sense of it. I was surprised by Orbath. He's young, of course, but he seems to have a lot of good sense. He's clearly tied to Angelus and Buffy in some very complicated ways, ties of debt and honour, and I don't see him letting go of those. I think that might be a good thing. Buffy needs as many friends around her as possible, whatever their species. Her responsibilities will help her, too. Mind you, they should have helped Angel, but they haven't. She will remain mistress of the Hantar estate - there was never any doubt about that - but she will also remain mistress of Angelus' holdings on Earth. She'd fight to the death for the Hellmouth, of course. That, after all, is what she was born to do. But she is temporarily head of his family, his court. It's a court in waiting, and none of us know how long the waiting will be. Some of us hope the wait will be forever. I for one think that our world will be the better without Angelus. How can something so evil and vicious, so profoundly selfish, ever do any good? At least Angel might achieve something, if he can hold onto that soul. The Hylekian seers say that the course of destiny is suddenly in flux. They can offer no advice. There are absolutely no beacons in the murk ahead. We must travel on instinct and in hope. They are on their guard now against distorting magic - that will not happen again - but the future is uncharted territory, even to the best of them. One thing, though, and one thing only can they tell us. The curse that has been re-cast on Angelus is the curse of the Rom. It still has the happiness clause. That is why Spike is going. I insisted. Angel would have wanted me to.

So, we will carry on as best we can. And we will watch. *** March I have written as much of my treatise as I can, but there is a great deal still to do, and I have yet to draw my conclusions. I think those will be some time coming. Still we watch and wait. Spike, Angelus' childe, went to see him. The one called Whistler left them alone together. Events showed that to be a wise decision. Spike could not restrain himself. He shouted and raged and accused Angelus...Angel, I must learn to call him Angel, now...of abandoning us, of abandoning him. At first, it seems, Angel simply cowered away from him, unable to face him, withdrawing as far as the chains would permit. Then Spike accused him of abandoning the Slayer, of making her into his mate, then destroying her life. Of burying the better demon beneath the weight of the soul. Something seemed to snap in...Angel...then, and he leapt for Spike with such fury that he broke the chains. They fought, and at the end it was Angel who demonstrated his mastery of Spike in the accepted Sire/childe way. They had sex and it involved blood, and the exercise of dominance. Blood, sex and power - the way in which vampires view those things, and use them, is fascinating. Spike told me of their importance on that terrible trip back from Canada, and I see now how those things rule their lives. I wonder how Angel will manage without any of them? At least, Spike and the Slayer tell me that he won't use them in the way that Angelus is accustomed to. They say that, although Angel's nature is still that of a vampire, he will deny everything about himself that is demonic. Surely that isn't healthy? And after all, the exercise of a Sire's rights over his childe seemed to break a spell that has held Angel in its grasp since we found him. Our seers now are sure that a great deal of magic was worked on him, including something that sent him back to that newly ensouled state of madness that he endured in your year of 1898. Now, I am told, he at least seems to be the vampire that he was before he lost the soul, a little over two years ago. And he's safe to be left. It was difficult for Spike to speak of these things to the Slayer, but he did so, in the end. I was there, too, a great privilege. She has appointed me as Keeper of their records. Their Chronicler. Apparently she has no wish for anything to find its way back to the Council of Watchers, an untrustworthy, overly self-aggrandising organisation, it seems to me, and her Watcher concurs. I have his diaries now, for safekeeping. They are fascinating. The fact that Angel is no longer in the grip of madness was a comfort to her, but she misses him dreadfully. So do his childer. Still, at least he seems safe from self-harm now. Perhaps she will be better able to concentrate on ridding this town of some truly dreadful evil that has settled here, and is hunting demons. But not to kill. They are whispering about experiments and the military. If so, it's inhuman. Our word for that is different, of course, but the meaning is the same. Meantime, we have watched Whistler help Angel find accommodation, and a purpose, and then leave. Cordelia, the cheerleader, has disappeared from Sunnydale - such quaint names your towns have - following a visit from some Government officials to her family. She seemed to leave in reduced circumstances. Something to do with taxes. And we have seen her meet with Angel in this city, Los Angeles. At least he is not entirely alone now. November The Seers in Hylek have told us of a great danger to the vampire, both to his body and his soul, although they cannot say what it is. They believe it to be initiated by the one who left him in the cave, or that one's master. In that case, bearing in mind what happened then, and the power of the magic used, it is a miracle they can see anything at all. Angel has never spoken of his ordeal in the cave, but the Seers have sketched out some very discomforting outlines. What we do not understand at all was the motive. That is a concern. The Seers say that trying to foresee events now is like gazing into the heart of a star. Destiny is still in flux. Futures are being burned away. They have no landmarks to steer by. But danger seems to threaten him in a way that threatens fate, too. The Slayer cannot be restrained. She has gone to him. She doesn't care about fate, only him. The Seers were dismayed, saying she would make matters worse. They have gone into a huddle and now refuse to speak to anyone. This doesn't look like a good sign to me. They have done one thing, and one thing only before going into seclusion - they have given me an address and some instructions, and they say the Slayer will need this if and when things go wrong. I am very confused. The Post Office? *** 'If only it were possible to love without injury - fidelity isn't enough...The hurt is in the act of possession: we are too small in mind and body to possess another person without pride or to be possessed without humiliation.' Graham Greene 'The Quiet American' (1955) pt 2 ch 3

I haven't seen Angel since New Year, since he ran away from me, and I have a fluttering in my stomach. To be honest, I feel sick. I don't know what will happen when he sees me. Will he leave me again? Will he simply send me away? I've checked into a motel - I don't want to pressure him by asking to stay at his apartment, and I can't risk being alone with him, not until things are clearer. Who would I be alone with the next morning, anyway, Angel or Angelus? Would I really mind? See? Too dangerous. Not for me. For you. And now I'm on my way to see him. I didn't call to say I was coming. He doesn't know to expect me. I'm so afraid. I wish I were battling vampires... although I suppose I am, in a way. I can feel myself retreat behind a shield of formality - this is going to be a prickly encounter. It's probably best that way. Okay, here's the office door. I can do this. "Hello, Cordelia. Angel." I can't get any more words out. He's taken my breath away, as he always does. Physically, I can see that he's recovered from his ordeal in Canada, but I'm not sure about the rest. He has a haunted look to his eyes - well, it was always there in Angel, when he had his soul, but this is different. Before, it was just the weight of his sins, but bad as that was, it seems worse now - as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. I wonder if I've done that, or is it something to do with the work he has here? I wish I knew. He manages to speak. "Buffy." He's never said my name quite like that before. Longing, and pain, for sure, but he sounds as if he's given up, as if he's warding off a haunting dream. All that in a single word. My being here might be a mistake. He looks as if I'd just punched him in the gut. In fact, I think he would have preferred that. I think that I should just have watched, stalked him, kept him safe in secret. No, that would never have worked. He's better at using the bond than I am yet. He would have known I was there. Well, Angelus would. Surely the same applies to Angel? Doesn't it? He's inviting me down to the apartment. Cordelia is looking at me as if he's inviting a plague carrier in. Perhaps he is. It's very Angel, down here. Not all that different to Angelus, either. Weapons all neatly displayed and ready to hand. Minimal dcor, but what there is, is all of the best, deep colours and rich textures, just as he always liked. Soft lighting. It's easy to forget how sensitive his eyes are. Impossible to forget how much I love him. And I'm babbling because I'm so on edge. We exchange small greetings, the things you concentrate on when you can't say the big things, and then I tell him that he is in danger from the one who left him in the cave. I say it very quickly, because I can see what the memory does to him. "I'm in danger all the time, Buffy." He stops. I know it's because he can't squeeze any more words out through the lump in his throat. Neither can I. Then I can no longer bear it. I close the distance between us and place my finger on his lips. I *know* that we cannot be together here and now; I *know* that he has to find his own place, his own equilibrium; Ezrafel and Giles have told me often enough for me to believe it. In his own way, so has Spike. But I cannot bear that he keeps shrinking back from me, as if by touching me he would pollute me. That simply has to stop. Or perhaps he thinks I might pollute him? No, don't go there. I move my hand from his mouth, and stroke his cheek, gently, as if he were a wild creature, about to take flight, and he almost does. "Angel. There's a lot to say between us, but not here, and not now. You aren't ready to hear it, and maybe I'm not ready to say it. Just know this." And I kiss him. I don't have the words, and actions speak louder than words, anyway. He seems to hear me, though. He's hesitant at first, heartbreakingly shy, and then he's just Angel, and he's kissing me, as I'm kissing him, as if our souls could touch, and speak naked words of love. His arms are around me, as mine are around him, and his hands slide up my back as if they had never stopped doing this. Just like mine. It is me that breaks the kiss. Slowly and gently. He drops his hands as I pull away. I look at him, and try to tell him with my eyes what I want to say. Suddenly, I wonder whether my thoughts are being carried to him on my scent. I think that might be true. It gives me an idea. "And know this." We are close to the kitchen area. I take a knife from the block and drag my palm up the blade. His expression can only be described as anguished. And needy. I press my bloody palm to his lips. His eyes close, but he doesn't pull away. His tongue, tentative and reluctant, gathers up the blood.

"Yours. I am always yours. No matter what. In this life and the next." "Buffy, you should forget about me. I can bring you nothing but pain." He pauses and takes a deep, unnecessary and shuddering breath, steadying himself for what he is about to say. "If you could have your choice, what is the one thing in the world you would wish for?" His voice sounds harsher, as if he is steeling himself to do something. He knows the answer to this. We used to talk about it sometimes, on patrol. "A picket fence, kids, a dog. You." "And I want you to have all those things. But you can't. You can't have a normal life, and me. I'm not human, and I'm never going to be human again. Ever. I would give up everything I ever had to be human for you, but I'm not and I can't. Forget me. Find yourself a human boy who can take you out in the sunlight. Who won't do to you the things that I did." Oh, my poor demon. Full frontal attack, then. "What did you taste in my blood? TELL ME! And tell me the truth." He shakes his head. I raise my voice even more. Cordelia will hear, but I don't care. "TELL ME!" He turns away from me, and I really don't know where this is going to go when the light from the window suddenly darkens and the glass shatters. A body tumbles into the room, in full fighting stance. A demon. And it's big. It's all padded up with that quilted armour that samurai use, and a helmet. A battle demon, then. With a very big, curved sword. I remember that the sword is called a katana. Right now? A rose by any other name can still chop your head off. And it's got a second, short, sword still sheathed. This is going to be fun. Angel gets to the demon first. Why does he have to do that? I'm the Slayer, I don't need protection. Since he has, though, I take the opportunity to run to the nearest weapons display to grab a couple of swords. I'm only gone a few seconds, but even so, it's clear that this is one very strong fighter. Angel has a claw mark on one cheek that's already fading, but the broken furniture tells me that he got flung across the room - very hard. I toss him a broadsword, one that I remember was always his favourite, just as the demon lunges for him with its own. And, for the second time, he's in front of me, protecting me from the charge, even though it's clear that the demon is more interested in him than in me. At least, that's what I think. This fighter has come specifically for him. He brings his own sword hard down onto the katana, forcing his opponent to let go of it. This time, the demon tries to grapple him. I recognise the manoeuvre. It's trying to break his neck. I charge in from the side while it's busy trying to get a hold on him, and it certainly seems to want to concentrate on him rather than me. That works well, because he manages to put an enormous burst of strength into a blow to its throat and it staggers backwards, towards me. I simply have to hold out my own sword for the demon to fall on it. And it does. It's messy, though, with strings of green goop flowing over the sword and onto my hand. And although it's very badly wounded, it isn't dead. It tears itself from the blade, catches up its own weapon and tumbles deliberately backwards through the broken window. We rush over to catch sight of it, both of us at the same time, and for a split second our bodies touch from shoulder to hip to thigh. My mouth goes dry, and I almost don't see the wounded demon slip into a sewer entrance. I think Angel almost misses it, too, but we need to focus. We cannot allow a wounded battle demon loose in the city. "There's a tunnel entrance here." Angel points to a grating in the floor. Well, there would be, wouldn't there? I go first, grabbing a cloth on the way down to clean the demon goop from my hand. I don't want my grip on the sword slipping in blood at the wrong moment. And the demon blood is stinging the cut on my palm. The cut that's almost healed.

Angel clearly knows his way around the underground tunnels by now, and it's only a matter of minutes before we find traces of green blood. The trail peters out very shortly afterwards, and it seems that the demon has staunched the bleeding somehow. Not much further, and I start to feel very strange indeed. Hot, with ice-cold spiders crawling inside me. That's the best description I can give. I have to stop for a second with my hand against the wall, supporting me. My arm is trembling. He's with me in a moment, his arm around my shoulders, concern written all over his face. "I'm okay, I just feel really weird. It'll pass. Let's get going." I'm talking big, but I'm not sure it will pass soon at all. I'm beginning to feel really weak, as if I had a sudden attack of flu. You know, where your bones seem hot and not made of bone. Jelly, maybe, but not bone. "No." He puts that cool hand to my forehead, and it's like a spring breeze in the desert. I'm burning up. "Come on, I'll get you back." He bends to pick me up, and I cannot bear that...I remember too many other times when he - or Angelus - has carried me so. I push him away, and hand the sword over. "Just take me to the nearest entrance, and I'll get a cab back to the motel." He gets the mulish look - one that I know very well - but I forestall him. "I'll be fine. I'll call you tomorrow." I take a deep breath. "Angel, I can't stay with you - it's not safe for either of us." He knows I'm right, and he takes me to the nearest exit. It's daylight, so he can't come with me, but he boosts me up the ladder as far as he can. Something is nagging at me, and I decide to take a chance. "Angel, he's you, too. Cut him some slack. Please." Before he can reply, I'm gone. When I get back to the motel, I call Giles. The weird sensations are beginning to pass, but I feel as weak as a baby. I give him as good a description of the demon as I can - big, green-skinned, armoured, Samurai sword, jewel in its forehead like a third eye. And I tell him about the green, glowing blood leaking into my cut, although I don't tell him how I got the cut. It must have something to do with how I feel. I can think of no other explanation. Then I lie down to sleep. I feel battered and bruised all over. It's dark when Giles calls me back. His voice is serious. "Buffy, you need to come home." "Giles, I haven't finished what I came here to do." There's a silence on the line, and I don't like the sound of it. Eventually, he speaks again. "Buffy, we don't think you *can* finish it." "Why? What do you know?" "Just come home. We can talk about it then." "Stop being cryptic guy. What do you know?" The silence is louder this time. "We might be wrong, of course, but we think it was a Mohra demon."

"So what's a Murray demon?" "Mohra. They are warriors of darkness, sent to take out warriors from the other side. Warriors like you." "But it came for Angel. He was the one it concentrated on." "Then it may come back for him. We think this was definitely the danger we were warned of, but you got in the way. Buffy...go and hit something, anything." "What?" "Please - just do it." I walk into the bathroom and hit the tiled wall as hard as I can. For a moment, the pain is all consuming. I think I may have broken my hand. The tiles are untouched. When I get back to the 'phone, I'm frightened of what Giles will say. "What's happened to me, Giles?" Another one of those silences, stretching from here to Sunnydale. "Mohra demons can regenerate themselves indefinitely, unless they're killed in the right way. We think that its blood has regenerated you." "Giles, what aren't you saying?" Even over the telephone, I can hear the emotions in Giles' voice when he eventually answers. Pain. Fear. Love. "Remember when the Hylekian shaman was examining your blood for traces of werewolf, and he said that your power came from something that wasn't quite soul and wasn't quite demon, but demon was the closer of the two? That you have something at the core of you that is...different?" I remember. How could I ever forget? He goes on. "We think that something, that power, has gone. We think you've been regenerated as a normal human." We talk for a little longer. No, that's not true. Giles talks, meaningless words of reassurance, and I sit in stunned silence. At last I can muster enough reason to ask one question. "Am I still the Slayer?" His voice is very gentle, the one you use to a loved one in deep grief. "You're human, Buffy. Your powers are gone." Human. I no longer have to save the world. That is now someone else's responsibility. It should be a whole new future opening up for me, but it feels like a loss. Something in which I felt a proper pride has been taken from me, before I was quite ready to let it go. I am no longer what I was. No longer *who* I was. So who am I now? He insists on telling me one more thing. Giving me an address that Ezrafel has for me. It's meaningless, but he makes me write it down and put it in my pocket. It was given, he says, for when things go wrong, and perhaps that is now. Under the Post Office? And take a gift? I sit there for a very long time after hanging up the phone. Then I curl up on the bed, although sleep is a million miles away. I stay like that, my body numb, my mind in meltdown, for another very long time. A very long time indeed. Then I realise that there is only one place I want to be. One person to tell. One person who will understand and perhaps comfort me. Angel. I hadn't realised how much time had passed. It's afternoon again. I should be hungry, but the thought of food makes me nauseous.

When I get to his office door, my nerve almost fails me. What will he think of me? Will he feel differently now that I am fully human? Did he love Buffy the Slayer, the dark and light of me, or did he just love Buffy, whoever she was? Angel, that is. I can't bear to even think about his dark half, and who it was that he might have loved. When I can muster the courage to walk in, the office is empty. I look in Cordelia's desk diary. The afternoon section for today contains just two words in large print. 'StayGone Audition.' She's gone for an *advertising audition*? And she's left the door unlocked on a sleeping vampire? Left him vulnerable to the world. I'll kill her if any harm has come to him. Perhaps I'll just kill her anyway. My heart is thudding against my ribs as I walk as stealthily as I can - less so than I could have done yesterday - down the stairs to his apartment. It's pumping very human blood around to my leaden limbs. I'm full of fear, making me stiff and clumsy; fear of finding just a small pile of ash. The bedroom door is ajar. He's there, unharmed. He's beautiful. That isn't a word you can use about many men, but it's perfect for him. There's only a blood red sheet and a richly woven coverlet, in clean jewel colours, both of which are pushed down to his waist. He's lying on his left side, curled into a ball, his fists knotted, even in sleep. His face looks troubled. I don't think he's getting much rest, then. His right shoulder is curved inwards a little, showing his tattoo. I still have the inked copy of it on my right shoulder, with an omega instead of the 'A', the alpha. It's a reminder of the Games and of what came after. Ezrafel says mine can be removed by magic, but otherwise it will stay, continually renewing itself, fed by the magic that created it and by the magic within us. The magic within us. Surely there's a mirror in the bathroom! If nowhere else, surely he has one there! He does. I tear off my top and turn around. All that I can see in that hateful mirror is skin. Nothing else. It's then that I understand what I can only call the silence. When you're in a room with a ticking clock, at first you notice it all the time, then it fades into the background and becomes just a comfortable sound that you only hear when you want to. Or when the clock stops ticking. Then the silence is very loud indeed. It has been the same with Angel's presence. Our bond means that I am always aware of him in some measure, but I have become accustomed to it, like the clock. It's a comfort, and I can focus on it whenever I want. And it isn't there any more. The magic has truly left me, and I am less than I was. At least I am in all the ways that have mattered to me in the last 4 years. Still, this is my chance to start my life over, right? To leave the cares of the Slayer behind me and just be a normal girl? Surely I should grasp this opportunity with both hands? Why, then, do I have such a feeling of loss? It's as I am putting my top back on that I hear the grate of shifting metal from somewhere in the apartment. I look towards the entrance to the tunnels, and see the Mohra demon hoisting itself up through the opening. A sound from the bedroom tells me that Angel is awake. I realise then, without even taking the time to think, that I know so little about him, as opposed to Angelus. Is he one of those guys who's up and ready for anything? Or does he take a few minutes to get it together? Angelus had the waking reflexes of a cat, all tooth and claw. Is Angel the same? It might be the difference between life and death today. And I'm not the Slayer anymore, but it seems I've still got the job to do this one last time. Before the Mohra can clear the entrance, I race to the nearest weapons display and pull down a sword and an axe - the first things I can reach. "Angel! The Mohra!" And then I'm in the bedroom, with the Mohra closing fast. It looks much bigger than last time. Angel is naked. There is no time to drink down the sight of him, so I toss him the axe and turn to face the demon. I take a practiced swing with the sword - at least my muscles remember their years of training - but even though it feels heavier than my arms will bear for long, I might as well be hitting the demon with a strand of spaghetti. It brushes me out of the way with a blow that lands me outside the bedroom door. Angel fares better - his axe bites into the Mohra's hip but, in return, that curved sword catches him in the ribs. The Mohra is still ignoring me, and so I reach for another sword, this one a short, stabbing one, and toss that to my vampire. It's only left to me then to move out of the way as the fight leaves the confines of the bedroom and moves into the main apartment. Whenever I can, I try to get in some stabs from behind, and once, I get a swing at the Mohra's neck. It would have worked, too, but I'm neither

quick enough nor strong enough. The demon simply reaches behind itself and knocks the sword from my hand. But my effort has distracted it. Angel buries his axe in that thick neck. As he does so, he tries to fend off the katana with his gladius, although my experience tells me he expects the Mohra to sheathe its own sword in him somewhere. He's accepted that such a wound will be the price of getting close enough for what should be a killing blow. Warriors need to do that, sometimes. The Mohra surprises both of us, though. Angel's blow isn't mortal, although it does finish this particular combat, because the Mohra staggers back to the tunnel entrance. But not before it has taken a huge swing with the lethal sword it carries, and then hit Angel so hard on the temple with its fist that he lies crumpled and unconscious on the floor. On its way out, it pulls the axe from that place where its neck meets the shoulder and tosses it onto the floor. As it prepares to leap down into the tunnels, it smiles at me, a smile full of secret, malicious knowledge. Then it speaks. "Together you were strong. Alone you will be powerless. Both of you." Then it is gone. All I have is bruises and hurt pride. Angel lies naked and unconscious on the floor, bleeding from a slash across his ribs, and his injured right arm cradled across his chest. Part of it, anyway. The rest lies about two feet away. That last swing of the Mohra's sword has severed it halfway between wrist and elbow. Can vampires grow new limbs? I don't know. It feels as if I'm in a dream. A nightmare. Nothing seems real; I can't seem to touch anything that feels real, as I crawl on hands and knees over to my lover. The air seems as if it's solid, though, and I can't get my breath. My mind and my body seem to be two different people, and the mind person is paralysed by the horror of it. My body does the next thing on its own. I have no control, I swear. I stand up and walk over to the axe. It is covered in demon blood. I carry that, and Angel's arm, back to where he lies. I watch myself coat the wounds on both parts with the demon's blood from the axe, and I hold the parts together. Then my body closes my eyes and my mind prays. I stay like that for several long minutes. When I open my eyes again, his arm is whole and unblemished. Somehow, I had known that would be the case. But there have been other changes. Angel is regaining consciousness. And he is warm. I can hear his heart beat. My own heart soars at the sound. The future is ours. *** The first thing I realise as I regain consciousness is that Buffy is lying with her arms around me, amongst the wreckage left by the fight. The second thing is that I can no longer hear her in my blood. Before the distress of that can really hit me, I understand that, although I can't hear Buffy, my body is very noisy indeed. The loudest sound is the rush of blood through my veins. My heart is beating. A miracle has happened. I am alive. Just as the prophecy said would happen. The prophecy that I have never dared to share with her, although everything within me has desperately wanted to for weeks, ever since Wesley finished translating it during his brief stay here. The prophecy that, deep down, I thought was just another torment from Wolfram & Hart. Or at best, perhaps, a carrot from the Powers that Be. A lie, concocted to keep me enslaved. Buffy coaxes me to my feet - I'm having trouble taking all of this in - and she leads me to the shower. We are, after all, covered in sweat and blood, not all of it red. As we shower, she explains to me that blood from the demon, mixing with mine, has regenerated me. As it did with her yesterday. I cannot hope to describe the emotions sheeting through me as I begin to understand the changes that have been made to us, and the implications. I am no longer a vampire, she is no longer a slayer, and we have a future ahead of us. One in which it seems possible to include picket fences, kids and dogs. And her. This is a gift from a demon, though. Nothing will be what it seems, I'm certain of that. Something must remain, a worm in this Eden's apple, surely? Is this truly the humanity that was prophesied? But we are here and now. Let the future wait for a few minutes. The hot water from the showerhead prickles my skin quite differently to the way it did yesterday. The feel of Buffy's hands on my flesh as she kneels to soap my legs - oh, dear God, I never thought this would ever happen again - the feel is different to when my body was cool and dead and demonic. Her hands burned like a welcome fire, then. Now they are like the touch of silk, the whispering wings of a butterfly.

She stands up, soap in one hand, and turns me round to face the wall, intent on finishing off what she has started. I hear her sharp intake of breath. "Buffy, what is it? What's wrong?" She leans against me, her whole body cleaving to me, her arms around me. I have somehow kept myself in check until now, but I cannot, cannot bear it any longer. I am hard and ready for her. More than ready. Then she answers. "Your tattoo." "Yes?" "It's gone." My ties with the Aurelians, with Aurelius himself, are gone. I can no longer feel my family, my pride, those for whom I should be responsible. They aren't mine any longer. I truly am human. Why do I feel such a sense of loss? A sense of being no one and nothing? Of being separated from everything that has defined me for the best part of three centuries. Is that because I am a clean slate? Have all those terrible acts I committed been wiped out? How could that be? If I needed to make reparation yesterday, if I needed to atone this morning, how can my sins be wiped clean today, my life given back anew this afternoon? I am still me. Aren't I? If not, who am I? When I came here, I was like the Hired Man. I had nothing to look backward to with pride, and nothing to look forward to with hope. For different reasons, of course, but the effect was the same. That was me, without point or purpose. The Powers offered me a chance at redemption, but that has always seemed so far away, something that would be hard earned. Then I found the prophecy, that I might one day be in a state of being that allowed me to be with the woman I loved. If she still lived when the time came. The prophecy that I doubted - had to doubt, to keep my sanity. Is this it, though? In the short time since I came here, how can I have done enough to earn a reward? Then all thoughts of existential philosophy are driven from me as her little hands travel over my body. Every fibre of my being has thirsted for her as a man in the desert thirsts for water, but some parts have made that thirst a little more evident than others. I turn, and wrap my arms around her. Even after a long drought, and even with only human stamina between us, I don't want this to be over too quickly. After all, I still have two hundred and fifty years of experience. That should count for something. I may have my weaknesses, but knowing how to please a woman isn't one of them. As I bend to this most pleasurable of tasks, I want to worship her body, to come to her as a supplicant and show her how much I adore everything that is her. But there is something even more urgent. She has her legs wrapped around my waist, and I could take her here and now, against the tiled wall of the shower, with the cooling water sliding over our skin. I hold her to me with some effort - even one as slight as she is heavier than she would have been when I was a vampire - and carry her towards the bedroom. As the urgency overwhelms me, the bedroom is too far. I sweep all the crockery from the kitchen table and lay her back onto its wooden surface. There is something that I must do, and it has less to do with love than with other emotions. Emotions I had forgotten that humans might recognise and own - a fierce and savage pride of possession. Perhaps it is better to do this here, than in my bed, where I want her to know only love. I am no longer able to smell where he has been, but I know that he has been here, and I want him gone. This woman is mine, and I am going to take her and wipe away from her body and her mind every vestige of the demon she said she loved. Although it's impossible, I want to sink my teeth into her neck and make sure that his scent no longer taints her blood. Mine. *** He's sleeping now. We've made love for hours, and we are spent and exhausted. We're human now, after all. I thought he was going to take me in the shower, but he managed to get as far as the kitchen. The kitchen table was fine by me. His lovemaking there seemed almost...Angelus-like. He made sure that every part of me was screaming for his attention, but there was a hint of savagery, of wildness, of *possession*, that belonged to my demon. Then he carried me into the bedroom and showed me that 250 years of experience hadn't been forgotten in the transition to human. I can't wait to sample all of it. Everything. And we have all the years of our lives to come. We took a break a couple of hours ago, and sent out for groceries. He says that before, when he tasted human food, it always seemed to lack savour, to be bland and insipid, like a stew without salt and herbs. At least, that's how he's always described it. It wasn't blood, you see. Now? Well, let's just say he's discovered a whole new world. And it really is, because most of this stuff wasn't around when he was last human. Cookie dough fudge mint chip ice cream, for example. So, while there are things he's going to show me, there are definitely things I can show him.

One of those things is how much I love him. During another brief, quiet period of recovery, we talked about the future. Our future. A home. Children. A life together. No monsters, no curses, nothing but the normal human trials, and those we can deal with, together. There is only one thing that I regret. Well, a couple, perhaps. Being the Slayer defined who I was, and although it was hard, and separated me from the rest of the world, I mattered. I made a difference. Will I miss that? Will I look for the next Chosen one, and bitch about whether I could have done better? Yes, in all honesty, I think so. Would I trade it for what I have been given? No, never. Everything has a price, and this is one I'm happy to pay. The second thing? Need you ask? It's shameful, considering the calling that I have just lost. I will miss my demon. I loved him. He was part of Angel, and I loved him. He may have been vicious and evil, but he had some surprising aspects. And he loved me. How could I not miss him? Neither of us are quite what we were, but it will be enough. We will make sure that it is. We agreed earlier that I would stay here for a few days, move my things from the motel. A few days in which to start planning the rest of our lives. Then I need to get back to Sunnydale, to college. After all, if I am no longer the Slayer, and he is no longer a champion, we will need to earn a living some other way. Education might actually matter, if I'm going to live long enough to benefit from it. I've left him a note on the pillow to say that I'll be there and back as fast as the cabs can go. Cordelia isn't there. She has been, though; there's a note on her desk: 'Angel, a man called from Egypt. He sounded expensive. Wanted to know about you and Buffy. I think he was worried about something, but wouldn't leave his name or number. If you know him, give me the address and I'll send him our business terms.' Someone wanted to know about Angel and me? Who would I know in Egypt? I'll ask him when I get back. *** He's dead. I can't feel him, so he's dead. My Sire. Oh, yes, I can always feel him, but I'm only aware of it when I concentrate on him. Are you aware of the blood flowing through your veins? Of the hormones speeding around your body? Of the press of air against your skin as you simply sit in a room? Most of the time, no, you aren't. That is what it is like with us. I can feel him, a part of me, but it's at a subconscious level. What I can feel now is...nothing. He's simply gone. Only death does that. And Aurelius has just telephoned. I didn't even know he had the number here. All those months we spent in Egypt, and I never saw Aurelius out of countenance. He was trying to be calm, now, but he's panicked and full of fear. I can tell. He asked about the Slayer, too. Can he feel her? Are they both dead, my Sire and his mate? They'd bloody well better not be, now that I have this family again. A family that I missed for a hundred years. I've fought against his authority, I've cursed him and made his life a misery. But I love him. Him, not that pale and spineless Soul. Him. Let him not be dead. But I can't feel him. If she is involved, though, I had better speak to the Watcher. He needs to be warned. Perhaps we can make things right. When we have tried everything else - *everything* - only then will it be time for mourning. *** She's gone when I wake up, but her note tells me she won't be long. Perhaps not long enough for something I need to do. I am worried that what we have been given will not last, that we will revert to what we were. To what I was. Or that there are consequences that we cannot foresee. The worm in the apple. I know where to go to ask the question - Whistler gave me an address when he first brought me here. Real emergencies only. This might be one. Maybe it can wait a little longer, though, to find out whether this is a poisoned apple. Maybe it will be all right to just enjoy what is. For a little while. And I need to find out who and what I am. I have been a vampire for so long that I can't remember how to be human. But perhaps it's like riding a bicycle - it will all come back to me. I don't know what I am, though. I thought I was going to be a warrior for the Powers that Be. I have been, for the last few months. What am I now? I don't imagine there's much call for a linen merchant's failure of a son. And I am such a weak man. I've always been weak. I remember thinking often that it was not only the demon in me that needed killing, that the man did, too. Can the man be strong without the demon?

And what about atonement? I cannot have earned peace yet, I am sure of that. There is just too much that I have done. Too much deliberate, selfish evil over too long a time. How am I, a human, to atone for such demonic deeds? Perhaps the Oracles can tell me. At least, with God's good grace, it seems I won't have to deal with her request. That might have been the hardest thing of all. To cut him some slack. After all, he isn't part of me any more. *** It's dark and cold here, and I must keep moving, keep trying to find somewhere - other. I don't know where I am. Not exactly. My senses are blinded. That's what this place does to you. But I know what I am. Dead. Not dead as in undead. Not dead as in a vampire. I am simply dead. My mate has killed me. That much I know. And she wasn't exactly my mate when she did. Still, it isn't quite the behaviour of a loyal and loving mate, now, is it? I should feel angry, but I don't. Perhaps it's something to do with glands. I don't have any, here. I'm just a wraith, a spirit. A non-corporeal demon. That doesn't seem to mean that I can't feel, though. I believe that I have been here a long time and - they - have been pursuing me all this time. I have been harried through different lands in this place, wherever this is. Oh, they could catch me any time they liked, I think. They prefer the fun of the chase, allowing me to have a little hope that I may have won free of them, although I know that I have not, really. The Erinnyes. The Furies. I know them. Alecto, Tisiphone and Megaera. Three beauties sent from Tartarus to punish wrongdoers, especially those who have killed their kin. Like me. But I'm a demon. I'm *meant* to do things like that. Why do they chase me? I'm not the Soul. The sound of their wings is the first indication you have that they have found you - those leathery, bat wings, beating through the air. The faint sound of it in your ears, the brush of displaced air on your skin - I'm naked here - these are the things that tell you, warn you of what is to come. You don't see them here. I've told you, it's dark in this particular place, this special corner of Hell that they have driven me to. I mean dark. Absolutely no light of any sort. Blind. Then they choose how to harry you. They have snakes for hair. Just like Medusa. If they choose to use those, you can expect to feel those sharp little fangs somewhere on your body. Anywhere. They especially go for the places that are most sensitive, feel the most pain. Do I need to spell it out? There are three of them, so they have plenty of coverage. And it isn't just the bite. They inject a toxin from all those dozens of little mouths. It's like fire. They have had me screaming many, many times. Or they have teeth and claws. They have the heads of dogs, with blackened and savage fangs. Not sharp teeth; that wouldn't hurt so much as they tear into you. These are big and blunt and stinking with shreds of rotted flesh. It's probably my own by now. If they choose to use those, they simply rip the flesh from your body; gobbets of it, left bleeding into the muck. I can't see it here, of course, but I've seen it in the other places. They aren't all dark. I have no real body, you see, but that doesn't help. I remember the body, and that is quite enough. I don't know whether I remember the pain or imagine it, but that's quite enough, too. It heals, of course. Every single time. Or they simply use those wings to herd me in whichever direction they choose. The last time they did that, I could still see, could still *anticipate* what they were herding me towards. That makes it worse in some ways. It was a lava field, just cooling. Between the smouldering rock and the slicingly sharp edges, my feet were burned and shredded. They still are. I don't always heal as quickly as I did when I was - alive. Why have they come for me, these creatures of Hell? What, because they are spoken of in myth, you think that they don't exist, that they are figments of my imagination? What do you know, human? I can very easily make a believer of you. Come here and change places. They pursue you humans in life, you know, as remorse, guilt, and shame. Well, most of you. Not me, of course. But here, they are made manifest. Given flesh. And jaws. And so I must keep moving. They are my own personal Furies, and they have forever to hunt me. I can run. Or I can hide; but I've found nowhere to do that. Nowhere they cannot follow. So I run until my legs can no longer bear me, until the agony they have inflicted on me is beyond even my capacity, until I can do nothing but lie as a weeping, shuddering ball of too solid flesh. Then they can have their way with me. They gather around, stroking me, fondling me, using every wile known to woman to ensure that every nerve I have is aflame with desire. I often used to like to do that with my own victims. Make their nerves as receptive as possible. It makes the agony you then inflict even more exquisite. I learned that from Darla. I wonder if these ones taught her everything she knew? If they did, they didn't teach her everything *they* knew, I can attest to that. I can't stay here. Hell is not what it should be. I am a demon, damn it! I should be welcome here. Why am I not? I *must* win back my freedom. Win back my life, my mate. Everything is for sale, even here. The only question is the price. Can it be afforded? And who must pay? But I must keep moving, and find someone, anyone, willing and able to trade. And I must keep moving, because here they come again.

*** So little to pack. A few clothes - I didn't intend to be here for long. As for weapons, I only brought stakes; I knew that Angel would have enough of everything else. Before I start, I decide to put in a call to Giles, let him know that I'll be staying for a few days. Let him know what's happened. He'll understand. When I talk to him, though, his voice is strained, and he doesn't seem exactly pleased to hear from me. No, that's not right. It's as if he dreaded hearing from me, but knew it had to be done. He listens to me, though, and is shocked by what has happened to Angel. I can't bring myself to say that I did it. Not yet. I ask him whether the next Slayer is coming to the Hellmouth. I have to ask him to repeat his reply. "Buffy, there is no other Slayer." "But Giles, there's *always* a slayer. She must not have been chosen yet." Kendra's death hadn't resulted in another Slayer being called. I was the one and only. There must always be one. Mustn't there? I can hear his sigh over the phone. "Buffy, because I'm older than you, and a Watcher, it doesn't mean that I'm always perfectly right, I'm afraid. I wish it did, that everything I did and said was exactly so. In this case, I was wrong. There *is* a slayer. She just doesn't have any powers any more." He explains, as for the second time in twenty-four hours, I sit incapable of movement or thought. When he has finished, I don't give him a chance to say more - I hang up with barely a goodbye. Powers are given to the chosen one to allow her to fulfil her calling, but, with or without those powers, she is still the Slayer. It's a permanent state of affairs. Only death ends the tenure. There's no retirement plan. So long as I live, there will be no other slayer. And I'm not enough. I'll probably die in the first battle. I don't even have my guardian demon to protect me, my beloved vampire in either of his guises. He's dead, and Angel is only human. I don't want either of us to die. I want to live for him. And I want him to live for me. But I'm what I always wanted to be - normal. So is he. Damn it all to hell. I stand up to pace - perhaps I'll think better if I pace. As I do, I thrust my hands into my pockets, and feel a square of paper. Under the Post Office. Take a gift. What more have I got to lose? When they let me in, I enter a hall that has doorways that seem to go on forever. Two...beings...Oracles, my paper says, come towards me. They look as if they've overdone the blue body paint and gold artwork. They also look unhappy to see me. I offer my gift - best Belgian truffles. Well, how was I to know who I was visiting? What does 'under the Post Office' say to you? Still, they seem pleased. Perhaps they don't get too many goodies down here. "What are you doing here, mortal? You have forfeited your heritage and stolen another. What do you think to do here?" 'Stolen another?' What do they mean by that? But they seem to know what has happened to me. "My powers have been taken from me, but I am still the Slayer. Without them I cannot be what I was born to be. I will die. Can you help?" Well, I must have been given the address for a reason. "What is done is done. The future goes on from the past, albeit a different one. A Slayer dies, another is chosen." Enough with the philosophy! "My Watcher and the Hylekians say that the Mohra demon was sent to take out a warrior for your cause. It came for Angel, but it took both of us. Can you give me back my powers? So that I can fight again?" "The Mohra didn't take both of you. You were the one that took your mate's destiny. You killed the vampire, and did the work of the Mohra. We cannot help." I don't want to think about that.

"You don't understand! I need to be able to fight. I need to be able to protect my own. And I need my calling back again." As I say it, I realise that it's true. They say that you can never go back. Believe it. "What of your mate?" "He'll understand. I'll make him understand." "You speak of your lover, the human. Liam. I speak of your mate. He is dead." My heart screams, but I try not to show it. "I love Angel. I'll protect him, if I have my powers back again." And I will. I'll just have to forget my demon. I can love the man without the demon. I know I can. And Angel desperately wanted to be human. "There will be a price for the path you have chosen." "I'm sure. I'll pay it." "Death will come...sooner." That was from the male Oracle, the first time he has spoken. "Fine!" The answer comes out with more of a snap than I intend. "Remember. Together you are strong. Alone, you are weak. You and he both." Where have I heard that before? The Oracles turn away, the female simply waving her hand in a gesture of dismissal. I'm thrown back out through the door, and hit the wall on the other side with bone-crunching force. But my bones don't crunch. I'm back. *** The Oracles stand gazing backwards at the doorway through which they have sent the Slayer back into her own dimension. "Have we done the right thing, sister? Her decision takes us further from the path." "She will come to understand that. She must." "You think she will be back?" "I have no doubt of it." She doesn't. Well, not much. You can never be absolutely sure, with humans. Her brother smiles. It is a small smile, with a hint of sadness, to be sure, but it is a warm one, nonetheless. "The price will be higher for the delay, if she returns." "In the end the price will be the same. She will pay it, he will pay it, and so shall we. Death comes for us all down any of the roads from here. She just makes it harder, that's all." "Do you think either of them can ever accept that only together can they be strong? Demon and mortal? That they can accomplish nothing if they divide themselves in this way?" She looks uncertain for a moment. "They are not yet ready to embrace what they are, what they must be, but we cannot help them in that. They must learn for themselves. There should be time enough for that." He nods, and the two beings close the door on the temporal diversion they have created, the one that will give the Slayer time to reassess, to learn, to come back and ask to undo what she, in her pride, has done.

*** When Buffy returns, I can see that she doesn't have her travel bag with her, but I don't know that she has changed. Not until she tells me. You would think I would have known. John Donne said 'No man is an Island, entire of it self,' but it isn't true. You live your lives so separate from the rest of your kind, at least compared to vampires. I should have known. I should have felt her singing through my blood. The Slayer. My mate. But I feel nothing of it. She walks into my arms, and holds me tight. Tight enough to almost crack my ribs, and I have to loosen her hold on me. We're going to have to watch that. We have been so much a match for each other that anything else will be difficult. Even in my mind I'm babbling, trying to avoid thinking about the repercussions of what has happened. She had been told about the Oracles, and has been to see them. Strange. That was what I was planning to do. She tells me everything well, I think it's everything, but how would I know, now? I can no longer smell the truth on her, so I must trust. And I do. I bury my face in her hair, and use all these blunted senses to drink her in. She's the Slayer again, and I am simply human. Whatever that means. She has told me many times how she longed to be just a normal girl, but she has given that up for me. I wonder if, as a normal human, I'll be enough for her? I'm suddenly more afraid for the future than I have ever been. For some reason, the picket fence, and kids, and dogs, seem to recede into the distance. I pray that it is just my imagination. Then, I remember the urges that demanded to be fulfilled in our first human lovemaking. The need to wipe *him* away. Was that human, or demonic? I have the unfulfilled, impossible desire to renew our bond by taking her blood. Is that just a leftover habit from the demon? Or has he imprinted his urges indelibly on me? More indelibly than the tattoo? Has he left something of himself behind? And have I left something of myself behind in him? I am surprised to find myself hoping not. Unless he has gone to oblivion, then after death, it will be better if he is as much of a demon as he can be. I don't know what Hell would be like, otherwise. Whatever the truth of those things, I know that I have only human strength now. It will have to be enough. Enough to fight next to her, to watch her back, to protect her. I hope that my muscles still remember their training. We stay like that for a little while, until I hear the telephone upstairs ring. It quickly stops, so perhaps Cordelia has answered. It's midmorning, after all. And indeed she has, because she comes running down the stairs now. It was Wesley, back in LA. He got as far as the hospital, it seems. He's badly hurt. He'd been following a family of battle demons, and they were much too strong for him. They are killers. We have to go and find them, finish the job. Cordelia doesn't know anything of what has happened to us, and there doesn't seem any point in telling her, just yet. But she is right. We have to go. But, how will I protect Buffy now? So, now we are as prepared for combat as we can get. I have an axe and a sword, Buffy has a sword and her stakes. She says she's comfortable with those, although I'm not sure how effective they will be on these demons. They are in the sewers, according to Wesley, and if his description is correct, I know roughly where. We are headed there now. There is always a nervous tension about going into battle. Even Angelus was never quite as cocky as he seemed to be. Even the most proficient fighter can have bad luck. And if you fight long enough, you'll eventually meet someone stronger. Or simply luckier. Today, I am afraid. Today will be the day I meet someone stronger. I just hope Liam will be brave enough when the time comes. But I'm what I've wanted to be ever since I met her - human. Damn it all to hell. *** Angel seems to know where we are going. He leads us straight to the lair. There are five of them, two much bigger and stronger than the others, but all of them are fearsome. They look like a family. We'll have to take them all. The male and female charge, leaving the younger demons behind and I move to meet them with my sword. Stakes will be no use here. I need to be in front of Angel now that he is human and...dammit! He's pushed in front of me as if he were still the old Angel, and able to take the punishment of the first charge. He has to learn that this is my fight, now, not his. ***

I have made the deal. I really don't like it, but it's done now, and there can be no regrets. Time runs differently in this place, and I think I've been here for months, years maybe; this was the only one I have met who could restore me. I don't know how it will be done, but it will be soon, and then I can go back to my mate. I'll deal with the consequences later. They won't harm her - that was part of the deal. But there will be a new power on Earth, and I will serve it. I have given my word, and a demon has nothing but their word. So I will serve it. Until I can find another way. *** The battle is over now, and I've managed to get him back to his apartment. The demons are all dead, but Angel is badly hurt. Very badly hurt. Cordelia, may she rot in hell, is off at another audition. Still, that may be for the best. I know what I have to do, and it is better there is no one to witness it. He will *never* stop protecting me. Not ever. It's in his bones. If he comes back to Sunnydale with me, he will die. We might both die, if I'm distracted by having another human warrior to safeguard. The Oracles said death would come sooner. Was that what they meant? If I leave him here, he will continue with his self-appointed mission. And he will die. He's much too proud to depend on anyone else. The Oracles said I had stolen another's heritage, that I had taken my mate's destiny. Done the work of the Mohra demon. I really didn't listen to those things at the time. I was focused on my own need to be the Slayer again. But they were right. We are who we are, and perhaps we are that for a purpose. Angel has a destiny, and so do I. We have to see the game out. All I can do is pray that those destinies meet. Sometime. Somewhere. I'm on my way back to the Post Office. I have a gift. Angel's axe. I'll use it if I have to. Things cannot stay as they are. *** The Oracles gaze at the fading doorway where the Slayer has just left. Just been ejected. "Well, brother, she seems to have learned." "You judged her well, sister." "We are supposed to be Oracles," snaps the female, with some tartness. "You are sure that the other will remember, and guide his aim when the time comes?" "Palestrina? She will remember. I have made sure that she has power enough for that." The male still looks troubled - or as troubled as an Oracle can seem, with those smooth features. "The Balance is still disturbed, and must be corrected if survival is to be a possibility." "It will become even more disturbed as these events unfold. But there is time - just. And the one in Egypt understands the Balance, the need for Ma'at. He will help when we no longer can." Her brother smiles for her. He strokes the battleaxe, admiring its workmanship. "This will come in very useful." She smiles back. "I won't like being dead at all, but I shall see you on the other side." He takes a firmer grip on the axe, and they wait for their next visitor. *** When I get back to the apartment, he's in very bad shape. I think he has internal injuries. He should be in a hospital, but even if I had done that, they could only have saved him in the short term. I have to think of the future. The future of mankind, that is. Not our future. Not ever again. There won't be one. There will be him and me, separate for the rest of our lives. I hate the Rom. Oh, not for giving him the soul. Never that. But why couldn't they have cursed him with boils, or something, if ever he got happy?

I try not to think of my demon lover, my mate, the one who throbbed through my blood until I killed him, as surely as if I had thrust a stake into his heart. I take him in my arms, as best I can, trying not to hurt him too much. Only a few minutes now. At least neither of us will remember. Neither will anyone else, although the Oracles said that one of us would know what to do when the Mohra came again. I don't think he can hear me, but I whisper to him of my love and my treachery. Of what I have just done. They knew I would be back. That I would give up his humanity, his cherished dream. Our future. The one I had fantasized over almost since I met him. The one that he said he would have given everything up for. I killed the demon, now I'm killing the man. I'm his mate. He trusted me, and I've killed both of him. God help me, but there was no choice - there can be no future if one or both of us is dead. They knew that I would be back, that I had made the wrong decisions, not understood that we are what we are, and must make the best of it. That change has consequences, and some of those consequences are too heavy to bear. That perhaps we are given what we have for a purpose, a purpose we cannot fulfil otherwise. I don't know - I'm sure Angel will understand better. He's lived longer, after all. The Oracles said that when they changed me the first time, they put us into some very small dimension. A dimensionette, perhaps. Easier for them to undo later. And they have. They've folded time for me, for the world. They said the price would be heavy, but they didn't say what it would be. Let's hope it isn't one of those shops where if you have to ask the price, you can't afford it. And they didn't say just who would be asked to pay. Or how. He rouses. I don't want him to speak, so I kiss him. I feel as if I want to swallow everything that is him, so that he will be part of me forever. The Hylekian shaman said that I had something close to a demon at my core. Perhaps it's a vampire. I remember my dreams, all those months ago after I first released Angelus, when he and his family were away. I dreamed that Angel was in hell, and I had gone to ease his pain, to stop him from crying out. It feels like that now. I wish there were someone to ease my pain. So I kiss him with everything that is in me, praying that something of both of us will remember, will... I am standing with a kitchen knife in one hand, and a cut on my palm, already starting to heal. "What did you taste in my blood? TELL ME! And tell me the truth." He shakes his head. I raise my voice even more. Cordelia will hear, but I don't care. "TELL ME!" He turns away from me, and I really don't know where this is going to go when the light from the window suddenly darkens and the glass shatters. A body tumbles into the room, in full fighting stance. A demon. And it's big. With a very big, curved sword. A katana. Angel picks up a short throwing axe from where it had been propped against the wall. Boy Scout motto, I presume. He hurls it at the large red jewel in the demon's forehead. As the jewel shatters, the demon crumples into death. "How did you know how to kill it?" He rubs his forehead. "I...I don't really know. I seem to remember reading about it somewhere. Buffy..." He steels himself, and I know something unpleasant is coming. "Buffy. You need to forget about me. I want you to find someone else. Someone who can take you out into the light. Someone who can offer you more than the freak show that is all that I can give you." I can't find my voice at first. When I do, it is barely a whisper. "But you are my mate. How can I find someone else?" My throat has closed up and I can't manage any more, but it isn't enough. "I renounce you. You are free of me." NO....

"Now go, please. There's nothing more to say." I feel the anger rising in my blood, a red tide of rage such as I have never before felt. A killing rage. It is a long time later that I realise whose rage that is. Angelus'. And I cannot imagine how Angel is staying so calm, with that boiling rage inside him. Oh, I'm angry, too, but it's a candle to the sun of his rage, the rage that is echoing through my blood. His selfishness means that he will never give me up. At least I will have that to hang on to. But now, when I just feel the rage and have no means of controlling it, I sink one fist into his gut, and as he jack-knifes forward, I hit him as hard as I can on the temple with the other. He drops like a stone. Before I can pick up the axe and finish it, some small, sane part of me propels me back up to the office and out onto the street without a word to Cordelia. I can't see anything for the veil of tears, but somehow I manage to find a cab and get back to the motel. And somehow I manage to get back to Sunnydale. *** The Soul is in despair. His mate has left him. And I am in the grip of such a rage as I have not known since I was a newly birthed demon. He has renounced her. If only I had the strength to dominate him as he now dominates me. If only I could find a way to *get rid of him*! He *cannot* renounce her. She is my mate, and she will be that forever. The spineless, spiritless, pathetic moron. I'll kill him! And why do only I remember what has happened to me? He does not know what I have endured, nor the bargain I made to return. Why have I not forgotten my time in Hell, if he has no memory of it? I wonder, can the body not remember what happens to the spirit alone? I do not understand. One thing is clear, though. I may know what is to come, but Soul Boy does not. That could work to my advantage, if I keep it from him. Now, if I could only find a way to be free of him before it happens. He won't have the spine to do what must be done. The servitude must be accommodated, for a time at least. I gave my word. But, you know, perhaps my stay in Hell has done some good. My separation from him has cleared my mind a little. And I think I can see a way to get rid of that snivelling soul. I need to weaken him beyond despair, or I need to find him a moment of pure happiness. And I think I may know how. Cordelia. Ever since our stay in Egypt, it seems to me that I have a little more strength given to me by Aurelius' blood. And there is the added power from the werewolf. He doesn't use them - although he does use the strength we got from the Slayer's blood; he can't help himself - but I can, and will. If I am very, very careful not to let him notice what I am doing, I think that I can make him fancy himself just a little in love with Cordelia. On the rebound. Whyever not? What is love, after all, but chemicals in the blood? The chemicals of emotional addiction. Being so newly returned to the body, I can tell exactly which chemicals they are - they are in his blood now, screaming for the Slayer. If I can find how to exert this small amount of extra power, to make this body secrete those chemicals, without him knowing, then I will have him at my mercy. Or rather, at hers. He's a man. He's lonely and he's frustrated. He's a vampire. He's lonely and he's frustrated. His soul? His goodness? His self-control? Listen. He's *dead*. His body is that of a *vampire*. Matter over mind, in this case. My our - mate? He really, really wants to do her. He can't even think of her without getting a hard-on, believe me. Okay, so he thinks of her rather more romantically than that. The verb might change, but the need doesn't. And he can never have her again. He can't even trust himself to touch her, because he knows how bad his need is. And I'm always there to help it along a little. Not only can he never have her again, he can never again have *anybody* that he loves, in all the long ages that are still to come. Ever. Wouldn't that sort of get you down? And don't you know that we always (and here I include humans as well as demons) want to do the things we are absolutely forbidden to do. Don't we? In fact, those things often grow in importance until they fill our minds to the exclusion of all else. He's in real trouble, let me tell you. Blood, sex and power. Remember? That's what vampires are all about.

Blood? He goes out to save the innocent, and blood gets spilled. Sometimes it's his, sometimes it isn't. Do you think he can't smell it? Do you think he really *wants* pig's blood? Do you think the smell of spilled human blood doesn't wind him up as tight as a spring? Cordelia comes into work each day, but some days, well, you know what it's like with women? One week in four? You can bet that he knows the time of the month at least as well as she does. All that blood, around him all the time, winding the spring a little tighter. You wouldn't believe the number of times he has woken up to find that he has been biting on his own arm, just for the taste. It's hell on the laundry, I can tell you. Sex? She comes into the office, smelling of her liaisons. She'll never be a virgin bride. Snigger? Who, me? He knows each one, now, the odd regular, and the one-night stands. He'd recognise them in the street. And the days when she's ovulating, when she's at her most receptive? In animals, you call it 'in oestrus', and say that humans have no such mindless urges. Please! On those days, she fills his nostrils as if she were a bitch in heat, or a calling queen. Those are the days when he daren't come out of his cave until she's pretty well ready to go home. That spring just went 'tick' again. And when he patrols at night? The hookers turning tricks in the alleys he frequents? Do you know how often he watches them from cover, under pretence of keeping them safe? How often he goes home and jacks off in the shower? It's a most unsatisfactory act, let me tell you. And there are other apartments in this building, as well as offices. Do you think a vampire cannot hear very well what goes on, even across all this distance? Can't smell it? The creak of the bed - he can even tell which one is doing the creaking - the slap of skin on skin, the breathy moans and the cries of ecstasy? He knows all the pairings, now. Can you imagine how often his hands are busy under the sheets? He's a vampire, damn it! Vampires *need* sex almost as much as we need blood. He's no exception, no matter how much he acts the stoic. Someone tried to tell him once that he is a man with a demon inside him. He knows better. He's a vampire, a demon. He's me, with a side order of soul. And he has my urges. Oh, he's tried all the normal remedies over the last hundred years. Not that he knew then that there was a barrier to sex, you understand. He just went through periods when he tried to deny his vampiric nature completely. And deny himself any comforts another part of his hairshirt penance. The religious zealots of old made an art form of mortification of the flesh by discipline and selfdenial. He's read all about it, tried it all. The self-denial is a bust, and discipline? Don't make me laugh - *that* only serves to turn him on even more. Vampires get off on pain, don't forget. Power? Well, she's the only one here, and he already thinks of her as his responsibility, the only member so far of his new pride. He's her alpha, her pride master. Possession is nine tenths of the law, isn't it? And possession can, in the short term, be mistaken for love. I only need the short term. The very short term. So, that spring is just getting tighter and tighter. If I can find the right chemical switches, and make them work when I want them to, subtly, he'll never know. Oh, intellectually he'll know that he's in love with the Slayer, and will never stop, that Cordelia is nothing more than a convenience. That won't prevent him having enough feelings for the cheerleader to serve my purpose. Don't blame me don't you always say that men think with their gonads, anyway? That's what I intend him to do. What have I got to lose? If I can give him enough of a happy with Cordelia, I win. If I can tweak his bloodlust to the point where he drinks from her as well, even if he isn't happy enough to lose his soul, he'll be in such despair that I might, just might, be able to break through and gain the upper hand. And keep it. And anyway, thinking back, she has been putting out the right pheromones whenever he's around - she wouldn't be averse to entrapping Mr Broody, especially after the Slayer's abrupt departure, I'm sure. And do you know, I think there is something strange happening. Now that I turn all my corrupted senses to the problem, there seems to be some sort of mojo working here. From her. She's doing something to entrap him. Well, let's just help that along. I'll worry about exactly what it is later. Small steps. You don't think I can do it? You don't think that the bodies we inhabit still have the mechanisms to secrete the chemicals I need? You think the internal organs, the inner working parts are shrivelled and dead? Foolishness. I suppose you think the brain is shrivelled and dead? The bones crumbling to dust? The eyes rotting, the tongue swollen and black, the flesh putrid, and the skin flaking off in layers? No? Well, if *they* are functioning, why should the rest not be? You humans! You think you know everything, and you know nothing. We don't breathe, so you think the lungs are dust? Yet we can talk. Does that not require air, moved by the lungs and diaphragm? Our hearts do not pump as yours do, so you think the blood doesn't circulate? Yet prick us, do we not bleed? A real life stiff certainly doesn't. If our bodies are dead, why do we feel pain? And believe me, we do. A sword in the gut is very, very painful indeed. Would that be so if our guts were languishing palsied and dead? If our hearts were dried and withered in our breasts, so much useless rotten meat, why would a stake affect them? We are corpses, that much is true, but demonically activated ones. And the demon uses all of us, each and every part to achieve, and to enhance, the semblance of life in us. Waste not, want not. Otherwise, we would be no better than zombies. No, thank you! You have heard that vampires can hypnotise their human prey? Lure you to us, make you do things you would not normally do? It's all nonsense, such hypnotism in the way that you suppose. But we can do something that produces the same effect. We can choose to use whichever pheromones will serve us. You are creatures of your senses, just as much as any other beast. Scent is the most primal sense

of all. But, you cannot consciously distinguish the scents that rule you, and so you believe they do not exist, that you are not reacting to them all the time, that you are better than the other animals. You fool yourselves. You may not be able to recognise their scent, yet they still have you by the balls. Or whatever. The way you look when an attractive partner enters the room; the way your eyes dilate; the tingling up your spine and in your groin; ladies, the way your womb clenches at the thought of his hands on you; gentlemen, the way your cock twitches as you imagine her lips on you. Or whichever way round turns you on. The sly glances, the preening, the 'accidental' touching as you pass each other; the expansion of your personal space so that your very skin can *feel* the object of your desire even though they are on the other side of the room. Pheromones, children. Hormones. The chemicals of emotional addiction. Nothing more. If I can gain just enough control of the small functions of the body, just enough to activate these primal mechanisms, I can start a veritable avalanche of hormones that could bring him down. I think it's worth a shot. Don't you? Well, what else am I going to do? Besides, can you doubt that I'll succeed? I'm too good not to. If it all goes down while he's still in charge, he'll never serve his new master. He'll get us both killed. And her. *** April I have faithfully chronicled those years of separation. I may be a demon, and an alien to your planet, but I am bound to the Mated Pair in a way that you do not understand. I am their servant here, bound by oaths of fidelity and service. I have felt their pain. We have watched. We have watched their triumphs and failures, their small happinesses and their larger sorrows. Their disasters. The Slayer's new sister. Angel's new family. Their efforts to find comfort away from each other, none of them successful. I was only a little surprised when Angelus - Angel - gradually turned his attentions to Cordelia - after all, the head of a vampire family surely has rights over all the members of that family? That is what I have been given to believe. I can certainly understand him exercising his position and his rights, as her dominant male, but he seems to be trying to replace Buffy. Does he wish to lose his soul again? Or does he know that he does not care for her in the same way, so there is no danger in that liaison, only relief? He's a virile male, after all. Fascinating. Spike seemed very surprised, though, and Buffy seemed hurt. I am given to believe that, in vampire families, there is no such thing as total fidelity. If the mate of one whose attention was wandering did not approve of the object of that pursuit, the worst that would happen would be a bout of physical violence, probably followed by rambunctious (is that truly a word?) and lengthy sex. That, of course, is not possible here, and Buffy is more or less human. So she seemed hurt. Certainly, she gave herself to several other males soon afterwards, callow youths all, and none of them could in any way compare to Angelus, so she quickly cast them off. Spike went so far as to visit Los Angeles, although he was careful to remain unseen by Angel. He does not care that Angel might lose his soul - in fact he would welcome that. But he finds the behaviour to be out of character, and he was intrigued. He was very disturbed when he returned, saying that he thought there was 'some mojo' in operation, with Cordelia at its centre. He had to explain that to me, and we watched very carefully afterwards, but Angel seemed to remain unharmed, even if he still did seem to be enamoured of Cordelia. Spike was disappointed. I may be mistaken, but I think that the Slayer was, too, just a little. I spoke to the Watcher, and we decided to leave things be. It was with reluctance on his part, but he truly believes that a moment of real happiness, such as that which cost Angel his soul with Buffy, is not easy to come by. I think he is of the opinion that, on balance, a vampire who is sexually satisfied but not contented would be safer for the world than one who is as taut as a bowstring. Who someday might not be able to resist returning to Sunnydale. He did not say so, but I gained the distinct impression that he could not envisage such a moment of happiness occurring with Cordelia. He did not explain his reason, but even I feel that he might be correct. Still, I am less worried about the possible return of Angelus than he is. I am bound to Angelus after all. And to the Slayer. I must beware of the Watcher, though. He was not called 'Ripper' for nothing. I believe that, if Angelus were to return, the Watcher would not rely on the Slayer fulfilling her duty as he sees it, but would try to kill the vampire himself. That is why he has not taken action against the liaison with Cordelia, I think. If the soul is lost, he might have an excuse to do something he feels will spare his Slayer future pain. He has not, though, seen Angelus and the Slayer together in the way that I have, during those weeks of the Hylekian Games. So, I will watch him, and make sure that, if Angelus returns, no harm comes to him, if I can possibly prevent it. Drusilla has gone, unable to stay where she had found such disappointment and loss. We do not know where, and Spike misses her dreadfully. We do not know what Angel thinks of her departure. We have seen Angel's struggles against the lawyers at Wolfram & Hart - paid lawyers, such a quaint notion. One would think that the profession had only been invented to provide gainful employment for those who would otherwise be indigent. Certainly, I have never seen it anywhere except on this planet.

And we have seen the Slayer and Angelus' childe, William, find some small solace in each other. All of his family, his pride, have suffered their losses, had moments of victory, but none have been tried so much as the Mated Pair. You have a saying in your world, 'What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.' It is as if we were all foot soldiers, cannon fodder, our mettle to be tested to make sure we were fit for battle. But the Master Vampire and the Slayer? It is as if they must be tested to destruction. Yet the Seers find nothing helpful. The Seers came out of their seclusion after the Slayer's visit to her mate, and would not speak of the event. Now, almost two years later, what they do say is that they can see some of the paths to the future. Well, path is not perhaps the right word. At its simplest, one might say that a path has two ends, but these have only one as yet. The paths are floating free, twisting in the winds of fate, no one knowing where any of them might lead, or whether any of them lead anywhere. You can imagine that no seer would be very pleased with that. They also say that futures are still being burned away in the fires of chaos, that freedom to choose is being extinguished, choice-bychoice. They have never known anything like it. May the Powers help us all. And now we have watched whilst Angel was killed by his new family - there is no word more suitable than 'killed' - and Angelus released once more. Some of us see that more equably than others. The Watcher and Xander Harris are particularly... exercised... by that development. I think it is time for me to return from this visit to Hylek. Things might be changing. *** Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall. The Bible Proverbs, chapter 16 verse 18 Who would have thought it? After all that effort I put in to finding ways to bring him down, tied in with the magic that Cordelia was working on him, it was his gang of so-called friends who did the deed in the end. Murdered him, and freed me. I'm pretty sure that Cordelia was being manipulated by the one who struck a deal with me whilst I was in Hell. What do you think? Do you think it preferred to deal with me, a demon who keeps my word, or him, a souled vampire who would do his best to stop its grand designs? I know, there's no contest. And then it had to go and send The Beast as a minion. Now, why did it have to do that? I certainly didn't sign up for earthquakes and rains of fire. This is MY state, and this most certainly is MY city. What? Because he thought of it as his you think I can't claim it too? Think again. There's a lot of underworld in this city. Just what I need. And I do not need all these out-of-town losers come to take advantage of the no-sun effect in Los Angeles. I have the Gem of Amara, if I need it, remember? Well, the Slayer does, on my behalf. This is not good enough, and has to stop. Giving your word to a bargain is one thing. Being screwed over is quite another. No one does that to me. Unfortunately, they've all tried to stop it, and been pretty well beaten to a pulp. Even him, and he was fighting with almost as much power as me. Not quite - if he drank more human blood, it would give him more of an edge, and if he would just let himself go... - but he's afraid that I'll get loose. Was afraid. Past tense. It's all past tense for him now. Anyway, what I do know is that he was nowhere near beating The Beast. That's why they let me out. They think I know something that he doesn't. The Beast knows me. In truth, I don't know why. I don't remember ever meeting it before. But I know why it's here. It's the appointed date and time. It must be the one I was told would come to set our bargain in place. I would be returned from the Underworld, but I would be in service to a *master*, this creature of smoke and shadows, for an unspecified time. Hey, it was the best I could do. Do you think I wanted the Furies to continue feeding on me for eternity? Now, I have to deal with this monster that's laying waste to my territory. And I've had a little unexpected help - you think I'm too proud to accept help? Not when it would be suicidal to refuse. This morning, a parcel came. From Egypt. Aurelius. It's the Gebel el-Arak knife - you know about that, I think? When Aurelius made it, it was a carved ivory handle - depicting Aurelius' own becoming - with a bronze blade. Some Pharaoh or another broke the blade and had a flint one put in. Oh, I still have Aurelius' Book of the Dead, but no one else has seen it. Not Wes, not Giles, not Ezrafel. No one. I haven't read it all, but I've read about the knife. Last I knew, it was in the Louvre. Now it's in Los Angeles. Mine. Flint is very, very sharp, but too brittle. The Beast has manifested as something damned close to rock and lava. But the knife has a new blade now. Brand new. Obsidian. Volcanic glass, made from hardened lava. That might just do the job. And I can feel the tang of magic in it. Aurelius might have his uses, after all. He has collected a lot of prophecies, and he's no slouch at seeing the future himself.

Perhaps he knows what will kill The Beast, so I'll take his help, for now. It won't prevent him from getting his, though. I won't forget how he's treated me. I know something that no one else here knows. I'm back, and for good. That *pathetic* soul will never trouble me again. Oh, that isn't just wishful thinking. I do believe I told you once before to beware the power of three. Three is the number of completion, and the curse of the Rom has run to its completion. There's nothing anybody can do to me to bring the soul back now. He's lost it three times; once to Darla; once to the Slayer; and once to his friends in LA. Third time pays for all, don't you say? In this case it does. The soul is gone to wherever souls go, never, ever to return. I'll never have to listen to him again. It's my time now. I'll decide later what to do with this little group of do-gooders, the ones he considered to be his family. It isn't that I feel I have any obligation to them, you understand. It's just that I have more urgent matters to attend to. I've been kept chained and caged by him, but I've been able to see and to feel. Only through him, but better than nothing. Lately, I've had some disturbing feelings about my mate. That's where I'm off to next, as soon as I've rammed this excellent knife into The Beast's skull. *** I can hear the Slayer coming now. You might think that my circumstances are reduced since last we spoke. I was living in a mansion then, I'm in a crypt now. It's fine by me. I couldn't bear the mansion after we lost *him*, but I stayed there for Dru. Then, when she decided to leave, I had the choice of going with her or staying here, in Sunnydale. I stayed, but I couldn't live in the mansion. Too many memories. The others are there, but not me. There's more privacy here, any way. Privacy is good. She misses him, too, and privacy is better so that we can miss him together. We've been having... carnal relations is, I think, how you would put it politely, for a while now. I have something she wants, and she has something I want. Him. For a little while, we can pretend. Her human senses can't detect it, but her Slayer senses know that I still smell of him. I'm his childe. I will always carry his scent. So does she. She's his mate. Oh, she told me - eventually - about that pillock renouncing her. He can't. An eternal mate can never be renounced, and somehow, that's the mating they've created. There should have been the proper rites and ceremonies, but I can smell what they are. They own each other, body and spirit, forever. Even the final death of one can only separate them until the survivor dies too. You have no appreciation of the complexities of scent, so don't ask me to explain. Just accept it. Accept - that's something they ought to do. The Sire hasn't explained it to her, and he damned well should have. So, she comes here to be with the little of him that is left to her. I stay here to be with the little of him that is left to me. And we have... carnal relations... pretending it's with the one we both miss. Apart from anything else, she can't have sex with a normal guy. At least, not the sort of sex where she can let herself go, let herself just *be*. She'd break his spine, for one thing. And I still have this bloody chip in my head. I'm not a proper vampire anymore - that's why Dru left, in the end. Who could I have sex with now? But also, it's the vampire way. Mates and childer console themselves with each other when the mate, the sire, the master of the pride, is absent for long periods. Or lost. She's here now. She looks forlorn. We have a godling on our hands, and none of us can beat her. Glory. She's after the key to open the dimensions, so that she can go home. Dawn, the Slayer's pseudo-sister, made flesh by some bloody monks. There's nothing pseudo about her feelings for Dawn, though. Not like her feelings for me. Oh, she likes me well enough. As well as she can like any demon that isn't the Sire. She is, after all, head of the family, what he liked to think of as his pride, in his absence. The head of the family has never been anything but a vampire, of course, but Aurelians have always been a bit unconventional. Why should we change now? She just doesn't like me in the love me way. She never will. It's all about him. She's undressing now. She doesn't speak, we rarely do. Sometimes we speak afterwards, but it's always about him. There's never much conversation in these encounters. It would spoil the illusion. And I am desperate for the illusion not to be spoiled tonight. I cannot begin to explain how much I have missed him. How much I have felt his call in my blood. Things in LA are going to hell in a hand basket, and we have had no news from them for weeks, since that one phone call telling us they could cope, and to tend to our own problems. He has felt very close in recent days, though, and his smell on her is much stronger. I need him. I damn well wish he were here, of course, but after the beating I got from Glory, I really do need him. We all do, even those that won't accept it. Now she's stretching out beside me, lithe as a cat, and I can just breathe in the scent of her. Of him. I run my hand over her flank, just like he would let me do with him, sometimes, feeling the tremors in the flesh. She's in a submissive mood. It won't last long, it never does, but just for the moment, she wants to feel that she's got someone stronger than herself around. After all, she has to be the strong one when it comes to fighting Glory, and even that isn't strong enough. We're all worried about Dawn, and whether we can hide her, but Buffy most of all. Just for now, just for the hour she is going to spend here, she needs to be taken care of. And if it can't be him,

I'm the next best thing. I think harder about him, conjure his picture in my mind, and imagine his hand on my flesh. It will bring out his scent on me, and whether her senses recognise it or not, the mate in her will respond. She will be comforted. My hands move up her body, finding each tender spot, each place that she loved him to touch. I know all of them now. She's shown me. When it gets to be my turn, she knows, too. I've shown her. I roll over a little and cover her body with mine. She's ready for me, I can tell. I lift her thighs and slide gently in. I'm not delaying too much, this first time, not tormenting her. She needs the edge taken off - so do I - and I'll be able to take more time with her once I've done that. The rhythm I set is hard, but she needs it. Just a little more, I can see by the look on her face, and I bite my lip to hold back my own fulfilment. Then she holds her hand out and cries 'Angel!'. But she isn't looking at me. And the scent of him fills my nostrils, warms my blood. I look behind me, and it's him. Not Angel. Angelus. Thank the dark lords. He's back. "Si..." *** I remember when I felt differently. I remember the days when I felt more... amenable. When I felt that there might be more to existence than a demon's passion, a demon's rage. When I thought that perhaps there were other emotions worth sampling. How stupid could I be? A brainless, thick-witted, vacuous, puerile *simpleton*! A moonstruck gowk, a ridiculous schoolboy! Now, as I stand here in demon face, the black rage consuming all other emotion in its fury, watching the ashes of my erstwhile childe sifting down over her, staining her sweat-sodden skin, I know that I will never feel anything again other than those feelings proper to a demon. She will feel them too. I look at my hands for one moment, still held out as if in supplication ... as if! ... still held out from where they ripped his faithless head from his traitorous shoulders. And dusted him. Then I deliver one felling blow to her, and as she slumps into unconsciousness, I lift her onto my shoulder - never mind her clothes, she'll have no need of those where she's going - and I leave this place of betrayal, leave the remains of my very own Judas. He deserves nothing better. And we'll see what she deserves. I haven't been back to the mansion yet. I started to go there, but I knew that was the wrong place. Hiding themselves and their infidelities away in a *crypt*! Did they think I wouldn't find them? I can smell him on her, him and his seed. I cannot tell you what an offence that is to me. Does she carry his fang marks, too? If she does... I remember how I felt, sitting in the oak tree outside her bedroom window after the werewolf had bitten me. The tide of unreasoning rage. The need to tear into her flesh, to feel her blood sliding over my jaws. How hard I fought to control myself so as not to hurt her. Those were feelings of bliss, compared to how I feel now. I wish I had never bothered. I am beside myself, and I really don't know how this will end. The mansion is clearly occupied, but equally clearly, they don't expect me. It seems that Soul Boy's second family haven't told the people here how they killed him. Of course they wouldn't. They expected to be able to slip that greasy soul right back in. And it was easy to make them believe they had, with Witchy Willow casting her spells. They should feel lucky that I left them alive and untouched. That might not be the case in Sunnydale. Ah, there's a minion opening the door - I don't recognise him, but I'll worry about that later. And about how long he kept me on the doorstep. His Lord and Master! I can only smell Dru faintly. She's gone from here, and she's been gone a long time. Who's left, I wonder? But that, too, can wait until later. Everyone I see knows enough to avert their eyes in submission as I stalk through my Hall, and take the stairs to my rooms three at a time. These had better have been kept ready for me. They have. Someone will be rewarded for that. I'll let them live. I don't know who else will be that lucky. Mundane thoughts, all. Mundane thoughts to fend off the larger thoughts? Or to keep my brain thinking at all? To stop me from simply tearing her to shreds and feasting on her remains. I remember having that thought before, when she was not at fault. At least, no more at fault than her simple existence warranted. She lived through that. I don't know whether she will live through this. Whether I want her to. But I know that if I give in to that urge, the world will burn. Perhaps I should let it. It contains nothing but pain, in any event. Such a pity that I was in so much haste to slay The Beast, and get back here to her. I should have let it continue its path of destruction. There's a hook in the ceiling, for the chains. There's a lot more ironwork on the other side of the ceiling, holding that hook secure. It will hold the strongest vampire. It will hold her. The chains are in the bottom drawer of the dresser, just where they should be. She'll waken before long. To try and clear my clouded mind, ready for the hours, days, or even years, to come, I'll take a shower. Have some blood. Mundane thoughts. Mundane deeds. For now.

*** I think it's the pain in my arms that awakens me. It takes a few moments for my shocked mind to face the reality of what is happening. Angelus is back. Spike is dead. Angelus killed Spike. But the thoughts are simply words. They don't seem to have any meaning. Just words in my head. Until I look down, that is, and see Spike. What's left of him. Dust and ashes, sticking to the sweat of my body. Then, I can barely keep in the scream. But I mustn't show weakness, never weakness, in front of this strongest of vampires. This demon, who is almost certainly mad again from the years of incarceration by Angel. Angel. I need him now. Where is he? I'm hanging from some strong, heavy chains fixed to a hook in the ceiling. I remember the hook well. In happier times, we've joked about it. The joking's over now. I'm hanging in manacles that are a far cry from the delicate, padded toys we laughed about. They're solid and cold, and digging into the flesh of my wrists. Blood has dribbled down my arms already. I'm standing on my toes, and the joints are aching. I'm naked, and my only covering is ... Spike. This is not how Angelus and I teased each other it would be. Neither is he. The bed, that huge, once-comfortable haven, in which I've known nothing but pleasure, is right in front of me. He's lounging on it, propped up against the headboard, one arm thrown negligently over the pile of pillows next to him, the other hand holding a cut crystal goblet. It's full of something red, and I really don't think it's wine. Even at his worst, I have never seen him look so. His human face, his eyes, have the flatness, the blankness, of a snake. He's wearing only a pair of black leather pants, and a black shirt, completely unbuttoned, showing his pale and still chest. A whimper tells me that someone is in the room with us. Angelus turns his head a little in the direction of that sound, and I can see her, on the floor by the bed. A woman, small and blonde. Like me. Naked. Like me. Cowering in a huddle. Chained to the floor by a shackle around her ankle. She's covered in bite marks. He turns back to me, and suddenly he's on his feet, gone from lounging to standing with no apparent state in between. He puts the glass down carefully and stalks over to me. One thing I've noticed - his hands are shaking. Why would that be? Is it rage, still? God help me, for no one else can. He's standing right in front of me, now. Close enough that our almost-touching skin creates a tingling charge between us. There is no point of contact, but I can feel him in every pore, raising every hair. And then he moves back a step and he's in demon face. Will I finish up like that girl? Only if I'm very lucky. He runs one claw gently down the angles of my face. "My beautiful, faithless jade." His voice is soft as silk, harsh as iron. He circles around me, and I can feel that questing finger gently exploring the contours of my spine. "My harlot." Now it's my hip. "My fair Cyprian." He stops talking as he circles round to where he started, facing me. With one hand, he lifts my chin until he can look in my eyes. And I can look in his. There's nothing there. Angelus has always been soulless, so it's pointless to say that's what's lacking in his eyes. Before, they've always sparkled with life; been full of fire and passion, full of excess of every kind. Now it's an excess of nothing. He brings his lips close to my ear. "My mate."

He grinds the words out as though they are intolerable to him. I don't understand half the words he's using, but I don't suppose they are words of love. I can only guess that these are spiteful words from his youth. The timbre of his voice changes as he speaks, an edge of madness creeping in that I've heard before. Except that it was saner, then, when he only wanted to destroy the world. "My doxy, rather. My wanton Messalina. My little grisette. I should have known. I should have known by the way you first gave it up to that whimpering, spineless apology for a vampire that you were nothing but another barque of frailty, just another trull. A prettier piece than most, but a common drab, nonetheless." He's shouting now, his spittle spraying over my cheek. He moves behind me again, and I can hear the small noises of his buckle being undone, and of his zipper. And then he's in me, his claws digging into my breasts, drawing blood, as he thrusts with all his vampiric strength. He isn't holding back. This is punishment and dominance. And it hurts like hell. He has no intention that it should do anything else. I want to cry. I want to cry out. Like a terrified dog, I want to empty my bladder. But some instinct tells me that I dare not do any of those things. I *know* that if I show weakness, his predator instincts, so close to the surface at the best of times, might just appear and allow him to tear me limb from limb. I can only afford to show him strength - the strength he expects in a mate. And so I endure. Then, he's finished. With a roar, not of pleasure, but of possession, dominance and rage, he finishes, resting most of his weight on me, tearing at my shoulders and wrists. Fresh blood trickles down my arms, and he growls, the growl of a large and hungry cat. A big cat, defending its kill. When I can't see his face or his form, it's easy to forget that he's anything like human. He loosens the grip that his claws have on my breasts, and as he does so I can see that his hands are still shaking. It's going to be a long night. I don't know whether to hope for that or not. *** Nobody can find Buffy or Spike, and it's been over 24 hours since either of them was seen. I'm less worried about Spike. He can look after himself, and even if he can't, it wouldn't cause me to lose any sleep. But I'm worried about Buffy, as her Watcher and as her friend. As her Watcher, I must wonder, does Glory have her? We really can't afford to lose the Slayer with a demented goddess running around. As her friend, her surrogate father, I'm frantic. The rest of our little band? They're here and worried too. You see, Willow has just got back from Los Angeles, and she has told us how Angel's so-called friends murdered him. Had they lost their minds? How could they release Angelus? And even worse, how could they lose Angel's soul? Willow has done her very best. More than her best, but she has failed. And Cordelia lies in a coma. Stupid, stupid, stupid... Apparently, the apocalyptic events they faced there seem to have had some connection to Angelus. Some fiend that he had a bargain with, sometime or another - Willow couldn't make head or tail of it, so neither can I - is now raining fiery destruction onto Los Angeles - or was until the day before yesterday. Angelus somehow managed to stop Angel from accessing those memories, they think, and so they came up with this cockeyed folly of stripping out Angel's soul, storing it, finding out what Angelus knew - and how they hoped to make him tell that, I really can't imagine - and then just popping his soul back! Angelus got free of their cages and their chains, and had to be tempted into a trap, with live bait. They drew lots, and it turned out to be Cordelia. She took some designer drug or another - I think Willow actually knows which one, but she's pretending she doesn't - that they hoped would incapacitate the demon when he drank from Cordelia. They set themselves up in their pride - gods, I sound like some old-time Bible thumper, but it's true - and then came the destruction and the fall. Angelus drank from Cordelia, and was slightly incapacitated. Cordelia had taken so much, she's now lying in a coma. She's had some sort of brain seizure. And Willow, brave little Willow, tried to do the spell to restore his soul. She worked for years to get it, until she found a hidden file in the library computers. Jenny had put it there for safekeeping. It was a first draft, not quite complete, but Willow managed to finish the job. And, so far as we can tell, it was without the happiness clause. But the spell didn't work. Oh, they thought it had. And it should have. The soul came out of its little magical jar, and disappeared, just as it should. Angelus pretended - not the first time, apparently - that Angel was safely back. And the blithering idiots fell for it. I've been in touch with some friends of mine, The Coven, who are very powerful witches indeed. They don't know for sure what has happened - after all, popping souls in and out of their bodies isn't a common recreational activity - but their hasty researches suggest that perhaps there are a finite number of times such soul magic can be performed on any individual. Three times. Three times, and that's your lot. Three times in and three times out. If they are right, Angel is dead, and is never coming back. Ever. I think that is probably for the best. He can rest in peace now, and we can deal with his murderer. His original murderer, that is, not that bunch of lunatics in Los Angeles. I'll deal with them myself, later.

But for now, Angelus is loose; I'm told he isn't in his sanest mood after his years of imprisonment. And Buffy and Spike are missing; have been missing since last night. We'll wait until daylight, and go to the mansion. It has to be the best place to look. But by then they'll have been missing for 36 hours. A lot can happen in that time. Dear God, Xander is on the telephone now. There's been some sort of break-in at Buffy's house. Joyce is badly hurt, and in critical condition. And Dawn is missing, too. Well, at least I'm damn sure who's got her. Glory. Can things possibly get worse? We have to get Buffy back. *** My hands have stopped shaking. Almost. My mind hasn't though. It's been nearly 36 hours. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can't seem to string two thoughts together, and whatever I want to do, I can't settle to it for more than a few moments. And I need to drink all the time. That blonde bimbo by the bed? The minions fetched her on my instructions, and I've drained her dry, now. I've had two others since then, but I can't seem to get any benefit from their blood. I feel weak, and confused, and I *cannot get it together*. Damn that trollop and my fornicating childe. What have they done to me? I know how to make it stop. She's still hanging in the chains. I've expressed my dominance quite a few times in the traditional way, my position as master of this pride. Blood, sex and power. Those are the important things to a vampire. We've been through all three. The first few times, I made no effort to let her accommodate me. Those were punishment, pure and simple, as were the times I took her in the ass. Pain is a very good teacher. And a demonstration of my power. After that? Well, let's just say she's coming in her own blood, now. Her slayer healing abilities can't compensate quickly enough to heal her. She just can't keep up with me. And I don't intend her to, not just yet. It may be a long time before I allow that. And yet, she can't deny the way I can play her body, make her sing to my tune. This blood-sex has been something else again, for a vampire, let me tell you. You can have no possible conception of what a turn-on it is, how it feeds the deepest, darkest parts of me. Particularly after the long period of celibacy that the Soul made us endure. And I've taken more of her blood in the traditional way. She's covered in bite marks - *my* bite marks, not his - her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. And other places. I've been quite thorough. She'll heal from those, when I let her. The only mark of mine that she keeps permanently is the one on her arm, from that night in the park, when I first made sure that she was mine. Mine to do with as I please. Always, and only, mine. She should have remembered that. So should he. But those punishments have only taken up a small fraction of the hours she's been here. Most of the time, I've simply watched her, from my position on our - NO! - *my* bed, drinking down the lives of girls who resemble her. Although none truly do. Watching her, because I dare not do more. Not until I have some control of myself, because otherwise her punishment would be over too quickly. I want it to last a lifetime. I think. I am so fucked up. She thinks that she is at the end of her stamina. Her head is drooping, her hair a sweaty curtain over her face. She's still gritty with his ashes. Sackcloth and ashes, but without the sackcloth. Mourning, the old-fashioned way. I'll allow her some mourning, of a sort, although exactly what and who she'll mourn I've yet to clarify. But we have only just started. She has a lifetime of regret to come. Or an eternity. And the others? Oh, yes, I could smell others on her, apart from Spike. Very faint, very old, but only I, her mate, can wipe them away entirely. All these months, these years, she's carried on her scent a reminder of those who've had her. I've already hunted one of them down. Parker, his companions called him, before I cut him out of the herd. His death was... appropriate. Painful. Piece by piece. I'll do that with all of them. His entire body was an offence to me, although he made an adequate meal at the end, but some bits offended me more than others. Those parts are at her feet now, torn from his still-living body. She was almost sick when I told her what they were, but she managed to hold it back. Gotta give her credit for that. I know; displacement activity. I need to deal with her, but I haven't been able to make up my mind how. That stops now. Ah, this is what I have been looking for. My old whip. The one I've used on Dru and ... him ... when necessary. Or even when not necessary. Often when not necessary. It's an old, still-supple bullwhip, and it can do significant damage. Not like Aurelius' whip - and I *will* take that from him some day; use him as he used me - but good enough for what I have in mind.

As I stand in front of her, the coils of the whip held in my hand, she raises her head to look at me, to determine what I mean to do next. She sees the whip, and her eyes are huge in her face, a face that is as pale as mine. She has never dreamt that it would come to this. I move behind her, and reach up to adjust the chains a little, make sure that they are taut. I want her body taut for what will come next. And it is. I avoid actually touching her, feeling her warmth. I must be detached, for what I have in mind. Detached. What an appropriate word... When I am facing her again, I gauge the distance. It looks just right. But is my hand still shaking too much? The whip strikes out, swift as a snake, and just the very tip catches her, a red thread on her skin immediately behind her left nipple. Exactly right. She hasn't screamed - good girl - but she has bitten her lip in her effort to remain silent. More red. I draw the lash through my fist, coiling it just so. Her eyes still gaze at me, calm, accepting. And the whip strikes out again, the tip catching her in the very same place. This time, there is just the hiss of breath from her. I can do this all night. I *have* done this all night. The last time was a long time ago, but I remember it well. The girl was very comfortably proportioned. Ample. It took me all night to cut through. On a thought, I put the whip down on the bed and walk over to her. Her huge eyes follow me. I crouch down in front of her and place just my fingertips on her instep and trace the outlines of her foot. My fingers travel around her ankle, feeling each bone and hollow, and up the swell of her calf. Then to her thigh, her hip, the delightfully rounded curve of her buttocks, the gentle dip of her waist and slowly moving ribcage. I stand back up and my palms travel to her shoulder blades, the fingers of my left hand spreading over the outlines of the inked tattoo, the one that stays there because of her innate magic, and over to her collarbones, fragile and delicate as a bird. When I have finished with her, she will never look like this again. Never feel like this. Both hands reach for the softness of her breasts, the touch of her damask skin warm against my palms. Never again. I can feel against my fingers the slight trickle of blood from the cut on her breast. I can scent it, the ambrosia of a slayer. I have not permitted her to wash or to toilet herself. The odour of her sweat fills my nostrils, overlaid with the bitter aroma of vampire ash. Of Will. But there is more. She uses fragrances of lavender and of vanilla, but they are faint now. The scent that surrounds me is simply her. As I breathe it in, it fills me, completes that most primal of senses. The feel of her overwhelms me. Her body speaks to me. But so does her soul. Never again. I remember the way her eyes sparkle when she is pleased with me. The touch of her tongue as she tastes mine. The feel of her skin moving in rhythm against mine. The warmth of her, removing the chill of the tomb from my dead flesh, bringing an inner warmth that is otherwise denied to me. One hand moves to cup her face, my thumb caressing her cheek bone, the other threads through her hair, which slips though my fingers like liquid silk, cool and smooth and heavy. Her eyes close, but she doesn't pull away from me. Never again. And I cannot. My hands are no longer shaking, steadied by the hold she has on me. I love her. She has betrayed me. I don't care. She has allowed others to trespass where only I should be allowed. I. Don't. Care. Her very essence is sliding through the palms of my hands, etching itself once more into my flesh and bones, suffusing itself into every cell of my body. The fires of my rage are suddenly banked. Not extinguished, never that; but banked, and under my control. She has done that. She has caged me and chained me more surely than ever the soul did. I love her. If I continue with what I intended, I will spend from here to eternity a lost and damned spirit searching for what I can never again have. Her. And the world will burn. I won't just be the Scourge of Europe: I shall scourge the world. She would be so disappointed in me. But whatever I did to the world, it could never bring her back to me. I love her. I cannot do it. I reach up to the chains, to unfasten them. I will bathe her, bind her wounds, and find a way to make her forgive me. I, the proudest of the creatures ever spawned by Hell, will abase myself in whatever way is necessary in penance to her. She must forgive me.

I love her. It is as my hands reach up to the manacles, as I unfasten them, that something heavy slams into my back and agony lances through me. The head of a crossbow bolt stands proud of my chest, glistening with my blood, and with the remnants of some blue, vile-smelling substance. Only my action in reaching up has moved my heart from its path. Kept it from penetrating her, too. The strength has suddenly gone from my legs and I start to crumple to the floor. But Buffy is free from the chains, and she, too, is falling. I twist my body under her, to cushion her from the fall. I won't allow her to be hurt again - I have already hurt her too much this day. As I catch her, I turn to face my attacker. Ripper. *** Getting in is much easier than I had expected. Most of Angelus' household is in Hylek just now, looking after his interests in that dimension. The time is high noon - how apt - and there are only a few minions on duty who are no trouble to dispose of - after all, they are accustomed to us, if not as friends, then certainly not as enemies, provided they obey the rules that Angelus himself laid down, long ago. So here we are, myself, Xander and Wesley, standing at the door to his chambers. Does he know we are here, I wonder? I nod to Xander, who quietly opens the door then throws it back wide. The monster has his back to me, standing in front of my Slayer, who is hanging in chains. I am surprised that he appears not to know that we are here. Is too preoccupied to detect us. That must be a first. I already have the special bolt loaded into the crossbow. It doesn't even take a heartbeat for me to aim and pull the trigger. And then it is in his back. I had aimed for the heart, but he moved. No matter. The bolt is coated with a preparation of my own. He won't last long. He's sinking to his knees now, bringing her with him. Coward! If he thinks that holding her in front of him will save him from me, he's fair and far off. And too late. The poison will kill him, as certainly and as painfully as I could devise. There is no antidote available to him. It pays to be sure, though. Especially with this vampire. "Wesley. Get Buffy." He does so, wrapping her in the coverlet from the bed. So many marks on her. His marks. So much blood. "Xander. Get him in the chains." Xander, who has always distrusted Angel and hated Angelus, obeys with a will. And I keep the crossbow trained on the beast, just in case. I could just shoot him again, of course, put him down without giving it a second thought, and that is a tempting course of action, but I remember the blood on my Slayer. A slower, and much more painful, death seems more appropriate. That is how we leave him. *** I know what I have to do, and it is easier than I might have thought. Willow has helped me, she and Tara, now that Oz is no longer here. They have bathed me and dressed my wounds, and Giles has told me of my losses. My mother, in critical condition in the hospital. Dawn, taken. Angel, gone forever. He didn't need to tell me of the other. Angelus hates me, that much is plain. I have lost everything that has real meaning for me, everything that has kept me tied to the world. And now I'm so tired of it all. Dusk is on us, but I must go and find Dawn. My Slayer healing powers are kicking in, although I won't be at my peak. I wish that those powers could help my mind as well as my body, but they can't. So, I'll go and find Dawn, and try to give her the chance to live even if I die fighting. I have lost two lovers, two soul mates, whom I shall never find again. I pray that if I die, at least I may be granted oblivion if I can't be with them both in the aether. *** When I return from Hylek, everything has gone wrong. The minions I left on duty are nowhere to be seen, and I suspect are the ashes drifted around the front door. The mansion does not quite feel deserted, though, and eventually I find Angelus in his rooms. He is strung up in chains, and a crossbow bolt, stinking of poison, stands a hand's breadth from both the front and back of his torso. How it

missed his heart, I do not know. But the poison is at work, black tendrils spreading from the wound across his pale flesh. Even though he is barely conscious, his face is contorted with pain. I fear the worst. I unhook him from the chains, and lay him gently on the bed. He seems to rouse a little, and grips my wrist with more strength than I would have thought possible. "Get me some blood, Ezrafel. Please." He can manage no more. I don't think that pig's blood will do him a great deal of good, but mine will do him even less. And pig's blood is all there is. He can only manage a pint, but at least he can stand, even if shakily. "Help me to find Buffy. I must find her." His voice is urgent. I suspect he knows how bad his case is. Perhaps he wishes to say farewell to her. So, I pull the bolt from him, and then I help him into a fresh shirt, of deep wine red. I almost carry him to the car. I haven't really learned how to drive it, but even with me at the wheel, it will be quicker than walking. It is dark, now, but as soon as we get outside, I can see where we need to go. There is a light show in the sky, one that shouldn't be there at all. A portal. Drive very quickly, then. *** I am as weak as a child. Weaker. Whatever power in my blood helped me before, with the werewolf's bite, is trying to rise and help me now. But it has not enough strength. My veins are on fire, carrying agony to every part of my body. My blood is burning me alive. I know that I am going to die from this wound, but I cannot die unforgiven. Unforgiven by her. I must find her. But as Ezrafel drives I can think of no better word for it - I see where he is going. The portal in the heavens. She'll be there, of course. Damaged and weak, but still fighting. Damn me and my pride. My jealousy. When we arrive, everything is in desperate case. My sight is failing, but it is still good enough to see Dawn tied at the end of the gantry jutting from a scaffolding tower. She is bleeding. There are a number of bodies around. Wesley and Giles are hurt, Willow and a girl, both of them hurt, are hugging each other, Xander and another girl sit on the ground, looking shocked. All of them are looking at my beloved, climbing the tower. A huge portal spins slowly across the sky, and enormous beasts are crossing from whichever dimension they started in; crossing into ours. My mate intends to stop that. I can feel her determination even through this burning in my blood. Ezrafel helps me over to Willow. It's hard to talk now, but I must try. "Willow, tell me quickly what she is doing. How does she intend to close the portal?" Willow's eyes are red with weeping, but her voice is brave. "Summers' blood." That is all I need to hear. Summers' blood. I have some of that, too. I drank quite a lot of it today. Perhaps it will be enough, if Giles' poison hasn't tainted it too much. A throng of what I take to be the godling's minions are massed around the base of the tower. "Can you clear a space for me?" I have no strength to drive through. Willow looks to the other girl, then they both nod. They start to chant, and it is as if a wind were parting a cornfield. The more energy I use, the quicker death will come for me. I don't care. That might even be an unlooked for blessing, provided I can do what needs to be done. Get the forgiveness I need before I die. Gathering myself, I run through and in three bounds, I reach the top of the tower. I can see very little now, but I see that my beloved has freed Dawn and is hugging her. Then she leaps gracefully off the tower, and towards the portal. She doesn't even give me a backwards glance. Why am I always too late?

I leap after her, powering through the air as best I can. My fingers reach out and touch her ankle as she enters the portal. Then, before I can get a grip, I have slammed into an invisible barrier, and she is gone. Something has prevented me entering the portal after her, and I don't know what. It felt like the barrier of invitation, but surely that can't apply to a complete dimension? Unless... unless it was heaven, from which I would understandably be debarred. And I must know. My fall to earth continues, but Buffy has emerged from where the portal was, from where the portal is no longer, and I am now below her. Her body looks broken and lifeless, and she is silent in my blood. Nevertheless, I must try. If I fall and roll, I will prevent most injuries to myself. In my weakened state, if I try to catch her, to cushion her, my lower body will suffer extensively. What does that matter, now? I reach for her, and she is in my arms as my feet touch the ground. My shins are splintered and broken, my knees shattered, my hip joints sheared and my lower spine crushed. The pain is a roaring giant, drowning out for a moment even the agony of the Watcher's poison. But she takes no further hurt. And again I am too late. She is quite dead. I sink down to the muck, kneeling as best I can, in my broken state. My beloved's body is sprawled over my knees, like some bloody pagan sacrifice, or an exotic piet. And I shall die unforgiven. I must try. "Willow." My voice is a whisper now. If she is in heaven - no doubt with him - there is nothing I could or should do. The anger howls within me at that thought, but I hold onto my control. I must be sure, though. Because if she is elsewhere, if she is somewhere - less tranquil - I must try to bring her back. "Send me after her. If she isn't...safe...I must try to bring her back. Watcher. You must give me the antidote and quickly. I must have the strength to follow her." Neither of them seems to understand the urgency. The Watcher looks at me with contempt. The words of refusal are unnecessary, but he says them anyway. The witch simply looks horrified. It takes a moment, a precious moment that we do not have, to muster my strength for more words. "You need the Slayer. Look to the skies." Many demons have decided to use the portal to seek pastures new. The winged ones are circling even now. And their escape route back to their own dimension is gone, with the closing of the portal. These children will not be able to deal with such demons alone, and the new Slayer - for one will certainly have been called now - will be young and untried. And who knows where in the world she is. "You know what to do, don't you, Willow? You must do it quickly, and the Watcher must give me the antidote." I have faith in Willow. She has always been the most honourable one of the lot, except for Oz, and he is no longer here. I also have faith in her witchery. The spell will have to be a powerful one. She pulls herself together. She understands. So does Ripper. He looks as if the knowledge is like gall in his mouth. "I don't know the spell. I'm sorry. I'll ask Tara if she knows." Willow and the girl, Tara, start to speak quickly together. So, the other girl is a witch, too? Neither of them knows how to do what I need. No matter. I do. It was in Aurelius' book. But my mind is not as sharp as it should be, thanks to Ripper's poison. Its progress is accelerating, and he shows no sign of relenting. I visualise the section of the scroll, the columns of hieroglyphics and the Egyptian demotic script, deciphered with such difficulty. Aurelius reads them as easily as you and I read English, but I do not. I have read only small portions of the book but, thankfully, I have read this. I repeat the words of the spell to the two witches. It is relatively simple, although they have none of the magical props, here in a construction yard. I must hope that they are powerful enough to overcome that. I do not tell them how they can call on the power of the Hellmouth. That way is fraught with danger, introducing them to such dark forces that they might not have the strength to control. Buffy will kill me if I harm them. They go over to the Watcher, who is standing a little apart, watching my beloved's sister, the one for whom she gave her life, being brought down from the tower. I cannot see who is doing that, my sight is so dimmed. They speak to him, urgently, with many gestures to the sky. And to the body of my love, broken and bloodied in my arms. His face grey and grim, Ripper walks over to me and squats by my shoulder. Everyone stops to listen. The words are torn from him. "You must drain the Slayer's blood. With my blessing."

Ah. The very last thing in the world he would ever wish to do. Isn't it strange how events continually conspire to leave us no option but the very last thing in the world we should ever wish to do? The witches have decided how to go about their task. Willow looks defiantly at the Watcher. "Well? Does he have your blessing? He can't try to rescue her from the Underworld if he is dead." Perhaps Ripper thinks I can. Perhaps he thinks that is the best way. Or perhaps he just hates me more than he loves the Slayer. No, that is unfair. Nothing could exceed his love for her. He thinks of her as his daughter. He is silent. "Giles, if we don't send him quickly, Buffy may have travelled too far. We may not have enough power as it is." Tears fill her eyes as she looks at the girl-woman that I know is her lover. "Neither of us is in prime condition, and we have nothing to help us do the spells. He needs to go. Now." Defeated, the Watcher chants a few words of blessing in Latin, and then walks away unable, I'm sure, to watch. I understand him. I'm almost unable to do what I need to do. The act makes me sick at heart as well as sick to my stomach. But I must. Somehow, through the gathering shadows in my mind, and the roiling agony in my gut, I find my demon face and sink my fangs gently into my beloved's throat. It is hard work taking blood from the dead. The heart no longer pumps it around, it no longer spurts freely, but must be pulled with effort. And the sweet taste of her is threaded through with the bitter tastes of pain and sacrifice and death. It is the most unpalatable blood I have ever taken. And the most precious, because it is hers. If I fail, it will be the last. The witches and the Watcher are speaking, but I do not care to hear. I bury myself in my lost love, in the taste and scent of her, in the touch of her cooling body in my arms. And I feel her, returning my strength to me. Giving me the pain of renewal in my broken bones. Cleansing the poison from my system. If I had a deity to pray to, I would pray that this would not be her last gift to me. *** I see Willow walk over to me as I watch the vampire drinking down the girl I think of as my daughter. He's no doubt revelling in this moment. He'll be full of slayer's blood - what better meal can a vampire want? And he'll be free of my poison. He must think that he has gained a victory, and I suppose he has. For the moment. The future is a long time. "We're ready, Giles. But..." She hesitates, and I tear my attention away from the travesty of love. Willow has something to say, and I can tell that I'm not going to like it. "Tara and I will have to keep the spell going as long as Angelus is in the Underworld, and we don't know how long that will be. Between us we will also have to stop Buffy's body from...deteriorating, and his from turning to ash whilst the demon is gone. We'll be lucky to be able to do all that. But something else needs to be done. He needs a way back." "What?" "If he is to come back, he needs a consciousness to follow, like...like a trail of breadcrumbs. Tara and I think that has to be you. Xander doesn't understand magic, and we don't know Wesley well enough to be sure of keeping hold of him. Anya...well, we don't know what it might do to her, to let her loose in the Underworld again. You're the only one." "I don't understand..." "You need to remain anchored here, but share part of your consciousness with him, to give him a path back. Him and Buffy." "You mean that he will share my mind, my thoughts?" The idea of that must be akin to the idea of rape. "No. You might share some of his - but only the surface thoughts - we don't need to implant you too deeply. If we do it right, it will be just a small part of you and you won't really be aware of what he is doing - you just need to concentrate on staying linked with yourself back here. And if anything...goes wrong, Wesley and Ezrafel and Anya will be here to find help." That is hardly any better. Perhaps share the demon's thoughts? And if it goes wrong? I really don't think I can do it. I turn to look at him again, and I'm disgusted by the sucking sounds as he draws the blood from her. It seems that he's just finishing, because he stops

drinking, gives the wounds a gentle lick, then turns to look at me. Those yellow eyes seem to glint in triumph, but perhaps that is just my imagination. His demon face changes as he looks at me, but the blood on his mouth remains. Murderer. Monster. Share his consciousness? Never. It is then that a deep cawing sound overhead attracts my attention. Flying demons. He was right. We need a slayer, and we need her now. The new one may be too late. In the end, it's the easiest decision I've ever made. And the hardest. "Very well. Let's get them back to my place." "No! There's no time. Tara says we are already almost too late. We must start now. Here." She hesitates, "And anyway, here is where it happened. We have the best chance of linking to them here. Of finding her." She's seen me look askance at the sky, though - it can't be all that long until dawn. "If necessary, the others will build a shelter, but we need to start. Now." She's right, of course. As I sit down next to him, I wonder what the monster will think of it. But there is no time to ask, because the girls have already started their chant. They have nothing to help them, no herbs or candles or crystals or amulets, just their own abilities and strengths. I pray it will be enough. Then everything goes black. When I wake, I'm not sure that I have, at first. Everything is still black. Then I realise that I am looking through Angelus' eyes, and he is only just rousing. I think that this is a really bad idea. It takes a few moments to understand just how bad. The girls, in their haste and inexperience, and in their anxiety to use me as a hook, have planted the fully functional me right in the centre of him. I am privy to his inmost thoughts and secrets. And he has no idea. I seem to be unable to affect him in any way, and he is blind to me. I am just squatting here, like a toad in a stone. In a maelstrom of rage and hate and lust. Now I see why Angelus must surely be regarded as largely insane. And I simply do not understand how Angel was able to keep this beast in check. He had far more strength than ever I gave him credit for. Then he opens his eyes and kneels up. We are in an endless expanse of black sand. In the distance, three winged figures are approaching. He recognises them. He's been here before. Is this Hell, then? The three figures are close, now, and his memory tells me what they are. The Furies. Alecto, Tisiphone and Megaera. Three nightmares from the deepest level of Hell, surely? He curls into a ball, and I realise that he is naked, here. *We* are naked, because as the first one sinks its fangs into him, I feel the agony of it, too. And so as these three goddesses start to tear into his - our - flesh he rises to his feet and begins to run. He runs for a long time. This place is absolutely timeless and featureless, just plains of black sand, but it seems like a very long time. Hours. Days. When I can think, I pray that time runs differently here. And I pray that we are in the wrong place. Surely Buffy can never have come here. Strangely, so does he. He has been here before, on a day when Angel was human. So was Buffy. A leviathan stirs in the deeps of my memory, then sinks again, and is lost. But there is something that he remembers. Something that he has never tormented Angel with, has kept to himself. If Angel had ever been human, even if only for a day, and had lost that, why would this demon not use it for the most exquisite torment of his captor? Why do I not remember it? I don't know. And I can't think, for the pain. I always thought that demons felt little pain. I was wrong. They feel more acutely than you can imagine. They just live with it. After a while, it becomes clear that the Furies are herding him. In the far distance, he can make out something that looks different. An outcropping of rock, perhaps. Still black, but different. That is where they are sending him. There are no footprints in the sand in front of us, but did Buffy come this way, too? At last, torn and bleeding, he reaches a tall cliff. A tunnel cuts through it, black and unwholesome. The Furies hover behind him, urging him on with shakes of their snaky locks. He - we - have been bitten by them many times. Exquisite agony. He enters the tunnel. The Furies, thank God, remain behind, barring his exit. At last, he emerges into a huge cavern. Unlike the tunnel, which was smooth and perfectly dark, the walls here are made of huge, multifaceted crystals, reflecting a blaze of light enough to dazzle him. It's rather like one of those egg-shaped geodes that a geologist cracks open to find that it is perfectly lined with amethyst, or some other sparkling gemstone. It is amazing. He cannot find the source of the light, but a figure is coming towards him. A figure of smoke and dark crystal edges, cloaked in black. He cannot see a face, but he has seen it before, and rage courses through him. Rage, and fear. "Angelus."

Despite his rage and fear, he remains silent, dignified, waiting for this creature to speak. "You slew my messenger." "It was laying waste to my territories. I made an agreement with you, but not one that would permit destruction of my possessions in earthquakes and a rain of fire." Los Angeles. *He* was part of that? The lunatics were right? And yet I sense absolute reluctance. Then the memory drifts through my consciousness. The pain and despair on that black sand, the last time he was here. The agreement, to be restored to life. And the betrayal, because the demons here had no part of the restoration. At least he doesn't believe so. He was sold a pup, and cannot forgive that. "You still killed my messenger, and prevented my sending you a new master. Your life is forfeit for that." "I think I may insist on appealing that decision." The creature has no features, yet it seems to smile. "What makes you believe that there is a court that would listen to you?" "The fact that you don't like the idea of me appealing. But I am here for something else." "Another *bargain*, where your word will not hold good?" "I have come to retrieve the Slayer." "I know. What makes you think she is here?" "The witches sent me to follow her. I don't think that they made a mistake. Not using one of Aurelius' spells. I think you know where she is." The creature appears to muse for a while. If Angelus had a heart, it would be beating wildly. He may look cool and dignified, but he is afraid. Only rage permits him to stand here, unflustered. Rage, and something else. "It was perhaps not her time to die. Not yet." Angelus does have a heart, of sorts, because it lurches. "I will hazard another bargain with you. If you can find her, you may have the right to contest for her release. At least I am in a position here to ensure that you keep your word this time." The creature waves its hand, and the light changes. The vampire sees now that the cavern we are in is lined with tunnels at many different levels. It looks like a warren. Flickers of light in all the colours of the rainbow, and many others, come from the tunnel entrances. Angelus stalks off to the nearest opening. The creature follows. Inside the tunnel, I see that this place is like the Catacombs of Rome. The sides are gouged out to provide small shelves and niches. In each niche rests...how to describe it? A being - he senses that they are, were, beings. Souls, perhaps. But like nothing I have ever seen. They are shapes of crystalline light, refractions of a myriad colours around a darker heart. Beautiful but frozen. Angelus looks hard at them, then turns angrily to the creature. "What have you done here?" I search amongst his feelings, and discover his question. These are all slayers, or something similar. Judging by the number of tunnels, these may be all the slayers who have ever lived. If this is Heaven, they have, indeed, been short-changed. He doesn't care about these, though. He only cares about her. To tell the truth, at this moment, so do I. The creature refuses to respond to his question. Instead, it looks at him with what I could swear was mockery on its non-existent features. "Choose." Angelus sets off down the tunnel, anger driving out all other emotions. He is angry because he is afraid he will fail, and he would rather live in anger than in fear. I can understand that, strange though it is to say so.

There are hundreds of them, if not thousands, these beautiful frozen spirits. He knows that they are not all the same. There are many slayers here, but he recognises other types of being, too. I don't know what. The place is a maze. He is never lost, but he is losing hope. He cannot find her. Then I feel something within him, something...different...something soothing him, urging him to think, to use his senses. He stops, and I can feel him reaching deep within himself. And he feels the call of blood, here where there is none. He opens himself up entirely to this call, and amid the corruption and darkness that is his being, there is a bright and shining light. He knows what it is, so I do, too. Her. He sets off with renewed hope, threading his way through this labyrinth of adamantine death. *** I left the others in Los Angeles and came here to either rescue my employer, my friend, the man who offered me a chance to become somebody, or to slay his murderer. I find that my friend, Angel, is gone forever, and I am that murderer. This will not be easy knowledge to live with, but I must deal with that later. Now, there are more important things at stake. Mr Giles has not bothered to hide his well-deserved contempt for me, and for the others. We were desperate, but he is right. We should have researched more, understood better, what we were proposing. But we had no idea that there might be a limit to the soul magic. That is no excuse, of course. I should have known better. I have not even been able to slay the dragon that I created. Despite the fact that he was torturing her, might even have been killing her, the demon has shown himself to be a better man than me. He has gone to see whether the Slayer can be recovered, something I should not have dared. And I am left to stand watch. The vampire is kneeling on the ground, the girl lying across him, held firmly in his embrace. Mr Giles is kneeling next to them. The two witches are sitting cross-legged in front of them, holding hands and chanting in a low monotone. No one in this tableau is conscious of anything happening around them. A demon, whom I do not know, together with Xander and myself, stands guard. Anyanka has fetched Dawn down from the tower and is binding her wounds as best she can. Neither is willing to leave until this is played out. Xander is building a shelter of wood and blankets and any other debris that he can find, in case the sun comes up before Angelus completes his task. He hates doing it, but he loves Buffy more. Like Mr Giles, he is doing the last thing in the world he would ever wish to do - protecting Angelus. Dawn is only a couple of hours away, surely, and there will be serious complications if the waking world finds us here. I wish I knew what was happening. And why the monster is doing this. *** He is standing at the end of an almost empty tunnel. There are only a few spirits here, but the inner light that is guiding him is brighter than ever. He almost runs to a niche in the tunnel wall, and stops before the spirit that it contains. Trying to see with human eyes, I am sure that they would all look alike. But with his eyes? This one glows in a way that the others do not. As we approached it, it had gleamed softly, a scintilla of colour here and there. Now? It coruscates with the brilliance of diamond in a spotlight, the radiance of light illuminating the entire corridor. He puts out a hand to touch it, then, uncertain of whether his touch will damage it, *hurt her*, he pulls back. The light, which had flared to meet his hand, dies down a little, as if disappointed. He wants to simply stay here and bathe in this light, in the warmth that has enveloped his being. I had never understood that demons could experience the gentler feelings, but this dead girl - for I have no doubt that it is she - is lying like a balm over the maelstrom of passion that is his spirit. He loves her. I can never doubt that again. It is here, displayed before me. His inmost secrets, nothing is hidden from me. He does not understand how he can do so, and he hates it that he does. But he loves her. Something attracts his attention, then, and reluctantly he pulls away from his lodestar. He moves a little way down the tunnel to another spirit. This, too, is a coruscation of light, planes and angles of crystalline colour surrounding a darker centre. He recognises it, and in doing so, he flays my own spirit. Jenny. The woman I loved, murdered by Angelus. He feels that she is pleased that he is here, close to her, even though she can have no conscious awareness. Can she feel me, I wonder? Is she pleased that he is here, or is it me? I push the selfish thought down. She is lying at his mercy now. Will he try to destroy her forever? Brag to me later? To punish me for the hurt I have done him? His emotions are turbulent and threaded through with an overwhelming desire to return to his own love. I cannot quite read him yet. Then the creature joins us. "You have found the Slayer?" Angelus points mutely to the spirit he first found. Then he says something that causes hope to soar in me. "This one. The Gypsy. I wish to contest for her release, too." As he says the words, I can discern his thoughts. He has no regrets that he killed her before she could re-ensoul him. But he regrets the pain that my loss causes Buffy. And he looks on me as one of his *possessions*? A treacherous one to be sure, and there must be a

reckoning, but he still sees me as his possession. My welfare is his concern. I may resent that, but my understanding of this demon has been shaken to its foundations. The creature dashes both our hopes. "You may not contest for both. You must choose one or the other. You have not the wherewithal to purchase both." He does not give up easily, though. "Can I find the wherewithal? Can I change the balance?" "No. You may ransom one life, and one only." There is, of course, no choice. He moves back to Buffy, and I am surprised to find that he has a small lingering regret that Jenny must stay here. "The souls here - are they happy? Is this their Heaven? Is this all there is?" "I believe that they are dreaming. What they dream is none of my concern, whether it be of the moment of their death, or of happier times. How can I know? For these, though, there is no other place that can take them. Only this place. This Limbo. Champions must have a heart of darkness, to give them the strength to kill, to do things that the gentler beings in their charge are unable to do for themselves. Their souls will always carry sins. Perhaps you would prefer them to be out on the black sand?" The creature has a sly look to it, sly and knowing, as if there were more to the story than that, and as if our ignorance might be the death of us. I have no doubt, though, that it is telling the truth. He believes that, too. Rage rises in him like an inferno, threatening to engulf us both, for I feel it too. This is the reward, then. A lifetime of struggle against the forces of darkness, followed by the ultimate sacrifice, and they lie here as unforgiven sinners, alone, unloved, on a shelf. Is that divine mercy? Is it even justice? Those are my thoughts, but I find that they are also his. That gives me a moment of panic. More and more, I find that my thoughts and his converge. Am I losing myself in him? Who will I be at the end of all this? He keeps a tenuous grasp on his temper, calling on the balm of his love for the Slayer to strengthen him. "Very well, then. What must I do to be able to bring the Slayer back? What sort of contest?" The creature looks at him. At us. It has no features, yet I can tell that the look is long and measured. "I think you misunderstand. You may not bring her back. You may go back, knowing where she is, or you may send her back. You must choose." "Explain!" He wants to rend this being into pieces, to tear down this entire edifice that seems to stand between himself and the Slayer. He is holding himself in check by the slimmest of threads, now. "Your life is forfeit, remember? You broke our agreement; you prevented the manifestation of a new master on Earth; you escaped from death on a false promise. Your life and your spirit are forfeit to me." He snarls; he cannot help himself. "The Oracles turned back time, restored me to the body, took away Angel's humanity. You had nothing to do with that. Under our contract, you still owe me my life. There is no bargain for me to keep, yet." I don't understand any of this. "How your return to life was achieved is immaterial to our agreement. I simply agreed that it would be done. I did not specify that I would do it. You have reneged. It is as simple as that. You may go, or she may go, if you succeed in your challenge." He doesn't actually say 'Take it or leave it,' but he might as well have done. Angelus' thoughts and emotions stream around me. The knowledge that the Oracles intervened once and the certainty that they must have done so again; that he is being short-changed here -

well, what can you expect of a bargain made in Hell - and the acceptance that he must decide. The rage and hate and passion of this monster, this most evil and vicious of all vampires, wrap themselves around me, cut through by the bright, shining path of his decision. He will sacrifice anything and anybody - no, *everything* and *everybody* -for this woman-child-warrior. Including himself. How can this beast, spawned from the deepest pits of corruption, possibly feel the purity of love that he has for her. I do not understand. He sinks to his knees in front of her frozen spirit, as if in an act of worship. There is an element of that, but overwhelmingly his feelings are those of utmost despair and loss. It doesn't change his mind, though. "Her. I choose her." Immediately, the black rock of the labyrinth disappears, and we are kneeling on the black sand in this lighter, but sunless, place. The dark cliffs, shadowless but terrible, loom all around. Encircling us are dozens of demons of all varieties. All battle demons. There are no weapons, no armaments that I can see, but they have no need of them. All those here have natural armour and weaponry, tooth and claw, that make Angelus' own look like those of an infant. Buffy's body is lying across his knees. The creature stands in front of him and gestures to something outside the encircling demons. It is a catafalque, draped in purple and white, a pillow at one end. Angelus rises gracefully and lays her gently on it. He kisses her forehead and then returns to the circle. His gaze runs around the gathered multitude, weighing them up. He knows them all. He, or Angel, has killed all of them at some point in his life. These are their shades, but they look as solid as he is. "Tell me with whom I must contest." "Why, all of them, of course." *** The trio before me is unchanged. The vampire is still kneeling, with the girl sprawled bonelessly across his lap, held firmly in his embrace. Only Mr Giles moves at all, the shallow rise and fall of his rib cage as he breathes showing that he is alive. The witches continue to chant. Nothing else in the tableau changes. And then it does. Xander has erected a structure around them, and is about to drape it with blankets and sheets of corrugated iron when I stop him. A bruise has bloomed on the vampire's cheek, and then blood swells from claw marks gashing deeply into his neck. Blood roses blossom on his clothing, black against the darkness of his shirt, testaments to unseen wounds, and I hear the occasional crack of bone. Yet he is unmoved and unmoving. As quickly as he heals, more wounds tear his flesh. Xander and Ezrafel have seen now, and are watching in horror as hurts that are deeper and more terrible appear on him. What in God's name is happening? *** I am lying on my back in this arena of flesh, staring at, without actually seeing, the featureless sky above. There is no real sky, no clouds, no sun, just a shade of grey paler than the black sand, and an unseen light source. Nothing else. Just grey. Grey like my heart. I am tired beyond all words. In her death, Buffy gave me a gift, the gift of her life. It drove away the Watcher's poison, and it has given me the strength to defeat each of the opponents that have been sent against me. But I cannot kill them, and this is a contest to the death. I have met each and every one and defeated them, but they will not die. Or rather, they die and then they live again. And they line up to come at me again. I have not the strength to face even one more. My blood, Buffy's last gift, is used up and stale. There is none to replace it. I have failed. I have failed to win her freedom from this place of death, from this nowhereness. What a useless piece of work I am, if I cannot even deliver my mate into safety. More useless even than the human this body used to be. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. And it seems that I am mistaken about having defeated them all, because there is one opponent still to come, one I have not yet fought. I cannot make out his features since the light, which otherwise has no direction, seems to be behind him. All I can see is a figure in a long coat. What is it about this place and clothes? I have had none since I arrived, yet he does. Is this trying to tell me something? Is it all a figment of my imagination? Is all this really just happening in my head? A result of the Watcher's poison, perhaps? Just what is going on here? But I'm too weary, too thoroughly drained and simply exhausted to think further. Now he is standing over me, and, quick as thought, he has dropped to his knees, straddling my chest, no doubt to make it easier to use the stake he has in his fist; the stake that even now is pressed into the muscle over my heart. I can see his face now, although it is not one that I would have expected in the same place as the entire line of slayers. Still, my opponents have all been demons killed by the Soul, or by me, so I expect it's appropriate that he be here. At my demise. Probably presiding over my demise, if truth be told. "Spike."

"You dusted me, you pillock! What were you thinking?" Only now do I fully realise that that, indeed, is what I have done. Only now does that truth embed itself into my psyche. I have killed him. I'll never see him again. Never hold him, never have to punish him, never have to rescue him from some ridiculous escapade. It is not at all unusual for vampires to kill their childer - I've done it myself once or twice, when I needed to. But Will? He bitched and whined and made my life a living hell. And I loved him. He was my favourite childe. And now he is dead. Although looking at him, not quite dust. His rage is palpable. So, this is to be my end, then. Or am I able to die here? Perhaps I will die up there, but here be doomed to relive this moment for eternity? No. That would be far too merciful a damnation. The stake is sharp, and presses through the skin into flesh. A tiny runnel of blood leaks out and trickles over my ribs to join the blood that has already soaked into this sand from the much larger wounds that I have taken. I have no answer for him. Even if I did, I could not find the strength to voice it. So I lie here, accepting. A thought occurs to me. Perhaps he will prove stronger than me. Perhaps he can take her out of here. I must try to ask him. But it seems he might know what is in my mind. "She never wanted me, you prat. And I liked her well enough, but I didn't love her. It was always about you. You left us. You abandoned us and we kept trying to find you in each other. That's the vampire way, dammit! And you killed me for it. You condemned me to...this!" His arm sweeps round to indicate the vast expanse of nothing. Of black sand. His chest is heaving, as if he needed to breathe, as if emotion has robbed him of breath. For the moment, he cannot continue. But I think he has said enough. Because he is right. He hasn't finished yet, though. The stake sinks a little deeper. "What you did was bloody *human*! That bloody soul has corrupted you. Before, you would never have minded - you'd have wanted us to remember you, try to feel you again in each other. You would have got pleasure from *watching* us! Only humans are jealous of that. What other maggot could have got in your head, you stupid wanker? And how are you going to get out of this, now." How, indeed? And he is right; I am not the demon I used to be. I don't know why that is, but I'm sure that there is no Hell that will welcome me now. At least, not in the way I would wish to be welcomed. Remember the Furies? But now is not the time to think of what might become of me, only of what is to become of her. And of my other possessions still on Earth, still threatened by an influx of demons that are too strong for them to kill, with or without a new Slayer. And I still need to gain her forgiveness. He looks round at the circle of waiting demons. Suddenly, he tosses the stake behind him with an expression of disgust. Another new figure has appeared, another in a long coat. What *is* it with clothes here? Spike rises to his feet, graceful as always, and stands to one side, slouching, with his hands in his pockets. The new arrival bends to pick up the stake and walks towards me. He looks familiar, but I can't see his face. Truth to tell, everything is somewhat blurred now as my sight fades and unconsciousness beckons. Where, I wonder, is the brash and cocky demon of yesterday? What has become of my pride, my amour propre? Lying in the dust, like the rest of me. Only she is important, and I have failed even her. The newcomer has reached me, stands toying with the stake, his features shadowed. Still I have not an ounce of strength. He seems to be debating with himself whether or not to stake me. I wonder why he should be in any doubt. Suddenly, the shadows shift, and I see him. It is me. Well, not me precisely. Him. The Soul. What the Hell is he doing here? He bends down, and holds out his hand to me. What? He expects me to sit up in order to be staked? Still, what difference does it make? I reach out to him, and he wraps his hand firmly around my wrist, yanking me to my feet. The contact is electrifying, as if I have been given a transfusion of blood. His other hand, which I see no longer holds the stake, wraps around my throat. "If you mean to get her out of here, then fight for her. Stop whimpering and just fight." He lets me go and stands back to back with me as the first two demons charge. *** 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul; I think the Romans call it stoicism. Joseph Addison 'Cato' (1713) Act 1 scene 4, 1.82

'Together you are strong. Alone you are powerless.' I know that is what the Mohra demon said to Buffy, even though I was unconscious at the time. Down here, I know a lot of things that I missed before. As if my soul had picked up things that my unconscious mind missed. As if I have been permitted to know things that were kept from me before. The lost day, for example. I have been allowed to watch what has been happening since Angelus came to retrieve Buffy, since he appeared on the black sand of this arena, with my beloved sprawled dead across his knees. It galls me to say that he has acquitted himself well. I'll never tell him, of course. He doesn't need to be more puffed up in his own self-importance than he already is. Then I understand the problem. He can put down the demons he is fighting, but here he lacks something. He lacks the power to make an end of them. That is when I remember the words of the Mohra demon, and I wonder whether it could possibly apply to him and me. I see him sprawled on the sand, and I know that he is at the end of his strength. I can never go back - I know about the limits on the soul magic now, when it is too late - but he can. He must. He has to take Buffy with him. And he has tried. Further, he must be the one to protect her for the rest of her life. I find the idea hard to accept, but he is all there is. No, not hard to accept. Almost impossible. She is the most precious thing in the world to me, and the last thing I would ever wish to do is to see her in his care. Yet that seems to be my only choice, to hand her over to a demon. To surely the most vicious demon that Hell has ever spawned. To the demon that has ruled me for a hundred and fifty years, and fought me to the point of despair for the last century. Yet, without him, I have always known that her life would be short. And he made her an oath. I remember it well, now, although I wasn't there. '...I will cherish and protect you in every way known to human or demon kind. I will never leave you or abandon you, and we will face together everything the future brings to us.' He meant it. I'm sure he still means it. I was the one who abandoned her, not him. If I cannot go back, he must. And at least neither of them will have to worry about the happiness clause. The knowledge of what I am doing, of what I might be condemning her to, will tear me apart for eternity, more surely than anything devised within Hell ever could. It is the last thing in the world that I want to do, but what choice do I have? The one who brought me here is a creature of light, and crystal planes. A thing of beauty but entirely inhuman. I don't know why I am here, or what I am able to do. I have to ask. "May I help him?" "He may only help himself." Spike walks out onto the sand. Now where did he come from? Is he dead, too? He looks real enough as he presses that stake to his, to my, heart. Then I realise what the creature has said. 'He may only help himself.' I have never been able to distinguish between us. I am he, and he is me. Buffy said so, as well. Remember? 'Angel, he's you, too. Cut him some slack. Please.' Here, I have perfect recall of every moment of that lost day. Every syllable. Every touch. I go to walk through the transparency, the glassy wall that separates us, and it simply parts for me. As I look back, the creature seems to smile, although he has no face. And it seems the Mohra was right. When I reach for Angelus, to pull him up, I can feel the life force pass from me to him, and yet I am not diminished. And so we face the horde together. One by one they die. Or at least disappear from this arena, which is all that we need. When the last one is gone, we both stand, battered and bruised - and worse. We are alone except for Spike and the body of Buffy. Spike is standing by the catafalque. He gives us a clear-eyed gaze, then turns and walks back towards the black cliffs. Angelus looks at me with something that, for him, must approach gratitude. He says, gruffly, "Do you wish to make your farewells to her?" I do. I walk over to her, and he allows me to do that alone. I am grateful to him. She looks so beautiful, and so lost, alone on that huge purple deathbed. It is as if she were alive, but sleeping, except that there is no sign of a heartbeat or of breath. As if she were like me, then. Like I was. My fingers remember the feel of her skin, the heavy silk of her hair. My lips remember the sweetness of her taste, the way her own lips yield to mine. This will be all I have to remember, in all the ages to come. No. She left me with more than this dead shell. She left me with hope. She left me with living memories, which I must and shall hold on to. I turn and walk back to my place in the black cliff, without once looking back. If I did, I should shame myself. She is his, now, and I must be satisfied with that. At least he will give his life to protect her, just as I would have done. Perhaps it's the best I ever had the right to hope for. As I take my place beside my guide, he turns to go. His look requires me to follow. I pray for one last bounty. One more torment. "May I watch? Until it is done? Until she is gone?"

He nods, and returns to my side. The creature that appears to be his counterpart, the one of smoke and shadows, of dark light, approaches my alter ego. The demon. My nemesis. "You have been successful. She may leave." He stretches forth his hand, and my beloved takes a deep and shuddering breath. Her eyes open. Angelus takes her hand and helps her to rise from the purple satin. She stands, in a dream state, unknowing, unmoving. Unaware. "Do you wish to say farewell to her?" What? He has won her freedom, her life. What is happening here? My guide explains. "He has been told that his life is forfeit for failing to honour the bargain he made during his last stay here. He stopped the rain of fire and prevented the appearance in your dimension of a new master for the Earth. That cannot go unremarked and unpunished." He did what I failed to do. Bully for him. My guide continues. "Because of that, he may only ransom one life. He chose her. He must therefore remain." Oh. His arms are around her, now, although she does not respond. She is still completely unaware, an automaton, without feelings. He is not. He is crying into her hair. *** I am becoming more than a little fearful as I think of the consequences of what is happening. I sit here, a secret part of Angelus' psyche; what will happen to me now that he cannot leave? Will I be here forever? Will I share his torments here for eternity? Can Willow and Tara retrieve me? Or will they be left with an empty, comatose husk? Am I still conscious, back in my own place and time? Am I now split into two beings? Is that what Angel and Angelus are? If so, what sort of creature is left in my flesh, wearing my clothes? If it is down to me to make an effort, to separate myself from the demon, I don't know how. And already it becomes harder to think of myself as a separate entity, to know what is 'I' and what is 'he'. I thought before that Angel was stronger than I gave him credit for. I am beginning to understand just how strong, now that I am in danger of losing myself. And perhaps some of the fear I feel is Angelus' own fear, because that is one of the emotions roiling through him. Anger, that he should have to remain here, parted from her. Fear, at what might happen to him. Frustration, that he cannot find a way out of this. But above all, love. Love for her, and sorrow that he will never see her again. Who would have thought it? He has been crying into her hair, re-baptising her, perhaps, with his sacrifice. Now he looks to the shadow creature. "Will she remember that I loved her? Will she remember that I begged her forgiveness?" This is of paramount importance to him, a sin weighing on him like the Mariner's albatross. He must be reassured, I can sense it. "She will remember nothing of her stay here. She will know nothing of the time between her fall from the tower and her awakening in your ashes. But others will tell her." The creature looks at Angelus. No, not *at* Angelus. Into him. He looks at me. He knows I am here. I think he has always known, and he has given me my task. If this demon is to sacrifice his life for her, he deserves that I should tell her something of that sacrifice. But does that mean that I will be returned? That I will be permitted to remember? "I can take her back to her world?" "You may lead her so far. You will not be permitted to cross the barrier. She will follow behind you, but remember this. You must never look back at her. If you do, she will be lost. Her chance to rejoin the living will be gone, and you will leave in her place."

Another test then. Orpheus and Eurydice. Orpheus failed. Lot's wife failed. The urge to look back is irresistible, and he knows it. I feel a slight tug on my consciousness, and I know that the task I have been sent for is about to be fulfilled. My consciousness, stretched between these two dimensions like Ariadne's thread, is guiding him back, Theseus from the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Behind us, I hear the rustle of leathery wings, and the hissing of snakes. Surely that is what awaits him, when he has delivered her back to life. He starts to walk. I do not know whether Buffy is behind us. And he desperately needs to look. So do I. *** I watch them leave. My feelings I can only describe as disbelief. Horror. Rage. For perhaps the first time, my anger must surely match his. Who will protect her now? I must have spoken that out loud, because my guide answers. "She is the Slayer. Why should she need to be protected?" "Slayers die young. They always have. And they do so because they work alone. Every warrior needs someone to watch their back. Even a Slayer." The creature remains silent. I can never go back to her, but perhaps I can make sure that he does. He has forfeited his existence because he chose to do what I could not. He killed The Beast. Perhaps I can repay him. Anything can be purchased here. For the right price. "Can his life be purchased?" "It can. You may nominate someone else to take his place." "Anyone?" "Anyone. His is a spirit of particular power and destiny. If the person you choose does not have power to match, you may need to nominate more than one. A pure soul will purchase a great deal. But, whoever you nominate will take his eternal fate." "The Furies." I know now how he suffered. "The Furies are only the start of it. There will be very much worse to follow." Faces come to mind, as I think of those whom I might condemn. Forever. *** I cannot look back. I can never look back. She is behind me, and I can never see her, never hold her, again. If I try to, everything I have done will have been in vain. Yet I am weak. The need to look back is overwhelming. Spike was right. The human soul, in residence for so long, has contaminated me. I am no longer as pure a demon as I should be. Aurelius has done something, too. I can feel it in my blood. Perhaps it is good that I shall not see the Earth again. Perhaps I would feel the need to cleanse myself of these corruptions. That could only bring me into conflict with her. So, as I stalk across these black sands, I try to concentrate on what I truly am, a manifestation of evil, and the most vicious demon ever to have prowled the night. I will need to remember that, in the ages to come. Is she still behind me? Dare I risk just the smallest glance? No. I don't know how I know where to go, but I do. It is as if I am following a lifeline, a trail of breadcrumbs in the forest. In the distance, I see the Furies pursuing another naked and bleeding sinner. They are vicious in their attacks. It is the only other spirit that I have seen on these black sands. I wonder who or what it is? Still, it is no business of mine. My task is to look ahead, to not look back. And now I see the shadow creature, waiting for me. Behind him, a barrier sparkles darkly, as if beyond it lay a billion stars in the blackness of night. "You have not looked back. You have done well." I incline my head in acknowledgement of the compliment, but say nothing. What is there to say? "The price has been paid. You may leave with her."

What? I try to ask for an explanation, the words tumbling over themselves in their haste. Never have I been so inarticulate. But he has gone, and so has the barrier. Still I dare not look back until we are returned to our own place. My dead heart lurches in hope as I lead my beloved back to life. *** Who shall I condemn? Who has hurt me enough to feel the fires of Hell? The Watcher? He has power, and he hates me now. Hates Angelus. Simply hates, for what has been done to Jenny. He would make a good substitute. Xander? He has always hated both of us, even when I was whole, and was trying to do good, to atone. I would need to include someone else in the bargain, because he has not enough power himself, but that shouldn't be hard. Willow? She has enormous power, and there might even be some change from that trade. But she has tried to help me. And to help him. He might need her in the battles to come. So might Buffy. Wesley? Cordelia? Or one or two of the others from Los Angeles? They murdered me, after all, before I had the chance to win my redemption. What better justice could there be? Aurelius? He founded the line of vampires that has swallowed my life. He is rich in power, too. Like Willow. There might be something left over. Others, names and faces, pass through my mind. There is something deeply satisfying in reviewing the roll of those who have done me harm. But there is only one possible choice, has only ever been one that could and should take his place. The creature asks, "Have you chosen?" I watch Angelus, trailed by that automaton that is my beloved, walking across the black sand. "Yes. Me." *** When I awaken, I am surprised to find that I am back in my own body, and separate from Angelus' thoughts. And I still remember. Wesley comes to help me up, and Ezrafel goes to him. To them. Buffy is still sprawled across him as he kneels, then she takes a deep, shuddering breath. Just as she did before. Her eyes open. Just as they did before. But she is alive and aware. She is herself. Xander lifts and holds her, steadying her, and Angelus rises gracefully. Both of them are fully healed of all their hurts. Only I see the look on his face. It is one of unconditional love. It is gone in a moment, hidden behind his more stock expression of mockery, but I saw it. And I know it. And, although I still hate him, I remember that he was willing to sacrifice his existence for her, and that he tried to ransom Jenny. He turns towards Buffy, and holds out his hand to her. Her look is one of loathing. "Get away from me. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you. Do you understand?" Now is my time to say something. Thoughts of Jenny fill my mind, but they are overlaid with thoughts of how I found Buffy today, of what he had done to her. God help me, I remain silent. He stands there for a moment, his face frozen. Then he turns and struts off into the remnants of the night. 'And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin Is pride that apes humility.' Samuel Taylor Coleridge 'The Devil's Thoughts' (1799) ***

I have returned to Hylek. I hastened after Angelus when his mate rejected him, hoping that the others would tell her that he went into the Underworld after her, to fetch her back. I do not know what he encountered there, but he was successful, that much is clear. I must ask him, for the sake of the chronicle. He ignored my presence for some hours, sitting in his darkened chambers, brooding. Then he started to pack. When I asked him where he was intending to go, he simply said 'Away from Sunnydale,' his voice as bitter as I have ever heard it. Then he snarled at me and told me to go away. He was in vampire face at the time, so I did. I have come back to Hylek, for the time being, at least. And Haraeth gave me leave to consult the Seers. I have done so and, together, we have told our king of the new developments. The fires of chaos still rage, burning away futures one by one. On the other side of that chaos, far in the future - although no one can see quite how far - a blackness has appeared. A nothingness. There is no better word to describe it. It lies in wait for us all. For your Earth, your solar system, your universe. For the Adraste. For Hylek. For other dimensions that we know nothing of. The Seers cannot tell how far this blackness, this all-devouring nothingness, spreads. Every path to the future that still survives the fires of chaos, every new path that struggles to be born, enters the blackness and ceases to be. Not one of them emerges from the other side. Until now. It would be foolishly optimistic to call this new thing a path. Still, from the furnace of destruction a few small signs, like footprints in shifting sand, lead directly into that heart of darkness. And come out at the other side. *** The creature of smoke and shadow, of dark crystalline reflections, bends over the ornate gaming board. Amongst the other pieces, there are some that we should recognise. The woman, leaning on her sword, with a victor's chaplet around her head, is placed at one corner of the board. The warrior with the stern and grim face of an angel, and the body of a winged lion, is placed at the diametrically opposed corner. The figure of a man, a book held in his hands, stands between them. The other sword-bearing warrior, with torn and broken wings, stands in a third corner. All of them are surrounded by figures of demons. Beseiged. His brother, the creature of mists and rainbows, asks, "Are they strong enough yet?" The dark creature looks up. His face is insubstantial, yet his smile is warmer than we have seen before. "No. But now there is hope." THE END

Lionesses Author: Jo FEEDBACK: Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com DISCLAIMER: Wish as I might, most of these characters aren't mine. If they were, I'd look after them better. The ones you've never heard of? They're mine. No money will ever be made from this fic. DISTRIBUTION: The Angel Texts at and Angel Elders. You want it? Really? Gosh. Just tell me where it's going please. SPOILERS: BtVS season 2/3. Angel didn't get his soul back in season 2. Do not get me started on who sired Spike - it's exactly as it says in this story. RATING: NC17 for sex, some of which is not entirely consensual, and for some violence. Some of the thinking is from a demonic point of view and it's, well, demonic. CONTENT: B/A(us) Alternate past reality leading to an alternate future, which is where we began, in 'The Nature of the Beast'.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The fifth story in 'The Nature of the Beast' cycle This one is for Rusty, because she asked. ~~~~~~ Passages that are recounted memories of times long past. 1 Because this series is changing the events of the past, and because the inertia of narrative history is trying to tie knots and carry on, you can expect to see artefacts, and events, and perhaps meet people, in unexpected times and places. The timeline is fractured. If you don't like it, that's fine. Just make it your turn to write something for the rest of us to read. 2 Acathla is the demon in 'Becoming' who is capable of swallowing the world into Hell. Giles says that Angel's blood is the key to reviving him, although Whistler tells Buffy that Angel should have been the one to stop him. 3 4 Memento mori - a warning, or reminder, of death (Latin for remember you must die). The Ten Commandments - you can find these in Deuteronomy, Chapter 5.

5 Cairo - from al-Qahir (the planet Mars), so named because that was the planet in the ascendant when work first began on the city in 969 AD. Cairo was largely built from the stones of the Pyramids of Giza, which is why the pyramids have virtually none of their original limestone casing left. The city was founded by the Fatimids in 969. The Mameluks ruled Egypt from 1240. The first Ottoman sultan began his reign in 1517. Abd al-Rahman Katkhuda did indeed embark on a whole series of ambitious building projects in the middle of the eighteenth century, including palaces, mosques and other public works. His buildings are in a hybrid style that mixes Mameluk and Ottoman elements with a highly ornate overall expression. The Lion Courtyard is borrowed from that Moorish masterpiece, the Alhambra in Granada, Spain. 6 Ancient Egyptian beliefs

Egyptian mythology is very complex, and there is a reason for this. The Ancient Egyptians were a mixture of different waves of tribal settlers, and different races. In each different locality, the early inhabitants accepted the beliefs of each new group of settlers and fused them with their own. They also clung tenaciously to the primitive tribal beliefs of their remote ancestors, and never abandoned an archaic belief even when they acquired ideas that seemed newer and more enlightened. They even showed a tendency to increase the number of their gods and goddesses by separately symbolising their attributes. The result is a bewildering number of gods and a confused mass of beliefs, some rather local in area, many of which are obscure and contradictory. Each provincial centre had its own distinctive theological system, so there was no orthodox creed, no homogeneous religion. One of the beliefs referred to in this story, the one about the soul reanimating the dead frame, was recounted by Egyptian priests to Herodotus, a visiting Greek historian born in 484 BC. It's all fascinating stuff. Sekhmet An Egyptian goddess. Among her titles were 'Lady of the Place of the Beginning of Time', and 'Goddess of Vengeance'. She is often depicted as a lioness, or with a lioness' head. The legend tells that when Re grew angry at the whining and complaints of humankind, he ripped out one of his eyes and hurled it at the earth; this eye changed in flight to an avenging goddess, Sekhmet, who ravaged the earth, sucking blood from the peoples, and almost totally wiping out humankind before a remorseful Re could stop her. She was the consort of Ptah, the god of Memphis. Ptah

The local god of Memphis from the earliest dynastic times (c. 3100 BC), patron of artisans, and identified with the Greek god Hephaestos. His consort was the lion-headed goddess Sekhmet. He was thought to have fashioned the bodies in which the souls of men dwelt in the afterlife. Ptah gave life to the other gods by means of his heart and his tongue, although his essence was considered to be in his teeth and lips. Some statuettes of Ptah resemble the 'wonder smith' of some of the Alpine cultures distributed along mountain ranges from the Hindu Kush to Britain. Ptah was believed to have first appeared from a cosmic egg. Sokar One of the oldest deities, a god of the dead, identified in Memphis as Ptah-Sokar. Seth Egyptians had a deeply held notion of duality. One duality is light and dark, represented by Osiris (light) and Seth (dark). This wasn't quite the same as good and evil. Seth was a power, requiring respect and placation. His instruments were thunder, storms, whirlwinds and hail. He could take on a number of animal forms, one of which was the dog. Book of the Dead Funerary texts placed with mummies; collections of spells intended to ease the transition of the dead person into the afterlife. A different translation is 'The Book of Coming Forth By Day'. The Pyramid Texts are texts engraved on the passage walls of Fifth and Sixth Dynasty pyramids at Saqqara; the Coffin texts are funerary texts engraved on sarcophagi; both are concerned with securing entry into the afterlife for the deceased. 7 Smilodon - the sabre-toothed cat. Smilodon lived in North America until around 11,000 years ago. Its sabres, the grossly enlarged canine teeth, were 7 inches long and serrated like a steak knife, and it weighed up to 440 pounds. Palaeontologists seem not to have quite decided how it hunted the large ice age fauna, with their thick layers of fat - whether it used the sabres to tear open the soft under belly of the prey, to hold the windpipe closed and choke it to death or, indeed, whether it lived off carrion. The fangs certainly couldn't be used as a large cat uses its teeth now - they were far too brittle and would have snapped on contact with large bones, for example. You and I have seen teeth of that ilk before, though. I think we can go along with those few palaeontologists who clearly watch the same TV shows that we do, and who have sensibly concluded that the sabres were used to penetrate to the deep blood vessels, and slash them so that the prey bled to death. And perhaps they drank all that blood, too 8 Gebel el-Arak knife -this artefact is in the Louvre. It is an ivory-handled flint knife, thought to have belonged to a Pharaoh of Upper Egypt around 3,500 BC. One side of the haft is carved with scenes of battle, and boats, some of which may be Mesopotamian. The other side has a figure called The Master of Animals, holding two lions on their hind legs, above a pair of dogs guarding something thought to be the cosmic egg. 9 Simon Magus - a sorcerer named in the Bible. See Acts of the Apostles, chapter 8 verses 9-24. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Part 1 Have you ever got ready to go on holiday? Of course you have. All that packing and providing for your dependents - watering the plants, taking the pets to the kennels or to the neighbours, or if that is inconvenient, dealing with them in some other more permanent way, making sure that you've secured all your valuables, and making sure your friends and acquaintances will remember you while you're gone? You think you know about the difficulty of all those arrangements, right? Wrong. You have no idea what it's like to be about to take a holiday, a long holiday, with a vampire family to dispose of and an apocalypse to organise for when you come back. To have a Slayer to remind of your presence. You've no idea how much energy it all takes.

That's what I'm doing now. I've been back for a few months, and now I know exactly how everybody is going to pay for the century that I've spent in solitary confinement, in a sort of sensory deprivation; seeing, hearing, smelling and touching but unable to *do*. Sensing everything second hand, everything filtered through nauseating feelings of guilt, and remorse, of worthlessness and shame. Existing in misery and despair. In impotent rage, rage such as you have never seen beforeNo! I'm not going to start talking about that. I just want to forget the last century, forget the soul that has tormented me, kept me "cribbed, cabined and confined" in a way that you humans cannot begin to comprehend. I will have my vengeance. Everyone on this miserable planet will feel the weight of my anger, believe me, but there are some for whom it will be worse than others. The Rom. I'll take all of them, the entire people. But the Kalderash are in star position. Every last man, woman and child of that monstrous clan will understand that the anguish and eventual demise of the human race is the responsibility of the Kalderash. That the disappearance of this planet from this dimension is a direct consequence of their childish attempts at revenge for the loss of a single daughter. I wonder if they will think that the stupid girl was worth the price they are about to pay? The Rom themselves will be my special playthings, in the Hell of my choosing, forever. Have you any idea how long eternity will be? How hopeless? How much agony I can inflict? You will soon, I promise. Word of a demon. The Rom will know it even better. Buffy. She's right up there, too. She made me loshe made this body love her. Demons cannot love. Not ever. She made Soul Boy love her, and the after effects are here, in this body. The memories, the feelings, the chemicals of emotional addiction. This body, this flesh that is my earthly home, is polluted and corrupted. I have scrubbed myself under the shower until the skin bleeds, but I cannot remove the memory of her touch. How can I scrub away what is inside me, if I cannot purify the outside? Every moment is another torment, with these nauseating sounds and scents and sights in my mind, the memory of her skin on mine, the very taste of her. It is unbearable. If I can't cleanse this flesh, then I shall have to deal with the corruption in some other way. Acathla. I knew about Acathla, of course, but not until the idiots at the museum got hold of him did I know where to find him. He'll do. There are lots of ways I can get this planet and its puling population removed into a Hell dimension, and to be honest I don't much care which one. Just so long as I can have my vengeance. When that is over, I can be rid of this flesh once and for all, because living in it is most certainly Hell to me. Acathla is in my Great Hall now, waiting for me to release him from the stone that imprisons him, to withdraw the sword that cages his power. Spike seems resentful, but Drusilla and I will deal with him. But for now, Dru has asked for a last holiday, a visit to some of the places we all knew together. A last request, I suppose. It's inconvenient, but perhaps it will be a good thing to remind us all that there is nothing here for us. We are demons. We should be in a demon dimension. I'll keep enough of you alive to provide us with food. You won't need much in the way of comforts. The preparations are almost complete. I've spent some of the time since I've been back leaving small gifts for the Slayer - slaughtered birds, dead roses, you know the sort of thing. I particularly liked the effect of the drawings I left on her pillow, the promise I sent her that I should come for her soon, and the necklace I made of Witchy Willow's fish. The very special gift I left in the Watcher's bed. None of them knows the other things I've done, the things that kept them safe, kept them undamaged until I am ready for them. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to hurt this little band of do-gooders. Nothing except me. I shall guard them until the time is right, and then I shall do with them exactly as I please, for as long as I please. So, I've seen off the other dangers and just let them have one memento mori after another. All of them, mine. None of them feels safe, now. Good. They won't forget me while I'm gone.

The minions have spent the night carrying everything into the cellars for safe storage. Not that anyone with any common sense would break into a house with the reputation this one has. But, if common sense were so common, there would be more of it about, don't you think? Drusilla, Spike and I are packed. I'm taking the three most sensible minions as our servants, and the rest I'll stake when they've finished all the heavy lifting. Well, you didn't think I was going to do all the menial stuff myself, did you? We'll start with San Francisco, and work our way on from there. Istanbul, Prague, Budapest, London, Vienna, Paris, Rome It will take us some months, but time doesn't matter to us. Right now, I'm sitting in the tree outside the Slayer's window, watching her as she undresses. She's like a cat, a golden, tawny cat. Sometimes I think of her as a cheetah, when she's sprinting after her prey. Sometimes I think of her as a leopard, prowling in the dark. Just now? She's like a lioness, pacing in pent-up anger. If you want a real killer, don't look to the male of a pride. Look to the lionesses. I think she must have found the body I left as a gift for her. There's simply no gratitude nowadays, is there? She's beauti she's an impressive enemy, even I have to admit. No match for me, of course, but then who would be? I love to watch her in a rage like this. Her hair, the finest sun-spun silk, tossed in the wind of her fury, her body simply begging for fingers as knowing as mine to bring it to raptures of pain and pleasure, her skin soft and yielding, belying the iron strength that lies beneath it. My lioness. No! This body, these memories, give me no peace! I feel unclean, violated, possessed - I must go back and take another shower. Perhaps if I scrub a bit harder, I can at least get rid of the smell of her **************** It was all my fault, of course. Well, it bloody well would be, wouldn't it? He always blames me for everything that goes wrong. But in this case, it really was. Angelus had sent me to the docks in Istanbul to sort out our transport towhere was it now? Ah, yes. Athens. I got distracted, though. There was this really tasty-looking youth - you have no idea how tempting some of these young Turks are - and it all took longer than I expected. So I was in a bit of a rush. And I don't speak Turkish all that well. So we finished up not going to Athens. Angelus was very displeased. I didn't know why at the time. I do now. It was Drusilla's idea, but of course she's far from rational. Not stupid, you understand, but she's just not in control of her faculties. When she wants to, though, she can twist both me and our Sire around her little finger. That's what she did. He was going on about freeing Acathla. I mean, can you imagine anything more stupid or suicidal? As if any of the demon dimensions would offer a warm welcome to a family of vampires, even if we did come bearing the Earth as a trophy? Well, come to think of it, it might be a very warm welcome; a bit too hot for comfort. We would be their *toys* for all eternity. To a pure bred demon, we are half-breeds, the lowest of the low, fit only to be their slaves. I'll pass on that, thanks. It's been bad enough since he's been back - he's madder than Dru, now, after all that time imprisoned by the soul. In fact, I think I preferred the souled version, nauseating as it was. Until he came clutching the Harris whelp, pretending to be a real vampire again, I'd no idea what had happened to him after Romania in 1898. I was sure he wasn't dead - I'd have known - but Darla would never tell me. I think Dru had some idea, though. Anyway, I'm rambling a bit. Where was I? Angelus said he wanted to have the Earth and all its occupants sucked into Acathla's Hell. I was trying to find a way to stop him - I'll try to kill him if I have to, although I'm not likely to succeed because he's older, bigger and stronger - and then Dru got that crafty look on her face that she does when she's planning how to get us to do what she wants. She asked him for a last holiday. Revisit all the places of her youth, sort of thing. And I'll be damned if he didn't agree. So, we've eaten our way through the capitals of Europe. None of us have been particularly tidy in our habits, not even Angelus, who would normally have my hide if I left a fang-marked corpse

to be found by any passer-by. After all, if we're going to drag humanity to Hell, what does it matter? It matters to me. I've been watching for some sign of the old Angelus. The one who was hungry for everything this world had to offer. Whose appetite for pleasure was insatiable. Who said he only cared about his own satisfaction, but who took damn good care of the rest of us, whenever we needed it. Who loved life, unlife, whatever you want to call it. I began to see that Dru had the right plan. Keep him away from Acathla until he's back in his right mind. If ever he's back in his right mind. I wish vampires had a god to pray to. Or, better yet, a good psychiatrist. The capitals aren't what they used to be. Two world wars and the impoverishment of the aristocracy have largely done away with the glittering ballrooms, the soirees and the good oldfashioned decadence. Not that I mind personally - I could never stomach all that simpering crap, but Angelus enjoyed being lionized, almost more than anything else, and we could have done with a bit of that. Anything to bring him back to himself, to remind him of all the things that make our existence pleasurable. Even so, I thought things were going reasonably well - at least, he wasn't in any great rush to get back to Sunnyhell - until we visited Istanbul. Then I screwed up big time. He'd got wind of a cruise ship, full of rich old bats. We could 'replenish our resources' he said. 'Feed well and steal a lot of money' was what he meant. I'm OK with that, of course, but he likes to put a bit of a gloss on things. The minions were sent to check out the ship and to sneak onto it with all our baggage. I was sent to take out a couple of its passengers so we could have their tickets and their cabin. As it happens, it would have been better if the minions had done all of it. I got us a cabin all right. On the wrong ship. Well, it *looked* the same. And I've told you I don't speak Turkish all that well. Next stop for the one we got onto was Port Said, in the one country he had flatly refused to visit. Egypt. Everything might still have been alright, but Dru got hungry. All the old buffers got off the boat for the two hour coach trip to Cairo and the Pyramids, and even in our current devil-may-care attitude to corpses, Angelus was not inclined to take members of the crew. Too much of a hue and cry when they went missing, he thinks. He said that he would go out and bring something in for us. He forbade us absolutely to leave the ship. But he was gone a long time, and Dru got hungry. So we did. ************* Miss Edith told me that, if we did what she said, there would be crumpets for tea. I haven't had crumpets in such a long time. Crumpets, with lots of butter and strawberry jam, bright and glistening and red. I like red. She said we could all have crumpets for tea if we got off this boat, and everything would be right. If we didn't, Daddy would make sure there were never crumpets again. My Spike doesn't want Daddy to do that. Miss Edith doesn't, either. So, we have to get off the boat. Spikey will do anything I want; after all, I'm his dark goddess. So I'll say I'm hungry, and I'll whine about it, and keep thinking about those lovely crumpets and we can forget that nasty statue in the hall... ************ I've got a streetwalker here. She'll do for Spike and Dru. I've already eaten; just a quick snack, and the body carefully hidden, the neck wounds disguised as a slashed throat. Enough blood left in the body so that suspicion isn't aroused. Nothing to draw attention to us. Still, I feel as if I'm being followed. I've doubled back and I could see nothing. I've waited patiently in the shadows to see if someone is there, but I've found nothing. I wouldn't be surprised, though. A vampire's personal space extends for a very long way - much further than the pathetic bubble of sensibility that you humans have. And I can feel that I'm being watched. I know it. Damn! This is the last place in the world I wanted to come to. So long as we stay on the ship, now, we'll be fine. Only an overnight layover, but while we are here, I might try to find one that leaves earlier, and is berthed nearby. I don't care where it's going to, as long as it's away from Egypt. And soon.

Especially if *he* already knows we are here. But, when I get back to the cabin with the swooning streetwalker, it's all taken much longer than it should have, and Spike and Dru are gone. Damn. ************ A hungry vampire can *always* find something to eat at the docks. We fed more neatly than we had in weeks - for some reason, we both knew that Angelus did not want us to draw attention to ourselves here, although he hadn't explained why not. It would really help if he told us a bit more, you know - if he had, months of starvation wouldn't have got us off the boat. Probably. But he's never been into sharing, just issues orders like the alpha male he thinks he is. OK, the alpha male he is. We hadn't gone very far - just far enough for a floater in the water not to be associated with our ship. The trouble started on our way back. We were almost there, making our way through a stack of cargo crates that had been offloaded for transport to Cairo, when a heavy net was thrown over the two of us. Whoever was handling the net knew their business. A few whacks over the head and it was goodnight Irene, sort of thing. When I came round, we were still together, Dru and I, but I was pretty damned sure we weren't in Port Said anymore - I couldn't smell the sea for one thing - and we were both chained up. Solidly. Shit. ************* I could smell where they had been, since the trail was so fresh, and I soon found the body they had left behind. They had taken a slightly different route back. I found signs of a scuffle, and more individual scents. Vampires. They're *his*. Shit. I could leave them. I'm almost sure he won't kill them. But they are mine. My property; my possessions. Not my responsibility - that's a human thing - but they are mine, and I'm not going to let someone else have what's mine. I haven't seen him in over two hundred years, but I don't suppose he's changed. He didn't need to hunt me down. He knows I'll come for them. I know where he is. Cairo. ************* We haven't met, I believe? I'm Aurelius, head of Clan Aurelius. And you? Thank you. So pleased to meet you. You want to know about current events? Egypt is my personal territory, all of it. It has been since I was born. So far as humans are concerned, I like to keep an ordinary, low profile, and that practice has helped me to survive for a very long time. I have no objection to other vampires making a spectacle of themselves, the one you know as the Master, for instance. He was called Nest, and was the childe of a very favoured daughter of mine. Someone I loved, in fact. Oh, not as much as I loved P No! I'm not ready to talk to you about her. Let us just say that I had lost my soul mate and Isabella had lost hers. We gave each other comfort, as best we could. And, as best we could, we loved each other. So, I was disposed to look kindly on Nest. Once, during a period of, well, let's just say whilst the balance of my mind was disturbed, I allowed him to join the clan councils, thinking that it would be wise to allow the eldest surviving childe to replace those of my own who fell in this battle for survival called life. Unlife. That gave him big ideas. He liked to pretend he was more important than he actually was, but he was a fool. And he was not even strong enough to stop the demon from permanently etching itself onto his features. Idiot. I do not allow other vampires into my personal territory uninvited. My family and minions here keep watch. Not much comes through the deserts, and most intrusions are along the Nile. We keep a very close eye on places like Port Said. We knew as soon as these two came ashore. And *him*. They are family, of course, although I have never met my two guests before. But I know

who they are. William the Bloody and the Mad Drusilla. Their Sire should have brought them to a clan gathering before now, but he hasn't. He never visits, not after the last time. He hated me for what happened then, but it was necessary. He will understand that in time. He knows where to find his whelps. I don't need to have him brought. He'll come. And there is a clan gathering for him to come to. I hadn't intended our next meeting to be at a clan gathering. To be sopublic. This will beinteresting. ************ We've been here maybe twenty-four hours now. Wherever here is. It's a large house, more of a mansion, really, and there are a lot of vampires. They all smell like family, which is really weird. And they all seem to be drinking bagged or bottled blood. That's even weirder. Are we in some sort of temperance society? We've been given blood, and made comfortable, but otherwise we've just been ignored. Now we are being taken from the small room where we were to a large hall. There are about a dozen burly vamps surrounding us, so there's no point in making a fight of it. And I don't think Dru would fight. She seemscontent. Content to be here; pleased, even. I don't know what maggot has got into her head now, but if I make a break for it, I don't think she'd come, even if I succeeded. So now we are being chained in the large hall. We have enough slack to be able to sit, and lots of cushions to sit on, but the chains are solid. Apart from the minions, there are perhaps a dozen vamps in here, and the one that seems to be in charge is *old*. Take my word for it. Older than any vampire I ever came across. And yet he doesn't look much older than Angelus. Looks a lot like him, in fact. I wonder if it's a family resemblance? Who are these demons? I hear a murmuring of conversation at what must be the door - I can feel the fresher air that has come in - and the sound of footsteps. I'd know that tread anywhere. He's come. Angelus. Most men need to occupy a lot of space, to make themselves look big, like a tomcat fluffing out its tail, a dog raising its hackles. Angelus has never needed that. He can dominate an entire room simply by standing still. It's as if the space simply shapes itself around him. When he had the soul, he tried not to do that. He deliberately sank back into shadows, tried to make himself inconspicuous. It only made him look as if he were hunting. It didn't diminish his air of dominance one little bit. He never understood that. He's dominating the room now, just by being in it. Him and this old vampire both. They have a lot in common. Me? I just fluff out my tail. But not here. He's got an air of insouciance about him. He always has, mind you, but it's more so, now. He's putting on a front, and a damned good one, too. He stops in front of the old vampire, and I can see them both weigh each other up. The older one speaks first. "Angelus." It's Angelus' reply that stuns me for a moment. "Aurelius." Aurelius? I thought he was long dead. Angelus has never, ever spoken of him. But if he's head of our clan, why are we chained up? And we won't be the only ones. The same burly minions who brought us into this room have lined up behind Angelus. Who, would you believe, is casually twirling a highly perfumed rose of deepest, darkest red. "I seem to remember that this was growing in your outer courtyard when I came with Darla. She liked it. Does it have a name?" "None that I am aware of, and yes, it is the same rose. It does well there."

"Perhaps you should name it for me. It is clearly persistent, andhm." He stops to examine his thumb. A thorn has pricked him, leaving a small bead of blood as dark as the rose. "Persistent," he repeats, "And capable of becoming a thorn in the flesh." You really have to hand it to him. He's got the biggest balls in the world. He's here with his great great grandsire, and a pack of the most ancient vamps on earth, and he's *issuing threats*! In the most elegant way. Aurelius speaks again. His smile is all the more deadly for simply being a normal smile. "Nothing worthwhile ever came without a sting, and I only permit thorns where I want them. You will realise the necessity of what I am about to do, of course. There is much for which you must answer to me and to the clan. It just so happens that we have a gathering. The hearing will take place tomorrow afternoon." He nods to his minions, and Angelus is chained on the other side of the hall from us. He simply accepts it, and doesn't struggle. Probably figures it wouldn't do any good if he did. I think he's right. But before they'd laid a hand on him, bugger me if he didn't hand the rose to Aurelius, calm as you like. A thorn has pricked Aurelius' finger. I can smell the blood from here. He's still smiling, though. ************** A clan gathering. Why did it have to be a clan gathering? Isn't it bad enough having to come and ask *him* to release Spike and Dru? I recognise most of the clan masters here. They were here last time. There were more of them then, though. It would probably have been all right, with just him and his immediate family. Well, better, anyway. But the clan masters? They'll want me to answer for Soul Boy's actions. Oh, *he* would have, too, but he might have exacted a more reasonable price. Now it's clan business, and who knows what might happen. But Spike and Dru are MINE, and I'm not one to walk away from what is mine. Dru has a strange look on her face, almost like the one she gets when she has a premonition. And yet she looks peaceful. Untroubled. Perhaps we'll get out of here alive. Spike is looking to me for instructions. Just stay there, boy, and don't make this any worse than it's already going to be. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Part 2 He's my close descendant, the fourth generation from me. The others who gathered for the clan meeting? They are my own childer, fifteen of them now, although there have been many more, and they rule their own territories, covering a large part of the globe. They are all master vampires, and they are all very powerful beings. I haven't made a childe in a long time. They are all old beyond your understanding. These are my ruling elite. New mates, new childer, these will be introduced in due course. They await the completion of our other business. We gather like this once every ten years, just as they gather with their own childer who have left their sires. Those families left without a childe of my own? They usually come at different times - not too many vampires in one place at one time. Low profile, remember. Except the line of Isabella - these have been absent for far too many years. Nest and Darla would come, as required, but after Angelus was introduced, he kept Darla away. Nest, of course, got

himself trapped trying to open the Hellmouth. As I said - idiot. Angelus, of course, is, was, Darla's childe. But he is also my property, for reasons that will become clear if I decide to allow you this knowledge. We have withdrawn to a place of more secluded comforts for our discussions. We have many things to discuss. One of them is sure to be him. Whether he should live or die, and his whelps with him. If he lives, whether he should be exiled from the clan or admitted back into our ranks. The others will be for his death. I know them well. They were all fond of Darla. But first, we will discuss other clan business. The past. The future. Realignment of territories. Power. Prophecies. We always have a full agenda. By the end of this night, though, the others will have made their views on him plain, even though the hearing has not yet taken place. It isn't unlike your system of justice, then. ************ The three of us have been allowed as much comfort as chained prisoners generally get. We've been fed. It's animal blood, but that will have to do. At a clan gathering they are careful not to draw attention to the fact that a large number of vampires are in town. It isn't Aurelius' usual fare. I need to get some rest, but as I lie here, sleep as far away from me as it has ever been, I remember the last time I was in this house. The area of floor in front of me is where it all happened. I was twenty-one. Not much else has changed. ~~~~~~ We had been kept kicking our heels for several days in what, in a human Ottoman house, would have been the women's quarters. I had been impressed with the house when we arrived. It is located in the centre of Cairo, where you would expect the turbulent noise that has always been characteristic of this city, night and day, to be unbearable. But this place is a haven of peace. It is built around a series of courtyards, in the Ottoman style, with its thick and solid walls to the outside world, but its primary architecture is founded in the Mameluk style. It is beautiful. In the middle of the eighteenth century, there was a massive amount of building in the city, instigated by the city's emir, and leader of the Egyptian Janissaries, Abd al-Rahman Katkhuda. He'd started building just before I was born, intent on beautifying the city, providing palaces for his followers and, I think, mosques to placate his god. Most of the great architecture of the world is to placate gods of one sort or another. Surely you've noticed that? Cathedrals, temples, investment house skyscrapers, so many different gods Cairo was a seething mass of construction, then. Who would notice one more new palace? And so Aurelius moved from his old and crumbling Fatimid palace to this new and beautiful one. He'd had it built in traditional style, with separate men's and women's quarters, so as not to alert the builders that he was something different. And we were locked in the women's quarters, while the clan masters discussed their business. Nest was among the clan masters at that time, so it was Darla and I, together with a few others, who amused ourselves as best we could. Well, that part wasn't so bad. Then the clan business was finished, and we were let out. I saw Aurelius for the first time. I'll never forget the aura of power that he radiated. Well, he is over 5,000 years old. And I'll never forget the look on his face when he saw me. He was taken aback. Only for a moment, but he was. I didn't know why then, and I still don't. Sometimes I have a feeling that things would be better if I did understand. You know the feeling you have when you say that someone just walked over your grave? That chilly shudder down your spine; those icy spider feet? The feeling I have is a bit like that. Although perhaps it really is just people walking over my graveMaybe I should go back to Galway and sort that out, once and for all. We spent a week there, and I was constantly aware that he was watching me, weighing me up. It was there that I realised that, whilst Darla was held in high regard, Nest was not. He could still barely speak to me without baring his fangs - I had refused to bow to his authority, remember. I got some small, petty pleasure from watching how the others slighted him. Most of the time, he never realised.

The other newcomers had all been introduced to Aurelius, and only I was left. Some he had taken to his bed, some he had not. I wondered what it would be for me. Vampires pay no mind to gender when it comes to sex. Gender is about reproductive possibility, after all, and those arrangements are, as you well know, different for us. Sex for us is about pleasure and power. I have never cared to be on the submissive end, though, even if the dominant partner is one of the most powerful creatures on the face of the Earth. My memories of that night are as fresh and clear as if it had been only yesterday. I stood in this very same hall where now I lie chained, awaiting my fate, as I did then. I remember that Darla and I were drinking a fine burgundy - nothing but the best for Aurelius, ever. Darla expected me to be Aurelius' next bed partner - she could not imagine any other outcome than that he would show me this favour. I was less than enthusiastic. We were both in for a surprise that night, in the presence of the clan masters, and the newly introduced mates and childer. It started well. He welcomed me to the clan, and made no mention of my rejection of the authority of Nest. I could have been executed for that. I wondered at the time whether he knew, but I'm sure that he did. The next part was different, though, and, although I was not paying attention to the others in the room, Darla told me afterwards that they appeared to be as taken aback as she was. He ordered me to strip. All the other couplings, with male or female vampires, had been in the privacy of his own rooms. Why was this to be different? Vampires are not shy, in the way that humans can be, but we still know when we are being demeaned. That was how I felt. There had been a low murmur of conversation in the room, but now it fell absolutely silent. Still, refusal would have some very dire consequences indeed. Even a young hothead like me knew that. I stripped. Deliberately. Haughtily. Disdainfully, even. Nevertheless, I stripped. "Kneel." There was never any doubt that I would, but his voice brooked no disobedience. I did. "Darla. Nest. You may have him for as long as it suits me, but this one is mine. Bear that in mind." What on earth did he mean by that? Then there was no time to wonder. I felt his hand on my shoulder, as he knelt behind me. His fingers traced the path of my spine, the swell of my muscles, the silent pulse points in my throat, and then, without further preliminaries, he was in me, his arm a band of iron around my chest, holding me to him as he thrust into me. I knew a great deal of pain that night, but he made sure I knew pleasure, too. As he brought me to completion, himself as well, he sank his fangs deeply into my neck and drank me down. As he did so, he offered me his wrist, and I took it, in a circle of blood and sex and power. The orgasm he brought me to made me roar in pain and pleasure. And in power. That was my first true roar, a cub becoming a lion, and I was brought to it earlier than might otherwise have happened by the absolute power of his blood. I have never tasted anything like it, and never expect to do so again. It filled my veins with heat, and light and *life*, giving me a strength far beyond my years. And still he drank from me, and made me drink from him. I was remade a little, that night. I was not quite the Angelus who had arrived a fortnight before. It was not this act that made me hate him at the time. It should have done but I couldn't. The hate for that came later, warming with the years. If I was remade at all, it was in his image. I was his, despite the public nature of our coupling. Or perhaps that was part of it; perhaps the clan needed to see what he had done. I don't know. What made me hate him at the time was what came next. He got to his feet, casually refastening his clothes. I was dizzy with power, dizzy with blood loss, and it was a moment before I made to do the same. His tone was dismissive, one you might use to a stray cur. "Stay." He gestured to the minions standing unobtrusively behind the gathering.

"Hold him down." What? What was to happen now? I soon found out. I couldn't see exactly what was happening, with minions holding down my arms and legs, and my head, but I sensed someone new enter the room. A woman. A magic user. "You are clear on what is required?" "Yes, Aurelius. I understand." The woman knelt by my right side and ran her hand over my shoulder blade. It felt like a young hand, firm and smooth. I heard the small sounds of tools being prepared, and felt a frisson of fear. What did he have planned for me? I was tempted to try to break away from the hold of those burly minions, but if I did so, I would be shamed in front of the whole clan. And in front of Darla and Nest. Me! It was bad enough that he saw fit to have me held. Had he asked, I believed I would have endured whatever was done to me, no matter what. Then she began her work. It took a long time before she was satisfied, and while she worked, she chanted. She stitched spells with her needles into every prick of my skin, and into every cell of my body. I could feel her magic coursing through me, although I could not tell what sort of spells they were. There must be magic to make my flesh accept a permanent marking such as this, of course, but whether the spells had any other effect I do not know, even to this day. I just felt the heat of them, the itch in my veins, the silvery tang of them in my mouth, mingled with the coppery taste of blood as I bit through my lip in my efforts to remain still. You thought that the 'A' in my tattoo stood for 'Angelus' or 'Angel'? Think again. It was put there by Aurelius, and it is his mark. When it was done, the witch left the gathering, and the minions released me. He walked over to me, a glass of red wine in his hand, as I stood, still naked and now marked for eternity. He held the glass out to me. I let him stand like that, his arm outstretched, and I did nothing to hide the blazing hatred that was in my eyes. "You will remember that you are mine. You will return when I summon you. You carry my mark to remind you." There was a long moment of silence, before I took the wine, drank it in one large swallow, then tossed the emptied glass against a wall, where it shattered with a satisfyingly loud noise. I stalked out of the room towards our quarters, followed by Darla with my clothes. We left that same night, no matter that it was close to sunrise, without his permission and without seeing him again. I have not seen him since. Until tonight. ~~~~~~ And now it is time for the hearing. The minions have arranged ottomans down the sides of the hall. At the far end, deep in shadow, is a tunnelled archway that leads directly to the brightness of the Lion courtyard. The doors are open, and I can hear the fountain splashing, see the circle of carved lions around the basin, smell the jasmine, citrus and tuberose. At this end is a single carved chair on a dais. His seat. It doesn't look very comfortable, with heavy carvings on the seat, back and arms. Perhaps it's to remind him of the difficulties of kingship. Loser. Acathla *must* give me dominion over him. And over everybody else who witnesses what's going to happen tonight. Even my own childer are here, still. How dare he make a public spectacle of me *again*! There is a cushion, a large one, by the side of the chair. That isn't for him, though. It's for his constant companion. She wasn't here last night, but it looks as if she will be here for this humiliation, as she was here for the last. His own lioness. Sekhmet.

I know that she's one of his instruments of execution. Well, torture as well, when it comes to vamps. It takes a long time to die with the lioness mauling you. You'll stay alive - and conscious - until she gets round to taking your head off, or eating the heart out of your body. It can be days weeks months before that mercy is granted. Is that what he has in mind for me? Is that why the doors are open to the courtyard - so I won't make a mess in the hall? If that were so, he surely would have waited until dark, wouldn't he? I'm not ashamed to say that I am just a little afraid. But if I survive this, Aurelius goes right to the top of my list, along with the Rom and the Slayer. ************* Dru and I have been fed, but otherwise we've been pretty much ignored, even by Angelus. He's been lounging across the room from me, looking as if those chains are just so much decoration. I may hate him, I may despise him, even, and want to kill him for what he's going to do to the world, but even I've got to admit that he's got style. He can't possibly be as relaxed as he looks, but you would never, ever know. He doesn't even smell of fear. I'm damn sure I do. It's not even mid-afternoon, but vampires are starting to file in. It looks as if all the clan members present at this gathering will be here, even the younger ones. I wonder why they are making such an early start? There are perhaps thirty of them. Plus the minions - they're here, too. I know a bit about clan gatherings, although I've never been to one. Darla told us, once, when she was in a maudlin mood just after his disappearance in Romania. These are the most powerful vampires in the clan, those made by Aurelius himself, and their mates and latest childer. Whatever happens here, they will tell to those in their own territories - at least, whatever they feel their families should know. I think they'll want them to know about this. Angelus likes to be the centre of attention. He's certainly got that now. In spades. The heavies are coming for him, lining up either side of him. He's just ignoring them, looking as if he's ready to be royally entertained, leaning back into the pile of cushions, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, his hands locked behind his head. He's mad. Stark, staring mad. We're going to die here, I'm sure, although Dru still doesn't seem worried. She's sitting humming quietly to herself. And yet, I have to admire the sheer balls of him. He's acted above and beyond what a sire would normally do. Most would have left us to rot, especially since we are in this mess because we disobeyed his explicit instructions. Twice, if you count me getting us on the wrong ship. But he's come in here, as cool as a cucumber, with nothing to gain other than rescuing us, and a hell of a lot to lose. We are the only reason for him being here, chained, facing the clan and waiting for some unknown doom to be pronounced. I'm not sure even the old Angelus would have done as much. Here comes Aurelius, now that everyone is settled. What *is* that thing with him? It looks a bit like a lion, but like no lion I've ever seen. It's got fangs that must be almost a foot long and it's huge. I'll be surprised if it doesn't weigh 400 pounds. And that's all bone and muscle and sinew. It must be seven feet from nose to tail tip - and it's only got a tiny tail at that - and its back is waist high to a tall man. Tall like Aurelius. It looks like one of those sabre tooth cats you read about. But they've been dead for thousands of years. Haven't they? What in hell has he got planned for us? He's sat down in the chair now, and at a gesture from him, the heavies have taken Angelus' chains down and are bringing him to the centre of the hall. My Sire looks as if this is a prize giving, or something. How does he do it? Even with the heavies hanging on to the chains, he looks as if he's in charge. That will really get up Aurelius' nose. "There is no escape from here. If you will give me your word, I will have the chains removed. If you break your word, Sekhmet will deal with you. Do you give it?" Angelus looks at us. It's the first time he's really looked at us since he got here. He gives us a small smile. Then he looks back to Aurelius. "You have it."

Aurelius' expression doesn't alter at all, but somehow he seems pleased. I don't know how I know that. The heavies remove the chains. Angelus isn't invited to sit. The cat saunters down from the dais and walks over to him. I get the feeling that if the audience needed to breathe, there would be a sudden intake of breath. The cat sniffs his hand and, in one of those moments of comedy that seem to enliven every life and death situation, presses her nose against his genitals for a really good sniff. Then she goes back to his hand and butts against it. In a gesture that is pure Angelus, he crouches down until he is eyeball to eyeball with the monster and, taking its head between his hands, he scratches behind both ears, murmuring a few words to the brute. Then he straightens up, and the cat saunters back to the dais and sits on its cushion, all attention. Aurelius gets back to business. "You have had an interesting century, Angelus. You have gained a soul, lost your status within the clan, killed your sire, assisted in the killing of your grandsire, dusted a great many of our kind and had a love affair with the Slayer. That is merely a summary of the high points, of course, but have I omitted anything important? "No. To the best of my recollection, that more or less covers it." "The killing of your sire is a capital crime, as is aiding in the killing of your grandsire, and generally declaring war on vampire kind, with the intention of killing every one of us. I don't, of course, care about vampires from other clans, but I don't believe that you have differentiated, have you? And forming a relationship of love with the Slayer with the intention of helping her to kill us all? I'm not sure there *is* a laid down penalty for that, but it must be death at the very least. How many times do you think I should kill you?" I think we are in trouble. Angelus sighs. "Well, my vote would be for none. I'm sure you realise that *I* did none of those things. The soul was given to me very much against my will, and when Darla cast me off" Did she, indeed? She never said that. "to fend for myself, I was helpless. *I* was captive to that soul. I was caged and powerless." I imagine it cost him a lot to make that particular admission. Angelus always needs to be in control. Aurelius has a look almost of sympathy. He's lived longer than the rest of us, of course, and seen so much more. Perhaps he's seen an ensouled vampire before. Not that much sympathy, though. "And yet souls are corrupted. You failed to do that." "That's as maybe. Yet, as I understand it, that is not a capital offence, nor yet a cause for expulsion from the clan once the soul is gone." "And the other charges?" "All of them were committed by the Soul, not by me." "And yet it is your flesh that stands here, your memory that can tell us what happened." "That means nothing, as well you know." "Tell me about the death of Darla." Angelus must have known that this was coming, but he seems at a loss for an answer. The question hangs in the air like the stench of a seven-day corpse. He gazes at the floor for a few moments. Aurelius waits patiently, looking as if he will wait all night, if necessary, to get an answer. Eventually, Angelus straightens his shoulders. He looks as if he's going to say something distasteful. He does. "Darla was about to kill the Soul's intended mate. His eternal mate. The Soul chose to protect the one he wanted as his own."

He looks defiant. Intended mate, indeed? I knew the Soul was besotted, but mate? ETERNAL mate? Aurelius glosses over that - probably nauseated at the unnatural thought of a vampire choosing a human as his eternal mate. "Yet Darla was *your* mate and *your* sire. Could you do nothing to save her? Or did you want her dead?" "NO! Of course I didn't want her dead. We'd been together for 150 years." He looks as if he's chewing a wasp. "I could do nothing. NOTHING! Not for her, not for Nest. The Soul was in complete control. You have no idea how hard I have tried to break free, to take back control. How often I thought I had done so, only to find that the soul still held me in its grip. None of you can have the least idea of what I have been through. To *watch* the death of your mate and sire, and be able to do nothing! To *watch* as the body that was yours declares war on your own kind, and be able to do nothing to protect your family! To *watch* and to *feel* as your body kisses and caresses the Slayer, to know that the body is yearning for her! The last years have been a torment to me, but now I am free. I will have my vengeance on the Rom, and I will have my vengeance on the Slayer. I can do nothing about those who have met their final deaths, but I *will* exact vengeance for them." That's quite an admission from him, and he stops there, wisely I think from his point of view. What is the penalty, I wonder, for ending the world? That mad bastard Nest merely wanted to open the Hellmouth and let the demons out to play in the mistaken belief that he would be top demon. Angelus wants us all in Hell. I wonder whether to say something, but decide not to. If Aurelius doesn't kill him now, perhaps I will still find the opportunity. And perhaps he will come to his senses, and I won't have to. Aurelius looks around the assembly. "Does anyone have further personal grievance in this matter?" There is a great deal of whispered consultation. One of the vamps is going around the various groups. After what seems to be an age, he comes over to stand in front of Aurelius, next to Angelus. "What is the clan's response, Japheth?" "Sire. No one here has personal grievance against Angelus or his family, outside the charges that you have enumerated. Therefore, there will be no contest to whatever decision you deem appropriate." Japheth returns to his place. Cagey. Aurelius can ignore the matter of the soul and kill Angelus. That will probably please them best. If he considers the soul to be extenuating circumstances, and lets Angelus go free he'll look weak. Weak heads of clans can soon find they don't have any heads at all. He falls silent, lost in thought about the decision before him. Well, at least it's not clear-cut, then. Suddenly, he's on his feet, all brisk decision. "Angelus. For murdering your sire and assisting in the murder of your grandsire, the penalty is absolute. It is death. However, there are, as you have explained, extenuating circumstances. Nevertheless, these crimes cannot be overlooked. I will therefore give you a choice. "You can walk away from this gathering, with no place in this clan, leaving your childer here to be disposed of as the unwanted progeny of a renegade. You will be declared outlaw and every member of the clan will be your enemy. They will kill you on sight. Your existence will be as

one hunted through the four corners of the earth. That is the only mercy I will offer - that you may still exist so long as your wits and fighting ability will keep you alive. "Or you may pick up that stake there," he nods towards a small side table on which is a long, very pointed stake, "and you may expunge the crimes of you and yours by meeting your own final death out in that courtyard tonight. You may spend the time until moonrise with your childer. They will stay here to prove themselves until I am satisfied that they are acceptable to the clan. "Or you can accept my judgement here and now and pay for your offences by punishment and submission to my will. If you survive, you will regain your status in the clan and control of your childer. When I permit, you will be allowed to return to the territory that you have claimed. "Which is it to be?" What? Disposed of? What the bloody hell have *we* done wrong? But there is no time for me to continue my silent rant. Angelus turns to us again, with that same smile. Bloody hell. He's going to abandon us after all! But he doesn't. "I will accept your judgement." Aurelius nods to a minion who hurries from the room. There's a lot of whispering. I really don't like the sound of this. 'If you survive' What does Aurelius have in store? We soon find out. The minion hurries back, carrying a thick, black whip. It might once have been another colour, but it's black from use, now, and from regular oiling to keep it supple. Angelus is good with whips - he always had quite a collection - but this looks like something special. It's not quite a bullwhip - designed to hurt a hide much thicker and tougher than the skin on a human body - but it's not far off. Pale objects gleam within the black braid. I can't quite make out what they are from here, but they have the sheen of old bone or ivory. And it stinks of magic. Aurelius takes it from the minion, shakes it out and holds the lash across his open palms, the handle tucked under his arm. He strolls over to Angelus, and holds it up for him to inspect. "These pieces of bone braided into the whip? Those are shards of bone from the earliest saints, relics blessed by their Holy Mother Church. Real bones, real saints, real blessings. No fakes here." He looks down at the whip, musingly. "The whip itself will be bad, you can judge that for yourself. After all it's one of your favoured instruments of pain, isn't it? But I wonder what effect you think those slivers of bone will have? They've been sharpened, you know. They are like blades. And all wrapped in magic which will considerably enhance the pain." He drops the lash, which falls into venomous coils on the white marble floor - I bet that's a sod to clean the blood off - and allows Angelus to see his hands. In the few moments that he was holding it, the pieces of bone have seared into the flesh. He hasn't even winced. But strong though my Sire is, Aurelius is much older and much stronger. This is going to be very bad indeed. He looks into Angelus' face, searching for some sign of weakness, I think. Angelus looks right back, but his face closes down. He says nothing. "Three thousand lashes should settle all offences, I think." Dear God. I find myself falling back into the rhythms of childhood, thinking words that are no longer appropriate. With that whip, three hundred lashes would be a death sentence for even the strongest human. After a thousand lashes, any one of us in this room would pray for death. Angelus pales a little, even for a vampire, and clenches his jaw. He makes no other movement. But there is more.

"You have submitted yourself to my will. Any sound from you during the punishment - if you cry out or whimper - will be taken as defiance. I will kill you myself, after you have watched your childer die. Do you understand? Angelus simply gives a short, sharp nod. I wonder if he can trust himself to speak. We are all dead. It is simply not possible to submit to that kind of punishment without giving voice to the pain. Not possible, even for a vampire. I look at Dru, but she is curled up in her cushions, still humming softly to herself. Can she really see an outcome where we all survive? Or have her visions deserted her? Is it just the madness that moves her now? There is still more. Aurelius speaks softly to two of the minions who hurry out again. "Strip." This to Angelus, who does. Whilst he does so, other minions move the ottomans from one of the walls. Making sure everyone has a good view, I suppose. There is a rustle as the relocated clan members seat themselves, but otherwise the hall is silent. It's a silence pregnant with all sorts of things, but the chief thing that I can sense, the emotion roiling off every vampire in that room, is fascinated horror, the same thing you can smell from a rabbit watching the dance of a weasel. Only Aurelius, Angelus and that damned cat seem serene and untouched. My Sire looks towards us again. "May I?" Aurelius nods. Angelus walks over to us, naked and glorious. From his demeanour, he might be alone with us in his chambers. He comes to me first and crouches before me, taking my head between his hands, just as he did the lioness. He doesn't scratch behind my ears, though. And some part of me wishes he would. "It will be well, Will. My word on it." He doesn't wait for an answer, which is good, because I have none to give. I don't want to call him a liar. He moves over to Dru, and does the same. She answers him, though. "Miss Edith told me it would be, Daddy. Miss Edith never lies." Then she goes back to humming softly. Angelus walks back to Aurelius. "I am ready." The minions have returned. One is carrying a large, thick, padded cylindrical cushion. The other has some objects in one hand that I cannot see - they are hidden from me by his body. The minion with the cushion walks over to the wall close to where Angelus was chained. The wall there is marble and tile mosaic, like the rest of this hall, a wonder of the mosaicist's art, I'm sure, if you appreciate such things. But let into the wall is a huge beam of wood, old and hardened, lying flush with the surface. It's about two feet thick and runs for most of the length of the hall, starting at a little over shoulder height. The minion hangs the cushion from hooks set into the bottom of the beam and Aurelius directs my Sire to stand in front of it, facing the wall. The cushion is not for his comfort, you understand. It is to arch his back to better meet the lash. Two of the minions take his arms and hold the wrists up to the centre of the beam. I think at first that they will manacle him to the beam, but that is not their intention. There are, after all, no chains or manacles just there. I see then what the objects are that were brought in with the cushion. A hammer and two nails. If you can call them that. They are two spikes, around fifteen inches long, perhaps an inch across at the broadest part of the shank, with broad, flat heads. They crucify him to that beam, nailed through the wrists until the heads are only an inch or so away from his skin. They have drawn first blood, and the lioness stalks over and laps at the spilled drops on the floor. Angelus has thrown back his head in pain, but made no sound.

Aurelius makes his last pronouncement. "When this is finished, if you survive, you will have three days to free yourself from the beam. If you do not do so, that will be taken as defiance of my will. I forbid anyone here to feed you until you are freed." Oh, this is monstrous. Even Angelus at his most spiteful was surely never as cruel as this? Was he? And then the flogging starts. The strongest of the minions is carrying out the punishment, with another standing by. He is laying on with a will. There is to be absolutely no mercy, then. The first lash cuts through skin into flesh, and tiny drops of blood swell from the cut. The minion is unhurried - he allows the pain from the first touch of the lash to swell and explode and diminish before administering the second. Land the blows too quickly, and you don't get the maximum pain effect. As I said, no mercy. After twenty-five blows, the minion hands the whip over. The other is left-handed. Better coverage, you see. They will keep trading it that way until the end. Before he starts, the second minion takes a moment to clean the whip on a white towel, which he then drops on the floor. That makes sure that clotted gore and tiny pieces of flesh don't cover the braids and the sharpened edges of bone; don't smooth the whip over and make it less damaging. The towel isn't so white now. Even so, as the lash lands, small drops of blood and flecks of flesh fly up. By the time they are finished, these two will be covered in Angelflesh and Angelblood. That, after all, is whom they are really punishing. My feelings about that are starting to get really complicated. And still it goes on. No wonder they started early. This will take hours. Do the math. *********** Lionesses Author: Jo FEEDBACK: Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Part 3 When the judgement was pronounced, I almost ran. At least Aurelius has given me a way out. If the pain becomes too severe, beyond even my capacity, I have merely to scream, and he will kill me. Put me out of my misery. Mercy, of a sort, I suppose. Except that he will kill Spike and Dru first. If any one is to kill them, it will be me. No one else has that right. When he showed me the whip, I almost sank to my knees and begged. Bones of the saints? They might as well have woven sharpened crucifixes into the braid and soaked it in Holy Water. And the whip is steeped in magic. I have no idea what extra dimension those spells will add to the pain. But this is all the fault of the Rom, the Soul, the Slayer Even Darla, who abandoned me when I needed her most. As I will NOT abandon Will and Dru. Even if it kills me, as well it might. They started by crucifying me. It was all I could do not to scream. How will I hold on? How will I hold out? I do not know. As the nails passed through my wrists, I knew that I could not obey his instructions. I WILL scream, before this is ended. The only question is when. And now I wait for the flogging to start. My head is turned to the left, my right cheek pressed against the roughness of the wood. It smells like cedar. Cedar of Lebanon, I suppose. They say that Solomon's palace was built with cedar of Lebanon. If I survive, perhaps I'll ask Aurelius. He will remember. Perhaps this is a beam from that palace. It wouldn't surprise me. I wonder how much blood has soaked into it? I see Sekhmet cross the floor and lap my own blood. There will be plenty more for her to eat before this night is over. I suppose she'll keep the floor from

staining. When she has cleaned it up she raises her head to look at me. Her eyes seem to speak. "You will be strong," she says. As strong as I can be. It won't be enough, though. I guess that it is a long time since the clan had entertainment like this. Aurelius speaks to me for what will be the last time until this punishment comes to its bitter end. Whatever that is. "When this is finished, if you survive, you will have three days to free yourself from the beam. If you do not do so, that will be taken as defiance of my will. I forbid anyone here to feed you until you are freed." May the powers of darkness aid me now! Unless I am fed, even if I do survive the flogging, I will be so weak that I could be constrained by bonds of spider thread, let alone these iron nails. I'll be lucky indeed if I retain the power of movement. I almost sob with despair. Only my pride stops me. I've got plenty of that. But will it be enough? The first blow falls, a line of fire trailing from my right shoulder blade to my left hip. The one doing the flogging - I can't see who it is, but he has a very strong right arm - waits, unhurried, for the pain to blossom and swell, and to start to die back. Then he lands the second. I start to keep count. Anything to keep my thoughts from concentrating on the agony that my back will become. Counting will do for now. I'll have to find greater distractions later. When he stops after twenty-five, I don't need to see what is happening to know that he has exchanged with a left-hander. The new line of pain tells me. This is only the beginning. It is bearable. It has to be. ************* I'm watching my Sire carefully, almost as if I could lend him strength. He'll need it. Even excluding the element of magic, and the bones of saints, have you seen a back that has been flogged without mercy by just an ordinary whip? Of course you haven't. Civilised humans don't do things like that anymore, although they used to. Depending on the sort of whip used - and this one is as bad as I have seen - the back soon becomes a mass of long, thin cuts. After a while, the cuts are so numerous that there is little skin left in between them. After a little longer, there is no skin at all. Each cut lands a little deeper, without the resistance that the skin provides. Muscle and fat cut more easily. The very construction of the human arm means that blows tend to land in certain alignments, although skilled wielders of the whip can maximise those alignments, particularly if two are doing the lashing, a left-hander and a right-hander. Nevertheless, certain placements of the lash are favoured, and these wear more deeply into the flesh, cutting deeper, spraying strands of body tissues and body fluids over the one doing the lashing. And over the surrounding area. Eventually, in those places, the flesh is worn away, and the white bone glimmers through the deep, bruised red that is the rest of the back. The longer it goes on, the more bone is exposed, the more flesh is dissipated round the room. I learned this from Angelus. You think that vampires feel less pain than humans? That the fact that our bodies are dead means that our sensations are numbed, our nerves not up to the job? Yet you accept that we have a better sense of smell than you do, that our hearing is sharper and our sight more acute. All of these senses depend upon the functioning of nerves. In all of them our senses are many times more acute than yours. Why do you think touch should be different? Oh, what about taste, you ask? You think our taste buds are dead, so the nerves of touch are, too? Nonsense. Our sensation of taste is no less acute than our sensation of sight or hearing or smell. It is simply that foods other than blood have a different taste than they used to. The taste buds are hankering for blood, and everything else is second rate. We are more focussed on the blood. Oh, there are other things that we enjoy the taste of. I like beer, for example. Angelus prefers fine wines. But we all much prefer fresh, human blood. That leaves touch. As with all our other senses, the nerves in our bodies are substantially more sensitive than yours. We feel pleasure more. We feel pain more. It's just that the two are not so

separable for us as they are for most of you. Pleasure and pain, sensations that are simply ends of the same continuum. However you look at it, wherever we are on that continuum, the feelings are more intense, make no mistake. I learned this from experience, delivered by Angelus, often with a whip. But never like this. Never with a whip as damaging as this. We've passed three hundred and his body has, for the moment, stopped trying to heal itself, is conserving its energy until the punishment stops. And there is the gleam of bone from one of his ribs. We've still got a long way to go. I wonder if anyone is actually keeping count, other than me. When I can tear my eyes away from my Sire to check, I see that a minion is standing by Aurelius, marking each set of twenty-five lashes off on a slate. I go back to Sire-watching. ************ I lost count a long time ago, at five hundred and twenty three, I think. I don't really know, it could have been anything. I have reviewed my entire life, including those dreadful years in bondage to the Soul. Anything, to take my mind away from reality. And it isn't enough anymore. I have had an iron grip on my will, but it has been slipping for a while now. A few more blows, or a few after that, and I will scream and end this. That isn't the only thing that is slipping, either. I feel as if I have to leave this flesh, abandon it to its pain, and become incorporeal once more. I think it's the magic of the whip, trying to drag spirit and flesh apart. The more I weaken, the less I can resist it, that pull of final death. On top of that, I think I am starting to have hallucinations. It feels as though someone is here, with me, holding my hand. How can that be? I can see both my hands - or at least I could, if I had the strength to turn my head. I know that there is no one here to give me comfort. Somewhere through the mists of pain I hear Aurelius. "One thousand. That expunges the offence against Nest." Oh, good. Only two thousand to go. *********** We don't know why he left Sunnydale. They've all gone, all the Aurelian vamps. There are just minor characters left from other clans, or from no particular clan at all. They are easy to kill. I don't know how much longer that will last - surely someone will come to take Angelus' place? This is the Hellmouth, after all. Has he left for good? I don't know. Why are their clothes gone, but everything else stored neatly in the basement? I don't know. Is he dust? Has there been some incredible battle, and is his dust there, mixed with the others? I. Don't. Know. Do I care? Of course I do. So long as he lives, and my heart tells me that he still does, I have hope that my love, my soul mate, can be restored to me. If he is dust, that can never, ever happen. I may have to kill him, I accept that. But I can't do it yet. Not so long as Willow is trying to find a cure, another curse. I dream about him a lot. Most nights, in fact. Sometimes it's Angelus in the dream. Those are true nightmares. Sometimes it's Angel, restored to me. I think those may be worse. As happy as I am in the dream, my loss is renewed when I wake up. I lose him all over again. It's tearing me up. I wonder if I'll dream about him again tonight? *********** I'm losing all connection with reality. That may be a good thing, if I lose connection with this agony that is my flayed back. That hasn't happened yet, though, and if I lose my grip, I will

surely make a noise. I wish I could lose consciousness, for in unconsciousness is silence, but vampires don't lose consciousness merely from pain. Not like humans. Not even this level of pain. And if I do, will my spirit be prised from my body, leaving only ashes behind? I'm not quite ready for that yet. Yet. I might lose consciousness from blood loss, although I doubt it, since there's already quite a lot on the floor. Every so often, Sekhmet comes to lick it up. Whenever she does, she looks me in the eye, and her eyes speak. "Be strong." I'm hallucinating. Cats can't speak. And then I know I'm hallucinating. All I can see now is the red mist of pain - it's been like that for a few hundred lashes - but there's a figure coming towards me, through the mist. The light is bright behind her and I can't see her features, but I can see her blonde hair and her diminutive stature. Darla? Can it be Darla? My Sire, who abandoned me when I needed her most? My mate, whom the Soul killed to protect his beloved, his own intended mate? Has she come back to me from death? Or has she come to take me back with her to the abyss? She comes closer and I still can't see her face, but she touches my lips with her finger, the international, interspecies sign for silence, and she feels warm. Has she been reborn? Suddenly the agony intensifies - another change of ends, then - and I want to sob. She seems to know, and she stops the sob with her mouth. Her warm, living mouth, kissing the sound away. When I once more have a little control, she pulls away. I miss her, I want her back, but she puts that finger to my lips again, quieting me. She runs her hands over my face, my hair, my neck, gently, delicately, as if renewing acquaintance with the feel of my flesh. As if her fingertips had forgotten, and needed to be reminded. She takes her time, relearning every inch of me. While she does so, whatever is happening behind me becomes disconnected, seems to lose importance, seems not to involve me at all. Only she matters, only she can make my body *feel*, can hold body and spirit together. She, and the hand that still seems to be holding mine. That hasn't gone away. Nor has the pain, but it doesn't seem to matter so much. Darla and I were a force to be reckoned with, a fundamental force of nature, and she took me places I had never dreamt of. She wanted to be my eternal mate, to have the ritual and the ceremony, but I kept telling her to wait. 'Wait until we've been together for five hundred years, Darla. Perhaps then. But now? Let the now be enough for now.' Has she forgiven me for that? Is that why she's here? She was my mate, but she never had her hand on my heart, warming my cold, dead centre. Not until now. And now it's different, in this dream. In this here and now. Eternity suddenly doesn't seem long enough with this one. But something is wrong, and my pain-fuddled mind cannot grasp it. My senses are screaming, and it isn't only from the agony. She is warm, and Darla should be cool. Her smell is different. Is she here? Is she human? Darla, who left me to the Soul, Darla who has come to? To do what? Then her hands move over my hips and I no longer care why she is here. Carefully, she avoids touching those areas that are open to the lash. But blood is sliding down my ribcage from my ruined flesh, and it now coats her fingertips. She lifts one hand and inspects it. Then, one by one, she sucks her fingers, cleansing them, drinking my blood. I want to moan, I don't know whether it is in need or renewed anguish, but she understands and puts one pink fingertip to my lips again. "Shh, my love, my heart, you must stay silent." Her voice is an echo of a whisper of a sigh. But there is still something about it. Darla? As I try to concentrate on what my mind is trying to understand, what my senses are trying to tell me, the agony flares again, and I feel the scream rising in my throat. Once again, she understands, and seals her lips to mine, drinking down the scream. I taste myself on her mouth, my blood on her tongue. When she breaks the kiss, she goes back to exploring my body. Her hand caresses my chest, running over the nipple, sending a shudder through me. Her lips suckle at the other nipple, as I press my cheek into her hair. It is soft and heavy, like silk, and

the fragrance of her overwhelms me. Her tongue traces a path towards my navel and plays there for a moment, as I suck in a deep, unnecessary breath. Then she stands up and kisses me again, both her hands on the back of my neck, holding me to her with all her strength. When she finishes, her hands are covered in my blood, and once more she licks it away, her little tongue darting in and out, just like a cat. A tiny lioness. Strange, because I always thought of Darla as a fox, a sly and cunning fox. Her right hand traces a path down my abdomen. When she finds what she is looking for, it comes up to greet her. Even in the midst of all this pain, I cannot resist her. Not this time, although I have often resisted Darla before. As she caresses me with her right hand, her left comes up to my face. She strokes my cheek, my eyes, my temple, making a soft, sighing sound that has words hidden in it, if only I could make my wits work. If only I could understand. I want to hold her, to return the caresses with which she is favouring me, but I cannot seem to move my arms. There is a reason for that, I know, but I cannot seem to remember what it is. Throughout it all the pangs of Hell seem to intrude on our tryst, but she will not allow me to acknowledge the pain, and each time I succumb, she seals her lips over mine to stop the scream. A voice says something behind me, but the sounds are deep and distorted, as if I am in a different time frame. In any case, they cannot have anything to do with me. I am here withyes, with Darla, who once abandoned me but who has come to me now. As she works, my senses eventually make my mind understand one thing. Her movements are untutored, nave, but all the more wonderful for that. If Darla remembers me, why does she not remember all the skills she had? And then I cease to care, as I respond to her as I never have before in two hundred and fifty years; as I know I always will, now, for all the years left to me, and I feel the climax crashing through my pain-wracked flesh. I rear back my head to roar and, quick as thought and strong as a lion, she pulls my head to her neck so that I can drink. And I do. In silence. Her blood is different. It tastes of sunlight and life. Before, Darla always tasted of lilies and death. And it explodes into me with a power that it never had before. As I pull it from her, careless of how much I take - she is a hallucination after all - she, too climaxes, even though I have been unable to do anything to bring her to it. She is mine - my eternal mate - my spirit and my flesh cleaving to her in a way that I never have before. She recognises that, and I know that she is bonded to me just as surely. I can bring her to completion just from my bite. That has never happened before. Still, who knows what rules apply in a hallucination? Then as I come back to myself from the power of her blood and her fingers, I pull away from the wound in her neck, which seals over instantly, and I am back in that sea of pain. It is too much. It overwhelms me, a crashing tide of red agony. Once again, she presses her mouth to mine, silencing me, and her little hands continue their journey of rediscovery. ************* Daddy dreams. Daddy dreams of *her* but Miss Edith told me that he would. That he had to, to be able to live. So that's all right. And Spike? My Spike? He's found his Daddy again. But he's sad because Daddy hurts, so my Spike is crying for him. But that's all right, too. We'll be a family again. Miss Edith told me. ************ How can he bear it? I know I can't. How has he managed not to cry out, not even so much as a whimper? This is happening because of us. Because I couldn't, or wouldn't, do as he said, and because I was stupid. And he has come here, to this, only because of us. He could have left us here, abandoned us, made new childer, but he did none of those things. Look what has become of him now. My Sire. I'm not ashamed to say that. I don't resent him, or hate him. Oh, I'm still not going to let him destroy the world, but I'll find another way to stop him. I loved Angelus once. I worshipped the bloody ground he walked on. And I do again. I probably always did, which is why I hated him so much until now. The sights and scents of his pain surround me, and I'm crying for him. I'm not ashamed to say

that, either. His back lies in ruins, and there is blood everywhere. Almost all of his ribs are showing a glimmer of white. His tattoo is reduced to some dark fragments of skin amongst the bloody mess. The taint of magic, whatever it is doing to him, is greasy in the air. The lioness is sitting by his side, her head against the front of his hip, out of the way of the lash. Occasionally she raises that head to look him in the eye, and I could swear she tries to speak to him. And occasionally she laps up the blood from the floor. Aurelius has done nothing to stop her, but since she does nothing to diminish his pain, I suppose she is not going against his judgement. "Two thousand. That expunges the offence against Darla." Only another thousand to go, then. What now? For a moment his head goes back, and he looks as if he will cry out. But it snaps forward again, and he is silent. He is in game face. His back is to me, but the scent is unmistakeable. Musk. He's bloody well climaxed. In the middle of *this*? I look at Dru, and I can see from her secret smile that she has scented it, too. What the hell is going on here? I hope the clan are impressed, because they damn well should be. ************ I thought she would leave me, but she hasn't. I haven't drunk from her again, but she has stayed, overlaying my pain with her pleasure. Her blood still powers through my veins, giving me strength. And she will not let me cry out. Still I cannot move my arms to hold her, to return her favours, and when I try, she soothes me and whispers in my ear wordless sighs of comfort. When I try to speak, she stops me, and I remember that, for some reason, I must not make a sound. There is a fire in my back that I do not believe can ever be extinguished, a fire that contains knives, slicing and paring my flesh away. My spirit is continually being wrenched from this shell of flesh. It is all I can do to stay together. To stay me. Am I in Hell? Is this Acathla's domain? If so, why am I one of the damned? I have given him this. I must have. That was why I found him. And why is Darla here with me, when she had already met her final death? Do all the Hells meet? Are they all the same? My mind cannot compass the thoughts, so I let them slip away. This has gone on for hours, I'm sure. Or perhaps it has gone on for eternity. I no longer seem to know the difference. Still her little hands exact their price in pleasure. She seems more confident now, as if she has learned things about me. Surely she already knew them? After one hundred and fifty years together, she knows my body as well as I do. Better, perhaps. I don't know how many more times she brings me to completion, but I do know that she has cocooned me, spirit and flesh together, and kept me whole. And then it stops. Whatever is trying to drag my spirit away from my body has stopped. The scourging of my back has stopped. The fire and knives are there yet, but they are quiescent. Perhaps I can bear it. If I could have more of her blood But she does not offer again. She continues to cling to me, though, as if she knows this is just a temporary respite in my ordeal. Once again, she presses her mouth to mine. I hear a voice behind me, as she kisses me until I am breathless, until I remember that I do not need to breathe. "Three thousand. That expunges all offence." Then I feel the owner of the voice move behind me, and whisper in my ear. "Remember, Angelus. Three days. You must free yourself within three days." His fingers run through the furrowed flesh, caressing my naked bones, kneading the exposed muscle, scraping across each raw and shuddering nerve. I cannot keep back the scream, but she

deepens the kiss and drinks my howling down into herself. Nothing emerges from me but a soft sigh of breath. As she holds the kiss, I feel his fangs sink into my neck, pulling all my remaining strength from me. Another pair of larger fangs, much larger, sinks into the other side. Darkness bleeds in to my vision, an encircling darkness that sweeps forward to claim me. My legs will no longer hold me, but still I cannot move my arms, and as my knees give way, my whole weight is thrown on to my wrists and I remember. They are nailed to a beam, and agony breaks over me again. As the agony and the darkness meet, and I no longer have the strength to scream, she pulls back from me. There is no light behind her this time, and I see her face. It is not Darla, my Sire, my mate, who cast me off and abandoned me to torment when I needed her most. It is the Slayer, my mortal enemy, who has come into Hell for me, come to comfort me, save me, nourish me, come into this eternity of torment to fetch me back out. Then everything is darkness. ************* I wake suddenly, and sit up in bed, my body covered in sweat. The dream starts to fade, but I want to hold on to it as long as I can, to try to understand. I was with Angel, and he was in pain. In agony. And he was not permitted to make a sound. I don't know how I knew that, but I did. I think he was in Hell. Why would his soul be in Hell, when all the evil was committed by Angelus? When his soul wasn't even present? Is there no justice in the world? No mercy? I knew why I was there. It was to ease his pain with pleasure. I could not free him, but I could do this for him. Even now, the palms of my hands can feel the touch of his skin, the soothing coolness of his flesh. I can taste him in my mouth, cinnamon and sandalwood and Angel. The morning is warm, but even so, chilled air brushes over my sweaty skin, and I shiver, wrapping my duvet a little more closely around me. The dream seemed so *real*. Slayers can have prophetic dreams. Is that what happened? Was it a vision from a future in which Angel is somehow returned to me? Or is he truly in Hell, and needs to be rescued? Or was it just the product of my fevered imagination, my desperate longing for Angel and fear of Angelus? I don't know. I must talk to Giles. I haven't told him about my dreams of Angel, although he surely wouldn't be surprised, but this one was different. This needs to be understood. That much I know. And there is something I need to know. To a vampire what, exactly, is a mate? The chilled air whispers over me again, and I go to pull the duvet tighter. It is then that I see my hands. There is blood under the fingernails. I remember something else, and reach for the hand mirror. On my neck are two small red marks. Not scars or wounds, just marks, and they are fading as I watch. Nevertheless, I know that his fangs would fit neatly onto them. Oh God. Angel ************ I cannot bear it. These iron chains hold me fast, and I cannot bear it. I have fought and raged, and torn my wrists open on the unforgiving metal, but I cannot get free, and I cannot bear it. I'm sure that, if he knew, Angelus would think that I have shamed him, but I don't care. Dru looks at me with pity, as if I'm a child who does not understand, but I still don't care. The other vamps here look at me as if I were an insect, or something else beneath their notice, *and I don't bloody well care*. Have you *seen* what they have done to him? They are determined that he should die, I can tell. He has no chance of meeting their stupid requirements. I don't know how he is still alive.

After the flogging, when they had stripped his back to the bone in places, and spread Sire flesh and Sire blood all over this damned hall, Aurelius walked over to him to inspect their handiwork. I hope he was pleased, because if ever I get a chance, I'll do the same to him. I promise. He ran his fingers over the damage, tracing the curves of the bones, opening up the pathways where the whip had dug deepest, causing pain with every touch. And still my Sire refused to cry out. Aurelius licked his fingers clean, whispered something in Angelus' ear and then *drank him*! And the hell-born cat joined in, Aurelius on one side of his neck and the cat on the other, those huge fangs sunk deep in the flesh. Damndest thing I ever saw. I don't know how much they've taken, between them, but Angelus might as well be done for now. Then the clan got their twopenn'orth in. One by one, they've taken blood from him. Blood he doesn't have to give. And one by one, they've scraped their lilywhite hands, with their delicate, knowing fingers, over his back, scratching bits of him away, and then licked their fingers clean. I couldn't watch it, I just started tearing at these manacles, trying to break free, trying to go to him, to stop them, anything except just sitting and watching. But I couldn't. I simply couldn't get free, and now I'm curled here in my own pain. Pain in the heart, pain in the spirit. Angelus is slumped, his legs unable to carry him now. I think he's been unconscious for a while, but he seems to be coming round. He's hanging from those nails, struggling a little, but he has no strength. On top of everything else, he's in danger of dislocating both shoulders. Without fresh blood, he cannot heal, and he certainly can never find the strength to break free. And I cannot help him. My Sire, the one who entered this hell house to fetch us out. I cannot bear it. ************* Buffy has told me about her dreams, and I don't know what to think. Oh, I'm fairly sure what to think about this last dream - it's a special Slayer dream, if ever I heard one, although I've not before come across one that left quite such physical signs afterwards. The marks on her neck might be psychosomatic, but the blood under her fingernails? That is different. No, when I say I don't know what to think, that is on a more personal level. Angel contained Angelus within himself, and through his weakness he let the demon loose. That monster has terrorised my Slayer and her friends. And he has murdered my lover, leaving her in my bed for me to find, in a demonic travesty of love. I can never forgive that murder. If I can't forgive it, if I continue to hate him with the same white-hot loathing that I still feel, if I cannot differentiate between Angel and Angelus, as I cannot, how can I help her? How can I bring myself to help this murdering fiend, whichever spirit currently occupies his body? Whichever guise he presented to her in that dream? Still, she is my Slayer, my responsibility, and Slayer dreams are not given for nothing. This is important, so I must try. That means that I will have to contact the Council, much as I despise them. And if they cannot help, I must find other sources, because even if I have no wish to save him, not doing so might mean killing her. Slayer dreams are usually about life and death, at the very least. *************** I don't know where I am, but I seem to have been here forever, and the face I wear is that of the demon. I cannot find my human face. I cannot see. Everything is just a haze of white. I cannot hear. Sound is just a buzz in the background. But I can feel too much. My body is a miasma of pain, its infernal touch settling in every crevice and curve, in every plane of muscle and joining of bone. I can feel, then, but I cannot see or hear. Except for her. She has come to me again. I know that it is a dream, that it is a product of my mind. I know who she is and I know who I am. So why should the Slayer come here, for me, unless to kill me? She would not, of course.

But I know who I used to be, and that is why I can see her. It must be because the Soul loved her so much that she is imprinted on this mind that we shared. She would have been his refuge, so she has become mine. Will I ever be free of her memory? She has not come close enough to touch me after that first time, but she hovers, just out of reach, urging me to break free from whatever it is that holds me here. I cannot. I am powerless. My body cannot answer my demands. She has just appeared now, having left me alone for a very long time. No, not quite alone. A hand still seems to hold mine. I can't remember when I first felt it, but I know that it has been here as long as I have been captive. She comes forward, from that nimbus of light, and this time, she touches me again. "You must free yourself and come to me, my love," she whispers, almost too softly to hear, as if she were speaking from a great distance. Her hands cradle my face, her fingers stroking my cheeks and my roughened brow. She presses herself to me, and her clothes, which I know she wore, but which I cannot now recall, are gone. She is warm and soft and fragrant. She rubs herself against me and I respond. How can I not, when my mind and my body seem programmed, seem to be slaved to her, by the love the Soul had for her? I have no blood in me to heal me, no blood to strengthen me, no blood to enable me to free myself from this torment, yet I have blood enough for this, it seems. But I am in her hands, literally, because I have no strength to move. But she is cruel. She strokes and teases me until pleasure threatens to turn to more pain, but she stops and moves away a little. I yearn towards her, wanting and needing her touch, even as I hate and despise it. I am Angelus. I am not Angel. Yet I still yearn towards her, as she whispers again. "Free yourself, Angel. Come to me." Angel. Even so, I cannot stop myself. She urges me on, like a falconer tempting a captive bird to the lure. And like the hungry bird, I respond. But I cannot free myself. She comes forward again, her eyes sparkling with promises that would be the downfall of saints. This time she offers me her wrist. I bite. I know that she is an hallucination. I know that I can get no strength from her, and yet something seems to pass between us. If it is not blood, the effect is the same, and I swallow down her power. But her strength remains elusive, like her, toying with me, allowing me to touch it, then slipping out of my grasp. I could weep with frustration. She moves closer still, her breasts feathering across my skin and it is then that I feel cold metal at my lips, and real blood, hot and fresh, sliding down my parched throat. The metal is replaced by cool flesh, as another wrist is offered to me. Again, I drink. But this is no hallucination. I think that I should recognise this blood, but my mind cannot focus, except on the sheer energy of it, even more potent than Slayer's blood, full of heat and light and *power*. I drink it down greedily, and the wrist does not flinch. Memory returns first. I know what has been done to me. Awareness of my surroundings is next. I am still nailed to the beam. Strength suffuses me, and I am able to stand. I feel my wounds start to heal, although they will take some days to close over. Still I drink. And she is still here, pressed to me, whispering to me of freedom. Then the wrist is gone. I look around, but there is no one behind me, although I feel Sekhmet at her accustomed place, her head pressed against my hip. She sits next to the Slayer, but neither seems to be aware of the other. "Try again. Try harder." Her hand slips down to caress me, as if promising rewards if I will but obey. Sekhmet nudges against my thigh, as if she were encouraging me. The Slayer seems to see her for the first time. The hand that has been caressing me moves to caress the cat. I cannot help it. I have wanted this

woman for too long, now, and I roar in rage. My hands press against the beam, and with one sinew-bursting effort, I tear the nails from the wood, and fall to the floor. She leans down to kiss me, an all-too-brief meeting of our lips, and then she sighs softly. "Come to me, Angel. You can come to me now." Angel. She touches my wrists, still pierced by the nails, my blood staining her skin. Then she is gone, and I roar again in rage, and loss, and pain. Vampires come rushing in from all directions. But she is still gone, has never indeed been here, and I know that I must exorcise this haunt, this madness, from my mind. When I return to Sunnydale, I must put the Slayer in her place, or I shall never be free of her. I am surrounded by the clan. Aurelius strides through them and stands, silent, in front of me. I know what he expects, what they want to see. First one, then the other, I grasp the nails and pull them from my shrinking flesh. As I crouch there, waiting to see what will happen next, I look down at my gore-streaked belly. Caught in the dried blood is one long, golden hair. ************ I have dreamed of Angel for three nights now, even though Giles has given me a potion to help me sleep, to try to prevent these dreams until he has been able to research them better. This morning, when I wake up, I have blood on my hands. Blood and cat hair. Large cat hair. I remember. I don't understand, but I do remember. He is free now, I know that. Perhaps it means that he can come back to me, and somehow, together, we can deal with the monster that has taken his place. I pray for that. Or perhaps he will simply be able to rest in the aether in peace. I pray for that, too. If he's there, perhaps I will be allowed to join him, when my time comes. If there is any mercy in the world. Giles can find no explanation for these physical signs that I have been with Angel. He is afraid. He is also angry, although he tries to hide that. He cannot forgive Jenny's death, and I dread to think how he would handle Angel's return. Powers that be - if ever you helped one of your slayers, help me now. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Part 4 My wounds are healing now. I have not yet been allowed to see Spike and Dru, apart from the brief glimpse I had of them after tearing myself from that beam. His hands were dripping blood, where he had tried to pull them out of the manacles, and he was distraught. Typical Spike, he could never hide his feelings. Dru seemed content, though. It has been seven days since then. Once I had pulled the nails from my wrists, the minions carried me off to a room where they cleaned me up, fed me, and bound up my wounds, no doubt so that Aurelius won't get blood all over his linen. Before they washed me, though, I made sure that I kept safe that single golden hair. This I must understand, because there are no blonde vampires here. Well, other than Spike, and it certainly isn't his. I am still stiff and sore, but I am now 'requested' to join the clan. I have seen none of them since that night, not even Aurelius. There is not much time before sunrise, so I don't think I'm going to socialise. The minions escort me out into the hall. Spike and Dru are there, this time chained where I was. I am taken to stand in front of Aurelius, who once more is holding formal court. "Angelus."

"Aurelius." I'm sure that he wants me to call him by some title other than his name - Master, perhaps, or Grandsire. He'll wait a long time for that. If he thinks to humiliate me again, I just need to remember Acathla, in my own Hall, waiting for me to bend him to my purpose. "You have survived the first part of my judgement." First part? FIRST part? What the hell now? I say nothing, though. What could I possibly say that will make a difference? "The offences you have committed against the clan were offences against me, with the loss of Nest and Darla. These were carried out whilst you were not in control of yourself. This is accepted, and those offences have now been purged. The clan concurs with me on this. However, you still have no status within the clan, having allied yourself with the Slayer against us, and I presume that you wish to win that status back? You wish to be other than an outcast? To be confirmed in the territories that you claim?" He pauses, and I can only nod. I have no idea what is coming, and that is worrying. There is something I must make a stand on, though. For the sake of my sanity. "You know that I claim the Hellmouth, and the territory surrounding it as my own. As is custom, that includes everything and everybody within that territory. Even the Slayer. If I choose to make her my toy, my possession, to exact my vengeance in the manner of my choosing, no one here may gainsay it. That must be clearly understood." Aurelius gives a ghost of a smile, and Sekhmet yawns widely, much more widely than a modern lion can, displaying those long daggers that she calls teeth. "Are you challenging me, Angelus? Setting up your will against mine?" Careful, now. I can still be torn to pieces here. It galls me, but I duck my head in submission. Well, briefly, anyway. "That is not my intent." Meaning, of course, that I will if I must. You always need to show strength when dealing with other vampires, take it from me. "However, I must be clear about the terms of this arrangement." I'll be damned if I'll say 'punishment'. But I cannot forget my hallucinations. If I go back to Sunnydale, and kill the Slayer, as I should, I may never get her out of my head, and that, above all, I need to do. There are things I must do first, before she dies. Things that will reassert my mastery over my own body and my own mind. Over her. Angel. I must be able to deal with her on my own terms, and without interference from elsewhere. And I don't want to tell the clan about those dreams. They are private. "The Slayer is in my territory. I may kill her, or I may make her my pet. Keep her alive so that I may drink her power whenever I wish. That is my affair. Is that agreed?" If Aurelius thinks I've gone too far, he might make it his affair. The blood of a Slayer will make me stronger. The blood of a Slayer taken whenever I wish will make me very much stronger. Perhaps strong enough to challenge him. But it has been done before. Just occasionally, strong vampires have been involved with weak slayers, although that is very rare, and the names of the lucky bastards who did it are a mantra to vampire-kind. Never with a slayer like this, though. He cannot deny it, and I must have it publicly acknowledged now, rather than wait for him to send assassins creeping round my home. I think Aurelius has more honour than that, but I might be wrong. Never overestimate your opponent's sense of honour. Angelus' Third Law.

But he simply looks amused again. "If you can tame what I understand is a very strong Slayer indeed, then you may do so with my goodwill. I may even come to visit this phenomenon myself." I almost bare my teeth at that thought. "For now, I have a task for you. In the last few months certain items belonging to me have been taken from their accustomed place. You will recover them for me." "What do you wish to recover?" "A book and some bones. Sekhmet will go with you, to ensure that you recover the right ones." What? There are several cries of shock from the clan behind me, and then everyone starts talking at once. ************ You think that I am a monster? Well, and so I am. I am a vampire. What else is that, but a monster? Whether I am more monstrous than the average human, though, you shall judge. We have a little time in which to talk, whilst Angelus has gone to recover what is mine. The clan is shocked that I should entrust this to one whom they still fear is an apostate, and unreliable, but they are even more shocked at the fact of the loss. So am I. Someone has taken my most precious possession. He has not gone alone. I have sent Sekhmet with him. He thinks, deep in his heart, that she will be the instrument of his execution if he tries to run from me, and that I have sent her for that reason. He is wrong. I know that he will not run. I know him better than he thinks. Sekhmet may not help him - that was part of my judgement, although every fibre of me cried out to permit it, to send the whole gathering to help him, to go with him myself - but, other than me, she alone can assure him that the bones he recovers are the right ones. She alone will be with him. I will give Seth no reason to say that I have helped Angelus, and I have already done more than I should in giving him my blood again. He could never have freed himself otherwise, unable, as he was, to access the Slayer's power because she's taken some damned Watcher's potion. I hadn't expected that. I have described what he must find, the bones and the book, but he does not know what they are, nor will I tell him, I think. I dare not tell him too much, for all our sakes. And now you wish to know some of those things I cannot tell Angelus, to hear stories that will while away the time until he returns? You had better hear about it from the beginning, I suppose. ~~~~~~ I do not come from Egypt, but from Europe. From the Alps. Of course, none of the places had the names then that they have now, and boundaries were very different where they existed at all. Nations and empires have come and gone since then, cities risen and fallen into dust. At the time of which I speak the natives of North America were still largely hunter-gatherers; the natives of Britain were just changing from a hunter-gatherer lifestyle to a more settled tradition of farming. It was a little over 5,500 years ago. I don't know exactly, although I could work it out if ever I wished to, but not only have nations and lifestyles come and gone, but so have calendar systems and methods of dating. And I have never been one for celebrating birthdays. Well, not after the first three thousand years, that is. I came to Egypt with my father. I came for love, and because of love. My father loved the wife of our tribal chief, and she loved him. For years, they tried to act with honour, but it was too much for them and one day, honour was cast to the winds. It was a little

like your story of the triangle of Arthur and Guinevere and Lancelot. It ended with the exile of my father. It should have ended with his death, but he was a smith, who knew the secrets of working metal. In those days, that was considered to be powerful magic, and my father no less than a magician - we were very ignorant and superstitious, you may think, but you are really no different now. Think about it. In any event, it was considered bad luck to kill him, so they killed her instead, and banished him. I loved my father, and so I went with him. I think that, were it not for me, he would have thrown his life away with hers. I was ten at the time. We travelled for years, and he taught me the smith's art. In those days, we could work copper and silver and gold, and we had just learned the art of working bronze. That was a very rare skill then, the secrets closely guarded. He was the best smith around, and we never lacked for anything except a permanent home. Many were offered, but none appealed enough to make us stay. Then we arrived in Egypt. I was twenty-five, and I was as good at the smithy as my father. We liked the land and the people. They had no notion of how to work bronze and so we were valued for that, but we were also welcomed because of ourselves. We made friends. We decided to stay. I think my father also thought it was time I took a wife, and there were many desirable women here. And that is how my story begins - with a woman. Zuleika. The fair one. She was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and I thought that I should die for love of her. I was old for an unmarried man, in those days, but our nomadic life had meant that I'd had no opportunity to truly fall in love before. She was my first. And I opened everything that I was to her. It's an old and common tale, nothing unusual. We had high status in the village, but so did her other suitor. He was the headman's son. She chose him because, she said, she had no wish to live with one who reeked of the forge. I tried to change her mind, but I expect that I was too ardent, too passionate. She was haughty and disdainful, and her betrothed came to dissuade me from seeing her again. He came with a gang of his father's men, and when they left, I lay badly beaten, and my father lay dead. An accident, I'm sure now, but nevertheless, he was dead. I had worshipped him, the kindest and gentlest of men. There was no one in those days to enforce the law against the headman's son. The headman was the law, and there was no more to be said. Love for her turned to hatred and self-loathing, and I sought a means of vengeance. I knew of a shaman who said that he could call demons. I gave him a bronze axe and a bronze knife, with a carved ivory handle. They were beautiful pieces that I myself had made, and each was worth more than he would earn at his trade in a year. He accepted them with alacrity, and settled down to summon a demon. I wondered whether I would get a worthwhile trade for those items. Perhaps I have, perhaps I haven't. The knife still exists. I had carved the hilt on one side only, with a scene of men fighting, a pirate raid that I had seen when men from the land of Sumer came to loot and plunder along the banks of the Nile. The other side of the haft was bare, and he made me promise to carve it after I had seen the demon. I was always a man of my word, and I did. After drinking down his life and his small gift of magic, I carved an only slightly fanciful picture of what happened to me that night, my death and rebirth, and later gave it to a Pharaoh, to remember me by. It is called the Gebel elArak knife, and it is in the Louvre. I don't want it back, especially since the bronze blade was damaged at some time, and the haft reworked to fix it to a flint blade. The Egyptians could never work bronze. But that is a story for another day. I will tell you of the demon. The shaman worked his charms and spells, although I saw nothing. He swore to me that a demon had spoken to him, was prepared to give me my vengeance, and told me to go that night up into the hills. He gave me a location, and I went there. I was young and foolish, hotheaded and passionate in those days. But not bad, not an evil man. How things change. I was also very drunk. We had no spirits then, but we did have beer. I went high into the hills and, at the place to which the shaman had directed me, I found a burning bush. I later discovered that the place was a very small Hellmouth, now closed up once

and for all. Someone else found a similar burning bush, many centuries later, and he told his people about speaking to a god there. You know about that, even today. I, on the other hand, kept silent about my encounter. The shaman had given me no instructions so I sat by the bush, which gave off a great deal of light and a little warmth in the chill night air. "Do you think you will come to any good here?" said a voice behind me. When I looked, I saw a man, handsome and well dressed, but still a man. I was wrong. "What I do here is my business, stranger." "Oh, I think it mine as well. After all, you summoned me here. What do you want from me?" So, the shaman was more than an old trickster, after all. I was still nursing my hatred and my burning need for vengeance. I told the demon that I wanted to have my revenge on the woman who had spurned me, and on her lover. And I wanted revenge on all those who had been involved in the murder of my father. It was a petty motive for summoning a demon, and it did not take me long to learn that, but at the time it was all I wanted in the world. He asked me what he would get out of the bargain. I was lost for an answer - I had not thought beyond my own grief - so I asked him what he wanted. He looked at me in a way I had never been looked at before. I believe he searched my soul. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. "I want a body for a demon." I was shocked and afraid. "You want to kill me and take my body?" "No. This is a female demon. She would be better in a woman's body. And I want you to look after her until I can come for her myself." I was intrigued, then, and I knew that there was more to this request, so, in my drunken mood, I insisted that he tell me why he wanted this. I thought that he would not answer me, but eventually he did. "There are many different types of demon. In some ways, the Underworld is not so very different to your world. Each demon has its own aspirations and desires, its own passions. The demon I need shelter for is the demon I love. She is young, newly emerged, and she has attracted many others. But she loves me, and we wish to be together. "Another demon, much more powerful than I, has declared that she will be his. Not his wife or his lover, but his possession, his concubine and his slave, if that gives you a better understanding. I want to get her out of the Underworld, and away from Seth. Being young, she does not yet know how to take on flesh in this dimension, and he would find her in a heartbeat if she were simply a spirit. I need a body in which she can reside, to mask her, until he forgets about her. That may take a century or two, but he will. His obsessions come and go, and few have lasted more than a millennium." These were not timescales in which I was accustomed to think - to live to the age of fifty was an achievement in those days. But when you are drunk, everything becomes possible. He looked around, taking in the velvet sky, thickly sprinkled with stars in a way that you never see in your modern world, at the stark beauty of the hills around us, the soft sheen of the Nile below. "I love this dimension - I always have. Eventually, perhaps Sekhmet and I can live here, in peace. The demon dimensions are not somewhere you would want to spend much time, I can assure you."

And so we agreed to a bargain. He would give me the means of delivering my vengeance, and we would find a body that his lover could inhabit. I would look after her for so long as necessary, so I too would need an extended lifespan. He pondered how to do this for a while, and then he said a few words over the burning bush. The fire was instantly transformed into an egg shape of blue light. There was a crackle of power, and a body fell to the ground. It was a lion, but of a kind that I had never seen before. It had fangs that were about a span in length, for a start, and a short tail, just a little longer than that of a lynx. It was huge. It was also, fortunately, unconscious. I walked over to the beast and examined it in wonder. "I have never seen anything like this!" "No. Most of them died out five or six thousand years ago. A very few survive but not, I think, for long. When everything else has been done, she will be the instrument of your vengeance. She will be possessed by a minor demon that will control her behaviour. It will be enslaved to you. She will do whatever you wish." He knelt down by the head of the cat and ran his finger down one long fang. He looked at me, and could see my interest in this strange and wondrous beast. "They use these fangs to kill their prey. The animals they used to hunt were huge, much larger than any you have encountered, and lived in very cold conditions. Those beasts had thick skins and enormous layers of fat, and it was hard for a predator such as this to reach vital organs, to kill them. So they evolved these fangs. They are too brittle to use for killing prey in the normal way that such cats do - they would break on those large bones. They use them to bite into the neck and drink the blood, until the hunted becomes too weak to stand any longer. Then they can finish the animal off at their leisure. They will eat the meat, but the blood gives them everything they need. Those big animals are gone now, and these hunters cannot prosper without them. That is why there are fewer of them every year. There is no more than a handful now, and those will soon be gone. This female will not be missed. "She will hunt humans in the same way, drinking their blood. She will do your bidding, kill whom you wish to kill. First, though, I will put my own Sekhmet into this body, for safekeeping until you find a suitable human female. Then you will call me and I will do the exchange. Sekhmet will be in the woman, and the demon in the lioness, and you may wipe out the whole of humanity, if you wish." That was a little beyond my ambitions, but I thought of those who had driven my father and I from our home, murdered the woman he came to love after my own mother had died, and I decided that perhaps we could deal with them too. I was very drunk, remember. And very young, full of fire and passion. "Now, slit the cat's throat while she is still unconscious," he instructed. I didn't understand, so he explained. "We must take the cat to the point of death, so that the soul will flee the body. To have two spirits in one body is a recipe for disaster. It would drive both mad." I could see that, and he turned out to be right, of course, so I prepared to slit her throat, and spill her blood. As I did so, the demon called for his lover. All I ever saw of her was a shimmer in the air, like a heat haze, as we waited for the cat to fade from life. It was then that absolute disaster struck. There was a rumble in the earth, and a smell of power in the air, not unlike the smell of the smithy. Seth had found us. ************ I have been researching in Giles' books. I had to steal the one I wanted to read - I don't want to

ask him this question. I don't want him to know that it even is a question. Even more confusing, I don't know why I need to know, except that it is something to do with the dreams I have had of Angel. Those dreams are gone now, although a shadow of them seems to remain. It's a dark shadow, and I am afraid of it. I want to know about mates. And now I do. A vampire usually only has one mate at a time - any more is considered 'bad form'. That sounds like an English phrase, but I guess I know what it means. The mate is usually of the opposite sex, and seems to be much the same as a long-term lover or partner in marriage. And sometimes, that partner can be a human. Some vampires seem to be able to fall in love with humans. There is no ceremony, no ritual for this mating - the parties just think of themselves as mates, as lovers, and the relationship usually ends when one tires of it and sends the other packing. Not so different to us, then. But there is a different type of mate. An eternal mate. A relationship that is expected to live on beyond death - beyond a vampire's final death, that is. When they are dust, they believe that their spirits will stay together. Soul mates, if ever vampires had souls. This is a bonding that is recognised by ritual and ceremony, a higher form of marriage, if you like, and is rare indeed. It is severed only by death, and then only until the death of the survivor. There is no record of this ever being offered to a human. Would Angel have ever offered this to me? Does he think of me this way? Is that why I was called to him? Is he dead? Is he still among the living? What am I to do? Will I dream of him tonight? I want to, but I'm afraid of what the dream might mean. *********** I sit in the shadows, watching. I am watching Angelus, as he carries out the task Aurelius has given him. We have been to Jerusalem, where those things we seek were first taken. But being Egyptian in character, in a gesture of goodwill, they have been loaned to Egypt for further research. So we are in the Cairo Museum. An employee who was working late in one of the back rooms is wishing that he had gone home on time, but it's too late now. Angelus has the man tied to a chair, and has assembled a small tray of implements, which he is showing to his terrified victim. There are not many implements, but there are enough. I know what he can do with them. I've been inside his head. I didn't need to go very deeply for what I had to do, but the things I saw, even so You *really* don't want to know. Not some of them, any way. I've been inside *her* head, too. That was very interesting. Bringing them together? That was easy, like two halves of a magnet. One thing I can tell you - keeping them apart, that will be the trick. I pity whoever tries. With the two of them together, the future will be very interesting indeed, as Aurelius well knows. What? Because I'm a cat, you think I'm nothing else? Think again, youngster. He's picked up a sliver of flint - it looks like a piece of old arrowhead. I remember those. They hurt. It's very sharp, sharper than any steel edge, and the man is naked. The flint can do a lot of damage. Angelus seems to deliberate, just trying the edge of the flint against certain parts of the anatomy, leaving a barely visible red line at each place, stinging no more than a paper cut would, just a harbinger of things to come. The man has gone very pale indeed. I think he might cry. Angelus doesn't really want to have to cut. Oh, he will, if he has to, and in other circumstances would have a fine night's entertainment from it. But he's in a hurry to find what he's been sent for, and he knows that his best weapon for getting speedy information is fear - the fear of what *might* happen, of how the pain *might* feel. If this man is brave enough to allow Angelus to start cutting, he might hold out for some time. We don't want that. So, he allows the man to imagine. He helps that along by just touching the flint to the most sensitive parts. He has a rag in the other hand, in case the man starts screaming. The man stinks

of fear, but what is he most afraid of - Angelus, or the consequences of giving up the information? I know which one he *should* be, but he doesn't know who he is dealing with. Angelus seems to come to the same conclusion. Quick as thought, and without the least warning, he slashes the little blade across the man's eyeball, and then muffles the inevitable scream with the rag in his fist. Now he's promising that the man will keep his other eye if he tells what he knows. I think he's made his point. The book and the bones were here, as we were told in Jerusalem. But at the moment they are gone. One of the senior officials has them at his house. He often takes antiquities home for a while. Does he now? The man gives us the address and tells us about his boss's habits. When Angelus has everything he needs, he buries his fangs in the man's throat. Surprisingly, he shares his kill with me. His promise to the man? Well, he only promised that he would keep the other eye. He has. He was never going to come out of this with his life. My companion tidies up perfunctorily, and then shoulders the corpse. We head off, first for a dumping ground, and then to this new address. ************* Seth was not pleased. He was powerful, even then. He has learned more since. So have I, but not enough to go up against him. On this night, he was a tall, dark, indistinct figure, cloaked in black. He muttered a few words, spinning some spell that prevented any of us from moving, even the two demons. He moved to stand in front of the corporeal demon. "You think to steal my toy away from me?" he raged. "You think that I would allow that to pass, that I would not hunt you down and punish you?" My demon companion was struggling to move, and struggling to speak, but we were like flies in amber. It was impossible. Seth was silent for a moment or two, but when he spoke again, he seemed to have composed himself a little. "Well, what shall I do with you all?" he mused, his voice cold and sharp. "Acathla." He addressed my companion, whose name I had not known until now. "You've got big ambitions, if you think you can set your will against mine. Let's give you an appetite to match those ambitions. I am well aware that you love this dimension, that it attracts you as ours do not. That will be your punishment. You will have one function in life, and one function only. You already have the power to transport things," and he looked meaningfully at the cat. "You will become a gateway to Hell. This human's bloodline will be the trigger that opens you, and believe me, I shall make sure that his bloodline carries on down the ages, for as long as it suits me. Everything that passes through you will find an eternity of pain. Allow me to demonstrate." He did so. Behind the barrier of whatever spell he had cast, I saw my companion change shape to become some grey-skinned ugly demon. Seth muttered a few words and Acathla's mouth opened, growing bigger and bigger. Within that mouth was a vortex that I later found out to be a portal. Acathla's expression was one of stark horror. Seth waved a hand negligently and a small antelope was dragged from its nearby hiding place to stand shivering in front of that swirl of energy. Another gesture and the poor beast disappeared into the vortex. It disappeared from sight, but not from earshot. I can hear its screams even now. More words from Seth and Acathla's mouth closed. "You can see where the creature is now, can't you?" Acathla was permitted to nod in silent misery.

"Nice place. You'll be capable of sucking everything on this planet down there, including the planet itself. Once started, you won't be able to stop. When I'm done here, I'm going to finish you off, turn you to an eternal stone statue. You will remain sentient, of course - it would be no punishment, otherwise. You'll enjoy that, won't you? And your human here won't be able to do a thing about it. If he comes after you, a little graze, a tiny cut - which I will make sure he gets from you - just one drop of blood, and you'll be off sucking everything to Hell. Including your precious Sekhmet." He paused, as if listening to something. "Oh, very well - his bloodline will be the key to closing you, too - I suppose that keys must work both ways. "That's one down." I could see tears running down Acathla's face. I wondered if he could see those running down mine. Seth stopped to think for a moment again, then walked over to the recumbent lioness, still unconscious, her lifeblood now seeping into the sand. He knelt and waited. I saw the lioness' mouth gape, reaching for breath, then she shuddered in the throes of death. Seth slashed his wrist open on one of her fangs and allowed a little blood to drip onto her tongue. The slash across her throat healed over, in the blink of an eye. He said a few words, and the airy shimmer that was Sekhmet disappeared. "That's two down. I don't want her anymore if she's so much trouble." Like a little boy throwing his teddy out of the cot. "A human. Hmmm. What to do? We have a gateway to Hell, and we have a demon cat. Why not a demon human, as well? A toy for me to play with, to replace the one I've just given up?" I was trembling in every part of my body, and I tried to beg for my life. He knew it, even though I could not speak. "Don't want to go bravely to your fate? Well, I can be merciful. You were a small part of this conspiracy, after all. I will allow you to share your fate - well, you'll be able to do that anyway. You'll know how - it will be in your blood. But I've got a lot of things coming up, and I don't need another toy just now. So, someone else can be my plaything instead of you, someone that I can save for the future. Your child, your grandchild, I don't mind. You just give me a number, and I shall choose someone from that generation. Anything up to, oh, let's say four. "CHOOSE, or I shall choose for you, and keep you as well." I chose. A saying has come down to you from that choice. More than a saying, a part of your Decalogue, the Ten Commandments: 'for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me.' It isn't entirely accurately worded, you don't understand it, and I really don't know how it found its way into that particular list of do's and don'ts, but do you truly think that a merciful god would visit such a thing on innocent children? Of course not. Only a demon such as Seth. I chose someone from the fourth generation, as far away in time as Seth would permit. When I first saw Angelus, I heard Seth whisper in my head. "That one is my chosen one."

On that day, which still lay far in my future, I could have wept from shame and guilt at the cowardice that had allowed such a choice to happen, but it was all much too late by then. My sins lay on Angelus' head. I had sold him into slavery as the plaything of a wicked, powerful, vengeful fiend. A toy, to be tormented; an unwitting chess piece in the games that the gods seem to play with us. We all take part in the game, but he was destined for a leading role. Destined for Seth's special attentions. The weight of a godling's attention is a terrible thing. Mea culpa. But back on that first day, Seth said a few more words, and the cat rose to her feet, unsteady, disoriented. She padded over to me and looked uncertain. Then her demeanour changed. Snarling, she raised herself onto her hind legs, her front paws on my shoulder, and sank her fangs into my neck. She drank me down until I could not stand of my own volition. All that kept me upright was the stay spell. As my heart slowed, unable to sustain itself, and my vision grew cloudy, Seth stalked over, and slashed the cat's chest with his claw. He pulled her head off my neck, and then pressed my lips to her wound. The blood welled up, choking me as it slid down my throat, hot and sweet, with a tang of black bitterness threaded through it, a coiling venom in my belly. I remembered no more until I woke next day. The cat and I were in a cave. She was curled by my side. I was changed. I was a vampire, the first of my line. Oh, I'm not the first vampire to be made from scratch, so to speak, and I'm sure I won't be the last. Each different line, each clan, has its own genesis. This just happened to be mine. Now you know why we share a lot with cats. ************* more soon

Lionesses Author: Jo FEEDBACK: Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Part 5 We can't get in to the address the man gave us. You thought I would be able to? Why would that be? I'm a vampire, just as much as Angelus is. I was born a mortal vampire, by your broadest definitions, a living creature that feeds on blood, and I was made into an immortal feline vampire from your worst nightmares. I'm still a vampire. The barrier applies to me, too. So, we are watching. Together. Angelus is almost as good a hunter as I am, and I don't say that about many creatures. He's looking for something specific. I'll know it when he sees it. Oh, I can't read his thoughts. Just his feelings. That's good enough. Most cats can do that - they don't need a demon inside them. Angelus is watching people entering and leaving the address, looking for someone weak. Ah! He thinks he's got one. A young man, a servant by the look of him, but he has a smell of decadence about him. I think he earns a living by a lot more activities than servanting. Angelus looks pleased. Still, it's almost sunrise, so we need somewhere safe for the day. We've found an outbuilding, a wood store. Not very comfortable, but it will do, especially since it overlooks what seems to be the servants' entrance. We'll take turns watching for this young man to finish his day's work. Unless we see someone better, of course. It's been a long day, but the sun has just dropped below the level of the surrounding buildings. That's enough. And here comes our prey. Twelve hour shifts, then. We follow him as he goes

home, then re-emerges a couple of hours later. We watch as he meets other men in a variety of coffee houses. They give him money, he gives them packages, from a leather satchel that he carries. They don't smell of drugs. Antiquities then? Is he selling them for his employer, or on his own account? I don't much care, so long as they don't smell of those things that we have been sent to find. The book. Her. Palestrina. They don't. I would know. And he sells something else. Himself. He's coming from his last customer's apartment, the musk of sex still strong around him. I'm in the shadow of a doorway, and Angelus has slithered out to meet him. I'm sure that boy is part snake - Angelus, that is, not our quarry. I suppose you can imagine what is happening, you don't really need me to describe it. The way Angelus feathers a touch onto the young man's cheek, the smile he gives him, the whispered endearments. The way he allows his body to brush briefly against the other. The level of pheromone he's putting out. The wad of cash that he allows this venal young man to glimpse. Well, you didn't think we weren't going to go through the pockets before we dumped the body from the Museum, did you? And we've made another couple of kills since then. Ah. The assignation is made. Angelus will meet the young man as he leaves his employer's house tomorrow night. We'll both be there. For now, we just need to find somewhere to spend the rest of the night and tomorrow. I might have known. Angelus has used some of the cash for a ground floor hotel room. He always did like his comforts. Truth be told, so do I. He lets me in through the window. We are both well rested when it is time to keep his tryst with the servant. The sun has gone down, and Angelus is standing outside the servants' door. The lad didn't expect him to come here - it was arranged that they would meet out of sight of the house. He's calling the boy's name. Ahmed. It means 'most highly adored'. Angelus has certainly made him feel that. Ahmed comes bundling out of the door, trying to shush Angelus, who simply presses him against the wall of the house and starts to whisper endearments again, soothing the boy, calming him, stroking him, telling him that all will be well. They are all smiles and breathy glances. And pheromones. The boy is falling in love. Angelus makes it look so easy. He's asking whether the boy can come with him now. Ahmed says not yet, a few minutes, he must see whether his employer has any commissions for him. I almost growl, but that would give away my position. The antiquities; it can only be those. Palestrina, we have come for you. I have missed some of the conversation, but I gather that Angelus is unwilling to wait outside, where anyone can see him. The boy is telling him to stay quiet, to come into the servants' door, and wait for him. At last. They go in, and I reach the door in one bound. The invitation was only for Angelus, though. He sees it, has expected it, has changed to his true face. "Invite the cat in." Ahmed is rigid with fear, of me, of the demon he thought would be a lover. Angelus has hold of him though, just in case. "Invite Sekhmet in." The boy would fall to his knees, if it were not for the grip that Angelus has on his arms. "Sekhmet" he moans. "And are youPtah?" "No, but I have come to do his bidding. Now, invite her in!" The boy begins to babble, pleading for his life. Angelus cuts across his incoherence.

"I won't ask again. Invite her in, and you will survive this night. You have my word." The boy nods gratefully, and invites me in. Angelus goes for his throat, but as the boy's heart slows, he opens a vein in his wrist and allows his victim to drink. Well, he gave the boy his word that he would survive. He just didn't say how. He looks at me as the corpse falls to the ground, and I nod. Aurelius will send someone to pick up this latest fledgling. The boy can be grateful that at least Angelus has made him a fledgling, not a minion. It gives him a better start. The man we are looking for is in an upstairs room. We have no difficulty finding it. He is with two other men, both craftsmen. Copyists. They are copying antiquities. The room is full of antiquities. They don't at first hear us enter until Angelus, lounging against the doorjamb, his arms casually folded, coughs discreetly. He does have style. He also has his human face on. The two craftsmen look panicky, but the other has more courage. He gets up and comes towards us. "Who are you? Who let you in? What do you want?" "Let's say that I am here as an agent for someone who has been robbed." The two craftsmen rise from their seats hurriedly and try to sidle around us, try to leave the room. I growl a little, and they stop. They back away, looking for the slender protection of their master. "What has robbery to do with us? Everything here has been legitimately found or purchased!" I bet. "You have a papyrus book, and you have some first century AD bones, found with the book. They belong to my principal. I will have them back. Now!" "No! They were properly excavated! No one has a claim on those." Angelus sighs, and nods to me. I stalk into the room. I find the book first, unrolled. Not all books come as rectangular objects. This one is a scroll. A very thick, heavy scroll, perfectly preserved. It is on the table at which one of the craftsmen were working. Copying it. Angelus sees. "So, you don't fake things at all here? Which one would you have returned to the museum, I wonder?" Then I find her scent. It is very, very faint, and if I were only a cat, I could not have caught it. It is, after all, almost two thousand years old. Palestrina. Her bones are in a cardboard box on the table. I stand on my hind legs, my paws on the table, for a better look. It is then that I see what has been done. Three of the ribs are missing and half of a leg bone has been newly sawn off. That, too, is missing. I whine. Angelus catches the note of distress. He sees me snuffling at the desecrated leg bone. "What has happened to the bones?" he demands. I would not wish to be on the receiving end of that voice. "Tell me, or I will find something here to make you tell me. You won't enjoy it, I promise, although I shall do my best to. I've been a bit short of entertainment lately." The man starts to bluster. Angelus calmly crosses the floor and snaps the necks of both craftsmen. They are of no use to us. He continues forward until he is almost touching this thief. "Tell me." Shocked silence.

"Of course, some people would rather have bone-setting surgery without anaesthetic than tell things their master wishes them not to tell. This can be arranged." Casually, he reaches down and picks up the man's hand. There is a sharp snapping noise and the middle finger is suddenly sticking out at an angle, sharp daggers of bone piercing through skin. Angelus' hand is over the man's mouth before he can cry out. Gently, he licks the man's ear. That may be the most shocking thing of all for this victim. I can see the fight leave him. His voice is hoarse with pain. "They are only bones. Some people will pay well for pieces of bone of a certain sort, a certain age. They specify what they need. It is only bone." "Sorcerers?" The word is a hissed sibilant. Did I tell you Angelus seems to be part snake? He's not, of course, but he's doing a good impression. The man nods, dumbly. I daren't think how Aurelius will take this, but I can feel the growl rumbling out of my belly. Only the patience of a predator, a relict of my existence as a cat, stops me from tearing out his entrails there and then. "Where are the pieces?" He shakes his head. Another finger goes. More bloody bone daggers. The rag is rammed into his mouth once more, until his sobs subside. "Ahmed," he gasps. "Ahmed is the one who sells them. He knows." I can barely restrain myself. Angelus nods to me, and this time it is I who goes for the throat. Angelus stops me before it is too late, though, before the man is quite dead, and he gives just a few drops of blood to him. Unlike Ahmed, he will become a minion. Quite a bright one, to be sure. Bright enough to understand whatever eternal punishment Aurelius decides would be apt. Perhaps he'll let me tear this one to pieces on a nightly basis. He'll soon learn what are only bones. Angelus carefully straightens the man's fingers - we don't want a crippled minion before we have a chance to play with him properly - then hunts round for a bag. He soon finds the leather one that Ahmed uses. It isn't very large, but Palestrina was not a tall woman, and her bones will just fit, even the long ones. He examines the curtains, which are a blood-red velvet, and almost new. He quickly has a sizeable piece ripped off, and wraps the remaining bones in it. He places the cloth-wrapped bundle, the book, and the almost completed copy into the bag and quickly slips the strap over his head and shoulder. He also slips in some of the more desirable antiquities. Finders keepers - isn't that what archaeologists believe? I recognise one of the things that he takes, and I whine as he picks it up. That does not escape his notice. Working on the premise that members of staff are probably forbidden from entering this room, he fetches Ahmed's body up here. Aurelius' minions will deal with all four, now that there is no barrier to stop them entering. Angelus rifles all four sets of pockets, gathering quite a wad of cash. As he does so, he gives me one of those smiles. "The proceeds of immoral earnings, of one sort or another. Now it's just the proceeds of common theft. Let's go." That's alright, then. We head back home with our sad little bundle. ************** You wish to know more about those early years, and about the task I have set Angelus? Very well. ~~~~~~

When it was safe, Sekhmet and I emerged from the cave. Acathla stood where we had last seen him. I have never before heard a cat howl with grief, but Sekhmet did so, her cries carrying far into the desert night. I, of course, was not the same person as I had been the day before, but even so, I felt sorry that this demon who had tried to help me, even whilst trying to solve his own dilemma, had suffered this fate. But we were alive, and still on the face of the earth. I had no wish to be sucked into Hell, so we had to hide Acathla. It took most of the night, but we dug down into the sand until he toppled over into a deep pit. I took very great care not to touch him in any way. We covered him and left him. Seth had said that he would be sentient, but what else could we do? The next night, we returned to the village and so our reign of terror started. Sekhmet, driven by the darkness of Seth's blood, and I, a young and hungry demon, slaughtered our way across Egypt, but always we returned to that village. They were never free of us for long. We took a little time out to visit my birthplace in the Alps, but Egypt was our home. Those first villagers knew who I had been, and called me Ptah. The Hammer. But they didn't last long. After a couple of generations, they forgot who I had been and only knew what I had become. Ptah. I was content with that name. My birth name is now lost in the mists of time, and only I remember it. They made me a god, and they made Sekhmet a goddess, one to be placated. They believed Sekhmet to be my consort. They would never have understood. The rest of Egypt called me Sokar, god of the dead, a god to be feared. They got that much right. When Memphis was built close by our village, around 3,100BC as you count time now, the city was in need of a god and goddess, and who better to fill the bill? So, as labourers and other workers moved to this brand new, pristine city of Memphis, coming from the surrounding villages, they took the names of Ptah and Sekhmet with them, and we took the city. Our depredations were enormous, but at the height of its power, Memphis was the largest city in the world. We had plenty of prey. But, we had had four hundred years of slaughter, and worse. We werematuringeven if only a little. Gradually, we killed more to eat than we did for fun, and we started to build a family. Minions, childer, never many at a time. When I had minions that I could trust, I sent them out to find more like Sekhmet. No creature should be alone. But we had left it too late. All those of her kind were gone. We never found anything, not even bodies. Our home remained in Egypt. Memphis was always my favourite, though it is gone now. Its remains are not so far from Cairo, and that is the nearest I can get. We stayed there through the hardest times, including the Fall of the Old Kingdom, the Egyptian Dark Ages. That happened when I was about 1300 years old, and lasted for over two centuries. It was climate change, and it turned Egypt to dust. Humans began to eat their children. You truly are not so different to us, as ready to be monsters as we. The threshold is a little different, that is all. We looked for ways of returning Acathla to Sekhmet, of defying Seth, if you will, and we sought out any magic user we could find. Witches, sorcerers, shamans. Anybody. You think of sorcerers, if you think of them at all, as the embodiment of evil and greed, using their magical powers for immense personal gain or for the benefit of the dark powers. It wasn't always so. Sorcerers have been feared, but they have also been respected. It was the Christian religion that condemned them all, called them charlatans, pointed out that most of the things they did were simply works of science and technology beyond their time. Just as the work of the smith used to be considered magical. But because you know how it's done, it doesn't mean it isn't magic. So, we continued to hunt for someone who could help us. We would visit Acathla's grave every year, and Sekhmet would give tongue to her grief. She still loved him down all the march of the years. I do believe they are truly soul mates. It was on one of those visits, at the time of the Crusades, that we discovered some foolish men in the process of activating him. We stopped it, but that, again, is a story for another day. I heard of one sorcerer in Samaria. This was about two thousand years ago, and by then I was different again. Still a vampire, of course, but different. So was Sekhmet. We went to see the one in Samaria. Simon, he was called. Simon Magus. The one that the

Apostle Philip also met whilst visiting Samaria. He was well respected and had done many good deeds. But a vampire has to be careful in approaching a sorcerer. They know what we are, and often have the power to deal with us. So we are circumspect. Even an old and powerful one such as I. I went bearing a gift. It was a beautifully carved ivory box, filled with frankincense. This was a princely gift - at least, the prince I took it from seemed to think so - and frankincense is valued by sorcerers for its magical properties. The approach to Simon's house was unusual for those times and that place. Rather than entering a walled courtyard, the approach was through a garden, full of lavender, jasmine and thyme, fennel and rosemary, and other scented herbs. And roses. The deep red rose that grows in my courtyard even now came from there, a stolen memory of her. The garden was a delight. The servant at the door invited me to enter, saying that his master was away at the moment, but I was welcome to wait for his return. The presence of a demon in a sorcerer's home can be misconstrued, with unfortunate results. I said that I would wait outside. I was shown to an arbour of clipped cypress run through with climbing roses, sheltering a couple of comfortable seats filled with richly embroidered cushions. Refreshments were fetched for me, wine, pine kernels, stuffed dates, apricots, everything of the finest. Then she came. She was richly dressed, her hair covered by a shawl woven in deep red and black, and the shawl was wrapped around the lower half of her face. It was her eyes that I first saw. Black as my downfall, warm as the Egyptian night, sparkling with my sins. I should have loved her had I never seen more than her eyes. I was hers from that very moment, and nothing has ever changed. Palestrina. My soul mate. She sat beside me and unwound the shawl. I, a three thousand five hundred year old demon, was helpless in her thrall. Her skin was golden, her lips full and generous, red as blood, her hair a glory of dark chestnut, framing the most beautiful face I had ever seen. She was his daughter. She was fourteen. In that society, she would normally have already been married, or at the very least betrothed. I learned later that she was not because she, too, had the potential to become a powerful sorcerer, and would stay with her father to learn from him. Marriage could wait. The garden was hers. It said much about her. She asked me what I wanted from her father. Did I mention being circumspect? I told her everything. More, even, than I have told you today. I have never lied to her, and I couldn't, even then. She asked to meet Sekhmet, and I whistled her in from where she waited in the outer darkness. As she padded forward, I saw the surprise on Palestrina's face - and the delight. They loved each other on sight. As I watched them, Palestrina caressing and soothing and smiling, Sekhmet rubbing and purring, I realised that the only conceivable outcome was that I should have two lionesses in my life. Sekhmet, the demon, my Sire, my companion and friend. And Palestrina, sorcerer and daughter of a sorcerer, as lithe and tawny and powerful as a lioness from the Judean desert, my love, my eternal mate. Mine. I was playing with fire, and we could all be burnt. I stayed in Samaria - well, in a cave just outside the city - but it was Palestrina who spoke to her father about Acathla. He was not open to dealing with demons, she thought, and in the light of later events, she was right. She did tell him that a demon had brought the gift of frankincense, a demon who did not wish the world to be destroyed, who had told her of Acathla. Who asked for help in returning Acathla to his own form, and promised a gift of equal value in the event of success. The real gift, of course, would be the continued safety of the earth. Simon was disturbed that she had seen a demon alone, and even though he was a learned and therefore enlightened man, he was still, at heart, a man of his time, as are we all. He beat her for taking the risk. When I found out, I raged at his temerity in striking my intended, but I wasn't entirely certain that I blamed him.

Palestrina and I met almost every night. She would come to see me, bringing her basket on the pretence of an early morning herb-gathering expedition, or I would slip into the city at night, whenever she would be able to get away. I wanted to spirit her away, back to Egypt, to be my consort. Barely a moment has gone by since then that I have not bitterly regretted that I did not steal away with her right at the start. But she wanted to stay for a while longer, to learn more from her father. To be with him in his old age. And I could not deny her. So I stayed. She did not want me feeding on the population of the city, so I fed on desert animals - wild asses, antelope, goats, sheep. Even those, I left alive, close to water, so that they would recover. Sekhmet did likewise. We were both under Palestrina's sway. Simon did indeed try to find a way to restore Acathla, but to no avail. He kept trying, though, to the day of his death. Better a live demon, he believed, than a petrified hellgate. He was absolutely right in that, at least. Sometimes, I had to return to Egypt, to see to my affairs, but I spent most of my time in Samaria. I could not bear to be apart from her for long, and she was a shadow of herself without me. It was a year before we made love, and I do not know how I held out for so long. But she was young, and I would have staked myself rather than hurt her. I never fed from her, though. Not until the end. Oh, I wanted to taste her, to feel her life and her youthful power coiling through my veins, but I was afraid. Afraid that her father would somehow know, and would kill her for it. And so I kept my fangs to myself. We continued like this for seven years, until she was twenty-one. I would spend an eternity in Hell for another seven such as those. She was loving and daring and feisty, and her power was growing rapidly. She had learned much from her father about controlling the magic, and it seemed clear to me that she would eventually outstrip him. I wondered how he would feel about that. Then the Christian Apostle Philip came to Samaria, preaching their gospel, and Palestrina heard him. Forgiveness for all, if they will but repent their sins. May all the gods bless her greathearted innocence. She thought that might include me. At her behest, her father approached Philip, and became one of his followers, even consenting to be baptised. He had heard of the miracles wrought by Christ, and he saw some of the acts of the apostles. He thought to learn some of this new magic for himself. She had only to look at me, and I did the same. I would have faced Seth and his pack of Hellhounds together, to please her. But Philip would have nothing to do with me, and sent me away. I refrained from killing him and his followers for her sake. It might have been better if I had. She was disappointed but not dismayed. She would speak to Philip herself on my behalf. But it was already too late. Events had been set in motion. Simon told his daughter that the time had come for her to wed. The young man had been chosen. She was old now, to be unwed, but he had found a sorcerer in Syria, in Damascus. His eighteenyear-old son would be Palestrina's husband. Magic would be kept in the family. The boy and his family were on their way to Samaria. The betrothal ceremony would be in three days, in the cool of the evening. Palestrina was distraught, but she still had faith. Faith in her father, faith in her new god, faith that life held justice and mercy and hope. Faith in happy endings. If only she had placed all her faith in me. Instead, she told her father that she loved another, and wished to marry him. She begged her father to meet her beloved first, before deciding whom she should wed. Simon was outraged that she should have dared to meet a man behind his back. He locked her in her room and set a guard outside her door. That did not prevent her from coming to me - she simply slipped over her balcony and out through the garden. She had been doing it for years. I asked her to come away with me that night, but she refused. She still wanted to avoid a breach with her father. She wanted him to accept me. I would visit him the next night and try to win his consent. It was a tiny hope, but I could not disappoint her. I consoled myself with the thought that when it all went wrong, as it undoubtedly would, I was sure I could get her out and away without killing anyone. It had been a very long time indeed since I had doubted my own abilities in matters such as that.

But we did do one thing that night, an act that sealed our fate, for that night and the ages to come. We made love, and we mated. I had accumulated in the cave a pile of the most luxurious furs available, as our bed, and in that nest of silken caresses, I made love to her with every fibre of my being, as she did to me. In the afterglow of the first coupling, I asked her to become my eternal mate, there and then. She looked at me with those night-black eyes, and I remember every word of what was said. I shall never forget. "When we are mates, do you mean to turn me? To make me like you?" "Do you want me to?" "No. I want to stay human." She was always wise beyond her years. She looked sad - she knew exactly what she had said. I didn't hesitate, though. "And I want you to stay human. I won't turn you, I promise. Not ever, unless you wish it." Those eyes were filled with infinite sorrow. "If you leave me human, then one day we must part. I will die, and you will be left behind." I started to speak, but she put her finger over my lips. "You will not die with me, an unforgiven demon. Nor will you abandon Sekhmet and Acathla. And you will care for the childe of the fourth generation. You will help him to escape the fate you gave him." I had told her everything, even the shame of my choice to Seth. Now she was requiring me to make up for that shame. I would never have the strength. "I cannot make those promises." "Yes, you can. You will look after those that are placed in your care, and I will find a way to come back to you. You will have me buried here where my family are, and you will bury your book with me. If I cannot come back to you, I shall come back to that. Your people have a belief that this is so, that souls return?" She meant the Egyptians, and they did. I nodded, my throat too thick to speak. She clasped me fiercely to her. "That is my promise to you. Now, your promise to me?" So help me, I promised. The book. I'll tell you of that later. We made love again, and I mated her. The ritual and ceremony were bare, with just the two of us there, and none of the objects that we would normally have around us. But it was enough. I drank from her, my fangs in her throat, an elixir such as I had never thought to taste, and I made the vows and the promises that mingled with her blood. I left my mark on her neck, a sign to all that she was mine, but a reminder to me of my oaths. I should have done better to keep drinking, to end her life there. She left her mark above my heart, her vows and promises mixing with my blood. I can feel them even now. I see her mark every day, her sign of ownership, her promise of a future. All this was done under the watchful eye of Sekhmet. There is not much privacy in a cave, and Sekhmet needs cover from the sun as much as I. But none of us minded. When the ritual was complete, my beloved did something that surprised both me and my Sire. She beckoned the lioness over, and offered her throat. Sekhmet stared for a moment, with that golden gaze, and

then she started to purr. She padded up to Palestrina, but didn't sink her fangs in - that would have done altogether too much damage. Instead, with a delicacy that even I was unused to, she used the merest tip of one dagger tooth to reopen my own fang marks, and lapped the blood that seeped from the little wounds. She never ceased purring. When she had finished, Palestrina wrapped her arms around that huge neck and whispered, "You will make sure that he continues to live for me? That he waits for me to return? And that he cares for the childe of the fourth generation?" Sekhmet pressed her head to Palestrina's heart. As she raised her head, she drew her own fang up her chest, and a thin red line of blood welled up. My brave and wonderful mate reached out with one dainty finger and traced a path up the wound. She then licked her bloody fingertip. The commitment was made and accepted. She left me before dawn with the promise that, if her father would not countenance me, she would come away with me, and we would make our future in Egypt. I should never have let her go. But how could I take her away by force? She loved her father, and I remembered how that had felt. It was all folly, of course, but even vampires live in hope of something. So, the next evening, I went up to the city, on its high hill. Sekhmet waited for me outside the city walls. I took a gift for Simon, a very handsome gold and lapis lazuli necklace that had been worn by an Egyptian queen. I had meant it for Palestrina, but there were plenty of pieces to choose from in Egypt. I would find her one that was even finer. But Simon was not at home. He was following Philip. He had insisted that Palestrina accompany him. Taking my gift with me, I went to find them. It wasn't hard. There were two other Apostles there, just come from Jerusalem. Peter and John were their names. They were gathered in the square, just returned, by the look of them, from a trip to the river where they had been offering baptism. Now Peter and John laid hands on the baptised, who all fell to the floor, calling out strange words, in a fit of ecstasy. Receiving the Holy Ghost, they called it. In an act of supreme faith, or supreme folly, I was about to go forward, to fall on my knees and seek once more the salvation that Palestrina wanted for me, but events pre-empted me. Simon, who had been waiting his turn with Palestrina, was unable to restrain himself at the sight of the ecstasy of the baptised. This was a magic that a sorcerer could not overlook. He went forward to the senior Apostle, Peter. These men had been travelling in poverty, they seemed to own nothing but the clothes on their back, and so Simon offered what he thought they needed, what he thought they would want. He offered to pay them handsomely if they would teach him their magic to add to his own. There were murmurings in the crowd, cries of, "It is Simon Magus; Simon, the sorcerer!" Peter fell into a towering rage, mortally insulted on behalf of his god. He was a tall man, imposing, bearded, strong from many years of hard work, and even Simon, a much slighter figure, had to step back from him. "May your money perish with you, since you think that the gift of God can be purchased with gold. You are excluded from our faith, sorcerer, and none of your kind welcome here. You shall be as demons to us, an anathema, accursed. Magic users," he almost spat the words here, "you are steeped in your own sin. Best that you repent of this, and pray to God that you may be forgiven. And you had better pray hard, for the flames of Gehenna are waiting for you." The answer was swift and petulant. It is never wise to make a sorcerer petulant. "Pray for me yourselves, for if I finish in hell, I shall not be alone! Think on that when beseeching your god!" With that, Simon stormed away, dragging Palestrina with him. Acathla? He couldn't possibly be thinking of using Acathla? And if he were, should I make myself and my history known to him? After all, it was my blood that would open that portal to hell. Then Palestrina turned around - she had sensed me behind them. She mouthed one word to

me, knowing that I would see and understand. "Tomorrow." At first dark tomorrow, she meant that we would leave here for Egypt. We would have to make sure that Simon didn't find Acathla, at least until his anger and humiliation were spent, and Acathla was in Egypt. We must be there to guard him. I would take her to the nearest port, and we would purchase passage to Egypt, to my new home in Alexandria. There we would make our plans. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Part 6 I was lucky. Hard by Simon's house, I found a small dwelling where the occupants were away. Neighbours had taken in the few livestock, so both parts of the house - those for humans and those for animals - were empty. I could not enter the human part, but the livestock quarters were open to me. The next hours dragged by. I knew that Sekhmet was safely hidden, so I slept as much as I could. Because of that, I missed the beginning of the commotion. With about an hour to sunset, I heard raised voices coming from Simon's house, and I saw a servant come out running. The voices fell silent, but a little time later, the servant returned, with three old women and some of the city elders. The elders waited outside, whilst the old women went in. There was absolute silence in the house. Every instinct was on overdrive, but there was nothing I could do until the sun went down. When it did, though, I was ready to do whatever was necessary. The moment I could, I would snatch my love away and make a run for it. I could feel that Sekhmet, too, was poised for flight. We both understood clearly that the woman we adored would brook no harm to her father or her people. A swift getaway was much the best option. Well, it would have been. The three old women marched out, grim-faced. They were followed by Simon, his grip tight on Palestrina's arm. The servants scurried after, a gaggle of frightened geese. Simon came to an abrupt halt in front of the elders. His face was white, his eyes dark with hatred. Palestrina was pale but carried herself with dignity and pride. "I accuse my daughter of fornication with a demon." NO! NO! By all the powers of light and darkness, what has happened? What has this man done? In the astonished silence, he ripped away her shawl and pushed her head over, holding back her hair so that the elders could see my fang marks. Mine and Sekhmet's. "She has consorted with a demon." He turned to the old women. "Speak!" The eldest of them stepped forward. "She has known a man. She is no longer virgin. All three of us can attest to that." She bowed her head and stepped back. What have they done to her? They have been poking and prodding MY MATE! I could feel the growl rumbling into my chest at the thought of what she had just endured. Still Palestrina was silent. I do not pray, for I know something of what is out there. I have found nothing yet worth praying to. But I prayed then, to any god that would listen. I prayed for the sun to go down, so that I could get my love safely away. There was nothing. Even gods fear to tamper with the workings of the universe.

One of the elders spoke to her. "Have you nothing to say, woman?" Woman. She was nameless, no longer an individual, no longer a person to be respected. Her chin went up a little higher, her back a little straighter. Her voice was strong and clear, redolent of love. "Yes, I have a lover, and yes, he is a demon. But he is my mate, and he is a good man. He seeks salvation for my sake, as well as by his own wish, even as most of you here have sought redemption for your sins. He wishes to be baptised into the new religion, and to start a new life with me, at peace with my father. Will any of you deny us this?" It was brave but foolish. But I suspect that even a lie would not have served. As I said, Simon was a man of his times. He was angry with the Christians for rejecting him, and for classing him as no better than a demon. And he was both angry and afraid of the lover that Palestrina had taken. His daughter would pay the price. I determined to pay it with her. After all, it was my fault that she was here. I could never even reach her in time - I should be ashes before I had covered so much as half the distance - but I knew what would come next in this tragic little scenario, and I would not live without her. I could not let her go alone. It was her father who passed sentence. "She is guilty from her own mouth. There is only one penalty." He picked up a rock from the stony soil. So did all the others present, and they prepared to stone her to death. I tensed myself to run, to get as close to her as I could, but she knew. "No!" she screamed. "Remember" She got no further as the first stone, from her father's hand, struck her in the mouth. The weight of my oaths to her felled me like a blow, and I sank to my knees in the doorway. I could still see what was happening. And I could still hear. As that first stone had landed, Sekhmet knew. She always knows important things. I heard her howl in her place of refuge, just as she had for Acathla, three and a half thousand years ago. And I heardother things. You will never have seen a person stoned to death. Or heard it. The thwack of rock on flesh. The crunching sound as rock meets bone. The wet sounds as flesh is crushed and split. It isn't small stones, you know. They use rocks, the size of half a house brick today. Or bigger. I still hear it when I sleep. I have seen a great deal of death. I have brought death to more creatures than you can possibly imagine, although I remember every single one. Their deaths have meant many things to me pleasure, entertainment, the thrill of the hunt, a good meal. Many of them have been singularly unpleasant deaths - for the dying, that is. I am a vampire, a demon, and I have a strong stomach for death. I have lost those I cared about to death, and those deaths have caused me enormous sorrow. Family, mates, lovers, companions; in my long life I have lost them all. Never let anyone tell you that demons do not feel. We are creatures of passion and excess - vampires certainly are, all of us. We can experience the full gamut of human emotions, if we will but understand it. Many of us are also creatures of denial, and so we do not always understand the feelings that we have. Nevertheless, what we were informs all that we become. I was born of passion and in passion. So passion has ruled my life. That has passed to all my line in some measure or another. Or perhaps it is simply that we choose those of equal passion as our childer. And just as our human senses, taste, smell, sight, hearing, touch, are much more acute than your own, so are our passions. They run darker and deeper than you can ever know.

Grief is one of the darkest passions, and that is what I felt in the light of the westering sun on that afternoon when my mate died. It was a physical thing, ripping through my gut even as the rocks tore into her flesh. Even as my claws tore at the stone slabs of the floor, leaving bloody tracks in that miserable hovel from which I had to watch the death of my soul mate. The death that I had brought upon her because I had been weak and impetuous. My love for her demanded that I go to her, even though it meant my own death. Indeed, I would have welcomed death. But my love for her demanded that I honour those oaths, so newly given. To wait for her. To wait for the childe of the fourth generation. So I knelt in the muck of the byre, watching her father, and the rest of them, stone her to death, tears rolling freely down my vampire's cheeks, vomiting out onto the straw the red bile that was all that remained of my last meal. Murderer. Monster. It went on and on until she was a crumpled heap in the dirt. Stoning is not a quick death. The murderers gave her body a cursory glance and went off to hunt for me, believing me to be in the city somewhere. She was to be left where she lay until they found me. Only then did the sun show pity, and sink into its rest. I went to her, knowing what they did not know, that she still lived, just. I could hear her heart flutter, hear her tiny rasping breaths. I had some hope that I could at least turn her, that she would allow me to do that. But a person who is going to live, even as a vampire, generally has more brain matter inside their skull, and less of it soaking into the dust. Even healed, she would never be the same. I found that I did not want to do that to her. Still, I had to ask, give her the choice. It was a miracle that she was still conscious. I dared not lift her, there were so many broken bones. I simply knelt in her blood, and bent over to her. My first words to her were words of love. I hoped that my face would show her the depth of that love. But I couldn't touch her. Anything, even the lightest of kisses, would have been agony for her broken body. They had been thorough. And there was no time to waste if I were to give her a choice. "Do you wish me to turn you?" My voice quavered as tears threatened, and my throat closed, but I didn't care. She tried to smile, although her face and her teeth were smashed almost beyond recognition, and beyond any power of her body to carry out so simple an action. I thought she hissed "No." "No?" With a supreme effort, she managed to move one hand to rest on mine. Again the breathless hiss. "Help himwait" She could manage no more. I bent to her ear, and whispered more words of love. And promises. I would wait for her. I would bury her and my book as she wished. I would care for the childe still to come. I would never stop loving her, and someday, we would spend eternity together. I promised her. She rallied a little. "Take" I didn't understand. "Try again my love. What do you want me to take?" But she couldn't. It was then that I felt a presence at my side. Sekhmet had come into the city. She knew what Palestrina wanted. She moved to the other side of her, and sank her fangs into my mate's neck. Palestrina tried to smile. With cold tears sliding down my face, I did the same. Together we drank the life from her, such as remained, and took her into ourselves. She is always with me, now. A shadow of her true essence, but a presence nonetheless. Many times I feel that I have disappointed her, failed to live up to her expectations, but I have her love still. If only I had her.

When we were done, I sat for a moment or two, bereft. Sekhmet, too, was still, her head bowed. Then we heard the sound of the mob returning, still searching for me. I scooped the broken body up into my arms and fled with Sekhmet back to our cave. We buried her there, wrapped in the furs on which we had made love. In death I gave her the necklace that I had meant to give her in life. Sekhmet pawed out a shallow hole - the rock was close to the surface - and with my bare hands, I brought the rocky roof tumbling down onto her grave. She would be safe from desecration there. We were both sore and bleeding when we had finished. Well, it matched how we felt inside. With her I had also buried my book. You have heard of the Egyptians' Book of the Dead? That was it. Oh, archaeologists think that they have found it in the Pyramid Texts and the Coffin Texts, on scraps and scrolls of papyrus, but they have only found conjecture and speculation and pretence. The priests of old had heard of my book - I never speak of these things, but still, knowledge seeps out somehow, albeit imperfect and corrupted - and tried to recreate it for their Pharaohs. None of those inscriptions work. They are akin to a child's make-believe. They have tried to write rituals for bringing their Pharaoh to eternal life, and for giving their Pharaoh the power to protect their land forever. Nonsense. Some few of the priests, though, had a greater understanding. Their Books of the Dead were also entitled The Book of Coming Forth By Day. The spells they contain are meant to prevent the dead from coming forth by night, leaving their tombs barren and empty. Coming forth as vampires. My childer, my minions. Those spells never worked. You have my word on that. My book, the original Book of the Dead, is my journal, named in a fit of whimsy, although it was doubly appropriate now. My history. My notes on demons and on magic. It certainly tells of a way to eternal life, the way that I unwittingly travelled. And there are spells in there that I have learned. Many of those spells are the fruits of the search for a way to return Acathla to life. It was a dangerous enough book until I met Palestrina. And then it became more so. I have told you that she was a powerful sorcerer in her own right. What I have not told you is quite how powerful she would have been. I have met many magic users in my life. None were as powerful as she. And none were less corruptible by that power. During our time together, she tried many ways to help me, to help Sekhmet, to restore Acathla. These are all recorded in the book. All might have worked, if she had had full access to her power. But she was young, and needed both time and experience. With me, she would have had that, and who knows what would have happened to us all then. The book, then, contains a great deal of Palestrina's magic. She had said that she would try to return. She wanted to return to me, but if she could not, then perhaps she would return to her own magic. So I left the book with her. What you call Plan B. I don't need it, after all, to remember the contents - a demon never forgets - nor do I need it to remind me of the way she looked when she wrote in it, the way her little pink tongue would lick her lips as she laboured to make the lettering as neat as possible, the way she would smile in triumph as another spell for the future was recorded. I can do a very good job of torturing myself without any help at all. Peter, John and Philip? I took no action against them. Palestrina would not have wished it. Their deaths were entirely human affairs - you humans are good at that. And I have relics of them. Pieces of their bones, braided into my very special whip. Those apostles serve me, now. They almost killed Angelus, but he was strong enough to survive. That is good. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Seth may be confounded yet. Simon? He punished me by noising it around that I had killed his daughter, and that the consequences of that death lay on my head. That calumny has followed me all the days of my life since, in this dimension and others. Although I suppose that, in its most fundamental essence, it is true. Her death was my fault, and I deserve to suffer for it. He punished the Christians by giving them the burden of the fight against vampires. It was thought that he was deranged by grief, but in my view it was malice. He found some demons from the Adraste dimension, perhaps the most knowledgeable magic users of all, and he bought

from them a spell of the most enormous potency. It took the power wielded by ancient symbols, power to protect humans against demons, and gave that power to the symbol of the Cross, and to the Christians' holy writings and relics. And he targeted vampires alone. He didn't have the strength to do more, although I'm not sure he really wished to. He said it was so that vampires might never hurt true Christians again, in memory of his daughter. He died as part of the casting, pouring his life essence into the force of the spell, so that it would be maintained forever, across the planet. His spell holds good almost 2000 years later. The trappings of Christianity can now hurt vampires in a way that the symbols of other religions cannot. And so he got some measure of revenge on all of us. ~~~~~~ That, then, is the story of Palestrina. Sekhmet and I have returned to the cave each year, but of late civilisation has been encroaching on her solitude. Now the developers have moved up as far as the cave, and the archaeologists have found my greatest treasures. But even when I am not there, the cave is never left unguarded. This time, though, the guard was incapacitated for a while. The message only reached me on the very night I sent Angelus off to recover her. I have faith in him. He will do what is necessary. When he brings her back here, she will stay with me. I think she will like the Lion Courtyard. ************** When Sekhmet and I return to Aurelius' house, he is waiting for us, as if he had known we were on our way. Perhaps he did. He and the lioness have been together for a very long time now. Who knows how they have learned to communicate? I wonder if he knows that there is some bad news amongst the good. I get some searching looks from the rest of the clan, but they make way for me. Aurelius is in his chair. His throne. Spike and Drusilla are chained to the wall where I wasNo! I won't think about that. I stand in front of him. No bows, no homage of any sort. Just me. I expect Sekhmet to go to her accustomed place by his side, but she doesn't. She sits on her haunches next to me. As if she, too, were waiting to be judged. "I have what you sent me for." There is a small rustle behind me, a collective sigh of relief, perhaps. I am surprised by the look on his face. It is only there for a second, but it is one of absolute love and joy intermingled. These may not be emotions that I myself feel - in fact I'm astonished that any demon should feel them - but I can certainly recognise the expressions, and I file it away for future reference. I open my satchel and bring out the book. When he takes it from me, he puts it aside almost impatiently. That is a surprise - I had thought that writings as old as this must be of value to him. Then I take out the velvet-wrapped bundle. Handling the bones was odd, as if they should have some meaning for me, some connection, but they are clearly human, and so they can be nothing to do with me. Nevertheless, back in that room, I was impelled to do my best to show respect for them. More respect than a cardboard box, for sure. And it is with some reluctance that I hand them over to him. I wonder why? He takes them with what I can only describe as reverence. When he looks at me, I could swear that his eyes are shining, as if with tears. This is an old and powerful vampire, to the best of my knowledge the oldest and most powerful on the earth today. What are these bones to him? The older members of the clan seem to know, and I experience a sudden flare of temper at being excluded like this. But I don't let it get the better of me. After all, I still have to give him the bad news. "I am sorry, Aurelius, but they are not all there." His response is clipped and sharp.

"Tell me." "The man who had them was a senior curator at the Museum. He had taken the bones and the book home. He had copyists copying the book, and he had sold some of the bones. Three ribs and half of one thighbone. I understand they have gone to sorcerers." The silence behind me is deafening, leaden. "He is a minion, now, yours to do with as you please. There is another one that I have made into a childe. I have learned that he is the one who made the sales. He will know where to find the missing parts. The bodies are in the curator's study. There are a great many antiquities there, too." I reach into the bag again, I had intended to keep what I took, but I am somehow compelled to offer him this. A necklace of gold and lapis lazuli, very old. For some reason, Sekhmet whined when she saw it. When he takes it, I could almost believe that there was a hitch in his breathing, if he had needed to breathe. His attention is riveted to it, and he lays it gently over the cloth wrapped bundle in his lap. Aurelius' eldest comes forward, and kneels in front of his Sire. "If you will permit, I and my family will undertake to find the missing bones." "Thank you, Japheth. You will need to have access to Angelus' latest childe, then, the one still at the curator's house." Aurelius turns to me. "Angelus, will you permit this?" With those five words, everything has changed. I am a member of the clan again, with status. With the ability to say no. I may have to defend myself if I do say no, but I am once more Angelus of the Clan of Aurelius, and the entire clan knows it. A movement catches my eye. Spike. He's jealous of the new childe! Well, well, well, who would have believed it? I can have a lot of fun with that. But Aurelius is waiting. "I am happy to lend him to Japheth for as long as necessary. Once he is brought here, I will make the position clear to him." I turn to Japheth. I know him by sight and by repute, but I don't know him. He has a look of Aurelius though, a look that just the two of them share. I cannot decide what it is, but that knowledge seems to hover just outside my grasp, as if I should know. It irritates me, but I set the problem aside for another day. There are more immediate things to clear up. "If you need to keep him for any length of time, will you tend to his upbringing for me? Until he is returned to me?" "Of course." Spike is beside himself, and even Dru has a small pout. It won't be just the three of us, and they don't like it. Tough. I'll enjoy having a new childe to model in my own image. Aurelius despatches minions to fetch the two vamps-to-be, clear up the bodies, and bring into his possession every single item of value from the other house. That will be quite a haul, then. Well, I've got some of the best bits here. I wonder if he will try to claim them, now that he's given me my status back? Japheth returns to his family, and Aurelius turns his attention to me. "Well, Angelus, what shall we do with you now?" WHAT! It's OVER, surely! Finished. I've taken my punishment and carried out the task he gave

me. And he gave me back my status, didn't he? What now? He looks down that disdainful nose at me, from the height of his dais. Sekhmet hasn't moved from my side. "You will stay here until I say that you may go. You will give me your word that you and your childer will remain here. Without that, you *will* remain, in chains if necessary. I should prefer your word, but I will have your compliance. Which is it to be?" Why? Why does he want us to remain? And how long for? I've got things to do, plans to put into action. Apocalypses, that sort of thing. Nevertheless, this is perhaps the most powerful creature I may ever meet. Are there things I can learn from him? Should I make the most of a bad job? "How long do you wish us to stay?" His tone is sharp. "Until I say you may go!" I glance at Spike and Dru, and then look back at him. He nods. I walk over to them. "I am inclined to stay, to see what we can learn here. You will stay, too. Do you understand?" Spike looks mutinous - nothing new there, then - and I lean over to whisper softly in his ear. "Cross me on this, *boy*, and I'll show you that Aurelius knows nothing about punishment." He nods mutely. He'll keep his word, as best he can. I look questioningly at Dru. "We need to be here, Daddy." Who can ever understand the workings of Dru's mind? But that seems to mean she'll obey. I return to Aurelius. "You have my word. We will stay, of our own free will." I feel the need to make that point. Aurelius looks sceptical - he understands very well that Spike and Dru have exercised little free will here, but that is as it should be. He takes what he can get, though. "Very well. Let us introduce your childer. There are those here that you should meet, too." And with that, we seem to be back to normality within the clan. Spike and Dru are released from their chains. I am a master vampire, even if I am one of the youngest here, and I am no longer outcast for the sins of the Soul. Thank the Lords of Hell for that. Now I can think of no shadow that might hang over the Apocalypse I have planned. Surely Acathla will grant me pride of place in his hell, and I shall have toys and playthings for the rest of eternity. I shall miss some things, of course, things that I had forgotten. The opera, the ballet, fine wines, the smell of snow in the mountains, the moonlight on the sea; all of them better for a warm body in my arms whilst I drink down the hot, sweet, pulsing blood. Still, the blood aside, these are human things, not demonic. I'll manage without them. *************** You may wonder why I haven't gone after Palestrina's bones myself, rather than allowing my eldest surviving childe, Japheth, to take on that responsibility. It was the first thought in my mind. But as head of a clan, it is a mistake to try to do everything yourself, even the important things. Even the personally important things. It is good to allow others to do as much as possible. It helps bind the bonds more strongly, makes certain that the younger members continue to grow and learn. To be more capable, as they will need to be if anything happens to me. I may be powerful and eternal, but I am not invulnerable. I can be killed. I may, indeed, be killed, or worse, if I go up against Seth. And so I do everything I can to make sure that the clan can

function without me, yet are tied to me with bonds of steel. And to Palestrina. I still have an eye to the future. I have taken Palestrina into my rooms, where she will stay until a suitable casket is made. I stand a little aloof from the gathering, now, as I watch Angelus and his whelps circulate amongst vampires they only know by repute. He is suave and charming, with the darkness of obsidian and the sharpness of flint. He still has touches of madness, although some small amount of sanity has returned to him as he remembers the pleasures of this earth. And making a new childe speaks of an eye to a future. The signs are good. Drusilla was wise to get him away from Sunnydale and Acathla. The punishment he has taken here has brought him back a little to himself, as well - just as I intended. Strange, but true. His physical pain has countered his mental suffering of the last hundred years. You wouldn't understand. You are human. This is a demonic thing. Yes, I know what he plans to do, and I know he has Acathla. I contemplated taking the demon away from him, but he seems as safe there as anywhere, for the time being. At least there are none of my bloodline in Sunnydale just now to accidentally open the portal. Before Angelus leaves, I will look around for a better place to keep Acathla. It cannot be here, and it most certainly cannot be here, so long as Angelus is here and not yet stable. I have never stopped looking for the right magic to release Acathla. I have never lost hope, but I am coming to believe that I may not accomplish that task until Palestrina is returned to me. So I will keep Angelus here until I am satisfied that he no longer wishes to end the world. He always loved the more sensuous pleasures that the world had to offer. I don't think it will be too long before his nature reasserts itself. The nature of this beast is to enjoy life to the full. Hell would be a big disappointment to him. I'm counting on him seeing that. What's that? You think that I am a monster, still, for the punishment I meted out to him? Do you understand nothing? We are not humans, we are vampires. We *are* monsters. I think we agreed that earlier. But we do have our own demonic codes and rules. It is absolutely forbidden to slay your Sire. The only possible penalty is death. Similarly for slaying a grandsire, or for lining up on the side of the Slayer and vowing that every vampire in existence must die. You know that he has done all these things. Or that Angel did. Most of the clan see little difference between Angel and Angelus, and do not understand that where two spirits inhabit a body, the demon is not always the one in charge. He had the soul for one hundred years, and even that isn't long enough for a peace to be reached. For each spirit to learn to live with the other, to learn to compromise a little. For the demon to corrupt the soul, perhaps, and for the soul to corrupt the demon. Most of them wanted his death at first. I gave them something else. I gave them a victim with a grossly unreasonable punishment. I gave him the death sentence three times over, and the older ones know it. That whip doesn't just have the bones of saints braided into it. It is wreathed in spells, including one for driving demons out of bodies. No vampire has lasted more than twelve hundred lashes before they have embraced that spell and left the body to fall to ashes. It is one of my crueller methods of execution. As soon as his mettle became clear, they were on his side, willing him on. We like an underdog, a plucky loser, as much as you do. I gave them that. They wanted him to live through something that no vampire has lived through before, and by doing so, they forgave him all his sins, whether they realised it at the time or not. They even have a sneaking admiration for him, now. It was the only way. They may not quite trust him for the future yet, but the past is forgiven. Small steps. And how did I know that he would survive where no other has? I didn't. Not for certain. But I was sure that Seth had picked someone stronger than most as his plaything for the centuries to come. And I knew what Angelus needed to have in order to survive the pain. His soul mate. Neither of them knows it, of course, but I do. So does Sekhmet. Our knowledge came from our shared blood, the blood of Palestrina. It showed us the Slayer imprinted through his being, his flesh and his spirit. Cut him in half and you would discover her. Sekhmet tells me that if you were to cut her in half, you would find him. And it was Sekhmet who has the power to bring them together as they were. Another small gift from Palestrina's blood, allied to her own demonic abilities. The Slayer kept him here, when he

would otherwise have embraced his final death. No one else could have done it. They would willingly walk through the fires of Gehenna for each other, though they don't know it yet. And the soul? Angel? That will, indeed, be complicated. But interesting. Word of a demon. We all have gifts from Palestrina, Sekhmet and I more than most, but the Clan of Aurelius is definitely different from other clans. We all exchange blood with each other, and that has made us different. We are not the same demons as others. Angelus hates me for what I did to him on his only other visit, but that was necessary. I bonded him to me in the sight of the clan - there can be no doubting that - and he became equal to a childe of my own. He took Palestrina's blood direct from me, during that bonding. It has helped him. I know that she held his hand during the whole of his punishment. And he carries my imprimatur, my approval, my mark on his shoulder. He is mine. My responsibility. Mine. He took more of her blood, along with mine after the flogging, after the Watcher's potion prevented him from accessing the Slayer's power and I had to feed him myself. It has given him powers abilities. Oh, nothing big. Demons are creatures of magic, so all can use it to some extent, and this doesn't change that by much. But it does change it, and even I'm not sure exactly how. I know it will make him stronger, and so will the essence that he took from the Slayer. The Watcher's potion will wear off soon. He took her blood - twice - and she tasted his. Oh yes, she was here, but in a complicated sort of way. And not so that you could see. Let's leave it at that. Taking a mate is a state of mind, and an exchange of blood. They are mates, now, although they are going to have to find that out the hard way. Denial is simply not an option. I shall watch with interest to see how this plays out. I wonder how far Seth's hand is in this, another torment for his plaything, or whether this is the best possible defence Angelus could have against Seth? Time will tell. The tattoo? Have I not told you about that? Ah, yes. It certainly marks him as mine, but the winged lion was not originally my mark. It was Palestrina's, her sigil and seal, adopted on her eighteenth birthday. She said it made her think of me. I took it for my own after her death, adding only my initial. It is that tattoo, woven with spells as it is, that permits Palestrina's blood to work so well within him, helping him, strengthening him. Much more so than with any other member of the clan except myself and Sekhmet. It is as if he, too, had drunk from her veins on that terrible afternoon. Without the tattoo, Sekhmet could not have brought the Slayer to him during his ordeal. Who knows what other aid we will be able to give him through its magic. None of the others knows, of course. They think that it was simply a whim of mine to mark a promising but headstrong youngster who was already in a state of rebellion against Nest. I don't think any of them begrudged him that particular rebellion, because they despised Nest. They loved Darla, though. All I can do, now, is keep him here until his continuing sanity is assured; give him someone to hate almost as much as he hates the Rom. Someone whom he thinks would not be under his sway if we all take a trip to Hell. Someone who would make it worthwhile giving up the Apocalypse for, so that he can have vengeance in a more earthly way. Me. We're already a good way down that road, so I think I'll take us a bit further. The evening is coming to an end, and there are arrangements to make "Angelus." I hold out a hand to him as I take another sip of the very fine claret that we are drinking. "Come. It's a very long time since you were here last, and you didn't stay to grace my bed even then." Only a Sire has the right to do this, and I am the only sire left in the line to Angelus. I am the only creature in all the dimensions that can command this demon, can rightfully force myself upon him. Any others would be killed, either by Angelus himself, or by the rest of us. He will

hate me, but he will obey. I think. If looks could kill, I should be a small pile of dust. But the look is gone in an instant. Sensible boy. He'll store it away, though, to add to the fires of his hatred. He really, really detests submission. You can be sure that I'm going to exploit that with a vengeance. His hatred of me is, after all, my own sacrifice on the altar of our survival. Your survival too, come to that. You should be grateful. So, he comes with me, this proud and haughty demon, this dominant alpha male. I can tell that he is plotting how to take away my power, take the Clan from me. Good, that will give him something to live for. Seth chose well, from his point of view. He has a demon with six of the seven deadly sins in very large measure - pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger and greed. Some more than others, that is true, but he's no stranger to any of them. Never sloth, though - could you ever imagine Angelus being slothful? And his counterpart, Angel? Oh, yes, I know a great deal about Angel. There was never a time when my eye has not been on him. The soul has six of the seven heavenly virtues, to match. Faith, hope, charity, fortitude, justice and temperance. At least, he does when he is with his soul mate. Faith and hope were a little hard to come by in that lean century that has just passed. But he never quite gave up on them, or he would be dead now. The other one? Prudence? Have you ever known Angel to be prudent? No, me neither. Seth can play him like a violin, in so many different ways, but he has the strength to live through it and still face more. I cannot be seen to help him. But I will. Sekhmet and I both. For as long as we can. ************ I have kept Angelus here for almost three months, and he hates me with every cell of his body. He wants to love me, as all vampires should love their Sire, for I have exchanged enough blood with him that I truly stand in place of a sire to him now, and that makes the hatred all the more poignant. All the more painful. There's nothing like a family feud for plumbing the depths of bitterness and passion, don't you think? The exchange of blood has had an interesting repercussion. The Slayer's essence still runs through his veins. And I have tasted it. We're all family now. What difference will that make, I wonder? He doesn't show his hatred of me, though, except for the occasional look in his eyes, or perhaps a fleeting expression on his face. Nothing I can openly take exception to. The clan are gone, most back to their homes, Japheth to try and recover the remainder of Palestrina's bones, taking Angelus' youngest childe with him. I know that Angelus has kept from me the almost completed copy of my book that the forgers had made. That's fine. He should be able to make use of some of it, and at least Seth cannot say that I helped him to access the magic it contains. I have made it in my way to finish the copyists' job - he has a complete book, now. And I do believe his sanity is returning. We have availed ourselves freely of the entertainments offered by Cairo - and other cities - and Angelus has become a popular figure in certain circles. I'm very well connected. I have allowed him plenty of rein to enjoy himself, and he has found many pleasures amongst the women and young men here, pleasures that reinforce the fact that he is a dominant alpha male. But at the end of it all, each day, he must return to my bed and submit, and he hates me for it. Again, in a very complicated way. We have been to a diplomatic ball tonight, although I made him leave his two whelps behind. Neither of them could be trusted in that sort of company. We are back in my rooms, and even the wine - and the blood - which we have drunk doesn't make this any easier for him. We are both naked now, and I intend him to learn that, although he may be one of the most accomplished lovers in the world, I can still show him a thing or two, even after all these weeks. That should fan the flames of envy - and hate - nicely. It doesn't help that Sekhmet, who always has free access, is here, too, and she is very restless. I have never seen her like this. She is growling and pacing, and flashing her fangs in distress. And I know that she is very distressed, I can feel her in my blood, but I cannot understand the cause.

I go to her, to soothe and comfort her, to try to learn more of her distress, when all hell breaks loose with her. She throws back her head and howls, as she hasn't since Palestrina was stoned to death by her father, since Acathla was petrified and turned into a gateway to hell by Seth. She is beside herself, and in her frenzy she seizes my shoulder, her fangs, all seven inches of them, buried to the hilt in my flesh. If Angelus wants to kill me, now is the time for him to do it. I am helpless in the grasp of a demon cat who weighs more than twice as much as I do. Yet he doesn't. He walks over to Sekhmet and throws his arms around her head, regardless of the fact that she is shaking me as if I were a doll, as if I were Drusilla's Miss Edith. Angelus holds on, whispering in her ear. It does no good. She is crazed beyond hearing. So he straddles her back, grasping her jaws firmly in both hands, and drags them apart by main force. As soon as I am free, I join my weight to his in holding my companion down, our bodies blanketing hers. Have you ever tried to restrain a pet cat? An ordinary domestic moggy? If you have, then you know how hard it is. They only have eighteen claws, five on each front paw, and four on each one at the back, but it is as if each paw had developed circular saws. Then there are the teeth. It takes four strong men and a large bath towel to hold down an unwilling pet cat. And still blood is spilled. Imagine holding down a sabre tooth that runs to 400 pounds and has demonic strength. With circular saws. After a very short time, we are definitely the worse for wear. But it has been enough. Sekhmet is sobbing now, crying like a kitten, her body otherwise quiescent. Between us, we get her onto the bed, regardless of the blood that Angelus and I are freely spilling - the minions can take care of that. We both know what is needed, even if not why, and we hold her close, I at the front and Angelus spooned up to her back. She continues to cry, but gradually I begin to understand, among the roiling emotions, just what is wrong. It is my fault. I should never have left him unguarded. In my concern that Angelus would bring about the end of the world, I have seriously underestimated the Slayer and her companions. All my fault. Acathla, left by Angelus to await his return, is dead. Sekhmet's soul mate, whom we have spent five and a half thousand years trying to free from Seth's stone prison, is dead. Five and a half thousand years entombed in stone, for love. Dead, for love. I cannot help it. My tears join with Sekhmet's. Angelus is uneasy. Our shared blood tells him that something is grievously wrong, but he cannot tell what. So he asks me. What to tell him? That his means of destroying the world is gone? I settle for the other truth. "Sekhmet has a soul mate from whom she has been forcibly parted for five and a half thousand years. He has just died." He is silent - what, indeed, could he say? But his hold on the lioness tightens, and I feel him try to comfort her with his touch and his thoughts. We lie there for a very long time, two vampires trying to comfort a bereaved lioness, all of us bearing the scars of other lionesses. Palestrina. The Slayer. Our sad little pride. ************** Aurelius has decided to let us go. Spike, Drusilla and I will go straight back to Sunnydale. I have been away too long. I have things to do. In many ways I shall be sorry to end this world, as you know it. I'm almost sure that Aurelius will never come within my grasp in the Hell dimensions. He has made me suffer pain and humiliation. He has made me submit. I dearly want to take everything away from him, to see him humiliated, tormented, tortured. And the Slayer. I am puzzled by that. I know that my visions of her were just that: visions. Figments of my imagination. But they seemed so real. And what about that single hair I still have? Where did that come from? Why does my blood burn when I think of her? Still, I know what I should do. I should put her in her place. Make her see that she is no match for me, that she has no hold whatsoever upon me. That all she can ever be to me is a toy, a plaything. For my own peace of mind, I should do that. But there won't be time, what with the Apocalypse and all.

Still, Acathla has waited this long. Perhaps he can wait a little longer. Just a few days. Even if I don't have time to deal with Aurelius, I can at least deal with the Slayer. Play with her for a while, until I break her. Like just another toy. Forget those visions. Forget the way I felt. Forget that she ever seemed like the breath of life. That isn't what demons feel. I don't even breathe. *********** Angelus has gone, but he'll be back. Perhaps to bring me down, if he can. I won't let him succeed, though. I have too much to live for. To wait for. The ancient Egyptians had many strange, varied and often conflicting beliefs, you know. Or they seem strange, now, to us. To you. One of the reasons why they began to mummify their dead, for example. They believed that after a period of time, three thousand years to be exact, the soul would return to the body, to reanimate the dead flesh. This could not happen if the flesh had rotted, so they preserved it as a mummy. How on earth they imagined a soul could reanimate a thing with no organs, and stiff with preservatives and resins, I really don't know. All nonsense, of course - just how many 3,000 year-old mummies have you seen lurching out of the tomb? Movies don't count. All nonsense. Exceptexceptperhaps some of it isn't. Oh, souls certainly don't come back to rotting bones, but perhaps they do come back to new bodies and new beginnings. If they are allowed. If nothing else tethers them. And 3,000 years seems to be about the length of time a soul needs in order to once more brave the journey back to the flesh. How do I know? From bitter experience. When I reached that age, it seems that my soul was still tethered to the consciousness it had had. It came home. Angel was not quite so alone as he thought. I was a little luckier - I had had time to mature, to mellow, to cease being quite such a drivendemon. Sekhmet? Yes, she, too. She lost a lot of her anger about that time. It was still a dreadful experience for me, and it took much more than Angel's century to reconcile the two halves of my being. To regain my sanity. I have discussed this with no one. I do not believe that any one else knows, although I think Japheth suspects. He, too, disappeared for a couple of centuries after he reached that age. But we never speak of it. None of the others are of an age yet. Of those that were, Japheth is the only survivor. It is a cruel ordeal. So, I had had my soul for half a millennium when I met Palestrina. Soul and demon, we had reached some sort of compromise. Soul and demon both, she loved me. I am still a vampire. Still a monster. But perhaps I am not a great deal different to you. Nevertheless, I am what I am. And if souls do return in new bodies, perhaps Palestrina will. If she does, perhaps she will remember me. Perhaps she will return to me, to her blood, to her magic. Ultimately, and despite what her father did, I was responsible for her death. I deserve to be punished, and I have been. But I have only another thousand years to wait. Sekhmet may have to wait longer.

The End

The Nature of the Beast

Author: Jo Feedback : Pretty please. This is my first ever fic, so be gentle. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, not even poor Mr Elsom. If they were, I'd look after them better. No money will ever be made from this fic. Distribution: You want it? Really? Gosh. Just tell me where it's going please. Spoilers: Angel lost his soul once too often. I like audience participation, so you choose the occasion. Dawn and Faith still came into the picture; Spike and Buffy still had sex. As to the rest, it matters not for this fic. Rating: Possibly R for a tiny bit of sex. Content: B/A(us) Alternate future reality (although who knows, might become canon if they keep slipping Angel's soul out...) and character deaths Summary: Forever, that's the whole point, right. But how? And who? Author's note: Spot the nod to Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnet XLIII From the Portuguese and the Orwellian reference.

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The vampire, true to his nature, slipped unnoticed into the hospice. Unnoticed by all, that is, except for one young nurse, fresh from her training. She was fetching clean bed linen for Mr Elsom who had had his third accident of the night. And it wasn't 10.00 o'clock yet. This girl had inherited more from her grandmother than she knew, and that mystic touch meant that, unlike her oblivious colleagues, she clearly saw the tall, broad-shouldered figure, a dark-haired man in his midtwenties, slip silently down the corridor into room 101. A shudder went through her, but she bent to her task and tried to forget both the casual beauty of the man who had just passed her by, and the way he had made her neck itch. Inside the room, Angelus paused to look at the sleeping woman, laying his coat over the arm of a chair as he did so. Satisfied that she had not roused, he moved silently into the small bathroom area and carefully cleansed his mouth. He had just fed, a glorious kill filled with pain and terror for his chosen victim, although it had held no pleasure for him this night, and he did not want to come to her with the taste of blood on his fangs. It would only upset her. His

ablutions complete, he returned to the bedside chair and sat, waiting patiently for her to awaken, trying to ignore the overpowering smells of the hospice. Humans entering any hospital can smell disinfectant and death, whether they recognise it or not. It was so much worse for him, with his heightened senses, like a knockout blow to his sinuses, threaded through with the reek of tainted blood that coiled and knotted in his belly. And some of it came from her. He saw that she was old now, her bones small and brittle as a bird, although her skin remained remarkably fresh and firm for all her 93 years and her hair, although white, was still thick and lustrous. A legacy, he thought, of her slayer healing powers. She was still beautiful to him. The cancer, however, had almost finished eating her away. He could tell that she had little time left - a day or two at the most. Its progress had been quick and there were few external marks, but he could smell her approaching death. And he knew that she was in pain. All the others were long gone, her family, her friends, her loved ones, but he would be there for her at the end. His obsession. His golden girl. Buffy. Once, many years ago, when he was still plagued by the soul, he had given her a claddagh ring; it was a simple thing of inexpensive silver but wrapped within its circle had been the hopes and dreams of the soul. She hadn't worn it on her finger for long after that soul had slipped away, but he could see it now, on a silver chain around her slim neck. Somehow, that worried him more than he cared to acknowledge. Instead of the claddagh, she now wore a wedding ring on her finger, a plain gold band that had been there for almost 70 years, and a platinum and diamond eternity ring that she had worn for 50 years. Perhaps it *was* almost an eternity for a human, but sitting in this chair, now, he would gladly have sacrificed all the years still to come for him to buy more life for her. She stirred then, and opened her eyes, the pain in them washed away by the sight of him. "Angel, you came back to me." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Always, my love." He drew the chair closer to the bed and took her right hand in his. She was almost as cold as he, now. "Let me look at you," she whispered, and he leaned closer, his eyes

searching hers before he pressed a tender kiss to her brow. "Let me see you," she whispered again, and he knew what she meant. He allowed himself to change, and her left hand, the one that he hadn't caught in his own, came up to touch him. She didn't have the strength, though, so he caught that hand, too, and guided it up to the harsh planes of his face. She gently ran her fingers over the face of the demon, feeling the bony ridges and angles, then lower, touching his mouth and fangs. Deliberately, she pressed one finger to the sharpest fang and was rewarded by a few drops of blood. His tongue licked out and he tasted her, savouring her as a famished man savours his last morsel of food. The only chemical in her system was morphine, given to help the pain, and that gave her blood a hint of poppy. But otherwise, it was pure Buffy, sunlight and daffodils. And it was still Slayer's blood, rich with power. He wanted to lose himself in that taste, but a small noise at the door brought him back to himself, and to his human face. Just in time. A middle-aged, motherly woman, one of the senior nurses, came in, carrying a supper tray. She smiled at him as she set the tray down on the bedside table. "Hello, Angel. How's Buffy tonight?" He wanted to rage at her, to scream, to slice through her flesh until she was in as much pain as Buffy, then ask her how Buffy felt. The question was not a stupid one, though, and he fought back the bile. The nurses had discovered that Buffy would not tell them how badly she was hurting, so how could they adjust the doses of her painkiller? He knew, though, and he was the one who told them. Tonight was not encouraging. "Worse. The morphine doesn't really work at all now." The nurse frowned, and he knew what she was thinking. A larger dose would probably kill her. Was that what he wanted? The unspoken question hung between them until a weak but imperative voice cut across their silent communication. "Hello! Patient here and conscious! Morphine doesn't work, then no more morphine. So, you can just take this damn thing out of my arm." She was scrabbling ineffectually at the needle that delivered regular shots of the drug. The nurse looked a question at Angelus. He hesitated, then nodded. No point in keeping Buffy subject to the little pains as well as the big ones. The nurse knew that he hadn't

forgotten her first unspoken question, and that he would seek her out if he decided that the answer should be yes. She removed the patch holding the canula in place, then pulled the needle free. Hesitantly, she ran her hand gently over Buffy's hair before giving her an awkward little hug. Then she was all business again. "Don't let supper go cold," she warned, and bustled out of the room. The tray held a small bowl of sweet, creamy rice pudding and some little almond biscuits that would melt on the tongue. The bed was reasonably wide, and Buffy was tiny. There was just room for Angelus to drape himself beside her. He did so now, toeing his shoes off and then propping his upper body against the mound of pillows that supported her. Gently, with no tubes and needles left to get in the way, he eased her onto his lap, her head resting in the crook of his neck, his arm tenderly curled around her shoulders. Then, between kisses and caresses, he began to feed her. They had almost finished when the nurse returned, carrying a tray of tea, the thin china cups rattling slightly as she pushed the door open. She frowned when she saw the lover-like embrace. She had no idea what these two were to each other. They shared the same surname, so they must be related. Grandmother and grandson, perhaps. Or great-grandson. She knew Buffy's age, and the man couldn't be out of his twenties yet. And they clearly loved each other. She had watched them for days now, and there was love in every touch and every word. One of her more gutter-minded colleagues had confided the view that this was a man who preyed on the elderly and vulnerable, out to make sure he benefited from an old lady's will, but she knew love when she saw it. And whilst she had a sense that Angel could be dangerous if he chose, she couldn't see him as a predator on the weak. Still, what did it matter? No one else had visited Buffy. No one else had telephoned to enquire about her health, or sent cards or flowers. Just this man, who had been here for the whole three weeks that Buffy had been here. Who had insisted that Buffy have a west-facing room so that she could watch the sunset over the cliffs outside, but who also insisted that the curtains be drawn for the rest of the day so that she could nap whenever she needed to. Just this man, who only left her side for an hour or so each evening and who attended to almost every need. And whose pain and loss seemed real enough. So she simply put the tea tray down and cleared away the supper remains. When she left, Buffy still rested in the circle of Angelus' embrace, her head on his chest. He knew that she was half asleep, her hands resting on her stomach, so

he simply let her be, dropping the occasional feather-light kiss onto the top of her head. As she breathed, her hands rose and fell slightly, and the light glinted off the rings on her finger. His rings. His mate. The wedding, a civic one, with no religious symbols involved, might not have been quite legal - his documents were forged, to give him an existence - but it had been a marriage for all that. For him, the vampire mating ritual by which he had claimed her, and she had claimed him, had been the true, and eternal, binding, but Buffy had wanted to be married in the sight of God and man. He gave a bitter smile. More like in the face of God and man, but he had done it, and willingly. The soul had slipped away once too often to ever return, and when he had left behind the insanity of those early days after his release from its nauseating grip, when he had admitted his need for her and his love, when he had made her realise that she belonged to him absolutely and irrevocably, he had been able to deny her nothing. Certainly, Soul Boy had loved her, but that had been a candle to the sun of the demon's devotion. The demon, who was all about passion and excess. That was just the nature of the beast. They had had almost 70 magical years, but he thought now of what had not been. There were no children. He couldn't, of course, but only his jealousy had prevented her from conceiving. He could never have permitted her to be touched by another man, that was understood. But even the thoughtof using a sperm bank had been too much for him. She had insisted that she didn't want children anyway (although he'd known that she lied); that what she had was more than enough. Now the thought that nothing of Buffy would remain alive when she was dead sent a chill down his spine, and he knew that the Earth would be the poorer for it. Sure, there had been Dawn, created from Summers' blood. But the monks, good as they had been, hadn't been good enough, and Dawn had proved to be as barren as he was. There was nothing to hold him here once his mate was gone, and he could not, would not, face eternity without her. Throughout her life, he'd never allowed himself to contemplate an existence without Buffy, and even at her age, when he should have been expecting it for years, he had been unprepared for losing her. There were times when she had wanted to talk about her mortality, but fear and panic had overwhelmed him at the thought, and he had not permitted further discussion. Well, this night, his plans had been made. He had arranged the funeral, and a solitary affair that would be. The grave plot was chosen and paid for, the headstone would be ready, inscribed with just her name - the name he had given to her at their marriage - and the

word 'Beloved'. When it was all done, he would sit on the grave and wait for sunrise. His ashes would eventually mingle with her remains, but the stone would bear no reference to him. The world needed no reminder, and the Earth would breathe easier once he no longer stalked it. He was supremely indifferent to the fate of his territories once he met his final death. Spike was long gone, dust at his hand, punishment for encroaching where he was not permitted, and Drusilla would never be accepted in his own place. He had never made another childe. His generals would fight over the carcass - let them. He held the underworld of the entire hemisphere in an iron fist, with Buffy as his consort. He controlled four Hellmouths, 3 of them dormant and one semi-active. There was plenty to fight over. His empire would almost certainly go the way of Alexander's, torn to pieces by the survivors. Buffy would have cared, but she would be gone. Already the fragile alliances were strained during his prolonged absence. He knew that from his phone conversations with his aides. They wanted him to come back and deal with the bickering and posturing before it turned to outright breach, or rebellion. They would wait a long time for that. When the cause of her illness had been diagnosed, it was Buffy who had wanted to come here, to reconnect to humanity, to die human. He could deny her nothing, and he would not leave her while breath remained in her body. Why, he wondered, had he never turned her? She could have been at his side for eternity. They could have ruled the world, together. But he knew the answer. It was her humanity that he loved. Her spirit, her warmth. Her soul. He could have re-ensouled her - he knew how to do that now - but she still would not have been his golden girl. His Buffy. She would be the torn and pathetic creature that he had been, whilst the soul was in residence. And so, somewhat to her surprise, perhaps, he had left her human, and revelled in her. He felt her move in his arms and relaxed his hold a little. She grimaced, and her eyes were clouded with pain. He knew that it wouldn't stop now, and he thought that he would seek out the darkhaired nurse, would give his mate surcease that very night. His own agony would not last long afterwards. But seventy years with a soul mate is a long time, and something of his thoughts must have shown on his face. "Angelus", she whispered.

He frowned. She only ever called him Angelus formally, when others were around to hear. In private, she had never broken the habit of calling him Angel, and although he had raged, and even beaten her for it, after a while it had ceased to matter. "Angelus, I know what you plan to do when I'm dead." How could she know? No one knew, except him. And if he didn't do that, then the world would burn to assuage his rage and pain. She couldn't have borne that, so he wouldn't. He caressed her face and took evasive action. "Hush, my love. It will be OK." He stroked her back, unaware of the little soothing sounds that he made to comfort her. She struggled a little to face him. "No, it won't. I don't want you dead, I want you to live for me." Bile rose in his throat and, to his surprise, tears to his eyes. Since when did demons cry? And he suddenly needed to be honest with her. He closed his eyes against the tears. "I can't do it, Buffy. I can't face a day without you on this planet. And never an eternity without you. I need - oblivion." "Do you think you'll get it?" That gave him pause, and he searched her face for meaning. "You haven't thought it through, my love. You and I may not know enough about the hereafter, but we know more than most. Where is Angel's soul now?" "Resting in the heavenly aether." His words were clipped and sour. "And where will my soul be, when I'm gone?" The sour taste was still in his mouth, and it was all he could do not to roar his fury. Moments passed as he tried to calm himself for her. He couldn't help it. He felt his fangs extend, and a growl rumble through him. She was still patiently waiting for him to answer. "With his," he managed to say. She smiled a little. He wasn't the only one with issues about possessiveness.

"And where will you be if you suicide?" Not with them, that was for sure. He said so, with some asperity. She tried to pull away from him a little, the better to look him in the face. He relaxed his hold further, to let her. "Do you truly think that the dark powers will grant you oblivion? Do you?" She paused, to make sure her point had driven home. "You'll be suffering the torments of Hell, and you know it. You like pain..." She paused again, and gave him a small, secret smile, "But that will be a whole different dimension of it, won't it? Do you think I'll let that happen? Do you think I'll leave you alone there? Do you think I won't come and find you?" She was serious. His dead heart clenched within his still chest. His golden girl, entering the fires of Gehenna for his sake. Never. He tried again, although his throat closed against the words, and forcing them out made his voice quaver a little. "You still love Soul Boy. You know that. You can be together. It doesn't matter what happens to me. Go to him, have your promised eternity with him. You and he had a destiny, and I made it mine. I'll never be sorry for that, but you will not come to Hell with me. I utterly forbid it!" She laughed in his face. "Fool," she murmured, lovingly. Fear gripped him then. She really would do it. She would find a way. He didn't care about the soul's feelings in the matter, but he really, really cared about hers. "What must I do to persuade you?" She smiled again. "Live for me," she whispered, and her strength seemed to fail her for a moment. He was about to deny her, but she rallied. "What have we been doing for the last seventy years?" He was bewildered. They had been savouring every nuance, every inflection, every taste of their love. But that wasn't the answer to her question. "I don't know what you mean."

"I know you don't. My destiny with Angel was to save the world. When you took his place with me, you took his place there as well." How could he explain? He knew she would understand the words, but not believe. She always saw him as something better than he was. She was the Slayer. She was his mate, his consort, his love. His possession. His responsibility. He had fought by her side to protect her, nothing more. True, he had also fought instead of her when she grew too old and fragile, and he had deemed direct intervention necessary, but that had been only to please her. If he had saved her friends in the process, it was not for their own sakes. If protecting her meant saving the world as well, so be it. That was simply a side effect of his primary actions. And she loved the world as it was - how could he have let it go to hell with her still in it? No new slayer had come forward after Faith's death. Buffy was, therefore, still the primary slayer, and she intended to protect the world. He had only made that possible. He could deny her nothing. He had established his empire not solely because he got off on power, but because it was easier to control the underworld than to keep fighting it. Peace, of a sort, had broken out. Demons obeyed his rules or were slaughtered without mercy. And his rules were the ones that she could live with. As for the humans, those he fed from now were generally those who threatened this fragile balance. Weak or powerful, it made no difference; they became his next meal and the peace held. Just. When he was gone, things would change. He could never hide his emotions from her, and he no longer tried. She read his face and his heart like an open book. "Whether you meant to or not, you took Angel's place, and you did his job. Perhaps better than he would have done, because you were so much more ruthless about it. You did things he would never have done. But you did them with no promises for the future. No reward. No..." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "No offer of redemption." There had been a reward of course. Her. But redemption? His words were soft, because his throat was hurting even more with unshed tears. "There is no redemption for a demon. You know that." "No. I don't. There are plenty of souled humans who behave like demons. What's the difference between a soul and a demon?" He struggled to reply, to make her understand, but she continued. "Soul or demon, Angel or Angelus. It doesn't matter; it's all you. I

couldn't have loved you otherwise." So much effort had exhausted her, and her head fell back onto his shoulder. He held her close to him, drinking in the underlying scent of Buffy, trying but failing to ignore the overlying scent of approaching death. And he was utterly terrified. If there were no oblivion to be had, what would he do? How would he go on? The unshed tears overwhelmed him then, and ran wet and chill down his cheeks. Buffy lay there, for the moment spent, her beloved demon weeping into her hair. A little while later, the nurse returned to remove the untouched tea tray. She thought that they were both sleeping until the man raised his head. His eyes were red and his expression hag ridden. "Is she...?" "No. We're...fine" She hesitated. "I'm just down the corridor...if you need me?" He understood, and nodded. She left the room quickly and quietly. There was no need for that - Buffy was still awake, and wondering how to extract the promises she needed from her demon. She eventually decided on her usual approach - full frontal attack. Why change a successful strategy now, when all depended on it? "Angelus, she whispered, There it was again, he thought. She had said that, Angel or Angelus, it was all him. Why was she deliberately differentiating now? Perhaps it was the remaining morphine in her system, mazing her thoughts. "I'm here," he responded, touching her cheek. She opened her eyes. Her voice strengthened. "What if this isn't the only time - what if we get another go round? I want you here, waiting for me. Can you do that? Could you wait for me?" He was silent, weighing the question, trying to find out whether he had the strength to answer it in the way she clearly wanted and expected. His throat hurt even more, and he was reduced to monosyllables now. "Yes."

"And if that doesn't happen, if eternity is elsewhere, I want you there with me and him. Can you do that? Could you share me with him? Forever?" Pain lanced through him, holding hands with hope. "Buffy..." he groaned, unable to articulate more. "Can you?" she insisted, her voice more imperative. Hope wrenched the answer from him. "Yes." Where had that come from? Could he really share with Soul Boy? With blinding clarity, he realised that he could, if that was the only way of keeping her with him. But could Soul Boy share with him? The answer didn't matter. It was an impossible question anyway. There was no redemption for a monster such as he. Only Hell awaited him. Not as an honoured addition to the ranks, though. His actions in establishing a peace for humanity would certainly make him more of a welcome entertainment. He needed to tell her, to make her understand, but he couldn't speak. It was a physical impossibility just now. He didn't have to put it into words. She understood. "You've kept me safe and loved me. Why wouldn't he accept you? Especially when you are he and he is you. And even a bit of spiritual male posturing might be better than the alternative, don't you think?" He nodded, dumbly. She pressed on. "I want you to promise me two things. I want you to give me your binding oath. Swear to me. Swear!" She was fierce in her insistence, showing a strength he didn't think was left to her. She gripped his hand tightly. He swallowed hard and found his voice. "What do you want from me?" His voice was hoarse, the sounds of a stranger. She was half way there. No faltering now; she might not get another shot at this. She rallied what was left of her strength. "I want you and Angel and I to be together forever, wherever that might be. I want you to go for the redemption that was promised to

him. You must have gone a long way towards earning it now. You've only saved the world like a zillion times. Make them give you a backdated agreement!" He couldn't help it. In times of stress, she was still the teenager who had bowled him over, him and the soul both, and she was a balm to his wounded spirit. He flashed her a billion megawatt smile and hugged her close. She never ever accepted that he was completely evil; she always saw him as better than he was. Now she thought that there might be redemption. He thought back on his deeds, his casual, selfish, relentless evil, the pleasure he had taken in it, and knew there was not, even if he wanted it. He could not give that oath. And he couldn't lie to her. Nor could he look at her, to see her disappointment in him when he told her this, so he continued to hold her close. "There is no redemption for a demon. You ask what will never be given." Sheer willpower gave her the strength to pull away and see the agony on his face. "Buffoon," she hissed. He pulled back a little further, startled. "Tell me why Angel's soul is in the aether, or in heaven or whatever. Why isn't he in Hell, suffering for the people you've killed?" He sighed. "Because Angel had a good soul. He made some human mistakes, but they weren't much to speak of. When I took his body, and his memories, his soul was gone, and not responsible for anything I did. You know this." "If I know this, then why don't you?" Her look was measuring, weighing his understanding of what came next. "If his soul needed no redemption, why was he offered it? The powers that be don't make unnecessary gestures." He hadn't thought of it like that, but he believed he knew the answer. "Because they wanted a vampire to jerk around and they played him for his guilty conscience. It was an offer *he* thought he needed, and it let them get him by the short hairs. Perhaps they even kept the promise and gave it to him. Perhaps that's why he's where he is." She appeared to consider that for a moment.

"No, I don't think so. And even if it's true, the offer was made to both of you - you were sharing the same body, the same thoughts, remember. But I really think the offer was made to you. Or the part of the both of you that is you. The demon. The Scourge of Europe. The one that has actually done the evil that Angel was willing to pay for. And I think the offer is still open." Another regret, he thought. Why did I never let her talk about this before? Why wait until now, when her strength was almost gone? There seemed to be possibilities here that he needed time to discuss with her. Or perhaps it was all delusion. How could he ever tell? And what, indeed, was he prepared to do, to keep her by his side forever? At least he knew the answer to that. Anything, whatever the cost to himself. She saw the indecision play across his features and pressed home for the kill. "You don't know whether the offer was meant for you, do you? And you'll never know, if you take an early morning nap on my grave. I want you to give us a chance at eternity. Swear to me." He thought what it might mean, to be in servitude, no, enslavement was a better word, to the powers that be, and was startled to find sympathy for the soul. He could imagine only two things that could possibly be worse. Buffy spoke again, reminding him of one of those things that was, indeed, worse, the loss of her for eternity. "Swear to me!" In despite of his nature, and much to his own everlasting surprise, he did. She chewed her lip. Now for the really hard part. He kissed her eyelids. "You said there were two things?" She took a deep breath. "I want to die in your arms." He took a deep breath, too. An unnecessary one in his case, but even so, it hitched in his chest. "I'll be here for you. I promise."

She let her gaze run over his beloved features again. She was so tired, and in so much pain. So was he, or he would have understood. "That's not what I mean." She tilted her head sideways, exposing the column of her throat. "Die. In your arms." For a moment, for an eternity, everything ceased for him; time was of no meaning. He understood, finally, what she had demanded of him. The tears came again, this time accompanied by deep, racking sobs. Weak, he was so weak. Compared to this, Soul Boy had been a pillar of strength. Why could he not be stronger, as strong as she? Still the sobs shook his frame. She was amazed that he would cry like this for her. With a supreme effort, she raised her hand to his cheek. He pressed against it like a child seeking its mother's comfort. It isn't really that these years have changed him, she thought, but that he's allowed himself to be more than just evil, to put his passion to other uses. A fallen angel, with more love to give than he ever understands. A demon ready for salvation. He forced back the grief. Words were quite beyond him now and he simply nodded. No better than a dumb beast, was his thought. I'm supposed to be comforting her, not breaking down like a weak, spineless soul. As she watched him struggle with himself, another wave of agony rolled through her. He felt her stiffen, knew the cause. "When?" he whispered, knowing the answer. "Now," she replied, knowing that he already knew. Panic sank its claws into him. There wouldn't be time to tell her how much he loved her. But there could never be enough time for that. How could he lose her? Again, she knew. "In seventy years, we've said all that needs to be said. I know you'll remember how much I loved you. And I do know how much you love me." Yes, he would remember. Everything. A demon's memory was an eternal steel trap. It would become his own personal torture chamber.

And again, she was ahead of him. "Please - don't turn me into an object of torment and grief. I couldn't bear that." She glowered a little. "And if I catch you doing that - and I *will* know, I swear it - I'll come back and haunt you!" "Promise?" he teased. She nodded. "Remember us with love. Let me be a comfort to you." She hesitated, on unsure ground this time. "When you...take me...you can do it so that a little of me stays with you forever?" The pain in his gut felt like a reflection of hers. He nodded. This could be done, with a vampire's mate. Again, the agony ripped through her belly, and she gasped. "Please, do it now my love. And no goodbyes." Gently, he shifted her position a little. She would not meet her ending in pain. She looked askance when he deftly untied the fastenings of her lacy nightgown. "Hey, mister! Deathbed here. Show some decorum." Her voice was growing even weaker, now, but was still full of fire. He mustered a rakish smile for her. "You want to go out with a bang, don't you?" Her laughter was bright, and full of joy. He ruthlessly tamped down every emotion. This was for her. Nevertheless, his body reacted in anticipation and, in her intimately close position, she felt it and gave a tiny wriggle. True coupling had been off the agenda for years now, but she still liked to be pleasured from time to time. He bent his head to her breast and took the nipple into his mouth, playing with it and pleasuring it. Her gasp told him that those nerves were still working, so he persisted, first one nipple, then the other, until he could smell her arousal. With one arm still wrapped securely around her shoulders, he leaned her backwards slightly, then let his other hand roam up her thighs, to find her hidden, secret flesh. Flesh that belonged to him alone. His instinctive growl, even now, was possessive, and made her smile. He dipped a finger into her juices - not as copious now as they had once

been, but enough - then moved to find the hidden nub of flesh that would be the seat of her final pleasure. He worked gently but surely, knowing just what pleased her. Her eyes were smoky with love, and he bent to her for one final kiss. Finding strength from somewhere, she raised her hand to his neck, feeling his cool flesh and his silky hair. "You know," she murmured "I'm glad I decided to keep you." Her lips welcomed his. Then the tremors began, washing over her, gentle compared to those of her youth, but enough to overcome her pain, even if only for a moment. His lips on hers were tender but insistent, as he drank down the sweetness of her, tasting her breath one last time. Then, careful not to dislodge her hand, he broke the kiss. "Until.." He couldn't finish. Neither could she, as another wave of rapture crested within her. Her word was almost a cry. "Yes..." Her hand still on the back of his neck, his hand still working to bring her to completion, he moved until he could seal his lips over the pulse point in her throat, where he felt her scar, left from the mating ritual. He had a small, crescent-shaped one over his heart, made by her human teeth. It was the only scar his demonically animated body had accepted, and it would remain until his final death. He gently licked his mark on her and focused his mind. His fangs descended, and tenderly, delicately, he broke through the skin and found her lifeblood. She felt no pain, only rapture. The sweet, rich blood hit his tongue, and was almost his undoing. But he refocused his mind and reclaimed her in the way that would leave a reflection, an echo, of her warmth and her sunlight within him forever. He thought that even final death might not take that away. With his memories, that would always be there for him. Her hand tightened on his neck as he drank down her life, and her death, and still he knew that she felt no pain. It was as if he was taking all of it into himself, along with her sweetness. Then her grip slackened, her hand fell away, he felt her heart slow, falter, then still, and it was done. He licked his fingers clean, taking in the last drops of her honey, needing every last taste of her that he could

get. And then he was left bereft. Only now could he admit that he had been her possession, as much as she had been his, and acknowledge the depth of that possession. The tears and racking sobs came again, and this time would not be denied as he held her close. *** A long time later, he swiped the back of his hand angrily across his eyes. There were tissues on the bedside table, and he reached for one to blow his nose. He wondered just when had been the last time he had needed to do that. A difficult future faced him, no doubt full of pain and grief, but he had given her his solemn oath. Once a demon's word was given, it would never be broken. Not with this demon, anyway. He had kept one part of that oath; now for the other. His bark of laughter was harsh and mirthless. So, the powers that be had wanted Angel and would now find themselves with Angelus. He wished them well of the bargain, if that was what it was. They might have another vampire to jerk around, but he could swear by his love for Buffy, by all the lost saints of his childhood faith, that they would rue every second of his enslavement, until they gave him what he wanted. He wondered how it might be, sharing her with the soul, if that was the outcome. He shrank in horror as some small part of him suggested that perhaps the previous experience of sharing with the soul hadn't gone so well, and maybe he ought to have some more practice at that. The horror grew as that same small part considered whether reclaiming that slippery soul would leave her bereft and alone in the aether, or whether she would expect him, require him, even, to do it. He rather thought he knew the answer to that, and it wasn't comforting. Angel and Buffy had never done things the easy way if a harder way had presented itself. It seemed that he might be following in Angel's footsteps here, at least. He wondered again what she had meant when she said that, Angel or Angelus, it was all him. And then a thought came to him. When a being, entity, call it what you will, took on flesh and joined the cycle of life and death, what if, what if it became splintered, fragmented. And what if those splinters of self went their own separate ways, but were always seeking to rejoin, like drops of mercury on glass. Not like the pull of soul mates, but the pull of self to self, the absolute need to be whole again. Might that be what the Buddhists tried to express when they spoke of their ultimate goal, nirvana? The perfect bliss and

release from karma, attained by the extinction of individuality. Perhaps, just perhaps, not the extinction of the individual in a mass of others, but the extinction of those splinters of self by recreation of the whole self. A release from karma, not just for an individual, but also for each of those splinters as they worked their way back to self. Could it possibly be? Could a spirit that was broken actually be fixed? If so, each splinter would have to achieve its own release, and Buffy would be right. Redemption would be available to the splinter called demon. And the demon's redemption would surely be necessary before his whole self could claim its soul mate for eternity. If he failed her then she would never have a complete soul mate, only the hollow man that the soul alone would be. He could never permit that. Perhaps Buffy had already achieved her release, which was why she always shone like a sun to him, beckoning him on. Perhaps the splinter called soul had, too, hence its nauseating goodness. Or perhaps not, in which case, surely the dance would continue and they would, as Buffy said, get another go round. Then he thought of what a slayer actually was: purity of purpose driven by the power of darkness. Perhaps, perhaps such a being demanded a like soul mate, different to all the rest, angel and demon together. Perhaps it was not that he need ever become like that sickening soul - he didn't see how that could ever come to pass - but something different, a power that could come to terms with Angel's purity. Aspects of a being in cosmic balance, light and dark in perfect harmony and at peace with each other. And a match for her. A different quality of nirvana. He didn't know the answers, but he knew someone who should. Some ones. The Powers that be. Once again, hope took grief's outstretched hand. Grief had one final try. What if, what if it was only that, once the powers got you by the short hairs, they just never, ever let go? What if there was simply an inertia to history, and things that were meant to be simply came to pass, somehow or another, sometime or another? Angel, Angelus, perhaps they just didn't care which one they had on a chain, and there was no promise, no redemption, no second go round and no nirvana. He snarled, fangs bared, although he was unaware of it. If that were the case, the harrowing of hell would be as nothing to his harrowing of heaven. They would have a dragon by the tail, and he still had plenty of fire and venom left in him. He would leave heaven an empty field, with no trace of its previous inhabitants, saving only that which he called his own. Hope soothed grief's brow. Then again, he thought, perhaps we are our

own salvation. Or each other's. He knew where to start. And he might have all the time in the world, but he resented every heartbeat of time away from her. He would move as swiftly as possible. He would first have to see his mate laid to rest in the earth, but he knew what he would do from there. He pressed the call button for the nurse, licking away the few remaining drops of blood from Buffy's neck as he did so. The wounds were tiny, and would be hidden by her hair. There would be no autopsy for this death, anyway. Sunrise was close, perhaps an hour away, and if he could bring himself to allow them to take the cooling body from his arms, to prepare it and lay it in the chapel of rest here, he had just time enough to start things into motion before taking shelter for the day. Hope smiled at grief and grief smiled back, faint and watery, but a smile none the less. As he heard the nurse approaching down the corridor, he resumed his human face and felt inside himself for that small reservoir of warmth and light that was Buffy's echo, the scent of daffodils forever in his blood. He had a long, hard road ahead of him, and he would need that comfort in the dark times to come. He knew that it wouldn't fail him. *** Somewhere, in another dimension perhaps, a woman, a being - goddess was one possible description - smiled a small, secret smile. She turned her face to hide the smile from her companion, a man, shadowy and indistinct. There, yet not there, a figure of smoke and mirrors. Then she returned her attention to the gaming board between them. He gave her a silent gesture to carry on. Now that she had returned to the table, the next go was hers. She sorted through some small figures lying tumbled next to the board and selected one, a fearsome male bearing a sword. "I return The Champion to the Game," she announced, placing the figure carefully on the ornate board, and sat back triumphantly to await his next move. He didn't disappoint, and that, after all, was the nature of the beast.

THE END for us, anyway.