Ma'at

This story is divided into chapters purely on grounds of length. The chapter divisions are therefore entirely arbitrary


Enjoy.


Jo


MA’AT

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Disclaimer: Nonethesthese characters are mine. If they were, I’d look after them better. No money will ever be made from this fic.
Distribution: The Angel Texts http://www.octavesoftheheart.com/angeltexts/
Blood Roses; The Angel Elders Mansion http://tv.groups.yahoo.com/group/angel_elders_mansion/
You want it? Really? Gosh. Just tell me where it’s going please.
Spoilers: None
Rating: NC17 for a bit of sex, some of it implied non-con, some bad language, but mainly for violence and horror of that type you would have to associate with Angelus. And, as the adverts for ‘Thy afy after Tomorrow’ tell us, ‘Contains Extended Scenes of Peril’.
Content: B/A/A(us) alternate past reality leading to an alternate future. Follow-up to ‘Pride’.
Summary: Angelus and Buffy still aren’t on speaking terms. Angelus is not taking this well. In fact, he’s being as bad as can can be.

This story is told from several different points of view.

Author’s notes:

1 Colour vision – A duck does indeed see a greater range of greens, at least, than humans. I don’t know about the rest of the spectrum.

2 Bast, or Bastet, is an Egyptian goddess, depicted with the head of a cat. She was patron of the sun (originally, although with the coming of the Greek dynasties this was changed to the moon), cats, women and secrets.

3 Ma’at was the goddess who personified the concepts of truth, justice, order, the right way of doing things and balance in the Universe. To the Egyptians, the world was made up of dualities, such as darkness and light. Seth, for example, was the dark god, to be placated, but not viewed as evil in himself. His tools were phenomena such as thunderstorms and desert sandstorms, and he was the opposing force to Osiris, his brother, who was associated with the light. Ma’at kept the balance between such dualities, preventing the Universe from sliding into chaos.

4 The language of flowers, can be very complex, but fascinating. The meanings used here are accurate, to the best of my understanding.

5 Pie ofe of Dorian Gray - the famous ageing portrait in Oscar Wilde’s novel.

For Rusty, for gifts of needful things. Thank you, my dear.

MA’AT


The seventh story in ‘The Nature of the Beast’ cycle.


For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Newton’s Third Law


Two creatures sit at the ornate gaming board. We have seen them before. There is the creature of smoke and shadow, of dark crystalline edges. Then there is his brother, his opposite, the creature of mists and rainbows, the planes and angles of his body sparkling in an unseen sun.
e boe board in front of them has pieces scattered over it. In one corner stands a warrior with the body of a winged lion. In the opposite corner stands a woman, with a laurel wreath on her head. A man reading a book stands between them. In a third corner stands another male warrior, with torn and broken wings. All of them are surrounded by demons. Besieged.

A woman comes to join the two brothers. Usually, such perfect beauty as hers creates a person of forbidding, if not terrifying, mien. In her case, it inspires love and trust, and comfort. Perhaps we should beware of those feelings. She is The Lady. We have seen her before, too; or perhaps we will see her in days to come. Who can tell, in the cycles of time? She greets the two warmly, with a kiss. They are her lovers, her husbands, her soul mates.

She frowns a little as she peruses the placement of pieces. Her hand moves hesitantly towards the man holding the book. The Watcher. The creature of darkness reaches for her and stays her movement. She looks a question at him, then asks it.

“The witches are begging for help. They don’t know what to do. They understand that what has happened is wrong.”

“We cannot interfere. If we do, none of us will survive. Not us, not them, not any of this world. At least, no one more complicated than an amoeba. We must allow events to take their course.”

“But he has not fulfilled the trust. If he does not speak to the Slayer, tell her what he knows, the balance will slide further away from true.”

“It was you who taught us the danger of unnecessary interventions. You who made us see that our actions have equal and unexpected consequences, reactions over which we have no control. We must wait.”

She smiles in satisfaction, and withdraws her hand, but only until it rests against the dark one’s cheek. Perhaps he has a cheek.

“What do we await?”

“One is coming who has understood the disturbance in the balance. He will do what is necessary.”

He sorts amongst the litter of fallen pieces by the side of the board and produces a figure of a man accompanied by a large sabre-tooth cat. He doesn’t place it on the board yet, although he will. Soon.

Meanwhile, his brother selects two other pieces – a fierce dragon and a second woman with a chaplet of laurel around her head. In her case, though, the chaplet is falling, forever frozen in motion as it slips away. Another Slayer. Flawed. He places both pieces close to the warrior with the body of a winged lion. Angelus.

The Lady selects a piece. A woman, carrying the world in her arms. Herself. She gives the piece to the creature of light.

“I must go for a little while. You will need this before I return, I think. If so, place it for me.”

He nods, and then she is gone.

*************

My name is Estevan. This culture appears to be incapable of handling names of more than two syllables, but they know now not to call me Steve, or Stevie. Well, not if they want to live, that is. So they call me Evan. He is the only one who calls me Estevan, but he is rooted in a different time. So, my name is Estevand Ind I am irrevocably bonded to him, to Angelus, of the House of Aurelius. I, and my childe, Thomaso. I did not seek this bonding, but I am not sorry for it. Not even though things are more complicated than you would expect in a vampire family. Very much more complicated. Not even though I was a master vampire, and am now no better than a minion. Things will change.

I am a little over 130 years old, and I am from Spain. Roughly translated, my name means ‘passion’, and this bonding has not taken that away from me. I love my captor. Who wouldn’t?

You humans live such a short time, and you forget things. He ravaged Europe for one hundred and fifty years, and yet most of you never knew about him. Those that did died of old age or illness or accident, and those that came after never knew. The memory of him vanished. But we never forgot. He rarely came to Spain, but I saw him once, from afar. I was only a few years old, and my sire and I had moved to Toledo. We saw him hunting, from a distance, and my sire made sure I didn’t get close enough to attract his attention. She told me later that Angelus would kill any vampire found in the same territory that he was hunting. He could never suffer competition. But I had had those few glimpses of him, and I never forgot the sight of him. That, and his scent. He smelled of power, and passion.

I expect you would call it love at first sight, although love is a strange thing to ascribe to a demon. Our feelings do not manifest themselves as yours do, yet we do have them. They are fiercer and darker than anything you know, but they are there, and they rule our lives. Humans never bother to learn the vocabulary of other species, and so you would have no words to name or describe any of our emotions. Nevertheless, love is probably the closest of the words that you would understand, and so we will use that. Yes, I love him.

And now I am on an errand for him, an errand that I fear we will all regret. If it would do any good, I would toss the message that I bear into the ocean, and follow it myself, eternal prey for the sharks. But the failure of his messenger would become known, and would shame him. I cannot do that.

If I were Spike, I would have ranted and argued until he gave in. Perhaps he would have given in. But I am not. Thomaso and I are still minions, of lowly standing within his pride. He would kill me for daring to question him. And I can think of no other course than to deliver the message: the message that was written in anger and in passion. To Aurelius.

***************

I know that I have betrayed the trust left with me, but it is for the best. It must be for the best, don’t you think? After the debacle with Glory, Angelus went into the Underworld to bring Buffy back. Without him knowing, Willow and Tara implanted part of my consciousness into his so that I could act as a lifeline to guide them both back. So that I could make sure that my Slayer returned. A being – one of the Powers of the Underworld, I suppose – charged me with telling her what had happened, with making sure she knew that he had wanted only her forgiveness for what he had done to her before her death. Telling her that he loved her beyond anything else.

I kept silent, and she sent him away, not knowing anything of what had happened. That must be for the best. I am her Watcher. How could I deliver her back into the arms of that demon? How?

I have spoken to all t inv involved – Willow, Tara, Xander, Anya, Dawn and Wesley. All those involved, except Ezrafel. He is with Angelus. We will never tell Buffy. She will not know that he brought her back. Only I know the full truth, anyway. Willow and Tara were wrapped in the spell he had given them to send his spirit after hers. The rest of them simply saw their bodies. Him kneeling, with her lying across his lap, a tableau of some blasphemous pietà. Dead one minute, not dead the next. They all saw the stigmata on his body, but they do not know how he came to be wounded. Only I know what happened, only I know what he felt, what he offered, what he *suffered* for her. And it’s best if I don’t tell.

Willow and Tara have argued with me. They believe that I am wrong, but they have not the confidence in themselves to go against my will. Good.

Dawn is unhappy but is swayed by her worries for her sister’s welfare.

Anya, strangely, is angry with me, and has only reluctantly agreed to what I have decided.

Xander and Wesley will follow me willingly enough. Xander hates Angelus even more than he hated Angel. Wesley simply fears him, I think, although when I watch Wesley, and the way he looks at Angelus, perhaps it’s more complicated than that. I wonder if I should worry about that.

And so, I hold them to my purpose. The relationship between my slayer and the vampire is over. She will be able to kill him, now. It’s for the best.

***********

I’m on my way out of Sunnydale. I don’t know where I’m going, and when I’ll be back. Where *to* is not imant.ant. The only thing filling my mind is where *from*. Who from. Her. If I cannot have her, I cannot stay near her.

I don’t feel rage. I don’t feel pain. I don’t feel love or loss. Not at the moment. All I feel is numb. I’ll feel them all soon enough, though, and it’s best for her if I’m as far away as possible before any of those feelings come back. I remember what I did to her last night. How much I hurt her. If I stay, that will only be the start.

I remember my oath to her. ‘…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.’ The Soul abandoned her, then renounced her. I’m doing the same. I thought I was better than him, but apparently not. Not in this, anyway.

I drive for a long time before I realise where I am headed. Los Angeles. Habit, I suppose. Do I want to go back there? Is there anything there for me? Not really. Is there anything for me anywhere else? Not really. What does it matter, then? I have my cell phone and Estevan can contact me on that when he has finished the errand I sent him on. The errand to Aurelius that will possibly see the end of me. Just now, I really don’t care.

It’s on these thoughts that I see the car wreck ahead, well off the road. A human would have missed it in the dark. Should I stop? Why not? There might be something to eat and I seem to remember skipping breakfast. As I pull up opposite the crumpled car, I see what crumpled it. A demon the size of a house. With wings. One of those that came through the portal, then. There’s a body by the side of the car, and a young girl losing the battle with the demon. I can feel her in my blood. She’s a Slayer. Damn. Buffy was dead for a while. I knew that another Slayer would be called, and I should have felt her before I got this close. In my defence, I *have* had a lot on my mind.

I hop out of the car and cast a quick glance at the body of the Watcher. He’s not quite dead and he looks to me for help. Then he recognises what I am. He’s very far gone, but he tries to lift his sword. It’s no contest. I break his neck as easily as twisting the top off a jar. The sword will be handy, so I pick it up. It’s a good one, and I’m comfortable with the heft of it.

The girl has almost had it. She’s young and relatively untried, and this is a big powerful demon. Think of a dragon. It isn’t one, of course – there’s no such thing. But it looks exactly like that. The only mercy is that it isn’t breathing flames, just spitting poison. If it kills this slayer – as it will in a few moments – the only person left to deal with it will be my slayer. It will kill her, too, without me there to help. I’d better take a hand. My slayer has only just been recovered after facing down a godling. She isn’t going to go out to an overgrown lizard like this.

I walk over to the beast, and as I do, all the rage and hate and loss and pain break over me, like a waterfall. Here is something to kill. Good.

I’m up its back like a leopard up a tree. The slayer is unconscious now, so I let down my fangs and claws, and drop the sword. The black cloud of rage that has wrapped itself around me has made me feel primitive, drawing out every ounce of my demonic nature. I don’t want to chop this thing up with a weapon made by man. I want to rend it into pieces, tooth and claw; to tear into its flesh the way she is tearing into mine. I want to stamp onto its body the signs of pain and anguish that she has stamped onto my spirit. And I do.

When it’s over, most of the demon’s wounds are to the throat. Not that it has much throat left, now. My wounds are everywhere. It had claws, it had barbs on its wings and tail, it had teeth the length of my forearm. I’ve felt them all. It doesn’t matter. It’s dead now. I should feel better for that very, very messy kill, but I don’t. I just feel tired. She’s still unconscious, so I manage to drag myself over to the watcher, and drink down what is left of his blood. It’s hard work, and not very tasty, but it will do for now. It will make surhealheal quickly, and it will get rid of the taste of demon’s blood from my mouth. I was beyond caring during the fight, but it tastes like battery acid now. I take a few minutes to pick pieces of scale and flesh out of my teeth, and while I’m doing that, I contemplate this extra slayer.

What to do with her, though? I could just leave her here – I don’t think she got a good look at me, so even if she survives, she couldn’t tell Buffy. Or I could kill her while she’s out cold. Buffy will never know.

Who am I kidding? One look at that demon, and at the Watcher, and Buffy will know exactly what has happened. Why should that matter to me? Leave it at that. It just matters.

This young slayer is badly hurt. She took some killing blows, and I think she has internal injuries, but she’s also been bitten. I’m not familiar with this poison, but I don’t think it’s looking good for her. I’m feeling distinctly queasy myself, from its effects. I can do one of two things. I can find a motel room to hole up in for the day, but I really think that she will be dead by evening. Or I can drive for Sunnydale as fast as this car can go. I might get there before sun-up – it’ll be tight – and get her to a hospital where they *might*, and only might, be able to save her. Or I might not get that far, and end up as a pile of ash. Seems a fair risk. Anyway, the body of this demon needs dealing with. Let’s see fastfast a Jaguar can go.

************

Tara and I are unhappy at Giles’ decision not to tell Buffy about what Angelus has done for her. We were shocked, of course, when we knew that he had hurt her so much. We saw everything – Tara and I helped to clean up her wounds, after all, even the most intimate ones. She didn’t say a word the whole time, but we knew that something must have gone terribly wrong between them for him to do that to her. He’s everything that has ever been written about him, but he hasn’t ever allowed himself to hurt her like this before. Perhaps it was only a matter of time, but I don’t think so. Oz trusted him. At least, he trusted him so far.

And Spike is missing. She won’t say a word, but when we cleaned her up, she was covered with vampire ash. I’m afraid of what might have happened, so Tara and I will go to his crypt later, and see if we can find anything out.

And look at what Giles had then done to him. The onedoned arrow that almost killed Angelus, and almost lost us Buffy … I wish that I knew what had happened when they were in the Underworld, but I guess no one knows. You are supposed to forget when you return, that’s part of the spell. So that everything stays in balance. The Underworld is meant to be one of the Great Mysteries. We all know she died, that he went after her and brought her back, but I don’t suppose that anyone knows anything else. Still, surely she should be told that much? We have agreed to Giles’ demand, but I don’t think he’s being rational about this. So, we are praying to the Goddess, to see whether she will give us guidance. I’m not hopeful – even the kindliest Powers seem to want you to sort things out for yourself. Still, we’ll try.

Another thing that puzzles me is why we feel that we have to stick up for Angelus. He’s a terrifying, evil vampire, and I’m scared to death of him. But… And that’s a big But, I feel that I owe it to him to deal honourably with him. Why? Like I said, Oz trusted him, so perhaps it’s a leftover from then. I really don’t know, but I’m sure time will tell. I wish Oz were here now – there was some connection, some respect, between the two of them. Oz would be a big help.

Goddess, hear our prayer…

************

Cell phones. The Soul once described them as the invention of a bored warlock. I might even bring myself to agree with him. Certainly you shn’t n’t try to use one whilst racing the sun at 155 mph, and feeling queasy from some dragon poison. Even I’m having a small problem with that. The slayer is strapped into the front seat – I don’t want her waking up behind me. Certainly not until I know whether she’s aware of what I am.

“Willow.”

“Yes?”

She’s breathless with fear. I’m pleased to have that effect on her, but I don’t know why she should be. I’m substantially in her debt, and in any event I want her and her girlfriend as my retainers. She’s quite safe from me. Quite.

“There’s a very large dead demon to be disposed of.” I tell her where to find it, and how big it is. “Get over there and get rid of it – I’d stick it into another dimension if I were you. It’ll take all week to cut uput wut whatever you do, you won’t tell the Watcher how you know.” I don’t really know why I don’t want Rupert to know. It’s unreasoning, and probably impossible for her. But I don’t
“N.
“N..no.”

She’s a quick study, that one.

“And you’ll find the new slayer in Sunnydale Hospital. There’s no rush.”

Well, there might be, but I’m less keen on saving this second slayer than on getting that demon out of sight. I’d like to avoid actual witch-hunts…

“Deal with the demon first, or it will be extremely conspicuous come first light.”

Which isn’t very far away. I can feel the damn sun rising in my blood. This is going to be nip and tuck here.

“New Slayer? Have you…”

“Yes and no, in that order. She was trying to tackle the thing after it downed her watcher. She’s unconscious just now. The demon that bit her was poisonous – you’ll need to look for an antidote. Rupert might be able to help, but I don’t know what sort of demon it was. I doubt the medics can handle it. Gotta go, Willow.”

Time. There’s never enough time. Ironic that an eternal being such as I would say that.

I’m a genuine creature of the night. The day holds much less interest for me. I’m up and about for much of it on a regular basis, of course, but the night is my milieu. Your eyes only allow you to see in shades of black and white and grey at night. I see colours. And I see more of them than you can. During the day, the strength of sunlight bleaches out some of my colour vision, allows me to only see what you see, for the most part. Nine colours in the rainbow, but apart fthatthat, it isn’t a lot different. At night, though, I see in a richness of colour that is denied to you. What? Well, even a *duck* sees more colours than you do. Evolution has not always been kind to you.

And on that thought, here comes the sun. And there’s Sunnydale Hospital. Told you it would be nip and tuck. Good job there’s an underground car park, or I’d have to go to the trouble of breaking the car out of the pound after it had been towed from the front entrance. You don’t honestly think I’m going to pay a towing fee, do you? In my town?

They’re a bit surprised when I carry her in from the car park, but then she’s taken from me, and I’m left to make up some details. Which I do.

Why am I doing this? Saving her life? Why didn’t I just drink her down, along with her Watcher? Well, she’s full of the demon’s poison for one thing. I’ve been poisoned enough just lately thank you. I wasn’t prepared to take the risk of having more.

Other than that? Let’s just leave it there, right?

They don’t know what to do with the girl. Her physical hurts are bad, but less so than the doctors think. She’ll mend from those, given the chance. They’ve taken blood tests, for all the good those will do. I can smell the poison even from where I’m lurking, and I’ve no idea what it is. It’s that that might kill her.

It’s some little while before Buffy and her followers arrive. The witches are looking drained, so I’m sure they’ve been successful in disposing of the dragon. I don’t need to know any more than that. These people have successfully disposed of a great many corpses in their time. Not dem demons turn to dust at the end of a stake, after all.

As she passes where I’m hiding, I see Buffy pause. She doesn’t know that I’m here – she hasn’t had enough experience of using the bond between us – but she feels me. With a shake of her head, she moves on, catching up to her friends and the Watcher. It’s Buffy whops ops at the door to the other slayer’s room; Buffy who recognises her for what she is; and Buffy who mounts guard on the door whilst Ripper takes blood samples of his own. The witches and the Watcher take their leave – no doubt to work on the poison – leaving Buffy and the Harris stripling to watch over the second slayer. Presumably they are guarding her from me. Foolishness. If I wanted her dead, would I have taken the risk of bringing her back here: driven all that wso cso close to sunrise?

Then I remember that they don’t know who brought her in. Perversely, some part of me wishes they did. That *she* did. That reallyfoolfoolishness.

Still, they stay there; Buffy can sense me, I can tell, but she doesn’t understand that I am so close. When she is practic… it takes a while for a human, in those rare circumstances where a vampire chooses a human mate, to become adept at understanding the bond. We have been apart for most of the time since we became mates. She has had little chance to learn. That will com…that is all the better for me, now.

As I watch from my hiding place, my emotions are in turmoil. I want her. I want to be with her. I want to feast on her until her life drains away. I want to feast on her forever. I want to rend her into pieces, to excise her from my life as you would excise a cancer. I want to throw myself at her feet and beg her forgiveness.

I need to know whether she still loves me. I need to know whether she *can* love me. All of me.

I find myself wishing that I had my pad and pencils here. It would be… soothing… to spend some time sketching her. I haven’t done enough drawing since I first returned after their night together, the night that brought me back. I’ve been too busy. The Soul loved drawing but would rarely indulge, since he knew that I love it, too. Since when has selfishness been the sole prerogative of the evil?

When nightfalmes,mes, I leave to feed and freshen up. When I return, I bring my pad and pencils with me. I draw them from life, although I could draw them from memory. I have pictures of the new slayer – none of them knows her name yet – of Buffy, Xander and Anya, all sitting with her. They haven’t talked much. Then Xander, heedless of all consequence, says to my slayer, “How could you? How could you ever have thought to have a relationship with that beast, that… that murdering monster? Look what he did to you. Look what he did to *her* Watcher. To *Jenny*! You going to let him eat half the population of this town just so you can get groiny with him?”

He subsides a little then. He doesn’t tell her any more of what I did. He doesn’t balance his accusations. She says nothing. Nothing. The scent coming to me is pure self-pity. I wait for the scent to change, for other feelings to emerge in her. All I get is self-loathing. Was my devotion to her so unwelcome? Were her feelings for me so fleeting? So *juvenile*? Something snaps in me, something fragile and precious, something that may never be found again, and I start to draw.

When they both leave the room – he to fetch coffee, she to make sure the immediate corridors are clear for him – I slip in and leave the drawings on the bed. I’m burning my boats now, in all sorts of ways. I just have time to get back to my hiding place before she returns.

Xander brings back coffees to find the drawings on the bed: there’s one of the new slayer, comatose; there are pictures of themselves, separately and together. Buffy hasn’t even picked them up yet. She’s as white as one of these hospital sheets. She’s concentrating on the drawing I left in a hospital envelope just for her. It’s from memory. It’s her, naked, strung up in my chains, waiting for the lash of my whip to fall. This is who I am. Deal with it.

***************

I am making my way slowly to Egypt. He will be angry with me for the delay, but I am hoping that he will reconsider the message that I am taking. I shall call him before I enter Aurelius’ territory; give him the chance to change his mind. He will be angry about that, too, but that is my decision.

***************

When I get back to the hospital the next night, I’m only just ahead of the Watcher. He’s talking to one of the medics, who’s clearly not impressed with the new Slayer’s chances of recovery. They can’t find what’s wrong with her beyond the immediate injuries. The Watcher is nodding and agreeing, but I can smell the impatience on him. He wants the medic gone. mustmust have something.

He does. When the doctor leaves, Rupert joins the witches, and they start to ready the room for a spell. And just to show that you can mix ancient and modern, he’s got a syringe full of something. When it’s all over, all they can do is sit back and wait, but I can tell that there’s a change. I can hear it in her heartbeat and scent it on her skin. She’s turning the corner, although I guess she’s still got a long walk back. I’m pretty sure she won’t come round tonight, so I might as well go about my own affairs. I’ve had time to think, and I’ve changed my mind. I’ll stick around Sunnydale for a while.

When I get back to the mansion, I summon my retainers. To be honest, I’m surprised they are still here, after my long absence, more years spent in the grip of the Soul. Estevan is off on an errand for me, and Ezrafel is still skulking in Hylek after I sent him away, but the rest are here. Except Dru. And Spike, of course. He’ll never be here again. Damn.

It’s Ixolon, the Norag, from the clan that tried to steal my mate, who reports to me on what has been happening in my prolonged absence. He and Ezrafel and Estevan have done well. They knew of my plans and have followed them through. I left a triumvirate in charge when I left on that ill-fated journey to deal with the Kahlavi cult. It’s still a triumvirate, but a very different one. Still, Ixolon, Ezrafel and Estevan have been loyal and they have indeed done well. It seems I now own a whole bunch of real estate and corporate entities in Sunnydale, all legitimately purchased, and I still have most of my diamonds and several million bucks in the bank. My new assets? They are almost everything that’s important in this place. I now own hotels, including the best one in town, most of the leisure activities, profitable companies and up-market developments. It really is my town, even in your sense of the word. I am pleased with them.

I don’t want to examine too closely why I planned this spree of acquisitions, and why I’m going to press on. Vampires don’t need extensive holdings. I’ve spent most of my life living on the proceeds of whichever murder was the most recent. Once the family is dead, you can take over their house for a while. There are usually plenty of assets to liquidate if nee need cash. New clothes? Well, you just pick someone your size, with your taste in clothes, and make sure you’re careful not to spill any blood. When this started, it was because of her. Something to offer her. And it probably still is, although I’ll be damned for it, and whether I’ll ever be able to make her a present of it all is another matter. Still, might as well carry on… Perhaps it will take my mind off the turmoil of my thoughts. I’m feeling schizophrenic again. I want to hold her and love her and protect her. I want to ravish her and kill her, and then wait for her to rise so that I can ravish her some more. I want to teach her everything I know about pain. I want to protect her from the hurts of the world.

I am so fucked up.

My people’s efforts have spread only a little further than the borders of town, but they have made a contact in the Governor’s office. The Governor is a guy who really likes to put it about. He’s mine, or will be very soon. There may come a time when I can use a bit of weight in high places. Not for much – the real power lies in the underworld, not in the petty world of politics, and the underworld is where I’m going to hold sway – but I want to cover all the bases here. I’ll deal with Sunnydale’s mayor, too. The authorities in this town will be mine. Meantime, there are other things to be dealt with here. I’m going out for a night on the prowl. See what’s what.

*************

The new slayer has been unconscious for three days now. I can’t keep watch over her every hour of the day, but eventually, Willow admitted to us who had brought the girl in. Him. He’d killed the dragon – I don’t know what else to call it – and brought her in, instead of leaving her there. I don’t know how he managed to do it; well, I could see *how*, of course. Most creatures that breathe and make vocal noises tend to have more throat than that. But how did he find the strength? It would have killed a Slayer. And why? Having tired of one Slayer, is he going to trade in for a newer model? She’s certainly different. Dark haired. *Sultry* is the only word I can think of to describe her. Fuller than me. Perhaps he wants more of a handful? Well, you know what I mean. Me? Jealous? Never.

Apparently the Watcher was beyond help. I’m not comfortable that he drank him, but after hearing what Willow and Tara had to say about the demon, I’m guessing he needed the blood. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It must have been one of those that came through the portal. Are we going to be plagued with a mass of foreigners now? We’ve got enough on with the ones already here.

But, if he brought he, it, it doesn’t seem likely that he’ll harm her now. Does it? I don’t know any more. I don’t seem to know *him* anymore. If I ever did.

There was what he did to me before I went to meet Glory – and I still don’t understand how I came out of that dive off the tower alive and in one piece, and in his arms.

Now there are the pictures. Drawings.

I’ve known for a long time that Angel is, was, a talented artist. I realised afterwards, when it was too late, that some of the drawings in his old apartment were his. I don’t know where they are now – I guess Angelus will have destroyed them – but I have more recent experience of his skills. Remember? When he was taunting me, he would leave me drawings of my mother, my friends, and myself asleep. He left one for Giles as well: a drawing of Jenny, peaceful in death.

It seems the artist in him is back. Is that a bad sign? Does Angelus only draw when he’s in a manic phase? Does he have manic phases, or has my infidelity with Spike, and Spike’s death, done something to him? I don’t know. But my Slayer sense is telling me I’d damn well better find out because it could be important. If he’s back to the mad creature he was when Angel and I first… when I let him out, then we are all in such trouble. But at least we have a second slayer here. I doubt whether I could do what needs to be done. I still love him, after all. Well, you knew that, didn’t you? I love him as much as I love Angel. I’m a disgrace to the line of Slayers, I know. Sometimes I hate myself for it. But I can’t help it. I don’t think his feelings for me are quite so…friendly, though. Not any more.

*************

I don’t know what to think. Well, I *do*, of course, but I think you know what I mean. Tara and I have been to Spike’s crypt. It’s the first chance we’ve had to go there. We were exhausted after dismembering the dragon. We didn’t have enough strength left to put it into another dimension, so we sank it into the Pacific. If any of it comes up, it’ll be just one more mystery of the sea. Then we had to analyse the poison and find an antidote. It took more magic to do that, and of course there was the spell to activate thtidotidote once we got it into the new slayer.

We got to the crypt at last, though. There were Spike’s clothes in a heap, and Buffy’s clothes in another heap, and a lot of vampire ash. So we tried something new. Some time ago, Tara found a spell for seeing events that have already happened. It needs to be something that carries a lot of emotion, enough to leave some traces, and you need to be soon enough after it occurred. We tried it. I don’t think we’ll be trying again in a hurry. Apart from the fact that it took enormous amounts of magic, and that we were both puking for about an hour afterwards from the taste of it, we saw what happened. Because of the passage of time, it was faint, and grainy, like a really old black and white film, but we saw.

We’ve decided not to tell, unless we have to – that’s Buffy’s responsibility, not ours – but Angelus has reason to be angry. It does *not* excuse what he did, but we could see why a demon like him would have done it. Killed Spike when he and Buffy were… How could Buffy…? With Spike? We don’t know if anything will heal this rift. We don’t know if anything *should*. But if he went into the Underworld to see if she was safe, to bring her out if she was not, then he still cares. No. ‘Cares’ is nothing like the word. I don’t think there *is* a word in any human language for the fierceness of his passion.

We’ve folded up Spike’s clothes and made everything neat and tidy, although I really don’t know why. He isn’t coming back, after all. And we’ve brought back Buffy’s clothes for her. Knowing her, though, she’ll probably just throw them away.

I just pray that Angelus doesn’t go back to the mad thing that terrorised us not too many years ago.

**************

Slayers are very useful things to have around, you know. Oh, I don’t mean that’s all that Buffy is – a useful thing to have around, although she is. Buffy is *mine*. My mate, my possession, my responsibility. Mine.

No, I’m talking about the other one. The spare. I can make use of her if I can just get her mind right. I don’t want to turn her. A vampiric Slayer might be a bit much even for me to handle, (I’m not even going to *think* about why that doesn’t seem to be the issue with Buffy) and I’m not prepared to risk it. not not prepared to risk Buffy coming off second best in a contest between those two, either. Not if I think *I* might have a problem. No. I’m thinking that I might play to the darkness in her. There’s a lot of it. I can smell it.

The antidote they’ve given her has worked – I can sense her healing powers at work as I stand here, in her doorway – but she was extremely ill, and it will take some time for her to fully recover. Several days, I think. At the minute, she’s far too weak to move. All she can do is lie and watch me. There’s no one else here at the moment, and if I’m quiet, we shouldn’t be disturbed for a little while.

I stroll into her room and sit by her bedside. She can’t speak, so no point asking her name just yet.

“Hi. I’m the one who brought you in.”

She knows that. She’s recognised me and her eyes look grateful. She can see I’ve been in a fight, too, but she’s confused by how fast I’ve healed. Just a few old scratches and bruises left. She looks as if she’s trying to speak, to ask me something about what happened, who I am. Let’s resolve that confusion. I put my finger gently to her lips.

“Shh. Don’t try to talk – you’re too weak.”

There’s something that has just come into her eyes. Doubt. I take her hand in mine, and she tries to pull away. She can feel that I’m not as warm as I should be, and maybe, at this proximity, her attenuated Slayer senses are starting to kick in.

“My name’s Angelus.”

She gives a start of recognition. At least her eyes do. So, the Watcher’s Council have caught up with me, then. That could be fun.

“I’m your worst nightmare,” I tell her, in strictly conversational tones. “I’m really good at rape, murder, removal of body parts; anything that generally terrifies any one in my territory. I’m the power on this Hellmouth, and I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

With my right hand, I start to trace the outline of her face, and then the outline of her body beneath the thin covers, just as a lover might. She tries to squirm away from my touch, and she opens her mouth to call out. She’s too weak for any of that, though. The poison has almost paralysed her. Good. A Slayer, completely helpless and at my mercy. Just where I want her. Imagine the kick that gives me. I cut off the thought that I wouldn’t like Buffy in this condition at all…

I lean over and kiss her, gently, just tasting her tongue with mine. She tastes spicy and rich. Not like Buffy, of course, but good. Now I slip my right hand just under the covers, to her breast, and amuse myself with what I find there. She’s just as sensuous as she looks, and cannot resist my touch. Her expression tells me that she’d like to vomit. Whilst I’m doing what I’m doing, I trace a little line of kisses down her cheek until I reach the throbbing, beating pulse in her neck. I lift my head to look at her, and shift into demon face. She looks as if she’s going to have a coronary, but from anger, not fear. Delicious.

I move back to that pulse and slide my fangs gently into her, two tiny wounds that should be healed in hours, and taste a little of her blood. Not too much – she’s very weak, still. Her blood is still tainted by what has been done to her – the poison and the antidote – but the rich, spicy musk of her is heady. She may be horrified – appalled even – by what I am doing to her, but she’s also aroused and intrigued. As I said, delicious. Not a patch on *my* Slayer, of course. And Buffy is *my* Slayer, I realise, as I taste this ersatz replacement. I’ll have both of them, but Buffy is mine forever, no matter what she thinks. She’s going to have me – all of me, everything that I am – whether she likes it or not. That might be fun, too.

I lick the tiny wounds closed, adding to the horror that this girl feels, and then I stand.

“You’re in this town, Slayer, and everything here is mine. Don’t forget it. I’ll see you real soon.” Then I turn and leave. I’ve got other things to do now.

The Slayer is put on this planet to protect humanity. All of you, good and bad alike. She does not differentiate, so long as you are human. She does not use her powers against any of you. And yet some of you are as soulless as I am. And some of you are just as evil as any demon.

You know that the Hellmouth attracts demons. We can feel its power from all over the Earth, and we are drawn to it. If we are near enough, almost inevitably it will reel us in like a gaffed pike. It takes a strong demon indeed to master its power. A demon like me.

It has the same effect on humans. For those who are as ruled by evil as we are, it holds the same attraction. It perhaps cannot reach out as far – or possibly your senses are simply too blunted to feel it from far off – but it does call to you. You don’t really think that so many people come to California just for the sun? And we have some undesirables here in Sunnydale. Oh, they’ve always been here. As I said, it isn’t Buffy’s job to deal with them, and Angel could have done, but he refused to do anything that would displease her. In any event, he was too busy brooding over his previous track record in the murder department to want to add to the tally. I’m not so nice. If I’m going to live here with my mate, then this place gets cleaned up. My way. Just say I won’t brook any competition, because that certainly is true. It doesn’t have to be for any other reason.

I’m starting with a gang who are collecting protection money. Some of my new holdings have paid in the past, and they are now trying to put the squeeze on me. *On me*! That’s where I’m off to now.

*************

My name is Ixolon, and I am a Norag demon. I have been in the service of Angelus for over three years now, and yet I hardly know him. For almost all of that time he has been absent from his holdings here. He has been…other.

I, and my companions, entered his service as part of the repayment of our debt to him – the debt incurred because we unwittingly stole his mate and sold her into service in Hylek. That has turned out rather well for him, of course, but the advantage he reaped does not wipe out the debt. He would have been within his rights to kill us. And in any event, rights would not have mattered to him. A demon such as he? He would have slaughtered us, and our entire clan, for revenge. But we offered to be useful to him, and so we sold ourselves into his service.

When he…changed…we wondered whether to leave. I discussed the dilemma with the rest of my clan, all of whom may owe service to him in the future, and we were agreed. We have skills to offer, skills that have helped us to earn our living. We can find things. Things that would otherwise remain lost. Over the millennia, we have accumulated debts that are owing to us for just those services. We are not quite eternal like the vampires, but our lives are very, very long, barring accident or misadventure, and some of the eldest of us have an enormous accumulation of debt owing to them. We called in some favours. Big ones. The word was that a great destiny awaited this particular vampire. Or a crashing fall, the like of which has not been seen since the fall of the Archangel Lucifer. No one could be certain which it would be. In the end, it was the fact that we had given our oaths that made the difference. We stayed. Now he is back. I hope that we made the right decision.

We have done our best to put his plans into place, such of them as were within our power. It has not been easy. We are able to walk in the daylight, as men. With our clothes on, there is nothing to distinguish us from humanity. But we aren’t human, and the Slayer may be Angelus’ mate, but she has had her eye on us. Therefore, we have been unable to settle some matters that we would have preferred not to leave for him. Protection racketeers, drug dealers, murderers, thieves. And almost all of them are human. We have dealt with many of the undesirable demons. Angelus had made it quite plain to us that *nothing* is to threaten any resident of Sunnydale. Nothing, that is, except him.

I understand that he intends to remedy our shortcomings in that area.

***********
Continued in chapter 2