Solstice

SOLSTICE 1/10

Author : Jo
Feedback : Pretty please. Send it to thelibrarian2003@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: None of these 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; Denial Haven; 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 some sex, violence and torture, but in a very tasteful way, of course…
Content: B/A/A(us) alternate past reality leads to an alternate future. Follow-up to ‘Ma’at’.
Summary: Angelus and Buffy are back together again, but is it forever this time? Do I need to buy a hat?

This story is told from several different points of view.

This is for Deb, who, after several months of correspondence, I actually met this summer. She’s as nice in person as she is in her e-mails. Look forward to the next time, Deb.


The eighth story in ‘The Nature of the Beast’ cycle

Author’s notes:


1 In June and December, we see what is known as a solstice (Latin solstitium – sun stand still), when the sun reaches its highest or lowest point in the sky at noon, marked by the longest and shortest days. The point on the horizon where the sun rises and sets changes each day. From the winter solstice, sunrise and sunset occur at a point further and further northwards along the horizon, until the summer solstice, when the sun reaches its most northerly point of setting and rising. It then seems to stop, and to retrace its path southwards, until the winter solstice, when it reaches its most southerly point of setting and rising, and the whole annual cycle begins again. So, twice a year the sun seems to stand still on the horizon. That’s in the northern hemisphere. I think in the southern hemisphere, it might be exactly the same, but opposite, if you know what I mean.

2 String Theory (it’s real, and you can look it up) requires eleven dimensions, with universes carried on membranes, or branes. It’s the current Big Thing in Phs, bs, but they haven’t caught up with parasite universes yet. You read it here first. Mass Extinctions are real, too. There’s more information in ‘Pride’.

3 This series is based on altered reality. You can therefore expect people and artefacts and events to crop up at unfamiliar times and in unfamiliar ways, as the fractured time line tries to adjust. Some things just have to happen…

4 Tarot – for all you tarot readers out there, I can’t find a deck with a fallen angel as part of the major arcana. However, it was what appeared in ‘What’s My Line Pt 1’, so I’ve stuck with it. If you know of one, please tell me.

5 I’m not a Catholic, and although what I’ve written has been checked, any mistakes are all mine.

6 Poesy (or posy) – (archaic) a short motto, line of verse, etc., inscribed within a ring.

7 Calais. Legend ascribes to Mary I (Mary Tudor, Bloody Mary) the statement that after her death, ‘Calais’ would be found written on her heart, following the loss of Calais, the last of Britain’s French possessions. Those people who have made a study of Mary, and her temperament, think that this story may be, well, stretching the amount of heart she appears to have had.

8 Methods of torture – you’ll have to forgive me on this, because I’m definitely making it all up as I go along. No previous experience. Honestly. I’m just going with what would make my toes curl (and did, while I was writing it). The surgeon’s tool kit (at least, we hope that’s what it is) comes from BtVS ‘Enemies’, and thanks to Rusty for taking the time to identify some of the contents.

9 ‘The Tyger’ is the poem by William Blake that we visited in more depth in ‘Tyger, Tyger’.

10 The pose described in the portrait of the Slayer is very much inspired by that Victorian piece of erotica, ‘In the Tepidarium’, by Lawrence Alma-Tadema

11 The golden crown is taken exactly from the crown of the Assyrian princess found as part of the treasures of Nimrud, and dating to the 8th or 9th century BC. It’s stunningly beautiful, and there are pictures of it on the web.

12 The golden torcs are modelled on two magnificent ones found recently in Lincolnshire.

13 In Celtic legend, the appearance of the White Hart (a white stag) is normally linked with a message from the underworld. In Arthurian legend, the Hart has a golden collar around its neck. I’ve taken liberties.


SOLSTICE
Part1/10

We have seen the dance of the eleventh dimension, as universes are carried in a cotillion older than time, stitched onto their branes like beads on a ball gown. We have seen, too, that universes are not all alike, that some have different ways to those of our own. That there are para-universes. Parasite universes. As the dance of the branes ripples and shifts, these primitive swirls of matter and energy reach out with the finest of tendrils, looking for their next host. They are hungry and they need to feed.

We cannot reach out and touch any of these other universes, although they may only be an inch away, but these parasites, these feeders on star stuff, on life, on the energy of the soul itself? Ah, they know how to touch. They have done it before, many times. In some universes, where contact has been close and prolonged, they have left nothing, simply a gaping hole on the brane where a richness of cosmic energy and its attendant life forms once existed. Others survived the encounter, but have been left as pale reminders of their former selves, shadows of star systems and ghosts of galaxies.

Our universe has had brushes with these feeders from the deeps, but no more than that. Yet even though we have felt only their gentlest caress for a few brief moments of time, they have swept life from this, and other, planets. From this, and other, suns. A brief caress from a parasite universe has meant a Great Dying, a Mass Extinction, for the inhabitants of Earth.

Now, one of these parasite universes has been brought forward towards our own, positioned to meet its new host along a broad front, ready to embrace it for millennia. A long, sinuous tendril has reached out, has sensed nourishment. Somewhere, in the far reaches of space, at the uttermost limits of this cosmos, that questing tendril has stretched out from the fathomless darkness and latched on to the outermost star system. Now it has started to suck. The star system has eleven planets. On three of those planets, there are creatures with sufficient intelligence to stop and wonder when their green-tinged sun ceases its movements across the copper skies, in a sudden solstice that will become permanent until the energy has been emptied from it and that nuclear furnace has withered and died; these are creatures that will feel pain and fear as the invader savours the meat of star stuff, spiced with the tang of soul stuff. These will be the first to fall. They won’t be the last.

Somewhere, in a small, private paradise, the Lady and her two consorts, the Duality, are renewing their vows to each other, rediscovering the pleasures of the flesh and of the spirit. Reaffirming t lov love. Exhausted and satiated by their prolonged lovemaking, they have fallen into slumber, locked in a mutual embrace. While they sleep, the cry of that solar system calls out to them even in this tiny retreat, shivering over them like a chill wind. Their dreams become restless, and they reach out to each other, pressing together for warmth and comfort, feeling the pain of creatures passing into non-existence. The three are unaware as yet of the nature of the threat.en gen gods and goddesses have their limitations. All they can do is wait.

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

I’ve come to Los Angeles. You will not believe where I am. I’m outside a church. I’m intent on going in, as well. You should know that the Soul had more difficulty going into houses of religion than I’ve ever had. It’s all in the mind, you know – or whatever souls have for minds. After all, I’ve spent enough time eating my way though convents full of nuns. They were always my religious house of choice – you don’t get so many of them nowadays, I’m sorry to say. Churches are fine, though – you can have real fun in the confessiona
Ho
However, that isn’t my business today. Remember that the Soul came here to find a certain Father Fredericks, looking for help in exorcising an Ethros demon? And the good Father happened to have caught a bad case of a very similar sort of demon, and died from it? Well, the Soul met a nun here. She helped him with that, and afterwards, they sometimes met and talked. She got to know him. I have business with her tonight.

*Sigh*. No, I’m not going to eat her. I’ll eat you if you keep on asking silly questions, though.

I’m looking for another Father, you see. One with a very different service to offer. And no, I won’t eat him either. What is it with you? He’d be no good to me dead. I want to see the nun, because she helped the Soul, even knowing what he was. She might be able to help me find that certain sort of priest. And no, I’m not getting religion. See these fangs?

Okay, so I’m now inside the church. Told you it would be a snap. There is a sort of malaise in the air, a bit like static electricity crawling over my skin, but that’s it. Mind you, I don’t want to go throwing myself at any of these crosses. They sting like a bitch. I don’t want any more scars just yet - I’ve still got one or two lingering after my exertions over the last few weeks. They are nearly gone now, just a reminder to be more careful. I’ve been shot, stabbed, staked, slashed, gashed, poisoned, virtually eviscerated (no, not *that* sort of virtual – this sort was real enough), and a few other things as well. I’m trying to keep my hide in one piece just at the moment.

Ah, there’s the nun. I recognise her scent. I wonder if she’ll recognise me? She’s busy doing something at the altar as I stroll in, so I stand quietly, waiting. I do have manners, you know.

It’s only a few moments before she becomes aware of someone behind her. It’s late at night, so I don’t suppose she was expecting much in the way of visitors. As soon as she turns round, she knows me, despite the gloom in this badly lit old building. At least, she knows the body. She comes forward with a smile on her face, but as she closes the distance, the smile becomes hesitant, and then fades altogether.see see her take hold of the crucifix hanging from her cincture. She knows who I am. She knew the Soul for what he was as soon as she saw him. She’s got a gift, this one.

“Sister Agneta.”

“You’ve killed Angel.”

Direct, and to the point. Gotta give her credit. She’s brave, too. Well, would you take me on, face to face? She’s no spring chicken, you know.

“Not me. His *friends* did that. I’m not complaining, mind you. Seems like he’s gone for good, now.”

“How dare you come into this place?”

It’s interesting. She is very, very angry – I think she must have genuinely liked the Soul – but there isn’t a whiff of fear on her scent. She really is a tough old bird. I quite like her.

I allow her to keep the two or three strides of distance between us. I could so easily close it and finish her off – the cross would be no hindrance at all – but she’s entitled to some respect for her courage.

“I’m looking for a priest. One who will do me a service.”

She looks contemptuous and sceptical at the same time.

“What sort of service could any true priest do for a demon such as you?”

When I tell her, astonishment paints her features. There is a full minute of astounded silence, and then she breaks into true and unfeigned laughter. I can only sigh, and wait for her to stop.

It started a few days ago. As soon as I was back on my feet after the defeat of Fenrix, that werewolf godling, and his Pack, I set about remodelling the mansion. I have big plans. The mansion is just about the most impressive residence in Sunnydale – or would be if half of it weren’t semi-derelict – but it simply won’t be big enough or impressive enough for my plans. Throughout your history – and your prehistory – your rulers have built themselves grandiose halls and throne rooms. The areas where your chieftains and kings have chosen to greet rulers, ambassadors, supplicants, tribute bearers and other assorted visitors, have *always* been intended to ensure that those visitors are overawed by the power, wealth and influence of the incumbent. Even after three thousand years, you remember Solomon not only for his wisdom but also for the splendour of his building projects. Vampires have never had much truck with that sort of thing, so I’m taking a leaf from your book here. This is all a bit new to me, but I want a court that will reflect the position I’m building in the underworld. A court that the Slayer will be proud of. It occurs to me that I’m also following a little in Aurelius’ footsteps. I wonder what he will think?

Wes and Gunn have gone back to Los Angeles. Matters between us are not yet finished. I want to talk to them about bringing them onto my team. I certainly can’t afford to have them on the opposite side, and I need to settle it soon. Aurelius, Sekhmet, and the rest of his court have returned to Cairo, leaving newly vamped Lindsey with me, and I’m just allowing him to stew for a bit. He knows that he and I have a reckoning coming, and that he’s not going to be on the good end, so I’ll let him just think about that for a while. My minions are keeping an eye on him, to make sure he doesn’t run, but I don’t think he will. He’s well aware of how much worse things will get if he does.

So, it’s just the Sunnydale crowd here now, plus Oz and Nina. They are staying over for a while. Oz is catching up with old friends, and Nina is learning that there are many more monsters around than she ever suspected: that she isn’t alone.

So, despite the fact that most of our guests have gone home, the mansion is now noisy and dusty and full of architects and builders and such. When it’s done, I want Buffy to move into the mansion, but I haven’t put it to her yet, not until the place is a bit more peaceful. Less like a building site. I want to formalise our relationship, and suddenly I’m nervous of her response. Demons run on passion, and even I’m not sure how I’ll react if she turns me down; if she sends me away like she did a couple of months ago. I’m definitely reluctant to tell her exactly what the mating ceremony would entail – what it would *have* to entail – and I can’t help remembering the gelding knife I sent to Harris a couple of weeks ago. I suspect she’d borrow it, unless she considered it to be far too merciful. Perhaps I should just kidnap her and run off with her? Perhaps I should just put aside all my plans and make it her and me for eternity? No, I know. It would never work that way. We are what we are, and we have to deal on those terms. Having the Slayer as my mate will enhance my standing with almost all the different species of demons. With some, though, it will sink me beneath reproach. I don’t care. I wouldn’t care if I were outcast from the entire demon world, from my clan and from my family. She is minShe She always will be. You’ve heard of counting the world well lost for love? There you are, then.

Anyway, I’m babbling because the thought of what I’m doing makes me nervous, and I was trying to tell you how I came to be standing here in this church, allowing an elderly nun to laugh at me.

What with everything that’s been going on, Buffy and I have had very little time together since we got back from the werewolf stronghold. If truth be told, it’s years since we really had any time together. She isn’t a teenager anymore; she’s a young woman. The teenager is still there, though, especially when she’s with her friends…

Okay, I admit it. I was lurking. I was expecting to run into her in our favourite cemetery, the Eternal Rest. She still patrols, you know, and stakes more minions than I rescue. I think I’ll just have to go into the body-snatching business until she sees things more my way. So, I was lurking. What I didn’t expect was that she would arrive en masse. I just have time to get up into the protective crown of an elderly yew tree, and conceal myself in that fragrant darkness. Unfortunately, they decide to ensconce themselves underneath said yew tree, Buffy leaning against the bole, the rest lying on the soft grass; the very same soft grass that I myself had intended to lie on with my dearly beloved. If any of them looks directly up, they’ll see me, I’m sure. With her are Xander Harris and Anyanka, Willow and Tara. I carefully close down the link between my mate and me, that mental and physical link that is the result of our bond. I can never shut it down completely, but I can mute it. I don’t want her to know how close I am. Not yet. I’m still in lurk-mode.

They’ve got some of those cans of sugar-free, nutrition-free, taste-free liquid with added chemicals, and Harris takes a long swig of his and belches loudly. Oh yes, they’ve got added gas as well as added chemicals. I can tell by their individual demeanours that they have something they have been trying not to talk about, and it’s Harris who breaks the taboo.

“Buffy, you’ve got to do something about the über-vamp. You *cannot* have him running around Sunnydale as if he owns the place – which, in fact he does, of course. This time, you *have* to stake him. You can’t tell me I’m wrong on this.”

Well, I suppose if that’s my new nickname, it’s a step up from Dead Boy. Buffy says nothing. There’s the smell of guilt and self-pity rolling off her again. *Damn it* but we have been here before, and I am *not* dragging myself round this circle again! Harris is encouraged by her silence, and picks up again what is clearly going to be a rant.

“Slayers slay, Buffy, and what you mainly slay is vampires, with a few pesky assorted demons, fiends and godlings on the side. He’s got Angel’s body, but he’s just another vampire inside. He’s just another demon. He *kills* people. He *eats* people. He was torturing Riley, for goodness’ sake. He killed Jenny. Are you going to stand by while he carries on doing that? Or are you going to stand by his side, holding his coat? Are you?”

“Xander, leave it alone. Please.”

“Turn a blind eye, Buffy? Which one would that be? The blind left one, or the currently available right one? You want me to stop seeing altogether?”

“I’m sorry about your eye, Xander, but if you recall, it was a werewolf that did that to you. Another werewolf – Oz – saved you, and another demon – Angelus – saved both Faith and me, and a hell of a lot of other people, too. This is *my* business. Now leave it alone
“Y
“Your business, is it? When you’re obviously in thrall to evil? You want me to leave it? You want me to not say anything while you’re under his spell, absolutely helpless under his bloody thumb? And what about that *really* creepy clan master of his, Aurelius, and his even scarier cat? You gonna share Angelus with him? Or even better, you gonna let Angelus share you with him? Turn and turn about? We know every vamp in a clan belongs to the master. Oh, and you gonna let Angelus vamp you, too? So we have to stake both of you?

“Buffy, he is *evil*. Can’t you get your head around that? He’s a devil, and he can never be anything but evil. You cannot be seriously thinking about making your life with him. Demons are bad. Killing them is what we do.”

He is working up to a rage now – probably fuelled by the chemicals in that muck he’s drinking – and spittle is flying from his lips, his face red, his eyes wild. At least he is speaking what he truly thinks. The trouble for Harris, though, is that some small, dark part of him wants to be me, to be the successful alpha male that has the most beautiful women at his beck and call. Some even smaller, darker part of him just wants me. I’ve let him feel the call of a hunting vampire, and he’s taken the invitation into himself and hugged it to his most secret soul. It’s still there. It makes him hate himself, and he’s turning that hate onto me, the perceived architect of all his woes.

My mate is hunched in on herself, as if her very posture were trying to shield her from his words. I really want to just leap down and snap his neck for upsetting her, but I really, really want to know what her answer is going to be. So, I stay where I am and wait.

Anyanka puts her hand on his arm to quieten him, but he is beyond that.

“You going to join him in killing humans? Torturing them? Bathing in their blood? You going to be a vampire groupie, getting shagged by the lot of them? That’s what they do, isn’t it? You going…”

“Xander! Enough!”

My love doesn’t need to stand up to make herself dominate those around her.

“I know that you’re speaking out of concern for me, and I know that you hated Angel and hate Angelus even more. All this stuff – it’s all fanciful nonsense, as you well know. I’m old enough to make my own choices, and I have. I choose him. He won’t turn me, and he will protect me – he’s told me so often enough – and if you think he’s going to allow any one else in my bed, then you don’t understand why he killed Spike. It doesn’t matter though, because whatever happens in our life will be what we decide, him and me.

“He’s done more evil things than you and I can imagine, but I still love him, and something tells me that we are meant to be together. I don’t know why – call it Slayer sense if you want, but I know it’s so. That isn’t why I’ve chosen him, though. It’s just because I love him, and he loves me. He was evil for a hundred and fifty years. Anya was a vengeance demon for a thousand years, but you still love her. Is it so difficult for you to understand?

“A Slayer and a master vampire? Yeah, I know it’s about as off as it’s possible to be, but I don’t care. We’ll have to explore how we can get along, but we will, and how we do it will be our business.

“I’d like us to stay friends, Xander, but if you don’t think you can, I’ll understand.”

With that, Buffy subsides, and Xander stands, open-mouthed at her riposte. Much like me, really. I’ve never heard her defend me so roundly. Suddenly, Xander picks up his jacket and heads off out of the cemetery. Anyanka casts an exasperated look at the Slayer and the witches, and then follows him. The three of them don’t look ready to move any time soon. My options are limited. I really don’t want to announce my presence as an eavesdropper to that little outburst, so I’m stuck with my tree perch for a while longer.

It’s Willow who speaks next.

“He’ll come round, Buffy. He worries about you. He loves you, even if it’s just friendly love now. He’ll never really walk away. Like Angelus – he won’t either. Do you really love him? As much as you loved Angel?”

“God help me, yes.”

Her answer is little more than a whisper, but it’s good enough for me. I guess it’s also good enough to turn my thoughts from ripping Harris limb from limb, although strangely, I don’t feel much inclined to do that after my initial surge of anger. He was, after all, speaking from the heart, and with passion. I can relate to that. He was also doing his best to protect Buffy. He was mistaken in his fears, but in some ways I’m glad he had them and was brave enough to voice them.

“Are you going to… you know… be his…mate?”

“He… he hasn’t… he hasn’t asked me.”

What? We *are* mates, and I have indeed asked her. Well, told her, although it was a while ago, before I left on that fateful trip to Canada. I recall it perfectly.

I’d said to her, “For the mating ritual, I’ll have some rings made. Rings just for us. Until then, I want you to wear this one, the one that Sou…that Angel 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 haven’t arranged those formal ceremonies yet, because we have been a bit distracted by other things, such as trying to stay alive, but we are mates and we will have the ritual. I felt sure she understood that, but I must make it plain to her. Straight after I’ve managed to get her on her own and make plain to her quite what an effect she has on my crotch.

“Do you think he will?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how the clan will take to having the Slayer as a member, especially if I’m still human and still the Slayer. Although Aurelius said he was glad that Angelus and I were back together, so maybe that isn’t a problem.”

She pauses then, and even though I can only see the top of her head, I can see that she has more she wishes to confide to her oldest friend. She’s looking at the bare third finger on her left hand, where the claddagh ought to be. Mine, too, is bare. Those rings did not return with us when we were released from the Underworld, and I don’t know why that should be. If you think I’m going back to recover them, though, you can think again. She rubs her finger, just where the ring would be, as if she were missing the feel of it. I know that I do.

“Do you know what I dream about? I dream about a real wedding. A church, and a white gown and bridesmaids. Friends and family. A real, normal wedding. It’s always him, standing with me at the altar, but we’re married in the sight of God and man. Silly, I know, but we all dream about something we can never have. I dream about happily ever after, as well. When I wake up, I just don’t know how it can happen. Somehowgelugelus and I have to come to a compromise, have to work out how to just *be* in ways that the other can live with.”

The witches have moved up to kneel next to her, now, one on either side, and they each take one of her hands. It’s Tara, the quiet one, who speaks next.

“Buffy, you can work it out between you. You’re the sun and moon to him.”

an aan almost feel Buffy smiling.

“Thank you, Tara, that’s sweet…”

If Tara were standing, she would have stamped her foot.

“No Buffy! It isn’t sweet; I mean it exactly. With you, he…he can be everything and anything. Like the moon, you bring out all his powers. He can be whatever he wants to be, and whatever *you* want him to be. No one else can affect him like that. If you keep yourself from him, it’s like the sun – it destroys him, and he becomes just the insane, evil demon that everyone is afraid of. I can’t think of a better way of describing it.

“Just don’t threaten his pride in front of others, and he’ll do anything for you.”

They all go into a group hug, and I feel a bit of a shiver, although it isn’t anything to do with the cold. Drusilla left last night. She said she couldn’t stay where Spike had been, until she’d found someone else to love. I could understand that, so I let her go – for now. Before she went, though, she was reading her tacardcards. She pulled out the fallen angel, and Death, together.

“Look, Daddy,” she said, “you’re falling into the Slayer, and you won’t ever be the same again. We’ll all still love you, though.”

I’d told her that the Slayer would change nothing about me, that the sun would stand still in the sky before that would ever happen, that I was master in my own house. She’d laughed at me, with that tinkly little laugh that she has. Oh well, at least she said everyone would still love me. As long as that includes the Slayer…

They talk some more, exchanging secrets. They’re like teenage girls, except these secrets are rather more adult than the teenagers they used to be would have understood. I must say I’m shocked by some of the exchanges, but intrigued as well. I didn’t think that any of them would talk about *those* sorts of things. You know what I mean. Do all girls talk like that when men aren’t around? Even when they have girlfriends instead of boyfriends? I come out of it quite well, though, and I feel very mellow as they walk off together out of the cemetery. Sufficiently mellow that when I catch up to them, I make it seem that I’m coming from somewhere else, and I give them all a hug from behind, eliciting tiny squeals of surprise, before I pick Buffy up in my arms and carry her back to the yew tree.

I then proceed to give her something else to compare notes about.

She’s given me something to think about, too. Well, more than one thing. But there is that one reason why I’m here, in this church, as the nun stops laughing and starts to wipe the tears from her eyes. She’s still looking at me in disbelief, but she does give me a name and address. It’s a priest, at another church in Los Angeles. It’s not too late to go there now. I can get there by Compline, and Sister Agneta s mes me that she expects Father Jerome to be taking that office.

I’m just in time for the start of the service. When I see which church she’s sent me to, I have to smile. St Jude’s. The patron saint of lost causes. I walk in just in time for the reflections on the day’s sins, and I go to sit quietly at the back. If Sister Agneta thinks this priest will do awishwish, the odds are he’ll know what I am. So I’ll wait.

There are few enough of the faithful here. These old rituals are losing their power over you, yet you have no real understanding of the protection they can offer. As children, you see clearly. As adults, you forget your childhood beliefs and fail to recognise that there are indeed things that go bump in the night; that there are monsters in the closet. Your church has power to protect you, and these rituals are part of that protection. Your religion would stand you in good stead, much of the time – or at least its rituals would. Admittedly, a sword and a strong right arm would be even better, but you’ve mainly given those up, as well.

Now, I’m about to take the Slayer from you, too.

When the reflections and the hymns and prayers are over, the dozen or so elderly worshippers, having cleansed their thoughts of the day’s small evils, gradually file out on tottery legsavinaving the greater evil in command of their church. I could do whatever I wished, here. I could slaughter each and every worshipper and their priest. I won’t, though. I’m hungry, and I want something to eat, but there’s something I want much more. Something I’ve come here to get.

The priest has finished his duties at the altar, and he turns to look at me. He’s been aware of my presence throughout the entire service. He’s a strongly built man, but he’s old now. Around seventy, I should think. I doubt he’ll see a long and happy retirement, though. No, not because of me. Because of something I can hear within him. His heart. It’s failing fast. I doubt he’ll see another two years. He could, in fact, go at any time. That wouldn’t suit me at all. If he’s agreeable to what I want, I’d better move my plans up a bit. He gives me a nod of recognition, and then disappears into the vestry. It’s only a few minutes later when he reappears, minus his vestments, his robes of office. It occurs to me that he would normally have gone into the vestry earlier; that he waited until the entire congregation, such as it was, were outside and on their separate ways home. Perhaps he already knows me.

I staere ere I am, at the back, and wait for him. He sits down in the row in front of me, well within strike range.

“Is there something I can do for you, my son?”

Ah. Is he pretending?

“I saw that you were here for ser service, but you did not participate. Would it not have brought you comfort? Eased your mind for the night?”

Nope. Not pretending. He’s got a smirk on his face and he’s taking the piss. I throttle back my anger. He can’t do it dead. Well, I could make sure he did, but I don’t want it that way.

“I didn’t come for servservice. I came to speak to you.”

“Would it hur hurt you to participate?”

“You know it would.”

He surveys me calmly for a few moments and then, *damn it*, he scents me! His nostrils flare, he tilts his head up a little, and I could swear that he is testing out every nuance of my scent. Humans can’t do that. They simply can’t. You don’t have enough sensory power. Yet that is what he is doing. And he has no fear. None at all. Oh, he’s human all right. Burelyrely he must be something more?

“What is your name?”

“Angelus”

“Ah. You are *that* one. You have killed a great many of our people.”

I shrug. Well, what can I say? It’s true.

“Have you come here to kill me?”

“No. I am here because I wish you to perform a service for me.”

He looks intrigued. The Church does not accommodate vampires, for a start. Also, there is very, very little that the Church could ever do for us. There is nothing that I want, or would ever want, from your religion. Just this one thing.

“What sort of service could you possibly want from me?”

“I want you to carry out a marriage ceremony. For me.”

He looks angry.

“What sort of game is this, Angelus? You want to profane the sacrament of matrimony? You and one of your vampiresses? Get out. Now.”

I make no move to leave, and he remains where he is, righteous in his indignation.

“No. The woman I wish to marry is human. Well, mostly human. She’s the Slayer.” His response is not unexpected. Not after the nun, that is. The indignation vanishes and he dissolves into laughter. I’m getting a little tired of this. I’m still not going to eat him, but it’s becoming a damn near run thing.

He sobers up pretty quickly, though, and stares at me, in a very measuring way. He’s got blue eyes, and they are very sharp. When people get old, their eyes usually become rheumy and faded. Not this guy. His gaze can spear you at a thousand yards. He’s full of power, too. I don’t know what sort, yet, but I can feel it.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why have you come to me?”

“Because Sister Agneta gave me your name. I could find another priest to do it, if I wanted a sot, a fraudster or an imbecile. I don’t. I want a real priest, for a real ceremony. We cannot use the normal religious traps, bs, but I still want a recognisable wedding.”

“The Slayer – does she know what your intentions are?”

“She’s already my mate.”

He nods slowly, assimilating something that must be a bit of a shock to his system.

“You’ve had that ceremony?”

I shift uncomfortably.

“We haven’t formalised it yet, no. But she is my mate, for all that.”

“Does she know?”

“Yes.”

He nods again, and is silent for a moment.

“Why this? Why marriage? That isn’t the vampire way.”

“Because she has a dream of churches and white frocks. I want her to have that.”

“Angelus, doing something for another. Well, I never thought I’d see the day… When do you want the wedding to take place?”

“At the solstice.”

“Winter solstice?”

“No. Summer solstice.”

“Why then? I would have thought that you would wish the night to represent the height of your powers? That won’t happen on the shortest night of the year.”

I shift uncomfortably again on the suddenly hard wooden bench.

“This is for her. If there is anything mystic going on, it should be in her favour. Will you, or will you not, do it?”

He frowns a little, considering.

“Do you intend to turn her, make her like yourself?”

A knife twists in my heart as I give him the reply.

“Never.”

“Will you continue to kill?”

“I need to eat.”

He looks solemnly at me again, for a long and silent moment.

“I think I can leave that to the Slayer to deal with. Do you truly mean her no harm?”

“Truly.”

“I shall wish to speak to her, you know?”

“I know.”

He bows his head and is silent, the first time that he has turned his gaze away from me in this conversation. It is as if he is communing with his god. Perhaps he is.

“There will be a price.”

“Naturally.” The Church has been noted for selling its favours. I can feel my lip curling a little. Although, looking around this little church, it could do with some money spending on it.

“There are two things you must promise me.”

Oh? Not money, then?

“Name them.”

“Firstly, when she is dead…”

I feel my demon face burst to the fore, and a growl rumble in my throat. I have to make fists of my hands to stop them reaching for him.

“…You know that I speak of something that you yourself must have already considered, if you are honest in your intent not to turn her. So, when she is dead, you will go to confession.”

“What! Why in the name of everything unholy would I do that?”

“Because I ask it of you – no, I *demand* it as part of the price.”

The growl rumbles a little deeper.

“What good do you think that will do?”

“That is not my business. It is the business of the priest who will hear your confession.”

I bring myself back to my human form. What harm will this do? None that I can see, and I intend it to be a very long time in the future.

“Very well. And the secondng?”ng?”

“You will perform a service for me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I have not yet determined the nature of the service. I’ll tell you when it’s time.”

“You aren’t serious? Du reu really expect me to agree to something that you won’t specify? You might want me to boil myself in holy water. Get real.” I decide to be a little cruel, because I’ve definitely had enough of trying to be civilised. “Besides, you’d better make your mind up fairly quickly – you haven’t got all that long to hang about, you know.”

He refuses to be goaded.

“I’m well aware of my health, vampire. If I die before I specify the service, you will be free of debt. Let us just say that you will know what it is by the time the ceremony is complete, and it will not be outside the realms of possibility for you.”

“How should I trust you?”

“Because you have my word, just as I have yours. Just as I trust you now not to kill me where I sit.”

Am I prepared to do this? To give my word to an oath I know nothing about? Yet, he smells of honesty.

“Very well. We have a bargain.”

“And you have a little over three weeks. Do you really think she’s going to agree to that? You know what women are like…”

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To Chapter 2