False Claims

Chapter Seventy Seven


She saw only one and she saw all. She was in the moment and she was timeless.

In a truly ironic twist of fate Buffy Summers had become that which she had so vehemently denied being just hours before – a slayer and nothing more. With no humanity to weigh her down she was a killing machine and nothing in her path could stand in the face of such an elemental force.

The part of Buffy’s slayer instinct responsible for tactical assessment was grateful that Angelus was absent from the night’s violence; but that side of her designed by some higher power for the purpose of eradicating the enemies of mankind longed to face her nemesis here, now when she knew without doubt that she had no feelings to interfere with his long overdue demise.

In a blur of muscle and weaponry three more vampires fell before her. Scanning the room to assure herself of the relative safety of her friends Buffy caught Giles’ eye and, with a sharp nod, indicated that it was time for him to recover Cordelia.

As the second strongest fighter among them it had been agreed that Buffy would stay downstairs as Giles ventured to the upper level where Cordelia was being kept. While the opponents they were facing had the advantage of numbers they were, in a word, stupid. Whether it was youthful minions or human servants they were all weak and far too limited to understand that any power they might possess stemmed directly from Angelus who was currently not in residence. Even the superior strength and speed of the entry level vampires eventually fell to the cunning and creativity of the humans they faced. Minions and servants were geared to be weak. It made them easily controlled and even more easily replaced. It also made them easier to kill. It was why the turnover of young vampires was high and minions of age and stature were the minority in a clan and usually owed their existence to a master who saw a spark of potential in them and took them under their wing.

It was for this very reason that Giles was tasked with Cordelia’s retrieval. The fighting downstairs was simply the first line of defense and, as in chess, the weakest of pieces were being sacrificed. If that should fail the next step in Angelus’ plan would be to have the young woman’s location guarded by those of his soldiers with greater age and thus greater power. And as the bolt from his crossbow pierced the heart of one of the sentries and alerted the remaining three, Giles was assured of two things – his theories were correct and he’d definitely found Cordelia.

Spiked glanced over at Drucilla; an illusion of absolute purity encased in a stillness only death can fashion. He was glad he’s erred on the side of caution as he’d drugged her tea earlier that day. Not that he’d even remotely suspected that the slayer would have the balls to come back with both barrels blazing when her little gang had just gotten their asses handed to them a few scant hours before. No, he’d merely wanted Angelus to be able to see for himself that his childe had been incapacitated and therefore unable to render any assistance should the slayer loose the battle.

And he had to admit that it had worked. When Angelus had stormed into the room soon after the ruckus he’d been livid at the near loss of his pet. Cursing in a variety of languages it had taken him almost a full minute to notice Drucilla’s complete and utter lack of movement.

“She had one of her spells.” Spike took advantage of Angelus’ momentary silence to explain why his grandsire had received no familial support in the previous fight. “And really, what was I gonna do; roll over them?”

The younger vampire smirked at his incensed grandsire. He’d been the butt of Angelus’ mockery for months now, being told over and over how helpless and incapable he was. It was with the greatest of pleasures that Spike threw that very weakness back in Angelus’ face leaving him no way to dispute the blond’s claim of impotence as he had been the one to assert Spike’s limitations so vehemently in the first place.

Having found no outlet for his rage Angelus left in much the same manner as he’d arrived, shouting something about needing to create new minions.

Spike jerked back to reality as he heard footsteps beyond the door. Even without checking he knew it was the watcher. They slayer’s steps would be silent in their graceful, fluid movements and the others of their little gang would be the heavy, clumsy footfalls of those with little battle experience. This was the tread of an experienced fighter and there was only one among them other than Buffy that fit the bill.

Cracking the door open slightly, his suspicions were concerned as he saw one of Angelus’ more trusted lieutenants disappear in a cloud of ash. As the remaining two converged on the lone fighter Spike knew that if he wanted his plan to succeed he would have to take on more than the passive roll he had anticipated.

Suiting action to thought he stepped into the hallway as the vampires passed his door and grabbing the one nearest by the neck he gave a vicious twist and a jerk that literally tore the demon’s head from his body. As the minion disintegrated under his hands Spike’s leg shot out connecting with the last of the guards and propelling him towards Giles who had conveniently pulled out a large stake just in time to take advantage of the momentum that had been provided to his adversary.

“Yes, well, thank you.”

Spike’s lips twisted slightly at the reluctant gratitude extended by the do-gooder whose ass he’d just saved. Thankful that he wouldn’t have to deal with the pompous, arrogant crowd for much longer he merely shook his head and reaffirmed their deal.

“Just make sure you keep the slayer clear of my door and we’re square.”

The vampire gestured towards a large, heavy door at the end of the hallway.

“Your girl’s in there, but don’t expect her to be to enthusiastic about the rescue.”

Spike had heard Angelus’ earlier confrontation with his pet. He knew that despite her extraordinary resilience the young woman had been exceedingly traumatized by the gruesome threats with which Angelus had bombarded her. He’d also heard her swear to stay to prevent those grisly possibilities from becoming reality. But despite this knowledge and regardless of the fact that he’d come to genuinely like the girl that his grandsire had so ruthlessly pursued and imprisoned, he said nothing and turned back towards his own room. After all, he had his own girl to look after.

Giles felt the ringing of Spike’s ominous words in his ears as he approached the door that would finally lead him to Cordelia. Relieved to find it unlocked he squared his shoulders in a vain attempt to prepare himself for what he might find on the other side. Stepping into the room his eyes were immediately drawn to the large bed that dominated the space. There, sleeping silently, oblivious to the conflict raging around her, was the young woman that, for her own sake, he had hoped not to lay eyes on for some time. Moving to her side Giles called to her softly wanting to wake her gently.

“Cordelia.”

When the sound, barely more than a whisper, failed to rouse her he called out more insistently, reaching his hand forward to lightly shake her shoulder.

The well intentioned but poorly thought out contact caused them both to stiffen in shock as with a small scream, Cordelia shot upright her eyes wild with a terror that ripped into his very soul to see.

“Giles?”

Her voice was faint and unsure as the fright faded from her eyes to leave a dazed uncertainty.

“It’s me, Cordelia. We’ve come to get you out of here.”

Moving slowly towards her to keep from startling the skittish girl once more, Giles began to wrap the gradually slipping sheet around her, conscious of the fact that she was most likely naked underneath.

As awareness gradually dawned within her, Cordelia began pushing Giles away as she slid further towards the middle of the bed.

“No. No.” Her hair swirled around her as her head shook in rejection of what she now understood to be his intentions. “You can’t be here, Giles. You have to go.”

Seeing the normally bright, loquacious girl so distant and withdrawn brought the meaning of Spike’s words clearly into focus.

“Cordelia, it doesn’t matter what Angelus may have told you; we won’t let him hurt you anymore. We’re going to get you out of here; we have a plan, Cordelia. We’ll keep you safe.”

The dissociative state which had gripped the girl melted under waves of agitation as hands that began to shake uncontrollably rose to ward of Giles’ attempts to extract her from the twisted bedclothes with some sort of modest covering.

“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!”

Scrambling backwards to escape the well meaning hands Cordelia registered the fiercely determined light that flashed in Giles’ eyes.

“Cordelia, I understand that you’re scared but you are coming with us.”

Even through the veil of fear covering her Cordelia sobbed out a bitter laugh at the use of a word as tame as scared to describe the utter terror consuming her. Knowing full well that he had every intention of following through on his intentions to force her to leave she felt hysteria begin to close her throat for the second time that day. Barely able to gather enough air to push forth a meaningful string of words she found herself in the humiliating but unavoidable position of babbling out a stream of incoherent words, hoping that, as a watcher, Giles could organize the thoughts that she couldn’t.

“Can’t – I can’t. Blood and bones – and God, he’ll never – he’ll just – so much screaming. So much pain. It’s me – because of me – I have to – you can’t - ”

Despite his resolve Giles froze at the nearly crazed tone that encased her words. No matter how steadfastly he put forth his objective to Cordelia, a burgeoning fear bloomed deep inside of him as he briefly imagined what threats Angelus must have delivered to this girl to render her nearly incapable of speech; the one area in which she had always so clearly excelled. Resolutely pushing doubts aside he was about to reach for her once again when he was pulled from his goal by a shocked gasp from the doorway.

Having reduced their enemies to almost nothing but a beaten down few who were manageable even by her relatively inexperienced friends, Buffy made her way upstairs to see what was taking Giles so long, hoping that he hadn’t encountered more resistance than he could handle.

She had expected to run headlong into a fight and so was completely unprepared for the scene that greeted her; one for which her slayer abilities had never prepared her.

“What did he do to her?”

Buffy couldn’t help the whispered horror of her question even though deep down she knew that she could happily live the rest of her life without the answer.

For the first time in hours a sliver of emotion shot through her. The day had been too crowded with revelations, with emotional and psychological stimuli for her to accurately pinpoint what the flutter of feeling was. Intellectually she knew that it was most likely an amalgam of a myriad of sensations – pity for the broken girl in front of her, gratitude at the protection the wounded soul was even now trying to extend to them, guilt that she has let this go so far for so long.

And as quickly as they came they were gone as the rational, detached portion of her psyche that was responsible for giving name to the sentiments beginning to bubble within her acknowledged that they were of no help to anyone present and pushed them back behind the barrier of denial so necessary to one of her calling.

Walking over to the bed Buffy nudged Giles to the side. Resting one knee on the mattress she leaned in close to Cordelia and, careful to reign in her slayer’s strength, delivered a stunning slap across the brunette’s face.

Although not unconscious, the blow was forceful enough to cause Cordelia to slump down across the blankets. Leaving her to Giles to gather her up and sling over his shoulder, Buffy made her way back downstairs to clear out any final resistance to their escape.

The cold air was bracing to the group of weary humans as they piled into the van that Jenny had procured for the night’s venture. And yet even the shock of the chill against their skin couldn’t pull the small band of heroes from the haze that had enveloped them at the state of their liberated friend.

Lying limply over Giles’ shoulder, Cordelia was conscious but seemingly immune to the frantic chaos surrounding her. Ensconced in her own little world she didn’t hear the sounds of battle, didn’t feel the gentle jolts from her awkward, upside down position. Shaking with shock she saw everything through a fog that her mind had finally provided to protect those last few precious threads of sanity to which she clung.

“Cordelia!!!”

And in an instant those paper walls shattered. Responding to the desperate fury in the deafening roar, Cordelia braced her hands against the back beneath her and pushed herself upwards, searching out the vampire still screaming out her name. Even her terror dulled mind was able to comprehend the horrific intentions so clearly visible in the twisted demonic features of Angelus’ face.

The barely restrained violence in his powerful form brought crystal clarity to his earlier threats still echoing in her head. Lost to rational thought Cordelia was a prisoner of instinct. Heaving her body to the side she tried to free herself from grip binding her thighs. With no other thought than to prevent the deaths promised in the golden gaze burning into her, she frantically tried to regain her feet; to keep the vow with which she had purchased the lives of her friends.

In the midst of an inferno of rage Cordelia saw the brief yet searing sense of satisfaction flowing from him as he watched her struggle to return to him. They both knew that, even with his speed he’d never make it to where they were even now settling into the running van. A roar of fury and assured retribution split the night and the last thing she saw was his enraged face as the slayer’s fist slammed into her face and stillness overtook her.

Chapter Seventy Eight


Xander ran his fingers once more through the dark waves of mahogany hair spilling over his lap. It seemed so long since he had touched her that he couldn’t seem to make his hands abandoned their soothing journey and frankly he refused to invest much energy in trying.

Although they’d been driving for well over an hour Cordelia had yet to stir; a fact that bothered the boy despite Giles assurances that it was trauma and exhaustion rather than the minimal strike by the slayer that accounted for her continued sleep.

It was just another in a series of conflicting emotions that had plagued him in recent weeks. He was angry that Buffy had hit Cordelia, but he was sympathetic to the fact that she’d really had no other choice. Feelings that mirrored those he had for his former girlfriend. It hurt to see her fight their rescue, and yet when Giles told them about Cordelia’s frantic pleas for their safety his heart swelled with his love for her.

Contrary to the somewhat popular belief, Xander Harris was a fairly observant and intelligent young man. And yet he couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around recent happenings or the consequences that were sure to follow. All he knew now was what he felt, and that was a jumble of love and anger and sorrow so potent that it threatened to stagger him under the unaccustomed load. A part of him wanted to sort through the mess, to try to straighten out his head. But as with everyone involved in this endless tragedy his mind choose instead, regardless of his desires, to shield him with an almost immediate rejection of reality that, even in light of the proof resting in his arms, he could not oppose.

The van finally began to slow as a small airstrip came into view. If Xander had been worried before it was nothing compared to the fear that was beginning to stir deep inside him as they pulled alongside a sleek, private jet.

He’d understood that Cordelia would have to be hidden from Angelus, and he’d come to accept that they wouldn’t be able to see her often without leading the vampire to her door, but the realization that she would be going so far from them as to require a plane was almost one distressing revelation too many.

The side door opened and arms reached for the precious bundle he was all too reluctant to part with.

“Giles?”

The sympathetic look in the older man’s eyes was somehow worse than any expression of fear or hopelessness would have been because every time Xander had seen this particular set to Giles’ features it had been followed by news that had become progressively worse as the months had passed.

Hellmouth luck held true and this was no exception.

“Xander” weariness laced the kind voice, “she can’t stay with us. Even if we could effectively hide her we wouldn’t be able to obscure the bond.”

Reaching his arms forward, the muted depths of compassion in Giles’ blue eyes silently begged for the boy’s trust.

“I know you want to protect her; we all want that. But we have to think about what’s best for Cordelia. She needs to be somewhere safe so we can take that final step in ensuring her future well being.”

If there was anything guaranteed to sway Xander Harris it was the promise of Angelus’ death; especially when the sincerity of that oath blazed for from the very soul of the man before him. Knowing that although he was being asked he really had no choice, he forced himself to relax his hold on the sleeping brunette as Giles pulled her from his embrace.

However he began to immediately question his decision as Giles turned towards the plane only to be met by a man with a syringe in his hand. He would have jumped at the man himself but just as he cleared the doorway Buffy was already there, the unknown man’s arm caught in her firm grip.

“It’s merely a sedative, Miss Summers. Miss Chase will have enough distress to sort through once we arrive without having her awaken frightened and disoriented en route.”

Even knowing the stranger was right didn’t stop Xander from wanting to tell Buffy to break his face as he injected Cordelia with the clear fluid before waving over a man whose hulking size and inexpensive suit screamed ‘flunky’, to take charge of Cordelia’s limp form; disappearing with her onto the plane.

Now that she was really out of their care Xander wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to storm on board and demand to go with her, to be there for her, but it would hard to rationalize the kind of immaturity it would take to delay their departure in light of the selflessness everyone else was throwing around that day.

“Damn altruism.” He mumbled, kicking the gravel as he too made the decision to do what was best instead of what he wanted and climbed back into the van.

Giles released a weary sigh as he watched the despondent, young man disappear from sight. How he longed for a return of the cold detachment he’d had when he’d arrived in Sunnydale. With every day that passed he felt the grim culmination of consequences for what he firmly to be failures that were his and his alone.

If only he’d staked Angel when he’d first arrived. If he’d insisted that his slayer work alone as tradition dictated. If he’d demanded that Angelus be killed before his play for power; made it painfully clear the horrific destruction the vicious vampire would wreak even if those revelations emotionally scarred Buffy for a time. If he’d only given more thought to what could have gone wrong that night so long ago.

It was a bitter litany that played non-stop in his head growing louder with every lie he forced through his lips. After all, while he believed that it was justice that he suffer for the sins of his inadequacy, the children around him had done nothing but their best in such impossible circumstances that he couldn’t bring himself to tell them the truth, couldn’t bare to tell them that Cordelia’s freedom would most likely come at the cost of her life.

Even though his decision had been immediate when Spike had told him of Cordelia’s captivity, he had spent all of the hours until the actual rescue attempt agonizing over the knowledge that he just might be saving Cordelia from a slow death only to deliver her to a swift demise. Having no way to judge the severity of the bond without observing the young woman all he could do was hope that, despite the lengthy exposure, she had been able to retain some small amount of autonomy that would make it possible, although most certainly unspeakably painful, to break all ties to Angelus.

When he’d first seen her that night, when she’d first spoken begging him to leave her, his heart had shattered by the belief that they were far too late if she would demand to remain by the vampire’s side. The relief that had swamped him as he’d realized that she was fighting for their sake and not her own was short lived as he was finally made privy to just a sliver of the nightmarish existence which had become Cordelia’s life. At that moment Giles realized that although she had some how managed to hold tightly to a small sense of identity, the responsibility she felt for those she cared for and the numerous of ways in which Angelus was able to use that concern to manipulate her had steadily worn the girl down to the point that even her immense strength of will might not be capable of rebounding.

Now, as he watched her being carried aboard the waiting plane he could only hope that she was either strong enough to survive the exquisite emotional anguish and physical torment of breaking the bond, or that she’d been weakened sufficiently to succumb quickly to its fatal nature. More than anything he simply couldn’t bear the thought of her prolonged suffering if death was the inescapable end to this monstrous crime against an innocent young woman.

Shaking off his thoughts, Giles forced himself to focus on the events at hand.

“You understand that I’m trusting you with her wellbeing, Matthew.”

Ignoring the slightly condescending smile on the younger man’s face, Giles waited for the assurance that was implicit but that he found himself needing to hear.

“We both know how this will most likely end, Rupert. But you know that I’ll do whatever I can for the girl.”

Taking what little comfort he could find in the promise of his friend Giles turned to go when he felt a hand fall not unkindly on his shoulder.

“For God’s sake man; you’re a watcher, not a father. You have to get your priorities back in order, Rupert. You care about these children, but that’s not the job of men like us. And between you and me, if you can’t resolve these…personal issues soon you may not have to worry about the job much longer.”

With a small shift of his shoulders Giles dislodged the restraining hand. He’d known Matthew Worthington for over a decade, and although every watcher worth his salt would deny it, the impeccably groomed and ruggedly handsome, raven haired man was the epitome of the debonair, James Bond-like image that they had all secretly envisioned for themselves when they joined the covert organization with dreams of saving the world. But despite the stereotypical exterior, Giles had always found Matthew to be a good and decent man; one of the few whom he’d trust with his very life.

In light of that Giles tried to view the advice given as the concern of a friend and not the criticism of a colleague. Sure, it still rankled, but it was nothing that he hadn’t said to himself a thousand times over already.

“Of course, if you’re right about Angelus’ connection to this girl you may not live long enough to need to concern yourself with job security.”

Again the words were nothing that Giles hadn’t considered in almost an obsessive manner. But as he heard them Giles’ eyes fell on his slayer standing guard over the vehicle holding her friends. Although the very air around her seemed to bend to the windstorms of unrelenting misfortune, she refused to bow. The childish girl who’d cast herself as a star crossed lover had finally shed that role, turning her back on the adolescent to embrace the killer that was also essential to her existence. And as sad as that would have made him a week ago it now provided the only flicker of hope in the endless night that faced them all.

Giles didn’t bother to respond. With the morbid confidence that accompanies the near certainty of death he rejoined his tattered band of fighters. He knew that Matthew was probably right, that they might not be long for this world; but looking briefly at the grimly determined faces surrounding him he realized that win or loose they were finally ready.

Chapter Seventy Nine


He observed her closely through the two-way mirror as he had for the last ten days. He knew that it wasn’t exactly reasonable, but since Rupert had entrusted her safety solely to him, Matthew had felt burdened by responsibility for Cordelia Chase’s decline.

Not that he’d expected a different outcome. No, if anything he had expected the young woman to have succumbed to the bond days ago, dying painfully like those few before her that the Council had been able to observe in similar circumstances.

Rupert had told him of her strength of will, her resiliency; but he’d taken it with a grain of salt believing the words to be the desperate denial of a watcher far too emotionally compromised.

Now Matthew was forced to revise that opinion.

Although the voluptuous figure he’d been handed the week before was slowly vanishing as the shadows of bones replaced the lush softness of fading curves, the very fact that she was still conscious was an extraordinary feat that was the talk of the Council hallways.

Unfortunately that very consciousness was consuming the balance of Cordelia’s energy.

At first, although her hysterical ramblings had been documented they’d been dismissed as a natural byproduct of the bond she shared with Angelus. But as the hours passed they realized that she wasn’t fighting them out of any desire to rush back into captivity, but rather to save her friends from what she seemed to believe would be a fate worse than death. Familiar with the foe they faced he knew that it was very likely that her fears were well grounded.

It didn’t take long for the exceptionally fatigued girl to realize that all she was doing was wasting her breath with words that were falling on purposefully deaf ears. Since that epiphany she’d ceased any attempts at communication.

But what worried Matthew more than the silence was her refusal to eat. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was restrained twice a day and nourished intravenously she’d most certainly be dead.

His lips twisted bitterly as he realized that if things continued in this manner they were only working on borrowed time.

Knowing at this point there was nothing to lose, he abandoned proper procedure and let himself into Cordelia’s room. He knew that he would be reprimanded for this breech of protocol and he smiled wryly in appreciation of the fact that he was now engaging in the very behavior for which he’d condemned Rupert a scant few days before. Finally he was beginning to understand his friend all too well. Watching the brave, beautiful girl sitting painfully still on the floor, legs pulled up tightly against her chest in what was clearly a protective posture, he couldn’t stem the need to soothe her fears, to bring her back from the edge to which the vampire had pushed her.

Stopping a few feet in front of the small ball of humanity huddled so despairingly in the corner, Matthew waited for a sign from the girl as to how to proceed.

When none was forthcoming, not even the merest of nervous flickers acknowledging his presence, he decided that there could be no delicacy in the cessation of this ultimately fatal, downward spiral.

“So, you’re Angelus’ whore.”

And for those words Matthew was rewarded with a most beautiful sight as Cordelia’s head snapped up and her previously expressionless eyes flashed with anger.

“Fuck you.”

He could tell that these were words that rarely passed her lips, but they were music to his ears although he took careful pains not to let it show.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not me you want to fuck. Miss your demon between your legs?”

Weakened though they were and wracked with pain her muscles nevertheless tensed in outrage.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

True, but God he wanted to.

“I know that you gave yourself to a being so evil that he’s considered the scourge of an entire continent. I know that you submitted to him for weeks on end. I know that you fought being rescued so fiercely that you had to be rendered unconscious by the slayer. I know that your friends risked their lives to save you and you begged to stay with that sadistic monster.”

Although he knew it must be draining her already depleted strength Cordelia’s body strained forward as she screamed out her anger and fear.

“And you think they’re safe now? Do you know what you’ve done? What he’ll do because of this? You arrogant bastard! He’ll kill them all. Because I left; because I didn’t fight hard enough to stay.”

They anger visibly fled her body and she began to rock gently as she curled even tighter into herself as if to halt the exodus of what little life she had left.

Whispers replaced screams and carried within them an edge of weary horror that tore at the heart of the man who’d thought himself immune to the sufferings that such evil brought.

“He’ll cut them open; rip out their bones. He’ll make their agony last for days; and for what? So I can die in this room?”

“You don’t know anything at all. You can’t. You can’t know what it’s like to have your life systematically destroyed; to be captured and trapped in a web of terror and then to hate nothing more than being freed.”

Her head dropped to her arms as if she couldn’t muster the energy to keep it raised even a moment more. It was the sign for which he’d been waiting.

“God, you must have hated him.”

A small nodding motion was the only indication that she’d heard the sympathetic words.

“Even more because you loved him.”

Her body stiffened and her arms clutched convulsively at her knees before releasing the tension as she acknowledged the truth of the statement uttered with no condemnation with another tiny nod.

As her small form began to shake with sobs of grief for all that had happened, would still happen, for all that she had lost, Matthew carefully sat beside her and, with gentle movements so as not to scare her, pulled the weeping girl into his embrace.

It took more than half an hour for the tears soaking his shirt to subside. Sensing an end to Cordelia’s cathartic release, Matthew ran a comforting hand over her hair.

“How about some breakfast?”

The nearly imperceptible affirmative bob against his shoulder was his only answer, but it was one that he’d definitely take.

Chapter Eighty


Well, that was a disaster.

Covered in burns Angelus laid on the large bed calming himself with Cordelia’s fading scent as he went over the night’s events.

In retrospect the attack on the library had probably been a strategic error. He’d thought that the element of surprise would negate the slayer’s home turf advantage. He’d been wrong and was demon enough to admit it.

Not that he’d take complete responsibility for the blunder. Ever since Cordelia had been stolen from him he could barely think straight much less construct complex and effective plans.

When she’d first been taken he’d been confident in the power of their bond to lead him to her; but after days of trying to determine her location he’d reached the infuriating conclusion that the bond was being blocked.

The only good thing to come from that revelation was the realization that such a feat would take a great deal of magic to accomplish, paring down the number of suspects and possible locations in which Cordelia could be held.

It was this last thought that helped him hold his fracturing sanity somewhat together. Since taking control of the Hellmouth his resources were immense. Eventually he was guaranteed to locate the epicenter of such a large expenditure of mystical energies.

Angelus almost chuckled at the fact that without his recently acquired position he would have little hope of retrieving his lovely Moonbeam, and so Cordelia, who’d been vital in his ascension to power, had practically engineered her own recapture.

Of course in the end he didn’t chuckle. How could he when the piercing agony of Cordelia’s loss was burning through what was left of his rational mind leaving only a vicious and desperate animal in its place?

And it wasn’t just his own well being that concerned him. He and Cordelia had suited each other so well because her emotional and mental strength and his physical strength worked in such harmony. But it was in their areas of relative weakness that they would suffer. And while he abhorred the fact that his mind seemed to be unraveling, he knew that the true danger was to Cordelia. As a human her fragile makeup was especially vulnerable to the overwhelming stress of such intense supernatural pressures. He was acutely aware that with every passing moment her body would be slowly succumbing to the crushing despair that his absence would bring.

Leaping off the bed he began pacing furiously as a flurry of obscenities flew past his lips. Once again he was overcome by a truly mind-numbing hatred of the slayer. He hated her insipid, pasty face, her pathetic, needy nature, but most of all he utterly loathed the hypocrisy that allowed her to pretend she was saving Cordelia when they all knew she was simply letting her die in a different location.

It was this hatred more than anything that was keeping him even remotely functioning now. He’d find Cordelia, he’d bring her home, and then he’d annihilate the slayer, her watcher, her little gang, and anyone connected to them; any trace of their existence wiped from the memory of the entire dimension. And as often as his lovely little pet had tried to stop him before he couldn’t contemplate that she’d do so in the future; not after her so called friends had left her somewhere to die.

Forcing his thoughts from the pleasurable contemplation of violence and mayhem to more pressing matters he returned, once again, to earlier events.

Things had started out well as they’d entered the library. With Dru beside him, finally recovered from her bizarre and ill-timed “spell”, they’d used the element of surprise to their advantage, quickly launching powerful attacks against the slayer and the watcher as his minions, greatly decreased in numbers by the slayer’s previous two assaults, forced the lesser fighters back and out of Buffy’s circle of protection.

How could he have foreseen that it would be that very strategy that would signal the downfall of what had started as such a promising strategy? Although in retrospect his biggest error had been in not killing Xander fucking Harris and parading his mutilated corpse around town when he’d had the chance. Who knew it would come back to haunt him at such a critical juncture?

He’d had the upper hand. Although the separation from Cordelia was wearing him thin, the slayer and her friends hadn’t had it much better. It was clear to even his muddled mind that the White Hats were almost at the breaking point as they tried to live with their choices and failures of the past months. And as much as it pleased him to watch them crack under the weight of their unbearable guilt, it also worried him as it spoke far more eloquently than words to Cordelia’s current condition. There was no way their souls would seem this heavy if their former comrade in arms was well.

Putting aside his rage at those thoughts he used his knowledge of their pain to weaken them; showering them with verbal taunts and vitriolic recriminations. And it had been working until the moron had managed to make his way to the weapons cage. It had taken Angelus a moment to realize what the boy was doing as his minions began to fall, screaming in agony before being dusted by one of the other do-gooders. When enough minions had been cut down he’d seen exactly what was happening – they had modified a fire extinguisher to shoot pressurized Holy Water. It was a truly ingenious weapon, but all he could think about when he saw it was that it shouldn’t work. How could water possibly remain consecrated when one was spewing it out of a nozzle much like a clown with seltzer water?

And yet…

The efficiency of the weapon had been ruthless. While it would be bulky and unwieldy to lug into battles; situated conveniently in their base of operations it was stellar in its defensive capabilities. He and Drucilla had been fortunate to be so close to the door that they were only moderately burned by the scalding, sacred liquid before they made their escape.

Angelus ground his teeth at that last thought. He hated escaping. Loathed being in a position of weakness; having to run.

Even as he contemplated the cosmic wrongness that was his night his attention was diverted by his childe’s anguished screams from across the hall. With his sanity dwindling by the minute and no outlet for his frustrated fury, Angelus made his way across the hall in a swirling cloud of imminent threat.

Angelus read the look on Spike’s face as the door crashed against the stone wall. It was painfully obvious that the younger vampire was concerned about the condition of his sire and laying the blame for her injuries at Angelus’ feet. He would have found it merely pathetic if it wasn’t so damned annoying.

But as useless as Spike was even he had a vampire’s innate sense of self-preservation and it was that instinct that had him swallowing whatever angry reprimand he was planning to deliver and it pleased Angelus to no end that the death promised in his dark eyes was so easy to read.

Before Angelus could fully enjoy yet another victory over his hapless grandchilde Drucilla’s screams transformed into whimpers and then moans as she was overtaken by sights that only she could see.

“I see her. Daddy’s little light.”

Her ramblings needing little decoding, Angelus reached forward shaking the injured brunette in his desperate need to learn what she knew.

“Where is she Dru?”

He vaguely heard Spike’s protest at this treatment, but the unholy sound that clawed its way from deep inside his chest caused even the cocky blond to blanch and shrink slightly back into his chair.

“Cold. The eyes are so cold. They’re all around her. Little light not so bright.”

The demented giggles that followed would normally have amused Angelus but instead they infuriated him as he knew that they signaled the last usable information that would be forthcoming from his childe for a while.

Angelus’ gut clenched as he tried to decipher the clues that were hidden underneath Drucilla’s incoherent ramblings. He knew that the answer was there but with his ever evaporating cognitive capabilities the solution eluded him, dancing just beyond his mental reach.

“Dammit! Its right there, I know it!”

Apparently Spike disagreed and had Angelus not been so consumed with the task at hand he would have shown the boy who was Master and who was only fit to serve.

“Now you’re just graspin’ at straws. So people are watchin’ over the girl. Nothing strange in that. Her mates were hardly likely to dump her of in some sleazy motel ‘til this thing was over.”

He literally felt it click and for one blissful moment his mind seemed clear. A creepy and menacing smile crept across his face.

“They’re watching her. How could I be so stupid?! Of course they sent her to the people with the magick and the manpower to guard her from me – the Watcher’s Council. Fuck! I’ve wasted over a week dealing with the wrong people.”

He began to pace once again, but this time it was with a leashed and considering manner as opposed to the frenetic energy of his earlier movements.

“Well, well, well. Apparently I’m not the only one engaging in miscalculations. Could they honestly believe that the Council will protect her?” His cold laughter echoed sharply as it hit the stone walls. “They’re so naive. They believe that just because they’re all “truth, justice, and the American way” that everyone’s like that. But the Council? They’d sell their souls to the Devil himself if it advanced their agenda.”

Angelus sighed in near bliss as hope filled him for the first time in days.

“This will be far easier than I thought. I don’t need to recapture Cordelia. I just need to find something the Council wants more than they want to help one young woman that plays no part in their plans. Once I do that I won’t have to go to her. They’ll bring her back to me.”

His mind filling with possibilities, Angelus left his childe to her would be protector determined that his next plan would be foolproof.

Chapter Eighty One


The expressions of dejection on the faces of those seated around the library table were incongruous with the fact that a victory had just been won. The reason for the despairing looks was quickly summed up.

“We need a plan.”

Buffy’s declaration was a reflection of everyone’s thoughts and her somber tone matched their gloom at the complete and utter lack of ideas to defeat such a brutal and relentless enemy.

Jenny fidgeted for a moment in her chair. Although she’d been generally accepted back into the groups good graces she still felt as if she were somehow on probation and was thus hesitant to bring up what she was sure to be a controversial proposal. Still, she owed it to the group to let them consider every possibility for themselves.

“I might have an idea.”

All eyes snapped to her doing nothing to decrease her uneasiness.

“I’ve developed a program to translate the original curse. If it works I may be able to recast it, to return Angel’s soul.”

The sheer stillness of the room was not unexpected but still nearly unbearable as the young teacher waited for some kind of response to her tentative plan.

“Angel.”

Buffy’s tortured whisper seemed to jolt everyone from their various states of shock, but it was Xander who first recovered the power of speech.

“No. No! Don’t get all moony-eyed as if we’re going to save that bastard. Jenny wants to restore his soul then I’m all for it. After all, I’m sure once he’s ‘Angel’ again it’ll be much easier to get him to stand still while we stake him.”

For once the pain that lanced Buffy’s gaze meant nothing to the fuming boy.

“Don’t even think about it, Buffy. You believe what you want to believe, but the rest of us know that the soul doesn’t replace the vampire. Angelus will still be there. The monster that’s killing Cordelia will still get to live. For what he’s done to her I won’t just kill Angel, I’ll enjoy every second of it and dance in his dust. And slayer or not – you won’t be able to stop me unless you’re willing to kill me instead.”

And Buffy believed him. At the end of this terrible ordeal it would come down to Angel, her first love, or Xander, her best friend. More than anything, at that moment Buffy wished she could escape back into the barren wasteland of detachment that had surrounded her far too briefly. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t destined to be the slayer by default; to due her duty because she was anesthetized to the ramification of her actions. No, she was meant to care, sometimes far too deeply. Ultimately she would do what was right not because of her calling and not because of the Council, but simply because she believed in the cause and she cherished those who depended on her.

As she looked at her adopted family she urgently hoped that that caring would be enough to keep her world from shattering when she murdered the soul she’d come to love so deeply.

“What do we need to do?”

Chapter Eighty Two


Seated at her desk, Jenny tried to force down the nervousness and fear bubbling within her. She was surrounded by ceremonial tools of the Kalderash clan; pungent herbs, ritualistic bowls, and a glass orb.

A noise caught her attention and as she peered into the shadows a dark figure separated itself from their depths.

“Angel...” She knew it would push his buttons to be referred to by the chosen name of the soul, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. After all he’d done, all the pain he’d caused, anger was winding its way through the dread surrounding her. “How did you get in here?”

“I was invited. The sign in front of the school... 'Formatia trans sicere educatorum.”

If the situation hadn’t been so dire she’d have rolled her eyes at the looming vampire. He knew he didn’t need an invitation to a public place but he just had to be arrogant; had to show off. Well she could show off, too.

“Enter all ye who seek knowledge.”

Angelus nodded his head in acknowledgement of her response.

“What can I say? I'm a knowledge seeker.”

Hating the stupidity of what she was about to say, she pushed forward nonetheless.

“Angel, I-I-I've got good news.”

He smirked at her, loving the superior feeling of being one step ahead.

“I heard. You went shopping at the local boogedy-boogedy store.”

Jenny flinched as a large arm stretched towards her, but at the last minute it fell to pick up the glass orb on her desk.

“The Orb of Thesulah. If memory serves, this is supposed to summon a person's soul from the ether... store it until it can be transferred.”

The glass caught what little light there was in the room in a spellbinding display as Angelus twirled it with long, deft fingers.

“You know what I hate most about these things?”

Although the tone of his deep voice was pleasant enough there was no way that Jenny could fail to notice the underlying menace that made clear that this was a rhetorical question.

Suddenly every muscle in her body tightened in preparation for fight or flight, neither of which would be successful, as the orb Angelus had been holding whispered past her ear to shatter against the chalkboard behind her showering the floor beneath with tinkling shards of glass.

Smiling cruelly he answered his own question. “They're so damn fragile. Must be that shoddy gypsy craftsmanship, huh?”

Jenny barely registered the insult to her people, cringing back as Angelus lunged towards her. Her worry, however, was needless as Angelus was knocked sideways before he could get within fangs reach of her. She sneered down at the fallen vampire, her courage greatly restored by the presence of the slayer in the room.

“I wonder Angelus, is it the repercussions of your separation from Cordelia or your natural arrogance that would allow you to believe that I’d be stupid enough to attempt to recurse a vampire in a public establishment at night.”

Inching closer as he rose from his position on the floor Buffy couldn’t help but heap her own ridicule on his head, happy to be the giver rather than the receiver for once.

“She’s right. How the mighty Angelus has fallen that he couldn’t see what an obvious trap this was. Did you really think that if we were going to recurse you we’d let that information out to the demon population at large? But believe me; I’m not going to waste the opportunity your complete stupidity has provided.”

Her words hit the mark as Angelus lunged wildly at her with none of his usual finesse. And so it began.

The fighting was fierce. While Buffy had the advantage of familiar terrain and her taunting was definitely making Angelus sloppy, what they hadn’t accounted for was that while his skills suffered his waning stability and terrible rage gave him a strength that seemed to almost mitigate his weaknesses.

But no matter how poorly his mind was functioning his finally honed instincts were still in tact. Sensing that he wouldn’t be able to hold it together long enough to succeed against the slayer and that once her lost control she would most certainly move in for the kill, he swung his leg outward in a wide arc, catching Buffy off guard and sending her staggering backwards long enough for him to crash through the large windows lining one wall and disappear into the night.

As the two women watched the darkness swallow the vampire they silently acknowledged that their last attempt on Angelus had failed and that there was no choice now but to gather the second set of necessities for the spell and deal with this unqualified disaster once Angel had returned.

Chapter Eighty Three


Angelus sat in a large, leather chair, a smile at odds with his injuries curving his lips as he stared at the monolith before him.

He’d been furious as he left the school after the fight with the slayer. Shrouded in a cloak of impending doom, the menace he radiated spread out before him pushing anyone with even the smallest sense of self-preservation from his path.

In an attempt to even marginally relieve his pent up rage, he embarked upon a spree of property damage as he made his way back to the mansion. Kicking out at a particularly offensive newspaper rack in much the same way as he had the slayer, his eye was caught by the front page of one of the papers as they floated down to the sidewalk.

“Mysterious Obelisk Unearthed - Excavators Discover Ancient
Artifact”

The suspicions he had as he gazed at the picture were confirmed as he returned home to find Drucilla dancing in front of the enormous fireplace enchanted by the whispers she said were filling her head.

It had taken less than an hour to retrieve the massive stone vault; less than sixty minutes to procure the key to Cordelia’s return. Nothing could spoil the exquisite ecstasy of this moment.

Although Spike’s sudden appearance cut it fairly close.

As if he sensed the rare instance of peace engulfing his grandsire the blond sought, almost instinctually, to shatter it.

“It's a big rock. I can't wait to tell my friends. They don't have a rock this big.”

Seeing Angelus’ lazy smile simply stretch wider, Spike sighed and resigned himself to merely discovering the genesis for such an unexpectedly good mood, having to sadly discard his earlier plan to spoil the contented feeling.

But, as always with the older vampire, one didn’t have to do much to get him to blather on and on about his supposed genius whenever he thought he’d done something exceptional.

“Spike, boy, you never did learn your history.”

For a moment Spike let himself dream about the expression on the blowhard’s face if he just stood up right then and walked out on the longwinded speech that was coming. But even as phenomenally impulsive as he was, Spike knew that annoyance, no matter how extreme, was not a good enough reason to throw away his wild card. Embracing the mantra, ‘My time will come’, he resigned himself to being the captive audience Angelus obviously wanted.

“Let's have a lesson, then.”

True to character, he needed no further prodding.

“Acathla the demon came forth to swallow the world. He was killed by a virtuous knight who pierced the demon's heart before he could draw a breath to perform the act. Acathla turned to stone, as demons sometimes do, and was buried where neither man nor demon would want to look. Unless of course they're putting up low-rent housing. Boys...”

At their Master’s call Spike watched two minions scurry in, crowbars at the ready for the grand unveiling. As strong as he liked to believe himself to be, he couldn’t help the frisson of fear that shot down his spine as the heavy lid crashed to the floor clouding the air with dust and ancient debris.

He hated to admit that Angelus was right about anything, but in this case he had been doubly so – The demon resting inside was exactly how Angelus had described him; and it was, indeed, of as great an importance as he had conveyed. Simply being in its presence was enough to make any sane vampire in the immediate vicinity skittish. Which of course ruled out both his grandsire and his sire who had just entered the room. Despite his misgivings Spike knew he had to follow what was sure to be Angelus’ dubious logic in this undertaking.

“Let me guess. Someone pulls out the sword...”

“Someone worthy...” Angelus responded leaving no doubt that that someone was him.

“Mm. The demon wakes up, and wackiness ensues.”

And his fears were confirmed -

“And every creature living on this planet will go to Hell.”

As if things weren’t bad enough, Spike realized that he now had to deal with the end of the world. As much as he truly hated it, it seemed he and the slayer agreed that ending the world probably wasn’t the most productive thing one could do with their life. It wouldn’t even be memorable if you wiped out anything with a memory. Damn shortsighted pricks the lot of them. Sure, Spike had always liked a bit of fun himself, he’d even helped patch the judge together. But sending everything to hell? That was just throwing the baby out with the bathwater…before you ate it.

“He will swallow the world.”

For one brief moment Spike’s unease was eclipsed by the hypnotic sway of Drucilla’s alluring form as she danced around in rapturous agony as the demon called to her.

“He fills my head. I can't hear anything else.”

Dragging his eyes away from the beautiful sight Spike decided to confront this insanity head on.

“You can’t be serious about this Angelus. For fuck’s sake, I know you’re runnin’ low on reason lately, but even if you don’t give a damn about the rest of us, what about your little pet? How’d you plan to get her out once Rocky here gobbles her up with the rest of the world? A fat lot of good she’ll - ”

Spike expected a lot of responses from explosions of anger to fanatical mutterings, but genuine, lucid laughter hadn’t been high on his list…or on the list at all.

“Try not to be any more stupid than is absolutely necessary, Spike. The point of stealing this ancient fool isn’t to revive him, it’s to trade him.”

Despite the insult to his intelligence Spike immediately grasped Angelus’ plan and, as much as it pained him to admit it – and it hurt on a par with being crushed by that church – it was absolutely brilliant.

The Watcher’s Council would jump to the same conclusion that he had; that Angelus was set on unleashing Acathla’s wrath and they’d be scrambling to stop him. Returning what for them was simply one insignificant woman would be a painless way to resolve the situation in their minds. If nothing else, you could always depend on with the Council higher ups for their consistency. They were all complete bastards whose morals conformed to whatever grand plan was currently hatching in their pea brains.

Of course, there was always a fly in the otherwise antiseptic ointment.

“What about the slayer?”

“What about her? That’s the beauty of this plan Spike; it’s slayer-free.”

Propping his booted feet up on the oak table in front of him Angelus stretched out his still healing body as he mused over the particulars of the situation.

“I think I’ve finally pushed the slayer to her breaking point. And while I’d love nothing more than to drive her over the edge, I can take care of her later. Fact is, once I get Cordelia back her little gang will be so demoralized that it won’t take more than two minions and a stick to do away with them all.”

Since he was out of the immediate line of sight Spike felt safe in rolling his eyes at the unwarranted cockiness that oddly enough he hated in Angelus and yet nurtured in himself.

“Funny, I would have thought you’d be more concerned what with the word on the street being that they’re workin’ on shovin’ that tortured, slayer-lovin’ soul back inside you.”

Angelus growled at the mere thought of the atrocity he’d feared ever since he’d heard the rumors from one of his informants at Willie’s.

“It was a hoax. No worries on that front. Let’s face it; they’ve got themselves an authentic Kalderash gypsy. If there was a possible hope in hell of bringing the vomit worthy Angel back for an encore they would have done so long ago.”

“No, Spike; the only thing I have to concern myself with right now is getting the Council to take this relic off my hands so I don’t do something in my lunacy that we’ll all regret. So don’t look so worried, it’s not the end of the world…yet.”

Chapter Eighty Four


Usually the late morning would find the Master of the Order of Aurelius in bed, deep in the grips of an ever growing exhaustion. However, this morning found him not abed, but in his study; brandy in hand and joy lighting his handsome visage.

Angelus had never been a demon to doubt what he considered to be his superior intelligence, but to have it confirmed in the way it had been that morning transformed his generally smug personality to totally unbearable.

But as the morning passed his conceit had been validated as, one by one, things fell into to place to right the wrongs in his world.

He’d contacted the Watcher’s Council unsurprised at how the name Acathla opened the avenues of communication. Once they’d established that he did indeed possess the demon, those warriors of morality had fallen all over themselves to meet his needs.

On the one hand, Angelus could admit that he was beyond happy to know that Cordelia would be returned to him by the next evening. Just the knowledge of that fact soothed the ragged edges of his frayed mind.

Conversely, he was furious with those very same men delivering his pet back into his hands. Even though there was no disputing the fact that Cordelia belonged to him, the thought that those pathetic humans who had been entrusted with her protection would so easily bargain her away sent fury pounding through him in mimicry of a racing heartbeat. The need to destroy not only her pseudo-guardians, but those who foolishly thought that the Council was worthy of the honor of caring for his property burned through him, bleeding a haze of red into his gaze.

It was a frustrating dichotomy and so, since moving against the Council at this time would be ill-advised, he simply chose to embrace the delight that came with the painfully sweet anticipation of Cordelia back in his arms where it was her destiny to be.

Honestly, Angelus knew it was a good thing that they had enough sense to accurately assess the situation and comply with his wishes. No matter how he’d played things off with Spike, the truth was that he was fast losing his grasp on reality, and frankly he’d stopped trying to stem the receding tide of reason days before. He’d needed every advantage he could get to reclaim Cordelia and if that meant sacrificing the higher functions of his mind, so be it.

Normally he would never have considered awakening Acathla…well, he may have considered it, but not seriously. But he knew that if he couldn’t have Cordelia back then he’d wake the stony son of a bitch up without a second thought.

After all, since they’d taken Cordelia the world was hell for him; so why shouldn’t he return the favor.

Chapter Eighty Five


Matthew Worthington was a picture of righteous fury as he stormed into Quentin Traver’s office.

“Tell me it’s not true. Tell me that we’re not giving her back to that monster!”

The bland expression on the older man’s face never changed as if he’d been expecting the angry young man to make just such a scene.

“I’m sorry, Matthew; but if you’ve heard that she’s leaving I’m sure that you’ve heard why. We don’t have a choice.”

While he’d never really cared for Travers, at this moment he could only hate the man so blithely dismissing the future of the girl that he’d spent the last three days with – talking to, eating with, trying to ease, however slightly, the crushing burden she bore.

He had known that it wasn’t the smart thing to do, wasn’t in keeping with the Council’s credo of ‘Justice through indifference’, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Every minute he was near Cordelia he grew more and more enamored of her strength of spirit, her will to survive.

No one had given her more than three days before they believed that the bond would break her down and steal away her life. Not only had she shown them all that they didn’t know anywhere near what they liked to think that they did; but she’d gone on, defying the odds by not just surviving but slowly returning to health in the past few days. He’d be damned if he’d see all of her excruciating efforts laid to waste by returning her to one of the most vial forms of evil the world had ever known.

“There’s always a choice.”

Quentin’s mouth quirked slightly as if he was amused by the younger man’s indignation. In a tone of clear condescension he addressed what he obviously perceived as naiveté.

“Try to remember, this isn’t about the girl; it never was. This was about weakening Angelus so that the slayer might actually kill him.”

There was no attempt to hide his disdain for the Chosen One.

“Unfortunately, all it’s managed to do is to make him more psychotic and unpredictable then before; and who could have foreseen that was even possible? It’s not an idle threat, you know. He’ll unleash Acathla.”

Deep down Matthew couldn’t disagree with that assessment, but for Cordelia’s sake he buried his doubts.

“No he won’t. Angelus might live through whatever horror Acathla would bring, but the suffering would be unimaginable, even for him.”

An abrupt snort answered what they both knew to be an untruth.

“He’s so obsessed with the girl that he’s sure his suffering can’t get any worse. He doesn’t believe that he has anything to lose, and there’s nothing more dangerous than that.”

Travers rubbed an angry hand over his head as he spoke to the only part of the current mess that truly concerned him.

“This wouldn’t even be happening if we could just find the new slayer. It’s been months since we lost Kendra in Indonesia, we should know something by now. It’s inconceivable that this is the second unidentified slayer called in the last decade.”

It was Matthew’s turn to smirk.

“Well maybe someone up there doesn’t like the way we’ve become the type of people who will deliver a young woman into a hands of a monster. Could be they’ve decided not to trust us with anymore.”

“Don’t take that moralistic tone with me.” The growl would have frightened many subordinates, but Matthew held his ground. “We don’t’ have a choice here. It’s one life for billions.”

“Wow. Isn’t that the rallying speech they give before throwing virgins in volcanoes?”

The futility of the entire confrontation apparent, Matthew made his way out of the stifling office without waiting for another feeble justification, simply desperate to get back to Cordelia; determined to do something for the girl who’d come to trust him.

Chapter Eighty Six


“Watcher.”

Even if he actually made it through an eternity Spike knew he would never get tired of being the thing that goes bump in the night and that first burst of fear it always drew forth even from hardened men like the one before him.

Of course, inducing fear, while fun, wasn’t the point of this particular visit.

Giles turned, keys still in hand, obviously irritated to once again not have made it through his front door unaccosted.

“Spike.”

If he didn’t have a job to do Spike would have chuckled at the man’s long suffering tone. He really couldn’t wait for Angelus to be out of the way so he could enjoy the small joys of the Hellmouth once again.

“We have a problem.”

“Only one? Well then, with the exception of your appearance this is officially the best day I’ve had all year.”

He hated finding common ground with the enemy so often lately, but Spike was all over relating to the watcher’s sarcastic summation of their crappy lives since Angelus showed up.

“Loose the attitude, mate. Angelus has made life a living hell for all of us but I’m the one who has to bloody well live with him, so if anyone gets to bitch and moan tonight it’ll be me.”

Which brought him ‘round to his original purpose.

“Speaking of ‘living hells’. Have you White Hats misplaced anything lately? Say something massive? Weighty? Able to swallow worlds in a single bound? What the hell is wrong with you people? You go to all the trouble to stop these demons then you just leave them lying around for anyone to find. How is it that you morons keep winning?”

“The missing obelisk from the museum?”

“One in the same. Only here’s the funny part – it’s not an obelisk. It’s a gift box chalked full of a larger than life Acathla action figure.”

He watched as Giles reared back, only sudden contact the door stopping his movement as he heard the demon’s name.

“Acathla? Good God, man; are you sure?”

A small, inappropriate laugh filled the air.

“Good – God – and Man. Three words that haven’t applied to me in over a century. And yes, unfortunately I’m all too sure what with having a ringside seat at the grand opening.”

For the first time in more years than he could count, the arrogance faded from his eyes leaving Spike carrying an aura of gravity that was so inherently foreign to his nature that, as he watched, it called forth a level of alarm in the man before him that no words could have.

“This is serious, Rupert. If anyone’s destiny is to wake this guy up and ruin things for the rest of us it’s sure to be Angelus’. And if anyone has enough screws lose to try it, again, my grandsire’s probably your guy.”

And just like that the moment of earnestness passed.

“Now don’t get me wrong; I like killin’ people as much as the next demon. But this Acathla bloke’s apparently worse than a vampire when it comes to sharin’ and there’s not gonna be anything left for the rest of us when he gets done.”

“Spike, are you asking me to help stop Acathla so you can kill us all instead?”

“Well…yeah. But look at the bright side, watcher; it’ll take me years to get to you all while tall, dark, and mineral will apparently swallow you up in one mouthful. So let me introduce myself – I am, what you’d politely call, the lesser of two evils.”

“So in the end I’m still left with nothing but evil. You should investigate a career in motivational speaking, Spike.”

The cigarette he’d lit while waiting for Giles had finally burned to the nub and Spike flicked it away carelessly in preparation to leave.

“Look, we could stand here all night trading jokes, but it would be a waste of time ‘cause you’re not funny. Here’s the deal – Angelus is planning to work whatever mojo he needs to wake up sleeping ugly tomorrow night. He’s worried about you guys catching wind of his plans so he’s holdin’ his little party about twenty miles north of the Hellmouth at the abandoned dairy off Highway 9.”

“If you guys want a chance at stopping him you need to be there before sundown. He’s still light on minions, and if you don’t royally fuck everything up I’ll step in and help should an opportune moment present itself.”

This time it’s was Giles’ laughter that shot out.

“So what you’re suggesting is that we not count on you for support.”

“I’m not suggesting it, I’m stating it outright. Unless it actually looks like you have a snowball’s chance in Acathla’s hell dimension of pulling this off then I’m not throwing myself under the bus with you. After all, you’re the one’s who get paid for the selfless act…although from the looks of your suit, not all that well.”

He came, he saw, he irritated the watcher; Spike was pretty sure that was it for his ‘to do’ list.

“Remember; tomorrow at sundown. Tell the slayer to be packing her balls in her pants and not her sticky panties. We need a fighter out there, not a lovesick teenager. She’s a killer and you’re not doing her any favors letting her believe otherwise. If her tragic romance gets us all sent to hell I’ll - ”

“You’ll what, Spike?!” Clearly the man had been pushed too far. “Believe me, if we fail and Acathla swallows the world the last thing I’ll care about is one, second rate vampire’s opinion of me as I die a fiery death. Now leave so I can call my slayer and tell her that tomorrow either the shell of the man she loved dies or the human race does instead.”

Spike watched, somewhat stunned, as Giles stormed into his apartment with no fear apparent whatsoever, despite having just antagonized a sadistic mass murder. He wanted to turn the man more every time he talked to him.

Deciding he’d been out long enough for one night he headed back to the mansion, careful to avoid the common hang outs of Angelus’ minions and informants. As he made his way home he was startled to realize that a part of him wished he could have told the watcher the truth. But when he’d overheard Angelus earlier in the day agreeing to trade Acathla for Cordelia the following night he knew what had to be done.

It would be different if the slayer had been able to face Angelus successfully on a regular basis. But really, except for rescuing the cheerleader, which took two tries, she hadn’t been able to do much of anything; not to stop his reign of terror, to halt his ascension to power, or to prevent him from gaining access to a demon that could end life as they knew it. No; no matter how formidable he knew this slayer to be, Angelus was her weakness and this was just too important to leave in her hands.

And so, knowing that tomorrow night the Council would bring Cordelia to the docks to make the trade for Acathla and ship him to their headquarters in England, he’d made sure to send the do-right brigade miles in the opposite direction.

While it was true that he wanted to be free of his grandsire, in fact no one could want his death more than he did, now just wasn’t the time to make that move. Too much was riding on this and Angelus, with his dwindling grasp on reality, had become far too unpredictable to challenge when the stakes were so high. If it took the return of the girl to give the older vampire back his sense of proportion then so be it. Because anyone who doubted that he wouldn’t destroy the world if this separation continued was drowning themselves in an ocean of denial.

It was funny; the watchers had hoards of information in their little diaries on Angelus and yet they seemed to understand nothing about him. They were blaming all of his current actions on the bond which it seemed they also misunderstood.

The bond between vampire and pet did tie the two together and it was difficult if it was prematurely severed, but while the vampire usually did suffer to a certain extent it passed in time and rarely impaired functioning to a detrimental level. It was the human who bore the brunt of the separation as their fragile bodies cracked under the mystical forces that were denied their appropriate outlet.

In fact, the bond, a foreign state forced upon the human, grew stronger for them over time. But for the vampire, who was used to acclimating to bonds as an innate part of their makeup, the compulsive pull waned over time as it did for all bonds, even sire-childe. Although the pull of such connections never truly disappeared, for a demon they grew more manageable with time.

Therefore, theoretically, Angelus should be able to handle this without the implosion he was experiencing, and if the watchers were even half as smart as they thought they were they would realize that this irrational and perilous behavior was due more to Angelus himself as opposed to just his bond with the girl.

While vampires were possessive by nature, Angelus was different; he was obsessive. And from what Spike had been told by Darla, he had been as a human, too.

When Darla had spoken of Angelus’ time as before being turned it had always been tales of a man so obsessed with his father’s love and approval, or lack thereof, that he had literally been killing himself through drinking and debauchery to prove to the man that he had no control over his son; forcing himself to become the embodiment of everything the man hated. It was a fixation that would follow him even into death.

Once, not long after Angelus had been cursed, Darla had told of how devastated he’d been to realize that by killing his father he’d lost the focus of his compulsive fascination and negated all opportunities to indulge in his obsession in any meaningful way. Hearing Angelus’ own rare but rambling recounting of his previous life only confirmed that the abrupt interruption of his plotting to punish his father until he won his love still bothered him deeply.

Which led to another misconception of vampires. Although this one seemed to be more on the part of the slayers than the watchers who, for obvious reasons, kept their little killing machines out of the loop on the particulars of their fated foe.

Demons had souls. That was obviously proven as in old times humans often dealt with many malevolent creatures by entrapping their souls in various containers.

When a vampire procreated it was no different than with any other living being – it created a new and unique life with its own distinctive soul. As the human died its soul was released. At that point the demon soul entered and animated the body. And there was the difference –

When a human was created it was a completely blank slate. It inhabited a body with no experiences, no information yet hardwired into its brain defining them except those of a genetic nature.

When a vampire was created it took over a body with a brain burned full of memories and years of defining events. So the new and impressionable soul was bombarded immediately with these previous occurrences and the feelings they evoked. Generally these feelings were so confusing and overwhelming, so at odds with a vampire’s basic nature that they generated nothing but hatred and disgust. That was why many new vampires returned to dispose of their friends and families – to eliminate what they saw as the cause of their emotional maelstrom. Every once in a while though, you’d find vampires who would turn certain members from the human’s past because the feelings generated by the memories concerning those particular humans gave them a sense that was inherently pleasing to their demonic temperament – power, control, lust. It was always a unique process decided by the melding of the new soul and the debris the soul so recently departed left behind.

So it was reasonable to assume that, since it was a given that Liam had been an obsessive jerk, he had undoubtedly left a plethora of memories defined by that characteristic. If the demon’s soul had also had such a bent the combining of the two would created an almost maniacal personality who would never cease to pursue whatever fascination had captured his undivided attention.

That was what was causing Angelus’ mind to dissolve into a stagnant pool of madness. The bond wasn’t helping, but even if there was no bond, if he’d wanted the cheerleader and they’d taken her he would still end up doing something monstrously stupid in his impotent fury…alright, maybe not something this mind numbingly idiotic, but he’d never let it go; he would pursue her until the very day she died. ‘Cause really, look what he’d done to Dru and there’d been no bond there.

It was this failure to understand the basic underworkings of the situation at hand that was going to get them all killed. So, despite the fact that he had no desire to either make Angelus happy or betray his little brunette quasi-friend, it really was the only avenue left to him under the circumstances.

But on a positive note he’d missed having the little firecracker around. It would certainly be no hardship having her back for however long it took for him to do away with his grandsire. And he would eventually destroy Angelus. Maybe it wouldn’t be as soon as he’d like, but it would come. He could wait; after all, he had nothing but time.

Chapter Eighty Seven


Closing the door behind him Giles bypassed his living room phone, which he knew was compromised, choosing instead the secure line hidden away in his bedroom. The now familiar fatigue filling him as he dialed the number he knew by heart.

“We have one less ally.”

Giles nodded his head in agreement with the obscenities coming through clearly from the other end.

“I’m not sure how much Angelus trusts him, but he was here tonight trying to convince me that the slayer and I needed to be miles away from the exchange point tomorrow night to stop the awakening.”

More outrage sounded in his ear.

“Of course he’s lying Matthew! I’m not a fool. The plan is still the same – the council brings Cordelia in by plane tomorrow at 2:00 and we make our stand at the airport before the night’s trade at the docks.”

While he understood the reasons behind the near frantic reiteration of the preparation by his friend, Giles found it irritating in the extreme.

“I don’t have the energy for this tonight. I appreciate that you care about Cordelia, but you’ve known her for a few weeks; so just think how much we must care about her having known her substantially longer. We know what has to be done, and you have my absolute promise, Matthew, no matter what the cost, we won’t fail Cordelia again.”

Hanging up the phone, Giles stretched out on his bed, too tired to even bother changing for sleep. Despite his impassioned words to his friend he too was worried. Not only had he been woefully unsuccessful in protecting the young woman from the greatest of fiends, but he’d only compounded his many errors by sending her to a bastion of moral bankruptcy that would sell out an innocent soul who’d done more to combat evil then they had collectively. It was such a continually painful admission that, much like his slayer, he was developing a mildly persistent numbness to simply keep functioning on a daily basis.

As those thoughts swirled around his brain Giles sighed, resigning himself to what was most likely going to be yet another night of minutes of sleep interspersed with hours of waking nightmares; and no matter how much he feared the coming confrontation and the epic consequences it would carry, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.


TBC…The Best Laid Plans