Solstice

SOLSTICE
Part 2/10

For some reason, I’m thinking of Angelus. Believe me, I tr thi think of him as little as possible. It’s our fault that he’s here, in Angel’s place. My fault. I should have known better. I always make mistakes. I know everyone does, but it just seems that my mistakes are more… fatal… than most other people’s. I was a failure as a Watcher, then a failure as a friend.

I have to say how surprised I was at his behaviour, though, regarding the Werewolf and his Pack. He was almost… Angel-like. I would not have believed it had I not been part of it. Nina told me all about the horrors of the fight. The whole thing sounds like demons at their most primaeval, but maybe his handling of the situation shows that he’s more rational than he’s been before. Perhaps we can negotiate with him.

You see, Gunn and Cordelia and I have decided to try and make a go of the business by ourselves. I don’t know whether Angelus will try to reclaim the Hyperion. I suppose, technically, it might be more his than ours but I don’t think ‘technically’ is going to be at all important in the scheme of things. If he wants it back, he’ll just take it. I’m sure that would be over our dead bodies if necessary.

Oh, and speak of the devil – in a very literal sense. Look who just sauntered in the door. The vampire himself. I can’t reach the weapons cabinet, but I’ve got a crossbow here – Boy Scout motto. From the office, I can see Gunn and Cordelia. They have the stakes that none of us are ever without, but apart from that they are defenceless. Time to stand up and be counted.

“Angelus.”

“Wesley. Nice to see such a… sharp… reception. Gunn. Cordelia. Do you think we might all sit down? Preferably without the sharp, pointy objects? I happen to like the clothes I’ve got on, and they don’t look better with holes in them, thank you so very much.”

With that, he stalks into the office, and sits behind the desk. Cordelia and Gunn stare at each other, then at me, clearly wanting a decision – and some reaction to Angelus usurping my office. They’re probably also wondering why I didn’t let fly with the crossbow as soon as he walked in the door. I’m rather asking myself the same question. See? I couldn’t even do that right. Well, since he doesn’t seem to want to kill us, I suppose we might as well hear him out. We trail after him, the initiative all his. He’s playing with the paper knife when we get there, but he puts it down with a smirk when he sees me looking at it.

“Let’s not waste time. You all owed Angel big time. He would never have said it, would never even have really believed it himself, but he took all of you and gave you a chance to make something of yourselves…”

“Now just a minute…”

That’s Cordelia. She hates to be indebted, so she simply never accepts that she is. I know, though, and so does Gunn. This vampire will mess with our heads, but he does it with the truth.

“Not now Cordelia. You can have your say when I’m finished. The thing is, I have plans for the future, and I can offer you all a place in those plans. Not as vampires – I’ll let you live – but you *will* swear loyalty to me and mine. I ask no more than your word. You’ll want to think about that, but I’d like a reply before summer solstice.

“Whatever you choose, this place is mine. You’ll learn that I give up nothing that is mine. Nothing. However, I have no problem in you continuing the business from here, and it will be rent-free until I have your answer. What’s more, the place needs even more work doing on it than the last time I saw it. I’ll set that in motion. Can’t bearligeligent landlords.

“Meantime, there is something I need, and I’m prepared to pay for it. I want papers that give me a legal identity. The full works, top quality. I’m pretty sure that you Wes, or you, Gunn, know where to get those. What do you say?”

He reaches into a pocket and tosses a medium-sized diamond onto the desk, no doubt one of those given to him in Hylek. I expect that it’s worth around $30,000, even traded in a hurry. That’s more than enough for what he asks.

“When you’ve found someone to do it, call me…” and he throws down a piece of paper with a telephone number written on it, “and I’ll tell you what name the papers should be in.”

“Why do you want papers? That isn’t something that ever bothered yo… Angel… before?”

“That’s something you’ll find out if you’re on board.”

Cordelia chimes in, then, more bravely than I would have expected.

“We don’t want your offers or your money. And this hotel is nothing to do with you. You can’t take all three of us, so just get out.”

His smile is the most feral thing I think I’ve ever seen.

“You’re quite wrong, Cordy, on all three counts. None of you knows where your next meal is coming from, so you really do need me; the business is mine; and I most certainly can take all three of you. You’re alive now because I wish it.”

She’s about ready to flounce off to the weapons cabinet – and perhaps get all of us killed – when Gunn puts a hand on her arm.

“What’s your offer? What do you want of us?”

“California will be my personal territory. I intend to stay in Sunnydale for the moment, but Los Angeles is mine. I don’t suffer competition. I want you to clean it up, just as you have with Angel. Nothing different, for now.”

“And that’s it? For now?”

“That’s it. If I want something different, I’ll discuss it with you.”

“Why would you be working with humans, instead of killing them?” If I’m to go up against this vampire, I must understand what’s going on in his mind. What games he’s playing. He simply shrugs.

“I’ll be working with humans in Sunnydale. I’ve no problem working with you. Not so long as I have your… loyalty.”

I think he waing ing to say ‘obedience’. Cordelia can control herself no longer.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing, will ever persuade me to work for you, you useless piece of shit. Angel would stake you in a heartbeat if he could.”

She storms off out of the office, and runs up the stairs to the room she keeps here. I think she’s crying. Angelus simply smirks at Gunn and me from my seat. I stand up and look at Gunn.

“I think she speaks for all of us?”

Gunn nods slowly. Before he can stand, Angelus is out of the chair and blocking the doorway. Angel rarely moved as swiftly as he was able. I think he didn’t want to remind us that he wasn’t human. Angelus doesn’t care, though.

“You have until summer solstice to reconsider. Meantime, you have a paying job to do for me.”

He looks at us both, and that look is as lascivious as any I’ve ever seen. Then he’s gone. I wonder the the solstice is so important to him? And why my trousers suddenly seem so tight…

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

Well, that went better than I expected. I found Wes and Gunn and Cordelia to be mostly annoying when the Soul was still in residence, but now that I’m in charge? Well, they are mine. I’ll do with them as I please, and at the moment it pleases me to have them taking out the competition here. Keeping the demonic peace so far as they can. I’ll back them up, of course, and it will be one less source of demons for the Slayer to worry about. Los Angeles is too close for comfort – any demon here will feel the pull of the Hellmouth. I need to have it under my control. They’d do it better if I turned them, but Buffy wouldn’t care for that, so I won’t. They’ll come round. They both respond to strong leadership, and there is unexplored darkness in the pair of them, darkness that I can speak to. Incidentally, did you see the effect my shot of pheromones had? Neither of them has ever encountered a real, hunting master vampire. They have no idea how I can manipulate their minds and their bodies. I wouldn’t be at all averse to taking both of them, really… Mmph!

I need to concentrate. I have one more thing to do before I head back home.

Home. Now that isn’t a word that vampires use very much. Do you know, I could get used to it…

OK, one more thing to do. I have the address, and it’s not yet midnight when I get there. Someone is stiwakewake, if the lights in the downstairs rooms are anything to go by. Let’s hope it’s him. When he opens the door, they are clearly just winding up a dinner party.

“Mr Summers? Mr Hank Summers?”

He agrees that he is.

“I need to speak to you about your daughter. About Buffy.”

He gives a small start – well, house calls, at this time of night aren’t normally good news – and I can smell a little dread and panic oozing out of him, a wit with the good food and wine that he’s replete with, and the brandy that he is no doubt still drinking. He’s worried about her. Good. I’ll allow him to live, then.

“May I come in?”

“Yes… yes, please do. What’s wrong? Has something happened to her?”

You don’t know how much, Hank, and believe me, your stagnant little brain couldn’t encompass it, even if I told you.

I remain silent, though, as he shepherds me in through the door, and then into a small room off the hall. It’s his study. Now, tell me, would you shut yourself away, alone and unarmed and half drunk with a complete stranger who knocks on the door around midnight? You would? You’ve obviously heard the call of a hunting vampire. Later, I’ll see what we can do about that, but just now, I’m allowing Hank to feel that very same siren song. I’m doing just enough to ensure that he and I remain here, together, for a little while. Still, I guess that he noticed my Jaguar on the street outside, and assumed that I wasn’t there with criminal intent. A dangerous assumption…

He has a genuinely worried look on his face, so I gesture to him to take a seat – there are a couple of generous armchairs in this little study. I don’t want to have to catch him if he falls – he might get the wrong idea. He really isn’t my type.

“Where I come from, Mr Summers, it is considered appropriate to speak to a girl’s father, or to the head of her family, before paying suit to her. I intend to marry Buffy. She is of age, and I therefore have no intention of seeking your permission for this. You cast off your responsibilities as head of the family years ago, and although you are her father, you have taken very little interest in her welfare. However, it’s proper that I should tell you this, since I will, de facto, replace you as head of the family with regard to Dawn, as well.”

He looks as though his jaw has become unhinged. He rallies, though, with what clearly are the first thoughts to surface through his alcoholic haze.

“I have a dr par party – important clients are here. Couldn’t this have waited for a more suitable time?”

Not the sentiments I was looking for. My mate takes nothing of who she is from this man. I don’t change, but I do allow a flash of amber and a slight hint of fang. I also allow a rush of the sort of pheromones used for cowing newly risen whelps.

“Sunlight doesn’tee wee with me, Mr Summers, so this can only be done at night. I have come from Sunnydale tonight, to see you. We won’t be long here. I’m sure your guests will be impressed to know that your daughter will be marrying the man who owns half of Sunnydale, and who will own the rest before long.”

He looks interested at that. That’s something else she doesn’t take from him. He’s greedy. I’ve thrown down a challenge to his position as head of the family, and all he’s worried about is my financial standing.

“Who are you? I don’t think we’ve met before?”

For one moment, I’m tempted to tell him my old name. My human name. He hasn’t earned that yet, though. He’d better get used to the real one.

“Just call me Angelus.”

“That’s a strange name…” He sees the glint of amber again, and feels a little frisson of fear. “A good name, though. Unusual. You’d better call me Hank.”

He reaches into a cabinet next to his chair and pulls out a bottle of very good brandy, together with two glasses.

“Join me?”

“Thank. I. I will.”

He pours two generous shots, and hands one to me. Then he obviously feels a need to make some enquiries.

“So, how long have you been seeing Buffy? She’s never mentioned you, never said that she was seeing anyone seriously. Still, I suppose she’s never mentioned any of her boyfriends to me.”

“I’ve been seeing her, on and off, since she was sixteen.”

“Oh? You were… at school together?”

“No. Let’s just say I look a lot younger than I am.”

“So, you haven’t proposed to her yet?”

“That would not be appropriate until I had spoken to you.”

And to one more person. Someone much more worthy of the title of father to my chosen mate. He and I have a conversation coming, but it will be far different to this one.

“She might not accept your proposal, then?”

“She will, I’m confident of that. The wedding will be arranged as she wishes. If she wants you to come, you will be invited.”

Just for a moment, I see a wistful look on his face – he perhaps has some notion of what he has missed for these last few years. Then his expression hardens into something that owes more to anger. There must be some red blood in there somewhere, then.

“Well, Buffy is of age, but you have no right to assume any responsibilities for Dawny. She’s my little girl.”

He remembers her, then? The monks were *really* good. I take a long sip of my brandy, savouring the taste, before I reply to him.

“Hank. You left your wife and daughters to starve, for all you cared. After Joyce died, Buffy had no money. None. She had to drop out of college and sling burgers to keep a roof over their heads.”

Well, briefly, until my people made her see sense and accept some of my money.

“I have come here because my own rearing would allow nothing else. But you have forfeited any right to be considered head of the family. I am assuming that role. Please remember what I’ve said. Buffy will lack for nothing, and neither will Dawn. Their futures, in that respect, are assured. If Dawn wishes to marry, it will be to someone of whom I approve. I take my own responsibilities more seriously than you clearly do.

“If you need anything, then you may ask me. You can find me at the mansion on Crawford Street, in Sunnydale. The wedding will be at the summer solstice, 21 June. Perhaps you should pencil it in.”

Just making it clear that if he’s family, then I’ve got jurisdiction over him, too, and with that I finish the brandy, and stand up.

“Good night, Hank.”

I don’t offer him my hand; I simply stroll out of the door, leaving him gaping like a fish. I enjoyed that. I just wish he had been slightly more sober – he might have given me more of an argument if he’d had his wits about him. I should have enjoyed that even more. As I turn for the front door, I see his guests – and his second wife – gathered in the main room. I incline my head graciously to them – they really don’t know how lucky they are that I’m leaving it at that – and head off into the night.

As I’m driving through Hollywood, I realise that I haven’t eaten at all tonight, and I am distinctly peckish. I pull over, and set out on the prowl. I want to get back to Sunnydale, but I do feel like having a bit of a celebration – so much accomplished in a single evening – and I start with a dealer and one of his clients. Both of them have the telltale chemical aftertaste, and so I look around for a palate cleanser.

I find a down-and-out huddled in an alley. He hasn’t been this way for long. His clothes are dirty but not yet ragged, and they were once very good. He’s newly fallen from grace. He gives himself up to me without a struggle, though, welcoming both my embrace and my fangs – almost as if I’m g hig him a favour. He smells of guilt and sorrow. As I drain the life from him, his battered blue baseball cap falls off – it’s one with ‘Firefly’ embroidered in red across the front. He gives a small sigh of relief, and just for the moment, for reasons that aren’t clear to me, I’m tempted to turn him. In the end, though, I just drain him. Out of habit, I go through his pockets, although I don’t expect to find much of inte. T. There’s no cash, no wallet, just a fine lawn handkerchief bearing a monogram – the sort of thing fri friends or family buy the man who has everything else. Sometimes, I wonder about the life stories of the people who provide me with my ongoing existence, and I wonder a little about him. Not for long though. He’s history now. Time to go home.

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

Xander’s outburst has made me think about my relationship with Angelus. It’s not like I don’t think about it all the time, but I mean, *really* think about it. About what I’m doing. I love him. I love him as much as I loved – still love – Angel, although in a different way, somehow. I know the differences between them only too well, yet sometimes, Angelus seems almost… Angel-like. Deep inside me, I know that had it been Angel instead of Angelus, then there would have been times when Angel would have seemed almost like Angelus. The two of them aren’t as different as Angel used to protest. They are more like two sides of the same coin, or the two ends of a continuum of good and evil: two ends that must inevitably meet in the middle. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about? You do? Good. Then perhaps you can explain it to me.

Then there is this feeling I have. You know I sometimes have Slayer dreams? Dreams with a touch of prophecy, or some such thing, in them? I dream of him, often. Most of the time, those dreams are just ordinary boy/girl dreams. Well, bearing in mind the content, maybe not all that ‘ordinary’. More sort of extraordinary X-rated half the time. Just occasionally, though, I know I’ve been in touch with the Slayer in me. I *know* that, as much as it seems to make me a traitor to my species and to my calling, we are meant to be together. It’s as if the world would fly apart if we ended this relationship. I don’t know any more than that. I wish I did, because that would make it easier for me, would help me to justify what I’m going to do. At this moment, I’m going on love and faith alone. Thinking about it, though, perhaps that’s best. Perhaps I need to have made my mind up based on the love in my heart and faith in my instincts, before I truly understand why it should be meant to be: before I understand why he is my soul mate, just as much as Angel is. Because it really has to be about duty as well as love. It couldn’t be one without the other. I couldn’t stay with him if he were to carry on as the old homicidal Angelus. No matter how much I loved him, I should have to kill him eventually. So there has to be purpose. As the Slayer, I have to be able to use him. If that sounds cold and harsh, I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. That’s why I can only be glad that I love him so much.

It isn’t all about sex, even if that seems to be one of the forces welding us together – he is after all, the hottest thing that you or I will ever fall over, and the best lover you could ever imagine. The things that man can do with… There is very much more to it than that, though. If you listen to what he says, he’s dictatorial, domineering, arrogant and overbearing. He seems to want to control everything, including me. If you look at what he actually does, though, he is continually protective of my welfare, and does everything he can to fulfil my slightest wish. All this, without ever seeming to, of course. Tara was right, I think *kn *know* that I can tame this demon. Oh, not completely – he’ll never be a pet cat; he’ll always be a tiger. Do you think that the forces of good might sometimes need a tiger? A being even darker and more focused than a Slayer? Is that why we were meant to be?

Angel was a warrior for the Powers That Be. His soul was – is – that of a hero and a champion, and I loved him with everything in me. Perhaps the Powers needed a darker champion, and perhaps I do, too? I won’t wish again for his soul and his demon to be reunited – although that would be my dearest dream. Look what happened when I did wish it, and it happened: he left me and tried to kill himself. I wouldn’t put him through that again. But Soul and Demon together would balance me, I’m sure, the dark and the light of me, in a way that no human being ever could.

Whatever the answer to that, I’m going to commit to him as wholeheartedly as he will let me. We’ve been apart too much, we’ve been through too much, to take anything for granted. I know he’ll protect me – he’s the best possible protection I could have – and I’m sure my life will be longer because of it. Nevertheless, we’re in a dangerous business, and either or both of us might die on any night. I don’t want to waste any more time. I’m going to talk to him, but I’m going to talk to Giles first. Giles will be hurt, particularly when you remember the personal loss that he’s suffered at Angelus’ hands – literally at Angelus’ hands – and I have to try to make him understand. I don’t want to lose him. He’s the nearest thing I’ve had to a father for years. Even at my age, fathers are important.

Having made that decision, I feel whole, for the first time in years. I’ve sleepwalked through life as if I weren’t part of it. Since losing Angel on my seventeenth birthday, the only time I’ve felt truly whole and alive is when I’m with Angelus. Otherwise, I’ve been a whiny shadow of who I should be. Now, perhaps I can be who I’m meant to be.

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

I’ve just spent half the night talking to Buffy. She found me here, at the Magic Shop, just as I was locking up, so at least we had the place to ourselves. She wanted to talk about Angelus, and her relationship with him. We danced around the subject for a little while, but then she took the bull by the horns and told me that she would commit herself to the demon. Although it isn’t unexpected, I can’t say I’m happy about it. I started to talk about a demon’s needs, a demon’s physicality, a demon’s lusts, and I don’t just mean sex, and I know I did it with all the subtlety of a tea-drinking English librarian. She rescued me, as I was floundering further into the mire, and talked about their relationship more candidly than I would ever have expected.

She told me about Spike, of how Angelus found them in flagrante delicto and delivered the ultimate in coitus interruptus, and how that precipitated such a terrible reaction from the demon. She also told me how much his behaviour has changed with her, and how she believes it to be changing in other ways. How her Slayer dreams make her think that the two of them were meant to be together. How she believes that perhaps she is meant to turn him into a force for good. I have the greatest faith in her, but I’m not sure that is possible. As evil as he is, how can he ever be a force for good, without a soul?

I don’t know what his intentions towards her I I know that he sees her as his mate – that they have, in some way, mated already. In the vampire sense, I mean, not in the purely carnal sense. That, I’m afraid, goes without saying. I don’t know how far he intends to push this. He seems to have gathered up Faith as well. Is he going for a harem of Slayers? I can’t imagine that being a happy set-up. And what about his other predilections? Angelus is not only the greatest mass murderer we might ever see outside wartime, he is also an accomplished and extremely experienced torturer. He has a well-developed taste for inflicting pain. Will he try to do that with Buffy? She says he has not, so far, or not more than she has ever wanted, and I know what she means by that. He has been assiduous in his devotion to her and care of her. Can that possibly continue?

And how will I accept any liaison with him? He murdered the woman I love. He has expressed regret, but that will not bring her back. Jenny, though, came to me in a dream and told me I must let her go. I believe that to have been a true dream, but can I do it? I have been here for the remainder of the night, with my thoughts roiling. There was no point in going home, since sleep would have been quite beyond me. So I sit here, contemplating a future in which my surrogate daughter cleaves to the Scourge of Europe for as long as he remains obsessed with her. These are unhappy thoughts.

I’ve just mmysemyself some tea when there’s a knock at the door. It’s gone three in the morning. This can’t be good, except… well, the door is still in one piece, so maybe it isn’t someone with robbery and murder on their mind. Still, it won’t hurt to take this handy little axe with me…

Oh. Speak of the devil.

“Angelus.”

“Hello, Giles.”

Why does he call me that, I wonder? He almost always calls me ‘Rupert’, in that sneering way he has, or ‘Watcher’ in that even more sneering way. He’s used the ‘Giles’ almost deferentially, and with respect. No doubt another of his little mind games. Still, I’m sure I’ll find out soon.

“I’ve just made some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

I’m really worried by this studied politeness, but I pour tea for both of us. When I bring it to the table, he’s fiddling with things on the shelves. Not in the way I would normally associate with Angelus, that is – fiddling to see what will make the prettiest sound when it breaks, or make the most mess, or wreak the most destruction. He’s fiddling as though he were nervous. I have seen Angelus in situations where he should have been terrified, but was as cool as his reputation would suggest. I have never seen him nervous like this.

I clear my throat gently to let him know I am here, although I can’t imagine that all his senses haven’t already told him so. He turns abruptly from the last object he was absently repositioning – ironically enough, an Orb of Thesulah – and comes to seat himself opposite me. Is that a bad sign? How people seat themselves around a table in respect to the other sitters is a matter of in-depth study in some quarters, you know. Sitting opposite can mean a desire for a showdown. When he speaks, he seems hesitant, unsure of himself. That’s a first.

“I was passing and saw that you were still here. I was intending to come and see you tomorrow night. I can leave it until then if you prefer. If you want to get home.”

“I’m happy to talk now. I wasn’t planning on going home, anyway. What do you want?”

He shifts a little in his chair, as if he were under an uncomfortable scrutiny.

“Giles, there’s a lot of bad blood between us. Nevertheless, there is one thing on which I think we are in total agreement.”

I cock my head in surprise – is there anything this demon and I could really agree upon?

“Buffy’s well-being.”

Indeed there is. I remain silent. This must all come from him.

He thrusts one hand deep into a pocket, and brings out a small box, which he turns around and around in those long, artist’s fingers. Then he places the box on the table and opens it. Inside are two rings. One is a simple, but heavy, platinum band. The other is a circle of diamonds and pigeon’s blood rubies, square cut, set in platinum and banded on both edges with rings of black onyx. Costly, tasteful and extremely beautiful.

“You are the nearest thing to a father that she has. Where I come from, no man would consider paying serious suit to a girl without first seeking the permission of her father. That is why I am here.”

He subsides, and for a moment, I am unable to fill the gap, because I seem to have lost my voice. Eventually, though, I find it again, although I don’t seem to be capable of saying anything very meaningful.

“You are asking me whether you can pay your addresses to Buffy?”

He grins, almost like a little boy.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that. From what I understand, you’ve been paying more than addresses to her for years now, and without any need for my approval.” It comes out more tartly than I had intended.

He doesn’t rise to that, as I almost expected him to do, but simply shifts again. If it were anyone else, I’d say they were shuffling in their seat. When he speaks, I wonder if, like me, it has come out more abruptly than he intended.

“I want to marry her. Churches and frocks and things.”

“What?”

I cannot believe my ears. This *demon* wants a church wedding with my Slayer? To cover my astonishment, I pick up the box and examine the rings. He becomes more uncomfortable, sheepish, even. I’ve taken the rings out of the box before I understand why that should be. The wedding band, that plain circle of platinum, is inscribed on the inside.

Anima mea

Myl.
l.

Oh. My. I’m as sure as I can be that he never intended me to see that.

“You really mean it?”

“It’s what she dreams of.”

“You’ve already asked her?” In view of what Buffy said only hours ago, I didn’t think he had. He shakes his head.

“Not yet. I wished to speak to you first.”

He seems to mentally square his shoulders.

“I will her her as no other being on this planet ever could, and I will protect her with my life. I know those things will be more important to you than when I also say that she and Dawn will lack for nothing. I’ll make a marriage settlement on Buffy – I expect that you will want to agree the amount. I thought…” and he names an outrageous sum. Surely she could never spend half as much? “…and Dawn will be taken care of, too. She will have a suitable dowry. My… means… are adequate now. When it comes time for Dawn to marry, she will need my permission, but I will seek your views, I give you my word.”

He must be more like an eighteenth century father than he could ever have imagined. He’s almost feudal. Still, is that such a bad thing? And where did that thought come from? Of course it’s a bad thing that he should have anything to do with these girls…women. I can’t find the words to properly say that, yet, so I ask something that has bubbled to the top of my confused thoughts.

“How can you possibly expect a priest to perform a wedding ceremony for you?”

“It’s taken care of.”

Oh my, that can’t be good. No real priest would ever contemplate this. Has he delved into the darkest closets of the Church?

“An unfrocked sot of a priest, I suppose…?”

“No. A real priest who wishes to interview Buffy and make sure that she does this willingly. From St Jude’s in Los Angeles.”

The patron saint of lost causes. I can’t help but laugh, and even he gives a wry smile. It’s a smile that’s very reminiscent of Angel, and I mustn’t think like that. This vampire is nothing like Angel.

“But you aren’t a person. I mean, in the eyes of the law. You don’t have an identity.”

“Taken care of.”

Really? He has been busy.

“I’m not her father. Surely you should be talking to Hank Summers?”

“I’ve done that. Not like this,” he hastens to add. “I simply told him I was marrying her, and that he would be invited if that was what she wanted. I should have just eaten him.”

That last is said er wer wistfully, and do you know, that’s the second thing tonight on which I find myself in wholehearted agreement with him? He stands up then and, after retrieving the rings, walks over to the counter. Leaning over it, he fetches out the bottle of single malt that he knows I keep there, and two glasses, holding them up in a gesture that seeks approval. ’ll ’ll be a damn sight better than tea, so I nod.

He returns with two well-filled glasses.

“Do I have your approval?”

“Would it matter if I said no?”

“Not to me, but it would to her.”

“If she says yes, then I suppose I must give my approval.” He has Jenny’s, I think, although I can’t imagine why. Nor can I imagine how I shall ever live with myself after this. I feel like running back to England, but if I do, then I leave her here with him. Her, and Dawn. True, she will have two powerful allies in Willow and Tara, and I’m almost certain some of the demons and vampires at his court hold her in high regard, although I’m equally sure that none of them will ever go up against Angelus. I believe that even Aurelregaregards her with respect and affection, unlikely as that seems. With Dawn and Xander and Anya she wouldn’t be alone. Does she need me?

He seems to read something of this in my face.

“I understand if you decide to leave Sunnydale, but I would prefer you to stay here. I know Buffy will want you to. There is a place for you at my court. We will have many disagreements, I’m certain, but I also think that we can work together, if we can put aside the one action that I can never take back.”

I’m silent, drinking my whisky, and it’s his turn to leave me to speak. Now is the time for honesty. I wonder how he will feel if I say what I truly think? Will he kill me for it? If he did, would that change Buffy’s mind about cleaving to this monster? If so, surely it would be a worthwhile sacrifice? I decide to plunge in and speak my mind.

“I may act as if I have forgiven, but I have certainly not forgotten.”

“I know.”

“I would still like to kill you for what you did to Jenny.”

He doesn’t respond. What, indeed, could he say?

“If I give the Slayer into your keeping, it would be against all my better judgement.”

“I know.”

I pause for a mom and and he understands that I am not yet finished, so he remains silent. He is taking this rather well, with as much maturity as Angel would. Has Angel left something of himself inside this beast? Could that be possible? Is that what Buffy sees? And what about her Slayer dreams and senses? Is she fooling herself, or is there a deeper purpose? He has certainly saved her life time and time again. Even I have admitted to myself that he keeps her safer than I ever could. And, buried deep inside me, is the knowledge of how much he loves her. I don’t know how I know, but it’s true. I cannot imagine that fierce and passionate love ever diminishing. Yet thoughts of Jenny, unavenged, still tug at me. It’s time to make a decision, though. I cannot leave Buffy unsupported, and she won’t leave him.

“If you hurt her, I *will* kill you.”

“I know.”

“I will visit upon you every hurt that you cause her.”

“You have my permission.
I t
I truly believe that he means it, and that he would bare his back to the lash willingly if ever he caused my Slayer pain. Then, the balance between us changes, and he takes back control of the conversation. He is once more the master and I am… not.

The demon says, “This enmity between us must cease.”

“I know.”

“You are my possession, my responsibility, so long as you remain here. And probably afterwards, too.”

That makes me shiver, but there is no point in pretending he could ever act in any other way.

“I know.”

“You will serve me and you will serve her.”

“Yes.”

“What is past is written in stone and cannot be changed. We must live with it.”

“I know.”

Yet thoughts of Jenny still lie heavy on my heart. He has not suffered as I have suffered.

“Then we will turn a new page, a new leaf, from today? For her?”

Jenny, my love, forgive me.

“Yes. We will.”

I have just sold myself to the devil, for the sake of a Slayer whom I love like a daughter. I hope Jenny understands, because my heart does not.

He stands up again and holds out his hand in farewell. He is cool to the touch, not unpleasant. I wonder, for one brief moment, how he feels to her, when… And how she feels to him in that same act…

And I remember the poesy, the inscription, on the ring.

Anima mea

My soul.

It is that, more than anything else, which makes me think this couple might have a future ther.her. But if he hurts her, I *will* kill him.

**************
To Chapter 3