The Witch, The Warrior, and the Vampire

Chapter 18
Slipping

Rupert Giles had had a long day. When he’d gotten home from the vampire training -- irony didn’t begin to describe that--he’d tried to relax. He was running himself ragged, and had been since he’d left Sunnydale months before. Truthfully, he’d been exhausted since Glory had shown up in Sunnydale. Upon his return to England, he’d immediately begun research on Spike’s theory about vampire souls. Within a week he was also struggling with the prophecy they were now working on. He was tired, run down, feeling every bit of his age, and lonely.

He poured himself a glass of his best Scotch (hidden away where even Spike had never found it), added some ice, and pulled out his guitar. If it had been 30 years earlier, he would have drunk his booze fast, rolled a joint or three, conjured a little magick-induced buzz to go on top of the other two, and then shagged the night away, to the strains of the music he loved. He tuned the guitar with practiced motions, wondering why he was getting nostalgic for the old days. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Not to mention breaking and entering, murder, chaos, anarchy, betrayal, fighting, black magick, demon raising, hell-raising, and more sex, drugs, and rock and roll. He grinned ruefully; they hadn’t called him Ripper for nothing.

He strummed a few Rolling Stones tunes to warm his fingep. p. He tried to disengage his mind from everything that had been going on around him, but he couldn’t. The face of the bleached-blonde menace kept popping up. Ever since Spike had gotten chipped Giles couldn’t help but think there was a higher purpose for vampire. Now, three years later it seemed there was.

While Spike had lived with him, he’d discovered more about the vampire than he ever wanted to know; feeding patterns, disgusting habits, far too much desire to reminisce about the “good old” days of over a century’s worth of bloodshed and destruction.

Although that had turned out to be quite fortunate. Giles had transcribed every word about the “Scourge of Europe” and his days with Drusilla. The body count was high, the stories grisly, the waste of human life nauseating, but underneath it all Giles had always sensed the humanity in Spike. Even before the chip, Spike had been unlike other vampires. Now it seemed his differences had some purpose. Xander. If any vampire in the world other than Spike had been his sire, Giles doubted the transformation would have as painless and...easy as it had been. His thoughts stayed with Spike and his own distant past as he began to sing.

No one knows what its like to the bad man, to be the sad man, behind blue eyes
No one knows what its like to be hated, to be fated, to telling only lies
And my dreams, they aren’t as empty, as my conscience seems to be
I have hours only lonely, my love is vengeance that’s never free

No one bites back as hard on their anger
none of my pain and woe can show through

But my dreams, they aren’t as empty, as my conscience seems to be
I have hours only lonely, my love is vengeance that’s never free

When my fist clenches crack it open
Before I use it lose my cool
When I smile tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil
put your finger down my throat
If I shiver please bring me a blanket
Keep me warm let me wear your coat

No one knows what its like to be the bad man to be the sad man behind blue eyes…

“Thinking about your vampires, or maybe Ripper, Rupert?” The mesmerizing voice came from behind him. To Giles’ credit he didn’t flinch or turn around to greet his visitor.

“How long have you been here?” Giles asked, not missing a note.

“Since you badly mangled the chorus to ‘Wild Horses.’” A hint of a smile curled Morgaine’s lips.

Cursing the bloody woman’s timing, Giles finally turned to face her. Her silver hair was braided here and there, the braids then pulled up and twisted into an impossible knot. As always her face was free of makeup. She wore a sleeveless purple silk tunic, silver bands graced her upper arms. He couldn’t make the patterns out from where he was sitting, but he was sure they were Celtic. A gray silk skirt flowed gracefully to her ankles, and her feet were bare. While he perused her, he continued to strum his guitar. He changed songs, and bands. He strummed the opening bars of ‘You Put a Spell on Me’ while he offered her a drink.

She smiled at his offer. “I’ll get it Rupert, stay where you are.”

One corner of his mouth twitched up as she made herself completely at home. Without pause she headed straight for his glasses and fixed her own glass of Scotch. “Glad to see you’re still predictable. Glasses are always in the cabinet next to the icebox.”

The smile grew as he watched her settle on the floor beside him. Morgaine had always abhorred furniture. Preferred large throw pillows over chairs, tree stumps or flat rocks to tables. Hederedered if she had ever gotten around to buying an actual bed instead of the pallet she’d always slept on. He breathed deeply and caught the barest trace of the jasmine she’d worn as long as he’d known her.

“So which is it? Vampires or Ripper?” She swirled her drink, watching the amber liquid dance of the ice cubes.

“A little of both.” Giles’ fingers grew bored with Credence Clearwater Revival and without realizing it, he slid directly into ‘The Crystal Ship’ by the The Doors. “I don’t suppose this is a casual visit, is it?”

“Partly. Would you prefer me to get down to business and share the visiting for later?” She looked at him, as always, with complete candor.

Giles nodded, rested his guitar against the wall, and sat on the floor beside her. They raised their glasses in a toast, and both sipped from their drinks.

“The Master struck tonight. His minions stole many valuable scrolls and books from a group of people. I couldn’t determine who or what the significance is. After the documents were retrieved, they blew up the building and the city block it was on.” Morgaine held up one hand before Giles could interrupt her. “I don’t know if you can feel it, but the “call” he has been using has changed as well. It’s stronger than it was, but the purpose of it is different. I tried to determine specifically what was happening and to whom. The whom was simple: Angel, Willow, and Spike. The call is functioning as a transmitter; at least we know the communication isn’t two-way. It also seemed to be focusing the most on Angel.”

“I need to call Wesley and apprise him of the situation. A reappearance of Angelus is the last thing we need at this stage.” He got up and disappeared into the kitchen to find Wesley’s number.

While Giles was on the phone, Morgaine found herself studying Rupert’s home. It was a reflection of him. A truer reflection in one’s home she’d never seen before. All of his loves were represented: art, music, books. If one knew what they were looking for they could see mystical artifacts scattered throughout the main room. She knew without opening it that the chest in the corner would hold an arsenal of weapons.

“Morgaine, is there anything we can do to determine what exactly the Master is doing with this signal?” Giles asked as he returned to the living room.

“Tomorrow, we’ll get Spike and Willow and try to determine it, with a spell of some sort.” She said calmly.

“Don’t you think that’s a rather cavalier attitude?”

“No, it will come as it is supposed to, in its own time.” She finished her glass of Scotch and poured another. “Sing for me Rupert?”

*

Trinity knelt piously before the Master. He had evacuated his inner chamber, and grinned in triumph at the precious books and scrolls before him. “You’ve done well, childe. Drink.” The Master commanded as he extended his wrist to the vampiress. She drank hungrily from the Master’s vein, feeling his power and strength added to hers. She whimpered at the loss when he withdrew his wrist from her.

Licking her lips to catch every precious drop, she asked, “What is your next command, Master?”

“Next we separate the strong from the weak. Set up a tournament. Losers die, winners advance. Those that refuse to fight will be cast out en masse, and the Slayer will deal with them. Meanwhile, I will continue to torment Angel.” He tapped his talon-like nails on his leg as he contemplated.

“What of the witch and the traitor?” Trinity felt as if her veins were on glorious fire with the blood, the strength of the Master.

“I haven’t given up on them, but I will focus on Angelus. Hecruccrucial to my victory.”

Trinity remained on her knees, eyes downcast in the proper submissive and respectful manner, but she was seething inside. She had been her own master far too long to not resent Angelus’ return. “Master, if I be be so bold as to ask?”

“You may always ask, my childe, but you will not always receive the answer.” He chuckled.

“The plan is to open the Hellmouth and take over the world. Why is Angelus crucial?”

“Ah youth, so fresh, so blind to the big picture.” The Master paused and patted the top of Trinity’s head. “My dear, haven’t you heard the saying, ‘the means justifies the end’?”

“No, Master I haven’t.”

“You see, I’ve been trying to return Angelus to me for years. The Slayer and the Powers That Be always prevented the family reunion. The big picture, my dear, is to make the Slayer and her people suffer. We will attack them through their weaknesses: love, friendship, and family. We will tear their group apart starting with Angel. When he has returned to the fold, I am sure he will have thousands of torturous games already in mind for our enemies. Once they are annihilated, I will open the Hellmouth. And once I open the Hellmouth, I will rule the world. The tournament will begin at dawn.” The Master’s fangs bared in a grotesque parody of a smile as he laid his plan out.

“Except for those of us who went to LA, no one has fed in a week, Master! They will be too weak to fight.” Trinity protested.

“And that my dear, is how we will divine the weak from the strong. Only the best will serve the army, my General. Remember, those who won’t or can’t fight will be sent to the surface at sunset for the Slayer to take care of.”

“Yes, Master.” With that, the dark-haired vampires excused herself to make her own preparations.

*

On the L-shaped sofa in the Harris’ apartment, four bodies were stretched out: a vampire and a slayer were on one end, a vampire and a vengeance demon on the other end. The elder vampire had one arm loosely wrapped around the slayer, sleeping on his chest. The other arm stretched across the chest of the younger vampire, who in turn had an armful of sleeping vengeance demon cuddled to his side. The girls had fallen asleep hours before, but the men had stayed up watching a Monty Python marathon. As the credits rolled indicating the end of yet another episode, Spike thumped Xander. “Get up Harris, take your demon bird to bed.”

“What about you and Buffy?” The younger vampire looked blearily at his sire.

“We’ll sack out on the couch. Go on with you.” He waved Xander and Anya towards the bedroom.

“Shouldn’t you take her home?”

“Why? She called and told everyone where she was. Nervous about sleeping under the same roof as the Slayer?”

Xander shrugged before he sat up and scooped Anya in his arms. “Not really nervous, but you know how An and I get in the morning. Wouldn’t want to scare Buffy with all the screaming, growling, and stuff.”

“Harris, Slayer’s not a virgin, contrary to what you all would like to believe. Won’t scar her. Now go away. I’ve not ‘ad a good cuddle with my woman in a long time.” As if to illustrate his point, Spike tightened his arms around Buffy, dropping a kiss in her hair. She mumbled in her sleep and burrowed deeper against him.

Xander’s eyebrows raised as a million different pictures of Spike and Buffy twirled in his head. No matter how hard he tried, he just didn’t get it. How had they been together for so long with nobody finding out? When had they ever cuddled? Just exactly when had they started having sex? “Someday, I want you to tell me about you and Buffy.”

“A world of no, Xander. Now shut up before I stake you. I need my beauty sleep.” Buffy snapped without opening her eyes.

“Beauty sleep, check.” Xander said as he saluted the couple on the couch and retreated to his bedroom, his woman in his arms.

*

At the Hyperion, Angel was stalking his hotel. Floor by floor, room by room. He could separate every person staying there by their heartbeats and scents. Connor’s heart beat the slowest and deepest. His son lacked his own individual signature, instead it was an intermingling of Angel, Darla, Spike and Xander. An intoxicating combination of the past, present, and future of the Order of Aurelius. Fred’s heart twittered anxiously in her sleep as well as in her waking, and she smelled of unfettered innocence. Gunn’s heart beat like a bass drum in a marching band. Steady, strong, loud; he smelled of violence on the streets, in the home, blanketed over a rage that would never die. Gunn’s signature fragrance had always appealed to the demon living in Angel.

Cordelia though, the woman who had grown and changed so much these past few years, wasn’t entirely human anymore. It was hard to notice if you’d never met her before, but the differences between the bitchy, cheerleader human girl and the wise, nurturing, loving woman were unmistakable. Her scent had changed; it had become more powerful, as if her scent had been filtered until only her essence remained. He’d tried to capture the differences in words thousands of times, and he couldn’t describe it. He knew it and recognized it, and that was enough. Even bigger than the change in her smell was the sound of her heart. It had an added timbre to it that screamed power. Beware. Cordelia Chase had become a woman strong enough and determined enough to love the man he was and the man he tried to be.

He hadn’t really appreciated Cordy until she’d taken on an aspect of a demon to help him. Her biting comments and heavy sarcasm he’d always ignored. Then he’d realized she wasn’t trying to be mean, spiteful or hurtful, she was trying to be helpful and honest. Cordelia believed in honesty. She could sense a lie at a thousand paces, and with one flick of an eyelash drag the truth out of the best liars. She could see straight through him and everyone around her, always could, but with the demon aspect the ability became uncanny. He’d spent many sleepless hours pondering what kind of demon she was now.

Not that it had kept him awake, his soul did that for him, but it did give him something to think about. He’d browsed some of Wesley’s “mugshot” books looking for a truth demon and had never found one. Lost in his musings, Angel hadn’t noticed he’d reached the roof of his hotel. One thing about Sunnydale Angel missed was the stars. You couldn’t ever see the stars in LA, unless you went to the planetarium, or the premier of the newest movie.

He sat down on the edge of the building and hung his legs off the side thinking about the past few weeks. When he’d gotten to the mansion with the soul-anchoring spell, he realized he’d forgotten the ingredients at the Magic Box. Cordelia went out as soon as they opened to get them, and he’d performed it immediately. As soon as he’d finished, he spent the next six hours finally ‘feeling’ Cordelia. They’d always used a special kind of demon prophylactic when making love before that day, just in case she could give him perfect happiness. Being inside of her, without any kind of shield had been the single most remarkable physical experience of his existence. He’d known when the tip of his head brushed her opening that the prophylactics had been absolutely necessary. Good thing, they’d taken that precaution. When he told her that, the smile she’d given him almost made his heart beat. Cordy knew the truth. Always.

Just like she knew right now that he was keeping something from her. Oh, she knew about the call the Master was emitting, to some extent she could feel it herself. She didn’t know that it got stronger every day. She didn’t know that sensing Trinity had amplified it. She didn’t know Trinity was his sister, or that he’d spent many happy blood-soaked years steeped in carnage between Trinity and Darla. She didn’t know that Trinity to Angelus was Cordelia to Angel. hop hoped she never would.

A scream pierced the night. Without thinking, Angel jumped from the rooftop to the street below. Rolling into his landing, as soon as he gained his feet, he sprinted towards the sound. Two blocks away he discovered the source. The body of a dead woman lay in threetreets. A vampire was feeding from another. Angel immediately staked the vampire and caught the second victim before she hit the ground. He listened to her pulse and felt the shallowness of her breathing as it slowed to a stop. It was too late to help her. She’d be dead in a couple of minutes. It would take twenty to get her to the hospital. Even then, they probably wouldn’t be able to save her.

He held the dying woman in his arms, trying to give her some comfort before she slipped away. Looking at her he realized she was a prostitute. He could smell the spunk of at least ten different john’s on her, and her dead co-worker. They looked enough alike to be sisters, but his nose told him different. It also told him they hooked together.

His senses were overwhelming him, and he clutched her dying body closer. Spunk, blood, death, misery, vampire ashes, rotting garbage, oil, exhaust, the final beats of her heart, the air rasping in her lungs, his control was slipping, slipping, slipping, THUMP, THUMP, rasp, his cock was as hard as it had ever been, spunk, female musk, blood, THUMP, THUMP, rasp, slipping, slipping, THUMP, THUMP, gone, thump, rasp, sex, blood, thump, thump, rasp, thump, thump, sigh.

With a roar, Angel exploded inside the dead prostitute, who was now lying at an impossible angle beneath him. He thrust into her a few more times to savor the feeling of his cock in her cunt and her blood warming his body. He licked the blood on her neck and savored the taste of her fear.

And then he heard something; it made him hold his hands over his ears and cower away from the sound. Loud, piercing and ear-shattering, it reverberated through him. And then he realized. It was his soul screaming. Now if it would only stop. Looking down he realized he was still hard and pounding into the body of the second corpse while he drank what was left of her blood. A wave of nausea knocked him off his knees and he vomited the women’s blood between their bodies. He could still hear the screaming but the people on the streets obviously couldn’t. They just walked by the alley as if nothing were happening. The demon rolled, twisted, and turned roaring back to deafen the screaming of the soul. His heavy frame crashed onto the pavement. His tongue flicked out and licked the traces of the blood he had vomited off of his lips.

*

Cordelia searched all over the hotel and couldn’t find Angel. Anywhere. That niggling sixth sense told her something was wrong. Very wrong. In a flash of light, Cordelia disappeared from the Hyperion.

*
“NO, ANGEL, NO, Stop, don’t, NOOO!” Buffy was flailing around in Spike’s arms. ‘Bloody fuckin’ poofter, can’t even leave her alone in her dreams. Fuckin’ ponce.’ Spike stroked Buffy’s hair and purred at her soothingly to calm her down. Xander and Anya were in the living room in a flash, awakened by the Slayer’s screams. A grunt from Spike, and they returned to the bedroom.

A fury deeper than he’d ever imagined he could feel swept through Spike. His lousy, fucking poof of a sire, had loved Buffy first, and nearly destroyed her with it. Just like he’d destroyed Drusilla. Just like he’d destroyed William. He searched for and felt the ever-present, although very weak, bond he shared with his sire. The bugger was alive.

Maybe it was just an old Angelus nightmare that made Buffy scream and cry and moan, but Spike didn’t think so. He concentrated on soothing Buffy’s tears without waking her up when he realized it might be something newer, something from a slayer dream. His eyes shot open and glowed saffron. Sparks flew from the demonic eyes and a menacing growl emitted from his chest. Surprisingly, the demonic transformation calmed Buffy down, she stopped crying and struggling and drifted back to sleep. ‘You come near me or mine sire, and you’ll finally see what Big Bad means.’ There was more than just a touch of Angelus coming through the bond.