Solstice

SOLSTICE
Part 6/10

We’ve settled down into wedding dress time again. I have done everything I need to do by way of arrangements, and my household will put my wishes into effect. Aurelius has sent a message that he will provide Buffy’s heads, as, and she is to send him a photograph of the wedding dress.

I think now is a good time to make myself scarce for a bit. I’m going to look for Faith, and I’m going to commission a gift for Aurelius on the way. He himself has commissioned portraits of Buffy and myself. Now, these are not the sort of portraits that might initially spring to your mind, although I was pretty sure I knew what he was talking about before he even described them.

There will be a set of three. One of her, one of me, both nudes, and another of the two of us doing one of the things we do best. Erotica, for our most private rooms. Erotica for a vampire, that is. I don’t much care what you call it. Not that we need any such thing to titillate either of us, but those portraits will be a very pleasant addition to the décor. Although more personal than usual in human circles, it’s in the finest tradition of the wealthy and the noble – decadence is not the sole prerogative of demons. What? You thought that all those neo-classical paintings of sportive goddesses and nymphs, with all those acres of naked female flesh, were all about art? Really? My goodness. See me after school.

I have some sketches and watercolours with me, and I’m going to talk to the artist. Apparently he is quite toothsome – look, drag your mind off the dinner plate and work with me here – so maybe I’ll enjoy posing for him. And him for me. Not Buffy, though. He can come and paint her face from life, but I’ll be the one to make sure he gets the rest right.

I’ve also got other sketches and watercolours with me. Aurelius has many strengths and talents, but he is no artist. He has no picture of Palestrina other than the one in his head. If what he said was true, I have seen her. What I have seen, I can draw – vampires have a photographic memory, after all – and I have done that. I have seen his love, a small woman, like Buffy, with a complexion of creamy gold and eyes as dark as sin, sparkling with life. He may be buying pictures of us, but I’m buying a picture of her, for him. I think I’ll ask the artist to do me a copy, just as I’m as certain as I can be that he will keep copies of our portraits. I’m beginning to understand him a little.

I’ve had people out searching for Faith – most of my minions, in fact. A few of them have been chosen for brawn, but most have other attributes, and have been selected for those. Intelligence is a major factor, and the skills they have acquired in life. I like them to be pleasing to look at, too.

Buffy will not be happy if I continue to make more, but I need servants. No, not just servants of the bootblack, footman and butler sort. Any vampire working for me is my servant. Do not confuse their status with the below-stairs staff of humanity. When I need to make more, perhaps I’ll consider whether I can find them amongst those already on the cusp of death. She couldn’t object to those, surely? And if you ever tell her that I’m thinking of such an undemonic thing, I’ll make you very, very sorry.

So, I’ve had some of my brighter minions out looking for Faith. The werewolves have helped, too, at least, those within reach. It may not be full moon yet, but demons can always feel a Slayer, when they know what to look for. They think they’ve found her trail, and when my business with the artist is done, I expect that they will have more definite news for me.

***********

Tara and I have just arrived back in Sunnydale, straight from Adras. I know how to do that now. The people there were wonderful, even if they were demons. We spent time with the magic users, learning how to use the power of the Hellmouth, although we’ve only scratched the surface. We’ll go back as and when we need to. There’s a standing invitation.

A lot of people were in mourning, there, because of a disaster. The Seers have all been murdered, along with the Seers of Hylek. No one seems to know who or why. The magic users themselves are all children of Seers. As I understand it, Seers have the complete gift – magic, prophecy, you name it – while most of their children only get the magic part. So, the magic users were almost all mourning the death of one or more parent, yet they were happy to help us. And, odd as it seems, they acted as if they had known about the deaths beforehand; as if they had expected it and weren’t grieving. They didn’t want to talk about, though, so we didn’t ask. That’s just how it seemed to us.

While we were there, the magic user we stayed with – she’s the same one who saved Buffy, and her name is Aleda – asked us some questions about Angelus. What were his plans, would the Slayer stay with him, would *we* stay with him. I didn’t know how to answer most of her questions, and she stopped asking very quickly. I’m still asking them, though, and neither Tara nor I know the answers yet. Will we stay with him? I don’t know. I’ve always been terrified of him, much more so than Tara. Aleda asked me if Angelus threatened one of us, could we stop him with magic. Tara felt she couldn’t, but I’m sure I could. I said so, and Aleda asked if that were true, why was I afraid? She also asked me about Oz, and whether I was afraid of him. I said no, provided I didn’t take risks when he’s a wolf. She asked me why I could not take the same view of Angelus. She’s right, and yet… Still, it seems harder to be terrified of someone when you’ve seen them vulnerable and naked, and hurt beyond belief, as we have seen Angelus. Maybe I’m not so frightened as I to to be.

Buffy trusts him. So does Oz. The important thing, though, is that Buffy is planning to spend her life with him. She needs friends, so I guess we’ll stay. We’re both in agreement on that, no matter what the cost.

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

Well, my business with the artist is all sorted now, and he was, indeed, a very toothsome thing. He’s also part demon, and he works much faster than most human artists. Thanks to Aurelius, he’s been working on nothing else for a while, doing the backgrounds and such, so the portraits should all be ready for the equinox. He will come to Sunnydale a few days early, and finish Buffy’s portrait, as well as correcting the others if necessary. After all, he’ll be working only from the sketches and watercolours now.

So, with free time ahead of me, I’m off to some hick town over the border, which is where my people tell me Faith has ended up. There was a colony of Nayati demons living on the more aggressive emotions, and they’ve stirred up trouble for years. Faith has cleaned the place up, and the Nayati are no more. She’ll no doubt be travelling soon, so I’d better get a move on.

There are two motels in town, and I choose the better of the two. She isn’t here. There isn’t much of this town, though, so I shan’t have any trouble finding her.

When I do, I’m on the roofs, and she’s in an alley, rubbing up against some guy in a way that’s making me feel for him. He starts to unbutton her shirt, though, and she pushes him away. It soon becomes clear why. She’s lifted his wallet. She wants his money and credit cards not his spectacular stud performance. He sees what she’s done and takes a swing at her, so she downs him with one hard blow. She starts to stroll away with her ill-gotten gains, but unfortunately he has a harder head than she gave credit for, and he’s up and at her again, taking her from behind. She reacts without thinking, purely from instinct, and punches hard, on the turn. She’s too used to hitting demons and vampires, though, and her fist goes straight through his ribcage. She pulls it out and stands, holding him upright, his blood pouring out onto her. I think it’s time to take a hand.

I drop down behind her, and I’m hit by something that wasn’t apparent from my previous vantage point. Her scent is one of self-pity and self-loathing, with a liberal admixture of rage and despair. This has gone far enough. She’ll answer to me for her crimes against me, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about this human, or any other that she’s killed. He’s still alive, but that isn’t going to last long. His wound is definitely mortal. troltroll over to her and take the weight of the soon-to-be corpse. I haven’t eaten tonight, so he’ll do just fine. She doesn’t try to stop me, or to run. She just stands and watches, a stricken expression on her face, her bloody hand still raised. I take him from behind, so as to avoid getting all those bloodstains on my clothes. When I’m done, I just drop him at the back of the alley.

When I return, she’s fingering my mark on her neck, leaving bloody streaks on her not-too-clean skin.

“Faith. Time for a talk…”

I can get no further. She whips a stake out of her waistband and charges.

“You bastard! You did this to me! You made me into this! I hate you, you and that whiny whore and her shiny do-gooder friends. You’ve corrupted them all, between you. Look what you’ve done to me!”

All the way through this panted diatribe, she’s taking swings at me with the stake. Her victim’s blood is making her grip slippery, and when she almost catches me, the stake squeezes itself backward out of her fist, lubricated by the blood. She drops the useless thing, and comes at me bare handed.

She’s good. She’s very, very good. Almost as good as Buffy. I haven’t had a workout like this in quite a while. I don’t want to kill her, but I can’t pull my punches too much, she’s just too dangerous. So, I soak up as much of her violence as I can, but I have to give some back. She’s kicking and punching – she has a really mean backhander, let me tell you – and it’s all I can do to stay ahead. You *never* underestimate a slayer.

The thing is, though, the thing that’s going to finish her and give me the edge, is that she’s angry. Lose your temper, lose the fight. She isn’t cold and calculating angry, she’s hot and fevered and definitely not thinking properly.

Even with that, I almost lose it, hampered as I am by not wanting to kill her just yet. She unleashes a particularly vicious volley of punches to the gut, and as I step back away from her, I stand on that discarded stake. It’s enough to make me lose my balance, then she’s down on top of me, and she’s beating the living crap out of me. I unleash one blow that almost breaks her jaw, and that knocks her off me. Unfortunately, it knocks her onto the ground next to her stake. She has it now, nicely covered in sand to mo the the blood, and she comes at me as I stand up. I duck away, and the stake misses my neck by a hairsbreadth, and then I land a double-fisted blow to the back of her neck.

It should have stopped her, it really should, but I seem to have pulled my punch – that particular one might well have killed her, and like I said, I don’t want her dead. Not yet.

She’s up again, and she’s lost her stake, which has to be a good thing, and she seems to have lost most of her strength. She’s ramming punches into me, but they don’t hurt all that much, and she’s chanting, “Bastard, bastard, bastard,” all the time she’s doing it. Then something happens, something seems to break inside her, and she’s still trying to punch me, but now she’s crying, in great, gusting sobs.

I capture her hands between our bodies, pressing close to her so that she can’t easily free them, and wrap my arms around her. With my arms full of crying, sobbing Slayer, I really hope that Buffy can’t see this, because I don’t think she’d be very happy, although whether she would be angry with Faith or with me I’m not sure. Who knows, with women?

Now I’m making little soothing sounds, stroking her hair, wrapping myself around her, kneeling there with her in that dirty alley, waiting for the sobs to die away. Eventually, they do.

There, in that foetid, junk-lined passage between broken-down buildings, it all comes out. She’s killed humans, profaning her sacred calling. And while she is horrified at what she’s done, some small part of her, the killer in her, has enjoyed it.

She’s allowed me to take her as my bondswoman, although how she could have stopped me I fail to understand, and she has found satisfaction and the expectation of a place in the world. Working for a demon, the most vicious of his kind, has offered her a family she never thought to have. A Slayer working for a vampire. It violates every tenet of her upbringing with her Watcher.

She tortured me to save Buffy. She did it because she felt she owed me a debt for saving her from Fenrix and his Pack, for offering her a place in my family with her sister Slayer, and she loathed herself for being able to do it, although someone had to, and she loathed herself even more because that deep, dark core of her had fun doing it.

She’s a mess, because she doesn’t understand herself, doesn’t understand that all these things are natural to her. She can’t compartmentalise the killer, the dark power that allows her to be the Slayer. In some ways, she has had to face more of her own inner darkness than Buffy has. I desperately hope that my love never has to delve this deeply into her nature, although I’m pretty sure that’s a fond and foolish hope. Buffy has at least as much of that power as this one. And Faith has had to face this alone. She’s beating herself up over something that is inevitable and natural, and now, I don’t know what to say that won’t make things worse.

The only thing I can think to do is to reach back into my memories and remember how the Soul felt about his kills, and how he learned to live with them. The answer to that last one is, not very well. Oh, yes, just as he had all of my memories and feelings, I have all of his. There are only my memories since the day he last left this body, because he is no longer here to create his own brand of torment, but I have the memories of how he felt before he went away, every little detail and every single emotion from that century of occupation. I have all of them, eating away at me like acid, the pointless regrets, the weakness, and the guilt. I just ignore those as best I can. They’ll never go away. A demon never forgets. Still, perhaps there’s something useful here, something that will let me help Faith.

“Faith, I’m a demon, and a killer. That’s my nature. I enjoy my victims’ pain, and I feel no regrets for any of it. That’s the darkness in me. I’m not the Soul. But he knew something about what you feel, and I can remember that, so listen to me. This is what Angel would say to you, if he could.

“The guy in the cemetery? That wasn’t your fault. You thought it was me there, and you did what Slayers are born to do. You killed what you thought was a monster threatening a human. The guy here? You acted on instinct, and didn’t pull your punch. You just have to live with those kills, though, because you can never take them back, just as I can never take back the killing of Jenny Calendar. And the torture? I understand that now – Aurelius has explained it to me. You did what needed doing, and you saved Buffy. But you enjoyed it, just a little bit? Well, that’s the darkness in you, in every Slayer. That’s your nature. None of you are any different, and you can believe me on that, because I’ve seen a lot of slayers. You just have to learn to live with it, and use it as best you can. You may never be able to forget these deaths. You might finish up in Hell…” I nearly say ‘with me’, but that’s his thoughts, not mine. “You can’t let that fear stop you. You have to remember that you are still a Slayer, and you have a job to do. You must not let your past mistakes get in the way of that job. Life can be hard and brutal, Faith, but you’ve got to keep walking through it, one step at a time, just doing your best, and never looking back.”

I try for something a little lighter.

“y, ny, now. You might have left Riley alive. I wanted a lot more time with him.”

Her voice is wooden.

“That’s why I killed him.”

So different, and yet so alike, demons and slayers. I want to tell her that there is real artistry in a well-turned kill, and succulent pleasure to be had in prolonging that kill, in making your victim shriek for hour after hour, in draining the anguish out of them. I don’t need Angel’s memories to tell me that this would be the wrong thing to say just now. Maybe another time.

“You know, I’m a demon trying to live with a Slayer. In many ways, you’re the same. It’s just that you have them both in one body.”

I almost say, like the Soul, and me, but I realise that ours was not a happy example of co-existence, so I keep quiet about that.

“We have to adjust, make compromises. If we make mistakes, we go on and try to do better. You know, you could give yourself up, go to jail, take your lumps, and that might make you feel better. It might not, though, and in any case, I’d only have to come and break you out. Have you any idea how tedious jailbreaks can be? They just keep right on chasing you, you know.”

She’s still snuffling into my lapel, but I can tell that she’s listening, and maybe even hearing.

“I want you to come back with me. Be part of my family.”

She takes a deep breath.

“With you and B? That won’t work.”

“No. It wouldn’t. Not just now. Doesn’t mean we don’t want you as part of the family. I’ve got something to do. It’s going to be hard, and it’s going to be long term, and I’m going to need all the help I can get. I’m going to need you. I’m going to deal with Wolfram and Hart. To do that, I’m going to need power and I’m going to have to either get rid of the competition or bind them to me. I want to lay down rules for the underworld that both a Slayer and I can live with. This has never been done before, Faith. Can you be part of it?”

She’s still talking into my lapel, but it’s a bit less watery now.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I think Wes and Gunn will come on board, although Cordelia hates me, so I’m not so sure about her. I want them to keep Los Angeles clean. That’s where Wolfram and Hart are based, and they don’t know it yet, but I want them to learn everything they can about the firm and the Senior Partners. I want you to head up that operation. You can see it as atonement if you like. It’s going to be dangerous work, but I’ll be there when I’m needed, and you’ll have my backing. You won’t be alone. Ever.”

Not like Angel was, for so long. That’s the over-riding thing I get from his memories, the pain and despair of being alone with only his guilt for company. That’s what will send this girl off into madness. A dark Slayer, I can use. A mad Slayer? No way.

“Are you turning into Angel? That’s the sort of stuff he was doing, to atone, to earn redemption, wasn’t it? That’s what I hear, anyway.”

The very thought makes me scoff, and I leave her in no doubt that I am nothing like Angel. I never will be, either. I just do not want this bunch of jumped-up hell-spawn threatening me or my mate or my family ever again.

“Even if I’m not Angel, you can still act like a real Slayer, Faith. We can make common cause of this. But first, come back for the ceremonies. We want you to be there.”

I lapse into silence, still holding her close to me, rocking her gently and stroking her hair. It’s a long time before she answers me.

“Okay.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

Thank the Fates for that!

Why am I doing this? You think I would willingly give up my possession of the second Slayer? Are you mental?

I want her to come back to the motel with me – I really don’t want to lose sight of her – but she insists that she needs some alone time, and then she needs to go and pick up her gear from where she’s been crashing. She promises she’ll come, and I can scent no dishonesty on her, so I agree. She’ll get cleaned up and come on over, ready to head back to Sunnydale. She hasn’t been eating much so, since she provided my dinner, I’ll provide hers, and maybe we can both work off some of our frustrations in a very… pleasant… way. We’ll leave tomorrow night.

When I get back to the motel, it’s a trap. As I open the door to my room, the wood flies out of my grasp, and I am sucked into a blue swirling void. A portal. Shit. As I’m yanked out of my reality, I hear the sounds of wreckage in the room. I remember thinking, rather incongruously, that I hope Faith doesn’t get billed for the damage. When I get where I’m being taken, someone is waiting for me with electric cattle prods, set on high. They don’t need to score as many hits as they do, but they just keep going until darkness takes me.

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

Angel has been gone for too long. Oh, I know who he is well enough. I decided years ago, when I accepted that Angel was never coming back – before he actually *did* come back for a while – that I would call Angelus Angel. He hates it when I do – I’m sure he’s afraid that he’ll never have the same sort of love from me that Angel had. Silly boy. I knew, though, that this is a battle I couldn’t shoushouldn’t lose. If I give way on everything, I might as well be his slave and I won’t be that. I’ll call him Angelus in public. That’s right and proper. He has a standing to maintain, and so do I. We must support each other there. But I know that if I want to survive this relationship, I must be his equal, and to do that, he needs to accept some things. Calling him Angel was the first and the smallest of the things that I chose to fight him on. Killing will be another, much bigger, thing. Small steps, but we’ll work it out as we go along.

He has been gone for too long. He has called each day while he’s been away, until three days ago, and then nothing. Tonight, I’mdingding the minions out to look for him. I haven’t actually moved into the mansion yet, since the builders haven’t quite finished, but I’m there now, assessing our resources with Ixolon, Estevan and Ezrafel. The thing that has me really worried is that I cannot feel him. I open the link, and there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn’t feel him die, though. knowknow* that I would have felt that. I pray to any Powers that may be listening that I would feel his death and know. He may be hurt and unconscious, or he may be magically shielded in some way, and I’m going to go with one of those two things because I couldn’t bear the alternative. We know where he last was – he went to find Faith.

We are in Angel’s study, deep in discussion, when a minion knocks on the door and opens it for a newcomer. Faith.

She’s tired and tr sta stained, and she’s looking *old*, but all of this escapes my conscious thought. He went to find her, he’s missing, she’s here. Two and two equal I don’t know how many. She can’t tell me anything if I kill her, but it’s with very great difficulty that I keep my hands off her. She’s the first one to speak.

“I’ve come to see Angelus.”

“He isn’t here, and I think you know that. Perhaps you could tell us where he is?”

Her face crumples at my words, and she looks as if she’s carrying the weight of the world. She doesn’t wait to be asked, she just sits down in one of the spare chairs, and bows her head in what is clearly despair.

“I’ve searched that town for two days. I was sure he must be back here.”

I walk over to her and crouch by her side. Almost of its own volition, my arm creeps around her shoulders. She looks so… defeated, and I’m sure she is telling the truth. She has had no hand in his disappearance.

“Faith. Tell us from the beginning.”

She does. She’s leaving a lot out, I’m sure, but she tells us of her bargain with Angelus, and how she went to the motel room a couple of hours later. It was trashed. No, more than trashed, it was a wreck, and the police were there. She had to wait until things calmed down, but when she could get in, there was no trace of Angelus. His belongings were gone, but so was most of the furniture, and there was just the wrecked room. But, and this is a very important but, she couldn’t find any trace of vampire ash, either. She didn’t know which was his car, and didn’t dare ask – she’s still a wanted person, don’t forget – and so she had no way of knowing whether he was still in town. She hunted, though. She has hunted for two days and two nights, then eventually gave in and hitched a ride here. She’d hoped that something had gone down to separate them, and that he would be safely here. That isn’t the case, and now I’m terrified. It’s a terror that seems to make my brain work better. I call Willow.

“Will, Angelus is missing, and Faith’s here. I’ll tell you later, but do you know where Oz is?”

Will and Tara seem to have struck up an extremely close relationship with Oz and Nina. That’s really good. And yes, she knows where he is and can get in touch.

“See if any of the werewolves are within distance – it’s full moon tomorrow, isn’t it?”

I tell her where Angelus was seen, and thank the Powers it is indeed full moon tomorrow. The nearest weres will see if they can pick up a scent trail. I haven’t given them an order, but they will take it as such. After the Fenrix thing, they look to Angel as their leader, almost as their god when they are in the change. If anyone can find him, they will. There is no point in us rushing about the country until they can tell us where to look. The waiting is hard, though.

It all gets very much harder after three old and powerful werewolves have quartered the place, looking for sign of him. He went to the room, and he came out again. Much later, he went back again. That freshest scent trail goes to the room, and then does not come out. He’s in that room, or he’s very much elsewhere, and we have no notion of where to look. The weres say one other thing, though. Like Faith, they can find no trace of vampire ash. He didn’t die there. What now? Whatever can I do now? As I look around the room, everyone looks to me for instruction. I wish I had someone to look to, but I’m going to have to do this myself.

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

When I regain my senses, I’m in chains. Again. And I’m naked. Again. I make an instant resolution that no one is ever going to get me naked in chains again. Well, no one except Buffy, of course. And possibly Aurelius, if I can’t wriggle out of it. I tug experimentally at the fetters, and they are very, very firm. I’m shackled tightly, at wrists and ankles. No chance of fighting back, unless I can get free. I spend a fruitless hour or two trying to do just that, and my only reward is badly abraded wrists and ankles.

Whilst I’m struggling, I’m also trying to work out where I am. There’s a worrying element to the scent around here. There isn’t any. Absolutely nothing. There is always scent, even if it’s the mustiness of long disuse, of stale air and old stone. It’s as if this place were, w now nowhere. That gives me a clenching feeling in the pit of my stomach that I really could do without. It gives me a clue though. There aren’t many who could seal off a piece of nowhere, and there are even fewer of those whom I’ve pissed off in the recent past. I’m going to go with Wolfram and Hart. Perhaps I shouldn’t have killed the Wolf’s litter brother. Have they got to Faith, I wonder? Was that all just an elaborate charade? Is that why she wouldn’t come back to the motel with me?

I’m also trying to ignore the two artefacts standing next to one wall of the room. They are coffins, in some metal that looks rather like lead, standing on platforms of decorated stone. Both of them are very ornate. The thing that they are ornate with is a pattern of crosses. They are covered all over with crosses in high relief. Large ones, small ones, fancy one, plain ones, entwined ones, and ones that look as if they were designed by MC Escher. I’d swear those crosses go through more than one dimension. They certainly make my eyes want to water, although that might be the after-effects of severe electrocution, I suppose. I wonder to myself who might be in those coffins, or whether anyone is. Yet.

The other worrying thing is that I can’t see a door anywhere. It might be behind me, although I’ve craned my neck as best I can, and I can’t see anything there, either. Still, there is a definite blind spot immediately behind me, and it could be there. Couldn’t it?

Then, the wall in front of me shimmers and a party of people enter through that shimmer. I recognise two of the party. Linwood and Lilah. That pretty well answers the ‘who’, so that’s one question down. Lilah looks me up and down appraisingly, and while I might like that at any other time, it makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable now. I don’t show it, though. I just give her a leer. Linwood hands something to her that I can’t quite see, although there was the flash of metal, and she walks over to me. She opens up her hand, and the object is lying flat on her palm. It’s a coin. It’s a very tiny old coin of sleekly shining gold, an obol I think. I have no idea what she is going to do.

She runs her fingers up my flank, and even here, my body responds. Why can I not control a damned erection even in such a precarious situation as this? These people mean me no good at all. One of them, the stranger, isn’t even fully human, not that these two can ever qualify as very human. She moves her hand, wrapping her fingers around me, and there is nothing I can do, just as there is nothing that I can do about the chains. Nothing, but accept. When I get out of this, though…

When she has teased me into a very vulnerable hardness, she takes a small step backwards and lets go.

“Do you known what this coin is, Angelus? No? Well, let me tell you a story. Thousands of years ago, when the Greeks were burying their dead, they believed that they needed to be ferried over the River Acheron by Charon. They believed that Charon had to be paid for that ferry ride; otherwise he would leave them haunting the wrong side of the riverbank forever. His price was one obol. You remember all that, don’t you?”

Well, not personally. Aurelius might, though. Lilah is not the type to worry about this sort of history thing – I’m pretty certain shhad had it explained to her very recently. Where the hell are we going with this?

“In order to make sure the deceased could pay the price, the bereaved relatives would put an obol under the tongue of the corpse, and that was that. Well, perhaps not quite, because some of those obols were very special coins, and they were made for the living, not for the dead. Put one under the tongue, and it acted as a perfect muscle relaxant. Hey presto! Magic! Instant corpse. They were useful in certain situations. This one will be useful now.”

She nods to two of the brawny types that have accompanied Lilah, Linwood and the stranger into the room.

Press hard enough at just the right spot inside the hinge of the jaw, and you cannot prevent your mouth from opening. I can assure you of the truth of that. It will even work on a pit bull terrier, if you can press hard enough. The brawny types do press – rather harder than necessary, in fact – and my mouth opens. Just a little, but it’s enough. In goes the obol, underneath my tongue, and I can’t even bite her. I can’t do anything, because I have no control over any part of my body. My eyes are fixed open. I can see and I can hear and I can feel. Nothing else works. Even my jaw is slack. She runs her finger lightly over my shrunken sex, and there isn’t so much as a quiver. It’s a very good job I’ve got no sense of shame. I’m just angry. And terrified.

She laughs, a delighted little laugh, and turns to her companions.

“See? I said it would work.”

She gestures again to the muscle, and all four thugs are needed to heave the lid off one of the coffins. As I thought – or feared – it’s empty. Not for long, I guess.

At that moment, the wall shimmers again, and another body drops through. The hired muscle are onto the newcomer in an instant, cattle prods viciously deployed again and again. The newcomer is unconscious almost from the instant of arrival. When I see who it is, my heart sinks.

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

We might not have had the ceremonies yet, but everyone knows that I am Angel’s mate. I’m in charge. The first thing we need is everyone on the case. Messages went out to both my friends in Sunnydale and the Los Angeles contingent to meet here as soon as possible. We need a council of war. There can be no war until we’ve found the enemy, though, and I prefer to locate Angel first. I don’t want him to become collateral damage. If I can’t feel him, maybe someone else can. I have one sort of link. Aurelius has a different one, I guess, and has been using it for a lot longer. Perhaps he can feel Angel, where I can’t. I’m going to need the big guns here, because I can only think of one enemy, one organisation who might have the wherewithal and the motivation to do this. Wolfram and Hart. If I’m going up against them, I need to know.

Willow has just finished trying to scry for him, and she is having no luck. We think that means he’s being magically shielded. We’ve been there before, and I won’t tolerate it again. Will and Tara are going to rustle up some magic that might help them overcome the shielding, but that could take a day or two of research to find something that they can amplify with the power of the Hellmouth. Perhaps that’s the sort of magic needed if something from the dark dimensions has him.

Everyone is agreed I should go to Cairo, and they all think I should take someone with me. Taking a vampire would only slow me down because of the whole not travelling in daylight thing, and the fact that demons tend not to have passports. Besides, they can accomplish more trying to search for leads here than sitting on a plane. There are arguments, but in the end I go alone. I’m using the money from the marriage settlement. I know it’s early, but I’m sure he won’t mind.

When I reach Aurelius’ palace, it’s almost midnight. The doorkeeper knows who I am and admits me without question. Inside, there is an air of quiet hubbub. It isn’t the hubbub of people… beings…going about their normal business. It’s controlled panic. I recognise it instantly, because it’s exactly what I’ve left behind me at the mansion. Do they already know what has happened? The vamps in the main hall seem to melt away as I appear and then there’s only me, and the vampire coming towards me from the direction of Aurelius’ rooms. It’s Japheth.

“Slayer.”

That’s all the greeting I get.

“I need to see Aurelius.”

He frowns a little.

“He isn’t here, I’m afraid. You should have called ahead. You’ve had a wasted journey.”

I can’t deal with this. All my hopes were pinned on Aurelius being able to find my mate. My voice sounds stricken, even to me.

“When will he be back?”

“I don’t know, I’m afraid. It might be a long time.”

No! Please, no
The
There are a number of stools scattered around the hall, and I need to sit down. The one I choose is upholstered with a tapestry pattern of a peacock, in life-like brilliant colours. I’m thinking about this because my brain refuses to think about the other. I must though. I’m sure the effort must be visible to Japheth, and I forget for the moment just how keen and discriminating is a vampire’s sense of smell. He comes towards me with a look of concern on his face. He knows I’m distressed.

“What is wrong, Slayer.”

“Angelus has disappeared. He’s been missing for six days now, and we can find no trace of him. I can’t even feel him anymore, but I’m sure… I think I’m sure… that he’s not dead.” It finishes up as a whisper.

If a vampire can be said to go pale, he does. He sits down on a stool facing me, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed. After a moment, he looks at me.

“Six days, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Aurelius went missing on the same day. We cannot find him either.”

I am too numb to even think, now, and I barely hear Japheth’s next words.

“A message came for him, that Angelus was in serious trouble and needed him. He went out, and has not been back. He did not tell us where he was going.”

A thought tries to fight its way into my fear-addled brain.

“Sekhmet. What about Sekhmet? Che fhe find him?”

He is silent for a moment, as if he is debating something with himself. Then he stands.

“Come with me.”

He leads me through into Aurelius’ rooms, and into his bedchamber. I haven’t been in here. It’s… I’m having trouble finding the right words here… opulent. It’s rich and colourful, and so very like Angelus. Family trait, then.

I don’t see her for a moment. The cat is on the floor, at the foot of the bed. She looks dead. She isn’t, of course, or she would be a pile of ash. But she might as well be, for all she can tell us. I look at Japheth.

“The night he disappeared, she gave one agonised cry, and then fell into this stupor. We think that it’s sympathetic magic.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The magic being practiced on someone else – presumably Aurelius – is affecting her as well. I expect it’s to stop her finding him.”

“That means he must still be alive, then?”

“We can only hope so.”

“Japheth, how old are you?”

He turns that grave stare on me.

“A little over four thousand years.”

Unimaginable. I’veays ays thought that Angel was old – not in a decrepit way, of course, but still, he’s older than the United States, so that’s fairly old to me – but these vamps are so *ancient*. I pull myself together as best I can.

“Do you have a link with Aurelius, like I have with Angelus? You know, being his direct childe and all?”

“It is not exactly the same, but yes.do.”do.”

They must have had lots and lots of practice over four thousand years. They must have much more skill at this than I do. I ask the question that is burning in my throat.

“Can you feel him?”

“No.”

As we stand looking at Sekhmet, and wondering where to go now, I feel his cool hand clasp mine, but there is no comfort to be had for either of us.

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

It’s Aurelius. If he is here, how are we ever going to be found? Buffy can have no idea of what has happened here, and in any event, she has not the power to pit herself against Wolfram and Hart. Even I do not, at present.

He receives the same treatment that was meted out to me. He is strung up in chains, naked, but he isn’t left to himself, to come round from the vicious electrocution that he has suffered. The stranger murmurs a few words, and consciousness starts to return. Lilah smiles brightly.

“Thank you, Hamilton.”

At least I know his name, for all the good it will do.

As Aurelius recovers, he takes stock of his situation, and sees me. He probably thinks I am unconscious, hanging slackly in the chains. I may even be drooling. He doesn’t say anything. Lilah gives him the obol treatment, but his explanation is different. The obol is different. It will bring Sekhmet down, too. She looks brightly at me.

“We’ve only got one of those, Angelus. If we’d thought your ditzy little Slayer would be as much of a problem for us as the cat might have been, your little girl would be in a catatonic state right now. Don’t look for rescue, the pair of you. You are ours. The Senior Partners are very pleased.”

I just bet they are.

Then the lid of the second coffin is removed, and we are carried over to them. We are placed one in each, and not very gently. There are crosses on the inside, too, although not on the base. I feel the sear of their touch as we are lowered into this hellish casing.

Lilah grasps my limp arms and pulls them forward over my stomach, then holds them, crossed at the wrists, over my navel. Linwood has gone to Aurelius, behind me, so I assume that he is doing the same there. She looks at the one called Hamilton, and he nods, then moves back a little, out of my line of sight. Holding my wrists in one hand, she presses one of the crosses on the inside of the coffin. Then she repositions her grip, holding one arm in each hand, carefully avoiding the wrists themselves. I soon find out why.

There is a pressure against my back and then agony as something pierces me on either side of my spine. Whatever it is pushes straight up through my body like a sword, coming out through my navel and up through my wrists, pinioning them together. It is a pair of twin metal spikes, twined around each other. Lilah lets go, but remains, watching.

“You’re going to be here for a very long time, Angelus, until we are ready to let you out again. Both of you. Oh, and that might be ‘never’, by the way. We’ve given you something to keep you entertained during your very eternal night. I doubt you’ll be able to get to sleep. Enjoy.”

I hear Linwood whispering to Aurelius.

“Don’t think your cat will find you, we’ve taken good care that she won’t wake up again. There is no magic that will release her with that coin in your mouth.”

A terrible thought occurs to me. Have they left Buffy unaffected so that she *will* find me? Do they want her, too? If there is any god other than the dark and vengeful sort, I pray that she will not come to this hell, this snippet of the human world that is so much worse than any demon dimension.

The spike, which stands proud of my wrists, starts to move and grind against my wrist bones, and then it splits, both halves taking on an organic shape, like a vine. Each tendril splits and splits again, and then each takes its ownte ate around the coffin. I feel each and every one of them start to slowly stitch their way through my body.

The lid is replaced, leaving me in ultimate darkness, speared by the ever-moving tendrils, and galled by the fear that my mate might end up here. Terror grows, like a beast in my belly, and I feel it start to rise and tear at my throat. I am voiceless, and I must scream.

*************
To Chapter 7