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Chapter Text

Prologue

He was a man with no name - or at least not one he wanted to remember.  He traveled, doing his best to escape the guilt that plagued his soul.  Over the years, he slowly made his way from Prague to London, but whether in the uncompromising wilds of the forests or losing himself in the crowds of cities, there was no peace to be found.  Not for him. 

Since it didn’t matter where he went, eventually he stowed away on a ship in England with nothing more than the fraying, outdated rags on his back, not even bothering to learn its destination, uncaring.  He hoped halfheartedly that he would be overlooked as he crept aboard, stowing away in the ship’s damp hold amongst crates and canvas. He concealed himself in the shadows, a sullen ghost.  There was no way for him to track the time, even if he cared to. He didn’t leave the hold, never straying up onto the deck.  Instead, he stayed hidden, surviving on rats and other small animals.  He didn’t dare to be seen by anyone and not even curiosity tempted him out until the ship’s movement ceased, knocking gently to a stop at the dock.

When he finally disembarked from the ship, crawling shaky and starving into the dark night, he discovered himself to be in the Americas; New York to be exact.  Surrounded by the uncaring masses of fellow immigrants, he lost himself in dark alleys and drifted.  He did his best to put everything behind him; he just wanted to escape everything - his past, but especially his name.  The name that struck fear into people's hearts, Angelus: the Angel of Death, Scourge of Europe.

Chapter 01

30 Years After Curse, San Francisco, 1928

It was night, of course.  It was always night, and the darkness was where a monster like him deserved to be.  He was sitting on the ground at the end of an alley, his back resting against the brick tenement behind him, but his head was bowed, resting in his hands.  Hunger gnawed at his thin body, unwashed rags hanging from his bones. He felt nothing of the guilt that had been his constant companion over the past thirty years.  The hunger consumed it, raged through him, taunting him, whispering incessantly in his ear, urging him to assuage the hunger.  To kill.  To soothe its fire and fill the void within.

A muffled scream caught his attention, the short, high noise so faint that it would have sounded like a mere squeak to a mortal man, was as clearly heard by him as if it had been right in front of him and the part of him that hungered forced him to investigate.  What he saw made his soul scream in protest, for there against the alley wall, was one of his own kind sucking the life's blood from a redheaded woman.  She was held tight against the vampire’s chest, her hands alternatively beating against his back and pushing at his shoulders were nothing more than a weak protest, unheeded.

"Stop! Let her go! Now!" he cried out.

His shout went equally unheeded by the woman's attacker.  Angelus ran at the vampire with all the force he could muster, intending to knock him away.  But the other, without even looking, slapped him away with such force that he was thrown against the opposite wall.  Undaunted, Angelus tried again - with the same results.  He didn’t get a third try.  It was too late.  He was forced to watch helplessly as the vampire drained his victim, dropping her carelessly to the filthy alley pavement.

Wiping his bloody mouth with the back of his hand, the vampire straightened up, stance threatening and demon showing, amber eyes flashing.  “Let me give you some advice,” he growled, flicking drops of blood in Angel’s direction and exacerbating the emaciated vampire’s hunger.  “Don't try that again - on me or anyone else you encounter in this city.  You’re lucky I’ve just finished dinner and that I’m not in the mood to teach you better manners.  Get out of my sight!”  The other vampire grinned maliciously, “As a matter of fact, I think you should run.  Run far away, before I change my mind.  Because if I come across you again, well...”

Angelus stared at the other demon, dumbfounded and frozen, surprise and his own helplessness holding him immoble.  If anyone had dared to speak to him in that manner they would have been killed - in the old days.  At that thought, Angelus cringed, disgust at himself writhing along with the hunger in his stomach.  ‘The old days.’

He ran.

Chapter Text

1986

Angelus had run as far as he could.  He was halfway around the world from the place from where he’d started and, if he traveled any further, he'd just be going toward it again.  Any more traveling was useless. He couldn’t really escape what he wanted to get away from most - himself. And so, he stopped. In California.

Sunnydale.

~ * ~

 A tiny redheaded girl sat on her living room floor, quietly playing with her ABC blocks.  Her nanny was snoring gently in an armchair in front of TV, asleep. A crack of thunder suddenly sounded.  Startled, Willow looked up at the window.

~ * ~

 Angelus walked down the street of an upper middle-class neighborhood.  Lost in his thoughts of regret, he had no warning of the attack.  The vampires that ambushed him were very young, but they outnumbered him three to one and he was too weak for a long drawn-out fight, so he did the best he could.

The first one to touch him died as Angelus snapped his neck.  The second he threw into the third; knocking one unconscious and the other to the ground.  Without checking to see if they were following him, Angelus ran down the street, around the corner and into someone's backyard, hoping he was too much trouble for the others to bother tracking down to finish off. 

He saw a tree and sat down under it to rest until the sound of thunder made him look up.  He sighed. There were heavy clouds, and it looked like it would rain at any moment.  Angelus looked down back down and saw that a light was on in one of the house's windows.  Curious about who would be up so late, he walked over and looked inside.  What he saw made him catch his breath. There, sitting on the floor, was a beautifully innocent little girl - a redhead.  Entranced, he stared.

The thunder crashed again as the rain suddenly poured down.  He saw that the sound had made the child look up and ducked back, not wanting to scare her.

 ~ * ~

 Willow was very smart, everyone said so.  She had heard it said so many times that she knew it to be true.  She knew that she'd seen someone outside.  She knew it.  ‘ It's going to rain ’, she thought to herself.  ‘ Nobody should be outside.  Why is someone outside? ’  Curious, she got up and, carefully not looking at the window, put up her blocks.  She turned the TV off and left the room.

Once out of the room, Willow walked to the front of her house.  She grabbed her coat from the rack and struggled to put it on.  Once that was accomplished, she quietly opened the door and went outside.  She crept around the house to the back.  She approached the man standing in the yard like she would any strange dog or cat, as carefully and as silently as she knew how, not wanting to startle or scare him.  Stopping a few feet away to give him space, she stared up, musing, ‘ He looks so sad.  And wet.  He's gonna catch a cold. ’ 

~ * ~

 Angelus was sorry when the child went to bed.  He stood a few minutes looking in through the window at the darkened room, hoping she would come back, but when she didn't, he turned to leave.  Although where he would go, he really didn't know.  It surprised him, to say the least, to turn around and see the child standing before him.  He watched her curiously, wondering what the girl was thinking.  

“You're gonna catch a cold,” she warned, unexpectedly.

“What?” Angelus asked, a bit incredulously.

“Nanna says that if you stay out in the rain you catch a cold,” she explained patiently.

“Oh, but I can't get a cold,” he assured her.

“Well, you're still outside, and it's dark.  Somebody might hurt you,” she declared.

“You're very right,” he agreed.  “Why don't you go back inside, and I'll go on home.”  He started to leave.

Willow put her arms out, hands high in the air and palms out facing him, holding him back without touching.  She didn't want him to go home.  She might never see him again and she was lonely.  “No,” she disagreed, a gentle protest.  “You can't go!” 

It was then that the strangest thing happened.  That little girl, that innocent, redheaded little girl, commanded him...and he didn't leave.  “Why?” he asked.  “Why would you want me to stay?”

“Because I don't want you to go!  You look like you need somebody to look after you,” she replied.

Angelus watched her quietly, wonderingly, and so he noticed instantly when she suddenly shivered. “ Come on,” she said, “follow me.”

Thinking she meant to invite him into her house, Angelus protested.  “I can't go in there.”

“Where?” she asked him. “Oh, the house?  I know that - I'm not supposed to bring strangers inside.  Now, come on!   I'm cold!”  Again that strangest of things happened.  She commanded...and he obeyed. Curious now about where she wanted to bring him, and wanting to get her out of the chill as soon as possible, Angelus followed her without any more delay.

It surprised Willow that the man had even thought she would bring him inside.  Nanna had said to never bring a stranger into the house.  She had a completely different solution: her treehouse.  Willow wasn't supposed to play in her treehouse until she was bigger - but she was almost six! And this was for a good reason...really it was.  Her father had it made it for her, on one of his infrequent visits home, when she'd asked for it after seeing one on TV.  Willow thought hers was much nicer than the one on the movie, Swiss Family Robinson .  Hers had almost everything.  It even had electricity and running water - just not a bathroom.

Angelus was very surprised when the girl led him up to the tree.  He was even more surprised when she went around to the other side and began climbing it.  He traced her progress with his eyes and saw where she was headed. He cocked his head thoughtfully.  ‘A tree-house ?’

Willow was almost all the way up when she glanced down to see how the stranger was doing.  She knew that some grown-ups had trouble climbing trees.  The man was just standing there!  She sighed with exasperation.  “You gonna come up here or not, mister?”

Resigned, Angelus started up after her without replying.  Entering the tree-house, he stared around in wonder.  It was like a one-room house.  It had a sofa, a bed, carpeting, bookshelves, and a small chest that he thought must be for toys.  ‘ Granted all the books look to be by Dr. Seuss, but hey! ’ It appeared to be quite comfortable, if child-sized.  He had seen real houses that had less.

The child turned the lights on.  She stood watching him nervously as he looked around.  “Do you like it?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered her softly. “It's very nice.”  There hadn’t been many nice things lately in his existence.

Willow gave him a quick smile and walked over to the chest.  She opened it and removed two blankets. Willow held one out to him.

“Here.  You can use this to dry off,” she offered.

He took her suggestion, and they dried off in silence.  When he was finished, he hung the blankets over the window, excusing it by explaining that it would help dry it out faster, before sitting back down and looking over the space some more.  At last, Angelus looked up, straight into the greenest, most honest eyes he'd ever seen.  For several endless seconds, neither of them moved. He had the awful feeling she was looking clear to his soul and seeing far more than he wanted her to. 

Eventually she spoke.  “You're very...pretty,” she announced.  “Are you an angel?”

“No,” he replied, thinking, ‘ Far, far from it, little girl .’  This whole experience was more than passing strange to him.  No one had ever acted so forthright and unafraid in his presence.  And while his return question of, “And what strange creature are you, little witch?”, seemed only to confuse her, he did think that there was something different about the young girl standing before him.

“Don’t be silly,” she responded slowly, regarded him in bewilderment, ‘ A witch? Does he mean like on TV? ’  Then putting a finger to her nose, she wiggled it from side to side.  “See? No magic!” 

They silently surveyed each other for a while, listening to the rain that was still drumming on the roof.  Finally, Willow dared to break the quiet to ask his name.  Angelus tried to think of what to tell her. It had been a long time since he had needed or even wanted one.  He came up with nothing.  He didn't want to give her his birth-name or the name under which he had committed so many horrific crimes. He also didn't want to lie or just make something up.

“I don't have a name anymore,” he told her, regret in his voice.  “I haven't had a name for a long time now.”

“Oh,” Willow sighed.  ‘No wonder he looks so sad.’  “Didn't your mother give you one?” 

Angelus didn't answer.  He just looked at her.  “My name's Willow, and you could be my friend,” she said tentatively.  “Do you want to be my friend?  I'll call you Angel.  You really do look like one, you know.  I'm Jewish and we go to temple, but my class, from school, went on a trip once to see the inside of a church once and I saw a picture that kinda looked like you.  The angel had brown hair and everything even if it was a little longer than yours…”  Willow trailed off, thoughtfully and out of breath.

Angelus looked at her in amazement.  He hadn't known that a girl so small could have that much breath in her.   ‘ A friend...would I be her friend? ’  Then he focused on what she'd said, torn between wonderment and a slight dread at his new name.  How could he be saddled again with a name that was so close to the horror of his past?  But he remembered suddenly, that night, years ago, when he had failed to save that red-haired woman.  He looked back to the innocent child standing before him and felt a resolution building inside.  While it could never make up for all the darkness that he’d caused across the globe, maybe sheltering this little light he’d found would do some good.  A candle against the night.  ‘ I will protect her.  I won't fail again.’

Willow looked at him questioningly.

“Yes,” he said at last, “I’ll be your friend.”

“Really?!” Willow exclaimed happily.  But she quieted quickly, her expression very serious, and asked, “I can keep you?  You won't leave me?”

“No,” Angelus assured her, “I won't leave.”

Walking up to where he was sitting, Willow looked into his eyes. “Do you promise?”

Equally serious, he swore, “I promise, I’ll stay with you.”

“Oh, good,” she sighed, ecstatic.  Finally, she had a friend.  Someone who wouldn't go away and never come back.  Someone besides that weird boy that lived down the street.  Willow leaned back and looked him over.  “Angel...your mother really ought to dress you better.  Doesn't she take care of you? Do you have a nanna too?”

Angel gave her a little smile.  “No, I don't have anyone taking care of me.”

Willow looked at him sadly.  ‘No nanna.  Nobody to take care of him.  Well, he has me now! I'm gonna look after him.  But first things first: sleep and then some new clothes.  Definitely needs some new clothes!’ 

“Angel, you go to sleep now.  I'll come wake you up tomorrow, and we'll go get you some new clothes.”  When Angel looked like he would protest, Willow determinedly pointed out, “Yours are falling apart, you need new ones.”  Angel sighed, and she knew that he'd given in. “I'm gonna go inside and go to sleep too. You'll be fine in here.” She gave him a quick hug and ran to the door, where she stopped and looked back.  Angel stood watching her go.

“Night, Angel!”

“Good night, Willow.”  ‘My friend.’

When Willow left, Angel looked around, getting up to inspect the windows again.  He pulled the blanket back a little and watched her go back inside, then he noticed that the windows had shutters and pulled them closed, hanging the damp blankets over them.  Tired and hungry, Angel decided to take to girl's advice, clean up, and just go to sleep.  He sighed as he looked at the bed.   ‘I am never going to fit in that.’

Chapter Text

Late the next morning, Willow woke, energy flashing through her at the thought of her new friend. She ran downstairs, intending to make sure her friend was okay, only to run into the problem that was her Nanna. First, she had to eat breakfast. Then, she had to clean her room. After that, she had to help dry the dishes. Her whole day went like that. She would finish one thing, only to have Nanna want her to do something else. By the time evening arrived she was so anxious that she skipped dinner and told Nanna that she had a stomach ache, and could she be excused for bed?

The nanny, knowing that her charge didn't usually lie, was a little worried.  After checking for a fever, and not finding one, she sent Willow off to bed.  Once out of sight, Willow ran to her room.  She put her pillows under the covers then grabbed most of her allowance money from the jar under her bed.  The twenty dollars a week that her parents had ordered the nanny to give her really added up since she had nothing to spend it on.

She stuffed the handful of money deep into her pocket and went outside to her balcony.  She looked down over the rail at the ground that seemed to get further away while she was watching it.  She shut her eyes tightly and took a couple of deep breaths, then opened them back again.  This was the only way she’d be able to sneak out with her nana awake.  Shaking a little at what she was going to do, Willow climbed down her trellis for the first time.

Vastly relieved to reach the ground, she stood still for a moment to calm herself then ran to her tree-house.  Upon entering, she saw Angel sleeping...on the floor. She looked at her bed, then her sofa, then back to him. ‘Gosh! I didn't realize he was that long!’  She watched him a few minutes trying to decide if she should wake him.  He looked really tired but, on the other hand, she was bored.  She woke him.

"Angel? Angel?" she whispered loudly.  He didn't even open his eyes.  Worried, Willow spoke a little louder.  Still no response. "Angel!"  When she yelled, Angel grabbed her and tickled her unmercifully.

"Stop! Stop!" she gasped for breath.  "Angel, please! I can't! Breathe!" 

When Angel finally stopped, she hit him.  "Why did you do that?", she scowled and demanded to know as soon she had caught her breath.

"You made me worry.  I thought you said that you'd be here sooner."

"I'm sorry, but I tried to!" she protested, "Nanna wouldn't leave me alone!"

"It's alright, Willow."  Angel tried to calm her. "What did you want to do?"

"New clothes!," she replied, excited.  "You need new clothes! Come on, Angel, let's go to the mall before it closes!"

‘What have I gotten myself into?’

~*~

‘Shopping, shopping! We're going shopping!’ Willow sang inside as she and Angel walked down the street - well, Angel walked, she skipped.  They were almost there.  She loved to go shopping.  She'd loved it ever since her Mother had taken her on her last birthday.  She wanted to get Angel something pretty to wear.  And some ice-cream to make him feel better.  She really hadn't meant to make him worry.

When they reached the mall, people looked at them strangely, the little girl in a red jumper walking - now sedately - with the glaring man in torn and raggedy clothing.  But not one of those people said anything.  Strange things were always happening here.  No good ever came of talking about it.  Even if the man didn't have a reflection.  This was Sunnydale.

Willow dragged Angel all over the mall looking for the most prettiest outfit ever.  She wanted her Angel to be the prettiest looking man anyone ever saw.  They went through Sears, Dillards, Macy's, and a dozen other stores.  Willow wouldn't even consider anything.  She didn't quite know what she was searching for - but she'd know it when she found it!

Then about an hour to closing, Willow spotted an out-of-the-way store called "The Leather Den".  In a daze, Angel was pulled after her.  ‘I never knew there were so many stores in one place! And the people! And how in the world can one little girl have so much energy? She reminded him of....’ Angel didn't complete the thought.

Once inside the store, Willow looked around curiously.  This place sure had some interesting things.  ‘Why hadn't Mother or Nanna ever let me come in here?’ Then she saw it. She walked over to get a closer look, still dragging Angel behind her.

It was perfect.  The shirt was the most darkest blue she had ever seen!  It was almost black - almost.  She reached out a hand to touch.  It was so soft!  ‘This one! I have to get him this one!’ She looked up at Angel and saw that his attention was elsewhere - on a pair of black leather pants.

"Angel? What do you think of this shirt?" she asked.

"It's nice," he told her.  He still wasn't looking, but that was good enough for her.  She took it off the rack, then followed his gaze to the pants again.  ‘He must really like them.’

Angel couldn't seem to take his eyes off those pants.  He had owned pairs of leather pants before.  He remembered them to be very sturdy and long-lasting, and eventually comfortable.  But they'd never been such a glorious color - black!

Willow pulled Angel over to the pants, since he didn't look like he was ever going to move.  She took them off the rack and held them up to him.  "Do you think they'll fit you?"

"No," Angel put them back and took out the pair behind them.  "But these will!"  He sounded almost like he wanted to smile.

Willow laughed at him, but silently.  She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she sure did grin.  "Come on, Angel. Let's go buy the clothes!"

Angel, happy to comply, followed her.  They quickly checked out and she headed for the ice cream parlor.

~*~

Willow was humming quietly while walking on what Angel thought was the way home.  It was the way home.  Willow was just planning to make a stop.  She could see the park coming up ahead, and the ice-cream parlor was right across the street.

"Angel, do you like ice-cream?" Willow asked innocently.

"I don't know. I've never had any." he replied

Willow stopped short.  ‘Angel's never had ice-cream? ’ Willow was completely shocked.  Everyone had at least tried it!

Willow looked up at Angel.  "We have to make a stop before we go home," she told him seriously as they started walking again.  She was getting excited, because if he had never had ice-cream before that meant that it could be a surprise.

"Where?"

"It's just up ahead, across from the park."

"Okay, I hope it won't take long though, it's starting to get little late."  Angel wasn't worried much.  It was still a little too early for most of Sunnydale's nocturnal residents to be out yet.

Coming to the parlor Willow told him to wait outside.  "It's gonna be a surprise."  She smiled.

"Willow, I don't want any ice-cream." Angel wanted to take back his words as her face fell.  He tried to make it up to her.  "Why don't you get some and eat it for me? We'll eat it out here on the bench."

"Okay." She said, still a little disappointed.

But being a well-mannered child, Willow did as he suggested.  She bought a large vanilla cone with chocolate sprinkles, hoping to entice him to take a bite.  ‘I just love vanilla. You can put almost anything on top.'  Willow rejoined Angel outside, slowly savoring her ice cream.

"Angel, why don't we go across the street? I can eat my ice cream on the picnic tables."

Even though it was getting late, the sun starting to sink below the horizon, Angel agreed, not wanting to disappoint her again.

~*~

They were sitting down, Willow still trying to get him to taste her dessert and chattering on about everything that popped into her head, when four fledglings came up behind the young girl.  He froze in place, never having thought that he'd be put to the test to soon, while he was still feeling so weak.  He couldn't run.  He wouldn't risk the child.  Having no other option, Angel shifted his face.  Angry that he had to lose his friend, he despaired. There was no doubt in his mind that as soon as she saw him change, she would run in fear.

Angel underestimated Willow.  She watch wide-eyed as her Angel's face changed.  His sad brown eyes, which had watched her with gentleness, had turned gold and now blazed with fury.  His face was now all wrinkly.  He had fangs - like a cat! Willow saw all this.  She didn't run though.  Angel had forgotten something.  She was his friend - but he was also hers!  Once Willow loved someone or something she didn't let go willingly.

Willow watched wide-eyed, as Angel attacked the four men that were walking towards them.  She didn't know quite what to do.  Angel didn't look crazy, he just looked, well, different.  She knew that she couldn't run, Angel might get hurt.  Willow also knew she couldn't exactly help him either, she was too little.  Trying to figure out what to do, Willow watched in shock as Angel was held down by three of the men - men whose faces, she now realized, looked something like Angel's.

Holding her breath to keep quiet, Willow watched as the fourth man hit Angel.  Her Angel.  She watched as he struggled against the strange men.  As she watched, a multitude of feelings welled up inside of her.  Anger, fear, despair, helplessness, and more - none of which she liked.  Suddenly everything seemed to slow down.  Her emotions took her over.

She looked intently at the strange, bad men.  The men that dared to hurt her Angel.  The pressure that was building up inside finally burst forth in a scream. She screamed only one word, putting all of those hated emotions into it.  She didn't scream very loud, but the word seemed to hang in the air - echoing.

"STOP!"

And the bad men did. They were frozen in place.

But Angel didn't.  He didn't realize that the fledglings had stopped fighting against him.  At that moment, he only knew two things: that he was free and that he had to eliminate what threatened Willow.

Three were turned to dust in quick succession.  The first when Angel decapitated him in one blow, the second when Angel tore his heart from his body.  The third was the worst. Angel made a meal of him.

The fury and power that had moved Angel had burned down to ashes - like three of the fledglings that had stood against him - and he wondered briefly where the strength to do what he'd just done had come from. It was gone now, leaving him feeling drained, but he quickly came to his senses and glanced around for his last opponent.

He spotted the other standing just a few feet away, unmoving.  Thinking this strange, Angel searched for Willow, hoping she had not run and that she was not hurt.  He saw her. She was standing still, staring intently at the frozen fledgling.  Angel called her name softly, worried.  She seemed to be in a trance.  However, at the sound of his voice calling out to her, she was freed.  So was the now-forgotten fledgling.

Hearing Angel call her name, Willow looked at him.  He was bruised and bloody.  Concerned, she walked towards him.  As she approached, he watched her with an emotion she didn't recognize.

Angel stared at the child in wonder.  She hadn't run.  She wasn't hurt.  She was, in fact, coming toward him.  Angel knelt before her, intending to apologize.  Not for his actions, which he couldn't excuse, but for scaring her.  Willow stopped the words from ever being uttered.  She hugged him.

~*~

Completely dismissed as inconsequential and forgotten, the fledgling stood, looking on in amazement as the powerful newcomer submitted to the young witch.  To think, they had only thought of the child and her protector as a quick meal before they'd had to go back to the lair.

He saw the powerful witch grace the vampire with her approval.  Here was a chance to gain power.  With his sire having recently died in the last bloody scrabble for power over this benighted city, his clan had dissolved into mass confusion.  They should not have gotten involved.  His sire hadn't stood a chance of becoming Master.  Now, no one followed orders anymore.

If he submitted now, maybe, when the witch had her vampire make a bid to become Master of the City, he would be favored.  That witch had to be very strong to have control over such an old one.  She had stopped him, and the others, in their tracks with only a word!  ‘Why does she choose to look like a child?’

The fledgling watched as the witch smiled as she told her vampire something.  The vampire laughed softly and, at her gesture, followed her like a puppy coming to heel as she walked away.  ‘Okay, maybe not a puppy - a watchdog.’  The young vampire considered what he had seen carefully.  The witch's vampire had to be a least 200 years old.  With the different clans still squabbling over hierarchy, he could very well become Master.  He didn't think there were any older in Sunnydale.  The fledgling followed them home, having decided to watch them.

Chapter Text

Eventually, Willow pulled away, much to Angel's regret, and looked him over.  He was covered in blood and dirt. "Angel," she said with a smile, "you need a bath. You're all icky!" Willow pointed down the street, "Let's go, Angel. I want to go home."

Angel laughed gently, happy that she hadn't left him but knowing that there were a lot of questions that would be asked later.  But she was right; he did need to clean up.  The questions could wait...for a little while.

~*~

On the walk back to Willow's house, Angel tried to sort out his feelings on the recent happenings.  He was a little disturbed over the strange things that had been happening in the girl's company.  First, there were those times when it seemed as if he couldn't disobey her; he hadn't even considered disobeying her, and it wasn't all because of sentimentality.  There was also the strength he shouldn't have had helping him through the fight.  And then, after the fight, she and the young one had just stood there, seemingly unaware of any danger.  The young vampire hadn't taken a chance to run, and that was just strange.

Just then, Angel was forced from his thoughts by a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.  Someone was following them...watching them. He forced back a growl at the intrusion.  Something would have to be done.

One good thing had come from that nearly disastrous fight - Angel was feeling better.  Stronger.  Ever since he’d been cursed with his soul, he’d avoided killing people as much as possible.  He refused to drink from humans, but had never thought to prey on others of his kind.  The vampire's blood that he had drank had nearly put him back to full strength.  There was no need to put up with any intrusions or irritations from others of his kind.  In short, Angel was ready for a good fight.

~*~

Coming back to the house, they went around to the yard.  Willow was about to climb back up to trellis when she decided to insist Angel come inside.  She wasn't allowed to bring strangers inside, but Angel was no longer a stranger.  He was her friend.  And he really, really needed a bath.  Especially before he put on his new clothes.  Washing up at the sink inside of her tree-house just wasn’t going to be enough to wash away the blood from the fight and the accumulated grime that covered him.

With the invitation already made Angel decided that he may as well.  How else was he to get a bath if he didn't go inside?  Carrying the packages, Angel followed her.  The vampire could wait a little longer.

After she reached the top, Willow turned to see how Angel was progressing.  She giggled at the sight that she was presented with.  For there - boxes under one arm, his hair all mussed and just generally dirty - was Angel, a grown man, climbing up her dainty white trellis.  He was such a good friend.  He hadn't complained at any of the things she'd wanted to do.  He didn't tell her what to do, or make her try to do anything she didn't want to.  And that was a very good thing as far as she was concerned.  She bet nobody else had a friend like Angel.

~*~

Angel reached the top, packages rattling a little against the rail as he climbed over.  Willow quickly hushed him; if Nanna found out that she'd been gone all this time she would be punished for life!

They crept into her bedroom, Angel looking around curiously.  Willow had lots of toys, too many really for just one girl to play with.  Angel wondered why she had so many as Willow led him down the hall to the bathroom.  Once there, Willow showed him where the essentials were: soap, towels, bubble bath.

"Nanna sleeps downstairs.  So if we're really quiet, she won't wake up," Willow told him.  "I'm going to go wait in my room. Don't take too long, okay?"

"All right." he whispered back.

When she left, Angel set his new clothes out and tried to figure out how to run the water.  He got splashed in the face by the shower for his troubles but got everything sorted out, eventually.

Back in her room, Willow waited for Angel to finish.  Yawning, she laid down on her bed, thinking about her day. It had sure been interesting.  Maybe Angel could tell her how he did that thing with his face.  And where had those men that he'd been fighting gone?  They had just disappeared!  Just poof!  And what had happened when she'd felt all funny? With all these thoughts going through her head, Willow drifted off to sleep.

Coming back into the room a while later, Angel saw the sleeping child.  He watched her for a moment, then pulled off her shoes, and tucked her under the covers.  It was time to make sure she was safe.

Chapter Text

Angel climbed out of the window and into the night. In his dark new clothes he easily blended into the surrounding shadows. He was going to track down the fledgling they’d let escape. He was determined to keep Willow safe and was sure that’s who had been following them. He didn’t like the thought of it knowing where Willow lived. He hadn’t wanted to upset her before, but he was going to make sure that nothing was going to harm her - not if he could help it.

As he circled the house, Angel felt another presence impinging upon his senses: a vampire, the one he sought. He was across the street, hidden in the shrubs that bordered the sidewalk. Angel observed him for a few moments: he was very tall - as tall as Angel himself, with dark blond hair, and loose dirty clothing. He had probably only recently been made a vampire, perhaps no more than five years ago.

After trying to ascertain if he had been seen and deciding that he hadn't, Angel stalked the vampire. He went upwind and behind the blond, walking carefully so as to make no noise. When he was close enough, Angel struck, knocking the other off his feet and pinning him to the ground. "What are you doing here?" Angel angrily growled out.

Frightened out of what little wits he had, the fledgling instantly answered with the truth. "I was trying to find out your reason for being here, to see if you were going to join the Challenge." The way that he spoke told Angel that this was no ordinary challenge for territory. He could hear the sly emphasis and Angel was startled; he hadn't known that the Master of Sunnydale was dead. As with most places that he passed through, and with avoiding contact with everyone, he’d had no news of Sunnydale before he found himself there. If he stayed with the girl as he’d promised, it was a situation that he needed to rectify. He tightened his grip as he thought.

There was only one Master, generally the oldest and most ruthless vampire around, to a territory. The territory was usually as large as the Master could hold, which meant there was a lot of fighting between neighboring Masters. If a Challenge had been called then that meant that there wasn't anyone really powerful enough to be the clear successor. No one strong enough to control the different clans in the area. If that was the truth, then he could take control of Sunnydale. But he’d have to do it soon, otherwise Masters from neighboring territories may just try to split the borders between themselves. He could order them as he wished, to forbid killing. And since he had no qualms killing others of his kind, if they disobeyed...

Returning from his thoughts, Angel's gaze sharpened down upon the fledgling pinned beneath him. "And so what if I was planning to participate?” Angel growled down at him. “What did you and your very dead friends think that you were going to accomplish?"

"Nothing!" The fledgling nearly screamed, terrified that the blunder of an attack he and the others had committed earlier would cost him his life - well unlife. "I didn't know you, Elder!"

Angel barked a laugh, taking pleasure in his fear. His conscience prevented him from harming the innocent, but homicidal vampires were another matter entirely.

"When is the Challenge to start?"

"This Tuesday, under the full moon, in High Ridge Cemetery", came the young one's answer.

"Well, inform the Judges that Angelus, Favored Childe of Darla, Order of Aurelius will be attending."

At his words the fledgling felt another wave of terror. He had dared to attack Angelus - and lived! The grandchilde of the Master, a vampire so old his name had been lost in the centuries through which he'd survived. The Angelus who had struck terror in the hearts of mortals and demons alike for over two hundred years.

"Before you go however, I'll have your name and lineage. For come the night of Challenge, if I've found that you've disobeyed me...well let's just hope it doesn't come to that, shall we?" Angel smirked down at the vampire in his hold, smelling the terror wafting from him.

The fledgling nodded his head frantically at Angelus' silken threat. "Luke, Childe of Damian, Order...Order of Talyn," he recited rapidly.

Angel released him and stood back, allowing Luke to stand. "Leave here now, and be sure to tell the Judges what I've said." Angel told the other in a soft, smooth voice. Somehow, Angel's eerie calmness made it all the more terrifying.

Behind the mask of his soulless reputation, Angel watched him leave. He was relieved that the encounter had gone so well. His demon really was still a part of him - it just wasn’t all there was of him anymore. He knew that if becoming Master helped to protect Willow, he could do it with a clear conscience. He would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe. She was his reason for wanting to be...anything.

Angel walked down the street, keeping an eye out for a pay phone. He needed to call his broker, to make a few preparations for his life in Sunnydale. It’s fairly easy to accumulate wealth when you have eternity and a complete lack of morals. Money entrusted to a brokerage company years ago had been invested and compounded upon. It was time to put ill-gotten gains to good use.

Angelus would be moving into a house near Willow's in a few days - if all went according to plan.

Chapter Text

The next morning when she woke, Willow headed for the kitchen.  She grabbed a Hi-C from the refrigerator and a banana from the table, hoping to avoid her nanny today.  She left a note tacked with a magnet to the freezer saying that she was outside playing and went to see Angel.

He was sleeping on the floor again, but this time she didn't wake him up.  He was a master of tickling, and she didn't want to go through that again.  Willow got her favorite book "Green Eggs and Ham" and laid down next to Angel - he sure made a good pillow!  She ate her breakfast and read her book.  She was trying her best to wait for him to wake up.

~*~

Even though the sun was creeping steadily higher in the sky, Angelus had awakened the second she had started up the ladder.  He was old enough that it was possible for him to move around during the day and he hadn't lived this long without having good survival instincts but he stayed immobile.  He was curious to see what Willow would do.  Any insight that he could gather on this lovely young creature that he’d tied himself to would be helpful.

He felt her lay against him and heard the periodic turning of pages.  He smiled faintly when she started moving around after a while, impatient.  He decided to get up.  They really did need to talk.

As soon as he started to shift, Willow’s bright voice chirped out and the volley of questions he’d been waiting for were directed his way, "Good morning, Angel!  You know, I was thinking 'bout last night.  Where did those men go?  What happened?  Why did you look so strange?  And you were growling! I heard you!  And what are you doing?!"

Angel lifted Willow up from the floor and perched her in a chair above him.  He sat before her and started to explain. "Willow, I'm not a normal person. I’m what’s called a vampire.”  He should see the excitement building up and more questions waiting to burst forth, so he held up a finger in a shushing motion before continuing to explain.  “I can't go out into the sunlight.  I don't eat food.  And the only way I would die, is if someone hurt me really badly.  If that were to happen, I would turn to dust, which is what happened to those people last night.”

He kept his expression as solemn as he could and tried to convey how serious he was, “I killed them because, if I hadn't, they would have hurt us really badly.  It's also why I didn't eat any ice-cream.  It doesn't taste too good to me, and it might have made me sick.  Do you understand now?"

Willow still looked at him somewhat skeptically. ‘That does explain a lot. And he still doesn't look like a crazy person. Not that I’ve met a crazy person before.’ She leaned a little closer, reaching out with her small hand to touch his cheek. "Change your face again, I wanna see."

Instantly he changed, his demon showing.  Willow poked, and prodded and pulled his face this way and that, getting used to his differentness. Finally, she just petted. It wasn't hard, his face, he just had more muscles under his skin, which was cool. It felt, well...normal. Angel started purring because of her attentions. It had been a long time since he had been touched in any kind of way other than to be hurt, and it felt nice.

Startled at the sound coming from him, Willow jumped back, but then reached out again to continue. It was a nice sound - all rumbly. Eventually she asked, "Angel, which is real, this one or your other one?"

He tried to explain it in a way that she could understand, "Both are. The regular one is what I looked like when I was still a normal person, and the one I'm wearing now is what I can look like since I became a vampire. I usually only look like this when I'm really angry, or hurt, or if I like something a whole lot."

A breathy "Oh" was her only response and as she continued to stroke the wrinkles on his forehead and pet his hair.  He could almost see the wheels in her mind turning as she processed the information that he’d given her.  Angel decided to give her time to think about it.  He was sure there would be more questions in his future.  But, in the meantime, he had a few of his own.  He had more than a little suspicion that his Willow was not a normal little girl.

"Willow, would you do something for me?" Angel asked.  "I want you to go and get a leaf from outside, and bring it back to me."

Willow did as he asked, wondering what in the world he could want with a leaf!  He sure was a strange man.  She brought it back inside, sitting once again in her chair and placed it on the table where Angel told her to.  Then she sat and waited for him to explain.

When he did, she decided to change her opinion about how crazy he was.  Angel was definitely crazy.  He wanted her to pick up the leaf and put it in his hand.  Which doesn’t really sound hard like a difficult thing to do, no, not at all.  At least, it didn't until he told her that he didn't want her to touch it!

She sat and stared at it, frowning.  Maybe her friend just wanted to play a game of pretend?  Just wishing it would move didn’t accomplish anything.  After a while she sat back and looked at Angel instead.  "Just how am I supposed to make it move if I can't touch it?"  She was a little frustrated at the way he looked at her so expectantly - just waiting for her to do as he asked.

"Just concentrate on moving the leaf."  Angel told her softly.

Willow laughed suddenly, figuring it out.  It was a puzzle!  A riddle!  She leaned forward and blew really hard.  The leaf tumbled upward in the air and as it came back down it landed in Angel's hand where it was resting on the table.  Angel sighed.  That really wasn't what he had meant for her to do and he watched as her face fell as she didn't receive the praise she expected.

"Angel, I don't want to do this anymore,” she pouted. “Tell me a story! Please?"

Unable to resist her pleading tone, Angel led her to his nest of blankets on the floor.  He cuddled down, making room for her at his side, and told her stories.  Lighthearted things to make her laugh, of all the trouble he got into when he was a child: tales of Galway a long time ago. After a while, his voice sent her to sleep.

~*~

Angel wasn't surprised that the child had fallen asleep. They'd had a long night and she'd woken early.  He was feeling pleased, glad that he had told her the truth about himself. She deserved to know.  Now she would understand the reasons behind some of the things he did.  He wouldn't have to hide parts of himself and he wouldn't have to lie.

Now if only he could get her to realize consciously what a powerful witch she was.  The abilities she’d displayed without knowing!  She’d held four vampires immobile at the same time.  Willow's power could help him to keep her safe.  Even if she could only float a pencil, a pencil could be used to stake a vampire just as well as a fence post.  Even a toothpick would do.

Thinking over his plans for Sunnydale’s future, Angel held the sleeping child close.

Chapter Text

When at last she woke, Angel had her go inside. It was almost noon, and he didn't want the nanny to get worried and forbid the child from going outside.

By the time Willow was finished with all her chores, had helped to pick up the groceries that she and her nanna had spent the afternoon buying, and was finally left alone again it was early evening. ‘That trellis sure comes in handy!’ She brought a deck of cards with her with plans to play "Go Fish." She didn't have anyone to play with usually, but Angel was willing. They played for a while, with Willow winning most of the hands.

Suddenly, Angel’s head jerked up at the sound of a child's distant scream. Without even delaying long enough to explain, he picked Willow up, swinging her around to his back, warning her to hold on tight. He rushed outside, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. There wasn’t a second scream, but he thought he could hear whimpering. ‘Down the street.’

Angel ran so fast that Willow couldn't see anything except a blur. She snugged her face in against the side of his neck and shut her eyes tight. She didn’t know why had driven him to do this, but she had enough trust to wait and see without protest.

When they stopped, the first thing she saw was a dark-haired little boy. He was sitting on the front step of a house, crying, the front door shut behind him and the porch light off. He’d cowered down against the step rail, bracing himself and hardly trying to escape the vampire that was playing with him. Angel was extremely angry - this was the kind of thing that he was going to stop from happening.

He set Willow down, gently unwinding her arms from around his neck. She watched him carefully, looking to see if he wanted her to do anything to help him. He was in his other face, all growly and grr. ‘That mean old vampire is gonna get it!

"Stay here," he told her sharply, but Willow didn't mind. She was content to watch.

He picked up a sturdy-looking stick from the grass, breaking it half. He stalked up to the vampire from behind, the sharp snap of the stick barely giving the vampire enough warning to turn around. Angel grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off his feet. "You really shouldn't play with your food," he quipped and cleanly staked him. The entire event was over so fast that it did nothing to assuage the frustration that had reignited. He looked at Willow to see her reaction but she only smiled brightly and clapped for him, watching the pretty dust cloud float away.

Then they both turned their attention to the boy. Willow was moved to pity once she recognized him. She had only played with him a few times at the park. He had seemed a little weird. Now seeing the house dark behind him, and suspecting that he was locked out, she was just sorry for him. He was curled up as small as he could get on the steps, still pressed against the rail and sobbing. She wasn’t sure why he was outside by himself so late, but she’d knew he had been stuck outside before because his dad being really mad and Alexander not wanting to bother him. It seemed that when his father was angry, he was angry at everybody, and Alexander didn't want to get punished. Willow was glad her father wasn't like that, even if she only got to see her father sometimes, at least when she did see him, he was nice.

The boy had said to call him Xander. He didn't like his name and only his mother had ever called him Alex, so Xander it was.

Going up to Xander slowly, she called his name softly, getting him to uncover his head and look up. She coaxed him into standing, reassuring him that he was alright now. After he’d wiped his tears away, Willow introduced Angel to Xander, and he thought Angel was really neat and that he was a hero like He-man. Willow explained though, about Angel being a vampire and how he was her friend, but that there were other vampires and that they were scary, warning him that it wasn’t safe when it was dark outside. She was pretty sure he’d already figured that out. She knew she would have after getting attacked like that, but sometimes people needed things to be explained to them.

She also told Xander that Angel was a big secret, and he couldn't tell anybody. She asked him if he wanted to be their friend too. He was happy to say yes. He liked Willow. She seemed really smart and nice. Xander only had one other friend, Jesse, and he saw him mostly at school. Jesse lived too far away for Xander to go by his house much. He would be able to play with Willow everyday if he wanted!

"Do you want to come over to my house for a little while? Just until you can go back inside?" Willow asked him. "It isn't safe out here in the dark."

''No, I can go in now, I'll just stay in my room. I'll be okay." Smiling bravely, he started walking around the side of the house to get to the back door. They followed him to make sure he was safe. Turning the knob and opening the door into the dark house, he paused and turned around to his new friends. He looked at Willow and smiled nervously, then asked, "Do you want to walk with me to the bus stop tomorrow? It's Monday, you know."

"Sure, we can do that! So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah,” his smile widened into a bigger grin, “I'll wait for you."

"G'night, Xander." She called, watching him creep inside.

Pushing the door shut, he softly whispered back, "Bye Willow, bye Angel. See you later."

Angel and Willow waited for a moment to make sure Xander was safely inside before turning and heading back to Willow's treehouse.

Once there were inside, Angel figured it was as good a time as any to tell her some of his plans. He’d checked in with his brokerage firm again and had them hire a lawyer for him. With as much money as he’d accumulated, it tended to encourage other people to move in his interest quickly, and real estate deals could be closed without delay. He just hadn’t bothered with any of it in so long…

Bring himself back to the present, he pulled Willow into a hug. Pressing her close and then pushing her back a bit, resting his hand on her shoulders. He didn’t want her to take his news the wrong way. "I'm going to be moving soon,” he started explaining tentatively, “but just across the street. I'll still be close and you can come over anytime you want to. I just can't stay in your treehouse, Willow. And I can't keep going inside your house every time I want a bath. Okay?" Angel watched Willow's face carefully, he didn't want her to think he was leaving her. He had promised to stay.

Willow blinked back tears that had started stinging her eyes when Angel said he was moving. She smiled for him. He wasn't going away, only moving across the street. She could deal with that. Angel having his own house would be a very good thing. So much of a good thing, and not just for him or for her. "It's okay, Angel. You're going to have your own house? That's good. We can invite Xander over, can't we?"

"Of course we can," he confirmed.

"Good. We're going to have lots of fun!"

"Yes, I’m sure we will.” He replied slowly, wondering what was going on in her little head, but realized how late it was getting for the little human. It still surprised him how much freedom this young girl seemed to have, even though he knew she had snuck out of the house - did her nanny not check on her? These concerns weren’t something that he was used to, but were things he would have to keep in mind going forward. It was a warm thought.

“Willow, why don't we get you in to bed now and get some sleep?” Angel suggested. “You can see which house it will be tomorrow when you come home from school."

"Okay, Angel,” Willow agreed easily. Holding her arms up to be carried, she waited for him to lift her up, sure that he’d only follow her up to her balcony anyway to make sure she got in okay. If he was going to do that, she may as well get carried. She was tired after her long day. She yawned as Angel deposited her in front her window. “'Night!" She called, ducking inside.

"Good Night, Willow. Sweet dreams."

Chapter Text

Angel spent the next few days without Willow, getting his affairs in order.  He’d instructed his broker to buy the house he’d told Willow of with everything in it.  The price hadn't mattered, so the previous owners hadn’t cared about how quickly he’d needed them to evacuate.  Angelus still had access to all of the funds he’d accumulated over the years; he just never had the motivation to touch those ill-gotten gains, never for his own sake.  But now he could put some of that money to good use.

He wanted Willow and her new friend to feel welcome and he didn’t have the first idea of how to arrange that for them, so he hired a decorating firm to come in and give the house a homey touch.  After that, all he really had to do was give an overall description of what he wanted, then stand back, out of the way and out of the sunlight, and watch.

~ * ~

After getting the house settled, Angel spent most of the next day preparing for nightfall, planning his strategy and conserving his energy until the sun dipped down below the horizon and the night called.

The anticipated fight called to his already singing blood, his battle hunger and blood thirst rising up in him, a tide  of black and latent fire that his demon and soul both understood.  Memories whispered through his mind like faintly remembered dreams: flashes of fights his demon had won before having his soul restored , the echo of them sending up queer resonances in his soul.  The memories were always there, lying quiescent in his muscles and memories.  He coaxed them out intentionally, the clarity of his confidence changing his whole demeanor.  It was the persistent guilt that he forced down, burying it deeply, sure, for once, of his purpose.

He came upon the Circle unnoticed and unremarked.  His boots silent on the grass as he moved freely through the darkness.  Not even his leather dared to creak. The night was bled of all color by the silvery wash of moonlight and movements stood stark against its stillness.  Even the slightest sounds s eemed to float o n the air as his senses sharpened to their utmost.

The air was warm, the slight stench of decay present to his heightened senses, wafting from the spectators.  They were surrounding an improvised arena, lounging on the row of cars that were circled around but their eyes were intent on the middle.  They blocked his view, but a sudden twist of wind brought to him the scent of spilled blood. It seemed the Challenges had already started. 

He picked up his pace, more than ready to have this over and done with.  The demon slipped from the shadows, pushing his way through any one who hindered him, stalking out into the brilliance of the evening to stand before the Judges, ignoring the bloodied vampire already in the ring and the opponent that he was beating to a pulp.

"I, Angelus, favored Childe of Darla, Order of Aurelius, lay claim to Sunnydale as its Master!"  He declared to the surrounding spectators. He was a little disappointed not to see any surprise.  It looked like the lackey had done his job.  He waited a beat, keeping an eye on the other vampire in the arena, but the other just thumbed the blood away from his mouth and let Angelus speak.  "Does anyone here dare to Challenge my right?"  

As soon as Angel finished uttering the words, his challenger stepped up, not about to give his victories away without a fight.  He gave no name, simply attacking Angel without hesitation, pitting himself against the older vampire. He was the only one that protested Angelus’ coming rule, Judges and spectators alike were silent as they waited on the outcome.

A tide of strength rose within Angel, surging and sure, as if drawing life from the combat. Exhilaration flooded him, making him stronger.  It had been so long since he’d felt like this. Angel cast aside his concern for the perceived limitations of his flesh. He strove against his challenger, as the chaotic whispers of fragmentary visions from his demon continued to swirl through his mind, tempting and taunting him, railing against the chains he’d imposed upon himself for over a hundred years, begging to be let loose. So he let those chains slip, just a fraction.

There was no finesse in this fight, just pure brute strength as they rained blow after blow upon each other, as both sought to dominate and eliminate the one who stood against him. But age was telling and, in the case of vampires, with age comes power. Angel was by far the stronger. And, while he wasn’t tiring, he quickly grew bored of the monotony of simply trading blows. He’d always been one for more...intellectual pursuits.

He waited for the precise moment, the moment when the other committed himself to strike. Angel sidestepped out of the way, seizing the other's fist as it flew past. He drove the younger to the ground, pulling the arm back into a harsh hold, forcing him to stay down with a knee against his spine. Pinning the other with his weight, Angel grabbed him by the hair and forced his head to the side. Then, he bit deeply, draining him until he was dry...dust.

Angel stood still for a moment, tense and straining with all his senses, then slowly began to move, watchful for another attack and came to stand before the Judges. Most appeared to be sufficiently terrified, the fear written plainly across their faces. He’d blatantly broken one of the more sacred taboos of his kind, surrounded by witnesses. Feeding on other vampires was forbidden by the ancient elders, but Angel gave it no mind as it served his purpose, cowing them all into submission. For who were they to stand against someone so confident of his victory?

"Is my Claim accepted?"

Having no choice, they confirmed it.

Angelus was Master.

~ * ~

But there was one who watched the fight with heat in his eyes.  A flaming hatred for the new Master who had humiliated him, who had bent him to his will just a short time ago.  It was a hate founded in fear, but terrible nevertheless, and it seethed inside of the vampire who once was a man named Luke. ( Angelus will be repaid...with interest .)

~*~

Angel traveled carefully under the protective cloak of night, returning to his house but wary of anyone following him.  He was tired. The fight, giving out the orders that he wished to be obeyed, and making sure that they would be obeyed, had taxed his strength.  But, even in his weariness, he displayed a surprising facility for moving unnoticed, sliding silently through the shadows, unobserved.  He had no wish to be disturbed or hindered.

He felt a need for Willow, to bathe in her attention and innocence; to wash away the violence in her company. He wished to forget, if only for a while, the things that were still to be done.

He came at last to his house. The faint prickling heat on his skin telling of the closeness of dawn. He went inside just as the first faint rays broke the cover of darkness, sighing in relief that he would be able to rest.  He just wasn’t allowed to rest for long.

Chapter Text

Angel spent the next few months consolidating his hold on the clan. His control needed to be complete if he was ever to present Willow to them. Angel didn't use knives or chains anymore to get his point across. The risk of being trapped in a skylit room filled with crosses, with the threat of sunlight moving across the floor, keeping them sleepless and starving, or being sucked dry by their Master made them very obedient. They quickly learned to do what they were told, and to do it correctly, or they left Sunnydale.

When not forcing his will upon his new minions, Angel spent time with the children. Watching movies by Disney, Saturday morning cartoons, or simply being in their company relaxed him. The three of them became quite close after spending so much time together. Xander stayed at Angel's house on the nights that he was afraid to go home. The house provided a safe haven for the three from the realities that they each had to deal with. It restored his soul, which was constantly fighting against his demon these days, refusing it the laxity so that it could take pleasure in the punishments that he dealt to the vampires. Drinking from the miscreants was having a disturbing effect. While their demonic blood gave him the power to continue on, it also fed his demon, and his soul was often pitted against it’s subtle insinuations. He’d hear it whispering through his mind..what was a little more blood? A little more violence? He would never be good, for he had never been good.

Willow was the only thing that held him in check and the demon at bay. Time passed quickly, for they were each as happy as it was possible for them to be. Willow's loneliness had vanished in her new friends' company, and she found herself laughing and smiling more than she ever had before. Xander was a genius at inventing games, and Angel had plenty of stories to tell about his life, or about princesses and heroes, dragons and magic. Angel was Willow's hero, and she adored him.

But the day came when Angel seriously sat Willow down. He explained to her what he he had been involved in for the past few months, and what he was intending to do. He justified his upcoming actions, telling her his reasons and how he wanted to keep her safe and prevent things like the attack on Xander from ever happening again.

Willow didn't cry, although she was scared. Crying would only make Angel feel bad. And if what he said was true, he didn't need to be worrying about her. Angel held her and talked to her, doing his best to be comforting, then tried to explain where she fit in. He wanted to confirm his suspicions. Willow had magic, and he intended to begin her lessons.

~*~

Willow hated it. Not used to sitting still and concentrating, she thought it all a waste of time. Magic wasn’t real! It was in fairy tales! There wasn’t any such thing as dragons and magic and what all. She started to do anything possible to avoid the lessons, and Angel began to fear that pushing her more would damage their relationship.

"All right," Angel told her with a shrug. "If it's too hard for you then you don't have to do it anymore. You can go."

Willow scowled at him suspiciously, but Angel just ignored her, turning his head away and watched the child out of the corner of his eye. He sat at the kitchen table, pretending to concentrate on the lit candle at the center. After a while, Willow went around the house looking for something to do, but it wasn't any fun without someone to play with. Coming to this conclusion, she drifted back to Angel, but ee was still just sitting there!

Eventually she approached him. "Can we play something now?"

"Not right now,"Angel replied absently. "I'm busy."

"But! Angel, I'm bored!"

"I'm not," he told her, smirking.

Willow stomped her foot, and shouted. "I don't believe you! You just want me to sit there and look at a stupid candle!"

Angel winced. (The girl is too smart for her own good.) Assuming an expression of hurt, he looked at her with innocence in his eyes. "Would I lie to you?"

Seeing her expression, Angel realized that if she couldn’t do this on faith, then he would have to demonstrate. "Fine. Sit there, be still, and I'll prove it to you."

Magic didn’t happen just because someone read some poetry from a book. Language didn't matter, Latin or otherwise. A person had to have the spark. Angel had a small one. He had few skills in magic, but he could manage something simple. So he pulled out a piece of paper, holding only with his fingertips. The candle was already lit, so all he had to do was transfer the energy of the candle flame onto the paper to set it on fire. He concentrated on the paper in this hand, gazing at the candle and reaching towards the flame, gathering his will. He drew power, reaching outward to inward to outward again, and a tiny spark to fire lit the paper in a flash. It forced him to drop it, quickly, as he didn’t want to go up in ash himself. The paper drifted down to the floor, where he stamped it out with this heel.

He glanced at the child and, observing her rapt expression. Fire was always such a flashy place to start. Willow was enchanted. (So this is magic! This I want to do!) The show over, she looked at Angel thoughtfully, "You really think I can to learn how to do this, don't you?"

He nodded. "It means a lot to me, and it's more important than you can dream."

Willow threw her arms around him, her face lit with a smile. "I love you, Angel."

Angel felt something inside tighten. "I love you too, little one." He drew back and cleared his throat, then said briskly. "I believe you said you were bored?"

That was the beginning of Willow's training.

~*~

At first, it was terrible, for Angel made no allowances for her age or inexperience. He pushed her abilities as much as he could. So she learned to endure without complaining, and things got better.

It took Willow a while to grasp the rudiments of magic. Angel suspected that the fault was his, for she was extremely intelligent, and he knew that he lacked skill in magic. A lot of what he wanted to teach her, he couldn't demonstrate. He could only substitute patience for skill and keep their lessons short, stopping before Willow grew too impatient and tired. Eventually it worked, and by the time school was out she was able to work many small spells: fire, of course, and some light and healing. She also learned some exercises in breathing and meditation to calm the body and sharpen the mind. And if he used some of those lessons to also teach her the beginnings of Tai Chi, well, this town still presented its dangers.

When they weren't practicing, they - and Xander - spent hours before the fireplace as the children listened, enthralled, to Angel's stories. They would sit at his feet, wide-eyed and fascinated, as he spoke of his long life or just fanciful tales he had heard himself from his Irish mother.

Though Angel wasn't a scholar, he taught them the history that he had lived through. It was fascinating, and the children marveled, and learned.

~*~

June came that year, bringing scorching hot summer days, and warm nights. They took to spending the evening hours outside in a secluded spot in Angel's backyard, pointing out the different constellations and talking. Willow never failed to astonish him with her insight or her inner strength. It was on one of these nights that he made the decision that Willow was ready to be introduced to his clan.

Chapter Text

The next evening, Angel brought her to a warehouse by the river where he'd had the vampires of his clan assemble.  As he carried her inside, Willow could feel their hostility as eyes burned into her, and fear coiled inside her like a snake, making her insides tighten, and her body stiffen.

Angel felt both the hostility and Willow's fear, and he softly warned the vampires.  His voice a cat's purr, velvet sheathing the threat of razor-clawed violence.  He set Willow down on top a pile of crates, giving her a clear view of her surroundings, which were vast.  She watched as the shadows seemed to thicken as they were surrounded by the vampires.

Angel watched also from a relaxed pose at her feet.  The pose was a charade though, because he was ready for anything that they might try.

~*~

Most of the vampires were just curious about the child their Master had brought among them, but none dared to question...except one.

(Why would Angelus bring the witch-child here?) Luke wondered. He hated Angelus, and grew more and more impatient with his many rules.  (Isn't it enough that we have to follow all those stupid rules? Don't kill! Don't be seen! No more!)

Tired of the silence he asked, "Why do you bring a child here?"

Angelus turned his attention Luke's way. In his face, Angel saw his hate and defiance. "I brought her here so that you may know her. She is not to be harmed. She is to be obeyed...even before me."

At his words many faces darkened. What their Master was proposing was for the child to be Mistress, their Lady. For them to submit to child - and a human one at that! This outrage could not be tolerated.

"Kill them!"

~*~

Angel didn't know who shouted the order...he didn't really care, either, as about a dozen of his former minions rushed at him to attack.

Seeing Angel assaulted, Willow scrambled to her feet, emerald eyes blazing.  Her power called to her, screaming.  She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, until white stars exploded against her closed lids, trying to control it. The magic swelled underneath her skin until she thought she would burst with the energy and power.

Willow opened her eyes and was greeted with the terrible sight of Angel still fighting.  So she closed her eyes and ... let go.

Her concentration was pure, and she gathered her will.  Winds not felt began to ripple and twist the fabric of the clothes she wore, and ruffled her hair, the individual strands floating in the aura of her power.  Time dissolved and fractured, slowing down to a crawl. Though her eyes were closed, she could see everything, and had all the time in the world in which to do what she needed.

A ring of fire appeared, encircling Angel and preventing his attackers from reaching him. The fire was hot but did not burn him and he turned, unafraid to see how Willow fared.

Bits of magic, like colored fireflies, danced around her slight form, brilliant. They burned whoever they touched, slowly incinerating them, and the shrill piercing of screams reverberated through the air for what seemed hours as the bit of light seemed to stalk his attackers.  Then there was silence.

As the radiance that had beaten against her closed eyelids slowly faded away, Willow looked to the fire that had protected Angel, willing it away. The flames hesitated and paled until they were colorless, then with a rush of phantom wind the fire vanished.  Willow was so tired that it was hard to see, her vision tunneling to gray, and she cried out for Angel.

His entire body still tingled from the nearness of so much power, but at her cry Angel hurried to her.  Exhausted, Willow clung to him in the darkness as he rocked her in the cradle of his arms, listening to his soft voice as it comforted her.

It was a while before the surviving minions found enough courage to intrude.  Luke and a few of the other traitors had gotten away, but the fight was over for now and Angel doubted that they would ever see them again after that awe-inspiring display, and the rest of them had no more objections to Willow.

~*~

Angel carried her home and tucked her into bed, but as he was about to leave, she stirred.

"Angel, why did they try to hurt us?"

He turned to her with a look of sadness. "You know that they weren't human, don't you?  They were vampires, although they aren't quite like me.  They have no souls, no conscience, no guilt for their actions.  There are beings worse than vampires and, behind the worse, are creatures even more terrifying than they are.  But vampires are what are mostly here, and what we have to deal with.

I'm trying my best to keep them from hurting people, but they don't like some of the things I make them do, or some of the things I stop them from doing."

"If they're so bad then why don't you just kill them all?"

"Because if I did, more would just come to replace them.  I'd have to start all over again, I would have to kill them too.  I would be constantly fighting.  This way, if I control them, I can stop more from coming here, and more people from getting hurt."

"The ones that ran away...they're not gonna come back...are they?"  Willow said, yawning.

"Sleep now, little one, they won't come back." (At least not tonight.)

~*~

When Angel left, Willow climbed out of bed, walked to the window and opened it.  The cool, seeking breath of the night wind touched her gently as she looked to the stars, as if for answers.  Her thoughts were a mass of confusion.

She had killed tonight, defending Angel and herself, and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.  She was very glad that Angel was okay, but killing those vampires had been almost...easy. She was afraid of what might happen if she got really angry with someone, a good person...what if she hurt them?

To doubt one's magic is a very dangerous thing, or so Angel said.  She could hesitate and become indecisive, fail to do something important.  (No, that won't happen. I couldn't hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt anyone, and Angel wouldn't let me.)  Willow may have doubted herself, but she never doubted Angel.  She put her fears away, closed the window and went to sleep.

Chapter Text

  9 years later...

They walked in the door, laughing quietly to themselves. Willow's birthday party had been fun. Not a whole lot of people had come - just the ones that counted. Xander, Jesse, and even Angel...who had come as Xander's father. She'd been given lots of presents, and they'd had chocolate cake, played twister, and charades...which they'd even gotten Angel to play after a lot of begging.

"Go on upstairs, my girl. You must be tired after such a busy day. I'm tired myself, and I'm going to bed as soon as I finish straightening the kitchen. Good night, Willow, I hope you had a happy birthday," the nanny wished her as Willow moved up the stairs.

~*~

She was washing the dishes when she was interrupted by a knock on the door. A nice looking man in a suit was standing outside.

"Hello, I'm from out of town, and my car has broken down. I saw the light, and was wondering...May I come in and use your telephone?

"Of course, Sir. Come in. Right this way, the telephone is in the kitchen."

Following behind the woman, the man smiled evilly behind her back.

~*~

Willow bolted upright as a shriek of pure pain dragged her from the bed. Her flesh crept on her bones with terror as the screams were abruptly silenced. Something was very, very wrong.

She called Angel from the telephone by her bed, then rushed down the stairs - even though Angel had told her to stay in her room. She had to see if her nanna was alright.

~*~

She stopped in her tracks as she saw the sight that lay before her. There was just so much blood. She hadn't known that the body could contain so much. It was everywhere, splashed like paint, bright red.

Willow walked around the counter, trying to see where it was all coming from. There was a shape there. It was unrecognizable. Her eyes saw it but her mind refused to put the pieces together and tell her what it was. The blood spread from it in every direction, the shape in the center, as if an explosion had occurred.

She saw all that, but still her mind couldn't make sense of it. She would understand it later. Later she would cry. Later she would know that the only person who had been a parent to her was gone...ripped to pieces.

~*~

Willow's call put Angel into a panic. He raced across the street, just in time to see a vampire running out the front door of Willow's house. Angel caught him, shaking him until his teeth rattled.

"What have you done?! Why are you here?"

The vampire looked back at Angel calmly, "Luke said to give you a message, Angel. The Sleeper shall awaken, and all prophecies shall come to pass," he stated, then staked himself.

Angel stared at his empty hands in shock. Frozen in place for a moment until a thought tore through his mind.

(Willow!)

~*~

She was sitting, leaning against a wall of the kitchen, staring off into space, as Angel came in. Seeing her, he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the sofa. Willow held on to him tightly in the soothing darkness of the living room. Smelling the comforting scent of him that was just Angel, and hearing his voice say softly, over and over: "It's okay, Willow. Everything's going to be okay." But she knew that everything wasn't okay, and it never would be again. For the first time, she knew Angel lied to her.

~*~

After being questioned by the police, Angel brought her to his house. Willow sat wrapped in blankets to ward of shock. She tracked Angel’s every move from the sofa. Despite being covered, occasional shivers wracked through her slight body.

Angel looked nervous, he paced, glancing at her once in a while, then paced some more. It was making Willow nauseous, or maybe that was the bloody images of the kitchen floor that kept flashing through her mind. But she had never seen Angel like this, and it made her worried.

~*~

(The Sleeper shall awaken. The Sleeper shall awaken. Where have I heard that before?) From deep within Angel's mind the past rose to fill his vision...

The library in the mansion was a large one, and contained a huge number of books. The room was two stories tall with a balcony around the second floor. All the curtains were drawn over the windows of beautiful artworks of stained and leaded glass.

It was comfortably furnished with many desks and sitting chairs, and sitting across from each other in the center of the room were two elegantly dressed people, talking quietly.

"The Master's plan has failed. An earthquake occurred and now he's trapped, in a church of all places. The Hellmouth remains closed."

"Hmm ... that's too bad. Earthquakes present such wonderful opportunities. Can he not escape?"

To the golden-haired lady's question, the man replied, "No, it seems that when the ritual failed it created a barrier. It prevents him from leaving, or even moving freely. Sire, will he not go mad trapped like that?"

"Possibly. Most likely he will sleep until he is freed." Giving a carefree laugh she asked her companion, "Can you imagine the fun when he awakes? I almost pity the world."

(The Master! The Hellmouth is here? Oh, God ... they are going to free him. No one will be safe. I cannot defeat my own grandsire. I'm going to need some help.)

"Willow do you know how to get in contact with your parents?"

Whispering 'yes', Willow reached for the phone and dialed the number to her parents latest hotel room, then handed the phone to Angel.

"Hello. The guest you are trying to reach isn't here right now. Please leave a message at the sound of the beep . . . *beeeep*"

"Hi. This is James Hamilton. I'm a neighbor from across the street in Sunnydale. Your daughter is staying with me at the moment. Ms. Robin Montgomery was murdered this evening, your daughter's nanny. You can contact me at 310-846-3940. I have to go away on business in a few days so please call me soon."

"You're leaving?"

"Willow, I have to go. Tonight, the vampire who did this, gave me a warning. I need to go get help for what's coming. We need the Slayer in Sunnydale."

"What's coming? And what is a Slayer? Why do we need one? I don't want you to go!"

"I have to. A very old vampire is about to be released. The Slayer is the only one with even a chance to stop him. Don't you understand? I don't want to, I have to!"

For a moment anger, weariness, and the knowledge that he was leaving, tore at her so much that she could have screamed. She fought for calmness. She closed her fists, one around the other behind her back, her lips pressed together until they were white, and willed the anger and fear to pass. When they did there was nothing left. It was as if the unvoiced scream had burned everything out of her, and left only an unnatural calm, a deep stillness.

In a hollow voice she answered him at last. "Leave me then, find the Slayer," she would not have him stay if he wished to leave. It was one of the things she had learned. What he gave her was of his own choosing and more precious because of it. If she took that choice from him, both he and his choice to stay with her would be gone. So, held in that strange stasis of calm, Willow scarcely heard his apologies. Deep within her she could only hope that he would return to her.

No longer hearing him, Willow stood and walked to her bedroom.

(Angel is leaving.)

Chapter Text

When her parents finally contacted her, Willow convinced them that she was okay.  That she didn't need them to come home, that she didn't need another nanny.  She was fifteen, she would take care of herself.

It wasn't as if they would have stayed home anyway.  If they hadn't believed her, she probably would have been forced to go live with her aunt - or some other relative that didn't want her.  Her parents were too involved with their work to take time out for her, an unwanted child.  At one time, she had thought that if she could only be ‘good enough’ then they would love her, want her.  She’d done the best she could in everything, and still she'd had no reaction from them.  Now, she pleased herself.  She didn’t care for what anyone thought, except Angel and Xander.  As long as she received good grades in school and didn't cause any trouble, no one paid her any attention.  Well, no one had except Angel and Xander - and now Angel had left to go chasing off after some myth of a Slayer.  She was left alone to face her empty house, the memories.  He'd promised not to leave.  

He left.

~*~

Angel left that morning for Los Angeles.  He'd contacted the Master there who'd had some information for him. Some of his fledglings had gone missing, but what had made him so eager to talk to Angel was that someone had killed a favored new childe of his.

A young girl, who had looked to have no more strength than normal, had thrown the childe to the ground and staked him. The presumed Slayer had obviously known what a vampire was, and was accompanied by a grey-bearded man who was thought to be her Watcher.

Lothos, the L.A. Master, had also told Angel of the trap set for the girl at her high school.  More than twenty of her schoolmates had been turned.  They were going to kill her at the Senior Dance, to which some idiot had invited everyone, even those students who were dead.  If Angel wanted the Slayer's help, he needed to get there quickly.  To do that, he had hired a driver and a limo, the windows darkened until opaque, to take him.

He was alone in his thoughts as he waited in the darkness to reach his destination.  He felt cold, and bereft.  A victim of a cruel choice.  He had given everything that he could to Willow, without her even asking.  She had claimed him - his friendship, his teaching, his love.  Every possession, every kinship, every scruple could be thrown away for her.  But the sum of his choices had brought him here - leaving her.

But Willow would be gone, without him, if this choice had not been made.  And with her gone the warmth of the sun would have gone.  No one could ever have warmed him again, man or woman, kinsman or friend. The essential thing would have left his life, and beyond that...was nothing.

He shivered convulsively, as if a cold wind had blown over him, if he still felt the cold.  He bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck.  Honor demanded.  Honor that he go back again, demanded that he kept her safe - even if it meant breaking his word and leaving her.

~*~

Willow lay awake in bed, snuggled down into her blankets.  She was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, but it was more of the mind than of her body, and she couldn't sleep.  The dark of her room pressed against her, making it hard for her to breathe.  Someone seemed to be screaming inside of her head and, unable to bear it any longer, she rose and threw the covers back.  Putting a loose robe on over her nightgown, she hurried to escape her house.

She walked rapidly through the darkened streets, her head down and her hair framing her face like a curtain, eyes unseeing. Willow hoped that some exercise and fresh air would clear her head of the reflections that haunted her.

It was the sounds of a struggle that finally snapped her back to her senses.  She was in the neighborhood park, alone in the dark, and one of Angel's vampires was feeding right in front of her.  The vampire drank messily from a woman dressed in jogging clothes, and before she had time to protest, the unfortunate woman was drained of blood and tossed aside. Helpless regret panged through her, but there was nothing she could do for the woman now. But with Angel gone...if this happened once, who was to say it wasn’t happening elsewhere.  She forced down the mess of emotions bubbling up inside and forced herself to focus.  It wouldn’t help anyone if she made herself look like prey.

Slowly, Willow approached the lethargic vampire, who was still caught up in the ecstasy that blood seemed to bring.  She regarded him in silence a long time, head cocked slightly to one side, with a detached curiosity.  Here was a vampire who dared to go against Angel's orders. S urely Angel left someone in charge while he is gone?  Well, if he did, apparently they weren't doing a very good job.

A slight frown crossed her face.  She could not allow this to continue. Granted, she hadn’t ever actually played the role of Mistress to the vampires.  But, with Angel gone, someone had to do it.  May as well be her.

Slowly, calmly, as if she had no concerns, Willow centered herself.  Reaching out a hand, she touched the vampire softly, sending her power coursing through his body.  He was jerked down to his knees, body swaying with pain.

“Get up,” she ordered harshly. She was in no mood to be gentle. He would learn to do as she wished or face the consequences.  If he lived long enough.

“What is your name?”

“Stephen, Lady.”  He replied, breathing unnecessarily as he climbed painfully to his feet.

“Come with me.”

They walked to the lair, Willow following behind, watching for any escape attempts on his part.  But there were none, Stephen walked docilely ahead of her.

~*~

When they reached the warehouse, Willow walked inside, the vampire now following silently at her heels.  Moonlight filtered dimly through the grimy skylights.  That, and a few lanterns scattered throughout the vast space, gave her just enough light to see.

It had changed since she had last been here.  There were chairs now, and couches sparsely spread throughout, and the crates that she had stood upon were gone.  In their place stood a dais, two empty chairs of equal size positioned next to each other on it.  She wondered at their significance.  One was surely Angel's, but who was the other for?  Her?  It didn't matter right now, Willow decided, she had other things to attend to.

While she hadn't been paying attention, the other vampires present in the warehouse had cautiously surrounded her.  They knew who she was, of course, and were curious about her presence.  The Lady had not returned after killing those who had offended her.  She’d never visited them without the Master.  Why was she here now?

~*~

Willow was nervous, but that nervousness was swamped by her determination to get the vampires under control.  There was always too much killing in Sunnydale, and vampires did not need to be ranked any higher on the list of predators.  

She swallowed and forced herself to slowly lean back, casually, against a column supporting the ceiling.  “Who is in charge here?” she asked quietly.

When no one stepped forward, she continued, waving her hand to indicate Stephen, who was still standing at her side.  At least he was sensible enough not to make an attempt to escape his punishment. “This vampire has broken one of the Master's rules.  He killed a human, needlessly.”

There were a few muffled snickers at her statement, and she stilled.  She contemplated them, eyes flickering slowly around, nothing reflecting back at them except a persistent inquisitiveness, as if she might possibly search deeply enough into something not human and not familiar to her and drag forth something which, if not humane, was at least civilized.   The amusement slowly died away.

“So you no longer follow your Master's orders, now that he is away?”  Willow said, ever so quietly, into the silence.   “Apparently not, if this one’s example is what I am to go by.”  She flicked a finger at the miscreant, a tendril of her will snaking out and draining the strength from him, sending him crashing down to his knees.  After all, this wasn’t some fantasy novel where she needed a ritual, a wand, or some fancy words .  All she needed was her will .

They stood motionless under her continued scrutiny, the expressions on their faces shifting into blank unchanging veils, hiding their thoughts from her.  Perhaps they remembered that they weren’t the biggest fish in her small town.

Her voice dropped a register, unconsciously, and her eyes held an untroubled serenity as she spoke.  “If you do not follow the Master anymore then you will follow me!  His orders still stand.  The penalty for disobeying is death.”

Their faces held a hint of disbelief, and no one stepped forward to take the wayward vampire in hand.  Apparently, it wasn’t going to be enough to remind them of the rules - she would have to kill him, herself.  As painfully as possible; an example.  Resolving herself to it, her face became a determined mask.  The vampires saw Stephen's death written in her determination, and they spread away from the one so marked, though they did not dare to run.  They’d seen a taste of what she could do, and no one wanted to join him down the path to the afterlife.

Willow touched him gently, a bare brush of her fingers to his shoulder as she called her power to her.  Though he tried to back away, she held him in place, and his disbelief shone from his eyes.  Fire flowed into his veins at her touch, and it forced him to breath as he screamed, his blood boiling.  It built to a seemingly endless roar as the sound echoed and reverberated against the walls.  There was a long night's falling into emptiness as Stephen turned to ash.  

The grey soot clung to her fingertips as she brushed them together, assessing the silent spectators coldly.  There’d be nightmares all around, but maybe now she wouldn’t see anyone killed in front of her for a while.

“Any questions?”

Chapter Text

Dusk lowered down and stars spread across the sky like a handful of diamonds thrown against heavy blue velvet, shadows growing long in the lamplight.  Angel dismissed his driver once he arrived at the L.A. Master's headquarters, an old theatre house.  Catching a glimpse of himself in the darkened windows of the limo as it pulled away, he tugged his blazer straight and fastened the buttons.  He was dressed to impress.

At the entrance, he was intercepted by a minion, who led him down a corridor.  Long and narrow, candles lit along its length, the hallway led deeper into the building.  It was close and still, and absolutely quiet; there was no movement of air.  Ghost-silent, they glided along the downward-sloping hall, heading towards Angel's audience with the Master. 

Deep-recessed niches held nondescript doors every fifteen feet or so and, for a while, that was all there was to be seen as they moved passed, in silence and dust.  “Are we almost there?” Angel asked.

The minion looked at him, lifting an eyebrow, but continued forward, not answering. The downward slope of the corridor grew steeper, ending in a staircase. They took the shallow treads two at a time, reaching the end quickly.  The bottom opened into a greater chamber.

From the outside and entrance, the building looked to be falling apart, parts of it succumbing into rubble, but the inside...the interior was magnificent.  The concrete of the building's superstructure was sheathed everywhere with stone, the polished granite and marble now immaculately clean. The air was cool, but the faint indefinable must of age hung in it.

It had the look of an opera house, except for the stage, which was a white marble dais, raised two steps above the floor.  Stage-lights centered on a white marble coffin which rested in the center, opened wide, showing blood-red velvet lining. It drew Angel's eyes, and almost caused him to break his composure.  Who sleeps in a coffin these days?!   It had to be an affectation.

His internal gaiety ended quickly though as he continued to look around. Angel could now see that the building was more than two stories high, and the overlooking balconies that held the private boxes were filled to capacity with on-looking vampires.

Someone rose from a plush, purple divan in the shadows and crossed the carpeting to approach Angel.  His demeanor languid and gracious, he wore a long, waist-length silk coat with silver buttons, tall boots polished to a high gloss, a loose white shirt with ruffles at the wrists and neck, and black gloves covered his hands.   An elaborate red neckcloth, pinned with a ruby, completed the ensemble.

“Greetings, Angelus.” His face was lined with age, but vampires didn't age. That was kind of the whole point, wasn't it? The vampire had been turned for something other than his looks, and Angel wondered why.

“Greetings, Lothos.”  Angel said, giving back the same courtesy that he’d been given.  “When we spoke, you said you had some information regarding the Slayer’s whereabouts?  I am here for it.”

“I know where she is, but tell me...why do you want to know?”

“I am going to kill her,” stated Angel without inflection.

Lothos tsked, his manner disappointed and only a cover for the underlying rage that soon broke loose.  “Now, now, that's a problem.  Because, you see, I wish to kill her!  And, as far as I can see, you are merely looking to put another Slayer under your belt.  You’ve had at least two, or so rumor says.  This one, she owes me. She destroyed something that was mine, and I WILL NOT HAVE IT!”  He ended on a roar, voice thundering through the space, echoing in the room until the air was so thick with it that it was like breathing in his words.  When the echoes died, he continued, waving a limp hand in Angel’s direction, “Leave here. I will be of no help to you.”

Angel did not move. “I need that information,” he stated, as easily as if he were commenting on the weather.

Half turned away - as if his display had ended the matter - Lothos froze, paused, and swung back. The force of his stare, now antagonistic and unforthcoming, would have cowed any other vampire.  He did not reply, attempting to glare Angel into submission.

“What difference would it make, who kills the girl?  She’s dead either way.  Tell me,”  Angel insisted.

For an instant, the other Master looked taken aback that anyone would question his authority, but only for an instant. Then a sudden, intense energy radiated from him. He was powerful, and frightening. His jaw tightened, his lips thinned, he took in an unnecessary breath.

The storm was about to hit. The charge of emotion washed over them like fire. Those watching were electrified by it, fear and exhilaration together, but when Lothos deigned a reply, the words were calm, “I had heard you’d claimed some small nothing territory of your own.  But, just because you are Master there, does not mean you are Master here.   Leave here.  I have refused.”  Lothos said again, with astonishing smoothness over his smothered rage. “I have no wish to see you again.”

Angel stood still. He could not accept the refusal. He had no other leads to the Slayer. The L.A. Master was his only hope to find the girl in time; before his grandsire rose.

Angel gave Lothos a gracious bow and a ghastly, ghostly smile. A smile that appeared and vanished on his lips so quickly that it was almost as though it had never been.

“I cannot,” he said simply.

“As you wish.” Lothos swept the room with a comprehensive gaze, and an unspoken command seemed to pass from him to his minions occupying the room. They started forward, towards Angel. Too many.  How he hated running!  But back up the stairs he went, down the hall, and out the door as soon as he’d seen the mass move threateningly in his direction.

Outside, he quickly glanced around. No pursuers yet.  Angel sprinted around the side of the building, looking for a way up.  Finding a fire escape, he scrambled up a drainpipe, no regard to dignity as his smooth leather shoes slipped for purchase.  He’d be sticking to his boots going forward.

Swiftly, almost running, he trotted along the edge of the building until he came to the corner where he leapt to the next building over and climbed higher.  Once he reached the top, he crouched motionless and looked down below.

Moonlight and knife-edge shadows flattened the cityscape into a pattern treacherous to the eye. The streets were no better. He waited with a hunter's patience, his attention traveling steadily from the farthest to the nearest point in smooth arcs, searching.

He saw the figures a few minutes later, black-clad, stealing noiselessly from one puddle of deep shadow onto deeper, darker ones.  The shadowy figures vanished, reappeared, flitting.  They were on his trail.

Angel edged back carefully, so that he would not be seen as he stood up. He moved with blurred speed, focusing himself. Reaching the edge, he leaped, seeming to hang above the street for an eternity. The leap was turned into a loose tumble as he landed on the next, lower house.

Carefully, steadily, he paced to the other side, silent. Then Angel slid down the roof, caught an ornament, and landed cat-footed on the high courtyard wall below. He dropped to the ground, and slowly walked away.

Chapter Text

Any questions?   The words rang through Willow’s mind again and again. Of course there hadn't been any. 

As one, the vampires had all knelt and vowed to serve and protect her, until death.  Some might even intend to keep their vow, but the promises - all of them - had been made in fear. And the fear wouldn't last.  

Any questions?   How was she supposed to rule vampires without fear? To make them want to obey her - of their own free will, out of loyalty.

The wretchedness she had thought numbed suddenly squeezed at her throat. Angel should be here! Angel could help me. There wouldn't even be a problem if he was still here!   Her eyes stinging, she turned from the dark entrance of the warehouse and hurried off, up one street and down another, not paying attention to where she was going, just wanting to get away. She blinked her eyes furiously, refusing to let the tears flow. When she had them under control, she slowed her step and looked around. Nothing looked familiar, so Willow just picked a direction and continued walking. It wasn't like she was in a hurry to get home - to either of them - her parent’s house, or the home she’d made with Angel.

Over two weeks had passed since Angel had left.  And, in those two weeks, there hadn't been a word or message from him. Not knowing what was going on with him, not knowing what he could be going through, was awful. 

She kept telling herself that she didn't have any real reasons to worry. Angel wouldn't let any harm come to himself and she was sure he would have told her if there had been any real reason for concern, but that didn't stop her - she worried anyway. And, besides the worry, she missed him. Willow took a steadying breath and let it slowly ease out. First things first: get home...then worry about everything else .

~*~

The first lights of dawn were breaking the horizon when she finally walked up to her porch. She felt like she'd walked across half the town. Sitting down on the steps, she tried to figure out what she was going to do next.

~*~

Xander was concerned.  Lately Willow seemed very distant.  He knew she missed Angel - so did he - but she was so silent sometimes.  He knew something else was bothering her.

Xander loved Willow fiercely, as only a brother who loves his sister can.  It's one of the oldest bonds between a man and a woman, and one of the most important.  She had saved his life, had taken him into her heart, her family, and had given him the only security, the only haven, he had ever known.  He was devoted to her.  Willow gave love and acceptance freely, and received the same in return.

Restless, Xander decided to see if she needed company.  She was in her parent's house by herself, and being alone wasn't good for her - or him.

When he got outside, he saw her sitting on the cement step and crossed the street over to her.   Reaching her, Xander questioned softly, “Willow?”

She glanced at him, then turned her head and continued staring out over the yard. The concern in his voice had brought the choked feeling back to her throat and a moment later she felt the rush of tears, blurring her sight.  She buried her face in her hands to hide and cover the tears.  She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could stop them.

When she spoke, her voice was low, the dry rustling of the palm trees in the early morning breeze almost covering her words. “All I ever wanted to do was live my own life with the people I love.  It seems I'm having very little success at that.  They keep leaving - one way or another.”

Xander laughed low.  “Would you really change anything? We all made the best decisions that we could.”  He shook his head.  “Willow, open your eyes.  This horrible mess is your life.  There's no sense in waiting for it to get better.  Live it, change it if you can - if you want.”  He laughed again. His eyes and voice seeming to go afar.  “Everyone thinks that courage is about facing death without flinching.  Almost anyone can do that.  Almost anyone can hold their breath for as long as it takes to die.  True courage is facing life.  Taking whatever life throws at you, making the best of it, and being happy anyway.”

Willow briefly tucked her face into the collar of her shirt, drying her eyes before looking up at him as he stood against the sun, haloed by the light behind him.  She sniffed softly and a strange smile crossed her face.  “You're being very wise today.”

He grinned.  “Am I?”

“You’ve been reading too many Hallmark cards, I think,” she teased. 

He laughed.  “Well, maybe next time I have to cheer you up, I’ll stick with ‘get well soon’, huh?” 

He sat down next to her on the dusty step, purposefully bumping his shoulder into hers, and for the first time in days, in weeks, she held an odd, light feeling in her heart.  It took a minute to decide what it was but, when she recalled it, Willow's smile grew into a grin to match Xander's.

Hope.

~*~

When Xander left, Willow headed towards the kitchen to grab some breakfast.  Her stomach felt hollow, and it seemed as if she hadn't eaten in ages. After pouring herself some cereal with orange juice on the side, she sat down and contemplated her problems.

As last night had already shown, Xander was completely right...she couldn't just wait around for someone else to fix everything for her.  She was just going to have to do it herself.  She sat back in the chair, tiny lines wrinkling her brow while she pondered the possibilities before her.  The question of ‘what to do’ turned into ‘what can I do?’ and ultimately morphed into ‘what can’t I do?’  All of the solutions that she came up with were ludicrous, so she picked the craziest one, one even Xander wouldn't approve of.

He would probably be horrified by the very notion. Her parents probably wouldn't care a great deal, she doubted they’d even notice anything different, they never had before, but Xander would probably die of shock.  She could understand all of that and could even sympathize a bit, but she just couldn't think of anything else!  And this idea might even be crazy enough to work. Under the circumstances, what Xander and my parents don't know won't hurt them.  Of course, this may not work.  But if it does...   Her thoughts trailed off and she stared into the empty air at something only she could see.

After a few minutes she gave herself a little shake and giggled. Even if she couldn't pull it off, and everyone found out, almost everything would be worth it just to see their faces.  Raising her glass of orange juice high, she saluted the empty room.  Here's to conquering Sunnydale!

~*~

A few minutes later Willow went up the stairs; heading towards her room.  She went straight to the bed and stooped down to drag out a large chest.  Opening it, she dumped the contents out and spread them over the floor to consider each carefully.  It was leather clothes of all types.

A while back, she had been curious about why Angel seemed so fond of them, so she'd gone to one of his favorite stores and had pretty much bought one of every type of outfit that was in her size.  For a whole week, everyday after school she had paraded through her house trying each on when no one else was around, hoping to see what Angel saw in them.  But it didn't work, the clothes were just too...binding.  And they showed off far too much of all of her everything for her to be comfortable with.  She had just felt silly, and exposed, and had finally just stuffed them away out of sight.  Well, silly or not, the clothes were now important.

Willow finally decided on something simple: a long-sleeved, low-cut black halter with soft, red silk ruffles on the wrist and head openings, supple black leather pants, and knee high boots with low heels. A delicate garnet choker and wine-colored lipstick completed the look; her hair left wild. Looking at herself in the mirror Willow could only think of one word to describe what she saw...wicked.  She grinned sharply, the effect was perfect, but an unexpected yawn ruined the effect.  She reached for some tissues to wipe the color from her lips.

It was almost time to play...but a nap was needed first.

Chapter Text

It was late afternoon when Willow arrived again at the warehouse with a detailed map of Sunnydale in hand.  There were forty-two vampires in her clan and nominally under her control.  Hopefully, by the time of all this was over, they would all be hers in truth.

She entered through the unlocked door and scowled, the key ready in her hand, unneeded. There was no sentry, no one was on guard.  Willow looked around.  This just won't do.  Everyone was relaxed, giving no care or thought to unwanted visitors.  Anyone could have just wandered in, from kids playing hooky to the police.  

Willow walked deeper into the building.  

Some of the vampires were still sleeping below, but a few were awake and toying with a man, strung up like a treat on a string, rather like satisfied cats with a mouse.  And, nope.  This won't do at all!

Willow singled out the biggest, meanest-looking vampire she saw in the group.  He had probably been a wrestler or a football player in high school.  He was over six feet, but he wasn't just tall, he was bulky.  He was big and tough and arrogant with it.  

Willow stalked up behind him, taking care that her boot-clad feet made almost no noise on the smooth concrete floor.  What little noise she did make was covered by their amused laughter.  She moved as if she was relaxed, flowing, but every muscle was tense with suppressed anger as she tapped him gently on the back of his shoulder.

As the vampire turned to face her, Willow struck him open-palmed against his chest.  The blow was light, but there was magic behind it and the vampire sprawled at her feet, unmoving.  He could do nothing but look up at her, giving Willow a cold, hard stare out of dark gray eyes that looked like flint.

Willow slowly knelt down and straddled his broad chest, clamping her knees tight against his ribs as he tensed, wanting to throw her off, but not able to move from the position she had him in.  She leaned over him, her hair creating a curtain around them as she stared back and waited until he dropped his eyes and relaxed under her.  Then she gave a quick glance to the prisoner.

The man was gagged and terrified but not permanently harmed, which was good.  The vampires hadn't broken any rules, and none showed their demon faces.  They had only come very close to breaking them, and that was bad.  A testing of her limits to see how far they could go before she drew the line, no doubt.  It was time to give them something to do.

She looked back down to the vampire under her.  “I don't want to play these games anymore. I'm bored.”  She lightly scraped her nails down his neck and chest and quirked a smile.  “Wanna play a different game with me?”

He swallowed convulsively and, when he spoke, his voice came out hoarse, rough, as if something hurt. “You wish something of me, Lady?”

~*~

When the sun rose on Sunday, Willow was just climbing into bed.  Finally out of the leather and able to breathe freely again, she sighed.  School was out in two weeks, the summer vacation would hopefully give her plenty enough time to bring Sunnydale to its knees - her parts of it anyway.

Eric, her new second, was supervising her plan.  Each night they would be exploring a different section of town, mapping all of the other clans' lairs.  Then one by one they would fall.

~*~

In Sunnydale, strange occurrences were the norm.  Death did not phase its inhabitants.  Unless they were physically involved, it was not real to them, just printed stories in a newspaper that they didn’t put much stock in. 

In the past three weeks, Willow's clan had dramatically increased its numbers.  Fourteen clans had fallen.  In all that time, no one noticed any of the disturbances they created. The few slips the vampires had made in letting themselves be seen had also gone unnoticed.  Tonight was no different.

Her cadre surrounded the local club The Bronze, waiting for their Mistress' permission to continue.  It was after closing time, the humans had left hours ago, but they were not there for a quick meal.  One of the largest clans they had mapped ran the business and was rumored to live in the lower levels.

Their Mistress had an arrogant streak.  They knew it, admitted it, and embraced that arrogance.  It was deserved, and it filled them with enthusiasm.  They knew they were going to win against any opposition.

Although many had not seen the Lady since the night that they had sworn her service, her impatience was felt by each, carried to them by the cool night air.  They wondered why she waited.

~*~

Willow waited. A queasy anticipation built inside.  A wild thundering filled her heart.  The warfare that she waged was wild, freewheeling, and downright intoxicating.  She'd had to step on her enthusiasm more than once.  Sometimes she wondered how much this power was changing her.  But now was not that time.

Willow made not a sound, her jaw clenched tight as her blood continued to sing.  It was the lust of the hunt.  When she could wait no longer, she grinned and turned to Eric, who waited at her back.

“Don't kill anyone.”

Eric smiled back.  It was just a baring of his teeth, but he did nod, accepting her order.  He just didn't look too pleased.

“Unless you have to.”  Willow amended.

At her words his smile turned genuine, and she watched his demon ride up through his eyes. She watched it look back at her from Eric's face.  She watched thoughts slide across his face that had more to do with food than anything else.  His eyes were golden-amber, not human, and she didn't care.

A short shrieking whistle shattered the air, and her vampires advanced with a silent, savage efficiency.  Willow entered a little behind them, Eric always at her back, and assessed the fight. It was almost finished, their targets having had no more warning than the whistle.

Willow and Eric moved apart, a little way from each other, giving Eric room to fight. The thought occurred to her that she had never seen Eric really fight, he mostly just threw people around.  But well...throwing people around, even vampires, does generally hurt.

Eric shouted the standard warning she required of him - as usual something along the lines of “give up or die”.  His voice was deep, and very calm.  There was no fear in it - big surprise - but there was an undercurrent of eagerness, as if, under that calmness, he was itching to hurt them.  Willow didn't have to see his face to know he was smiling.  Everyone heard the threat in his voice, kind of hard to miss it, and he was extremely convincing.

There was sudden silence, in which the second most beautiful person Willow had ever seen broke the quiet to order her death.  A few he commanded moved to attack her, obeying the person who she took to be their leader.  They were dusted for their trouble by several of her vampires that were nearby.

Her power flowed over them in a hot, skin-crawling rush in response, sending sharp splinters from the wreckage of the room to threaten the leader’s throat.  It wasn’t a killing threat, just giving those who remained just a taste of what she could do.  All the while she kept eye contact with the blond leader as he watched her face, trying to judge her.  He couldn't read it.  Her eyes showed him nothing and a wicked smile graced her face.  He knelt.

Stunned, the onlookers stood rooted, unable or unwilling to believe that the sanctity of their lair had been breached.  That their leader and master would so meekly surrender to a slender human girl with so little fight.  But they stayed motionless.  To them it was a betrayal ugly to watch, but they could do nothing.

Willow nodded her head towards them, “Take them”. 

Her clan closed about them at her command.  The prisoners would be dispersed, each given to an older member until they learned how things worked, what the rules were.  Then they would be given a very simple choice: serve her or die.  But, as for the leader, she would keep him close.

She walked up to him and tilted his face up; fingertips digging lightly into the soft flesh beneath his chin until he met her eyes.  There was something strange about this vampire.  Usually, the eyes of those she conquered were cold.  His burned.  She couldn't place the emotion, but she did know it wasn't hate.  Yep. This one definitely needs watching. Hmm...won't hurt my eyes. Nope, not a bit.   A giggle bubbled up in her throat, but she didn't allow it to escape.  It would ruin her reputation to be giggling like a schoolgirl.  Even if she was a schoolgirl.  Taking a deep breath, she got herself under control.

“Give me your name,” Willow demanded softly.

“Aaron”, came the almost purred reply.

She cocked her head, her eyes still on the vampire at her feet.  “What do you think, Eric?  Should we keep 'em?”

Eric answered, amusement and a bit of jealousy in his eyes.  “If you wish, Lady.  I think he would make a good pet, a statement for all to see.  No one can stand against you.”

She turned to him then, pleased.  Touching his cheek briefly she said, “Bring him, then.  It's time to go. We've got all we need from here.”

As she walked away two pairs of golden eyes assessed her, then they followed.

Chapter Text

Willow sat in one of the chairs on Angel's dais, thinking.  She had arranged herself comfortably; sitting sideways on the upholstered, high-backed chair, her back against one arm and her legs thrown casually over the other.  Occasionally she ran her fingers through Aaron's soft blond hair as he sat relaxed at her feet; his head resting back against her chair.

Sitting up, she looked over at Eric, who was sitting not far off.  “As I understand it, in vampire tradition, if I were a vampire and wanted to claim someone - say a human - I would mark him in some way...probably with my bite...right?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Now, as I'm not a vampire, it presents a slight problem, since I wouldn't leave the right kind of bite.”

“That, my Lady, could easily be fixed,” Eric drawled.

Willow scoffed at him.  “Sure it could!  But that solution would leave me with a whole new set of problems.  No.  What I was getting around to, was asking you if this would be a suitable replacement.”

She dug in the pocket of her pants for a minute, finally pulling out a silver medallion on a chain.  Holding it out, she offered Eric a look.

“My mark,” she said proudly.  “Do you think it's good enough?”

He held the medallion gingerly, studying it.  It was the size of a quarter with a simple picture of a willow tree embossed on one side, and the letter ‘W’ engraved on the other.  But it wasn't really what he saw that caught his attention; it was more what he felt.  He had a strong urge to throw it to the floor, as if, if he held it any longer he would die on the spot.  Gooseflesh crawled across his skin, the hair on his arms standing high.  Hurriedly he handed it back to Willow.

“What did you do to it?” he exclaimed.

She gave him a strange look.  “It's only a kind of general protection spell, I guess?  Kinda a  'don't-touch-me' thing for the wearer.  I didn't think it would cause such a powerful reaction, especially when he's not even wearing it.  But do you think it's good enough to be my mark?”

“Lady, that thing should be able to ward off a whole army of chaos demons,” he told her gently.

“Perfect.  It ought to do just fine against an army of vampires then, wouldn't you say?”

~*~

Willow got home late again, dawn just a few hours off.  She collapsed onto the sofa in the house she shared with Xander.  She was still in her ‘night’ clothes, but she didn't want to move anymore.  Conquering was hell on your feet.  It was a good thing that she had decided to tell him what was going on, because once he saw her outfit, she wouldn’t have a choice on the matter.

Yawning, she kicked off her boots and stretched out.  She really had to stop keeping the vampires' hours.

~*~

Xander entered about a half hour later, slamming the door behind him, a worried look on his face.  Willow must have dozed off because when she woke, jumping up because of the noise, Xander was standing in the doorway completely bewildered, just staring.

Willow, his Willow, the girl he had known almost forever, was wearing leather !  Tight, form fitting , leather!  Extremely strange.  A velvet shirt that was a deep, vibrant emerald-green made her eyes almost glow like a cat's as she sleepily, but steadily, gazed back at him.  What happened to the cotton?  He liked the cotton!

“You look...you look...nice?” he finally managed, voice a little strangled and shaking his head as if he still couldn't believe what he was seeing.

“Thanks.”

“Willow?  Why were you out all night again?  Looking like that?  I didn't know where you were,” he said, his expression sincerely concerned.

“Well, you remember when after Angel left?  He kinda left a mess behind, and I’ve sorta been cleaning it up.”  She yawned.  “Oh! Before I forget...here.”  She gently slipped the chain of the medallion around his neck, and gave him a stern look.

“Xander, don't ever take this off, okay?  It's really important.”

At his questioning look, she started to explain.

~*~

Angel had spent over two months in Los Angeles searching for the Slayer and he still hadn't come within a mile of her, let alone within speaking distance.  Even if he did find her, what was he going to do then?  Angel could just see himself approaching the girl and saying, “Hi! I'm a vampire and I live on the Hellmouth.  A bunch of my vampire buddies want to bring hell to earth.  How would you like to team up with me to stop them?”

Oh yeah!  Sure.  That would go over really well.  He would probably barely get the "hi" out before he was dust.

And if that wasn't bad enough, he only had one last contact to check, before he was out of options.  He just didn't know where to look anymore.  Everyone he had asked had told him just about the same thing, before warning him off the impending power struggles.  The Slayer wasn't in L.A.  She had killed Lothos and left town.  The rumor going around was that he had been staked by a petite blond girl, and the rest of his clan had been dusted by a fire in a high school gym.  

Angel sighed.  He missed Willow's cheerful, curious company more than he could have believed possible.  Sometimes it seemed as if he would never be able to return home to her. Total despair washed over him.  How could he return without the Slayer?  They stood no chance of defeating the Master without her, and he couldn't find her!

Suddenly and without warning, the demon inside of him pushed against the smooth skin of his body, trying to slip out and overwhelm him.  But Angel held it, tightening his control once again as he firmly clamped down on his emotions.  The passion of his despair abruptly retreated, but a small sliver of fear remained.

This sort of thing was happening all too frequently as of late.  Almost every time he thought of Willow being in danger, he felt a strong need to return to Sunnydale; to rip to shreds anything that posed the slightest threat to her.  And always he felt a sourceless dissatisfaction at being so far away from her.  He did not want to be reasonable, to console himself with the thought of actually finding the Slayer.  He wanted to go home.

His demon had woven itself throughout his being so thoroughly that it was sometimes hard to tell where ‘Angel’ left off and the ‘demon’ began, but in this case it didn't matter.  They were both in agreement: go home as soon as possible and protect Willow.

Angel came out of his thoughts with a snap as he recognized the place he was to meet his latest informant, hopefully a reliable source of news or at least a confirmation of the rumors.  A second later he spotted a man leaning up against the wall of the church. And shuddered.  The man was wearing a loud plaid sport jacket with a bright orange shirt underneath, polyester slacks that were a primary Crayola green, and a white fedora hat. The man had to be a colorblind demon to wear an outfit like that.

Angel purposefully made some noise as he approached him, but the demon still jumped when he came into view.  Angel smiled, trying to look harmless.  He wasn't successful, but the other recovered enough to offer his hand.  “I'm Whistler.  You the one looking for the Slayer?”

Angel refused his hand.  Instead answering with a nod and a "yes".

“Why do you want her anyways?  You gonna kill her?”

“No.”

“You're not a very talkative fellow, are you?”  The question didn't seem to require an answer and the demon carried on unprompted.  “Well, it's too bad for you then that she's not in L.A. anymore.  After gettin' into all that trouble at her school and what with her taking a little vacation from her home life, her mother dragged her all the way to some one-horse town called Sunnydale.  It's a shame.  She burns down one little gym and her mother divorces her father and takes her to go live on the Hellmouth.  Poor kid.  What parents do to their children these days.  I tell you it's a cryin' shame!”  Whistler paused, looking at Angel expectantly. Angel, having no clue what he wanted, started to hand him some money.

“No man!  I don't want your money.  But hey!  You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a vamp named Angel do you?  Brooding fellow, not too clean, kinda on the thin side?  'Cuz I'm looking for him.  Supposed to help him 'be somebody'.  Know him?”

Angel shook his head.  “My name's Angel, but I don't think I'm the one you're looking for.”

Whistler looked him up and down.  “No.  I don't think so either.  Thanks anyway.”

“You're welcome.”

Angel watched, bemused, as Whistler walked away, muttering angrily to himself.

“...stupid...that be...wrong...again!...alternate…”

Angel shook his head.  Some people were just plain strange.  He was extremely grateful to him though.  He didn't have to stay in L.A. anymore.

He was going home.

Chapter Text

Angel went back to Sunnydale as quickly as he could.  He’d gone straight home, intent on finding Willow.  But Willow wasn’t home.  He checked Willow's parent's house.  No Willow.  He had checked the library.  Again, no Willow.  Everywhere he looked, he had the same results. 

The Slayer was in town, somewhere, they just had to find her.  But instead of hunting for the Slayer, he was searching for Willow.  Neither she nor Xander had been anywhere, and Angel was worried.  Something strange is going on here.

While there weren’t any signs of Xander or Willow, there also weren't any signs of vampires - not a one - and that made him a little frantic.  Something powerful enough to drive the entire vampire population into hiding was enough to scare anybody.  Angel wanted answers.

~*~

Angel walked into the bar, every inch of him oozing evilness.  Stalking up to the counter he made a big production of ordering "the good stuff ",  tipping the seedy-looking bartender by making a big production of sparing his life, leaving the poor being shaking in his boots.  ‘The good stuff’ turned out to be some undrinkable weird glowing green concoction, but Angel didn't complain.  He claimed a section of the bar, ousting someone else from a seat and lounging against the counter.  He faced out into the room, pretending to sip his drink appreciatively, listening quietly as conversations started up around the bar again.  If there was one thing common in all bars, it was gossip - even in one patronized by demons.

One conversation in particular interested him.  A Thanagres dream-weaver sat speaking with a rather large fear demon.

“I never thought I would shee the day when vampires started working to...together,” the dream-weaver exclaimed.  She continued drunkenly, waving her drink about for emphasis.  “You musht be gettin' good work!  That Mistress of theirs musht have them shakin' in their boots.  I mean, it musht h...have been over a month shinsh a human has died by a vampiresh hand, or teeth rather.”

The four-foot fear demon considered her slurred speech, peering at her blearily in the poor light.  “That's what's so strange about the whole thing.  They love her!” he replied in a high voice, shuddering in revulsion.  “Mostly, if they fear anything, it's angering her, and not even because of possible punishment!  It's ‘cause they don't want to disappoint her.  It's not even a spell for what anybody’s been able to tell!  It's real!  The whole situation is funny, the whole lot are following her like baby chicks with fangs, attacking their own kind just because she says so!”

A sinking feeling was beginning to take up residence in Angel’s stomach.  For the first time since he was human, Angel thought he might be sick.  Sweet Lord, please don't let it be true!   Angel turned his attention to a different table, desperately hoping to hear something that would contradict what he'd already heard.

A prickly looking man with a southern accent was having what seemed to be a one-sided conversation with a yellow blob dressed in a red sock.  “Yep. I hear she's a right bitch.  Got 'em all trained better'n dogs.”  The man seemed to listen to something for a minute, then spoke again.  “I would not! I have bettah taste than to go trailing after some vampire queen!”

Angel had heard enough.  Apparently, God no longer listened to prayers.  Anybody who'd taken over would have eliminated any sign of his previous rule, and he hadn't ordered anyone to protect the children before he'd left, an oversight on his part and particularly stupid.  They had been defenseless.  Maybe they were still alive.  Maybe the Mistress has them, even if she saw no value in them for themselves, they could be hostages for his behavior.  It was a slim hope, but the only one Angel had.  He urgently waved the barkeep back over, throwing a few hundreds down, he growled out, “Where will I find the vampire's queen?”

The bartender, eyes wide, stuttered out the location.  Angel nearly ran out.

~*~

He circled the building.  A lot of things were different from the last time he’d seen the place. The windows were blacked over with paint.  The occasional sound of laughter reaching his ears as he prowled outside.  But the most telling difference were the guards surrounding the warehouse.  There were four at each entrance.  No one had spotted him yet, but he could tell that they were being vigilant.  There were only a few low words of conversation, quickly spoken, and always their eyes moved, searching the darkness.

Angel stepped out of the shadows into the light of a streetlamp, basically putting a spotlight on himself.  He kept his hands loose at his sides, and slowly approached them.  They were surprised to see him step out of the darkness they had been sure was empty.  They hadn’t seen him before he moved, but they recovered from the surprise quickly.

“State your business,” called out the largest one, his tone brisk, with an alert edge that spoke of discipline.

Angel answered calmly, “I wish to speak to the Mistress.”

The guards studied him with suspicion and didn’t seem to recognize him but, as he offered no threat, they eased a bit.  “By what right do you claim audience, stranger?  The Mistress dislikes intruders.  Why should she honor you?”

Before Angel could reply, one of the others on guard hissed a warning.  "Be careful David!  Don't you know who that is?  He's the old Master, Angelus.  The one who was here before the Mistress took over.”

The lead guard sucked in a sudden breath, his fear permeating the air, and eyes narrowing with wariness.  Angelus was renown for his savagery.

Angel smiled ruefully, “I am Angelus.  But I come only to speak with your Mistress.  Will you tell her that I'm here?”

The leader turned on his heel and left without another word.  The others exchanged quiet sighs of relief that there wouldn't be a need for them to fight the dreaded former Master, and waited nervously until David came back.  They really hoped the Mistress didn't refuse this stranger his request.  Things could get a bit bloody if she did.  With their blood - not his.  They watched as Angel turned his back on them, staring at the horizon.  His very stillness fueling their unease. 

The tense interval which followed passed uninterrupted until David's return.

He emerged quickly from the dark interior of the warehouse and, if anything, he seemed more pale than before.  “The Mistress will see you at once.”

Angel entered, two guards ahead of him and two behind.  He glanced questioningly at David.

David's manner was sharply guarded as he offered up an explanation.  “Only three people ever enter the Mistress' presence unguarded.  For you, she makes an exception, but we still have to make sure that's where you go...with no trouble.”

Angel nodded assent and they continued.  His surroundings were a lot different from the last time he had been there.  From the inside, the warehouse didn't look like a warehouse anymore, but more like a great mansion.  It wasn't just one big uninterrupted space anymore.  He had entered into a richly decorated room.  The floor was still concrete, but it was covered most places by ornate rugs.  Artwork and bookcases lined the walls, and there was electricity. But what surprised him most was that everything was clean.

Then he noticed something that he had not thought about in a long time.  Or rather, he noticed it was missing.  The dais was no longer there.  Helpless despair overcame him, and his hands clenched into fists.  He vowed to himself that if harm had come to Willow, this Mistress that he had heard so much about would be made to pay dearly.

The guards carefully chivied him along after he paused too long, and they moved on through several more rooms, past where the dias had once been.  Each area probably as large as the first, in which people watched television, played cards or pool, and just generally relaxed.  Finally they came to a large, dark wooden door.  At David's knock, a deep voice commanded them to enter.

Once inside, Angel glanced around, baring his teeth.  The expression was not a smile.  A feeling of uneasiness; a prickling between his shoulder blades warned of peril, but except for a single man, the chamber was empty. Angel's flickered over the room, sharp eyes missing nothing.

Seeing the dais in this new room sent a surge of relief through him, but it was unfounded.  Neither Willow nor Xander were anywhere in sight, and amidst the display of wealth, he discovered a mind geared towards violence: the room was arrayed in strategic expectation of attack, the wealth a distraction, a trap for anyone fool enough to challenge the Mistress of Sunnydale.

However, the other male present was not the Mistress.  He was vaguely familiar, but if Angel had known him, he felt sure that he would have remembered.  The vampire, reclining amongst the pile of cushions that were scattered on the floor around one of the throne-like chairs, was one that would have been hard to forget.  His hair shone golden in the light, shoulder-length thick waves framing his face, and when he turned his attention to the laughter that suddenly rang out from behind the door he showed one of the most perfect profiles Angel had ever seen.

From behind Angel came an order to bow.  He turned his attention to the guard scowling fiercely.  He did not see the three people who entered the room behind him.

“I do not bow.”  

Angel had spoken mildly but with a faint tone of contempt in his voice.  He was focused on the guards, as he had not seen Willow and Xander standing shocked in the doorway, so did he not see the rage that suddenly flashed across Aaron's face.  He did not see him move.

In a fraction of a second, Aaron had closed the distance that separated him from Angel, and hit him.  Hard.  When Angel lifted his face, blood ran from his mouth, and he thumbed it away as he glared at the person who had dared to strike him.

“Aaron!”  The name cracked the silence like a whip.  Aaron froze, stopping himself from again attacking the stranger who had insulted his Mistress.

The voice then addressed the guards that still surrounded Angel.  “Leave us.”

That voice was remote; a cool monotone that could have been carved of ice.  It left the guards with no doubt of her disinterest.  It also assured them that they did not want to be of interest to her.  They left.  In the Lady's presence everyone was obliged to move with caution.

That voice!  Startled, Angel looked up.  His eyes traveled up leather-clad feet and legs, passed over the long-sleeved lavender shirt, to a face that belonged to a girl he had begun to think that he'd never see again.  A girl who was no longer just a girl.  

Willow was alive, and for that he thanked God!  But what was she doing here ordering vampires around?  What was she doing here dressed like that?

Her chin was tilted proudly, and her eyes blazed with cold fire in a face that was white with anger.  Angel backed away unconsciously, his knuckles turning white as his hands clenched into fists, as the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end.  Surprise was the least of his reactions, though that and relief played a large part of his feelings.  Now that he knew she was safe, he could see the changes in her.  She was no longer his little one.  He didn't know what it was, but Willow was different somehow, and not just the growing up part.  He was glad her attention was not focused on him, it gave him a chance to study her.

Aaron stood straight; arms at his side, fingers splayed.  His entire body trembled with tension that came from forcing himself to obey her unspoken command.  The something that lurked behind his human body was leaking out through his eyes.  The demon pushing against his flesh so that you caught a dark glimpse of something overwhelmingly alien.  A low growl trickled from his lips as he saw Angel move. 

“Aaron.”  This time his name was said softly as his Mistress approached him.  “Aaron, it's okay. He didn't know who he was talking about.  It can be forgiven.”

He watched her face.  It burned with intelligence, with a force, commitment, a determination that shone so fiercely it seemed to thrum through her skin.  But her eyes shone with understanding.

She wanted him to forgive the stranger, and if she wanted it - he would.

Willow saw the tension begin to leak out of him.  Aaron stayed very still until the vibrating energy died down and that awful looming presence of his demon slid below the surface once more.  Then he very, very slowly, sat back on his knees, still watching Willow's face.

“Eric, why don't you take Aaron out, burn some of his energy off.  Get something to eat, okay?”

Eric nodded and beckoned.  As they were leaving, Willow called after them, “And take your time!”

Willow's the Mistress?  The truth settled into Angel's heart.  She was the Mistress.  The clues were all there, now that he looked: her orders were obeyed without question, her clothes extremely different from when he'd last seen her, and the respect and the not-quite-fear that seemed to surround the vampires while they were around her... While he was away she had grown up, and Angel had to wonder if she needed him anymore.

Xander took a deep breath, and it shuttered down his body. Then said sarcastically, “Gee, that guy needs a playstation!  Burn off some of that testosterone and aggression with healthy coping methods.  And look!  Angel!  So nice to see you again.  Staying long?”

“Now Xander, be nice.  Angel was only doing what he thought best for us.”

At Angel's obvious surprise, Willow's face lit momentarily with the happiness she felt at seeing him again.  But the happiness was pushed aside by the anger caused by his leaving.  She walked over to her chair and sat down; propping her chin on one hand.  Narrowing her eyes speculatively she asked in a sweet voice, “So Angel, did you find the Slayer?”

“No.”  Guilt and pain were clearly written across his features. “I'm sorry,” he said, wincing as he watched her expression change as she considered his words. “I never even saw her. All I know is that she's somewhere in Sunnydale.”

“So you left us for nothing!”  Xander broke in bitterly.  “How could you do that?  You didn't even say 'good-bye', you just left.  It didn't matter that Ms. Montgomery was dead.  It didn't matter that Willow needed you, that I needed you!  You didn’t even bother to call!”  Xander's voice had risen to a shout, but trailed off into a painful whisper.  “How dare you leave, and how dare you come back.”

“Xander, how can you say that?  Angel's back, and he's sorry.  It doesn't matter in the least that he left.  It doesn't matter that he lied, or that he broke his promise never to go away.  It doesn't even matter that, when he left, people died because the vampires weren't under control.  Nope.  It doesn't matter because he came back and he's sorry.”  Willow's tone was so saccharine it was bitter, and with each sentence Angel felt his heart crack just a little more because of the sweetly cruel words.

Xander was even more shocked to hear Willow be so cruel, even more shocked than when he'd first seen her in leather.  He hadn't thought Willow would ever intentionally hurt someone she cared about, and even he could see the near despair in Angel's eyes.  He was also surprised when she jumped up and ran across the room to hug Angel tightly.

“Xander, can you please go home now?  I'll be there in a little while, and I'll show you around some more later.”

“Sure, Wills, no problem.  Do you want me to wait up for you?”

Willow shook her head, and turned back to Angel as Xander left.  She closed her eyes, and a single tear slid forth from beneath her lashes.  “I'm s..sorry, Angel.  I shouldn't have said that.  I know you did..didn't mean for any of those things to hap..happen,”  she stuttered out as her composure cracked, trying to stop the sobs that threatened to break free.

“But they did happen, didn't they?  And I left you here to deal with them.  I'm so sorry, little one.”  He brushed the hair from out of her face, and pulled her into a hard hug.  “But you have to understand what we're facing.  The old Master is imprisoned, but if Luke and his followers free him...he could destroy the world.  He's a vampire over a thousand years old, he can use magic better than anyone I've heard of, and has tried once already to open the Hellmouth.  If he gets loose, he'll most certainly try again.”  He pushed her slightly away, looking into her face.  “Willow, I can't defeat him by myself.  I just can't do it.  The only person who even has a chance is the Slayer.  We have to find her.”

“All right, Angel.  If we need to, then we will.”

Chapter Text

C'mon Xander, you're running late, and it's only the second day!   Willow stood, stretching to scan the crowd of milling students.  Noticing a disturbance, she stared hard, trying to pinpoint the source.  Then with an air of faint amusement, moved down the stairs as she saw Xander come into view - doing his best to ride a skateboard that he hadn't ridden for years, and which he'd never mastered in the first place.  And also not looking where he was going.

“Xan...!” She started to call out a warning, but it was already too late.

“Ummph!”  Too busy looking at whatever it was, he crashed into the stair railing.  Stunned, his pride, rear, and other parts hurting, he looked up a pair of white stockinged legs to see Willow looking at him worriedly.

Looking a little woozy, he immediately tried to reassure Willow.  “I'm okay.  I feel good!”  

After avoiding Xander's unknowing attempt to trip her, Willow carefully tucked her hair back behind her ears, and tried to straighten the awful dress her mother had made her wear.  She looked like a grade schooler from a Sears catalog.  She was really happy that her parents were only staying for the rest of the day.  Keeping up the pretense that she was still their innocent little girl was wearying, as well as detrimental to her wardrobe.  At least they'd be gone by the time she got home.

Xander scrambled up and grabbed his skateboard.  “Willow!  You're so very much the person I wanted to see!”

“Oh, really?” she replied, a hint of 'what for?' in her tone.  Seeing that he didn't look too badly hurt, she started walking towards the school, Xander following.

“Yeah.  You know, I kinda had a problem with the math.”

Raising an eyebrow in Xander’s direction, Willow asked, “Umm...which part?”

“The math.  Can ya help me out tonight?  Pleeease, be my study buddy?”  Xander turned his best puppy eyes on his friend.

Amused by his antics, Willow tried for a straight face. “Well, what's in it for me?”

“A shiny nickel!”

Confronted with his superior silliness, Willow gave in. “Okay.  Do you have 'Theories in Trig'? You should check it out.”

“Check it out?”

“From the library?  Where the books live.”  Willow shook her head at him.

“Right, I'm there!  See?  I wanna change…”  They had just entered the entrance hall when Xander’s friend, Jesse, spotted them.

“Hey, hey!”

“Hey, Jesse.  What's what?” Xander asked.

"New Girl," was Jesse’s enthusiastic response.

“That's right, I saw her.  Pretty much a hottie!”

“I heard someone was transferring,” Willow mused.

“So tell!” Xander demanded.  Jesse, a little confused, looked at Xander. “Tell what?”

“What's the sitch?  What do you know about her?  Give me the deets!”  Xander pressed for more details.

“New Girl!” Jesse replied.

“Well, you're certainly a font of nothing!”

Jesse shrugged, looking a bit hurt. “Well, I'm gonna get to class.”  As he started to move off down the hall, Xander called to make sure he was going to meet them for lunch.  

“Sure.  Same place, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll be there.”

When Jesse was out of hearing range, Willow pulled Xander by his sleeve to the side of the Hall.  “Xander would you watch out for the new girl for me please?  She could be the girl Angel's looking for.”

“You gotta be kidding!  That girl, the super woman?  She's little!”  He looked at Willow, giving her one of those up-and-down looks, taking in his best friend’s petite size.  “Nevermind.  I'll do what I can, okay?”

“Alright.  And don't forget to go to the library to get that book!”

“I won't!”

Willow gave him a disbelieving look.

“Fine.  I'll go now.  Happy?”

“Yep,” Willow grinned, “See ya at lunch!”

~*~

After waving goodbye to Willow, Xander headed off to his locker to stash his skateboard. Okay now, kiddies.  Locker.  Check.  Library.  Check.  Well, almost check.  Feel like I'm walking in circles here.  What if I AM?  Ha.  No.  Umm...okay then, that's the principal's office.  And the library should be...just around the corner.  Good, okay, so this is the library.  Now why haven't I been here before?  Oh yeah! 'cuz it gives me the creeps!  Book.  Gotta get the book.  Not gonna think about the strangeness.  Nope.  Not gonna.  Book!

Xander looked around the library for a long time, incidentally missing first period.  He was standing amidst the bookshelves in the back area when the new girl burst through the doors raving about a dead guy in a locker.  He was surprised, to say the least, when the librarian asked her if the dead person was going to rise again as a vampire.  The librarian knows about vampires?  The librarian knows about vampires!  Willow is so not gonna like this.  Hope she doesn't get the place too dusty.  Xander was shaken from his visual of Willow covered in dust by the man's next words.

“...you are the Slayer.  Into each generation a Slayer is born, one girl in all the world, a Chosen One, one born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires…”

When the confirmed Slayer interrupted and started whining, Xander stopped listening, his thoughts whirling almost faster than he could keep up.  Okay.  So what have we learned today, Mr. Harris?  One, there was a dead guy killed by vampires in school.  Not good.  Two, the librarian knows.  Three, the really hot blond is the superhero girl.  Four, there's lots of monsters in Sunnydale.  Well, I already knew that, but now I know that other people know that too, and one of 'em is even of the grown-up persuasion!  Yay?  Umm...what number was I on?  Five? Nevermind.  I know the librarian is some kinda watcher of blond girls.  That the girl he's currently watching is seriously stressed, also not a good thing.  A stressed superhero is never a good thing.  Well, I tell Willow, Willow tells Angel, and we do something about it.  Whatever it is.  What are we gonna do?   Sighing, Xander left the now quiet library, lunch could not come soon enough

~*~

Willow stormed into the lair.  Energy rolled off of her in waves, making the air crackle with intensity.  The vampires could feel her, and she was angry.  They backed away, searching for a safer distance that did not exist, but moving anyway because standing too close was very unwise.

Willow was so angry that the thunder of her pulse threatened to deafen her, but she could see just fine.  The first two vampires that she saw found themselves involuntarily kneeling before her - way too close for comfort.

“You.  Find Eric and tell him I said to meet me in the Hall.”  She turned to the other, wrapping her hand around her throat.  “You, I want to find Angelus.”  Digging her fingernails in for emphasis, she continued, “Ask him nicely to come visit me.  Understand?”  At the female's frantic nods, Willow abruptly released her, the motion causing the vampire to fall back awkwardly, but she was up and running before Willow took her next breath.

Willow was every inch the Lady as she stalked into the throne room.  Eric was alone in the Hall looking at the two chairs on the dais.  He was facing away from her, which was perfect.

“Eric.  You disappoint me.” 

As he turned towards the sound of her voice, Willow slapped him with all the force of her anger unleashed.  He stumbled back, but didn't fall, instead kneeling fluidly as Willow raised her hands, a faint nimbus of blue light playing around the long slender fingers.

“What have I done to displease you?”  Eric asked softly, keeping his eyes downcast, trying to soothe away the anger that he’d seen shining from her eyes. 

“What have you done?  Why nothing!”  Willow walked up to him, pressing into him so close that his legs were trapped underneath himself even as his body was forcibly bent backwards to the ground by the delicate fingers pushing down above his heart. He made the mistake of raising his eyes, and Willow caught his gaze.   She stared into his eyes from inches away, watching the surprise reflected in their shadowed, silvery depths.

Still oh-so-close, Willow leaned down to whisper into his ear.  “But you see, there was someone killed inside of my school.  By a vampire, in my school!  That displeases me.”  She suddenly pulled back, giving him a mischievous smile and leaving him having trouble with focusing on what she had said.  “And you know what the penalty for killing is.” 

Those words he understood with no trouble.  “Lady, none of us have killed!  I swear it!”

A thoughtful look crossed Willow's face.  “If none of you have killed…”  She looked at him, suddenly intent.  “Do you think we could have missed a clan?  We never did find Luke, or the Master that Angel was so worried about.”  A few minutes of silence passed when she turned again to him, exasperation coloring her voice.  “Oh get up, Eric!  And get dressed, we're going to the Bronze tonight.”

~*~

Willow and Eric were just stepping out of the warehouse when Angel arrived.

“Angel!  The messenger found you that quickly?” Willow looked pleased. 

Angel glanced at her in confusion, but let it go, redirecting himself to more urgent matters.  “Messenger?  No.  Listen.  You missed one, a clan, I was in the cemetery a little while ago and...nevermind.  The point is the Master's going to escape.  Tomorrow, I think, something called a Harvest.  He has his vampires all over town looking for sacrifices or something.  We have to find the Slayer now .  I'm going to get all the vampires here to go search the town for her.  If they even get close, they should be able to feel her -"   He was interrupted by Eric's angry voice.  

“We will not obey you.”  The contempt in his voice was plain. This vampire dared to order the Lady.  The pet may have been right about this stranger needing a good beating.

Angel noticed the vampire standing behind Willow for the first time.  He had seen him, but Angel hadn't paid him the slightest attention.  The other's feet were braced, his hands clasped behind him.  Dark hair shadowed eyes gray and intent as a wolf's. The vampire had all the stillness of a weapon confident of it's killing edge, and most of his attention was focused on Angel.

With a quick gesture, Willow stopped Eric from saying anything more.  “Angel, you didn't really think that you could just pick up where you left off, did you?”  In the surprise written across his face she saw that he had. 

“Angel, you left.  Things just don't work that way.  Anyway, we've already found the Slayer, that's why I wanted you here.  She's hanging around with Cordelia Chase, so she'll probably be at the Bronze tonight.”  Meeting his eyes, she tossed him a black velvet box and continued.  “Give her that, and warn her about this Harvest you were talking about.  And whatever you do...don't open the box, okay?  It's a peace offering.”

Instead of feeling resentful, as he would if anyone else had tried to speak to him as such, Angel merely quirked a smile and answered, “As my lady commands.”

“I don't command you,” Willow said with a smile.  “I doubt anyone's ever commanded you.”

“Not until tonight, my lady.”  Angel replied with a flourished bow.

Willow giggled.  “You're impossible!”

“Just ancient.”

“You're not that either.”  Laughing, they started out into the night together.  Eric, ever watchful, following behind.

Chapter Text

Angel ran with the easy, loping pace of a wolf.  His senses alert for the slightest trace in the air of 'enemy', a presence that the demon inside of him abhorred.  He hunted in an ever-increasing circuit that radiated out from the Bronze until, at last, he felt the unmistakable prickling at the edge of his mind that meant Slayer.

He used that feeling to guide himself, judging from the strength of it which way to go. It led him straight to a girl, but this was no warrior, no great fighter.  The girl looked like a strong wind could blow her over.  Angel wondered if what he felt could be wrong, but no, the closer he came the more he wanted to rip her throat out, or run, or both.  Only a Slayer would cause his instincts such indecision.

Willow had been right, the girl did appear to be on her way to the Bronze.  Angel followed close behind, waiting to see when the girl would feel him.  She must have felt something.  Her steps quickened, hurrying now, bootheels clicking on the asphalt nearly in a run.  She ducked into the first alley she came to.  One that Angel knew was a dead-end.  He chuckled softly, almost pitying the girl.  He doubted she could take Xander, putting this one up against the Master...

Angel entered the alley more slowly, looking around.  Just when he felt sure he was right on top of her he heard a faint creaking from above.  A sudden force kicked him in the back, and he found himself on the ground; a black boot planted firmly across his chest.  Angel looked up into cold blue eyes, let out a surprised laugh, and contrived to look helpless.

“Is there a problem, ma'am?”

“Yeah, there's a problem.  Why are you following me,” she asked angrily.  

Angel tried to contain his laughter; she reminded him of a spitting kitten, all hiss and spunk, but hardly dangerous.  “I know what you're thinking.  Don't worry, I don't bite.” 

The Slayer backed off, removing her boot, and stood in a composed stance, ready to fight.  Angel stood up, massaging his neck and continued, “Truth is, I thought you'd be taller, or bigger muscles and all that.  You're pretty spry, though.”

“What do you want?” she demanded again.

“The same thing you do.”

“Okay, what do I want?”

He stepped closer to her as she let down her guard, whispering confidentially, “To kill them.  To kill them all.”

The Slayer made an obnoxious noise, like a game show buzzer.  “Sorry, that's incorrect.  But you do get this lovely watch and a year's supply of Turtle Wax.  What I want is to be left alone!”  After nearly yelling at the psycho-man, she started to walk away, determined to get away from him as fast as she could.  Even if he was gorgeous.

He didn’t let the subject drop so easily, calling after her.  “Do you really think that's an option anymore?  You're standing at the Mouth of Hell.  And it's about to open.”

The words sent shivers down her spine, and she stopped and turned to look back at him, wide-eyed; wondering what they meant and why they sounded so important, so familiar - The Mouth of Hell.

Angel reached inside his coat and pulled out the small velvet box that Willow had told him to give to the Slayer.  He tossed it to her and watched as she caught it automatically.  “Don't turn your back on this.  You've gotta be ready.”

“What for?” she asked, confused.

“The Harvest,” he answered, his voice ominous.

“Who are you?”

“Let's just say...I'm a friend.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don't want a friend!”

“I didn't say I was yours.” Angel smirked at her, wondering if the exchange was cryptic enough to get her attention.  

 She looked down and opened the box to see a delicate silver cross.  Shadows shifted, and by the time she looked up again, he was gone.

~*~

“Come on, Eric.  It's not that bad!”  Willow waved a hand at herself, indicating her outfit.

“Lady...with all due respect, you look like bait.  You want me to find someone from the enemy clan, but you want me halfway across the room!  It is that bad.  What if he tries to kill you?  I'll be too far away!”

“But that's the point!” Willow hissed fiercely, “I'm supposed to be bait.  I want to be taken.  If he tries to hurt me, he'll be dead.  Now stop arguing with me, get over there, and help me look!  I'm going over by the snack bar.  Wave or something if you see someone, okay?  And look out for Xander, he said he'd stop by later.”

Seeing the stubborn light in his Lady's eyes, Eric knew better than to continue resisting, it wouldn't get him anywhere.  Instead he nodded his acceptance and went to stand next to the stairs.  He ended up having his ears filled with the empty chattering of some high school girls. Tuning them out, he studied his Mistress.  If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she was perfect for a bite to eat, or more... But he did know better, and so he beat those thoughts into submission before they got him into trouble, and turned his attention to what he'd been ordered to do.

He scanned the crowd, looking for an unfamiliar vampire who would fit her needs.  Someone young who wouldn't be too hard to control.  And then Eric saw him - he was impossible to miss in the clothes he was wearing.  He was dancing, clearly trying his best to entice a meal outside, and obviously not having any luck.  Ought to be feeling just a bit desperate right now, hunger gnawing, wondering if he'd get to eat tonight.  A young one, no more than ten years into his turning, if that.  Perfect.

Looking at Willow, he was about to try for her attention when he saw that she had already noticed his target, and was on her way over to him.  She gave the stranger shy, flickering glances from underneath dark lashes.  Appearing innocent, and doing her best to act gullible without arousing suspicion.  Whatever she said to him must have worked, because almost before he knew what was happening, the vampire was leading her out into the night.  He had a moment of brief indecision - stay or go after her? 

He saw a flash of bright red hair going out the door, and his mind was made up before he had consciously made the decision.  He followed.  He watched as the badly dressed vampire led Willow away from crowded areas, but he didn't try to harm her, just continued to almost drag her into the nearest cemetery.  He heard snatches of their conversation and wondered if the other was really buying the Lady's act.

“Well, that's a dark time, night.  Traditionally.  I still can't believe I've never seen you at school. Do you have Mr. Chomsky for history?” He saw her pause and pretend to look a little anxious. She must have really felt some fear, because Eric could see gold flash in the other's eyes, but she continued.  “Uh...the ice cream bar is this way. It's past Hamilton Street.”

Ice cream, Lady?   Eric laughed silently as the vampire did exactly what the Mistress wanted him to do… “I know a shortcut.”...lead her straight to his lair.

The vampire, Thomas he was called, brought her to a large mausoleum and threw Willow inside.  Eric could hear the anger in her voice as the vampire continued to push her around. Not a good idea to keep that up, young one.. .

There was a pricking along his skin, the sensation alerting him to new arrivals, two groups.  One was Xander and a girl, and ahead of them a very old vampiress and a boy.  

Eric ducked back, staying out of sight.  If the Mistress needed him, he'd know.

~*~

Willow continued to back away from Thomas, hoping that he'd stop playing silly games with his food, and just bring her home and eat already.  Ohhh...it's not a good thing when you start calling yourself food!   There was a commotion outside, and someone else was thrown into the crypt.

“Jesse!” Oh, great! Play time's over children.  Willow calmed her emotions, and was seconds away from calling on her magic when Xander and the Slayer arrived.  Oh, this is just wonderful!  Like I didn't have enough problems.  Why couldn't they show up after I was finished?

“Well, this is nice.  It's a little bare, but a dash of paint, a few throw pillows...call it home!”

Willow almost laughed out loud at the Slayer's banter.  We might just get along, this girl and I.   She smiled to herself as she made sure to give the Slayer some room.

“Who the hell are you?”  The vampiress questioned her.  

The Slayer didn't take too well to being questioned.  Thomas got dusted quickly as he came up behind her.  Pulling out her stake, she turned to the female and, without even pausing, they danced, or at least that's what it looked like, the moves almost coordinated between them. They moved so fast.

While the Slayer was otherwise occupied, Willow and Xander got Jesse standing.  They moved him outside, and Willow called out for Eric.

“Get Xander out of here.  Take him home.  I'll see about the Slayer,” she ordered.

Eric didn't even try to argue, he knew that Xander was important.  He knew that if the boy wasn't safe, his skin wasn't likely to be safe either, so against Xander’s protests of leaving Willow alone, Eric dragged the dark haired boy off.

There's a quick scream from the mausoleum, and Willow rushed inside in time to see Luke about to take a bite out of the Slayer.

“Luke!”

His head shot up, and he growled.  “Witch!  Still wanting to play with vampires, little girl?”  He smiled, jumped out of the coffin he was leaning over, and started quoting something.  “But on the third day of the newest light would come the Harvest, and the blood of men will flow as wine.  When the Master will walk among them once more!  And Hell itself will come to town.” He bared his fangs at them in intimidation, but then he just...left.

Willow rushed over to the coffin, looking down inside to see if the Slayer was alright. “Slayer?”

The girl was panting softly, wide-eyed.  Then she snapped out of whatever it was, and looked at Willow.  She was alright. “Is everyone okay?”

Willow nodded, “Yeah.  Xander went home.  Jesse needs to go to the hospital, though...oh!” She rushed out, the Slayer right behind.  “I left him out here!  I just left him, and he's gone!”

“I'll get him back.  I won't let it happen again!” the Slayer whispered determinedly.  Her thoughts dwelling on what recently happened in L.A; on all of her dead classmates, the burned down gym, her failure to keep her friends safe, and the disaster that was her life.

“Slayer, the vampires have him, and we don't know where they've gone!  Don't make promises you can't keep.”  Willow told her in a steely voice.

“Buffy,” the Slayer stated absently, her mind still elsewhere.

“What?” Willow asked.  She looked at the girl, feeling a little confused, not sure she'd heard right.

“My name is Buffy,” she explained. “And does everyone in this town know I'm the Slayer? What?  Was there, like, a flyer passed around or something?”

“Umm, no?  Just me.  Well, me and a few other people, and a few people who aren't people, exactly.  A few vampires.”

“Oh, joy,” Buffy sighed.

They stared out into the quiet darkness.  There was no sign of anyone, no trace of what had just occurred.  They looked for any clue the vampires might have left that would show where they had gone, but there weren't any and Willow soon got impatient.

“Let's go.  This isn't doing anybody any good.  He's dead by now.”

“Maybe...maybe my Watcher knows where they took him.”

“Mr. Giles?  He's probably at home.  Do you know where he lives?”

“No.  Hey!  How did you know he...Xander, huh?”

“Yeah.  Xander.  Well, we can meet in the library before school starts, and ask him.  It's worth a try, and if nothing else...we'll find those vamps and kill them.”

Buffy looked up in surprise, but she didn't say anything to correct her. 

Willow gave her a wicked smile and a small wave. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“You want me to walk you home?”

Willow laughed.  “You can come with me if you want to, but you don't have to.”  She held out her hands, palms cupped.  Buffy watched as they filled with a soft blue light. “Vampires are kinda funny.  They just don't take well to being toasted...tend to burn.”

Buffy laughed.  “No.  No, they don't, but be careful, okay?  Don't want another friend taken tonight.”

“I'm your friend now, am I?” Willow gave her a cocky grin.

“Yes.  You are,” Buffy said seriously, and then waved and started walking away. “Goodnight!”

“See ya tomorrow, Buffy!”

Chapter Text

Willow was almost home when she heard voices raised in anger emanating from inside.  She ran up the walkway and onto the porch.  It sounded as if Angel and Xander were arguing.

At her approach, Eric opened the door.  A look of pure relief crossed his face when he saw it was her.  Moving back to allow her room to enter, he gestured helplessly at the scene: Angel and Xander standing on almost opposite sides of the room, yelling at each other at the top of their lungs.

“Fine!  If you won't leave, then I will!” Xander exclaimed harshly.

“That's enough!” Angel snapped.  He shook his head, not even wanting to consider that option. “Nobody's going anywhere.  Xander, I would move halfway around the world before I let you move back into that house your parents call a home!”

Stung, Xander struck back. “Let me!  You're not my father!  You have no right to tell me what to do!  You lost whatever say-so you had when you left me!”

~*~

Eric leaned down to whisper in Willow's ear.  “Shall I kill him now, Mistress?  He was already here when I brought the boy home.  I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I waited.”

He just shrugged at the frown she cast his way, as if to say 'What did you expect?'  She shooed him out the door, followed him out, and closed it after them.  “They're gonna have to work that out for themselves.”

~*~

Angel flinched.  “No, I'm not your father - I care!”

“You cared enough to leave us alone for over two months.  In all that time you never once even called!  Willow cried,” he shot back, blinded by tears.

Angel stepped closer, lowering his voice to keep it from breaking.  “And you?  Did you cry, Xander?”

“Yes! I cried, okay?  I missed you so much sometimes that I felt sick.  You're one of the things that make this home.  But you know something, Angel?  It didn't matter how much I missed you, you were still gone.  Why did you go?  Was the girl really that important?”

Angel felt suddenly tired.  His face was grave as he gestured for Xander to sit.

~*~

Willow stared intently into Eric's shadowed face, as she explained what she feared was going to happen soon.  Trying to convey all of the urgency she felt, and hoped that he understood what she wanted of him.

She watched as he walked down the moonlit street, wishing that for once things would go as planned.  Then, taking the silence as her cue, she turned and went back inside.

~*~

Xander felt a dizzy lurch in the pit of his stomach.  He had never considered Angel's mortality.  He was a vampire; he wasn't supposed to die.  He stared in dawning horror as the realizations washed over him.  Angel was afraid, had been so afraid that he'd left to find help, afraid for himself and for both of them.  He did care.

He looked up at Willow as she came and sat next to him, reaching out to hold his hand.  Her face a mass of conflicting emotions, color high in her cheeks.  Sinking back into the cushions of the sofa, knowing that the news wasn’t going to be good, he waited for her to say something.

She looked into both their faces before she began, glad to see that things seemed settled between them, but knowing that the loss of a friend would be a blow to Xander.  “Jesse's gone,” she stated plainly. 

At Xander's shocked expression, she hurried to explain.  “Vampires, not mine, took him when I went to help the slayer, Buffy.”  A faint, amused smile crossed her face as she said the girl's name, but the seriousness of the situation quickly brought her sternness back to the fore. 

“I think the Harvest began tonight.  Those vampires weren’t just looking for food.  They were rounding people up.  And we still don't know how to stop it.  Buffy’s gonna meet us tomorrow morning in the school library.  We're hoping that her Watcher, Mr. Giles, may know something about what's going to happen, may have some idea how we can prevent the Master from escaping.”

Xander looked at Angel.  “We can do it, right?” He laughed nervously. “No problem.”

“We're going to try.”

~*~

Later that night...

Dawn was still a few hours away as Angel moved through the peaceful house, bringing his book and a microwaved mug of blood into the living room to read for a little while.  Microwave ovens were wonderful things.  He was glad to be home again, with the two people he cared about most, safe under the same roof.

A couple hours later, Pip's adventures in Great Expectations were interrupted by Willow's soft laughter coming from the kitchen.  Xander, his face and tone haughty enough to be worthy of a king, was arrogantly explaining to Willow why chocolate ice-cream was the best.

“Another point in my favor is that if you don't have a spoon, chocolate can be eaten quite nicely with your finger.” He demonstrated, swiping a finger around his bowl and pointing the dripping mess at her, playing to her laughter.

Willow caught Angel staring at them wistfully from the door.  Beckoning to him, she said to Xander, “What we need is a judge.  Some fine person who will agree with me that vanilla is by far the better flavour.  And look, here's our judge now.” 

They both waited expectantly as Angel dutifully tasted each, considering each carefully and making thoughtful "hmm's".  He was still trying to decide when the announcer came on the radio, interrupting the music to joke about the news broadcast.

“...to bring you the news of a very strange robbery. About an hour ago, approximately thirty men wearing Halloween masks broke into Toys 'R' Us, stealing more than fifteen playstations. Nothing else was taken or tampered with.  Police are still investigating the scene for any evidence that could lead them to understand the motive of this unusual crime.”

Confronted with two nearly identical expressions of incredulity, Willow took the easy way out. “Umm...well guys, I'm gonna go get dressed now...and Xander, you're completely right, chocolate is the best.”  She beat a hasty retreat to her room, leaving them staring after her.

~*~

Xander was the first to speak. “Playstations?  Fifteen playstations?  What in the world would Willow want with fifteen playstations?”

“Actually, the announcer said more than fifteen.  Do you think this is a major component of her plan?  I know Willow is really taking her position as Mistress seriously.” Angel said.

Xander looked at him, “You have no idea what a playstation is, do you?  But yeah, she is, or does...most of the time.”

Angel sighed.  “I never wanted this for her.  Things have changed a lot while I was gone.  I wish now that I hadn't left.”

“I wish you'd stayed, too.  But you did go, and we understand.  Things will work out,” he hoped.  “I'm gonna go back to bed, Angel, don't stay up too late.  Something is probably gonna happen soon, we all need our rest.”

“Good night, Xander.”

Angel smiled as he watched the young man leave.  Both of them were growing up so quickly.  

But his smile quickly faded as his thoughts turned to another leave-taking.  One from which he'd never returned.  My sweet Will, where are you now?

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Europe, Present time...

A single shaft of sunlight pierced the canopy of branches that rose above the open courtyard.  The ray of light put a dappled spotlight on the fountain in its center.  The sun-touched water tumbled down, clear as glass, into the deep pool below.  The water’s burbling fall provoking the whispering and babbling madness buried inside the man passing but a few feet away.

He stopped to listen for a moment, his memory thrown back in time…

~*~

1891 - Prague…

He was pressed belly down into the icy slush of snow-covered mud.  He’d flung himself over the side of a bridge to get away from the angry crush of people, and the blood from his wounds mixed with the foul stuff beneath him.  Dirt and ice ground into his mouth, nose, and eyes as strange hands suddenly pressed him down.  It felt like something was broken inside.  Ribs ground together when one of those hands locked into his hair and jerked his head from the ground, the strain threatening to snap his neck, and he blinked frantically to clear his eyesight, spitting sludge from his tongue while he had the space to do so.  A group of villagers must have chased after him. 

Someone pressed down on his back to try to keep him still, while others held him down and his head was bent back, baring his throat.  A knife glinted out of the corner of his eye.  The mob was going to kill him, hack off his head, and he’d be nothing but dust.  He flailed out with his arms and legs randomly, erratically, barely hearing the sounds that escaped his constricted throat.  He listened for the loud cracks telling him of broken bones.  His lips were drawn back with the effort of dislodging the men holding him down.  The mob’s cries of daemon ringing in his ears.  He struck out again, struggling, managing to free himself long enough to turn over. Long enough to wish he hadn't.

He saw her then, his princess, still on top of the bridge as they dragged her down to the ground, swarming over her and tearing her to bits.  She’d been ripped from his arms by their pursuers as they’d tried to flee the city and she was too frail after being tortured and starved to put up much of a fight.  They hadn’t made it very far.

More hands gripped his clothes and limbs, crushing him into the ground.  He could only watch her cry out in anguish, cry out for him, until one of the blood-crazed mob hacked off her beautiful head.  He lay on the ground, mud oozing through his clothes, his body burning in pain, as his love exploded into glittering ash, gone.  There was nothing.  Drusilla!

"Noooo!"  He howled, the force of the scream tearing the tender insides of his throat, heralding the death of every man, woman, and child in that godforsaken town.  His eyes on the remains of his love, his dark goddess, he didn’t even notice the spike of metal until it punched through his chest.   It cut off the high, heartrending cry and sent a spray of blood out over his attackers.  

He lay still, staring blankly at the space where he last saw her, as the last tattered remains of his soul fled.  What made him William was gone, and all that was left was a demon who was empty of all emotion save one.

Hate.

~*~

Present day...

...and then he continued on, his heels tip-tapping on the stone floor.  His face was devoid of all expression, glacial blue eyes masked, hiding the emotions that lay within him.  Had the demon's minions known the haunted thoughts that occasionally flitted through his mind they probably would have run, or thrown themselves on some other Master’s mercy, instead of patiently waiting in the white-tiled room that was his destination.

~*~

A woman hung limply in chains, the iron bands of manacles cutting into her wrists.  Blood ran slowly down her bare arms, dripping onto the floor, the bright red droplets stark against the white tiles.

He stood watching as she tried to control her terror.  Her eyes shut tight, blocking out her surroundings, all the people in the room watching her.  He smiled, little more than a mocking twist of his lips.  She didn't know he was there...yet.

"Hello, pet."

Her eyes shot open in panic.  His smile grew wider as she breathed hard and her heart began to race.  He tapped the solid weight of his sharpened railroad spike against the palm of his hand as he walked around her several times, prolonging her anxiety.  He enjoyed her fear, but he loved the pain more.

"Shall we begin?" he whispered.

Chapter Text

By the time Giles parked his car, the moon had already drifted high into the sky.  They’d spent most of the day putting the pieces together.  The ritual and preordained massacre of the Harvest.  A particular crescent moon and a chance that happened only once a century that would allow the Master to siphon his servant’s energy, and from any that the servant fed on, and build it, use it to open a portal to escape his prison.

He had the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that said they were too late.  He parked about a block away from the club.  Vampires had remarkable hearing and, if they were already inside, he didn't want to alert them of his group’s arrival with the noise his old Citroën made.

The group ran the rest of the way with Buffy in the lead.  She reached the door first, only to find that it was locked.  

Her mind wasn’t really focused on the upcoming battle, still frustrated by her relationship with her mother and their latest fight.  Why did her Mom have to pick tonight to start listening to self-help tapes?  Like they were really gonna help her deal with being the slayer's mother.  Not that she knew Buffy was the Slayer, but still!

Buffy turned to the others, not wasting time trying to break down the solid steel door. “It's locked,” she announced softly, dread creeping into her voice.  If the door was locked, the vampires were definitely already inside, probably already slaughtering the people they’d been rounding up.

“We're too late!” Giles exclaimed, he eyes squeezing shut and shoulders slumping.

Even though she’d needed to go home first to pick up supplies, she caused the delay, one she was afraid would lead to more deaths.  Still, Buffy guiltily tried to defend herself.  “I didn't know I was gonna get grounded!”

Xander tried to bring their attention back to the problem.  They needed a solution, not a screaming match in the middle of the street.  “Can you knock it down?”

“No, not that thing.  I'm not Superman, ya know,” she said sarcastically, but she gave him a quick apologetic smile to show she didn't mean it.  She was just scared.  The whole situation brought back memories, bad ones.  Memories of dead friends, dying trapped in a burning gym, calling out her name, for help that didn't come soon enough.

A scream split the air, whether real or imagined she didn't know, but it prompted her to action. "Um...you guys try the back entrance. I'll find my own way," Buffy looked up at the windows.  She didn’t think it was too far...

“Right.  Come on,” Giles ordered, expecting Xander and Willow to follow him as he started off around the building as his Slayer had suggested.

Just who does he think he is?   Willow thought idly as they turned to follow him to the back of the warehouse.  The order wasn't welcome, but the Slayer's suggestion had some merit.

“Uh, wait!  Guys!” Buffy called softly, getting Willow and Xander's attention.  Giles, however, didn't hear and kept on going.

“Here,” Buffy handed a cross to Xander and her duffel to Willow.  “You get the exit cleared and the people out.  That's all!  Don't go all 'Wild Bunch' on me.”

“Buffy, don't worry about us.  Just stop the Vessel.  We'll be fine!” Willow assured her.  You get the Vessel, we get everything else.  Even trade, she thought.

~*~

Giles ran around the back of the club, going ahead of the two strange children who didn't act like children.  He didn't trust them, and that conversation he'd overheard in the car hadn't helped.  He hoped Buffy wouldn't trust them too easily.  They didn't know much about the two, other than that both went to the high school and seemed to know a lot about vampires.

The Watcher, thinking of Xander and Willow, didn't pay much attention to his surroundings.  If he had, he might have noticed the five people he was running toward with breakneck speed.

~*~

Willow and Xander went more slowly, looking for Angel and the others.  Willow wondered who else would be with him, other than Eric, to volunteer for the upcoming mess.  Stealing the playstations had been nothing more than a test inspired by Xander's comment a few nights ago.  It had been designed to find out which of her clan had the most initiative and intelligence, to see who would be the most help to her.  It also left her feeling slightly guilty for the theft and property damage.  I'm gonna have to find some way to pay for them...

“Hey, Will?”

She turned to see Xander dangling the cross Buffy had given him at arm’s reach, between two fingers, looking confused.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Willow shrugged, laughing, “Give it to Giles.”

She pulled the duffle from over her shoulder and rummaged through it.  There ought to be something better than a cross in here...ah!  Here we go.   She pulled out two wooden stakes with sharp points and gently tossed one to Xander.  “Here, take that.  Try and aim for the heart.”

Xander looked sick, and more than a little worried.  Willow's vamps were one thing - they didn't try to eat him, but the vampires in the Bronze probably wouldn't like him poking holes in them with a stake.  He looked at his best friend, his near sister, with a wordless question in his eyes.

Willow saw the emotions in his expressive brown eyes and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.  She tapped his shirt over the place where she knew the silver medallion hung hidden beneath. “You'll be fine.”

Xander nodded, “Yeah.  Let's get going before we miss all the fun,” he said, trying to work some enthusiasm into his voice, but when she turned away he swallowed.  Hard.

~*~

“Just let him go.  He's only one man.  We have other things to do right now.” Angel said in a reasonable tone.

David held the man, keeping him quiet as Angelus and Eric argued over what to do.  Staying quiet himself.  He'd gotten himself noticed enough: first when he'd disagreed with Eric about letting Angelus in to see Willow, and again last night when Eric had ordered them to bring back some playstations for the Mistress.  Really, all he'd done was get the bunch pointed in the right direction.  He hadn't done anything big.  Now, here he was, stuck waiting on a back street for the Mistress.

“He'll be sure to go to the police.  I'm not suggesting we kill him.  That's against the rules. J ust knock him unconscious until we're done so he doesn't go for the police.” Eric replied in an equally reasonable tone.

“I say!  You…” A hand clamped over Giles' mouth as he interrupted, his sentence ending in a hard “eep!” Damn hooligans!

“And hurting people isn't against the rules?  What if you hit him too hard?  Humans are fragile!” Angel wished Willow would hurry.  Her vampires were most definitely hers.  They weren't taking what he said very well and there were too many to fight without risking the man more.  Dominance was getting to be an issue.

They heard the sound of gravel crunching underfoot and looked as Willow and Xander turned the corner.  Willow was walking towards them with a light, aggressive step, her glance sharp, her hair hanging freely in a cloud of fire around her face.  Angel had never seen her look so beautiful and fierce.

“Lady,” Eric greeted her, giving a nod to the solemn boy at her side when they got closer.

“You're okay?” Angel asked, hurrying to them both.  He started to hug them when a wave of fear hit him, his own fear.  He backed away quickly.  What am I afraid of?   He was puzzled. There was nothing.

Xander hadn't expected Angel's sudden approach.  He hadn't really seen who it was, and had instinctively started to back away, not wanting to be touched.  He hadn't been.  He sighed, relaxing a little. The medallion must really work. Big relief. Big, big relief! Not that I doubted Willow, it's just nice to know for sure!

Willow noticed his odd behavior but didn't mention it, instead answering his question. “We're both just wonderful.  We haven't even gone in there yet.” She grinned, “How are you, Angel? Ready for some excitement?”

Willow didn't wait for his answer.  After skipping classes and spending all day researching with Mr. Giles, she was more than ready for some action.  The thrill of anticipation coursed through her, making her impatient.  She pivoted, turning her dancing eyes to Eric, and indicated the other three vampires. “These are the three that did the best?”

“Yes, Lady.” Eric confirmed.

“I'm hardly surprised to see Aaron and David, but who's she?” A woman stood behind David and Giles, peeking out from behind the males as she looked at the Mistress, her guileless blue eyes riveted to the human girl.  She had an uncommonly thick mane of sable hair that clouded in silky, unruly waves about her face, nearly obscuring what was an almost cameo-perfect visage.  The loveliness of her delicate features made Willow's breath catch.  Aren't there any ugly vampires?

“That's Sydney.  She stopped a few of the fledglings from killing the security guard at the store.”

“Were the fledglings punished?”

Eric nodded. 

“Good.” Concerning herself with the Watcher still struggling in David's arms finally, she told him to let Giles go.  At their uncertain looks she explained, “He's the Watcher I told you about.”

At her words, David's face became a mask of pure horror and he let go of Giles so fast the man almost fell. “We didn't know, Lady!  I would never have touched him if I'd known!” He explained frantically.

“Wha...Willow…” Giles started to question Willow about what was going on, but Buffy was probably already inside.  Nevermind!  I need to get inside now.  The questions must wait.

Willow smiled at him, “He's fine, David.  You didn't do anything wrong.” 

She continued briskly, addressing everybody as Giles ran to the Bronze's back door trying to force it open, but kept her voice low so the Watcher wouldn't hear.  “Now remember.  No slip-ups!  The Slayer is already inside, and so is the other clan we're here to fight.  Ignore the Slayer and anyone she's fighting, concentrate on everyone else.  There are humans in there, get them out.  Dust any strangers you see.  Keep your faces human!  I don't want to have to hurt the Slayer because she dusts one of you.  If she comes after you anyway, yell for me by name.  Got that?” 

They did, grinning at her, as ready as she was for the fight ahead.

Eric saw the pitiful human still trying to force open the door.  It wasn't moving, even under the Watcher's hardest attempts.  “David, Aaron.  Get the door for the Lady.”

The two kicked in the door, almost making it crash off the hinges.  Xander handed Giles the cross as he stood, open-mouthed.  He flashed the man a slight grin, “Time for the fun to start.”

~*~

They entered the darkened warehouse, the only illumination spotlighting the stage with a blue glow that drew their eyes to the scene unfolding before a terrified, captive audience. 

Buffy was down.  She was sprawled on top of a pile of brown cardboard boxes against a wall at the back of the stage, with Luke slowly advancing on her.  Exaggerated panic was written across her face as she crawled away from him.

Willow grinned.  Buffy was okay, and Luke was a moron.  He didn't suspect a thing until the Slayer flipped up and kicked him in the face, breaking his nose.  Oh...that had to hurt!

~*~

Giles saw his Slayer get up, pride filling him at seeing her determination.  He looked at the crowd of panicking people and, taking heart from her example, he set about doing what he knew she would want him to do.  He put aside all of the thoughts that tried to muddle his head.  He'd think about Willow and all those people later.  He wasn't going to just "watch", he was going to help, starting with getting the people out of this godforsaken club.  It would give her one less thing to worry about and let her concentrate more on defeating the Vessel.

“Come on!  Hurry!  The door's open,” he whispered urgently, repeatedly, to the group nearest the open door.  The group of young people had their attention fixed on the fight, but Giles' words had them quickly moving. 

The librarian went to the next group, alerting the people as fast as he could, hoping the vampires wouldn't notice until he had them all out and it was too late.

~*~

Willow, green eyes flashing a contagious fire, quickly took in the situation: Giles evacuating the people, two vampires guarding the front exit, a few fledglings mustering up enough courage to feed while Luke was distracted.  She held up a hand, smoothly gesturing her orders as she had so many times before.  Sydney was to take care of the fledglings.  She sent David and Eric to get the front door open, Angel to protect the Watcher, and Aaron to protect Xander.

She was burdened by responsibility for the other humans.  She couldn't risk them, not even if it would make killing the opposing vampires easier.  Willow never hesitated.  She embraced the decision.  It was harder than simply killing them but it kept those she cared about safe.

Willow gathered her will and calmly thrust her consciousness into a spell that spread like a web across the dark, settling upon each enemy vampire.  Power snared her awareness, keeping her attention fixed upon her enemies.  Denying them the kill was against their natures, and only force would stop them.  She rammed her desires into the vampires' minds, her thoughts like hot needles penetrating through every weakness she found.  They would not kill.

She would have kept them immobile if she could have, but there were over twenty.  That was just too many, she was straining her power enough as it was, and constantly holding the vampires in check was draining her a little at a time.

Only one escaped, the one that mattered most.  She couldn't penetrate the shields of protection that surrounded him.  Luke, the Vessel.  Willow sent a desperate prayer the Slayer's way.  Hurry up, Buffy!  I can't keep this up forever!

It was really too bad Buffy couldn't hear.

~*~

This has got to be the dumbest idea you've ever acted on Xander Harris.  Saving Harmony the Cordette's life?  What a joke.   Xander walked up behind a vampire about to take a bite out of Harmony, one of Cordelia's friends.  He raised his trusty stake - it hadn't failed him once tonight - and tiptoed closer to the vamp.

The vampire was leaning in for a bite when he felt a cold trickle of fear run down his back.  The vampire looked over his shoulder to see a young brown-eyed boy pointing a stick at him.  He regretfully backed away from his dinner.  But when he moved, the boy rushed him, sinking the stake into his flesh even as he fell to the floor in his haste to get away.

Xander heard the hiss of pain as the stake sunk into the vampire's shoulder, felt the quiver as it struck.  It made him sick to hurt anything, and he had hurt the vampire, but he hadn't killed it, and that's what he had to do.  Xander cursed as the vampire tried to crawl away.  “Will you please hold still?!”

The vampire was paralyzed with terror as the boy came closer, froze as the stake darted once again towards his heart.  The last thing he heard was his dinner screeching at the boy.  “You killed my date!”

Dust.

~*~

David and Eric must have gotten the front door open because the Bronze was clearing out fast, which was good for the people who left, but it did make the ones who stayed behind stand out a lot more. 

Giles, still hurrying people out the door, was especially conspicuous and two vampires quickly tried to drag him off.  If they brought the Master some dinner, maybe he wouldn't be so mad about Luke failing him, because it looked like the little blond was wiping the floor with him.

Unfortunately, for them, Angel didn't like that idea.  Willow watched him start to beat one into unconsciousness, but her attention was diverted by a loud squeak that made her look up; someone was coming down the stairs above her.  Green met amber as the girl caught her eyes. She wore a red uniform, obviously doing her best to look like a schoolgirl, but a woman's face marred the illusion and her eyes gave the demon away.  Violence seemed to echo in the air around her like an aura, and her eyes shone with an inhuman lust for blood and killing.

Willow felt her stomach tighten in recognition of evil.  The demon's lovely face was nothing but a mask that fell away as the vampire stopped in front of her.  A cruel smile touched her lips, baring fangs as she spoke.

“Well now, so you're the little girl who holds my childe's leash.”  The vampiress assessed her with a look, and laughed.  “I must say, you're welcome to him.  He's become a great disappointment to me.”

Willow's concentration splintered and it took her a moment to bring the spell back under control enough to answer, but she did answer.  The first rule of dealing with vampires is to show no weaknesses. 

“Who are you?” Willow put all of the contempt she could into that question.

The demon looked genuinely surprised for a moment, but the emotion was quickly covered with sarcasm.  “You mean he's never mentioned me?  I'm crushed!  I'm his Sire, little girl.”

Willow had no idea what she was talking about, or even who she was talking about.  It made no difference.  As long as the demon was talking, she wasn't attacking.  But some of Willow's confusion must have shown.

“Oh, you meant my name?  Darla.  Any more than that would be telling.”  She waited, poised like a cat toying with helpless prey.  But Willow refused to be baited, tilting her head and smiling sweetly.  Darla matched her smile with a feral grin, tired of the game, and started to slowly advance on the girl.  “You know, there was a time that my dear Angel would’ve brought you home to mother.  But I guess we’ll just have to get acquainted ourselves, just us girls, won’t that be fun?”

In a flurry of motion, Aaron came out of nowhere, dashing towards them and colliding forcefully with Darla.  They hit the ground rolling.  Gaining the advantage because of his size, Aaron sprang to his feet, drew back a leg, and buried a boot in the woman's midsection.  Then he grabbed her by her hair and jerked the blond to her feet.

But with Willow's concentration broken, the effects of controlling the enemy vampires descended upon her.  She was exhausted.  With invisible starbursts flashing before her eyes, Willow could barely see - let alone stand.  When her legs started to fold beneath her, she didn't even try to keep her feet.  Instead she leaned back against one of the stair's support columns and closed her eyes as she slowly slid to the floor.

~*~

Angel finished off the vampires and helped Giles to his feet in time to see Willow start to fall. Fear washed over him in an icy cascade he'd known only once before.

“Willow!”

He lunged toward her in what felt like slow motion.  Her head turned in his direction, her pale face framed by a cloud of fiery-red hair.  He caught only a glimpse of her wide eyes before they drifted shut as she slowly fell to the floor.

She's dead.

Like a deep, clean cut that doesn't bleed until several moments after it is inflicted, Angel was blessedly numb to the pain of loss.  Darkness overwhelmed him.  Tendrils of a cold, black fog swirled through his mind, stealing reason and emotion.  It left behind a curious sense of waiting.

Willow's dead?

Then, without knowing how he got there, Angel was on his knees drawing her into his arms.  He slowly rocked her back and forth, paying no attention to the events unfolding around him. 

A rhythmic thud echoed in the unnatural silence shock had imposed.  Angel struggled to discern the significance of the sounds, but his brain simply would not process the information. He could only focus on the fragile form lying utterly still in his arms.  Except, it wasn't still, not completely.

Fascinated, Angel's eyes were drawn down to the fine, almost translucent skin.  He could see the coppery veins stretching like a delicate spider's web all over her body.  The color was very much like a watered-down burgundy wine.  Light, almost indiscernible movements shuddered underneath that porcelain skin in time with the strange noise.  Angel knew it was important but why...

A wistful sigh feathered the air.

The shroud of darkness and the numbness that it brought with it suddenly shattered, leaving Angel openly exposed to a wild torrent of raw emotion. 

Fear, helpless rage, utter loneliness, an overwhelming sense of relief, they all buffeted Angel until he could hardly focus.  The flood of emotion picked him up in a strange tidal wave and threw him around until all he could do was cling to Willow in an effort to remain calm and sane.

She's alive.  Willow is alive.  She's alive

Relentlessly repeating his mantra, he cupped her delicate jaw in his hand, searching her face for pain, afraid she had been hurt.  He cradled her in his arms and lowered his head, nuzzling her neck in desperate need for reassurance.  He found it in the warmth of her silken skin, the miraculous throb of her pulse.  He placed a light kiss against it, finally understanding the significance of the feel of the gentle fluttering beneath his lips.  The darkness retreated, the fear fleeing as well, releasing its grip on his soul once more.  It left him curiously lost in a pool of relief and another emotion he wouldn't, couldn't, even put a name to.  It warmed him in a way he hadn't ever been in his life.  For that one ineffable moment, Angel was happy. 

It flooded Angel's heart and mind.  In the face of such a confusing and foreign emotion, he held her in his arms, crushing her to him gently as if the tightness of his embrace would keep her from turning into a ghost and fading away, taking this wonderful new emotion with her.

Willow's eyes shot open in shock at the feel of Angel's lips against her skin, the specks of phantom light continuing to cascade across her darkened vision.  I think I need to sit down. Can I faint now?   She blinked sightlessly up at the ceiling several times, then said his name in a breathy, questioning voice.

“Angel?”

Angel only gave her a soothing rumble of a purr in reply.  Don't want to stop!  I can't...

Willow, a little more insistently, “Angel?  What are you doing?” This is nice, but...Angel?

He didn't want her to continue, to tell him 'stop'. Angel was helpless in the face of his tumultuous emotions.  It was strange, new, and a little scary, but it overwhelmed him and he didn't want to let it, or her, go. 

He didn't want to stop, and so he moved to her mouth, occupying it in ways other than talking. It happened so abruptly that there wasn't time for questioning, much less surprise.  The act of sharing, of touching so intimately, released a rush of euphoria in him.  Angel hadn't anticipated the softness, the warmth, or the sheer rightness that kissing her gave him.  Shivers racked his body, tiny cascades of pleasure coursing up and down his form, and he deepened the kiss in desperation.

Willow wrapped an arm around his neck and closed her fist in his hair, hanging on for dear life. She drew him closer as a slow fire began to build, burning deep inside them both.

He accepted her invitation with a hoarse growl that was half plea, half warning as the slight pain threatened to break his control.  His mouth slanted over hers, capturing first one lip and then the other, tasting and tugging in such a way that it had the fire coiling in her stomach.  And then his tongue touched her slightly parted lips.

“Open for me,” he begged.  “Dear God, open your mouth and let me inside.”

The words were spoken in a rasping voice so unlike Angel's usual calm, that Willow immediately complied.  He'd sounded as if he were in pain.  With a low sound, he sent his tongue into her warmth, the two blending together perfectly, twirling and twining and stroking in an amazing and intoxicating fashion.  An electricity more primitive than lightning arcing between them.

Xander came up behind Angel.  He was still kneeling over Willow and Xander was getting worried.  “Angel?  Is Willow all right,” he asked softly.  When there was no response, he circled around.  “Ugh!  What are you doing with my sister!”  

Xander saw Angel kissing Willow.  Sucking face.  Ugh.  So ugh.

Angel broke the kiss, turning to look up.  Willow's intake of breath froze in a feeble squeak as she saw Xander.  She turned back to look at Angel.  Willow tried in vain to shake the cloud of pleasure and confusion that had descended upon her. Angel kissed me?   The absolute delight she had felt had been so unexpected that it left her breathless and wondering.

She stared at him for longer than he could bare, her face clouded with confusion.  Then her hands touched her mouth, fingers trembling.

“Oh,” she said on a rushing breath, gusting it into her palms.  A second breathy “Oh,” and then she scrambled to her feet, backing away from him straight into Aaron.  She didn't notice.

Willow stared wide-eyed at Angel as a sentence repeated itself in the depths of her mind. Angel kissed me.

~*~

Angel frowned as she backed away.  Willow had never backed away from him.  Never.  For a moment, he thought to apologize, to explain that he didn't mean to...but the truth was he had meant to, and even as he started to apologize, he stopped.  He wasn't sorry, not for kissing her.  He was sorry for scaring her, or upsetting her, but now wasn't the time to explain.

He looked away from her face into the eyes of the man standing behind Willow.  Their gazes met, amber striking amber.

One pair burned.

~*~

Buffy spat, sickened by the taste of blood on her lips.  Her arm throbbed and every inch of her body felt bruised.  She had to win this fight soon.  She was getting tired, and that was dangerous.  Her resolve hardened.  There was a lamp behind the blacked-out window.  If she couldn't beat the vampire one way, there were always others.  She grabbed the closest thing in reach: a metal microphone stand, and got ready to throw.

“You forget, metal can't hurt me,” the large vampire told her scornfully.

Idiot.  “There's something you forgot, too.  Sunrise!” Buffy threw the stand, shattering the window, and watched as the smug look was wiped from his face as the Vessel cowered in the golden lamplight.  Double idiot.  She pulled her stake from the sheath strapped to her back, and walked up behind him as he continued to shield his face.  Just as the vampire realized the trick, she plunged the stake into his heart.

“It's in about nine hours, moron!” He was the Vessel?  Where do they get these guys?

She turned, narrowing her eyes into slits against the glare of the spotlight, and looked around the Bronze.  The glint of light striking metal caught her attention.  The last two vampires were dusted even as she moved to help the dark-haired woman fighting them.

~*~

Sydney dusted off her hands and sheathed her twin wooden blades, pleased with herself.  Eight minions dusted.  She had a higher count tonight than when they'd taken Aaron's clan.

A rush of warm, electric power beat against her back.  She swung around to see a petite blond walking towards her.  The Slayer.  She backed away slowly, hands in front of her in a warding gesture. I didn't do her anything!  Why is she coming over here? "La...Willow!"

Where's the Mistress? She said she'd come... "La..Mis...Willow, please!"  Go away, go away, go away!

The girl stopped, looking at her curiously.  The waves of energy receded a little as she said, “I'm not gonna hurt you or anything, you know…” She trailed off as the Mistress arrived, out of breath and flushed.

“Sydney?  What?  What's the matter?  You okay?”

Sydney nodded but didn't answer.  Willow looked at the Slayer.  “Buffy?”

“She dusted two vampires.  I was just…”

“I killed eight,” Sydney broke in, stung.

“Oh, good job,” The Lady praised her, but then she sent her over to Eric.  Man!  I never get to see anything fun anymore!  I wonder what the Lady's going to do with the Slayer?

~*~

“She killed eight?” Buffy was incredulous. “Eight!”

Willow giggled, “Buffy, we've lived here our whole lives.  What did you think we did until you got here?”

“But...eight!”

“Come on, let's get out of here.”

~*~

Giles walked towards the man.  Now that he wasn't in such a hurry because his Slayer was in danger, he had time to think over several things that these people had said.  They just didn't make sense. 

The man who had held him outside had called Willow 'Lady', and had been extremely afraid when he had thought he'd done something she wouldn't like.  Willow seemed like an ordinary young woman, if a little quiet.  Why had the man been afraid?  Then the other man, the one who'd threatened to knock him unconscious, had mentioned 'rules'.  Whose rules? 

The group had obviously been the back-up Willow had mentioned to Xander in the car.  They had probably been who she'd called at the library.  It was also very obvious that they all knew about vampires.  Which reminded him...

“Excuse me.”  The man turned around and Giles quickly studied him.  “I wanted to thank you for your help earlier. You were quite timely.  A few more minutes and I would have been dragged off.  Also, thank you for...for,” he gestured to the door, “outside earlier.  Knocks on the head aren't good for me, I fear.  I'm Rupert Giles,” he said, holding out his hand.

The man shook it politely.   “I'm Angel.  It was no problem.  I was glad to help.”

“Please.  Call me Giles,” he said absently.  The man's name pricked at his memory, at something familiar, but nothing came immediately to mind.  “Angel.  That's an unusual name you have,” he said, but Angel wasn't listening.

Giles followed his gaze and saw the two girls walking towards them and wondered which one the heat in Angel's eyes was reserved for.

~*~

Buffy walked straight up to Giles.  “I thought I said not to get involved.  What happened to being safe?”

“W...well, uh, I…” Giles tried to come up with an answer but didn't have any luck.  How am I supposed to say that I didn't want her to get hurt?

Buffy smiled.  “Thanks for the assist.  We'd better go before the police get here.” She nodded to the two bodies up on the stage, the Bronze's bouncer and a girl.  “I, for one, don't want to be here for all the questions.”

“It's over, I take it?” Giles asked.

“For now at least,” Buffy replied.

Chapter Text

Later that night...

Willow paced around the Hall, occasionally running the tips of her fingers against the objects she passed: the cloth upon a small tabletop, a row of books along the shelf, anything and everything as she tried to sort the confusion in her mind.  The Vessel was dead.  They'd prevented the Master from escaping, but he wasn't going to stop trying - that was for sure.

She picked up a paperweight, turning the cool smoothness over and over in her hands.  Gazing into it's clear depths she wished that the crystal orb could show her the answer to her question.  The source of the confusion that now plagued her.  Why did Angel kiss me?   It didn't, of course, and she put it back down, feeling slightly disappointed.

“Why did you kiss him?”

The question so closely mimicked her thoughts that for a moment Willow was confused.  It was Aaron's voice, and why would Aaron's voice be in her head?  But no, the question came from behind her.  She turned to see him staring, that strangely hot look in his eyes that she had first seen that night at the Bronze.

“I didn't kiss him. He kissed me.”

Something flickered across his face and a low growl erupted briefly from his throat.  But it was abruptly cut off, silenced, as if it had been voiced against his will.

~*~

She was lying.  She stood there, more beautiful than the moon against it's starlit background, and lied.  He had waited patiently for months, doing whatever she asked of him simply because she asked it, waiting for her to show him even just a little sign of her favor.  He could have waited forever, but she had to go and give herself to Angelus.

He knew the girl was young, but he couldn't wait any longer, didn't want to wait any longer. Aaron's muscles tensed.  His beautiful Lady was nothing more than a girl, but she was as dangerous as anything he'd ever come across.  A fatalistic attitude fell upon him.  Why wait, if by waiting Angelus won her?

~*~

“You didn't stop him.”

The truth hit Willow as hard as if she'd smacked into a wall, because no matter what she told herself, Aaron was right.  Angel may have initiated the kiss but she hadn't pulled away.  She could have stopped him and she hadn't even tried.

“I think that if I don't do this now, I will never do it at all.”

Willow was startled.  She hadn't seen him move and now he was standing in front of her, his voice quietly determined, close enough to touch.  Do what?   The words seemed to stick in her throat as he leaned closer.  She pushed them out but what she said was without thought, the realization of what he meant to do and her rising fear making her say something entirely different.

“I can stop you right now,” she warned him in a hoarse whisper. “All I have to do is shout and I can have everyone after you, or I could simply kill you.  Don't you know that?”

“I know that.”  He shut his eyes for a moment and then reached out to touch her.  His fingertips brushed back a lock of her hair.  “But I don't think that you will.  I don't think you would do that to me.”  Suddenly his fingers were tangling themselves in her hair, and he was kissing her.  His lips brushed across hers, trying to get her to open her mouth, the pressure growing increasingly hard.

Willow tried to push him away, using all of her strength, but he didn't seem to notice.  This is wrong! He shouldn't be kissing me.   That feeling of wrongness turned to revulsion as Aaron continued.  His kiss felt nothing like Angel's, and Willow couldn't bear it anymore.  She let the feeling ride through her and projected it into Aaron.  He fell back a step as it washed through him.

“You don't have permission!”  Her hand shot out, backhanding him across his face.

Aaron watched as she backed away, his entire body shaking, trembling with the desire to close the distance between them once again.  He was angry.  Willow had hurt him.  Blood was trickling from his torn mouth, his lip was cut and the blood was staining his clothes.  The blood was nothing, but how dare she...!

Willow kept moving, keeping her eyes on him until she reached the door, opened it, and called for Eric.  He made no move to stop her.  Maybe he was afraid to try.  His face was blank, no emotion showing, but he had to be furious. He probably wouldn't be able to kill her, but Willow didn't feel like taking any more chances.  Her pet had misbehaved for the last time.

Even as she watched, amber flickered like lightning in the depths of his eyes as he glared balefully, full of frustration and futility, and a wild kindling anger.  Willow's words shredded the tense silence like slivers of glass, her composure as fragile as fine crystal.

“Get him out of here.”

~*~

Aaron hadn't protested.  He'd left.  But Willow remembered the last glimpse she'd had of him. The heat that had always been in his eyes had been gone.  They had been cold.  Willow shivered.

“Mistress?”

Willow turned to the sound of Eric's worried voice.  “What?”

“He's gone.”

She should have been relieved, but instead there was nothing except exhaustion and uneasiness.  “Eric, I'm going home.  Take care of things around here, okay?  Everyone did very well tonight.”

~*~

With a trembling hand, Willow grasped the doorknob, gave it a decisive turn, and drew the door to Angel's room open.  She needed to ask him why, and he was the only one who knew the answer.  Soft light from an oil lamp cast her silhouette, making it dance over the floor and walls, the disrupted light shifting and reflecting off the highly polished mahogany of the armoire, dresser, and the bed.  At first glance, the room had seemed dark, but as her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness she saw the beauty that surrounded her.

It was her first time seeing his bedroom.  Even when he’d been gone, she’d never dared to enter.  The room was stark in its simplicity, the furniture straight and sturdy, the draperies and bed hangings unpretentious.  In the poor light the walls looked cream-colored, as did the draperies, reminding her of the silk shirts Angel sometimes wore.  Indeed, the whole room seemed a mirror reflection of him, solid and comfortable, painted in shades of burnished darkness and tawny gold.

Angel stood before the window, one arm braced against the wall, head bent, a booted foot resting on the sill.  Her gaze settled on his shoulders and the breadth of his back, where his dark T-shirt, stretched taut by his raised arm, molded against him like a second skin.  Studying him, she recalled his gentleness, the many times he had touched her with a caress so light it made her breath catch.  Why did he have to kiss me? We're friends! Why does he have to change everything?

Willow moved toward him, her heart thumping hard in her throat.  With each step she took, a little voice whispered inside her head, "There's no going back."  She'd told Angel she loved him before, and she did.  Her love for him had been a gentle glow that warmed the both of them. They shared it and gloried in their friendship that guaranteed an end of the loneliness they had both faced in their lives.  Actions spoke louder than words.  Her parents, whenever she saw them, always told her they loved her - right before they left.  They never stayed.  Was that love?  Angel had almost always been there, in her life, a constant source of comfort.  Was there a difference in the type of love he offered?  Was he offering love?  She had always been content with the affection he gave her and that she'd given freely in return.  She had seen no need to change.

Until he'd kissed her.

He had seemed almost desperate to touch, to hold, to stroke.  What had brought on the change, so sudden and so dramatic? What was the reason?

Why?

It seemed to be the question of the day.  Willow wasn't one to be denied answers, so she'd come to the one man who could offer her an explanation.  She didn't find it ironic that she sought reassurance from the very person who had thrown her into such turmoil.  It was natural that she turned to him.

Angel glanced up when she reached him, and as she had so many times before, Willow looked into his eyes.  They were a rich dark brown, so deep and clear she could get lost in them.  She came to a halt several steps shy of him, stunned by what she saw.

His eyes...tonight there was something more than warmth reflected in those dark depths, an awful bone-deep sadness.  It drew her closer.  Her overwhelming need for answers faded, overshadowed by the need to comfort her friend, to discover the source of his sadness.  She took his hand, threading her fingers through his, her heart aching.

“What is it?” she asked him softly.

His gaze skittered from hers, staring out the window into the night.  His mouth tightened and he swallowed, as if he were on the verge of speaking.  But in the end, he remained silent.

Willow squeezed his hand gently, and his eyes closed, savoring the touch.

“I need...About tonight...I need to explain.  I don't want you to ever think that I'd ever make you do something you didn't want to do.  I don't want you to be afraid of me.”

Willow caught his face, turning him to look at her.  At her touch, he opened his eyes, apparently startled.  His gaze, darkened with emotions she couldn't quite define, met hers.

“I wasn't afraid, Angel.  I was shocked, and surprised, but I could never be afraid of you.  I trust you.”

That got his attention and as if he found her answer mildly amusing his mouth quirked slightly at one corner as he continued to regard her...and saw that she really meant what she said.  He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, tightening his hand around hers.  He grew suddenly sober.  “I believe you do.  And you shouldn't!  I'm a murderer.”

Of all the things Willow had expected him to say, that wasn't it.  She stared at him in stunned disbelief, convinced she must have heard him wrong.  The stricken expression on his face told her otherwise.  “Oh, Angel…”

His grip on her hand grew more bruising.  “I meant to do it.  There weren't any accidents. Hundreds, thousands.  Can you imagine it, Willow?  Thousands of people dead because I killed them,” his voice lowered to a whisper.  “I took pleasure in killing them.  Night after night after night.  Girls your age. And children, Willow.  I killed children.  I hurt them.”

Willow didn't try to draw her hand from his.  Despite the pain of his grip, she was afraid to move for fear that she'd distract him, stop him from talking.  As though a dam had finally burst, the ugliness was pouring from him.  He scarcely paused between sentences to draw breath as he spoke.

“Not all of them screamed...when I killed them.  Some just stood there, frozen.  The children...they usually screamed.  For over a hundred and forty years I killed whoever crossed my path.  I drank them all up, or spilled their blood to the ground.  The funny part, the funny part is that with all of the people I killed, you wouldn't think I'd remember every one.  But I do. God help me, I do."

He let go of her, falling silent and stared at his palms, his gaze growing distant with memories. Willow's throat went tight at the haunted expression that crossed his face. “What changed?”

“My Sire brought me a present, a beautiful gypsy girl about your age.  I played with her a little, amusing Darla, and then I drained her dry.  Somehow her family found out how she died, and who did it.  They cursed me to know the pain of humanity, to know guilt for my actions, and to do that they bound the demon within me.  My soul is beyond its reach to influence, leaving me to bear the memories alone.  Then I met you...seventy years later.”

He looked at her and all she saw in those now amber depths was pain.  An awful pain that had been with him for far too long.  Unable to stand seeing him look that way, Willow caught his face between her hands.  Tears, shot through with gold by the lamplight, trailed over his cheeks.  He dropped to his knees in front of her, looking up into her face.  “I thought I'd lost you tonight.  Every time I think about that happening...it makes me…”

Willow couldn't bear to let him finish.  His words had brought back that strange rush of emotion she had experienced earlier, and once again it drove rational thought from her mind. No longer was her mind plagued with questions, worries, or doubts.  There was just an overwhelming need to be with him.  Without weighing the possible consequences, she covered his mouth with hers and kissed him with a ferocity that startled her nearly as much as it seemed to astonish him.  Whatever else he meant to say spilled with his breath into her mouth.  He tasted sweet.  His lips beneath her felt like cool, wet silk.  Remembering how he had kissed her earlier that night, she touched the tip of her tongue to his.  He groaned.  It erupted from him, raw and ragged, with such force that it vibrated clear through her.  She explored him, tasting, trying to get closer, to meld them together so that there would be no distinguishing which was Willow and which was Angel. 

Finally, desperate for air, she broke the kiss, tugging gently on Angel's hair.  Air rushed between them, cooling her heated flesh.  Willow nearly moaned at the loss of his touch even though she was the one to pull away.  Irritably, she cursed the need to breath.  She looked into his eyes and reality rushed back, smacking her in the face.

What had happened?

“Angel?”

But he was as bewildered as she.  Searching her face, Angel abruptly realized that she was experiencing the same things he was. 

“Angel, I don't know what's happening.  I'm just feeling these...things.  I mean, when you kissed me and when...when I kissed you, it's just like, um, wow and I don't know what's going on…”

Shocked, Angel listened to her babble.  She really did feel it.  That wild, uncontainable storm of emotion that paid no heed to reason.  It demanded and he helplessly obeyed.

And it seemed she did, too.

“...I mean, is it love or lust or insanity…”

He jerked in surprise at her words.  Love?  Was this love?  Love was something he had felt for his mother as a boy, for Willow and Xander since they had been children.  It was a soft, unassuming, gentle warmth that demanded nothing.  It hardly bore any resemblance to this... undomesticated emotion.  But it wasn’t the quick raging and quickly extinguished fires of lust, either, though it seemed to have similarities with both.

He stood up, looking down into her eyes. "Willow, I don't know what this is. It's new and I'm confused but, but I think I'm falling in love with you." He paused and smiled wistfully. "But I'll always be your friend. I promised, remember?"

She smiled weakly and Angel sensed the turmoil within her.  He could see that she felt the same but was just too scared to give her thoughts a voice.  Angel pulled her close, cradling her against his smooth, solid chest.  Gently, he ran his fingers through her hair and rocked her gently back and forth.  It was okay.  He could wait.

“I think I'm falling in love with you, too,” she whispered, almost inaudibly, into his chest.

He stilled, hardly able to believe his ears.  Wanting, needing to see her eyes, Angel tilted her face up to his...and saw bashful truth in her gaze.  Angel felt as if he had unveiled something incredibly precious, immeasurably lovely, and so hoped for.  He didn't analyze the feeling.  He was just...happy.  It bubbled up inside, the happiness chasing away the misery of moments before, and he laughed.

Willow couldn't help but smile in return at the warm sound.  She hadn't heard it in so long!  A surprised shriek was startled from her lips as Angel scooped her up into his arms, twirling them around.  Willow's laughter filled the room, it's sound unfeigned and unforced, eloquent in it's delight.  Angel hadn't done that in ages!

They ended up sprawled out on top of Angel's bed, Willow breathless.  He listened to the sound of her breathing as it slowly deepened, content to just lie next to her.

“Angel?” Willow murmured, almost asleep but not quite there.  Something was tickling at the edges of her tired mind, something she should know.

“Go to sleep, little one.  We'll talk about it tomorrow.”

Darla.  The name floated up from the depths of her subconscious mind... Angel knows her.   ...just as sleep finally reached up and drowned her.

Chapter Text

When Willow woke, she found herself wrapped tightly in an Angel blanket.  Her head was pillowed on one of his arms and the other was tucked around her middle, keeping her back pressed against him while one of his legs, thrown over hers, kept her in place.  His slow breaths gusted over the back of her neck, gently tickling.  She felt incredibly safe and she didn't want to move, but gradually she became more aware of tiny discomforts that required her to.

The most pressing was a need to use the bathroom and then an itch that felt like something was crawling on her back.  I need a bath and to get out of these clothes!  

If someone had asked, sleeping in leather would definitely not be on her most recommended to-do list.  Willow tried to gradually ease out of the bed without waking Angel.  Moving slowly, she freed herself and stood, looking down at the first man she'd ever shared a bed with, a kiss with.  Angel was beautiful, even as he frowned his sleepy disapproval at the loss of her warmth.  He looked so close to pouting that Willow nearly laughed aloud.

Stifling the giggles, she ran for the bathroom.

~*~

The Library; after school…

“Be that as it may, something is not quite right about that girl,” Giles said.  “She's hiding something!”

“Maybe so!  Maybe she is, but so what?  Giles, I want a friend.  She already knows I'm the Slayer.  Seriously, what else is there for her to find out?  She already knows my one big, deep-dark secret.  Willow hasn't tried to kill me yet and I say that's definitely a plus for a friendship,” Buffy exclaimed heatedly.

Giles looked startled.  “Kill you?  I didn't, uh, I don't..”  He took off his glasses, giving them a few brief swipes with a white handkerchief before looking at Buffy once again, his eyebrows raised.  “Kill you, you say?”

Realization lit Buffy's eyes and they widened as she remembered that he didn't know about Willow.  “Oh.”

“Oh?” Giles repeated questioningly, suddenly concerned.   “Did she try to..to, um, kill you?”

“No,” she replied, the word long and drawn out.

“Then, for God's sake, what is it?” he asked with no small amount of exasperation.

“Willow's a witch,” Buffy mumbled.

“What?  I don't believe I heard you correctly.”

“Willow's a witch!”

“A witch.  What madness!” Giles put his glasses back on and gave his Slayer a hard look.  “Do you have any evidence on which you base this conclusion?”

“Well, she told me, and the night I met her - when she went off with a vampire that night at the Bronze - I asked her if she wanted me to walk her home, and she said that it wasn't necessary.  Then she made something in her hands glow blue."

“I see, and that's it?”

“No,” Buffy said thoughtfully, “not now that I'm thinking about it.  That night, Luke, the vampire - the one that was the Vessel - called her a witch.  They seemed to know each other, and not in a good way either.  He seemed kind of afraid of her.  He was just about to bite me and Willow yelled, and he just said some really weird stuff.  He didn't really do anything after that.  He just left.”

Giles worried about letting the girl get involved with his Slayer.  Knowing the girl was a witch, even one who posed no threat to his charge, he still felt that there was something else that she was hiding.  But if she was needed to help Buffy in her fight, she wouldn't be completely helpless.  And he didn't want to deny his Slayer due to nothing more than an unfounded intuition. 

Of course, if he did try to deny Buffy the girl's friendship...well, there really was no way to enforce what he ordered.  Appealing to her common sense would be futile.  Better to allow it with good grace.

~*~

“No!” Angel screamed, protesting the images of his dream as memory and fear mingled... Willow dead upon the floor of the Bronze, her throat torn out.  

His own screams woke him to the empty house and the tatters of the nightmare slowly fled.  He drew a steadying breath into a throat raw from screaming and raised shaking hands to his face, tracing the unmasked ridges and the wetness of tears on his cheeks.

His quivering gradually subsided and he relaxed tense muscles with an effort that had him near hysterical laughter.  Darla would have had him whipped had she seen him reduced to tears by nothing more than a dream.  The thought brought Angel to painful calmness.

He got out of bed and looked at the clock.  The sun was almost down.  Neither Willow nor Xander were home.  The image knifed through his mind with terrible clarity, nearly bringing him to his knees.  What if it wasn't just a dream?  What if it was a warning of what was going to happen?  

He wouldn't let it happen!

Angel's hands clenched into fists and he growled, the noise going unnoticed as a feral awareness began rising from the depths, no longer bound, cautiously testing its limits, and beginning to slowly seep through his consciousness once again - where it belonged.

~*~

Angel stalked up to the lair that was once his, brushing past David, who, seeing Angel's expression, didn't even try to stop him from going inside.

The first person he recognized was Sydney.  Her face was shadowed as she leaned against the wall near the corner, but light glinted off the blade of her knife as she flipped it into the air, catching the hilt as it fell.  He didn't think any of the others had such a fondness for blades.

She wore a loose, frilly white shirt tucked into tight black pants, and her hair was much more practical - bound back in a single braid that hung well past her shoulders, rather than loose like the night before.

“What are you doing?”  The dagger disappeared so quickly that Angel wasn't quite sure of where she'd put it as she gave him her full attention.

She smiled easily at him. “Waiting.” 

Curiosity briefly overrode his urgency to get to Willow as he wondered about her age.  There wasn't the slightest trace of demon about her, and he had yet to see amber color her eyes.  She was certainly no fledgling.

“Where's Willow?”

“Out.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“Nope.”

Angel nearly growled.  If his own shortness of speech was half as frustrating he was going to have to learn to talk more.  He gritted his teeth and tried again, “Do you know where Eric is?”

“Yep.”

He was only seconds away from growling with frustration at her laconic replies when Sydney laughed.  Her eyes sparkling with delight, she took pity on him.  “He's in the Hall with a stranger.”

“Show me.”

~*~

“Where is the Master that I may hear his wishes from his own lips?  So that I may beg to be redeemed?”

“There is no Master.  He has been replaced by the Mistress,” Eric stated patiently for the third time.  He was convinced that the other vampire's brain had turned to mush in his old age.  It really wasn't all that hard a concept to grasp, but he was patient.  The Mistress would want him to be.

“I will have no more of your lies!” The armor-clad vampire, who seemed to be straight out of the middle ages, walked toward the dais on which Eric stood.  He held up his arm, the one that ended in a claw, and shook it at him.  “Speak the truth or I shall tear the tongue from your mouth, rip open your gut, and read the answer in your entrails!”

Eric crossed his arms and said through clenched teeth, “There is no Master!” His patience was gone, not even the Mistress put up with threats.

The other advanced, growling savagely.

~*~

A roar echoed down the corridor, accompanied by a crash.  Angel pushed Sydney behind him and they raced down the hallway, heading straight towards the door that the noises continued to come from.  A knife in each hand, Sydney gestured for the crowd around the Hall's entrance to move out of the way.  “Somebody go get David,” she ordered.  Idiots! Good-for-nothing cannon fodder! Just standing around... Muttering curses under her breath she followed Angel in, holding her knives in a firm grip.

She nearly dropped them both a moment later as Eric came sailing towards her head.  Ducking, she rolled out of the way, then winced as he crashed into the bookcase behind her.  She wasn't sure which was going to cause her more trouble:  Eric's injured pride or Willow's broken bookcase.  He got up growling, fangs bared as he rushed at the stranger.  The pride, she concluded.  The Mistress, at least, could be reasoned with. 

She snorted softly with amusement as Eric flew into the bookcase again, silently thankful that he stayed there that time.  She sighed.  Now what?

The sweet tang of blood brought her back to the fight.  The stranger was licking his claw clean and it hadn't been Eric's blood spilled either.  Oh fuck me!  I just had to think it, didn't I? Couldn't have left well enough alone.  The Mistress is gonna have a hissy fit over this bit of mess.  Fuck!  Her Angel's hurt.

A minute later Sydney almost dropped her paired daggers a second time that night - this time in shock as she saw the great Angelus lose his temper.  The stranger must have recognized him because when he addressed Angelus as Darla's useless childe, that was when Angelus really lost it.  He didn't even wait to hear the rest of what the other was going to say.

The vampire - after Angelus was finished ramming him into Willow's nice new wallpaper, a table, and a few chairs for good measure - landed almost at her feet.  She saw Angelus panting with leashed fury, his fists methodically clenching and loosening.  She looked around the shambles of what was the Lady's throne room and decided not to waste any more time.

Sydney sheathed her knives and grabbed the nearest heavy object, a nicely solid candleholder, smashing it down over the stranger's head...just as David and several of the guards arrived.  She groaned.  Great, just great.

~*~

Angel ordered a couple minions to take the unconscious body to one of the back storage rooms.  A windowless one.  It was really too bad Eric had protested, a stake would've taken care of the stranger nicely.  Now, they were just waiting for Willow.  A pity really, that the wall hadn't been just a little harder.

Angel remembered Zachary very vividly.  He had been one of the Master's favored warriors - until he'd put his hands somewhere they didn't belong.  Darla had objected to him forcing his attentions on her new childe and she'd brought the problem to her Sire.  The Master had had Zachary banished - after cutting off his hand in penance.  Angel remembered being very happy afterwards that he was Darla's favorite.  He smiled grimly at the memory.  Who knows...if Zachary stays around I may have another chance to introduce him to a stake .

His smile relaxed into a grin as he watched Sydney hover over Eric, not offering any help but there in case he needed it.  She'd do.  Angel walked over to Eric and clapped him on the back. He saw Sydney turn her startled eyes his way.  He could almost hear her asking, "What now?"

~*~

Zachary woke up in a small, windowless, dimly lit room that smelled of dust.  He was laying on the floor and his armor was pressing into the most uncomfortable places.  Standing up took some effort.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he looked around.  Blood will tell.  It looks as if the Master's blood still runs pure .  He walked towards the door and listened for a minute but heard nothing from the other side of the door.  Zachary reached towards the knob and smiled as he turned it gently.  It's almost too bad Angelus has no one but idiots working for him.

He opened the door, just a crack, his predatory gaze searching the outside hall.  There was only one guard posted by his door.  He didn't even seem to be paying attention.  Zachary checked the sharpness of his claws and grinned.  Oh look, I get to play...  

~*~

It was approaching nine o’clock when Angel arrived at the Bronze.  He was almost afraid to enter, afraid of what he'd see, but with Sydney behind him…

He steeled himself before entering the club.  It was imperative that he warn Willow about Zachary, the sooner the better.  The new bouncer waved them through.  Angel sighed with relief as he saw that everything looked normal.

Too soon.

“Well!  Look who's here!”  The voice behind him dripped with sarcasm.  Angel jumped, covering his surprise as he turned to see the Slayer behind him.  He hadn't known she was there.  The kitten's showing her claws...

However, his reaction was nothing compared to that of the dark-haired woman who'd been following him.  She was now all but hiding behind Angel's back, peeking around his broad shoulders at the blond.  Angel's lips twitched with suppressing a smile at the perplexed expression on Buffy's face.  “Hi.”

She visibly shook herself as she turned her attention back to Angel.  “I'd say it's nice to see you, but we’d both know that's a big fib.”

“I won't be long.”

“No, you'll just give me some cryptic warning about some exciting new catastrophe, and then disappear into the night.  Right?”

“Well…”

“Look, if you're going to be following me around everywhere, could I at least have a name?”

“Angel.”

“Angel,” Buffy repeated, tasting the sound.  “Pretty name.”

There was an awkward silence.  Buffy found that she couldn't look at him.  If only he weren't so gorgeous!  She looked down, avoiding his eyes and was surprised to see blood trailing down over his hand.  Her eyes narrowed.  It looked like it was coming from beneath his jacket.  She looked back up to his face.  He didn't even seem to notice the blood.

“What happened?  Are you okay?”  Buffy's questions were laced with agitation. 

Angel noticed her quick glance at his hand and looked down. There was blood. He shrugged off his jacket to examine the wound.  Funny, he hadn't noticed any pain.  “I'm fine.”

There were a series of cuts on his arm and Buffy grabbed his hand, turning his arm to look closer.  “It doesn't look too bad, but you really ought to get that stitched.”  She continued to hold his hand and looked back up into Angel's brown eyes.  “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, I just didn't pay attention.”

“To somebody with a big fork?”

“A small oversight on my part.”

“How could you miss it?”

Angel smirked at her and Sydney growled from behind him.  He turned, lips twisting into a sardonic smile, to see her staring at Buffy's hand gripping his.  He hushed her, worried that the blond would hear, then turned back.

Sydney scowled at the Slayer, then smiled her sweetest and threaded her arm around Angel's, forcing him to pull his hand away.  She looked up at him, satisfied.  Good.  Maybe that'll remind him who he belongs to.  Flirting with the Slayer, what is the Mistress gonna do with you?

Angel untangled his arm from Sydney's, giving her a puzzled look, then answered Buffy's question.  Sort of.  “Don't worry about me. You're the one he's probably gonna be after next.” Or Willow...

“The Fork Guy?”

“Don't let him corner you.  Don't give him a moment’s mercy.  He'll rip your throat out.”

“Okay, I'll give you improved marks for that one.  Ripping a throat out, it's a strong visual.  It's not cryptic!”

Angel wiped the blood from his hand and put his jacket back on.  Where is she?  He glanced around the room and caught a flash of red.  Willow was sitting at a table with Xander watching him talk to Buffy.  She looked angry.  Xander looked...shocked?

“I've got to go.”

~*~

Well, that was rude.   Buffy watched him for a minute, then followed at a distance when she saw that he was heading towards Willow and Xander.  By the time she reached the table, Angel had already asked Willow to dance.

“Hey, Xander.”  

Buffy waved and sat down but Xander didn't pay her any attention.  His eyes were glued to the couple on the dance floor.  I can't believe this...I just can't believe this! Willow and Angel? Together.  My two oldest friends...dating?  Does a two hundred year old vampire date?

Buffy rolled her eyes as he ignored her.  What is going on tonight?

~*~

Willow looked up into Angel's face.  He was watching someone behind her and she just knew that he was watching Buffy.  He looked worried.  Tiny bands seemed to be wrapping themselves tighter around her heart, poised, ready to rip it to shreds at the command of the man dancing with her.  Then something clicked.  Angel was dancing - in public - and he looked worried.  Well, he should be!

They swayed to the slow beat of the music as Angel watched Sydney fingering a knife as she stood behind Buffy.  But he was distracted by the way he could feel every inch of Willow that was pressed against him.  He was aware of her in a way he had never been before and she was...stiff?  “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Okay.  What have I done?  From the tone of her voice I did something... “Is this about Zachary and your throne room?”

“What are you talking about?  What’s happened to my evil lair?  I’ve worked hard on it!”

Angel groaned softly.  Good going, idiot.   “Well, your wallpaper has a few smears on it.  Tiny ones!  Hardly noticeable!  And one of the tables kind of rocks now...and the paperweight that was on it is a teensy bit chipped...and, um, your bookcase…”

“My bookcase! What happened to my bookcase? My books!”

“Well, you see, an old acquaintance of mine stopped by the warehouse and tried to kill Eric. I knew him a long time ago, before I got cursed by the gypsies.  He's not nice, Willow.  We tried to keep him locked up, but he escaped, and since Eric told him that you're the Mistress here...I think he's going to try and kill you next.  Which is why I want Sydney with you until we catch him...to protect you.”

He paused for a bit, thinking.  Completely missing the expression on Willow's face which was getting darker by the second.  “You know, having you move into the lair might not be a bad idea, either.  Or maybe Sydney could just move into the house with us.”  Angel considered the dilemma silently, trying to figure out the best option.

This is just too much!   “Angel, I don't need a bodyguard!  I'm not moving into the lair and Sydney is not moving into the house with us.  There's already three people living there!  What do you want Sydney to do?  Sleep at the end of my bed like a dog?  If Zachary's such a threat, why don't you and the Slayer go stake him?  And why'd you let him escape in the first place?”

“I already told her about him.”

Willow went stiff again.  “Yeah, I saw.  And I suppose you just had to hold her hand to do it, huh?”

What?  Oh!  Is that what she's angry about?  She's...jealous?   “The Slayer was just looking at my arm.  Zachary scratched it up a bit in the fight.  It's only a little cut, but she insisted on seeing it after she saw some blood on my hand.”

The minute Angel mentioned that he was hurt Willow forgot her jealousy.  Concerned, she started tugging at his jacket, trying to make him take it off, but Angel brushed her hands away. “I'm okay, Willow.  It can wait until we get home.”

"Fine."  Willow grabbed his jacket sleeve and started pulling him to the door.

~*~

“Hey, Xander?”

“Yeah, Buff?” Xander answered absently, intent on watching Willow drag Angel away from the dancefloor.  

“Does Willow always pull Angel around?”

For the first time that night Xander looked at Buffy, “Uh huh.  She pretty much bosses everyone around.”  Seeing that his friends were headed to the door, Xander stood, fumbling with his chair as he hurried.  He started to walk away, then paused to look back over his shoulder, raising and dropping one in a half shrug, and waving apologetically.  “Gotta go!”  

Sydney sneered at the Slayer and followed along behind, leaving Buffy sitting at the table by herself, forlornly twirling her straw in her drink.

~*~

Angel walked softly into Willow's room, leaning casually back against the doorframe.  He smiled to himself, half-lidded eyes slowly tracing her form.  She was sleeping, one hand curled under her cheek, crimson hair spilling over the edge of the bed.  She looked fragile, his enchantress, and so very precious to him.  

She'd been so jealous of Buffy at the Bronze.  He was pleased and flattered - and more than a bit smug.  It wasn't for him to tell her that Buffy, for all her golden beauty and sensuousness, didn't have even the slightest attraction for him that his little one held.  She would have to figure that out for herself.  But, in the meantime, he’d wait.  He’d always enjoyed savoring the long-games.

His mouth curved into a devastating smile as Angel went to tuck her in,  bending to kiss her lips with a tenderness that he longed to show her when she was awake.  Willow smiled gently, sighing softly in her sleep.  Angel had to smile back.  Maybe he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

Chapter Text

Aaron sat at the edge of a clearing in Weatherly park, too listless to bother grabbing a quick bite to eat, even with all of the homeless sleeping on the benches around the glade like an all you could eat buffet.  His head was tipped back onto sore shoulders and rested against the rough bark of a tree as he watched the moon climb above the treetops. It was little more than a sliver in the sky but the light painted the trees silver-gilt, creating shadows that slowly crept across the ground.  The park swings squeaked in the distance, pushed by idle gusts of wind.

He stared, dull-eyed, up at the night sky as an agonized fury held him frozen.  A single night, just one of thousands, and yet it reeked of more endings than the night he'd died.  Then, he'd been reborn.  He was young, yet he’d worked his way up until he was running the nicest little snack bar in town, with his own crew.  

It was a nice little set-up, but he hadn’t been too upset when the Lady decided to integrate his people.  With the way she spent the summer blowing through all of the more established outfits, it was the talk of the town, and it was only a matter of time until she got to him.  It had opened up wider horizons, greater opportunities, a chance to be a part of something bigger.  Now...his chances were ruined.  He had no desire to start again at the bottom of the food chain.  The Mistress' mercy was cruel.  He had no real choice.  

If it was leave or die, he'd leave, of course.  Maybe head to L.A. and cross his fingers that he wouldn’t just be easy chum for all of the sharks there, if he could be bothered to find a place to rest before the sun rose.  

There was no doubt in Aaron's mind that if he stayed, sooner or later his path would cross with someone of the clan: Eric or Angelus, maybe even Willow.  He didn’t stand a chance against them by himself.

I wish... He bit into his bottom lip.  No.  It is done.   Blood filled Aaron's mouth, its rich metallic-sweet taste brought him to a realization; he was hungry.  Aaron got to his feet and began walking.  He was still angry, but he'd been angry before.  

He always felt better after he'd killed someone.

~*~

Aaron looked down at the girl trapped in his arms.  His face was blank, the taste of her blood still on his lips.  Her mouth was open, gasping pitiful airless screams.  Her fear and loathing were plain to see in her glazing eyes.  He smiled, letting the girl fall to her knees with one of his hands wrapped around her throat to hold her upright.

He stared into her eyes.  Then came a twist, a crunch, a snap.  Her open staring eyes were lifeless and dull, her head wrenched to one side at an impossible angle.  Dead easy.

There was clapping behind him and Aaron whirled around.  His gaze narrowed, focusing on a small blond school girl that seemed somehow familiar.  He licked the blood from his lips and smiled.  She approached him, a delicate hand covering her mouth - as if she were shocked, her eyes wide with mock horror.

“The big bad vampire isn't going to hurt me, is he?”

“I was thinking about it,” Aaron said deliberately.

“Then show me what you can do, stranger,” she taunted.

Aaron stepped forward.  A small hand lashed out at him.  The blow caught his cheek and sent him flying.  She made Angelus look like a puppy.  The blond waited as he rose to a crouch and lunged forward.  A contemptuous sweep of that same hand swatted him down.

She laughed, delighted.  If Angel was a puppy, Aaron was nothing more than a fly - a small annoyance.  He remembered her now.  They had fought in the Bronze, but now he wondered how he'd survived.  His nose was bleeding, his chin was cut and he thought his jaw was broken.

He rose to his knees as she approached again.  She grabbed a fistful of his hair and tilted his head back, laughing again.

“You and I are going to get along just fine,” Darla smiled.  “How would you like to meet the Master?”

“Yes, I’d love to,” Aaron agreed absently as his eyes focused on something that only he could see.  There was a smile on his hard face but madness sparked behind his eyes at the thought of taking action, of destroying Willow.  

The most dangerous people were those that didn’t have anything to lose, and if he couldn't have her, why should anyone else?  His face twisted as he began to laugh, louder and louder until his eyes no longer saw anything around him, seeing only the vision of Willow's blood.  Anticipation made him quiver.

Aaron had a new Mistress.

Chapter Text

The warm, night wind blew over the Slayer, whipping loose tendrils of blond hair about her face.  She twirled a stake in her fingers as she walked against the wind.  She'd decided to take the long way home, through the park and then the cemetery.  It was late and she was tired but, if she didn't patrol, she knew she'd never get to sleep.  She'd be too afraid to try.

Her nightly ritual was the only defense she had against her nightmares.  She patrolled and, if she killed something, she'd know that she had saved at least one person's life.  Tomorrow, she would have to do the same things over again, but she'd have peace for one more night.  Things were bad when she found comfort in the fact that, as the Slayer, she probably wouldn't live past twenty.

Buffy had the horrible feeling that L.A. was going to repeat itself in Sunnydale.  Unease crawled in her stomach and it wasn’t just the Californian heat that made sweat run down her back, plastering her shirt against her skin.  For a longing moment, Buffy wished for the way things were before her parents were divorced, before she knew she was the Chosen One, before she'd failed and gotten people killed.  Mr. Giles was nice and all, but she missed Merrick, her first Watcher.  He’d always seemed so wise.

She’d changed so much from the airheaded, flighty cheerleader she used to be.  Isn't it amazing what guilt can do to a person?  It just wasn’t enough.  

Buffy shook her head angrily and sighed, pushing her hair out of her eyes.  Every day she seemed to find some way of reminding herself of what she'd lost, as though what had happened was something she needed to be punished for, over and over, without even a hope of reprieve. 

She scanned her surroundings, firmly refusing to think anymore.  She was feeling morbid tonight and further thought could lead to things she'd rather not think about.  Like say, the white crisscross of scars on her wrists.

A mirthless smile crossed the Slayer's face.  It seemed that the things she'd rather not think about were determined to creep up on her anyway.  Just like...the vampire at her back!

Buffy spun, ready, but she froze in confusion when the only person she saw was a homeless man - human, not a threat. She hid the stake.  Breathe, Buffy.

He pointed a bag-covered bottle in her direction, wagging it in warning, “Shouldn't be out here at night, little lady.  Dangerous,” before he turned and shambled on his way.

“I could say the same thing to you, mister.”  The Slayer's senses were still telling her that there was a vampire nearby.   

She kept looking and saw someone else, a man wrapped in a brown trench coat, laying on the ground in front of one of the park benches.  She slowly walked over, praying that the man was still alive.  Buffy touched his shoulder gently, breathing a sigh of relief as she realized that he was just sleeping, and backed away.   She didn't want to disturb him; he probably had nowhere else to go.  He would be safe enough, or as safe as he normally was, as soon as she killed the vamp that had her senses going haywire!

A dog barked in the distance, probably miles away, as Buffy strained to pinpoint the vampire's location.  She couldn't see or hear it, all she had was a prickly, intangible feeling, but she knew it was near.  The only places the vampire could be hiding was in one of the trees, or maybe in the bushes.  Do vampires climb trees?   She looked up but didn't see anything except leaves and darkness.  The only things that moved were the wind and the gentle swaying of the branches. She went to check the bushes.

When the Slayer wasn't looking in his direction, the vampire attacked her from behind.  Buffy heard him coming, but he was quick.  

  I guess they do.  She fell back as a three-pronged metal claw swiped at her stomach.  This must be the vamp Angel warned me about.   She dropped and rolled out of the way, coming to her feet with a stake clutched tightly in her hand.

Fork Guy rushed at her.  She kicked him and watched as he staggered back and fell.  Doesn't seem all that dangerous to me.  Wonder why he didn't just dust him?   She started to move in, stake ready, but he grabbed her arm and threw her back to the ground, starting to move in again before flashes of light distracted them.  Flashlights.  Two of 'em.  People coming their way. 

Buffy hurriedly turned back to the vamp, but he'd taken advantage of the distraction, and was already diving into the shrubbery.  She ran after him, arriving just in time to see Fork Guy jumping through an access hole - it smelled like the sewers.  Ugh.  

She heard the officers calling out to each other as their search got closer.

“Hold it!  Police!  Did you see that?”

“I got nothing here!  Spread out!”

Should I follow?  Don't know what else is down there...the police are getting closer...new shoes...maybe another night .

~*~

Buffy looked at her watch - it was almost midnight.  I thought this was the Hellmouth?  Where are all the vampires?   She was patrolling the park, again.  The cemetery had been clean, no fledges, no anything, so Buffy had come back to the park.  Only one vampire in four hours, and that one had gotten away.  Not good.  

She walked along the bike path, trying to decide if she ought to go home.  Maybe I could watch TV for the rest of the night?  I guess I'll have to.  Damn.  I hate getting stood up!

Dragging her feet, Buffy slowly made her way out of the park.  A prickling feeling made her look up.  A woman carrying groceries was walking just outside the park's white picket fence. Bushes rustled behind her and Buffy watched as a vampire climbed over the fence and stalked the dark-haired woman.

The Slayer got her feet in gear and ran after the vamp, helplessly watching as he reached the woman.  Buffy stopped, amazed, as the woman turned around.  She didn't scream when she saw him, even though he was completely vamped-out.  She was calm.

The vampire stopped in his tracks and hissed.  Then he turned around and ran, jumping over the fence, almost directly on top of Buffy.  She staked him, shaking her head in confusion.  She watched the woman continue down the street as if nothing had happened.

Complete weirdness.

“I gotta tell Giles about this.”  She smiled tiredly and sighed.  

At least she'd be able to get some sleep tonight.

~*~

Double doors stood partly open to the night and a light breeze blew in, making the curtains billow and softly snap.  The wind coolly caressed the sweat-soaked body of the sleeping girl in the bed.  Willow slept fitfully, and a light blanket that had lain by her feet had fallen down onto the patterned rug that covered the floor.  Tossing and turning had tangled her in the damp cotton of the nightgown she wore, and her real entrapment blended seamlessly with the images that held her mind captive.

She was wandering through the chaotic corridors of her dreams, trapped by doorways bricked up with montages of groping hands, leering faces, pain, grief, hate, and blood.  She woke frequently throughout the night, not knowing where she was, softly crying out, but continuously falling back into nightmares…..

…..The sharp crack of leather meeting skin snapped between deprecations.  

"Think ye can talk back talk me, d'ye boyo?"  Once.  

"Think yer better 'n yer ol' Da?” Twice.  

"Yer worthless, boy!" And again.

The young man was grinning even as his father continued telling him how worthless he was, as the older man hit him again and again with the razor strap.  The pain seemed endless as the thick leather bit continuously into his bare back as he leaned over a rain barrel, but he wasn't going to give his father the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.

Crack!   “Darin’ t’tell me no under my own roof…”

William, sweating with pain, braced for the next blow, but it never came.  Instead, there was a choking gasp from behind and he turned to see his Da held back by a rich-looking gent.

The man's eyes burned as he looked at William, running his gaze over him, taking in the blood and the fading grin.  For what seemed like the first time in his life, Will found himself afraid.  Not the small fears that he had, the ones that made him cautious.  No, this was an utter certainty that he wouldn't survive the night.

“Sir?  He's me da.  It's fine, sir.  Please don't hurt him.”

The poncy bloke didn't even answer, he just smirked and tossed Will his long coat.  He changed.  He was no gentleman come to help.  He was the very devil!  Will's shock was plain, and the demon laughed. 

William watched helplessly as the thing beat his father to unconsciousness, using the strap that had previously been used on him.  The demon threw the length of leather away and, holding his father up, bit savagely into his neck.  He ripped a great gash.  The blood flowed freely, some of it escaping the devil's mouth and running over the hands that were clasped around his father's throat.

When he finished, the devil let the carcass drop carelessly to the muddy ground and beckoned to him.  “C’mere, boy.”

“No.” There was no pleading desperation in the young man's voice as he refused.  His soft determination almost rang against the alley's dirty walls.  Screaming would be useless, no one would be coming to investigate, not on this side of London, no matter how loud they were.  The only hope left was to reason with the devil standing before him, whose fangs and hands dripped with his father's blood.

It was nearly impossible to concentrate on anything as the devil glided towards him.  His smile was changing, broadening sharply as he licked the blood away.  But it wasn't cold, his look, not at all.  Agitation, rage, pure loneliness and longing burned at him from the devil's eyes.  And his feet wouldn't move !  He could only stare back into those golden depths as they came closer.  He could only stand shivering as a cool, bloody hand wrapped around his throat, as bloody lips brushed across his forehead.  He could only stand there, trembling, as heat pricked his throat and darkness slid across his eyes.  Will's last living sight was of London's sooty clouds draped across the starlit sky….

….William trailed along after the two predators, brushing back the golden-brown curls that kept flopping into his eyes with ink-stained fingertips.  It really was getting too long, but his sire did so love to have something to pull.

Although, for now, his sire’s current entertainment involved teaching the new fledgling a few things about being a vampire.  Will didn't know whether to be jealous of the attention she was receiving, or amazed.  She had a strange appeal.  Power and innocence and wickedness all bottled up within the body of a beautiful girl, who would stay a girl forever thanks to Angelus' manipulations.

“Now, ye do it like I showed ye earlier.”

Will would have liked to have laughed at the annoyance his Sire showed.  He hoped the childe got it right this time.  The last time Angelus tried to show her how to feed, she'd ripped and tore into her dinner like she would have an orange, with predictable results, ruining her pretty dress, blood everywhere. 

Now she swayed with the sighing of the bitter wind of winter, humming softly.  He guessed she'd heard the annoyance as well as he had.  Her eyes drifted open, gilded gold with hungry anticipation.  A minute later he heard footsteps accompanied by the sharp snick of a walking stick on the cobblestones ahead.  I wonder if the wind told her?

The wine-red velvet of her dress swished around her gently as she weaved her way to the young man coming down the street.  A slight curtsy, the light touch of her gloved hand on his wrist, a deep look into his eyes, and then he was hers.  Her face shimmered into delicate ridges and ivory fangs that gently pricked her prey's warm skin.  Amazing that he doesn't cry out.  How does she do it?   She was hypnotizing, even to him.

They swayed together as if dancing in the street, a dance in darkness.  Then the man was falling to the filthy street, the cane clattering on the stone, still tight in his hand.  His sire's little princess looked up, her blue eyes dancing as she licked her lips, not a drop of blood spilled.

“Did I do it right that time, Daddy?”

William's heart was in his throat.  He'd never seen anything so beautiful as the way Drusilla looked in that moment, poised and intent, and as focused as she ever got as she waited for her sire’s judgement.  Even Angelus seemed to pale in comparison.  But only for a moment.

He watched Angelus tilt his head, studying his latest work-in-progress, the predatory ice in his eyes heated, amber irises smoldering.  By now, William knew that Angelus’ true threat lingered not in his skill with weaponry, or his judicious applications of violence, but in his skill with people.  He was often in awe of Angelus’ ability to read them at a glance, shifting to play to their weaknesses, manipulations designed to cultivate just the behavior he desired.  

“Aye, you did well that time, baby.” 

Drusilla spun around and clapped her hands in giddy delight.  

William, who thrilled at hearing even the second-hand praise, knew that feeling better than anyone, to be clay in those hands, twisted to his sire’s liking.  

Drusilla’s spell was broken for a time, with only the faintest feeling of delicate fingers remaining, paling in comparison to the tight grip Angelus kept around William's heart…..

.....They dragged his princess down.  The dirty mob of peasants swarming over her and tearing her to bits.  Will watched her cry out in anguish, cry out for him , until one of the blood-crazed mob hacked off her beautiful head.  He lay on the ground, mud oozing through his clothes, his body burning in pain, as his love exploded into glittering dust.  Gone.  There was nothing left but the crystal clear image of her - her eyes wide and shocked, helpless, her own blood mingling with the child's she had killed earlier that night, spreading across her white lacy dress. Drusilla!

“Noooo!” He screamed…..

.....Willow fled into consciousness with a shriek.  She bolted upright in bed, trembling.  She'd felt the dawn.  

The first golden rays of sunlight were pouring through the curtains.  A little frantic, she searched the room around her making sure that she was actually in her own house, her own bed. 

Angel wasn't in the room with her.  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to shake off the deep terror that settled over her.  The dreams remained imprinted on her mind like a stain, standing out, and she could still almost hear the man's last poignant scream.  Those had been more than just dreams.  They felt like memories.  The only thing was...they weren't hers.

~*~

Hundreds of miles away from Sunnydale, nearly halfway across the world, Spike jerked awake as well. 

Something was different.  He'd dreamed of Drusilla and his Sire, and now he could feel Angelus for the first time in over half a century.  But the feeling was strange.  It was his Sire, but somehow, it wasn't.  The image of fiery hair and emerald eyes haunted him, a young girl that he'd never seen before.

“Phillip!” Spike threw back the black silk sheets carelessly.  He was nearly to the door before his man answered.  

“Master?”

“I have a little job that needs doing.”

Chapter Text

The sun turned Willow's hair to burnished copper as she sat motionless beneath its golden warmth.  She was staring blankly at the opened pages of the book in her lap, her focus not on the words before her but on last night's dream.  She'd seen Angel kill before, but never with such savage pleasure as when he'd killed William's father - or William himself.   Of course they’d spoken about what his life was like before he’d met her. Angel had mentioned people he killed, but they hadn't been real to her.  At the time, the only thing she had worried about was easing his almost tangible pain.

William, Drusilla, Angelus; their names were now as real and familiar to her as her own. Willow remembered watching darkness slide across the hazy starlit sky, the indescribable mix of painful pleasure as Angelus seized her in his arms and drained the blood from her body.  She could recall with perfect clarity hunting with him, the feeling of having him be the center of her universe.  She knew what it felt like to have her Sire disappear, and the despair of losing the only other person she loved as Drusilla disintegrated before her eyes.  Drusilla was dead, but as far as she knew, William wasn't.  

Willow wondered if Angelus, if Angel, knew his childe was searching for him, and if she should tell him.  Angelus.  Angel.  What's the difference?  He's only Angel because that's what I named him.  He was cursed to know the pain of humanity.  What is that?  Guilt?  A conscience?  He still kills.  Only now it's just a different prey, for different reasons.  Angel is no puppy on a leash.

Leash.  The word triggered a rush of memory that was almost painful. 

“ ...So you're the little girl who's holding my childe's leash.  I must say, you're welcome to him…

...I'm his Sire, little girl...my name?  Darla... ”

...feeling Angel arrive at the Bronze, a quick rush of pure warmth at her back, as all of the voices in the club faded to a dim hum in her ears as she just knew that Angel was near, turning to see him enter and watching as he walked across the floor, seeing only him....

...kissing Angel and feeling the need to climb inside his skin.  To be as close to him as she could...

Things were changing, happening so fast it felt like she was running on a tightrope, when the only thing that was keeping her balanced was her forward momentum, and if she stopped, she'd fall…

~*~

Across the walkway that led to the entrance of Sunnydale High, Xander watched his best friend as she sat on a bench, pretending to read as she stared into space.  He smiled wistfully.  They hadn't talked much since Angel had gotten back.  She always seemed to be busy, trying to stop the bad guys, finding out who the bad guys were in the first place.  She looked pale.

Plastering his familiar goofy grin in place, Xander walked over.  He picked the book up and closed it with a snap, sitting down next to her.  She looked startled, and his smile melted away, showing his concern.  Willow was usually very aware of her surroundings, something must have really upset her.  “You left early this morning.  Angel thinks you're angry with him.”

She smiled wanly and replied, “No.  I'm not mad.  I just...I had to get out of the house.” Her smile widened briefly.  “I almost ran into Sydney on the way out of my room.  She was getting ready to open the door - sun or no sun.”

“What happened?”

“I think I must have been making some noise? Bad dreams last night.”

“Still?”

“No, this one was different...  Xander, has Angel ever mentioned other vampires to you?”

He shook his head and gestured for her to go on.

“Well, I was thinking, when Angel used to tell us stories, it was always about when he was human, or about the people he'd met.  I don't remember him ever once talking about other vampires - not the one who made him, not any friends, not one!  I dreamed about Angel, Xander.  Only I don't think they were dreams.  I think they're memories.”

“Angel's?”

“No?  I don’t think so.  It was...I think they came from a vampire that Angel made.”

“How's that even possible?”

“I'm not sure, exactly,” she explained hesitantly.  “Just that something happened, after the fight at the Bronze, when we all got home.  Angel, he was hurting and I kissed him.  I just wanted to make everything better, but I think I did something I wasn't supposed to.”

“Kiss him in the first place?” Xander asked sarcastically.

“Xander!” she chided, frowning. 

“Sorry.  So, what did you do then?”

Willow looked at him, trepidation shadowing her eyes, as she answered solemnly, “Magic.”

~*~

Buffy sat on the edge of the study table in the library, her feet swinging through the air, impatiently waiting for Giles to come out of his office.  When he did, it was with a book in his hands and a perplexed expression on his face.  “You're quite sure that the vampire was running from the woman?”

“Giles, that vamp nearly staked himself .”

“Well, unpleasant things do tend to gravitate here.  Be on the lookout.  She may be a demon in disguise.  Did you see anything else last night?”

“You mean besides Cryptic Guy, nearly getting caught by the police after fighting with a vamp whose hand was a jumbo claw, and seeing a vampire run from a perfectly normal looking woman?  Nope.”

Giles put the book down next to Buffy.  “Oh.  Well, uh, at least you're not hurt.”

Buffy smiled brightly and glanced down at her watch.  “Not yet, but it's fifteen minutes 'til eight!  If I'm late for science, Dr. Gregory is so going to kill me!”  She hopped down from the table and headed for the door.

Giles raised his eyebrows at her quick exit and called after her, “Come by after school!”

Buffy waved an acknowledgment as she left.

~*~

“Mornin', Buffy,” Xander greeted as the blond sat down next to Willow.

“Hey, guys.”

Willow tried to shake off her strange mood, and perked up a little.  “Hi, Buffy.  Oh, hey, ya know, I'm sorry 'bout running out on you last night.  We miss out on anything big?”

“Nah.  A couple vampires, a freaky lady, nothin' much to talk about, 'cept that Giles wants me to see him after school.  Come with me?”

“Sure, Buff, of course we'll…”  Xander trailed off and the girls looked to see what was distracting him.

“Guys!  That's her!  That's the woman I saw last night!” Buffy exclaimed in a low whisper.

Willow looked at the dark-haired woman that had been heading straight for Xander.  She had stopped suddenly, almost as if she had run into a wall, and moved backwards so fast she would have fallen if one of the football players hadn't caught her.  A haze seemed to shimmer around her, almost like heat.  Willow blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the woman looked the same and the shimmering didn't go away.

“I'm Blayne.  Are you okay?  Can I help?”

"I...I'm looking for Science 109."

The woman left, following Blayne, but glanced back at Buffy, Willow, and Xander, who stared after them.

Xander looked at Willow, “Is it just me, or do you agree that that was a bad thing?”

Willow raised her hand.  “Bad,” she echoed in a soft voice, scrunching up her forehead in a frown.

~*~

Xander automatically moved up in the lunch line, picking out food without paying attention to what he was putting on his tray.  During biology class, Miss Natalie French had stayed as far away from them as possible.  She stuttered a lot and seemed extremely nervous.  But somehow, she still managed to make the male half of the class enamored with her, except himself, and that was probably because of the almost overwhelming amount of fear he felt. Only bad guys and popular people seemed to act that way around him.  And she felt like a bad guy - girl - whatever!  Something about her just didn't sit right, a bad vibe or something .

Dr. Gregory was missing, but his glasses weren't.  In the biology classroom, Buffy had seen them just laying on the floor.  If the glasses had fallen, the teacher would have picked them up...if he could.  It felt like a major clue that something was wrong. 

Cordelia Chase pushed through to the front of the lunch line, brushing by him as if he wasn’t there, acting as if the school and everything in it was beneath her.  Xander tuned out her customary complaining, until she screamed.  The Queen of Sunnydale High did not scream unless something was wrong.  Yeah, she bitched, but she didn't scream.  It wasn't dignified.

“His head!  His head!  Oh, my God, where's his head?!”

Xander rushed forward with Buffy and Willow to see what was wrong, only to turn away once he’d seen, squeezing his eyes shut. 

The headless body of Dr. Gregory was stuffed in the refrigerator.

~*~

Buffy was sitting next to Willow on the carpeted steps of the library, tears silently coursing down her face as she leaned against the comforting warmth of her friend.  Giles poured the crying girl a glass of water, feeling helpless.  “Here, drink this.”

“No, thank you,” Buffy refused absently, but she accepted it and took a small sip anyway.  Maybe it was only his imagination, but it seemed to calm her a little.

“I've never seen…”

The voice came from behind him, and Giles turned around.  The young man was shaken and pale.  They all were.  It was enough to make him forget his distrust and look at Xander with concern.  

“I mean, I've never seen anything like... That was new,” he finished.

“Who would want to hurt Dr. Gregory,” asked Willow in a tone that meant business.  Her eyes were bright with anger and unshed tears.

Giles looked at her.  He was beginning to see what the Slayer saw in her new friend.  The girl may look sweet and innocent, but she seemed to have the inner strength of her namesake, and he could appreciate that.  “Uh, he didn't have any enemies on the staff that I'm aware of.  He was a civilized man.  I liked him.”

“So did I,” Buffy stated softly.

Willow held his gaze.  “Well, we're gonna find out who did this.  We'll find them and we'll stop them,” she said firmly.

Buffy, taking heart, agreed, “Count on it.”

Giles silently approved, “What do we know?”

“Oh, not a lot, um…” Buffy sniffed one last time and wiped the tears from her face, “he was killed here on campus.  I'm guessing the last day we saw him.”

“How did you work that out?” Giles prompted.

“He didn't change his clothing,” she answered.

“This is a question that no one particularly wants to hear, but...where did they put his head?” Xander interjected.

Willow nodded her head.  “Good point.  I didn't want to hear that.”

“Giles?  Do you think it could have been that vamp that Angel warned me about?” Buffy asked thoughtfully, taking another sip of water.

“Well,” Giles contemplated, “I've been trying to gather more information about the Master, our, uh, local vampire king.  There was one oblique reference to a, ah, a vampire who displeased the Master and had his hand cut off in penance.”

“Got his hand cut off and replaced it with a fork?”

“So, why would he come after a teacher,” Xander asked reasonably.

“I'm not certain that he did,” Giles replied.  “There was an incident two nights ago…” He paced over to the counter and picked up a newspaper, opening it up and showing them the story.  “It involved a homeless person in Weatherly Park.  He was practically shredded, but, uh, nothing like Dr. Gregory.”

Buffy took a closer look at the paper.  “So Fork Guy doesn't do heads?”

“Not historically.”

“And Dr. Gregory's blood wasn't drained.”

Xander sat down abruptly at the table, looking back and forth between Giles and Willow, slightly panicked.  “So there's something else out there?  Besides Silverware-man?  And vampires, and Watchers, and Slayers, and witches?  Oh, this is fun, we're on monster island.”

“We're on a Hellmouth.  It's a center of mystical convergence.  Guess it's the same thing,” Buffy said seriously.

“That's true, but, uh, we don't know there's anything or anybody besides this chap.  He's our most likely suspect,” Giles commented, bringing them back to the subject.

“Do you know Miss French, the teacher that's subbing for Dr. Gregory?” Buffy asked Giles.

He smiled and pushed up his glasses.  “Yes.  Yes, she's lovely.  In a, ah, common, extremely well-proportioned way.”  The librarian turned away, blushing.

Buffy gave him an indecipherable look, “Well, Miss Well-Proportioned just happens to be the woman I saw that vamp running away from last night.  Now, I'm an undead, hungry vampire... How many things am I afraid of?”

Giles looked a little confused, “Not many.  And not substitute teachers, as a rule.”

“So what's her deal?”

“I think perhaps it would be a good idea if we kept an eye on her,” he suggested slowly.

Willow, who had been following the conversation intently, gave them both a hard look.  “A very close eye,” she agreed.

~*~

“So, um, Wills?  Are you gonna call in your boys to catch the monster?”  Xander finally found enough courage to ask as he and Willow walked home from the bus stop.

“Nope.  I think the Slayer can handle it,” she said confidently, “and I don't really think I oughta get the Mistress involved.  I mean, I can just imagine their reactions to that!”

“Okay,” Xander agreed, smiling.  “You know, it's so weird to hear you refer to yourself in the third person.  You better be careful,” he warned, shaking his finger at her, “or pretty soon you'll be having conversations with yourself, and me and Angel will have to put you away with all the other nuts.”

Her eyes dancing, Willow punched him lightly on the arm.  “Xander!”

“What?  I'd come visit!”

“Ha!” She held up a fist, threatening him further with her mighty wrath, and Xander took off running.  “You'd probably be in there with me,” she called, chasing after him.

~*~

Buffy walked down the hushed, deserted halls.  Her heels were clicking on the tiled floor, the sounds too loud.  It was giving her the creeps, the same feeling that she sometimes got from the library, and she slowed down, making a conscious effort to be quiet.

103...105...107...109!  Cautiously, Buffy looked through the door's small glass window.  Blayne and Miss French were inside talking over the model egg sack.  They were leaning over it, close enough to kiss, and Blayne looked nervous.

Miss French pointed to the closet and the football player obediently followed her direction, rummaging through it, looking for something.  He was obviously occupied, and Miss French suddenly straightened up. Buffy dropped, hopefully out-of-sight as she watched, amazed, as the woman's head turned almost all the way around - and looked right at her!

Buffy ducked down further, rolling away as quickly as she could, and left.  Hurrying down the hall, she didn't even bother to be quiet.  The library isn't the only thing about this place that wigs me out.

She rubbed hard at the skin of her wrist, as if trying to erase the faint scars there.

~*~

Willow slowly walked up the stairs to Angel's room, a glass full of ice in her hand.  Xander was downstairs watching TV.  He wouldn't be interrupting.  She crept inside.

Her breath caught.  Angel was stretched out on top of golden cream sheets, his arms stretched above his head, in nothing but black silk boxers.  A wicked smile curved Willow's lips, and she released her breath in a shuddery sigh.  This was almost too perfect.

Moving carefully, Willow eased herself onto the bed.  She knew Angel was awake, but there wasn't any sense in letting him know she knew, as long as he didn't know she knew he knew.  She straddled him, pressing her knees tightly against his sides, and wriggled, getting comfortable on top of his stomach.  She stilled, watching him carefully for a moment.  He didn't move.  Good.

Willow set the glass on the table next to the bed, then put both hands on his chest and leaned forward.  It was time to get some answers, even if she had to torture him to get them.  She kissed him gently, just the soft brush of her lips against his, then again, even lighter, and waited, her breath feathering across his mouth until his eyes opened and he smiled at her sleepily.  “Good mornin’.”

“Good evening.”

He stretched under her, his back arching and lifting her, and then settled, gazing up at her, puzzled.  “Why are you here?”  

Angel started to sit up, his arms moving to set Willow to the side.  She frowned, applying a gentle downward pressure with her fingertips.  Obediently, he lay back down, melting back against the mattress and staying lax in her hold.  

“Not that I don't want you here,” he hurried to explain, “but why?”  

He waited for Willow to answer, staring into her eyes.  There were so many emotions on her face.  He turned his head, looking around the room, and saw the ice.  

“Are you still angry?” he asked nervously, glad that he didn’t already have ice water dumped over him.  Angel may not have a body temperature of 98.6°, but he still absolutely hated to be cold.  He looked back at Willow, doing his best not to provoke her.  He knew they were still on shaky ground after his long absence.

“Who's Darla?” she asked.

“Why?” he replied, strangely reluctant to answer.

“I want to know who she is.”

“My sire,” he answered slowly.

“And Drusilla?”

Angel's eyes widened, he knew for a fact that he'd never mentioned the insane vampiress that was his childe - he'd never told anyone in Sunnydale about any of his childer, in fact.

“William?”

The shock on Angel's face was plain to see.  He looked like he'd been slapped.  Willow could feel tears welling up, her eyes burned.  “So they are real,” she whispered.

“They were mine.”

“And you loved them,” Willow stated.

“And I loved them.”  He waited, knowing there was more.

“You were Drusilla and William's sire, and you...what?  Owned them?”

He nodded.

“And Darla owned you?”

Another nod.

“Drusilla loved frilly white dresses, William loved you, and Darla loves power.”  She paused, thinking.

"Yes."  It was true enough.

Willow was quiet for a while, and his curiosity got the better of him.  He  wondered if her powers were evolving, if she was developing anything like Drusilla’s sight, where she sometimes seemed to just pluck the thoughts from someone’s head, or visions from the air.  “How do you know?” 

Angel asked, but she ignored the question, staring down at him.  A tear rolled down Willow's face and fell, hot on Angel's naked skin.  His muscles tensed, ready to move, to gather the girl into his arms and make her tell him what was wrong.  But a quiet word stopped him.  “Stay,” she told him, and he did, concerned.

She lay down, tucking her head beneath his chin, and, her voice low, asked, “What would happen if your sire gave you away?”

“Nothing.” Angel answered promptly, the words rumbling through the chest under her ear.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing at all,” he purred, reassuring her.  It was long past the time when Darla had any kind of hold on him.  “I don't belong to her anymore. I belong to you.”

Willow relaxed, all the tension seeming to go out of her body.  Does he know what Darla told me that night, I wonder?   Slowly, not sure if he were allowed to yet, Angel moved, bringing his arms around her and hugging her to him.  She was quiet for such a long time that he thought maybe she'd fallen asleep, until she mumbled yet another question. 

“What?”

Willow moved, crossing her arms over Angel's chest and resting her chin on top, gazing at him with green eyes that always seemed to see down to the depths of his soul.  “I said, why didn't you ever tell me about them?  I mean, you know everything about me.  I didn't think that you'd keep secrets from me.”

“I didn't,” he protested.  “Well, I never told you about them, but you never asked,” he said plaintively, completely glossing over the fact that Willow could hardly ask about someone who she didn't know existed.  “It never seemed to be the right time.  It hurts sometimes - even just to think about them.”

“Will you tell me about them, someday?  About Will?”

“Maybe.  Someday.”

The ice slowly melted, unneeded, and she snuggled against him, hugging tight.  She could wait...a little while.

~*~

Sydney rolled her eyes at the ceiling, a devilish grin on her lips, as she stood outside Angel's bedroom door.  She gone by the Mistress' room and found it empty.  She was almost sorry to interrupt what they'd been doing for the past two hours.  It was funny, in a sickening kind of way.  They'd been in there for two hours, and there was only the faintest hint of arousal. Having a human mistress was strange.  Still.  The girl was interesting, and Sydney wasn't bored. Yet.

Even so, she hated working with the Slayer.  She sighed with resignation.  The boy had said to get Willow, so that was what she was going to do, even if it was for the Slayer.  She didn't have to like it though.  She knocked on the door.

A soft “What?” came in response to the noise.

“The Slayer called.  The boy wants you both downstairs.”

A wordless growl was her only answer.  Sydney shrugged and smirked, going back downstairs. She'd told them.  She'd done what she was supposed to.  It wasn't like she could break down the door and drag them out by their hair, now could she?  She headed into the kitchen for a snack.  Maybe there are Oreo cookies.   After all, after that, she deserved a treat...just to get the bad taste out of her mouth.

~*~

While waiting for Willow and Xander to arrive, Giles had ordered Buffy to begin the training exercises that she'd been taught by her previous Watcher, Merrick.  She’d been bored and had probably been annoying him, because he'd even asked her to make tea - which she absolutely refused to do - before finally ordering her to train and then locking himself in his office.

She had just finished warming up when four people ghosted in.  An uncomfortable tingling had started in the pit of her stomach, spreading outward through her body.  The senses that she'd learned to use when she had first become the Slayer usually let her know when a vampire was near, but this was verging on painful.  It felt like spiders were crawling in her veins, under her skin, itching to get out.

It made her wonder why she hadn't felt them that strongly before, when they had fought together, or when she'd been with Angel, alone in the alley.  Maybe the other vamps confused me?   She grinned to herself.  'Course, in Angel's case, it could've been 'cuz I was concentrating on his butt .  But she wasn't anymore, she could take a hint.  Angel was taken, and Buffy was glad he was.  If he was the vampire, getting involved with him could've caused all sorts of problems.

Buffy sighed.  She didn't know for sure who it was, but either Angel or the dark-haired girl was a vampire.  If not, that left only Xander and Willow, and she'd seen both of them in the sun. And please!  Vamps walking around in the sunlight?  I have enough problems!   But all of them had fought on her side, killed other vampires, which was...interesting, to say the least.

Xander and the other two had walked across the room and seated themselves at a table to wait, but Willow stood watching, and Buffy glanced at her out of the corner of one eye.  She found herself wanting to show off her skill to the witch.

She began the training exercises, a series of fluid moves, holding each pose for a second or two, then increasing the speed.  The moves flowed, one into the other, yet each was sharp and definite, ending with a huff of expelled breath at the moment of impact, the long flat muscles standing out under her skin in clean relief as they tensed and relaxed.  She blurred through the shadow-fight, finally ending with a neat lunge to her imaginary opponent's heart.  She stood, coming out of her crouch in a smooth, fluid movement, grinning at the other girl.

There was a speculative look in Willow's eyes, just for an instant, then her face lit with a charming smile.  “Ya know, I'm glad we decided to be friends.  I think it would be dangerous if we were enemies...,” she paused and gave the Slayer a look of pure innocence, “...for both of us.”

Buffy guessed it was a compliment - in a backhanded sort of way - but she tensed at the implied threat.

Xander spoke up, breaking the tension; he’d been enjoying the show.  “Got an encore?”

“Ice-cream later?”

They laughed, and Buffy relaxed, walking over to the table and sitting down while Willow moved to stand behind Angel, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders.  “So, what did you call us down here for?” she asked.

Buffy explained, “I was watching Miss French, like I said I would, and she was with Blayne, okay?  Well, almost as soon as I got there, she sent him off to get something, and then she turned her head and looked straight at me!  And no, I'm not saying she just craned her neck a little.  We are talking full-on Exorcist twist!”

“Ouch,” Xander exclaimed, looking at Buffy with more than a little disbelief.

“Yeah, no kidding!  She is not human.  And Blayne's with her.  I need your help,” Buffy said, looking up into Willow's eyes.  “I need to find out what she is before someone else gets hurt. Whatever she is, I wanna be ready for her.  If she is what killed Dr. Gregory, I'm not gonna be showing any mercy.”  She turned around and called towards Giles' closed - and locked - office door, “Giles!  They're here!”  And they brought friends...

Giles poked his head out of the office and saw them gathered around the table.  “Oh!  Umm, sorry, I'll, uh, be right out in a minute.”

She turned back and found four sets of eyes staring at her.  Buffy looked at Sydney, who looked like her teeth hurt, then at Angel, who'd been quiet all night, and back to Sydney again.  “So.  Which one of you is a vampire?” she asked bluntly.

A mischievous smile graced the strange girl's face, but Willow didn't give Sydney time to answer.  “She's my friend.”

“And him?” she questioned gently, gesturing in Angel's direction.

“One of the best,” she replied, her hands tightening their grip on Angel's shoulders as her eyes gazed steadily into Buffy's.

Buffy slowly nodded.  “Fine,” she stated.  She’d drop the question for the moment.  Who they were didn't matter anyway, if she caught a vampire killing someone, that vampire was dust.

~*~

Giles came out a few minutes later, carrying a stack of old - but dust-free - books, and thumped them down on the table.

“Any luck?” Buffy inquired.

“Um, I've not found any creature, as yet, that strikes terror in a vampire's heart, but I presume that you lot are here to help me look?” he asked, passing out the books.

Willow waved the one he offered to her away, “I'm going to try the computer.”

“Try looking under things that can turn their heads all the way around,” Buffy told her.  She glanced down at the unpronounceable title of the tome in front of her, then looked at Angel and Sydney who had books with titles that were equally as unpronounceable.  They both looked interested, pouring over the handwritten words.  Buffy sighed, looking at Xander.  He was the only one who looked as lost as she felt.

“Hey, wanna help me?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take my own advice:  my homework,” she answered.

“Sure,” he said, following the blond as she bounced up the stairs to the bookshelves.  Only to stop as she abruptly turned and ran back to her Watcher.

“Where are the books on bugs?”

~*~

Not long after Buffy disappeared into the stacks of books, she came back out again, carrying an encyclopedia.  Xander trailed behind her as the Slayer called everyone's attention to her.

“Hey guys, dig this!  'The praying mantis can rotate its head 180 degrees while waiting for its next meal’,” she quoted, slamming the book shut.  “Ha!”

Nothing except silence greeted the implied proposal that Miss French was nothing more than a big bug.

Ruin my moment of brilliant deduction, why don't ya?   “Well?  C'mon, guys.  Ha!”  And still with the blank stares...I am speaking English, aren't I?

“Well, Miss French is sort of big.  For a bug?” Willow pointed out.

“And she is, by and large, woman-shaped,” Giles supported.  Buffy walked down to them, ready to prove her point.  She was absolutely positive that she was right.  “Okay.  Look - Fact 1: Only the praying mantis can rotate its head like that...well, other than an owl.  Fact 2: Vampires are scared to death of her.  Fact 3: Her fashion sense just screams predator.”

“It's the shoulder pads,” Willow commented.

Buffy smiled brightly with approval at the witch.  “Exactly!”

“If you're right,” Giles said thoughtfully, “then she'd have to be a shapeshifter or a perception distorter.  On a helpful note, I had a chum at Oxford, Carlyle, advanced degrees in entomology mythology.”

Buffy looked confused.  “What?”

“Bugs and fairy tales.”

"I knew that,” Buffy muttered.

“Now,” he continued, “if I recall correctly, poor old Carlyle, just before he went mad, claimed there was some beast…” He paused.

“Some beast?” Willow asked.

“Oh, uh, yes.  I just need to make one transatlantic telephone call.”  Giles got up to go back to his office, but paused when he heard what Buffy was saying.

“Willow, I need you to hack into the coroner's office for me.  I need the autopsy on Dr. Gregory. I've been trying to figure out some marks that I saw on his corpse...I'm thinking they were made by teeth.”

He turned back.  “Um, this computer invasion that Willow's performing on the coroner's office, one, one assumes it is entirely legal?”

“Entirely!” Willow assured him.

“Of course!” Buffy exclaimed.

Giles sighed.  “Right.  Wasn't here, didn't see it, couldn't have stopped you.”

“Good idea,” agreed Buffy.

Giles headed for his office, completely certain that he didn't want to know what they were doing. 

~*~

“Frankly, madam, I haven't the slightest idea what time it is, nor do I care.  Now, unlock his cell, unstrap him, and bring him to the telephone immediately.  This is a matter of life and death!”

There was a very long silence on the other end of the line after the loud thud of the nurse slamming the phone down onto a table before he at last heard Carlyle's voice muttering in his ear.

“It, it's Giles, old boy.  Yes, yes, it has been a long while.  I wanted to talk to you about your last ah..assignment.”  He pulled the phone away from his ear as the voice rose, agitated.  It went on for some time.

When the other man's conversation deteriorated into things that would make even a sailor blush, Giles cut him off.  “I, I understand, Carlyle.  Yes...I, I'll take every precaution.  Uh, absolutely, it..it sounds exactly like the creature you described.  You, you were right about everything.  Well, n..no, you weren't right about your mother coming back as a pekinese, but...uh...Try to rest, old man.  Yes...Ta!  Bye now!”

He hung up the phone with relief, his face still red.

~*~

Buffy had gone back to studying the encyclopedia, and Willow to ignoring everyone as she stared intently at the monitor's screen.  Neither noticed Xander, who was bored with looking at the pictures in the books and was now purposefully annoying both Angel and Sydney.  Angel had been reduced to low growls, sulking, while Sydney played back, much to Xander's appreciation and Angel's further annoyance.  They were picking on him, flicking little paper balls at his hair.

Sydney was convulsing with silent laughter every time Xander would hit his mark, and Angelus couldn't say a thing, because one of his precious humans was having a bit of fun.  And the Mistress, even though she wasn't paying them any attention, was sitting just a few feet away. He could only glower, looking as if he would like to take a switch - or maybe a whip - to them both, and continue to bat futilely at the tiny white missiles aimed at him, at his hair.

It was fun.

~*~

“Got it!” Willow exclaimed.  “Coroner's report, complete with...Yuck!  Pictures, in color.”

Buffy came up behind her, leaning close to peer at the screen.  “Those are teeth marks.  Which match perfectly the one insect that nips off its prey's head...and, yeah!  Double yuck!”

“Okay, what…” Willow was interrupted by a loud crash.  Both she and the Slayer were instantly on guard, scanning the room.  But there was only Xander, sprawled on the tile, his chair tipped over.  He splayed out further, dramatically playing dead with a hand over his heart and his arm across his eyes, peeking up at Angel.  Who was standing, his hands out, almost as if to catch Xander - or push him - his face faintly pink...and...and...

Sydney couldn't contain herself anymore.  Peals of silvery laughter rang out, contagious, and Buffy joined her.  Willow clapped a hand over her mouth. 

Giles burst from his office, looking frantically around the library, a crossbow ready in his hands. Xander jumped up off the floor, raising his hands.  “Don't shoot!”

Giles lowered the crossbow.  “I say, is everyone all right?”  The Watcher looked carefully at everybody, but paused in surprise when he saw Angel.  “Uh, Angel?  Is there any particular reason you, you have, um…”

Without answering, Angel stalked out of the library.  Sydney's laughter rang behind him as the door swung shut.

~*~

“Dr. Ferris Carlyle spent years transcribing a lost pre-Germanic language.  What he discovered, he kept to himself, until several teenage boys were murdered in the Cotswolds.  Then, he went hunting for it,” Giles told them.

“It being?” Buffy asked.

“Uh, he calls her a She-Mantis.  This type of creature, the Kleptes-Virgo, or, or virgin-thief, appears in, in, many cultures.  The Greek sirens, the Celtic sea maidens, who, who, tore the living flesh from the bones of, um…”

Buffy broke in, “Giles, while we're young!” And Blayne's still alive!

“Uh, well, basically the, uh, the She-Mantis assumes the form of a beautiful woman and lures innocent virgins back to her nest.”

“Virgins?” Buffy was puzzled.  Blayne was a virgin?  “Okay, okay, nevermind.”  She paced over to Giles, taking the crossbow from him and turning it over in her hands.  “So, this thing is breeding and we need to find it and snuff it.  Any tips on the snuffing part?”

“Uh, Carlyle recommends cleaving all body parts with a sharp blade.”

“Slice and Dice! Gotcha.”  Oh, what fun.

“Well, whatever you do, it had better be certain and swift.  This beast is extremely dangerous,” Giles warned.

“Well, your buddy Carlyle faced it, and he's still around.”

“Yes, in a straightjacket, howling his innards out day and night.”

Buffy looked crushed, “Okay, General, way to inspire the troops!”

“Sorry…” he said, but Buffy was already turning away.

“Okay, guys, this is it.”  She faced Willow.  “See if you can get her address off the substitute rolls.”  The blonde turned back to Giles, “And you need to record bat sonar, and fast!”

“Bat sonar, right.”  He stopped, looking confused.  “What?”

"Bats eat them," she explained slowly, leading him to the stairs, "The mantis hears sonar, its entire nervous system goes kaplooey.”

“Where am I going to find the…”

“In the vid library?  There're no books, but it's dark and musty.  You'll feel right at home.  Go,” she ordered and gave him a gentle push.  Buffy sighed, then smiled, looking at Xander.  “Could you go see if Angel's ready to come out of the bathroom yet?”

He nodded, and at last she looked at Sydney, who suddenly pulled a knife out of nowhere, holding it up, then flipping it hilt to blade, back and forth, dancing it through her long slender fingers.  She stared pointedly at the Slayer.

Right.  I'll handle the armory.  By myself.

~*~

“Angel?” Xander called softly, and was met by a low growl.  Okay...still having a hissy fit over his hair.   He walked in quietly.  Angel was standing in front of the mirror, despite his non-reflection, running his fingers through the lightly gelled locks.  His hair was now standing up in every which way - and still had bits of paper stuck here and there.

“Willow wants you.  They're about ready to roll.”

“Fine,” the vampire stated flatly, running his hands through one more time.

“Umm...Angel?”

“What,” he growled.

Xander snickered, “You missed one…”

~*~

The gang of would-be heroes stared dejectedly at the park from the windows of the beat-up old Citroen.  After having discovered that the address they had led to the wrong person, Willow was at a loss.  The only thing she could think of was that Blayne was going to die like Dr. Gregory.  “Now what are we going to do?”

“Abject prayer and supplication spring to mind,” muttered Giles.

Buffy ignored Giles's muttering and turned to look at the redhead perched on Angel's lap in the backseat.  “I saw her walking past this park with her grocery bags,” she told Willow.  “She lives in this neighborhood.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” Willow asked, “We can't just start banging on people's doors.  It's the middle of the night.  We don't have that kind of time!”

“We have to start somewhere, do something!” exclaimed Xander.

“We will,” Buffy said as confidently as she could, getting out of the car.  She wiped the palms of her hands down her jeans.  Why do people's lives always have to depend on me?   A voice rose out of her memory to answer, “You are the Chosen One, the one girl… ” Buffy cut off the frequently recited speech, shouting in her mind.  Shut up, Merrick!  You're dead!  Stop telling me what to do.   “I'm doing my best,” she whispered, “leave me alone!”

She was quiet as the others got out and came around to stand by her.

Well, Slayer, what are you going to do?

~*~

Giles and Sydney waited with the car, but the others followed Buffy when she ran through the park, a specific destination in mind.  They caught up with her, gasping for air, as she stopped at a manhole - a sewer entrance - in the middle of a clump of bushes.  It was the same one the Slayer had seen the vampire disappear into a couple of nights ago.

She bent down and lifted the metal cover, shoving it out of the way, then looked up at her new friends, at their worried expressions.  She closed her eyes for a moment as faces rolled into view out of the darkness of memory, of old enemies and dead friends.  It was hard to tell which hurt worse, the losses already endured or those yet to come.  Buffy opened her eyes almost immediately and did her best to reassure them, radiating a facade of determination and confidence.

 “I won't be long, guys.” She smiled up at them, then dropped herself headlong into the darkness below without another thought.

~*~

“Come on, Buffy!”

Willow paced back and forth across the grass. It had been almost an hour since the blonde had gone, and there wasn't any sign of her yet.  She knew the blonde could fight.  Boy, could she fight!  But what if she ran into the Master's minions down there?  She'd be all alone against them...  Grrr!  I guess it's official now.  Buffy's my friend.  And if any of those dunder-headed idiots run into her, they'd better watch out!   She stopped the babbling inside her head and sighed.

“She'll be here, Wills.”

“Have faith in your friend, little one.”

“I do.” She walked over to the tree Xander was leaning against and slumped down to sit beside him.  “I do,” she repeated.  I just wish she'd hurry.

~*~

Angel heard the growls and snarls before he saw the Slayer.  She burst out of the bushes, pushing Zachary along in front of her.   His arms were tied behind him and seemed to be dislocated.  The slayer had a painfully firm grip on one of his elbows and was using it to steer him where she wanted.

Willow and Xander jumped to their feet, but the first one Zachary saw was Angel.  “You!”

Relishing the sight of his pain and surprise, Angel smirked,  “Me!”

Buffy grinned fiercely and twisted the vampire's arm a little more.  “At last, a man of little words!  Who's gonna have even less to say if you don't show me where she is,” the girl threatened, pushing him ahead of her.

The Slayer moved out of the park, planning on going in the same direction the Bug Lady had been heading the night she saw the vamp run away from Miss Well-Proportioned.  She didn't know why the other vamp had been scared, but she was hoping for a repeat performance.

Buffy waved Giles back as they passed him, ignoring his stuttered, “W...Buffy?” as she marched the vampire down the street.  Giles joined the others as they trailed behind her, in what the slayer felt might as well be a parade down Main street.  But, really, what's a parade without a few fireworks?

“Come on!  Come on, where is she?  Which house is it?” she demanded.

It became increasingly harder to force the vampire to go further, until he finally simply refused to walk anymore.

“Come on!  What?  What is it?  This is it, isn't it, this is her house?” Buffy took a deep breath, trying to calm down.  “This is it, guys!  Better than radar!”  The Slayer released the vampire and turned to her friends, motioning for them to hurry.

“Buffy!” Willow screamed a warning just in time.

Zachary swung at the blonde, having his arm dislocated didn’t dull his claws any.  She leaned back, avoiding the blow, but tripped, falling backward over the miniature picket fence that bordered the lawn.  Zachary jumped to follow, but was caught by an unbreakable vice that clamped around the back of his neck.  It lifted him off the ground until his feet dangled in the air, while another found his wrist, holding the clawed hand immobile.

“I've got him, Slayer.  Go get the boy,” Angel ordered.

The girl stood up slowly, catching his gaze, considering him with eyes that were suddenly older than her years.  Somewhere in her eyes lurked the death of innocence, and rested all the weight of the world.

She rubbed her wrist, an unconscious habit, not even realizing what she was doing until she saw him staring.  She stopped abruptly, but it was too late to hide the scars.  They looked at one another for a timeless moment, one in which they both recognized what was in each other's eyes: a soul stained through and through, marked by blood and tainted by shadows, a knowledge that, no matter how hard they rubbed, it would never come out.  Then, as if she had turned on a switch, Buffy smiled at him, bright and confident again.

“Wish me luck?” she asked.

“Good luck...Buffy,” he called softly to her.

She left, knowing full well that, by the time she got back, Fork-guy wouldn’t be more than dust blowing in the wind.

Chapter Text

“That was so cool!”  Willow exclaimed as she danced down the street ahead of the others, still high from all the excitement.  After the battle, the four of them - her, Angel, Xander, and Sydney - had opted to walk home.  Although there were plenty of reasons, the main one had been that Buffy...smelled.  Badly. 

Her hack-it-into-itty-bitty-pieces approach had worked wonderfully well, except for one tiny problem.  By getting that close, by the time the Slayer had finished, she had been completely covered in sticky, stinky, gunk .  And, well, besides that, there was the little problem of the librarian's car.  Seven people?  That'd never work...unless you were someone who thought Xander's whispered idea - of Buffy riding outside, on top of the car - had merit.   Judging by Sydney's smirk, she obviously did,  but Giles, wrinkling his nose, had insisted on driving the poor girl home, taking pity on his thoroughly slimed slayer.  

It had been fun though, actually having someone else share in the work.  Fighting all the demons of Sunnydale was a tough job.  It looked like Buffy was going to be a good friend to have.

“That was just so cool!”  Willow said again, spinning around.  She continued to walk backwards, grinning at Angel and Sydney as her mouth completely took control.  “You guys took way too long with that vamp.  You shoulda been there!  It started off kinda bad, what with Giles getting slammed against a wall and everything.  I really hope he's okay to drive!

“I guess things would've gone smoother if that bat sonar tape had been on the right side.  I thought for a minute that I'd have to set the bug on fire myself, or something...'cuz that's all she really was, Angel!  Nothin' but a big ol' bug!  She looked kinda like a giant grasshopper.  A big grasshopper who couldn't make up its mind who to attack first.  She went after Giles, smacked him really hard, but Buffy started clobbering her and it just went on and on.  Buffy has some really good moves...

“And Blayne!  He screamed the whole time.  He kept saying 'How do you like your eggs?' over and over.  He was acting so weird!  I think he snapped.

“And then, Giles finally got up and fixed the tape, and as soon as he did...piece of cake!  It did just what Buffy said it would!  Miss French, the bug, it was just helpless after that.  Poor Giles.  I wonder if he really is gonna get Blayne drunk before he lets him go home?  Hmm....I wonder what his parents are gonna think?  He'll be one football player who'll never drink again!  That's for sure!   I didn't get to do much except open Blayne's cell, but I was so proud of Xander.  He whacked Miss French over the head with a shovel!” 

She grinned proudly at Xander, quiet for a moment as he smiled tiredly in return.  “And, gee!  Did that sound as bad as I think it did?”

Sydney laughed and clapped Xander on the back, “Good job, kid!”

“Thanks, oh ancient one,” Xander said, sticking out his tongue, “but I was distracting her from Buffy.”

Bouncing over to Angel, Willow grabbed his arm and beamed up at him as they walked together.  “So!  How'd things go with Zachary?” she asked, calming somewhat.  She was interested to hear his side of the night’s adventures.

The souled vampire looked down, only able to hold her eyes briefly as he dismissed the question.  “Things went fine.  We dusted him.”  Angel smiled, perfunctory, before looking away.  And you know that feeling you get, when someone is lying straight to your face?  Yeah, she had that feeling. 

Sydney watched her Mistress study Angel.  She got the feeling that the girl didn't quite believe him, and Sydney didn't blame her a bit.  Both statements were true, but both of them left a whole ton of things out.  The redhead just smiled sadly to herself, leaving both vampires wondering just what was going on inside her head.

They continued walking home, but Willow no longer bounced.

~*~

Secrets!  I am so sick and tired of them!  Especially Angel's!  Darla, William, Drusilla, who this Master is that we've been fighting against for so long...and even himself!  He never tells me anything, any more.  Ok, yeah, he told me about how he used to kill people.  But that doesn't count!  'cuz I kinda already figured that out.  I mean, gee!  Vampire.  Just how stupid does he think I am?  He had history with that vampire.  He already told me that they’d met before... Why is he shutting me out now?  He just makes me sooooo mad sometimes!   Willow kept trudging down the street, ahead of the rest of the group.  Her head was down, her eyes watching her feet as one kept moving in front of the other.  She sniffed softly.  They were almost home.  She could hardly wait to stomp up the stairs to her room and slam the door on the whole world.  Unfortunately, this was just not her night.

“David?”

Willow looked up at the sound of Sydney's voice and saw David.  He was sitting, slumped on the front porch steps, his head bowed and cradled in his hands.  His clothes were in disarray, and he looked worse than she felt.  He didn't even acknowledge Sydney, just buried his head in his arms.

What is David doing here?  There's only three hours left 'til dawn.  Something must have happened.  Something bad.   Willow quickened her pace and was standing in front of him in seconds.  “David.  Tell me what happened,” she ordered softly.

For a moment he hesitated, seeming to shrink in on himself, then wearily raised his head to gaze at her, his face streaked with blood, and tears, and...dirt? 

“Tell me,” she repeated.

His eyes were dulled with resignation as he gave in.

~*~

“I'm going with you.”  Angel said the sentence as if it were an irrefutable fact, as if he'd said the sky is blue, as if it were the simplest truth and impossible to argue with.  He was going, and that was that.

Willow disagreed.  “No.  You aren't.  You're staying here with Xander,” she answered, packing a change of clothes into her school bag.  She moved around her bedroom, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything.  It was unlikely that she'd be back that night.  He most likely wouldn't see her again until after school, if even then, and he didn't like the idea, not one bit.

“You may need me.”

She whirled to face him, her face set into one of the most stubborn expressions he'd ever seen. “No!” she snapped, probably harsher than intended, and he flinched at the tone, at the look in her eyes.  She looked as if she didn't trust him, and it hurt.  More than he thought possible.

“Willow, please?”

Her eyes softened briefly, but she didn't relent.  “I'll take Sydney with me,” she said, then turned her back on him and walked out the door.  “You need to stay here with Xander.”

~*~

The first thing Willow noticed upon entering the lair was the clutter.  She made a slow turn in the center of the room, taking stock of what she could see from there.  Things weren't so very different:  some furniture overturned, some clothing scattered across the floor.  Then she noticed the dust.  Patches of it, almost puddles, were scattered here and there around the room, along with a few lost, random splatters of blood staining the walls.  Next, was the almost utter stillness in the warehouse, something that was out-of-place even in the middle of the day.  There were no voices, no laughter, not even from the TV.  What the hell happened here?

She reached her hand up to rub the back of her neck, wishing she had even the slightest idea of what she was looking at, of what to look for.  Most of what David had told her, she didn't understand.  He'd been scared to the point that he didn't make much sense.  But one thing had.  Aaron.  It seemed he'd somehow entered the lair, with a few new friends at his back, and just started staking people.  How?  Why?  She didn't know, but it seemed he'd gotten away with it, too.  From the way David described him, it sounded as if Aaron had been knocked off his rocker, as if he was one soda short of a six pack...or maybe he was just missing the plastic thingy holding them all together?  She sighed.  Her head hurt.

There was a soft click of the door opening behind her and she turned.  Eric had come in.  “How many people are dead?” she asked, her voice tense with the effort of staying calm.

He didn't look at her, instead studying the room much as she had moments before.  “More than half the number that lived here,” he answered quietly.

Willow couldn't help the cold iron that layered her voice.  “Were the guards doing their job?”  It would be nice if there were some simple bungle to blame.

Eric turned from his inspection of their surroundings, regarding her with a pale, keen gaze.  She stood, her back stiffly straight in a proud, confident manner.  He couldn't tell what she was thinking; her expression was half hidden as she faced away from him.  “Of course they were,” he said.

Willow nodded jerkily.  “Of course,” she whispered.

“We're going to have to leave here, to find a new place.”

Willow snorted softly. “You wanna go check into a hotel?”

“No.  But you're at risk, Mistress.  And part of my charge is to ensure your safety.”

Willow faced him.  “Says who?”

“You did, Lady,” Eric answered calmly.

She felt a deep anger rise from inside.  It wasn't really directed at Eric, but more at being forced to retreat.  Someone had dared to touch, and not only touch, to kill, that which belonged to her and it felt like she was running away.  She reacted with a low growl from the back of her throat, not even realizing what she'd done.

Eric didn't bat an eye.

Willow paced up and down the room, sorting out her thoughts and the implications of what had happened.  The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Eric was right.  They did need to move, though not necessarily for her safety.  If Aaron could get in once, who was to say he wouldn't come back?  Or someone else?  

Who didn't matter.  It was possible.  That was all she really needed to know.  Willow hugged herself tightly as an awful thought occurred to her.  What if Aaron tells the Master where we are?  Oh, Goddess. Why didn't I just stake him when I had the chance?   “Where would we go?” she asked aloud.

“There's an old mansion on Crawford Street that I think will be perfect after a few repairs.  But, first...Willow?”  He waited until she stopped and looked at him, stared at her intently, and said, “I wanted to suggest that we make killing Aaron a priority.”

Willow hugged herself as best she could as she went back to pacing, her hands gripping her elbows tightly.  She suddenly wished that she'd let Xander come, wanting the smart-ass remark that she knew could take the edge off the diciest situation, wanting the sounding board that she trusted enough to bounce the silliest ideas and notions off.  She should have Aaron killed. She should kill him or have someone else kill him.  Either way, he really did deserve to be dust. He deserved to be dust she could walk on, stamp her feet on, and then sweep out the door! She really, really ought to...

“No,” the Mistress said abruptly, making no effort to be polite.  Eric was her second and she treated him as such.  But she also trusted him, usually giving him her unfiltered thoughts.  She told him what was going on in her mind so that he would know her intentions.  But not this time.  This time, he would just have to trust her, because she didn't know the reasons herself.

Eric remained silent, aware, as no stranger could be, that orders were coming.

Willow straightened without warning, her hands balling tightly into fists at her side.  “Have someone find Aaron and watch him.  He's up to something, and I want you to find out what it is.”

~*~

Sydney entered quietly after Eric left. She gave the room a disdainful glance, smiling shyly as she caught Willow watching her.  She's too tense, and I'm betting it's because of that boy, Aaron.  His scent's all over the place.  Girl's gonna make herself sick with all this worrying. “Lady?  Willow?”

Willow sighed.  “What is it, Sydney?”

"Master Angelus said I was to take care of you.  And, well, the sun's almost up...don't humans need to sleep?”

“I'm not really tired anymore.”

“He said, if anything happened to you, he'd stake me.”

Willow frowned.  “He did, did he?”

Sydney nodded solemnly.

“I guess I better sleep then.”

~*~

Willow leaned back, relaxed against the headboard of her bed at the lair as she tried to answer Sydney's questions.  The dark-haired vampire had insisted that she get some sleep, but once they'd settled down, the girl kept her talking.  Not that Willow minded.  She wasn't looking forward to actually falling asleep.  She wasn't sure if she feared what she'd see next, or if she feared that she was looking forward to it too much.

The memories - for she was now certain that they were not merely dreams - gave her insight into what Angelus had really been like.  And since he wouldn't talk to her, they were the next best thing.  The intensity of them though...the bits and pieces leaked together, ran into one another, layer upon layer, blurring and losing definition as they fixed and melded into her own psyche.  Differentiating between what was hers and what wasn’t, was starting to be a bit tricky as those fragments were becoming all too real to her.

“So, you met Angelus when you were five?”

Willow smiled at the memory.  “I found him out in the rain one night.  Boy, was it storming!  I was about ready to go to bed when things let loose.  It was just an accident that I chanced to see him through the window.  I was scared of getting into trouble so I couldn’t exactly bring him inside.  Wasn’t thinking about what kinds of trouble I could get myself into outside ,”  she flushed.  “I kinda kept him in my treehouse.”

Sydney chuckled.  “I see.”

Willow blushed harder.  “I was just a kid,” she defended.  “It just seemed the right thing to do, to help him.  And we’ve been close ever since.  But lately, things just seem to be...it's like we're distancing ourselves from each other, keeping secrets.  We're not even talking like we used to.  It started when he left...and then he came back, but nothing is the same.  He kissed me!  And ever since, things have been so strange!”

“He kisses that bad, then?” Sydney asked, her eyes dancing.  She was still getting over the fact that the Scourge of Europe had lived in a treehouse.  It kinda gave blackmail a whole new meaning.  Angelus would be a laughingstock if the information ever got the right people.  She watched as the girl got a faraway look, as her lips curved into a soft smile.  Too cute.  No blackmail.  Sydney laughed, “Ahhh! That good!”

Willow hadn't thought it was possible to blush any harder, but she managed it.  She tried to sputter out a denial, but Sydney just laughed harder.  Willow glared at her, but the vampire just kept laughing, and the witch had to join in.

When the redhead caught her breath, she glanced down at her companion.  “You are silly,” she smiled.

Sydney snorted.  “So says the young witch who kept a vampire in a treehouse.”

“You aren't gonna drop that anytime soon, are you?”

“Nope,” the other grinned.

Willow rolled her eyes, resigned.  “Didn't think so.”

Chapter Text

... “William, my sweet,” Drusilla spoke to her chestnut-haired companion, crooning his name and asking a question all at once.

Will, ever her dark knight, was instantly solicitous.  “What is it, luv?”

“The stars are dying,” she told him, the disappointment obvious in her voice.

Will smiled at her gently, holding back a sigh.  Her madness sometimes dragged at him, but he refused to treat her like their Sire had.  She was all he had left to love.  He took her hands, kissing each in turn, the palms, the strong and slender backs, the seemingly fragile wrists; they were icy cold even as he brushed his lips over each delicate finger.  He tucked one of her hands in the crook of his arm as they continued down the street, heading back home.  And why should he be annoyed, like Angelus would have been, at her strange talk?  She was right.  The stars were fading, the dawn approaching.

“Why so they are.  What of it, princess?”

“The mean cat is chasing all the yummy mice away.”

It took him a beat to parse that one out.  “Are you still hungry?  Dru, darling, what about those three children you ate earlier?”

“I'm still cold,” she pouted.

“Their parents?  You ate an entire houseful, luv.” Will gently admonished.

She shook her head emphatically, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders.  “Cold!”

William stopped and scooped her up into his arms, grinning down at her with a rakish smile. “We'll just have to do something about that then, won't we?”...

Spike woke with a start and growled, low and dangerous.  These dreams that plagued him, they just wouldn't stop, and nothing he did seemed to help.  Reliving all the precious moments with his dark princess and his once-loved Sire, it felt as if he were slowly going mad, and always there seemed to be a red-haired ghost that lurked in the background, watching.  He was beginning to think he was possessed.

Spike shook off his thoughts with a snarl.  What he needed was a distraction, and he knew just the thing.

~*~

He stroked his fingers absently over the railroad spike that swung from his wrist on a chain,  each pit and bump and catch of the blackened cast iron familiar against his roughened fingertips.  He rolled the sleeves back on his scarlet button-down, which draped open over his black cotton T-shirt, untucking both from the equally black jeans buckled tightly over his lean hips, working to free up his movement.   His fine, straight chestnut hair brushed his shoulders as he twisted side-to-side to loosen up.

His angular features set off his piercing blue eyes perfectly as he gazed at his prisoner for a moment with anticipation, whetting his appetite.  The male before him was the latest in a long line of...diversions...as he waited for Philip to report back with news of Angelus. 

Spike hated waiting.  He always got bored.

The vampire that hung in the chains against the wall had been the Master of this area of France.  Well, he had been before Spike had decided to stay for a while, and why should he work his way up when he could start at the top?

The prisoner, although he was chained to the wall, was relaxed, still casually defiant.  When he saw what he thought was Spike's hesitation, he grinned boastfully.  “I'm not afraid of a little pain, monsieur.”  But then he saw Spike's eyes, and the grin slipped.

One corner of the master vampire's mouth twisted upward in a smile that few ever survived seeing.  The prisoner swallowed hard.

Spike set the sharp tip of his spike against the meaty join of the male’s shoulder.  The prisoner's eyes shifted, looking away, then back, widening.  “You wouldn't dare…” he whispered, but the certainty that he wouldn't be touched had disappeared.  This vampire would dare anything.  There was nothing to stop him.

Spike saw the moment the other believed, and pushed, punching through easily.  He dragged the iron out and trailed the sharpened tip down the bare stomach in front of him, creating a fine tracery of thin bloody lines over the heaving muscles.  “This time, pet, pain isn't the point.”

The prisoner was breathing in long shuddery breaths that escaped his throat in low groans.  A pale, bloody hand slowly slid the tip lower, and impaled him again.  A ululating scream echoed through the room.

Spike stepped closer, face to face with his victim.  He raised the spike again, and the prisoner recoiled, bashing himself into the wall behind him, unable to retreat.  Spike touched the bloody point to the man's lips, silencing his harsh sobs to gasps.

“Scream for me again,” Spike whispered.

~*~

“Master Spike!”

Spike turned his back on the pitiful excuse for a vampire that huddled in his chains.  The poor thing had lost all voice about an hour ago, but Spike had been having such fun that he hadn't stopped.  Now, it looked as if his prisoner might bleed himself out.  Oh, well.

“What is it?” the master scowled.

“Philip's on the phone.”

~*~

“What news?” Spike snapped into the line.

“Master,” Philip replied.

Spike smiled, Philip’s habitual deference came through clearly and he could almost hear the other bow across the line.  He tried to moderate his tone.  With good help being so hard to find, when he found it, he made it a point to appreciate it.  "What news do you have, Philip?"

The voice in his ear sighed, and Spike braced himself for disappointment.  “Sir,” Philip continued, “I may have a lead, but there is a small problem.”

“Explain,” came the order.

“I started out from New York, and caught a few whispers of the vampire you're looking for, sir. But he isn't at all like you described, master,” the voice held the barest hint of reproach.

“Go on.”

“Well, I followed the trail to Chicago, and I have been here for the past two nights.  There are some very strange rumors being told around here, sir.”

“And they are?” Spike asked, his patience systematically tested.  His servant was halfway across the world.  There was no way he could shake the man until he told Spike what he wanted to know, so there was no point in yelling.  That would only put Philip in a huff, and he'd never get the information.

“Yes, sir.  It's about California.  That's the problem, you see.” Philip paused.

Spike ground his teeth and waited for him to go on, to get the hint that his master certainly did not see.

“The area around Sunnydale - that's in California, sir - it seems to be taboo.  Vampires here in the city all say it's off limits, to everybody, sir.”

“Why?” Spike forced out through gritted teeth.

“Do you have a cold, sir?  You should have Jean get you a nice hot cuppa, if you don't mind my saying, sir.”

Spike tried again, his voice lowered to keep from screaming with mounting frustration, “Why?”

“Well, sir, it might just clear up your throat.  Once I had…”

Spike snarled.

“Oh.  Did you mean California, sir?  I think it's because the Master of the City has slain every vampire and demon that has entered the vicinity for the past fifteen years.  The rumor was, that Angelus was Master, but that's old news.  Now everyone is saying that there's a big war between some new upstart wanting to be Mistress there, and some really old fossil that nobody's heard of for nearly seventy years,” his voice lowered conspiratorially, “and both of them are killing outsiders,” he said with satisfaction.

“Philip,” Spike growled.

“Ah..yes, sir?”

“Didn't I say to find Angelus?  Not rumors of Angelus, or some war going on in the colonies!  Didn't I say that?”

“Yes, of course, sir!  But, sir…!”

“Find him!” Spike roared, and slammed the phone back on the cradle.  There was a small crunch as the plastic case cracked. 

Dreams weren't the only thing driving him crazy.

Chapter Text

Darla sat, her face blank as she watched her newest acquisition pace around her chambers, ranting and raving. It was disgusting. Twice, he'd disobeyed her. She had ordered him to stay away from that irritating redheaded girl. He didn't. Instead, he went into her territory and started dusting his own kind, never even setting eyes on the witch. Deaths of their own kind could be forgiven, but his slaughter was just wasteful.

She had ordered him to show proper deference to the Master. He didn't. Laughing and taunting, the idiot had come within a breath of getting himself killed. He courted the wrath of the Old Ones.

In some ways he reminded her of Angelus, but in others...the comparison was not in his favor. Where Angelus had been arrogant, almost taking her breath away, this youngster was merely insulting. She'd had to drag him forcibly from the Master's presence, with him protesting all the way. As if she cared what he wanted. Darla was, in fact, beginning to believe that Aaron was a mistake.

She stood, picking up a fine silver basin filled with water, and flung it full force into Aaron's pretty face - bowl and all. "Control yourself!"

She replaced the slightly dented basin with perfect composure, wiping her hands down her skirt, and sat back down. The shock of it brought sudden quiet to the room. Trembling, Aaron wiped his face dry with a sleeve, but he calmed. Uncrossing her legs, Darla pointed at the floor in front of her, calmly commanding. “Come here.”

Slowly, Aaron came to kneel before her, but defiance was in every line of his body.

"Do you know what happens to those who displease me?" she asked softly. She hooked a sharp nail into the soft flesh under his jaw, forcing him to meet her eyes and baring his angry gaze.

Darla hissed in annoyance, but then smiled with pleasure as she caught the shiver of fear that ran through his body. She released him and he went back to staring at the floor, one hand tightly fisting his dripping shirt. She leaned back and waited, but stubbornly, he still didn't reply.

She slapped him. "Answer me!"

His head lowered, he growled a protest at the blow.

Darla extended a leg, catching him under the chin with her bare toe, and tipped his head back so that he had to look at her. "You've gone crazy," she commented. She lowered her foot and stood. "I won't speak of this again, but if you dare humiliate me again!" For a moment, her voice shook with restrained rage, but she stopped. "Go, get out of my sight."

The light of the flickering candles dappled Aaron's face, mottling it with shadow and light and highlighting the discolored bruising on this face from the beating he’d received due to his insolence. His expression, almost empty after all the rage from a few minutes before, became almost anxious as Darla bent the full force of her will upon him. A shudder shook though his body and he collapsed at her feet.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Please forgive me, my Mistress."

Darla pulled him up by his hair, craning his head back to see his eyes. His gaze stayed trained to her face, his expression strangely empty once again.

Darla contemplated him for a moment, then decided to offer a bit of incentive. "Do not fail me again. Obey, and you will have what you desire."

He watched her, expectantly.

"Her death."

He envisioned it. He would have it. Her blood.

Aaron smiled.

Chapter Text

Angel woke all at once, every nerve tingling. For a moment he didn’t remember where he was. His eyes snapped open. The room was fully dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t see. He was home.

He held perfectly still, senses extended, listening. He could hear the wind rushing through the trees outside, the rumble of a car and the blare of its radio, quickly fading. Those sounds he blocked out, wanting ones from inside the house. He focused. There was the drip-drip of the bathroom sink, the low hum of the air conditioning, voices from the TV, but only one heartbeat when two were expected.

The vampire could feel the ache inside of him intensify a little more, the tenseness twist a little tighter. It was there, inside, waiting whenever he closed his eyes, and there, waiting, whenever he opened them again. It wasn’t the gnawing feeling of hunger, or at least not for food. It was a hollow place, an emptiness where his heart was. And he had finally recognized the feeling for what it was.

Every vampire seemed to know it instinctively when it happened...except him, apparently. Angel had never expected it to happen to him. It just wasn’t every day that a souled vampire started bonding to his mate.

~*~

“Giles? Mr. Giles? Are you here?” Sunlight glimmered on blood red hair as Willow passed through the dust motes that sparkled in the dying rays of sunset. She had gotten to the library early, before she met up with Buffy for their study date, in hopes of speaking to the watcher. Alone.

Reaching the librarian’s office, she knocked lightly on the door. His voice reached her, low and a little rough, as if he had been napping. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Willow, Mr. Giles. Could I talk to you, please?” It never hurt to be polite. She heard papers shuffling, and then slow footsteps. The door clicked as it was unlocked. It was smart that he wanted to see Willow first, before offering an invitation inside. But it was only smart if she were a vampire. She hoped he understood that vampires weren’t the only things running around Sunnydale. “Mr. Giles?”

The door opened slowly and sharp, blue-gray eyes belied the Watcher’s befuddled expression. “Ah, Willow! How are you?”

He opened the door wider, motioning with his hands to usher her inside, but careful not to give the verbal invitation required by a vampire. He silently offered her a seat on the battered-looking sofa, leaning back against his desk. He eyed her quizzically. The girl looked a bit lost, glancing slowly around the room until her eyes finally settled on his face. “What can I do for you,” he asked.

Looking at him seriously, she said, “I think I need your help.”

~*~

Sydney pushed the case of books back against the wall. The exit from the old sewer system had been right where Angel has said it would be, and it led straight into the upstairs section of the high school’s library. It was surprising that such a modern building would hearken back to the old ways of secret-keeping. (Cool.)

She scanned the room, instantly aware that there was no third presence, and relaxed minutely, glad that the Slayer had not yet arrived. “Slayers,” she thought derisively, turning the word into a epithet.

Sauntering over to one of the tables, she picked one from which she could view the little witch and perched on the edge, ignoring the chairs. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a little baggie of Oreos. It was something that Willow had started leaving for her every morning, since they’d started living in such close quarters.

She agreed with Angeles that the girl needed a protector, but she didn’t do the protecting for his sake. She pulled a cookie out, nibbling thoughtfully as she eavesdropped on the ensuing conversation. It sounded like Willow was telling the Watcher her life story.

(Horrid Slayers. Stuffy Watcher, interfering Council. Prophecies!) She growled softly. (I hate ‘em all.) Unfortunately, it was in the cause of all three that she was sitting in a high school library with a new addiction of chocolate cookies. Sydney sighed and murmured softly to herself, “The Warrior might save through her talents, But Innocence shall keep the world in balance.”

She munched, mostly content, on her cookie. (Okay, so, the job may suck....) She stared raptly at the girl in the office for a minute, watching, contemplating her own emotions with detached curiosity. A few silent moments passed by, and she was slightly puzzled by the sense of rightness that she felt when looking at the red-headed little witch. However, the feeling was quickly banished by a mostly unwanted, rapidly encroaching, presence. She moved to lose herself in one of the many shadowed nooks, casting one more glance towards the door hiding her Mistress. (...but there are a few perks.)

~*~

“You've bonded him!” Giles look was startled, more than she had expected. “That’s remarkable, Willow.” He sounded completely astonished. She had no idea what he was talking about.

“Thank you?” she stammered.

“Remarkable,” he echoed.

“Giles?”

“Y...yes?”

“Why is it remarkable?”

Giles sat with his elbows with his on the desk. At her question, he carefully removed his glasses, set them down, and briefly buried his face in his hands. He rubbed his face hard; when he raised it again, it was flushed and furrowed, his eyes blinking.

“Willow, from what you’ve said, I’m to understand that Angel is a Master vampire of at least two hundred years -- likely more, and that he was cursed by gypsies and now has a soul. You’ve kissed him twice recently, and both times you have experienced sensations that you feel are something more than normal kisses. Since those kisses, you dream of someone that you believe to be Angel’s remaining Childe, and you believe these dreams are memories…”

Giles thought a moment and then continued, “I believe a link has been established between you and those of Angel’s blood. As you should know, vampires are inhabited by a demon. When the demon is old enough, or powerful enough, it seeks out a ..ah..a mate, or..or..a Consort. In all the previously recorded cases that I have had access to, the bond has been between two vampires. In your case...a souled vampire...bonded to a human...the ramifications...I need to think about this, possibly make a few discrete calls. “ He saw her eyes widen with alarm, and hurried to reassure her. “I will not, of course, reveal any of the information that you have divulged, neither the source nor the details.” Giles smiled, reaching over awkwardly to pat her shoulder. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Willow’s lips parted slightly, then closed in silence. She didn’t know what to say.

~*~

“Giles? Willow? Are you here?” Buffy entered the quiet library and headed right for the bright light of her Watcher’s office. Inside, Giles was refilling Willow’s cup of tea.

“Willow? You ready to help me hit the books?”

Willow looked up, “Sure, Buffy, I’ll be right there.” She offered her hand to the librarian. “We’ll talk again?”

“Of...of course,” he stuttered, gripping her hand lightly.

“Thanks,” Willow replied. She gave him a grateful nod and tugged her hand free, turning to follow Buffy into the library.

~*~

Buffy looked up from her history book at the red-headed witch sitting across from her. Every time Giles walked by, her friend tensed up more and more and buried her nose further into her textbook. The way things were going, the redhead was going to snap before the slayer even got her to dish. “Willoooow,” she sang softly.

Willow looked up from her own books, her eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“I’m borrrrred...,” the Slayer continued.

The witch smirked. “You know, if you actually read what was on the page, instead of only staring at it....you might finish just a little faster,” she teased, holding her thumb and forefinger up in emphasis.

Snapping the history book closed, the blond leaned forward, her eyes staring intently into Willow’s. “Just what do you do around her for fun?” She smiled.

The other girl’s bright green eyes began to sparkle wickedly, and Buffy, remembering similar words she’d spoken to Cordelia and the events that happened after, wondered if she would regret asking. Again.

~*~

Giles’ sporadic muttering, his voice muted in the gloom of evening, broke the silence of the library with his soft exclamations. He’d poured through almost every text and tome on hand. “There’s nothing here.” He briefly wondered if the girl could be trying to pull some elaborate hoax. The Watcher sighed. It was late. Still, there was one source that he hadn’t tried yet. (The Diaries it is, then. If nothing is there...well, I’ll deal with Miss Rosenberg tomorrow.)

Giles stood carefully. His head ached and his back hurt, tension tightening the the muscles in his shoulders and neck from all of his anxious reading. Tired, still not fully recovered from the incident at the Bronze, he nevertheless wanted to find the pieces and complete the puzzle that Willow had handed him. Carefully replacing the ages old texts he had been consulting, he then brought out several volumes of slim, hand-sized books. Leather-bound, they encompassed the accumulated knowledge of Watchers that had served before him. Every Watcher began a journal. They were passed down through time: thoughts, feelings, experiences. They were the closest to an instruction manual and guide that a new Watcher had. He set them down and carefully began leafing through the pages.

“Oh, dear.” He was on the third volume in when he was startled into speaking aloud. He read, “Spike, Childe of Angelus, known as ‘William the Bloody’. Earned his nickname by torturing his victims with railroad spikes. Very pleasant. Well, here’s some good news...he’s not quite reached two hundred years..." Frowning, his brows drawing together as a sinking feeling started in his stomach, Giles continued, "Oh...bloody hell. He’s killed two Slayers!”

Chapter Text

1996, Somewhere in France...

Torches, set in brass brackets, lit the walls of a crypt with flickering light, glinting off the polished granite of the vaulted room. They lent the sharp smell of pitch to the sickly-sweet fragrance of gardenias and jasmine that hung in the dead, still air. A short pillar in the center of the room supported the one sarcophagus that occupied the space. It was long empty, the bones it once contained had long since crumbled to dust.

Spike irreverently sat on top of the shrouded stone, one leg dangling from the side and the other raised up, hugged to his chest, with his chin resting on the raised knee. His expression was frozen and cold as his empty eyes stared vacantly into the torchlight.

His minions had been tasked with guarding the tomb day and night; to be sure the torches burned, that no one entered, that no one under any circumstances disturbed their master. They were devoted to their tasks. They had great reason to be - failure resulted in an immediate beheading, or worse.

Master Spike had been getting worse as the nights passed. His gaze frequently going unfocused, stopping mid-movement to stare blankly into the air. Not even his distractions could help him to keep his temper if he was disturbed during one of his spells. Being ripped from whatever visions he saw sent him into a fierce fury.

Their cohort had moved location three times. It was unusual for them to move so frequently in such a short duration, but at least this crypt was more defensible. With the condition Master Spike was in, after killing that last master vampire, they needed every advantage they could get.

If the two guards that stood watch over him had been capable of speculation regarding what had emptied their master's eyes, they might have said that he was heartbroken. But, as it was, they merely stood, silent, one to each side of the crypt’s entrance, and kept their thoughts to themselves.

Footsteps echoed at someone’s approach. The master showed no concern, or interest, but his guards did. No one was allowed to disturb their master. One of the guards quietly left his post to intercept whoever it was on the stairs. His fangs were bared, ready if the intruder protested. But when he saw who it was his face smoothed in contempt. It was Dalton.

The weak fledgling pushed up his glasses and started stuttering as soon as he saw the guard. "I, uh, have news of An...Angelus. I'm, um, supposed to tell him right ah..away. Philip called."

The guard nodded and beckoned. There was an exception to every rule, and news of Angelus was the only reason that might allow someone to disturb the master without losing their life. Maybe.

They silently went back down the stairs, the guard taking up his post again and waving Dalton inside. The fledgling continued forward, approaching his master. There was no flare of recognition from the master, no indication that he’d been noticed, and Dalton was torn. He’d heard rumors of the the master’s flaring temper and didn’t want to risk it, but he had to impart the news he’d been sent to deliver. Both action and inaction could very easily lead to the extinguishing of his unlife.

As he got closer, the trembling of his knees got the best of him, and less than halfway across the room, Dalton dropped to his knees, respectfully terrified, prostrating himself with his forehead to the ground. He’d wait until the trance passed.

~*~

A village on the outskirts of Prague, 1891...

The village was empty. Burned. Quiet. Dead.

His Dru, his princess, was dead. Everyone was dead, even the animals. From people to goats to rats, they had fled or died by the demon's hands. His fangs ripping into flesh, trying to quench the thirst of the fierce hatred that now consumed him; to hear the screams. But now there was nothing left, and it wasn't enough!

There was nothing left of the town, except for a few charred remainders and a church - and soon there wouldn't even be that. He wandered through the streets until he found himself standing in front of the small building. He went in, for what was God to one such as he?

An hour later he was hunting the ghostly roads, the church burning down behind him. His breath billowed like smoke in the bitter cold; he'd forgotten that breathing was unnecessary. The cold meant nothing to him and pain was just a continuous nag that meant he still existed.

He ran, sore muscles bunching and flexing beneath torn skin, graceful even in pain. He didn't stop, continuing on until he reached the outskirts of the town. where he stopped and took shelter from the sun in a vacant barn and relaxed, exhausted.

He tried to lick his wounds, but being in the form of a man - even if he had forgotten - he couldn't reach most of them. Finally he gave up and stilled. He seemed to be waiting for something, and every so often cocked his head as if he were trying to listen to a voice in the distance...

*

...Time passed and the village remained empty. No one dared to come within miles of it. People said that a demon from the very pits of Hell haunted the deserted streets, killing anyone foolhardy enough to enter. People were right...

*

...The demon was both weary and wound tighter than a spring, if the combination was possible. He needed to move, to run from the memories that were hounding him. But there was nowhere to go, the sun that shone outside did not offer escape. Not yet. There was still something he had to do and it tickled the edge of his thoughts, teasing him, just out of reach. In the back of his mind was the desperate hope that it might go away, leaving him to his soulless, heartless existence.

It didn't.

...Cold darkness. Silence. The weight of solitude. Each was a weapon that once might have been used to break him, but he was already broken and welcomed them. There would be no pleas for mercy, no cries for compassion or understanding. The last vestiges of his sanity told him he deserved none of those things, so he was silent. For years, he uttered not a word in all the nights he hunted the abandoned streets. Besides, what God listened to the prayers of a demon?

~*~

Dalton tried to wait patiently for his master's acknowledgment, but every minute he waited, his fear grew. He had never been made to kneel this long. He was going to die. He just knew it.

His teeth started to chatter, the sound loud in the stillness of the crypt. Icy blue eyes blinked and turned his way. Dalton hastily bit down into his tongue, his blood dripped onto the floor but his teeth were now silent.

"Why are you here?" The voice was soft, slightly hoarse from disuse and disinterested, but no longer as lost in the trails of memory. There was a small frown on Spike’s face as he looked down at the fledgling. It set Dalton to stammering again.

"Master, you..you said to, uh, to..tell you when we..we had word of, um, Angelus' whereabouts." Amber started to flicker like lightning in the blue of the master's stormy eyes. Dalton spoke faster. "We have confirmation. He's in the United States - helping the Slayer."

Spike dropped down off of the sarcophagus. The rage that lit the blazing amber eyes brought Dalton to his feet, scrambling out of the crypt and into a dead run. The master let him go. (We'll be meeting again, Sire. Soon.)

He settled down again, this time on the floor with his back against the stone, turning his head back to the torch light as reality slowly dissolved once again. Night would come soon enough.

Chapter Text

Snapping the history book closed, the blond leaned forward, her eyes staring intently into Willow’s. “Just what do you do around here for fun?” she teased.

The other girl’s bright green eyes began to sparkle wickedly, and Buffy, remembering similar words she’d spoken to Cordelia and the events that happened after, wondered if she would regret asking.  Again.

~ * ~

The two girls ran up the stairs to Willow’s bedroom.  Willow’s parents were out of town, so Buffy had insisted on walking Willow home.  She was planning to take the long way home anyhow.  Even with her feet killing her after a couple of hours hanging with the redhead at the Bronze, she’d fit in one more patrol - just in case there were any more vampires around with fancy jewelry.   More clues for Giles would definitely be of the good.  There were twelve cemeteries in Sunnydale, and how was that for trivia?  But so far, even with all of that prime real estate to patrol, she hadn’t found anything to add to their pawn shop collection.  

In the meantime, there was nothing saying she couldn’t spend a little more time with the girl that was quickly becoming her new best friend.  Especially since there was no cute boy waiting for her at the Bronze.  She’d been more than half hoping that her current crush would be crushing just as hard as her and would’ve been waiting to see her there - even if she had accidentally stood him up the day before!  A girl could dream.

Giggling quietly at their very unstealthy attempt to get to Willow’s room - not that they needed to be stealthy, but it was a time-honored tradition thing, even if it was the first time they were doing it - they rushed up and slammed the door behind themselves.  There was still so much that she didn’t know about the redheaded witch and the live music that seemed to be a staple at the Bronze didn’t really facilitate conversations.  Bouncing down on top of Willow’s bed, still picture-perfect in her glittery cream dress and pink overcoat, Buffy grinned up at the other girl and started in on the obligatory (and important!) best friend questions.  “So, do you have a boyfriend yet?  Xander, maybe?”

Willow plopped down next to the blonde, facing her, and pulled a face, “No!  Ugh.  Absolutely not Xander!  He’s like my brother .”  

“Well, who then?” 

“No one,” Willow answered softly, pulling her hair forward over her shoulders and combing her fingers through it.  

Buffy frowned at her, puzzled, remembering the previous possessive vibes she’d gotten from the witch around Angel.  “No one?”

“I have my amourous moments, once in a while,” Willow explained, “but I never seem to have much luck in that department.  I don’t know why.”  

Ever since she and Angel kissed, she’d felt different.  Couldn’t really put her finger on how, exactly.  Mostly, it was just weird.   Like weirder than just the weird of having been kissed by Angel, who she grew up knowing.  Which was weird enough, although she wouldn’t ever deny his aesthetic appeal.  But really weird. 

Sometimes, when she’d be laying in bed with her mind drifting every which way, but not just her usual diverging tangents, she’d feel a tug at the edges of her consciousness, pulling, and she’d sink down into dreams that weren’t hers.  At first, she’d kept the witchy weirdness to herself.  She didn’t need to be poked fun of by Xander, and it wasn’t like she could discuss this kind of thing with Angel, like she would with anything else.  Talking about his history often sent him into full-on brooding mode.  So she figured, hey!  Why not talk about it with the new resident expert?  Not that it really led to anywhere.  Giles kept a tight grip on the good books and the information in them, but at least it was like, politely.  She’d expected something a bit more earth-shattering than research, honestly.  A bit more drama even, but Angel had been distant lately, and a lot absent.  Talks about the change in their relationship had been non-existent.  And if she had to fight with him to spend time with her, then there really wasn’t a point, was there?

“I don’t know why either.  I’m sure you could have a boyfriend if, you know, you wanted one.  For me - Owen!”

“Have you been making any progress on that?”

“We’ve now had...three conversations?  It’s progress!  It was really good progress.  Such good progress that he asked me to the Bronze!”

“That’s great!”

“...but then I had to stand him up for the patrol that Giles insisted on last night, because otherwise the world would end - which, spoiler, it didn’t - and when I finally got there afterward, he was dancing with Cordelia and she had her paws all over him.”  Buffy finished and sighed, letting herself fall back onto Willow’s bed like a deflating Christmas lawn decoration.

Willow winced in sympathy. “So, you just went home?”

“What was I supposed to do?  Say to Owen:  Sorry I was late because I was sitting in a cemetery with the librarian waiting for a vampire to rise so I could prevent an evil prophecy from coming to pass?”

“No, that’s true.  But you could’ve made up an excuse...like, your mom’s car got a flat tire?  No, wait, that’s lame...”

“Lying?  Willow!  Lying is no way to build a relationship!  Tsk-tsk!” 

“Heh.  Yeah.  Well, so, that’s a bummer,”  Willow perked up, pushing her hair back out of her face, “but how’s the slaying?”

Buffy grimaced, looking away and shifting around at the mention of slaying, “Like I said, did the stake-out patrol with Giles yesterday.  He’s doing some research now on something called the Order of Aurelius.”   

Willow cocked her head.  That sounded familiar...why did that sound familiar?  “Order of Aurelius?”

“Yeah, it’s some vampire cult, that you know, wants to take over the world, or destroy it!  Who knows?  It’s the same old, same old.”  Buffy glanced at her watch, seeing that it was getting close to midnight, and looked back at Willow, sitting up.  “Hey.  Thanks for tonight.  I really needed this.  And it’s been great, but if I don’t get home soon, my mom’s going to murder me.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, of course!  Anytime!  Let me walk you out.”  

They made their way to the front door and Willow opened it, letting Buffy through.  She leaned against the door and reached out, resting her hand briefly on Buffy’s arm to stop her from walking away, watching her hopefully.   “You know, if you wanted some company, I could go with you next time…?”

“What, to my next date?”  Buffy raised her eyebrow in Willow’s direction, her nose wrinkling a little. 

“What?  No!”  Willow dropped her gaze, but stepped out from the door and stopped leaning, looking up after a second.  “I was talking about patrolling?” 

Buffy put her off, “Not this time.  Giles just gave me a whole speech earlier today.”  Buffy, imitating the librarian continued in a deeper voice and a wagging finger, mock serious,  “If your identity as a Slayer is revealed, it could put you, and all those around you, in grave danger.”  Going back to her usual perkiness, she started away down the path, calling back with a wave, “Maybe later?”  

~ * ~

Willow looked around her empty living room.  Xander was staying over at Angel’s house, as usual, but she’d gone back to her parents' place, needing some time to work some things out for herself.  And now Buffy.  What the heck was that?  It was like the girl had completely forgotten how they’d met!

She was halfway up the stairs leading back to her room when someone knocked on the front door.  ‘Maybe Buffy forgot something?’  Her head turned back to the door quicker than her body and,  tripping down the stairs in her haste, she had to catch herself on the wide wooden banister.  Scowling at herself, she slowed down and approached the door at a more reasonable rate.

By the time she’d reached the base of the stairs, she could easily see through the gauzy curtains covering the sidelights.  A familiar broad shadow with a dark head of hair darkened her door, provoking a deep sigh.  Her main reason for wanting some quiet contemplation time.  She did her best to clear away her grumpy face, but was a little me-time too much to ask?

It was way too late to pretend she didn’t know he was there.  As close to the door as she already was, he’d have heard her moving by now. 

“Willow - what are you doing here?  You’re by yourself?  Is Buffy still here?”  Angel called through the door.  

He had spent half the night tracking the Slayer, and was a little concerned that he traced the scent to Willow’s parent’s front door.  So, while he’d been tempted to continue following the trail, he felt compelled to check on Willow first.  When he’d gone to their house earlier, Xander was already home sleeping.  It was unusual for her to stay in her parent’s house while they were away.

Angel was taken aback as Willow flung the door open.  “Is Buffy all you care about?!” 

“What?  No, of course not!  Where have you been for the past couple of days?  You never came back home and you’ve obviously been hanging around the Slayer.  I thought you said you were just going to sort some things out!  And where’s Sydney!  I told her to stay with you!”

“Don’t be silly, Angel, it’s not like she can follow me everywhere!  She’ll be turning up soon.  She’s probably just getting a bite to eat.  Buffy walked me home, and look!  Safe and sound!”  Willow held out her arms and waved at each in turn, gesturing to her complete lack of bodily harm. 

“Fine!  When are you coming home?”

“Tomorrow, the day after?  I don’t know.  I just need some time to myself.”

“Willow, I really don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here alone,” Angel said, unfairly directing his own grumpy face at her.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the boss of me!  It’s not like you’ve really been spending time with me anyway.  Or Xander!  You’ve been all hung up on Buffy.  Don’t even think of denying it, mister,”  Willow huffed.

“What are you talking about?  Even if I am trying to work with the Slayer, it’s only because I want to help her do her job and make it safer for you!”

“I’ve been taking care of myself just fine for months!  And stop trying to leave me out of this, whatever you’ve got going on with Buffy.  I’m helping too!”  Willow glared at him firmly and changed the subject, “What you know about the Order of Aurelius?”

Angel hesitated, jaw clenching as he looked away from that piercing green gaze, agonizing over what to tell her.  That name brought back too many memories...and the implications of Willow knowing it...  He hated to expose Willow to who they used to be, to even skim over the depths of their deviant depravity.  Despite her power, she’d led a very sheltered life.  He’d told her some stories based on his history, but the breadth of details he’d omitted could fill fathoms.  She didn’t even know his name from those times.  He’d purposefully left out anything that would enable her to research who he used to be, that human who lacked even a smidgen of compassion, who turned into an arrogant demon without a scrap of humanity.  

He knew she’d never accept him if she knew how bloody his history really was, dreaded seeing fear and revulsion in her eyes, if she ever understood.  It would break his heart.  

The silence lengthened, and Willow could feel her impatience getting to her.  It wasn’t like she had all of eternity to just stand in the doorway.  ‘Damn his standoffishness and closed mouthedness!’  There was never any disclosure of his history.   History in general, sure!  But invariably,  when it was about his past, or his sire, he refused to even open his mouth.  He couldn’t say she was too young to know now either, not if he was going to go around kissing her.

He knew something, she knew he did.  Which was absolutely relevant now, what with that stupid Order being in town .  Willow needed to know more.  For her own safety, as well as her clan, and the slayer too.  Damn Buffy and damn Angel too!  How was she going to protect anyone if she was left out of the Slayer meetings and couldn’t get knowledge from her other sources and didn’t even know what the threats were ?

“Where did you hear that name from?”

“Stop stalling and just tell me, Angel!”

“The Order of Aurelius…”

“Whatever it is - they killed people, I’m guessing, or a lot of people - whatever it is, just spit it out, I need to know!” Willow folded her arms, keeping him pinned under her gaze while she waited for him to answer

“I was a childe of the Order...but I wasn’t in the Order.  I only really know what my sire told me, which isn’t much.  I never met the Master, myself.  Living in close proximity to him was just risking mutilation on his whim.  And although my sire was one of his favored ones, even she preferred not to risk her skin.  Most of the brethren lived underground, away from what they called the human pestilence.  They were kept close, indoctrinated to follow the prophecies and teachings of Aurelius.  But us, he let roam to incite chaos.

“Anyway, my sire was Darla, and between her, myself and two others...together we were war, hunger, death and...madness.  For a while, we were almost like the four horsemen.  The apocalypse.  People, demons, they fled before us.  No discrimination, no mercy.  For a hundred years, I was on a murderous rampage!  I offered an ugly death to everyone I met.  And between the four of us, we had the streets running with blood.”  He flashed his fangs for emphasis.  “And then, I spent the next hundred years trying to come to terms with infinite remorse!  It almost killed me!  I don’t like to talk about it!”

Crazy vampire monks.  Great.  “Thank you, Angel.”  Willow knew that was hard on him.  Hopefully, it would help.  Information was power.

Angel put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently, “Look, I’ve got to go find Buffy.  We need her help.  She should be the one out on the streets, protecting the city, not you!”  He released her, giving her a quick smile before turning away and disappearing into the night.

‘Ugh!’  Willow threw her hands up and slammed the door behind him.  A frown wrinkled her forehead as she stalked back to her room, stomping up the carpeted stairs as much as she could with fuzzy socked feet.    ‘How dare he!’  

Chapter Text

After the attack on the warehouse lair and then the creepy dustup at the Bronze, the witch couldn’t be faulted for making a new lair a priority.  She didn’t want Aaron to be able to just waltz back in and start dusting her people again.  Sure, they’d be more alert now and wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice, but it was just common sense to not make it easy for her enemies.  While Willow had asked her vampires to keep their eyes open, there’d been no sightings of Aaron around town.  And that worried her.  

Sydney showed up not long after Angel with news from Eric, and at that point Willow just gave up and dragged her back outside.  So there she was, sometime in the early AM on a school night, skulking around with her loyal henchvamps to give the yea or nay to their possible new digs.  Not that there were very many options available for what might qualify for an evil lair.  With less than 40,000 residents, it wasn’t like there was a whole lot of town.  A non-driving, non-license-holding, and too-broke-for-constant-cab-fare person, such as herself, could (at a brisk walk) get from one side of the town to the other in about forty minutes.  At the moment, the Crawford St. mansion was her prime choice, centrally located, and in a neighborhood that she wouldn’t conceivably be too out of place in if she had to walk down the street in broad daylight.  Her second best option was an abandoned brick factory down by the docks - and there was no way she wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb if she was spotted over there.

She trudged up the asphalt, following the curving road uphill, her general annoyance long since worked off, for the time being, just by putting one foot in front the other, after the other.  Sighing, her eyes caught on the rising moon for a second and she couldn’t contain the twitching that pulled at her lips or the fancies that were bouncing around inside her head.  

Slowly, silently, now the moon

Walks the night in her silver shoon;

This way, and that, she peers, and sees

Silver fruit upon silver trees;*

She was grateful for that wan light.  The streetlamps were few and far between, but she couldn’t help but think for a second - what if?   It was a recurring thought.  Vampires, magic, what else was out there?  Fairies? Werewolves?  She didn’t hold out much hope for unicorns (every little girl’s dream), but...she was a witch with a clan of vampires, so who knew? 

She pushed the thoughts away and, tired of her pace and within eyeshot of the site, waved most of her entourage on ahead, keeping Eric and Sydney with her.  The rest peeled off with vampiric speed and disappeared to scope the building out. Two handfuls of people walking up the road in the early hours of the morning would be more than a little suspicious and there was no need to have nosy neighbors calling the police because of gang activity.   She’d never completely understood the close relationship between vampires and leather, but the peace of not arguing was worth more than the debate, even if they did look like a biker gang without the bikes.  Yeah, inconspicuous was not them. 

Her destination was blatantly obvious:  mansion.   Straight ahead of her, it was a dark bulk that loomed against the night sky, bled of its daytime color by the silvery gleam of moonlight and the drowning shadows of darkness.  It was set back away from the street, situated at the top of the hill and surrounded by wispy palm trees with a few scattered pine and a close thicket of overgrown shrubbery, veiled from casual passerby. 

After a while, the thicket gave way to a low coarse stone wall, maybe twenty to twenty-five feet high, that became more clearly visible the closer they got to the structure.  And the road, thankfully, finally leveled off.  Her sneakers were getting a work out.  ‘God, school was going to be a killer in the morning’, Willow mused.  Even though it was a cool night and she’d dressed casually, she’d broken out in a light sweat less than halfway across town, nevermind the steep hill.  Still, she’d made it.  

Recessed in the wall, the wrought iron gate had been wrenched to the side, the rusted lock busted open, laying on the ground on top of a thick layer of dirt and scattered leaves.   To the side, there was also a wide double-gated entryway for cars, but that, at least, was still barred.   

The tunnel entrance for pedestrians would be fairly easy to guard and had an inner wooden door that had been smashed in, barely hanging on to its rusted hinges.  Both would need to be replaced.

The outer wall was thick enough that it took a few steps before it opened up into a paved courtyard, with a large birdbath at the center and stone benches scattered around.  It was overgrown, and the fragrance of the night blooming jasmine and purple wisteria was almost overwhelming.  Some repairs and it would be gorgeous.  Just not so good for her vampires, what with them getting a bit toasty in sunlight.

The actual entrance to the main building, however, was obscured and took her a few minutes to spot the flagstones pattern that paved the way to the mansion.  Pushing aside some overhanging vines, she nudged herself through into a narrow, dark, and uninviting passage.  It was claustrophobic, especially on the stairs leading up into the main level, but once through the narrow hall, it opened up into a grand space.  There were two large terraces and she stood on the lower one, looking around.  A Greek key motif, created with concrete blocks of granite and sand, meandered throughout the rough beige stonework in square patterns.   

There was a high terrace and a garden with a dry fountain that she caught glimpses of as she walked, easily noting the stone walls and narrow walkways that would be great for sentries.  Plus...what could possibly be a pool. 

Looking down, from a terrace, she could see the area between the wall and the house was graveled and fairly clear of obstruction and had good sightlines.  Looking up, she could see that the place had multiple levels.  She couldn’t see many windows on the lower part, but higher up they were huge.  Vines twisted their way up, clinging to the walls and shrouding the panes. 

She shivered, glancing around her, then behind her to make sure her vampires were still at her back.  At least it has the right ambiance for a vampire lair, she giggled silently to herself.

She moved inside, sneakers roaming the creaky wood floors and her two tails still silent and stealthy behind her.  She gazed around her, curious, and did her best to keep her senses open for any surprises.  The darkness peeled away as she summoned up a lick of fire to hover over her palm while she surveyed the interior, revealing the evidence of ruin and decay.   Crumbling masonry and broken pavement, slowly eroding from years abandoned to the rain and elements.   Eric and Sydney followed patiently as she went deeper, their footsteps preternaturally silent under the soft swishes of her shoes against the stone floor.   Squabbling rats squealed in protest at the unexpected light and scurried for safety amongst the moldering furniture and rubbish strewn about.  She grimaced, but tried not to think about what else could be hiding in the trash. 

The windows were large, but shuttered, and vines that had crept between the glass and the wood, curled between the two - twisted brown mats of ivy that would have blocked out the night even without the help of the crumbling, rotted wood that boarded up most of them.  She drew in careful breaths, regretting each one with the lingering reek of old urine.    Rats, stray dogs and the homeless, no doubt.  It combined with the scent of dry dust and disuse.   

She shuddered and moved on, poking her head into the various rooms.  Walk in fireplaces, and red and black tiled bathrooms - she didn’t know who had lived here before, but she hoped the décor didn’t give her vampires too many ideas.  But still, it would do.

~*~

Willow signaled the okay, giving the order to the vamps to get the place cleaned up and for them to settle in.  She strayed back out to the courtyard to sit on one of the benches, getting away from the stink and resting her feet while she gave some thought to whether or not she could use her magic to help fortify their new digs.  

Balls of light, a bit of fire, or safeguarding amulets were one thing, but the mansion was a huge area.  She’d never tried to do anything like it before.  It wasn’t something that Angel had ever mentioned was possible, either.

She planned to spend some time in the library, soon, hopefully to peruse Giles’ books for types of protective magics.  Among all of the historical volumes and biographies that he’d brought in that referenced the occult...she had more than a sneaking suspicion that they weren’t just for enrichment of the highschool population as she had first thought.  Maybe there was something in there that she could use to set up to make the new base safer - some type of runic warding, or maybe a spell.   

Knowing the Slayer and that Giles was her Watcher, her own magic, and all the vampires in her life, what she’d seen there might be worth a second look.  Covens and demons, werewolves, etc...she’d brushed it all off as fiction when she’d first browsed through the new sections.  She doubted she’d be planning any rituals to the elder gods, but there might be some useful info.  She wished she had some kind of guide.  Even the Slayer had a handbook! 

But she needed something now, something to keep them safe in the meantime.  Safe during the daylight hours when they wouldn’t be able to escape from intruders, and safe during their downtime in the depths of the night.  She was no Harry Potter, there were no special words or wands for her.  Her magic had always been focus and will, intent and visualization, with a dash of desperation occasionally thrown in.

She tried to dredge that feeling up and bring it to the fore.  She wanted this place to be safe.  They could all be in danger at any minute.  They were her people and this was her place.  No one should be able to hurt them here.

The magic built up inside her, her skin and hair taking on a subtle luminescence and sparks started snapping around her fingers like crackles of static electricity, limned blue with witchglow.  Sydney and Eric stepped back away from her when their hair started to stand on end and their skin tingled, putting some space between them as the pressure continued to increase.  Her vampires felt the weight and strength of the magic that filled the courtyard like the silent build of thunder.   

Willow squeezed her eyes closed, struggling to push it out to the edges of the property, thinking to anchor it to the outer wall.  As she concentrated, she felt like she was getting it, but what she built fell apart the second she started taking her attention away, and holding it was a struggle.  It was like a fistful of water, slipping through her fingers.  

She tried again, but it made no difference.  Each surge of magic dispersed and dissipated, like a wave swelling and breaking on the shore.  

There had to be some way to get the magic to last even when she wasn’t there.  Maybe, if she could just see it instead of reaching blindly… 

The crackling sparks wrapping around her fingers turned into threads of light as she opened her eyes.   Threads of light that reached outwards from her hands like a grid, or the base of a tapestry.  The warp and weft of her magic, mapping over the fabric of reality with her design - now that she could see it was easier to push her magic through, tying the threads together as she needed them to be to the stones to hold it there.  

She did her best, and when she stopped and looked over her work, she could tell she’d had some success, but it was like someone’s first try at embroidery, weak, with stitches out of place.  It wouldn’t hold up in the long run, but it was something.  She hoped.

Willow swayed slightly on the bench, the outpouring of her power catching her off guard as it sunk into the walls and stones, and she detached herself from the magic.  She felt the heaviness of the protections weigh against her before it settled, and the glow faded.

Sydney helped her back onto her feet, both unsteady, and for long moments she simply stood there and breathed.  Slow and steady, one breath after another until the world stopped swaying and the magic settled.  Sydney dug into her jacket pocket for her packet of cookies.

Let this be enough for one night.   Willow sighed, shaking off Sydney’s support, but taking the oreo cookie offered to her.  She reached out to clasp Eric’s arm with her free hand.  “I’m going to make my way home.  Look after the rest for me, will you?”

Eric nodded solemnly in agreement, and Willow let Sydney escort her home as they shared the cookies between them.