1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20
A.Lite
DISCLAIMER: All of the characters appearing in this story belong to the WB
BACKGROUND: Season 4 story
110 Days to Apocalypse
Gruesome Murder In Sunnydale
Cultist killer still at large
-The Sunnydale Times
The article went on to describe the condition of Mary Collins’ body as it had been found chopped into small pieces and used to decorate her car. The only clue to the killer was a single mutated arm left at the scene and covered in her blood. According to the police, this was evidence of the activity of a cult they had been monitoring for some time. They believed this cult to be involved in the murder of two college students in a cemetery, the deaths thirty-some UC Sunnydale students at the Lowell House, and the disappearance of Father Paul. The police also recommended that all citizens not go out at night and keep a tight watch for suspect activities. Suspect activities included people who did not come out during the day, strange tattoos, and other ‘suspicious’ activities. The article went on to say that the police had been assured by other government authorities that they were prepared to take measures to protect the town from other incidents.
Somehow that did not reassure anyone in the mansion on Crawford Street at all. In fact, if they read the signs right, it was not good in the smallest way, and they had 110 days to do something about it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Okay, your turn to pick a name,” Judgment told Lover I.
“Why is it my turn?” Lover I complained, straightening his cards.
“Because I picked the last one,” Judgment flipped her hair over her shoulder.
Lover I sulked for a second, and finally pulled a piece of paper out of the coffee can. He unfolded it and read, “Joyce.”
They each pulled a card and set it on the table. The cards didn’t match. They tried again; still no match. The two started to slap the top card off their piles, much like a fast-paced version of war. Finally, around the twelfth card, they had a match. Judgment and Lover I stopped and looked expectantly at Tower.
“I see it. Joyce is Star,” Tower marked it on his clipboard. “Could you two hurry this up? We have other stuff we need to do, and I don’t see why this is taking so long. You two are seers.”
“This is bloody well your fault. It would be a lot shorter if we didn’t have to use the full Tarot card deck.” Lover I pointed out.
“Do I need to tell you how much I dislike you right now for this, Xander? Flipping cards to get code names for the last two hours wasn’t my idea of a really ‘fun’ time.”
“We could have gone the other way. I’m still partial to ‘Death Claw.’” Xander held up his hands in submission as Cordelia and Spike pelted him with their cards. “What?”
Three hours later, the newly named High Priestess announced, “I’ve
bounced the signal off enough satellites that we should be okay. Who’s
first?”
The Hanged Man picked up the phone, “I have it.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Ring*
“Hello?”
“Kate, this is Angel.”
She sighed, picking up her mail off her coffee table, “I heard you left town.”
“I did.”
“The ‘detective agency’ went under? Was it because you never got a license or did some other creature of the night run you out of town?” Kate had been like this to him ever since her father had been killed, though today there seemed to be an extra edge on her voice.
“Did you know Mary Collins?”
Kate froze in the middle of sorting her mail. “Yes, Mary was a friend.” She willed herself not to cry and let her voice harden, “And one of you killed her.” Kate had found out within the hour after Mary’s body had been found. Bad news travels fast, especially since Mary had just transferred back into Kate’s department. “I saw the coroner’s report,” she accused. “I saw what they did to her.”
“That was a fast report. So fast that they conveniently forgot to mention she was shot three times,” Angel stated.
The report Kate had gotten last night said nothing about gunshot wounds. “How do you know?”
“We have a witness,” Angel explained.
“One, undoubtedly, that can’t testify in court.”
“This one can,” Angel assured her. “But he’ll need protection and not just from the murderers.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come to Sunnydale and find out.”
Closing her eyes, Kate considered it for a second. If what Angel said was true, than someone in the Sunnydale Police Department was covering up the murder of a fellow officer, and nothing, not even vampires, made Kate Lockley’s blood boil like crooked cops. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. We don’t have the time here. If you do decide to come-” Angel gave her a location and a time to meet him at in three days.
“Please come.”
“I said I would think about it.” Kate looked down at her mail. Bills, bills, and . . .
She set the phone back in its cradle and stared at that envelope, postmarked in Sunnydale, California. With trembling fingers, Kate opened Mary Collins’s Sunnydale research and began to read.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“David Nabbit, please,” Judgment requested.
There was the sound of the line being connected elsewhere. “H-hello?”
“Hello, this is Cordelia Chase from Angel Investigations,” she said in her perkiest voice.
“Hello, C-Cordelia,” David brightened considerably. He loved hearing from them and their ‘life on the edge.’ “Why are you calling here? Did you do some monster fighting or something really exciting?”
“Actually, we wanted to know if you were interested in doing something exciting . . .”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Hierophant dialed a number, “Hello. This is Ripper.”
“Really?” Ethan Rayne was intrigued. Ripper never called him, for any reason, which was understandable. On the other hand, he hadn’t done anything to Ripper, lately. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Disorder and chaos problems,” Giles told him. “I need your help.”
“You want my help? I seem to remember you threatening me with physical harm the last time I was in Sunnydale. Added to the fact that I don’t believe in stopping disorder or chaos.”
“Let me rephrase that. I’m inviting you to Sunnydale in order to create some chaos.”
“If you put it that way . . . when do you want me?”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Brody Meat Lockers, Brody speaking.”
“Hello, I’m looking for a friend, the mistress of the house,” Angel requested.
“No one here like that,” The man answered shortly.
“This is Angel, and I need to speak to her. Now,” Angel growled.
The phone changed hands. “What is it you want?” an accented female voice asked.
“I need your help saving the world.”
“We have already discussed this. The answer remains 'no.' I cannot risk my people for your world,” Jheira replied.
“What if I cold promise you protection?” Angel went for the jugular on this one (or what ever an extra-dimensional demon had), “What if I could guarantee that the new ones would be able to control themselves completely within in a day of coming to Sunnydale?”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hey, Jonathan,” Lover II said cheerfully, “Want to help me save the world again?”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Wolfram and Hart, how may I direct your call?” The receptionist answered.
“I’d like to speak to Lindsay McDonald or Lilah Morgan,” The Hanged Man handed the phone to Lover I.
“Hello, Lilah Morgan,” a new voice said.
“Hello, luv. I understand you blokes are a bit interested in Sunnydale now.”
“Excuse me, you must have the wrong number,” Lilah looked down to see where this call was coming from. Her board didn’t read a number or a place yet.
“I don’t think so,” Spike told her. “You see, I also thought you might have be wondering why one of your Las Vegas members was assaulted and marked with the words ‘El Boca de Inferno.’” Spike continued conversationally, “It might have also been bothering you that the last two representatives you sent to Sunnydale have not returned or communicated in any way with the firm today.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I see I got myself your attention. Would the firm be willing to discuss these matters in detail?”
“The Firm would be very interested. How could we arrange this?”
Spike glanced over his two newest web members, formerly employed by Wolfram and Heart. They had been rescued by Buffy and Pike that very morning from a pack of zombies by the border. “I would like to meet with you and Mr. McDonald. I’ll name the time and place, and believe me, you don’t want to try any tricks.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I want talk to Gunn,” Angel announced.
“Yo! Who’s this?” Gunn took the pay phone from one of his friends.
“Angel.”
Ignoring the fact that he had no clue how Angel had known where the gang had moved to, Gunn greeted him, “Hey, long time no hear. How’s the tan coming? I heard you left LA.”
“I need a favor.”
“Wait. I didn’t know we were trading favors. I ain’t no vamp lover.”
“You’ll like this one. It’s incredibly dangerous.”
“I’m listening.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Okay,” Tower handed out papers to High Priestess, Justice, and the Queen of Swords. “Here you go.”
“I have to call all these people?” The Queen asked, fluffing her blonde hair.
“They’re the surviving members of the Sunnydale High Class of 1999. Practically guaranteed to help us.” The Tower pointed out.
“I didn’t graduate,” Justice reminded him. “I did the smart thing and got out of town.”
“Believe me, the fact did not escape me, but you do know these people,” Xander told his girlfriend.
“I may break a nail,” The Queen complained.
“Harmony, you’re a vampire. It’ll grow back in an hour,” Willow said, frustrated.
“Really?”
“To the phones,” Xander reminded them.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lover II lay her head on Lover I’s shoulder, “How long do we have to wait?”
“Three days.” He kissed her hair gently.
“So we’ll wait.”
“I hate waiting.”
“I know,” Buffy giggled.
“Hey, it’s cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Speaking of . . . I’m done patrolling for now, our bedroom’s empty, dinner’s not for a few hours, and we have three days.”
Spike gave her one more soft kiss, picked her up off the couch, carried her up the stairs to their room, and closed the door.
Judgment took a deep breath and shrugged to Willow who had also been in the living room, “At least he’s shielding, this time.”
Willow blushed, “This time.”
Part II
107 days till Apocalypse
“Be honest with me,” Xander leaned back on the window sill of the room he shared with Anya, “Will this work?”
“What?” Anya pulled some black clothes out of the closet and set them on the bed.
“My plan. Tonight. Can it possibly work?”
“I’d give us fifty-fifty,” Anya tossed him a black T-shirt.
“Anya! I thought you had confidence in me.”
“I do. I thought the odds of you surviving the Ascension was on in a million.” She stripped off her shirt.
Closing the curtains to keep curious eyes out since she apparently didn’t care, Xander said, “So, in Anya terms, we have good odds.”
She nodded, removing her white bra, “Good odds.”
He gulped, “What are you doing?” They were supposed to be changing clothes before they greeted the anticipated arrivals. If she kept that up, they weren’t going to leave the room.
She took off her red underwear, completely nude now, “You said we needed to wear all black.” She crawled onto the bed and stretched.
“I meant the parts people could normally see.” Xander took off his T-shirt, trying not to look at all that nice skin displayed on the bed. He started to pace, black T-shirt in hand.
“You seem very tense,” Anya observed.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Xander kept on pacing; he hadn’t planned on getting this horny before the mission.
“You need to relax,” Anya suggested to him.
“Not a possibility here,” He tried to keep his thoughts on the mission, which was quite difficult since his head was basically repeating the word ‘sex’ over and over now.
“Look,” she climbed off the bed and stood in front of him. “I’m trying to seduce you here. Why isn’t it working?”
Xander pulled her into his arms, letting her feel how aroused he was. “It’s working.”
Anya smiled, “Okay. Lay me on the bed, and let’s have sex already.”
He did lay her on the bed, pushing down his pants. Parting her bare thighs, he found her wet and ready. Holding tightly to his control, he slid into her inch by inch, asking, “So what are the odds that we’ll do a repeat performance of this later tonight?”
Eyes rolling back, she murmured, “Very, very good.”
And they did eventually put on their black clothes.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cordelia stared at her face in the vanity mirror. Her hair looked seriously good. Make-up came next. Once that was done, she could put on her gloves to match the . . . outfit she was wearing.
She threw her bathrobe over it. Of all the possible choices in her closet, Wesley had picked this one.
There was a knock at the door. Cordelia glanced over her should at the closed bathroom door. Willow was in there showering before she got dressed too. (That was one of the reasons Cordelia liked this room, connected bathroom.)
Doing a quick mental sweep, Cordelia detected nothing. That meant one person. Well, actually, one of two people, but since she, currently the second strongest empath in the web, couldn’t sense Spike at all, she was betting that wasn’t Buffy at the door.
It wasn’t. Cordelia opened the door, “Hi, Angel.”
He smiled awkwardly. “Hi.” He was dressed in his normal black attire and seemed confused by what she was wearing. “Aren’t you-”
“Part of the girls’ team? Yeah, that’s me.” Cordelia asked shrewdly, “You’re here for?”
Angel didn’t meet her eyes, “Willow.”
“You need her because?” Cordelia gave him her best ‘tell me now’ gaze.
“I wanted to talk to her before she leaves about what happened at Willy’s,” he conceded.
“Oh,” Cordelia understood the problem. She’d had a feeling that there was a huge tension thing between those two since that Spike-induced kiss of theirs. Especially on Willow’s part. Cordelia had been sensing a huge amount of guilt from her. “Do you want to come in? She’s dressing in the bathroom.” He nodded and entered.
Noticing his discomfort, Cordelia decided it wasn’t her place to be here, much as she wanted to see what would happen. “Here, sit on my bed and wait for her to come out. I’m leaving.”
“You don’t have to-” Angel protested.
“Yes, I do. You two have to talk out this whole thing.” She picked her gloves off the bed with her left hand. “If you don’t work it out soon, Spike is gonna stop ignoring it and put his nose in it when it starts to affect the web.” She grabbed her make-up case and started out the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Your room,” she shut the door behind her.
The bathroom door started to open. “Cordelia?” Willow stepped out of the bathroom, hair still wet, dressed only in a towel, and froze. That was not Cordelia.
Angel rose to his feet, staring at her. He watched the water flow down her pale freckled shoulders to the top of her towel, catching on the curves of her breasts. She smelled like strawberries from somewhere, maybe her shampoo. Her mouth was parted slightly in surprise, red lips welcoming him for a kiss.
Willow’s green eyes were very wide. Angel was in her room, fully dressed compared to her nothing at all, and he was looking at her like that. Like he wanted to take the towel off and do that.
She blushed hard; she had be as sexy right now as a drowned rat. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
“Cordelia let me in,” Angel examined his wet prize, thankful he was wearing his jacket to cover his obvious reaction to her. He thought she looked good enough to eat, preferably by licking off each droplet of water, starting with her neck and going lower until he found those hidden red curls.
*Stop it!* He shouted mentally at himself and said out loud, “I wanted to talk to you.”
“You did?” Willow glanced around wildly. She couldn’t hide from him or run, and she didn’t have anything she could put on right now to cover up more.
“We need to have a talk-”
Willow hoped he needed help with Buffy or magic or absolutely anything but that thing that haunted her dreams.
“-about that kiss,” Angel said.
She sat back on her own bed, growing redder, “I’m sorry about that.” Willow looked anywhere but actually at his face. “I felt bad about you seeing Buffy with Spike, and then all that colossal Spike lusty smoochie weirdness happened.” She hid her head in a hand, using the other one to hold the towel up. “It really wasn’t me doing that to you. Well, it was me, but – I’m so sorry.”
“Willow,” Angel got closer to her, catching her hand. “Look at me here.”
She dropped her hand from her face, and he saw that tears had began to fall down her cheek. “I know you love Buffy. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry,” She cried.
Angel’s soul stirred at the display. Willow honestly didn’t want to hurt him, even though it was hurting her. “Willow. I’ve known about Buffy and Spike for a long time. I wasn’t married to her or anything. She’s with him now, and it doesn’t hurt me so much to see them together.” That was not the whole truth, not by a long shot, but he wanted to ease Willow’s pain at least. That he could take care of, unlike the Buffy situation. “And about the kiss, I’m not sorry at all.”
Her mouth flopped open, and he used it as an opportunity to kiss her.
The towel fell to her waist, totally forgotten as her mouth molded to his. Willow welcomed his cold tongue into the warm cavity of her mouth holding him in her arms. It was happening again, this time on her own free will. He smiled a little bit in the midst of the kiss at her response.
Pulling back, Angel gave her a chance to catch her breath, remembering she still had to breathe. She looked so lovely, chest heaving, eyes wild and welcoming at the same time. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be with someone alive. The kissing had made her mouth extra red, though the tearstains were still there.
He leaned over her, licking each one off her cheeks. Gently, so she could stop him if she wanted to, he pressed her down to the mattress.
When she didn’t resist, Angel slurped up the water he’d noticed before, starting at her neck. She moaned as his cool mouth worked its way down her collarbone, up the slope of her breast to settle on the puckered rosy nipple. Angel grazed the tip with his teeth, marveling at the moan his action elicited as she tried to lift her hips against him.
He repeated the action on the other side, neck, collarbone, breast, loving the way she responded to him.
She wanted him. He was doing all of this to her. He was making her feel this way. In this moment she was all his, no one else’s. Not Oz’s as she had once been. Not Spike’s as Buffy was now. His.
The strawberry smell he’d noticed had to be a lotion because he could taste it as he teased the full red berries of her breasts. The scent seemed to get stronger lower, so he nibbled his way down her stomach while sliding his hands up her smooth legs, opening those strawberry scented thighs.
He was ready to pull off that towel when Willow suddenly grabbed his hands, “Stop.”
Angel raised his head from her skin angrily and glared past her trembling flesh to her serious, needy face. She pushed him off her firmly, rewrapping the towel. “We need to stop. Now.”
Her tone was so clear that Angel forced himself to think rationally. Why was he angry with her? What had he been doing? That was Buffy’s best friend. What had he been thinking?
That was the problem. He wasn’t thinking at all. He had just planned on taking her right there, to Hell with all the consequences. Had he been trying to prove something by partaking in some forbidden fruit with his ex’s best friend? He liked Willow, and she deserved better than that, “I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”
In more control of herself now, Willow shook her head, “It wasn’t a mistake, yet. If we’d let it go for a few more minutes, it would have been a mistake.”
Angel blinked at that one. She was so right. The next stop would have taken them past the point of no return, which was more than a potential disaster. Making her his would have made him happy, and that would have meant Angelus.
Angelus. He’d been back up once, and he’d almost killed Wesley and Cordelia. No one loved destruction like Angelus, and Angel had just then almost practically begged Angelus to take over again.
*No. I won’t let that happen.* “I should go.” Angel stood.
“Wait,” Willow followed him, towel held securely. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to go. We can do other stuff.” She paused when she realized what connotation that could have been taken in. “Other stuff like talk, after I get dressed.” Willow shrugged, “Liking someone doesn’t have to hurt.” She clamped a hand over her mouth, “Did I say that out loud?”
Angel cracked a smile, and took her hand from her mouth, “Talk?”
“Yeah, about non-apocalypse stuff.” She thought for a second. “So what’s your favorite scary movie?”
“The Sound of Music,” Angel told her. Here was a rare woman indeed. She was intelligent enough to stop things before they got out of hand and smarter still to want to talk it out. He might be forced to like this, a lot.
He released her hand, “Go change your clothes. I’ll wait.” Then he added, “What’s yours?”
She walked toward the bathroom and threw over her shoulder, “Interview With a Vampire.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Makeup, perfect and done.* Cordelia ran a critical eye over her face. She’d mixed the charcoal eye pencil just so that it contrasted the correct way with the blue shadow she’d used. And she’d done it with her bandages on, which was no small feat in itself.
She took off her robe, setting it on Angel’s bed, and silently cursed Wesley again for his choice. The instructions Xander had given her was to dress ‘cheap and easy.’ Funny how he hadn’t put his girlfriend on this assignment.
Blue vinyl. That was the only outfit Wesley had taken from her apartment that fit the bill. The blue vinyl made up an extremely small mini skirt, knee-high boots, a bag, and a top with matching gloves. The top was not much, lacking a back and most of a front. One string held it up, precariously supporting her tanned chest while raising it to the point where she was practically popping out. She looked new age, retro, and, noticing the points in the fabric, cold as well.
Now all she had to do was put on the gloves. She’d healed enough that she didn’t use the sling anymore but taking the bandages off would be a problem. Her right hand was fine; it had healed without a scar. Its wrapping was just for show, unlike her left hand’s. She’d been able to put the makeup on with her right hand alone but unwrapping her hands and putting on the gloves required two working hands.
She tried the right bandages with her left hand. It was really difficult since her left was wrapped so tightly she couldn’t even get a good grip.
Her concentration was so total she didn’t hear the bathroom door open or hear the person walk out. The first clue that she wasn’t alone came when someone enveloped her from behind, bare skin touching her back and catching her hands.
Cordelia turned and remembered there was a third person everyone had some difficulty sensing Angel’s roommate, Oz. A shirtless, just showered Oz to be exact, who was a bit confused by her presence in his room.
“Hi.” He greeted her.
“Hi,” she replied, pulling her hands back from him and turning to face him. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“I could be,” He acknowledged.
“Angel’s in my room talking to Willow – opps!” Cordelia shut up.
“It’s okay,” Oz told her. “It’s not like we were married.”
“Well, I need to finish changing for my mission,” she examined his outfit, a whole pair of pants. He did have very nice strong muscles in his chest and shoulders though. Dragging herself back to the real matter, she said, “Aren’t you changing into something for your mission?”
“This is it. I’m wolfing tonight.”
“Oh. I’m busy here,” She turned away again, fiddling with the bandages.
“I saw.” He halted her. “Do you need help?”
“No,” She said sharply. Then she checked her hands sadly. She was never going to get them off if things kept up that way. “Yes,” she deflated. Oz had already smelled her blood at the church, what did it matter if he helped her now? Cordelia extended her right hand, “I need to take off this bandage.”
“Alright,” Oz began to work at freeing her hand, starting at the elbow and moving down to the palm. When it was off, she flexed her fingers experimentally, and he picked up the right blue glove from the bed. He held it open for her.
She sighed, putting her hand in, “I’m okay now. I can get the other one.”
“Don’t worry. I can do it,” Oz reached for her left hand.
“No. I told you I can get it,” Cordelia tired to pull off some of her left’s bandages. She pulled too hard and bit back a scream as the pain shot up her arm. A small tear formed in the corner of her eye. She brushed it away unhappily with her gloved hand.
“Let me help,” Oz took her left. Cordelia didn’t stop him this time, so he started to unwind the white cloth.
“I’m okay. It’s really nothing,” Cordelia hissed through the pain as he approached her palm. She flipped her hand over, palm down so he couldn’t see it.
He gently turned it over, and she heard his sharp intake of breath when he saw it. She didn’t need to look at it to know what was there. Cordelia closed her eyes in shame, “It’s healing. The bleeding stopped when Spike came back. It’s getting better. It is. I guess this means I’m not going to be doing any more hand lotion commercials soon.” She said bitterly.
Oz examined the wound on her palm. It was an almost perfect circle, scoured deeply into the skin. Stained a painful red, it was a giant loop of cuts criss-crossing over each other in the center. He knew what it was, and she did to; it was posted all around the mansion. A katra web. One that was cut into her flesh. “How did it happen?”
Cordelia bowed her head, “I did it during a seer trance. Only Giles knows I have it. He told me that it should have healed already and that it shouldn’t look like this. He also told me that it will probably never heal. It’s going to scar, and it will be there for the rest of my life.” Another tear fell, this one in sadness, “You don’t have to say it. I know it’s ugly.”
She felt something on her cut, something soft and gentle. She opened her eyes to see Oz plant a careful kiss on her palm. The tears stopped, and Cordelia could only stare at him.
“It’s beautiful,” There was such warmth in his words that she was compelled to believe him.
“But-” Cordelia felt much younger than him at that moment.
“You’re fine,” Oz told her, picking up her other glove. With most care he could manage, he pulled it up her left arm. “Scars are life stories.” He showed her his own scar on his wrist.
It was a set of teeth marks. “The bite that did you in?” Cordelia guessed.
“Yeah, Jeremy,” Oz confirmed, gazing at her earnestly.
They stood there for a few minutes without saying a word, but their thoughts were traveling in synchronous directions. It was nice to have someone who truly understood what kind of agony they faced.
Finally dropping her eyes, Cordelia said, “I don’t want anyone to know, especially not Angel.”
“Angel?”
“Yeah, if he knew, he’d blame himself, and I don’t want that. Things are hard enough for him as it is without adding on one more thing for him to brood about.”
“I understand,” Oz answered, and Cordelia trusted his word. He was Oz; he wouldn’t lie.
“And Oz-” Cordelia paused, not sure what she wanted to say or do next. She was honestly feeling something here. What was she going to do about it?
Take the easy was out apparently. “Thanks,” Cordelia blushed slightly and left the room.
“Don’t mention it,” Oz told the door.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I’m telling you right now,” Spike folded his arms over his chest and stood in front of the door. “You are not leaving this room wearing that.”
Buffy put her hands on her hips, “There is nothing wrong with my outfit.”
“Like Hell there isn’t. What’s it made of, tissue paper?”
She gave her dress a once over. So there wasn’t much to it. As per Xander’s instructions, it was ‘white and tight,’ a backless halter dress that stopped well before mid-thigh. She was supposed to be the most innocent and sweet looking one between Willow and Cordy. Then again, judging by the vibes Spike was sending her, that idea had backfired just slightly. “It’s fine. I’m all covered,” She pointed out.
Spike’s eyes glittered, “Not for long.” He took two steps forward to place his hands on her hips. Heat flooded her system, and she trembled against him. Placing his cool mouth by her ear, Spike whispered, “And trust me, I can see everything.” To demonstrate, he pulled back slightly and ran one hand across her breasts. In instant response, her nipples tightened up, clearly visible through the thin, white fabric.
Smiling, Buffy silently decided she’d rather have sex now than argue about the dress, since she’d wear it no matter what Spike said. Besides, she might be able to really push him over the edge. After their problem at Willy’s with the web, things hadn’t been too spontaneous or wild. Actually, that wasn’t completely true. Sex had still been great, but she sensed that he was holding back the demon on her like he was afraid he could break her. It was understandable because he had nearly killed her not too long ago . . . Still he’d acquired this protective attitude over her for the past three days that she wasn’t sure she liked.
So it would take some serious offense here on her part to jumpstart things. “I was trying for cute and friendly.” She leaned into him and gyrated her hips, rubbing his erection through his jeans. The more she tempted him, the more likely he was to cut loose.
“You might have been trying for that,” Spike held her hips in their close position, effectively stopping her, “But you got something that is shrieking ‘lay me now!’”
“Did you get the message?” Buffy raised one eyebrow.
He gave her a condescending smile; his hands reached up and cupped her chin, gently brushing her lips. He was being so sweet, so careful with her. She loved it; it was cute, but it was almost brotherly and she wanted something . . . rougher.
She yanked his head down to hers, crushing her mouth to his. Aggressively taking the initiative, Buffy practically forced him to open his mouth with her tongue.
A half second later, his arms caught her, hauling her close to him and kissing her with renewed fervor. Buffy responded by tugging at his T-shirt. When it didn’t budge, she solved her problem by just tearing it open. Eagerly testing his smooth skin, Buffy dug her fingernails into his back, hard enough to draw blood, scraping him from spine to shoulder blades.
That brought the response she’d been waiting for. Wildness exploded on their bond, and Spike’s demon surfaced without warning, cutting her tongue. Happily tasting her flavor, he could hear her heart beating, faster and louder for him. The need to take a drink of her was so strong. Only a small bite . . .
He flung her all the way to their bed. Buffy watched him clench and unclench his fists several times as he tried to regain his control. “Sorry. I didn’t-”
She was already on her feet, smearing her blood on his mouth in a rough kiss. The demon resurfaced while she grabbed his belt loops and told him, “Keep it out. I want it.” Before he could try to say anything else, she none too gently unzipped his fly and pushed his jeans down his legs. She gazed appreciatively at his completely nude form.
There was a war raging within Spike now. He wanted to take her right then and there, demon out. But he couldn’t do that because there were very good odds that he could hurt her severely. His face flickered back and forth between demon and human as he tried to reach some sort of compromise with himself.
However, Buffy had no intention of letting him keep up the fight. She tackled, wrapping her hips around his waist and rubbing against his obvious hard-on. Combined with the enthusiastic kiss she planted on him, Spike gave up the fight and gripped her shoulders so tightly that she let out a small squeak of surprised pain.
Horror crossed Spike’s face, and he froze. He wanted her so badly, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Having the demon out made him less controlled, more apt to be rough on her. He didn’t have a chip anymore that told him when he was pushing her too hard. He could feel she wanted this, she was asking for this, begging for it, but the fact remained. It would be so easy to break her.
Her fist caught him in the jaw. “Don’t even think that. I’m not a piece of glass.” She licked the side of his face, “I love this new gentle you. I really do, but it’s not really you.” Squeezing his butt, she climbed off him and twirled around once. “Do I need to actually scream ‘lay me now?’” She lifted her skirt up so he could see the tiny white thong she was wearing.
Spike’s wave of hot lust hit her with such force she staggered for a second, a trip helped along by Spike’s body knocking her to the floor.
He was sitting on her open legs with his demon out and his erection propped casually on one of her thighs. The careful, cautious vampire that had existed for exactly three whole days had disappeared, and now a much different predator was reaching down and pinching her nipples though the cloth of her dress. She moaned, attempting to raise her hips to get some friction against him. His weight held her down firmly, and he loomed over her, nipping the skin on her neck.
“Say it,” he brushed his lips over the soft cotton fabric.
“What?” she tired to shift again as his tongue trailed down her breast, outlining one hard peak.
“Scream it,” he demanded, fastening his mouth to the distended tip.
*Scream?* Buffy’s brain tried to think with little success as he switched to her other side.
He suddenly bit her hard, drawing a startled gasp from her in both pleasure and pain. Grinning with a mouth full of fangs, Spike slid one finger under the thong and into her slick channel. Flicking his thumb across her clit, Spike refused to let her move her hips even a millimeter. Drawing his face over hers, his shining yellow eyes bored into desperate her hazel set. Mouth less than an inch from hers and punctuating each word with a twitch of his fingers busy on her center, he growled, “Scream it.”
Comprehension finally dawned on her addled brain, or at least the part that was able to think about something other than the orgasm she was on the verge of having. Buffy threw her head back and screamed, “Lay me now!”
His weight was completely gone for a second, confusing Buffy because it was the very last thing she’d expected out of him.
That was before he’d plucked her up off the floor, forcing her to stand, and then tossing her directly into the wall. He did it with such strength that she was honestly surprised. She’d forgotten how much stronger drinking her blood made him. It gave him an advantage over her now, but she didn’t mind the least bit.
Spike was already behind her, ripping her thong off in wild haste. As he lifted her hips just high enough, he slammed himself into her. He pounded into her furiously, mercilessly banging her against the wall.
Buffy braced herself against the wall and hung on for one hell of a ride. It was going to leave bruises, lots of them, but it was worth it. In this position, her back spooned against his chest, she could feel his every movement, each muscle straining. The demon was unleashed, there were no holds barred, a primal force consuming them both. Without a chip to restrain him, Spike was an angel and devil rolled into one. Stronger than her, dominating and controlling her, but still as fragile as she.
He drove into her, riding her from behind like one possessed. She responded with shrieks, urging him faster and harder. He’d brought her to the brink before, and now she was on the crest of the wave, almost there. Spike was on the edge too, and they both could clearly hear the call he was fighting off so valiantly.
He wanted to do it so badly. He didn’t have to, and she didn’t have to let him, but he wanted to.
“Now!” Buffy squealed when one of his hands rubbed her swollen clit to make sure she was ready. “Now. Please, please, please!” Spike picked up the pace, jolting her forward, and she called to him on every thrust, “Now! Now! NOW!”
Those fingers twisted, and the fangs came down, piercing her neck. The wave broke, and Buffy shattered into a million pieces as her existence dissolved into Spike, who flew off too, following her in the climax.
Slayer, vampire, good, evil, light, dark. It was all so close, so near, so powerful. They shared a thought, a mind, a heart. All they were was one, perfectly matched in every way, spinning together out of control over the precipice.
After what may have been seconds, minutes, or hours, reality finally reestablished itself, placing them back in their own bodies. Spike was already human, having long since withdrawn his fangs from her neck. He held them up with Buffy reclining in contentment, her head on his shoulder. He sighed into her hair, equally glad to simply be part of her.
Eventually he stepped back, pulling out of her, and said, “You can’t wear that dress. Anywhere.”
“Why?” Buffy walked over to the dresser mirror and saw why. There was blood all over the collar of the dress and – “You bit through my dress!?” She lifted the cloth to see two little circular holes going all the way through.
“I assumed that was what ‘now’ meant. Though, come to think of it, you could have meant, ‘stop now for the five minutes it will take to get this blasted dress off.’”
“You want the dress off? Fine,” Buffy pulled the dress over her head and chucked it at him. “I guess I’m going out like this.” She lay down on their bed and struck a lazy sated pose.
“Over my dead body,” Spike hissed at her, his shaft tightening at the mere sight of her sprawled out like that.
“Newsflash, you’ve been dead for a century.” Buffy rolled her eyes in annoyance and beckoned him. “Are you coming or not?”
Silently cursing himself for not being able to resist her, and still practically whistling with joy, Spike joined her on the bed.
Part III
Still 107 days till Apocalypse
Spike fiddled with his head seat and said, “All units report.” His
five assistants watched their computer screens in the mansion computer center
with no small amount of apprehension, seeing that this was their first large
scale operation.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Xander and Anya sat outside the old Catholic church, dressed in black from head to toe. They calmly surveyed the darkness.
“Tower and Justice checking in and moving into position,” Anya replied, standing up and walking away from Xander as he loaded his shotgun.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Buffy tugged at her number 2 white dress. It was very short, with a back, and a front. There was a white flimsy scarf tied over her neck, concealing her communicator and Spike’s telltale marks. She didn’t look as trashy as the other two. Cordelia was wearing this blue vinyl . . . thing, and Willow. . . Well, Buffy had no clue where Willow had ever found the black leather sheathe that was her outfit. Against that black Willow’s hair shone like fire. Between those two, Buffy almost felt outclassed in the ‘dressing like a hooker’ contest as Cordelia had blithely referred to it.
They were able to actively listen to the other members of the web, which was why Buffy got to be in charge of communications. In addition to staring off into the darkened edges of Miller’s Woods.
Buffy leaned her head toward the microphone, “Lover II, Justice, and High Priestess a-okay.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Willy handed Joyce a gin-and-tonic at the bar. She set her communicator under her napkin, saying, “Star and Temperance ready.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Showtime,” Angel nodded at the lawyer with the communicator.
Already trained to follow orders from years at Wolfram and Hart, the lawyer spoke into the communicator, “Pentacles Five, Six, and Hanged Man ready.”
One of the two lawyers turned the transistor on in his pocket. Angel sat up higher on the tombstone he was perched on. The other lawyer replaced the gun in his breast pocket.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hermit and Strength,” Pike said, putting a clip in his gun, “Locked and loaded.” Oz kicked some sand with his bare foot and faced the road, waiting.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Giles stretched his legs from his place on the bench outside the Magic Shoppe. He had his communicator hidden in his newspaper. “Hierophant reporting in.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Harmony tucked the camouflaged head-set deeper into her hair. “I love that this is just like a hairband.”
Jeremy cleared his throat and tried to make small talk, “So you went to school here.”
“I died here,” Harmony confirmed. “Queen of Swords and Moon are set.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Alright, Lover I here,” Spike spun in his chair to face the remaining four members of the coven and Wesley. “I need you five to keep a sharp eye on those readings. Tell me the second you track anyone moving, running, getting the crap kicked out of them.” He sighed, hating that he was stuck in the mansion out of the action. True, he was, for all intents and purposes in Sunnydale, dead, and the web could potentially take him down at any time, which did make him something of a contingent liability on the field.
Still, he felt useless here. He needed to be doing something that was at least superficially useful. Other than the essential job of regulating the web, which he did in his sleep anyways.
“Here’s the deal,” Spike stood up. “I’m going upstairs. Be a luv, and call me it you need anything.”
Wesley raised his hand, “Shouldn’t you be here?”
Tara backed him up, “What about when-”
“I’m still listening to the transmissions, and, yes, I will be able to spring all the web stuff we need. Don’t you worry. It’s all under control.” He turned and went up the stairs.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Xander spoke into his headset, “We’ve got a Scully incoming at 6 o’clock.”
“Roger that,” Tara answered, “Is it the target?”
“Confirming preliminary scan now.” Xander jumped out from behind the sign, shotgun out, stopping the short boy.
“Xander!” Jonathan exclaimed, dropping his book bag in surprise. “What’s going on?”
“Anya,” Xander cocked his head, and she stepped out into the light behind Jonathan. “Check his bag.”
She picked it up and started rummaging through it while Xander scanned Jonathan a second time. His first impression was right; not only was this Jonathan, he was not Blighted.
“Okay. I’ve got a cross, a stake, a spell book, and a bottle of pills,” Anya reported.
“Pills?” Xander looked pointedly at Jonathan.
He shrugged, “My anti-depressants.”
“What’s with the rest of the stuff?” Xander indicated the more arcane items from the bag.
“I figured that if things were bad enough to call me, I’d need weapons. About the book, someone in my support group recommended it. They said there was something in it that could help me build my confidence. I was thinking about checking it out, but then you guys called.”
Anya replaced his things in the bag and gave it back to him, “The High Priestess will probably want to have a look at it.” “How did you get here?” Xander asked him, mentally scanning for anyone else around.
“I hitched to the border. My ride didn’t want to come in,” Jonathan explained. “Then I walked.” He glanced at them quizzically, “Did I pass?”
“With flying colors,” Xander told him and then spoke to Anya, “Perimeter clear?”
She nodded, “Good to go. I’ve got your back.” Anya pulled out her crossbow and assumed a guard position.
“What’s going on here?” Jonathan wondered.
“Bad stuff,” Xander headed into the church. “Follow me, and I hope you’re not afraid of a little blood.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A pick-up truck with a tarp over the back stopped in front of the three girls standing under the streetlight by Miller’s Woods. Three young men peered out at them. The driver, a black man with a shaved head, unrolled his window to ask, “Is this Miller’s Woods?”
Cordelia winked at him, sidling up to his window, “Yeah, this is Miller’s Woods. You looking for someone?”
Buffy smiled at the men in the truck, casually whispering into her scarf, “Lover II here. The three Scully targets are in sight. We need the Vaders.”
“Patience, luv,” Spike’s voice told her. “They’re coming.”
“You certainly found someone,” Willow waked over to the passenger side of the truck, wiggling her leather-encased hips.
Giving them a look that communicated some world-weary, ‘I’ve-seen-all-this-already’ attitude, the driver replied in a long-suffering tone, “I don’t think you three ladies can help us.”
“You’re sure about that?” Cordelia leaned forward over his window. “We can be really helpful, if you let us.”
That was when Buffy’s spider sense started to twitch, and Willow spun around, “Twelve Vaders incoming.”
“ETA?” Buffy asked shortly, drawing a stake.
“Thirty seconds,” Willow climbed nimbly onto the hood of the truck.
Seeing there had to be some danger, the driver made a move to unsnap his seatbelt. Cordelia grabbed his wrist. “Gunn. Stay in the truck. Trust me.” Managing somehow not to flash them, she got into the back of the truck and sat on the roof. She pulled a large squirt gun out of her vinyl bag and started to cover the sides of the truck with water. Then she sprayed Buffy from head to toe too.
Calmly standing between the truck and the woods, dripping wet, Buffy mentally counted down. *Five. Four. Three. Two. One-*
The twelve vampires Spike had roused awake from the woods came out of the trees, right at her.
Cordelia turned her gun on the first two, aiming for their eyes. She didn’t have to bother because when the water hit their faces, it took off their heads too. Tripping three with a low spin kick, Buffy let their forward momentum carry them directly into the side of the truck where they promptly went up in flames. She threw her stake through the heart of another and decided to retreat to the truck. One tried to grab her wet shoulder, but his hand disintegrated the second he touched her.
This made the vampires pause. Backflipping onto the bed of the truck, Buffy knew they were confused as to why touching her had such an effect. Though she could have easily taken the remaining six, Buffy smiled to Willow, “Grand finale, Will?”
Willow, who had stayed on the hood with her eyes closed, opened them to say, “I just need another second-” She suddenly threw her hands forward with a single harsh yell. A ball of white-hot flame erupted from her hands, hitting the pack of vamps. Only one got out of the way while the other five when up in a blaze of burning skin.
Almost as an afterthought, Cordelia shot him in the chest, and he instantly dissolved too. “Clear?” she asked Buffy.
Hopping back onto the ground, Buffy went to the pile of ashes and plodded it with her foot. “I’m thinking so.” She lifted the mic to her mouth, “Judgment, High Priestess, and Lover II all clear.” She smiled at Spike’s audible sigh of relief.
“Hello in there,” Cordelia got off the cab and knocked on Gunn’s window. “Where were we?”
He unrolled his window with a much different expression on his face, “Who are you? How do you know my name, and-” he glanced down at her squirt gun, “-What the Hell is in that gun, girl?”
“Cordelia Chase, Angel Investigations, and this,” she hefted her squirt gun, “Is holy water blessed by fifteen priests and mixed with garlic powder.”
He eyed the other two cautiously, especially Willow, “And what are they?”
“A witch and a vampire slayer.”
“Vampire slayer? I could be into that kind of girl.”
“I don’t think so. She’s slightly taken. You should see her boyfriend. Only Angel and her even try to talk back to him.”
“Speaking of, where is Nightwing?”
Coming up to them after catching some of the chatter on the radio, Buffy told them, “I’d say he’s a little busy right about now.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Two Scullies enroute,” Pentacles Six told his mic.
“Can you handle it on your own?” Wesley asked. “Do you need back up?”
Angel heard them, “Tell him only if we get into trouble.”
“We’ll call,” Six relayed.
“Make sure Poofy doesn’t let it get out of hand,” Spike interrupted them. “I’ll be waiting. Lover I out.”
The lawyer snapped his communicator shut, “Here they come.”
The black car stopped at the edge of the cemetery. Lindsey McDonald and Lilah Morgan stepped out, appraising their reception committee coolly.
“Don’t bother turning off the engine,” Angel got off the grave. “Five, will you?”
Before the two could protest, the other ex-lawyer was in the car, driving away.
“In case you were wondering,” Angel said, “You’re not going to see that again. Something about disabling the tracking device installed in the engine seems to do the car no good.”
Lindsey glowered at Six, who shrugged, “You’ll understand later.”
“If you’ll excuse my associate, we have to check you know for other electronic devices. I know you wouldn’t think of trying to pull anything like that. I mean, after you were warned and all, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry,” Angel ‘apologized’ as Six frisked the two.
Lilah gave Angel a glare that could have instantly melted ice and addressed Six, “You betrayed the Firm. You’re going to pay for this.”
Pentacles Six stood up and handed two cell phones and four different electronic bugs to Angel, “I don’t think so.”
“What have we here?” Angel examined the equipment. “I’d say this is what, fifteen thousand dollars?” He smashed them together, reducing them to metallic dust, which he threw into the trashcan, “How many people did you have to kill to make that much? Ten? Fifteen? Fifty?”
“The Firm is going to find us,” Lindsey stuck out his chin.
“The Firm isn’t going to be able to do a thing,” Pentacles Six said.
“What did they do to you?” Lilah exclaimed in disbelief because he had at one point been even more loyal to Wolfram and Hart than even she.
“Do you like things the way they are?” Angel called their attention away from Six.
“What does that mean?” Lindsey was incredulous.
“Do you like things the way they are? Do you like the power you have, reaping the benefits by trampling the poor and meek? Do you like the world the way it is?”
The lawyers shared a look, and Lindsay finally replied, “I guess.”
“So anything that threatens the balance of power in one way or another would be bad, right? That is what Wolfram and Hart is all about, keeping power where it is.”
“I suppose you could look at it that way.”
“Then what if I told you that the balance isn’t just going to shift, but that it’s going to be struck by lightning, destroying everything.”
“What if I told you I thought this was some scheme to try to threaten the Firm?” Lilah cut in.
“Then what if I show you the truth?” Angel countered. “We showed him.” He indicated Six.
That made Lilah blink, “So this is some weird invitation to a cult?”
“Not even close. This is war, and believe me, you don’t want to be on the other side. You want me to show you too?”
The two considered for a second, not knowing that Six was keeping a tight ‘ear’ on their emotions. They had the assumption that they could pretend to go along with it and then run back to the firm to sell the information to the aforementioned other side. That was what he’d thought too, three days back.
At last, Lilah, being the senior partner, nodded, “We’re in.”
“I hoped you would be. But before we go-” Angel gave Six a knife from his pocked, “We’ll need to do a small blood charm. Standard procedure here in Sunnydale.”
After the web got two more members, Pentacles Six radioed back, “Targets acquired and bonded.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joyce whispered into her napkin, “Star and Temperance. Target Mulder approaching.”
Ethan Rayne pulled up a seat next to her, the only other person in the bar, and ordered a beer. He turned to Joyce and gave her his most flirtatious smile, “Hello.”
“Hi,” Joyce sipped her drink, “Are you meeting someone here?”
“An old friend,” he revealed. “But since he doesn’t appear to be here . . . Say, have we met?”
“It’s possible. Do you live in Sunnydale?”
“On occasion,” He extended a hand, “Ethan Rayne.”
At that moment Willy set a beer in front of him. Turning away from his new companion, he heard a click and felt something poke him in the stomach.
“In that case,” Joyce said, revolver in hand, “I’m Joyce Summers. Maybe you remember me now. Did I ever get the chance to tell you how much I liked you band candy?”
“No, though you are well within your rights to express you sentiments,” Ethan glanced wildly at the bartender. He froze because he looked directly down the barrel of the gun Willy had trained on his forehead. “I must say. This is the most lovely welcome I’ve had in three years.”
“Things are a little tense around here,” Willy informed him.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“So who’re you meeting here?” Joyce asked.
“You know the bloke, Ripper.” The gun jabbed him in the stomach. “Rupert Giles. We were old mates. We did spells together way back when.”
Joyce pulled the gun back. “Then you won’t mind if we do a little spell right here?”
Aware of Willy’s gun still pointed at his head, Ethan shook his head, “Not at all.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Strength and Hermit reporting. We’ve got three Jedi here and one Scully,” Pike watched the ice truck stop by the beach. “Two of the Jedi are mostly asleep.”
He and Oz advanced on the truck slowly. An exotic-looking woman stuck her head out a window. “I am here to see Angel.”
“He couldn’t be here,” Pike said regretfully.
“Then we are going. He promised us protection.” She nodded to the driver.
“Wait,” Pike stepped closer. “We are your protection, for now.”
“You don’t look like it,” she scoffed.
Oz transformed into the wolf right on cue. Jheira paused, visibly startled. “Maybe you will do.”
“Ma’am,” Pike addressed her. “Do you want us to help you girls?”
“Like him?” she watched Oz calmly sitting by them. She’d been in this dimension long enough to know that was not typical werewolf behavior, even with there being no moon in the sky.
“It will use magic,” Pike warned, her aura of non-Blightedness already noted.
“I don’t care. Do whatever it takes,” Her eyes were almost glowing.
“Then we’ll do it.” He clicked his com, “Lover I, get ready.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spike braced himself, knowing what was coming. From what Angel had told him about these demons, it would be tough. At least Pike was doing it. On the off chance that Oz were able to infect them with his werewolf status, it could complicate the matter more than slightly.
The first one to join staggered him back. He hit a wall as a wave of heat struck his head. Vision blurring under a burning haze, Spike stumbled his way toward the nearest door. If he was going to get taken down by this, he wasn’t going to go down in the hall.
Lurching through the doorway, Spike fell forward onto the closest bed as two more waves hit in rapid succession.
It was much worse than the first one. So hot, like he went outside and stood in full sunlight to fry. He could feel the heat blistering him from all directions, surrounding him, crushing him. There was only the fire, the light, the anger, the fear, the lust shining painfully through his closed eyes.
Reaching out with as much mental control as he could muster, Spike slowly took hold of the fire. He concentrated, thinking calming cool thoughts about water and ice, never letting the heat blaze. The fire started to dim, its heat dropping under his ministrations. Carefully, he loosened his grip, hoping he’d been able to contain them. If he had failed, he was going to know now.
Nothing happened.
Spike opened his eyes in relief and tried to figure out where he was. The bed wasn’t his, even though there was a framed picture of Buffy on the nightstand. He groaned; he was in Angel’s room. On Angel’s bed. Definitely his sign to leave. However, as Spike stood, his vision pinwheeled for a completely new reason.
The bed. He thought he could actually see through it. Yep, the bed had gone all transparent. And it wasn’t his imagination that told him there was a black book between the mattress and the bed frame.
Being a seer certainly hadn’t given Spike any scruples of any type. If the PTB’s decided there was some value to whatever was in that book, then he’d better see what it was. He could understand why Drusilla had snapped through and through with the visions. She probably just wasn’t able to take things like this in as a normal everyday occurrence the way he did.
One the other hand, Angel had killed her family and everyone she knew . . .
Spike picked up the mattress and pulled out the book. It was a real live black book, full of phone numbers. Phone numbers, in fact, of a few people Angel had not suggested when they had gone about contacting people for tonight. Apparently Angel had no intention of talking to any of those potential allies since he’d gone as far to hid the book, though Spike privately felt the Poof could have picked a more original place for the book. Maybe he should have checked there for the Gem of Amara back in LA.
Well, if Angel wasn’t going to do anything about these people, then Spike would.
He turned his heel and walked down the stairs to find Willow’s satellite linked phone.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kate Lockley got out of her car on the deserted main street of Sunnydale. Expecting a tall dark vampire hiding in the shadows, she was surprised to find a middle-aged man sitting in plain sight in front of a store.
“Hello, Miss,” the man greeted her. “Could you be a Kate Lockley, by any chance?” The man was definitely English from the accent alone.
She flipped open her badge, “Kate Lockley, LAPD. Do you have a problem.”
“Not at all. In actuality, I’m here for you.”
“Really?” Kate raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Angel sent you? What are you?” She held up a cross with her other hand.
The man reached out and took it from her without the slightest sign of discomfort, “I’m Rupert Giles, and you’re going to need something stronger than that.”
“Why? Vampires, crosses. It works.”
“We’re not just dealing with vampires in Sunnydale. There’s demons, witches, werewolves, and evil wearing human form.” He handed her a small wrapped package, “You’ll need these.”
She took it from him and opened it gingerly, staring at the small objects inside, “What are they?”
“Silver bullets, doused in holy water, laced with garlic, and blessed with demon killing spells,” Mr. Giles explained. “They should fit in your chamber quite well.”
“Thanks,” Kate immediately reloaded her sidearm. “They could be useful.” She gave him a suspicious once-over. “Why are you helping me? We don’t know each other.”
“I need a small favor, and frankly, I know you have no intention of dying here.”
“A favor?” her voice was very careful.
“It would help immensely if you would allow me to perform a blood-tie ceremony.”
“I’m going to have to turn that one down,” Kate replied without regret. “I try to stay out of the whole cult scene.”
“We are not a cult. The ceremony is done to show commitment to the Cause.”
“And what’s the Cause?” Kate asked coldly.
He looked directly into her eyes, “Protect the innocent. Keep those who killed Mary Collins from killing again.” They held gazes for a few seconds.
Kate lowered her eyes, “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“I wish my Slayer were half as obedient as you,” Giles said, pricking her finger with a needle. He pricked his own finger, mixed the blood, whispered the required Latin, and said, “All done.”
She blinked away the rush of colors she thought she’d felt, “That was it.”
“What were you expecting? A flash of lightning?”
“I don’t know. What’s a Slayer? He doesn’t sound to peaceful.”
“She, actually, and she slays vampires.” Giles rolled his eyes sheepishly, “Or she does when she’s not dating them.”
Finally, Kate cracked a smile, “I see your problem.”
“You have no idea.” He checked his watch, “You should be going. You are due at the station now.”
“How did you - Never mind.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Giles told her as she went to her car. “And Kate-”
“What?”
“Watch your back. Sunnydale is a whole new level.”
She twirled her gun back into its holster. “I got the idea.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hello?” David Nabbit picked his way across the burned out school yard carefully. He looked uneasily to the left, “Angel? Cordelia?”
“Hi,” a male voice said. David spun around to the right and saw a young dark-haired man step out from the shadows. “Can I help you?”
Somewhat unnerved by the man stealthy approach, David tried to control himself, “I-I-I was meeting someone here.”
“Really?” a new voice piped up from right behind him. David jumped back from the blonde who had snuck up on him.
“Ahh-” David shut his mouth with great difficulty. “Hi.” How had they moved in on him so quietly? “I’m just here looking for a friend.”
“Named?” the blonde asked, stepping closer.
“Angel,” David backed away from her and bumped into the man. Turning to apologize, David suddenly wished he hadn’t.
There wasn’t a man anymore. It was . . . . a wolf. A giant black wolf with jaws that could easily tear him limb from limb.
Stumbling back, David collided with the girl. She wasn’t looking so good, either. Her face was all twisted up, and she . . . . had fangs at least three inches long.
“Are you going to kill me?”
The girl whistled to the dog, who climbed off the pile of clothes it had been sitting on and rubbed up against her leg. “No, not unless you really want me to, but then they’d get mad at me. So do I have to?” She sounded like such an airhead.
“No,” David carefully examined the first vampire and werewolf he’d ever met. Demons he’d seen, but this was different. They weren’t making any hostile gestures toward him. In fact, all they’d done so far was scare him. He thought about the call he’d received from Angel’s secretary, Cordelia Chase. Then he understood, “You guys aren’t here to kill me.”
“Didn’t I just tell you that?” the blonde whined.
“I got it,” David grinned. “This is going to be so cool.”
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20