| |
Hilary
Legacy
|
||||||
|
|
Moirai - Prelude
Title:
Moirai - Prelude *************************************************************** The
Prophesy of the Moirai “When the universe is not as it should be, and powerful forces stand in opposition, one must stand aside and allow the world to become what it should have been. For sometimes even the architects of fate mis-spin, mis-weave or mis-trim, and they must allow intervention. When the singular force seems poised to conquer the compound force, that multitude will choose a messenger for their justice, just as I am a messenger for their will. This messenger, this kin to the Sisters, will be entrusted with the key to the balancing of fate. She alone will know what has been done in order to right wrongs committed under the illusion of benevolence. And while these wrongs cannot be undone, they can be balanced. Here is what I have foretold... When the multitude is poised under the cogs of the wrong fate, the world will splinter and gain two other lives. Into this three-legged world will the messenger come and fulfill her true fate, and time will stretch. When one of my daughters gives birth to one of my sisters, the scales will begin to swing. When that sister follows Orion, the Sisters’ desires will come to fruition. Her death shall bring life to the one, the death of the one will bring life to the three, and then three will become one. And then the newly made shall defeat the first of its kind, and they will right the balance indefinitely. Only then will the fates be pleased with their handy work and the fabric completed. But, as for all things, this is an end only to a beginning: for fabric must be made to clothe, and those clothes must be tended. For nothing displeases the fates more than imperfections in the tapestry...” *************************************************************** “It has happened.” “It is time.” “Time to allow the correction of mistakes.” And three ancient sisters let the thread slacken, ever so slightly. *************************************************************** Sunnydale, CA February 2003 The First Evil smiled, pushing its blonde hair out of its hazel eyes. This had become its favored body; not only because it tormented those who could possibly cause it harm, but also because it was inherently against all things natural. The First had no corporeal form, so this body’s extra strength, stamina and healing had no place in the list of reasons. It simply liked the way it could make the Slayer’s face grin. Besides, it was because of this Slayer that The First was here in this strength anyway. Her reanimation was the key to its ability to prosper now, in this time. Wearing her skin was kind of a ‘thank you’. It smiled and thought about what would happen when it unleashed Caleb onto the world. The
First might have dimmed its smile if it could have seen past its name.
For even The First Evil is a thread in the fabric of time and fate. And
no one color can be allowed to dominate a tapestry for too long. Even
The First Evil was spun, woven and will be cut. *************************************************************** Maputo, Mozambique February 2003 This was like no vision she’d ever had before. And the simple fact that she was thinking of it in those terms was not even the first sign that she wasn’t in Kansas anymore...and that someone must have dropped a house on her sister. Because, see: no yellow brick road...not even constellations or Miss Edith. In fact, she’d had nothing but coherent thoughts for straight minutes. Yep: house, sister. Where had she been? She knew she had come to the Southeastern coast of Africa for a reason, but it was not clear. She couldn’t remember where she had been, as if the world had become like oil and vinegar instead of its usual salad dressing. Had she simply been traveling the world, still smarting from the marshmallow roast she and her grandsire/daughter had been privy to courtesy of her not-quite-sire? Had she found another demon who could tolerate her insanity and show her the world? Or had she also been tormenting her boy while he hung from the ceiling? No, that was it; that’s what was wrong. That hadn’t been her -- some nasty beast had worn her skin and tortured her poor boy, her vicious boy with no more soldiers in his head but with a shiny new spark in his chest. This beast had worn many faces, demon and human. It was connected to death but had no form. And it wanted, craved. It wanted food but had no stomach; craved love but had no heart; desired knowledge but had no mind; and yearned for sex but had no passion. Where’s a house when you need one? So why was she here? [Not in Africa, but in this not-vision.] No choice but to ask...and for someone for whom the possible future and the existing present had been known quantities, this was no small feat. It would not make the answers more or less bearable. Having been connected to the visions, and their source, for all her life and unlife, Drusilla was not at all surprised to find a singular voice made up of a million voices coming out of the air. And she listened to what it said as if it were the stars, or Miss Edith. In a moment of supreme clarity, she realized that it probably always had been. “You will be charged with a task of ultimate importance, dear cousin. The Sisters need you to help right the balance. It is time for you to use your gift as it was intended: to aid good and keep equilibrium. But you will have no help, for you will be the only one who will see the fissure in space/time. The world will go on much as it was, for that cannot be destroyed. But to that we will add balances so that a tripod of fate is formed. Each will exist and you will hold them together. But do not confess your knowledge; choices will have to be made. You must set the stage for the three, but knowledge of one’s own fate provides unreliable results. And despite the sanity you are currently experiencing, you must complete this proposition as the twisted instrument you became. Do not forget. Do not fail us.” “I won’t,” she promised off into the air. We’re off to see the Wizard... When she opened her eyes again her heart was beating and the monster was standing in front of her, with its face on, and she knew that these were the last moments of true clarity she would ever have. She had no choice but to face this monster, the devil with an angel’s face, for he would be the carrier of her destiny. And even her nun’s habit couldn’t protect her. Knowing she had been here before, knowing what had happened, only served to increase her fear. However, the vampire in front of her didn’t know that it wasn’t fear by foreknowledge from a vision but fear by experience. But she had a job to do. She must not forget, must not fail. And so she let the monster take her. And she smiled. *************************************************************** Knownverse – London, England October 1880 He runs out of the door and into the street. It’s already too late to conceal his tears, so he exits almost as rapidly as he tears up the last poem he has written for her...the poem that has manifested his heart and ruined his life. He doesn’t notice that the tie that goes so well with his handsome, though out of style, yellow suit is askew. He isn’t watching where he’s going, so the jarring effect of the large shoulder to his chest comes as a surprise, felt although little noticed. “Watch where you’re going!” he manages to shout through the tears, and just avoids bumping into someone else. All he knows is that he wants to get away so that he can destroy the only evidence of his broken heart. What he does not see is the woman he almost bumped into. As he is walking away she turns and follows him with her eyes. This is the one she tells herself...the one so special she hasn’t told her Daddy or Grandmother about him, though even if she did they never understand Miss Edith tells her. This boy is her duty. They must follow the Yellow Brick road and find this scarecrow his brain. Drusilla giggles at the thought of The Wizard of Oz. She can’t wait until there are movie theatres so she can watch it. There are so many things she knows which she can never speak. Only what is sent to her as vision can she repeat. And even then she knows others only think her mad or slow-witted. It is of little consequence as destiny is never sane or sensible. She knows that now is the time, and she reminds herself that she will have to tread carefully with this one. She cannot reveal his story to him, but she can feed him what he needs to grow. She has to remember that it won’t always be like this. But this time is so familiar...this is like the one that was before. Sometimes it will be different and then he will smile or growl, but now he weeps. And so she tells her Daddy that she wants this one, then goes to take him. He walks, almost blindly, into a public stable and sits down on a hay bale. He is humiliated enough already and so listens for the stable boys who are no doubt out back having a game of dice to pass the time. He sits down and resumes tearing the paper, the ink still fresh enough to stain his fingers. It’s not blood, but it is the fluid leaked from the puncture in his heart. He is so caught up in his own grief that he doesn’t hear the woman enter until she starts to speak. “And I wonder what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this stranger to tears.” He looks up to see a striking brunette with the lilting voice in a slightly old fashioned dress with her hair done up in ringlets. William is dumbfounded. Not only is there an unknown woman speaking to him, she is beautiful...and a little strange. He musters up his best bourgeois tone and says, “Nothing. I wish to be alone.” He looks away from her and back down at his hands, as if he can’t bear the possibility of looking into her eyes in case his humiliation would be reflected back at him. As she comes closer to him, the strange woman speaks again. “I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strengths, his vision, his glory.” She pauses and her eyes glaze over a bit. “That and burning baby fish swimming all around your ‘ead.” At this last description she steps forward and rubs her hand over her stomach. William begins to wonder what she really wants. He stands to make himself feel less humbled. “Um, that’s...that’s quite close enough. I’ve heard tales of London pickpockets. You’ll not be getting my purse, I tell you.” He realizes that while he’s been speaking the woman has continued to walk forward as he is walking back, step for step. She is now so close to him that he can see the patterns in her deep brown eyes. “Don’t need a purse. Your wealth lies here [she touches over his heart], and here [she touches his temple]...in the spirit [she touches his genitals and his eyes go wide] and, imagination [she looks directly into his eyes for the first time].” As William is reeling from the inappropriateness of her touch, her next words stop him cold. They are the first things he’s understood tonight...maybe ever. “You walk in worlds the others can’t begin to imagine.” As she is speaking she weaves her head back and forth, as though dancing to music anyone else would strain to hear. “Yes. I...I mean no. I mean...mother’s expecting me.” William is drawn in just long enough for hope to spring anew, but his limitations are far too ingrained in him for this little bit of coaxing to suffice. “I see what you want,” she tells him and fixates a bit strangely on his neck, “something glowing, something...effulgent.” The dark-haired woman smiles because she knows that with this word she has reeled in her fish. “Do you want it?” she asks, although it is a question to which she already knows the answer. When William answers, his hope had managed to overtake enough of his sense of propriety that he touches her tenderly on the shoulder. “Oh, yes. God yes.” And he almost isn’t surprised when her face changes into something worse than what he could read in all the papers and penny dreadfuls in London. But this is the first woman other than his mother who has ever purposefully addressed him, paid him notice. So all of his beauty and love and time and patience automatically belong to this woman because she sees. But he’s not expecting the pain. So when she leans in and sinks her large teeth into his neck, he is too overwhelmed not to cry out, “oh, oh, oh...” in ever increasing decibels until he can no longer as he is on the ground and everything is turning black. *************************** Pinionverse He runs out of the door and into the street. It’s already too late to conceal his tears, so he exits almost as rapidly as he tears up the last poem he has written for her...the poem that has manifested his heart and ruined his life. He should not be wasting his life striving for the notice of someone chosen for him by breeding and position. But mother will be so disappointed. He doesn’t notice that the tie that goes so well with his handsome, though out of style, yellow suit is askew. He isn’t watching where he’s going, so the jarring effect of the large shoulder to his chest comes as a surprise, but knowing it is not his fault his is not contrite. “Watch where you’re going!” he manages to shout through the tears, and just avoids bumping into someone else. All he knows is that he wants to get away from everyone before the weight of expectations drowned him. What he does not see is the woman he almost bumped into. As he is walking away she turns and follows him with her eyes. This is the one she tells herself...the one so special she hasn’t told her Daddy or Grandmother about him, though even if she did they never understand Miss Edith tells her. This boy is her duty. They must follow the Yellow Brick road and find this tin man his heart. Drusilla giggles at the thought of The Wizard of Oz. She can’t wait until there are movie theatres so she can watch it. There are so many things she knows which she can never speak. Only what is sent to her as vision can she repeat. And even then she knows others only think her mad or slow-witted. It is of little consequence as destiny is never sane or sensible. She knows that now is the time, and she reminds herself that she will have to tread carefully with this one. She cannot reveal his story to him, but she can feed him what he needs to grow and blossom. She has to remember that it won’t always be like this. Sometimes it will be different and then he will weep or growl, but now he smiles. And so she tells her Daddy that she wants this one, then goes to take him. He walks, almost blindly, into a public stable and sits down on a hay bale. He is humiliated enough already and so listens for the stable boys who are no doubt out back having a game of dice to pass the time. He sits down and resumes tearing the paper, the ink still fresh enough to stain his fingers. It’s not blood, but he wishes it were so that he could be cleansed and made new. He is so caught up in his own disappointment that he doesn’t hear the woman enter until she starts to speak. “And I wonder what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this stranger to tears.” He looks up to see a striking brunette with the lilting voice in a slightly old fashioned dress with her hair done up in ringlets. William is dumbfounded. Not only is there an unknown woman speaking to him, she is beautiful...and a little strange. He knows he should put aside his own problems to see to this woman who is obviously lost, but instead he musters up his best discouraging tone and says, “Nothing. I wish to be alone.” He looks away from her and back down at his hands, as if he can’t bear the possibility of escaping his own lot. As she comes closer to him, the strange woman speaks again. “I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strengths, his vision, his glory.” She pauses and her eyes glaze over a bit. “That and burning baby fish swimming all around your ‘ead.” At this last description she steps forward and rubs her hand over her stomach. William begins to wonder if she needs more help than he can offer, for she is clearly disturbed. He stands to make himself feel less threatened, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Um, that’s...that’s quite close enough. I’ve heard tales of London pickpockets. You’ll not be getting my purse, I tell you.” He realizes that while he’s been speaking the woman has continued to walk forward as he is walking back, step for step. He can’t believe that this frail creature could be intimidating. She is now so close to him that he can see the patterns in her deep brown eyes. And suddenly instead of feeling threatened he feels his heart soften and puddle because he can feel her need. “Don’t need a purse. Your wealth lies here [she touches over his heart], and here [she touches his temple]...in the spirit [she touches his genitals and his eyes go wide] and, imagination [she looks directly into his eyes for the first time].” As William is reeling from the inappropriateness of her touch, her next words stop him cold. They are the first things he’s understood tonight...maybe ever. “You walk in worlds the others can’t begin to imagine.” As she is speaking she weaves her head back and forth, as though dancing to music anyone else would strain to hear. And he realizes that she needs him to hear this music, and so he listens. “Yes. I...I mean no. I mean...mother’s expecting me.” William strains to answer differently, but his desire to help this woman who seems to need him so cannot so quickly usurp the need his mother has for him. “I see what you want,” she tells him and fixates a bit strangely on his neck, “something glowing, something...effulgent.” The dark-haired woman smiles because she knows that with this word she has reeled in her fish. This time she smiles brightly and openly because she sees that this time the word conveys both knowledge and understanding. “Do you want it?” she asks, although it is a question to which she already knows the answer. When William answers, his hope had managed to overtake enough of his sense of propriety and position that he touches her tenderly on the shoulder. “Oh, yes. God yes.” And he almost isn’t surprised when her face changes into something worse than what he could read in all the papers and penny dreadfuls in London. Somehow he knows that she doesn’t want to harm him. And God works in mysterious ways. And this is the first woman other than his mother who has ever purposefully addressed him, paid him notice, needed him. So all of his beauty and love and time and patience automatically belong to this woman because she sees. But he’s not expecting the pain. So when she leans in and sinks her large teeth into his neck, he is too overwhelmed not to cry out, “oh, oh, oh...” in ever increasing decibels until he can no longer as he is on the ground and everything is turning black. *************************** Shadowverse He runs out of the door and into the street. It’s already too late to conceal his tears, so he exits almost as rapidly as he tears up the last poem he has written for her...the poem that has manifested his heart and ruined his life. But it is his own fault, for he knows that the world is a cruel place and that he should have toughened his heart long ago. He notices that the tie that goes so well with his handsome, though out of style, yellow suit is askew and he rights it angrily. He isn’t watching where he’s going, so the jarring effect of the large shoulder to his chest comes as a surprise, and he is already enraged enough to respond beyond his measure. “Watch where you’re going!” he manages to shout through the furious tears, and just avoids bumping into someone else. All he knows is that he wants to get away so that he can destroy the only evidence of his foolish heart. This is the last time, for after this he will make himself anew. What he does not see is the woman he almost bumped into. As he is walking away she turns and follows him with her eyes. This is the one she tells herself...the one so special she hasn’t told her Daddy or Grandmother about him, though even if she did they never understand Miss Edith tells her. This boy is her duty. They must follow the Yellow Brick road and find this lion his courage. Drusilla giggles at the thought of The Wizard of Oz. She can’t wait until there are movie theatres so she can watch it. There are so many things she knows which she can never speak. Only what is sent to her as vision can she repeat. And even then she knows others only think her mad or slow-witted. It is of little consequence as destiny is never sane or sensible. She knows that now is the time, and she reminds herself that she will have to tread carefully with this one. She cannot reveal his story to him, but she can feed him what he needs to grow fierce. She has to remember that it won’t always be like this. Sometimes it will be different and then he will smile or weep, but now he growls. And so she tells her Daddy that she wants this one, then goes to take him. He walks, almost blindly, into a public stable and sits down on a hay bale. He has turned his humiliation upon himself and is transmuting it into will. He sits down and resumes tearing the paper, the ink still fresh enough to stain his fingers. It might as well be blood, for it is spilling because of his own careless slip of the knife. But he will show them...William the Bloody indeed. He is so caught up in his own plans that he doesn’t hear the woman enter until she starts to speak. “And I wonder what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this stranger to tears.” He looks up to see a striking brunette with the lilting voice in a slightly old fashioned dress with her hair done up in ringlets. William is dumbfounded. Not only is there an unknown woman speaking to him, she is beautiful...and a little strange. Clearly she must want something, for as his bitterness reminds him, no one does anything out of kindness. He musters up his best dismissing tone and says, “Nothing. I wish to be alone.” He looks away from her and back down at his hands, as if he isn’t ready for the possibility of looking into her eyes, seeing his transforming self reflected back at him. As she comes closer to him, the strange woman speaks again. “I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strengths, his vision, his glory.” She pauses and her eyes glaze over a bit. “That and burning baby fish swimming all around your ‘ead.” At this last description she steps forward and rubs her hand over her stomach. William begins to think that maybe this one isn’t like all the rest. He stands to make himself feel less uninformed. “Um, that’s...that’s quite close enough. I’ve heard tales of London pickpockets. You’ll not be getting my purse, I tell you.” He realizes that while he’s been speaking the woman has continued to walk forward as he is walking back, step for step. He is further angered; the new self he is trying to become is disappointed that he is already backing down. She is now so close to him that he can see the patterns in her deep brown eyes. “Don’t need a purse. Your wealth lies here [she touches over his heart], and here [she touches his temple]...in the spirit [she touches his genitals and his eyes go wide] and, imagination [she looks directly into his eyes for the first time].” As William is reeling from the inappropriateness of her touch, and the new sensations it evokes, her next words stop him cold. They are the first things he’s understood tonight...maybe ever. “You walk in worlds the others can’t begin to imagine.” As she is speaking she weaves her head back and forth, as though dancing to music anyone else would strain to hear. “Yes. I...I mean no. I mean...mother’s expecting me.” And William the Bloody is dying in his crib. But it’s not over yet. William pushes past his innate knowledge of his limitations and lets William the Bloody take over, for William has nothing left and therefore nothing left to lose. “I see what you want,” she tells him and fixates a bit strangely on his neck, “something glowing, something...effulgent.” The dark-haired woman smiles because she knows that with this word she has reeled in her fish. Her smile dims momentarily while she searches for her place in time and then brightens as she sees the gloom of self-depreciation in his eyes turn to the glow of realized power. “Do you want it?” she asks, although it is a question to which she already knows the answer. When William the Bloody answers, his new heart and new limbs confer, and the wonder he feels at this woman comes to the fore as he touches her tenderly on the shoulder. “Oh, yes. God yes.” And he almost isn’t surprised when her face changes into something worse than what he could read in all the papers and penny dreadfuls in London. But this is the first woman other than his mother who has ever purposefully addressed him, paid him notice. So all of his beauty and love and time and patience automatically belong to this woman because she sees. And he expects the pain, for what else is life. But when she leans in and sinks her large teeth into his neck, he is too overwhelmed to meter his reaction of, “oh, oh, oh...” in ever increasing decibels until he can no longer as he is on the ground and everything is turning black. *************************************************************** PART
2 Spike had thought that a return to his home country would cause some kind of homesickness upon his leaving it again. He had not been to England since he and Drusilla had left London after the…death of his mother. Even after a half century he didn’t like talking about Mother. He had thought it would be the right decision, to save his dear mother from the illness that was ravaging her body; to keep her with him always, his strongest and often only supporter. But the demon hadn’t meshed well with her, and she had become something abhorrent, a mockery of her human self. So he’d had to stake her himself. Conscience or not, he didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive himself. And a lack of self-forgiveness meant a lack of desire to return to what had once been home. After he was turned, he and his dark goddess had celebrated, cutting a swath throughout Europe and Asia with his grandsire, Angelus, and great-grandsire, Darla. And while he didn’t always get along with them, they did make beautiful music together. He had learned a lot about being a vampire in these last decades, but he didn’t think about it much. He was still in the adolescent rebellion phase. That thought made him smile. With most vampires, the youths under a few centuries old anyway, it was all about reputation. So Spike had worked to build one. But then he started to get the feeling that it was all about reputation because there was something inherently lazy about vampires. The less they had to work for something, food or fucking or whatever, the better. Spike thought that this was more than a little pathetic: if you were going to think with your fangs then you had better be willing to act with them. But, there was something to having a reputation. It certainly had gotten his family, the Clan of Aurelius, the best of the best in vampire society. Spike had earned his by torturing people with railroad spikes. It was a reputation he relished, as much because it showed that he was nothing like that pathetic human ponce he once was as anything else. He approached every new city and every new adventure as a chance to show his mettle and prove that he had more bottle than a dozen masters twice his age. But he never could admit to himself that there was more to it than that. For a long time he had tried to gain the approval of his elders, especially that of Angelus. But the older male seemed to think of Spike as little more than an annoyance and competition for Drusilla’s affections, so they settled on mutual acceptance of dislike. But it didn’t mean that Spike still didn’t crave affection and approval from the only father figure he had ever had. And there wasn’t much that Spike had not done to gain his grandsire’s approval. He had become part of The Scourge of Europe, reeking havoc and destruction every where they went. He took what he wanted, made no apologies, and never took no for an answer. Even when the ‘No’ came from Angelus himself. And that, of course, earned him a lot of beatings and near-stakings. Those were the days. Even Darla had certain superficial expectations of him: if she wanted to move through high society it was always Spike on her arm. He had been raised among the upper-middle class, and therefore his manners were more appropriate than Angelus’. This often caused friction between Angelus and himself, but he would always acquiesce rather than risk pissing Darla off: that bitch had a brutal temper. In fact, Drusilla was the only one who would ever tolerate any kind of non-stereotypically vampiric behavior from him. There was only one part of his former human personality he allowed himself to keep: his ability to love and show it. Drusilla seemed to crave his form of affection, which Spike secretly suspected acted as a kind of antidote to her sire’s tormented obsession with her, and out of love for her, Spike made sure to cultivate it. But this careful balancing act wasn’t to last. Their quartet disbanded when the mighty Angelus ran away and Darla couldn’t stand to see Spike and Dru without being reminded of her dear boy. He should have known something was wrong; right before they left Romania Angelus had been acting strange. His great-grandsire had told him that Angelus had wanted to make a solo trip and would be meeting them in China. [Spike had long suspected that something else had happened between Darla and Angelus, but every time anyone even made mention of his grand-sire Darla would freak.] Even after joining them a year or so later, Angelus hadn’t been right… His grandsire had barely stuck around long enough to congratulate Spike on killing his first slayer. In fact, that made Angelus’ leaving all that much more difficult for Spike. Other than fucking his beautiful Drusilla in the blood of the Slayer, his only thought was, “Now Angelus will finally be proud of me.” Yeah, right. There had been something off about Angelus’ behavior. Then he had just taken off without a word. And afterwards, in one of her typical fits of rage, Darla had taken off to parts unknown without ever explaining anything about what had happened. So he and Dru had gone back to England. They had spent some time hanging out with locals, but for the most part they kept to themselves. Over time, Spike had learned to decipher Dru’s psychic ramblings. He had gotten it down to a science. Before their run-in with the mob she had even had some lucid moments where her eyes would clear. But they never lasted too long, always ending with her saying something about not forgetting when and where she was, or the dangers of sieves and leaky faucets. It was the only thing she ever said that he couldn’t understand. Well, that and rambling about lions and scarecrows, tin men and wizards, all in these places called Kansas and Oz. But that had always just seemed like Dru’s own mind. Until she’d handed him a book called The Wonderful Wizard of Oz two decades after he’d been turned. Then he’d understood that she’d known this story before it had even been written because it was a kind of metaphor for her own life. Going home wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But he and Drusilla had some time to kill, and Spike hadn’t really had the opportunity to make a name for himself the last time he was in England… So much had changed since Victoria had died. *************************** Pinionverse William had thought that a return to his home country would cause some kind of homesickness upon his leaving it again. He had not been to England since he and Drusilla had left London after the…death of his mother. Even after a half century he didn’t like talking about Mother. He had thought it would be the right decision, to save his dear mother from the illness that was ravaging her body; to keep her with him always, his strongest and often only supporter. But a few years after their turning they had been ambushed by a band of demons they had been hunting. Angelus, Darla and Drusilla had been able to save one of their fledglings, but his mother hadn’t survived. He didn’t know that he would ever be able to forgive himself, or to erase the memory of her burning to dust in front of him. And a lack of self-forgiveness meant a lack of desire to return to what had once been home. After he was turned, he and his new family spent a long time traveling around Europe and Asia. He loved his sire with all his heart, and if that wasn’t enough, he now had another strong woman in his life, his great-grandsire Darla, and the first father figure he had ever had, his grandsire Angelus. But William’s life didn’t change all that much from what it had been, except that he now had the chance to travel. Much of his life as a human had been spent reading and writing. And while poetry had been his first love, he was quite a scholar above and beyond that passion. This aspect of his personality didn’t leave him when he crossed over into unlife. And so William spent a great deal of time studying about vampires. He was always surprised at how few vampires they met, no matter where they traveled. When he asked his family why that was he was told that only certain kinds of people made good vampires. He wanted to understand what that meant. In his studies he learned that vampires were not like most other demons. Most demons either didn’t care at all about humans, or they used humans to advance their own agendas. Perhaps it was different for vampires because they used to be human, and their transformation didn’t totally remove all of their ties to humanity. Physiologically vampires differed greatly from humans: they had increased agility, speed and strength; they could alter their physical appearance when their demon was in control, producing ridges on their foreheads and an elongation of their canines; and they were no longer able to sustain themselves on human food alone -- now they required human blood added to their diets. But in William’s mind, the physiological differences were nothing compared to the philosophical differences. Vampires were not limited by mortality in the same way humans were. Oh vampires could be killed, but they would never just die. This length of life, this witnessing of decades and centuries, allowed them a wisdom not attainable by most humans. And with this wisdom came not only a pragmatism, but also a great love of all things natural or human made. They paid great attention to the inventions of man; they were fascinated to watch humans evolve. This passion for what they once were also made them fiercely protective of those creatures, whether from demons or other humans. So how did a race of creatures reconcile their love of a species and their need to consume the life of that species? The answer was actually quite simple. Vampires knew that their interference in the human existence on a grand level would not be welcome. For even if the humans could one day accept that vampires existed it would still be difficult for mortals not to be jealous and desirous of the vampire. So in wars and conflicts they did not interfere if at all possible. But with other demons they could interfere, and as vampires they were ultimately more capable of handling them. On a small scale they could intervene in humanity, and they did. They did not want to ruin humanity’s fabric, so they left crimes of passion, greed and revenge, for the most part, alone. But they took great pains to blot out those who caused the kind of damage that vampires found especially heinous. Rapists, mass and serial murders, child molesters and killers never did last long if there was a vampire around. And they tried to do it all without being noticed by the general human populous. It didn’t mean that no humans knew of them. There were human organizations that were dedicated to the same things vampires believed. Vampires had worked with them throughout human history. They had become champions of the witches and demon slayers and watchers of the world. William and his family had worked with human organizations in the past. They had spent many years in China, trying to help out during the Boxer Rebellion. Many demons had taken the opportunity to loot and rape and pillage while the country was in chaos. After they felt they had done all they could, they spent some time making their way through Russia. When the Bolsheviks overthrew the Czar there was also work to be done. They had finally managed to exterminate the gangs of Maleveron demons that had been terrorizing citizens. William had suspected that the Red Party had not only known of their existence but had used the demon activity to bolster their own doings, but he could never prove that they actually worked with the Maleverons. Over the years, William had gotten used to his sire’s visions. He could decipher their meanings in ways that none of the other family members had ever been able. He had come to know that when Drusilla was very insistent or sure of something that it was the result of her abilities. It was sometimes the only way she could get others to pay heed to her knowledge. She had so few moments of clarity, and those always ended with her saying something about not forgetting when and where she was, or the dangers of sieves and leaky faucets. It was the only thing she ever said that he couldn’t understand. Well, that and some rambling about lions and scarecrows, tin men and wizards, all in these places called Kansas and Oz. But that had always just seemed like Dru’s own mind. Until she’d handed him a book called The Wonderful Wizard of Oz two decades after he’d been turned. Then he’d understood that she’d known this story before it had even been written because it was a kind of metaphor for her own life. The speed of the last few years would have gotten to him if he hadn’t had his family to keep him going. The love between them, and the love they had for humanity, was enough to keep them going. And William had seen so many amazing things over the last few years…the automobile, carbonated beverages, tropical fruits in Europe…the world was an amazing place. *************************** Shadowverse William the Bloody had thought that a return to his home country would cause some kind of homesickness upon his leaving it again. He had not been to England since he and Drusilla had left London after the…death of his mother. Even after a half century he didn’t like talking about Mother. He had thought it would be the right decision, to save his dear mother from the illness that was ravaging her body; to end her suffering as well as the only living reminder of his own. Somehow he had thought that killing her would mean the death of his human memories. He had been wrong; he still remembered everything, and the look in his mother’s eyes as he tore out her throat was the only thing that had ever made him think twice. Conscience or not, he didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive himself. And a lack of self-forgiveness meant a lack of desire to return to what had once been home. After he was turned, he and his family had cut a brutal swath across Europe, torturing and killing to the delight of their whims. Ah, the music they made together: Darla’s Soprano of seduction, Drusilla’s Alto a mask of frailty, his own Tenor of manipulation, all held together by Angelus’ Bass of terror. They sung together with precise coordination and grace, and they were lauded throughout the corners of the earth. But through it all William the Bloody’s facile intelligence was never underestimated; it was the only thing of William’s he had wanted to keep. Angelus knew about what people would do to avoid pain; Darla knew how to use other’s vanity; Dru understood that all humans have an attraction to innocence; but it was William the Bloody who saw what people were most afraid of, what they hated most about themselves, and how to play upon it. It was most often this trait that kept them alive. And it was this trait that made him so beloved by his family. William the Bloody had never been happy as a human, never been content with his own limitations. It was only in death [or unlife] that he was able to be who he had been meant to be. And he loved it. He loved the power and control that came with being a vampire. He loved the fear he could instill just by showing his demon. And he loved the anguish he could garner through the torment of others. Angelus had been a wonderful teacher. And because the older vampire was the only real father figure he had ever had, William the Bloody looked up to him as though he were a god. He paid close attention to every lesson Angelus ever gave and learned everything he could from him and the ladies. But while Angelus loved rape almost as much as he loved torture, rape was something that William the Bloody never committed. Don’t misunderstand: rape was in no way unacceptable to him, but he much preferred getting people to give him what he wanted from them of their own free will, and then using that knowledge to torture them. It was always so much better when their fear was spiked with self-recrimination. And it was for this that William the Bloody spent so much time under Darla’s tutelage; after all, who better to learn the art of seduction from than one who lived and died as a high-class whore. He had also spent time using his abilities to watch other vampires and demons. He had come to understand a great deal about the nature of the vampire. Every vampire he had ever met followed the same pattern, and while it wasn’t truthful to say that a vampire was nothing like his or her human self, it wasn’t a lie either. Vampires seemed to spend most of their unlives either revenging themselves on symbols of the humiliations they suffered as humans, or they focused on doing all of the things that the morality of their time as a human wouldn’t allow. William the Bloody knew he was no different, and that both of these statements were true for him. Part of the reason he used seduction and freewill as his preferred weapons was because it allowed him the sweetest kind of revenge on those who had wronged his human self. He also knew that his life was totally infused with sex and decadence and excess and willfulness because these were the things that Victorian England and his place in society had denied him. William the Bloody had found his ultimate symbol, his perfect revenge. From the moment he had learned about the Slayer, he heard his calling. And he rejoiced in it. This Slayer, this girl whose destiny it was to attempt to keep a balance between the humans and the demons, was everything he couldn’t allow to exist undamaged. And the fact that when one fell the next rose...pure heaven; his game would never be depleted. This girl came to represent for William the Bloody everything that had tormented him as a human; here was a girl who was designed to destroy him, wanted to take him down, and the fact that this girl did it with her fists when the others had done it with words was of no consequence. He came to see Slayers as his ultimate prey and he searched them out over and over again. William the Bloody smiled when he thought of all the Slayers he had...had...over the decades. Yes, some he had only killed -- that one in China during the Boxer Rebellion had tasted so sweet -- but some, some he had in every way he wanted them and used it to destroy them. This was the sweetest pleasure in the world for him. And as the “Slayer of Slayers” he intended to go right on doing exactly that. His family had long ago learned to stay away from his prey unless it was a matter of their own unlife or death. And he was always keeping his eyes out for his mate, the human he would meet that was destined to be his childe. Angelus and Darla had explained it all to him. Vampires could make pets, slaves of a sort; they could extend the lives of humans through a bond. These ‘pets’ were kept for blood and sex, but they were also kept as servants and companions. They were the closest vampires ever came to having friends. But in order to keep the vampire population down, so that they didn’t put too much of a strain on their food source, vampires could only ever make one childe. Apparently the demon would recognize something in a human that said that this person was meant to share it, a human the demon wanted to become and not just consume. Because the demon was kind of like a virus: it was transferred from sire to childe. And only when both the demon and ‘human’ parts of a vampire were in agreement on the worth of an individual did they become childer. The courtship wasn’t the same from sire to childe; his grandsire had driven his childe to insanity before changing her, while his sire had taken her childe with softness and care. But always was this bond made to keep vampires thriving and content. It also made familial relationships easier. Vampires didn’t have any real compunction about who they fucked; they tended toward bisexuality and promiscuity – mostly because these were things that tended to be frowned upon in every Western culture – and because sex had nothing to do with love as they felt it, their possessive and passionate natures didn’t make them jealous. Unless it became something more than sex; then all bets were off. As a childe you were tied inextricably to your sire, and then to the childe you made. This connection did carry over somewhat with other members of your direct line, but was a very watered down version thereof. When your sire or childe died it was like still being able to feel an amputated limb; that part of your being would always tickle. On a rare occasion a vampire would be able to make a second childe if their first was killed. But this was a rarity and only happened in certain clans. Those with a very strong bond only made it once. Clan Aurelius was like this. They were such passionate demons that they only ever chose love once. William the Bloody couldn’t help but smile because this made him think about his own sire…and wonder about the childe he would make. And his sire, his beautiful insane Drusilla; even after fifty years with her he was constantly amazed by her foresight and cunning. She could wrap anyone around her finger just by looking them in the eyes. And William the Bloody had become infinitely skilled at deciphering her ramblings. So much so, even in the first few years, that Dru would instinctively seek him out anytime the stars, or bloody Miss Edith, spoke to her. But every time William the Bloody got a glimpse into her eyes during one of her spells he knew there was something else he couldn’t decipher because she didn’t open it to him. It was as if, for a brief second, she would have a moment of clarity: as if only sanity would guard her visions from her childe. But these moments always ended with her saying something about not forgetting when and where she was, or the dangers of sieves and leaky faucets, and then the vision would come. Well, that and some rambling about lions and scarecrows, tin men and wizards, all in these places called Kansas and Oz. But that had always just seemed like Dru’s own mind. Until she’d handed him a book called The Wonderful Wizard of Oz two decades after he’d been turned. Then he’d understood that she’d known this story before it had even been written because it was a kind of metaphor for her own life. Then again, William the Bloody had long ago learned to move past his suspicions and pay heed to the unknowable workings of her mind, for everything she had ever said had come to pass. And recently Drusilla had gotten a bug up her arse about going back to the homeland. It was where they were both from after all. And it was only a hop, skip and a jump if Angelus wanted to revisit the Emerald Isle. Come to think of it, as far as William the Bloody knew, his grandsire hadn’t been back to Ireland since he and Darla had taken off after murdering his family. Maybe it would be worth the trip; after all, a hundred years can really change a place. Maybe he was looking forward to going back home more than he thought… *************************************************************** Knownverse – Paris, France April 1936 Mmm…Paris in the springtime. Drusilla had gotten it into her head that she wanted to eat some architects…or at least that is how he had interpreted her latest ramblings. Either way, they had been enjoying themselves. And why shouldn’t they have come? They had spent the last few decades wandering around from place to place, slowly making their way from China to England, and then leaving London to return to the Continent. They had sampled the finest food from every place they had stopped. Spike had even spent some time entertaining a French Courtesan with a famous reputation…but Drusilla didn’t need to be reminded of that. Spike knew it was time to move on. He had this bad feeling about sticking around. There was a new threat on the horizon, and just because that threat was human didn’t make it any less worrisome. At least, not in this case. These Nazis has been stirring up trouble over the last few years, but Spike had thought it was about to come to a head. Then a few days ago, his ripe wicked plum had had a vision. She told him, not in so many words of course, that he would become involved if they didn’t leave soon. The question then became where to go? *************************** Pinionverse Ahh…Paris in the springtime. There really was little in this world lovelier than this glorious city when everything was blooming. And Paris in the 1930’s had been tremendous fun. It was one of the only cities in the world where everyone was allowed equal access. Despite their Catholicism the French had opened doors for women that were still closed elsewhere, even from what William had heard about America. And there weren’t the same attitudes towards colored people that had been the focus of much of the world’s press over the last several decades. Why, even as a human he had been disgusted at everyone’s attitude toward those who weren’t of European descent. He hadn’t been born when slavery had been abolished within English shores, but he had known that English still kept slaves in the colonies. And the Europeans were worse; what they had done to Africa and South America made his heart, beating or otherwise, bleed. And the Americans had been way behind everyone. William had only been a small child when the American Civil War had broken out, and while he knew that the colored Americans were no longer slaves, he also knew this to be merely a technicality. But after nearly a decade spent in Paris, William was ready to get back into the swing of things. The whole family had admitted they needed a break from demon fighting. They were all a little burned out. So they had decided that, as long as nothing major came up, it wouldn’t hurt to take the decade off and just enjoy the wonders of humanity. And 1936 in Paris was about as good as it got. William had become particularly enamored with an American performer who had come to this city many decades ago because she could live here without fear. Josephine Baker was something else… Even without his beloved sire’s visions William would have known something was wrong. Germany had been changing over the last ten years, and they had been building quite an army. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world became aware of what was happening on the Continent. As was their policy, they wouldn’t interfere unless demons got involved, or unless they feared that humanity wouldn’t survive. But this didn’t mean that William wasn’t keeping his head up and his eyes open. *************************** Shadowverse Ohh…Paris in the springtime. How could a bunch of murderous hedonists not love a city in which the only things skimpier than the clothes were the morals? The French of this decade [in particular] were just as…open…to the sins of the flesh as some vampires, not to mention the availability of drugs and other distractions. William the Bloody hadn’t even had to try very hard the last few years to indulge his more base desires. In fact, he hadn’t even killed all his victims because so many had been willing…even eager…to pander to him. And since he’d only come across one Slayer in the last few years he had to find something with which to amuse himself. He wasn’t too eager to go anywhere. He and the family had been watching the newspapers and the film reels; they new the Continent was going to be an exciting place real soon. These German Nazis were a wicked bunch, especially for humans, and they were all looking forward to enjoying themselves during the chaos this Nazi uprising would cause. I mean, just think how much fun they had had during the Boxer Rebellion, or the Bolshevik Revolution. This was going to get fun… *************************************************************** Knownverse – Prague, Czechoslovakia June 1973 …Drusilla hadn’t really known how hard this would be. And she was just sane enough to understand that keeping everything straight was the most important part of this. She knew she was supposed to have the visions. And she did:… *************************** Pinionverse …the Powers sent her visions to give her the information she needed. But what no one else understood was that living in three times and places simultaneously made anyone crazy. Most of the rambling came from going from place to place with little warning and no recovery time. Her thoughts would carry through from one place to the next,… *************************** Shadowverse …leaving the person in the new world with no idea what she was talking about because they had no context. So they thought she was crazy. Well, yeah…she was now. She just had to make sure that she kept it all on track. And she had to remember the three: it would all rest on their shoulders. She could not fail… *************************************************************** PART
3 Spike looked out across the sea and flicked his cigarette into the water. He was thinking back on the day his beautiful Drusilla made him new and smiled. She was resting in the hold of the ship, protected from the elements...and herself. She was so weak now that she was still unconscious most of the time. They had barely gotten away, and since when did the simple folk know anything about vampires? Stupid mob had had them outnumbered and facing fire. He had protected Dru, but only just barely. He lit another cigarette and thought about the last hundred years, and specifically the last few decades. He and Dru had tried to leave France, but not quite soon enough. He had ended up having his little run-in with the Nazis… He had never spoken of it; not even to Drusilla. Part of him thought she already knew, in that way she seemed to have, but he had been grateful she had never spoken to him of it. It was buried in the past and would remain there. But when he had returned to her from this ordeal, Spike had found his sire to be starving and almost totally out of her mind. If he had ever thought she might be able to survive without him, then he knew now for sure that she could not. If they had kept him prisoner any long than they had, she would have been dead. So he had gotten her fed and lucid, as lucid as she had ever been, and they had taken off. They had spent some time in Spain while the Nazis were still in power. It was technically a neutral country, and Franco had some very interesting ideas about things. Then when the Axis had been smacked into submission they had eventually made their way down to Italy. They had spent some time there, living the unlife with all of the old world vamps. Spike and Dru had fit in quite well there, despite his willfulness and her insanity. After that they had gone down to Northern Africa. They spent time in Morocco, Algeria and Egypt. Spike had wanted to check out some rumors he had heard about the first vampires being from Ancient Egypt. He had seen nothing conclusive, but as far as he had been able to discern, vampires were much older than that. Morocco in the 1950’s had been an exciting place, especially after the drama of spending the first part of that decade in Italy. That’s one of the few times I’d rather forget he thought to himself. And the upheaval in Algeria in the 1960’s was fun. The irony of the French being the perpetrators of that disaster wasn’t lost on him. But then the eighth decade of the 20th Century had rolled around, and he and Drusilla had both dealt with enough of their demons to be able to go back to Eastern Europe. The rise of Communism in that part of the world made things interesting, but he had heard much about the countries of Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia. And right now he regretted everything he had heard and believed. While Communism may have taken control of the surface, it hadn’t been able to kill the deep-rooted superstitions that had been a part of these cultures for centuries. And those superstitions had nearly cost Spike and Drusilla their unlives. Spike had thought a long time about where they should go now that Europe had turned sour for them. He had always had a longing to see the little seen, explore the little explored. So America seemed the most likely place. Even though the West had been settled, gold had been found, automobiles were plentiful, and the country was being peopled at an alarming rate, there was still so much untapped. And so much was going on there now that the wars were over. Spike had already almost exhausted his patience for Europe. Besides, he had become quite taken to the Beats in the 40’s and 50’s. Maybe if there were any of them left he would eat one. *************************** Pinionverse William looked out across the sea and flicked his cigarette into the water. He was thinking back on the day his beautiful Drusilla made him new and smiled. She was resting in the hold of the ship, protected from the elements...and herself. She was so weak now that she was still unconscious most of the time. They had barely gotten away, and since when did the simple folk know anything about vampires? Stupid mob had had them outnumbered and facing fire. He had protected Dru, but only just barely. God he missed Angelus and Darla. William lit another cigarette and thought about the last hundred years, and specifically the last few decades. They had spent some wonderful time in Greece and Italy, taking in the beauties of the Old World. Months were spent in Egypt with one of the oldest civilizations of humans. They spent years getting in touch with the origins of the love vampire’s had for humans. It was still amazing to them all that creatures with such short life spans were capable of creating things that stood so long… It was in great part this amazement that had their family traveling the world to aid in the survival of such a fascinating species. It was a great source of humor to them that the humans had recently taken up similar causes with whales, eagles and other beautiful creatures they had spent so much time hunting to extinction. In fact, Spike and Drusilla were headed to the new world right now to do exactly that. There was a coven in Boston that had reported some serious demon activity, and they had decided that America sounded like an interesting place to go. Angelus and Darla had gone back to China to help fight a group of demons that were coming into the country from the mountains in Nepal. They had all split up in Romania about a year ago, before Spike and Dru had gotten caught in Prague. But America sounded promising, and it was where Drusilla had insisted on going. He didn’t know what he was going to do to help his sire get well, but he would find whatever it would take. They had already been to most of the healers in Europe and England…not like his people had been any more helpful than those on The Continent. All anyone would ever tell them was that they could do nothing to help his beautiful sire. Even the gypsy they had visited, from the same clan they had helped many times, could do nothing. She would only say that he would find it when it was time. That would never be good enough for William. And since it seemed that they had exhausted the resources of the entire continent, he would try the New World. But he tried to keep his worries and concerns from his sire, so he didn’t speak his disappointments out loud. So by order of one of her visions, the same vision that had the other half of their family departing to the other side of the world, they were on their way across the vast ocean. They would help the coven and then move on to somewhere else, maybe New York. William thought of what he had read about that city, and the marvels within, and thought it might be a good idea. Perhaps they could even hang around America for a few decades. *************************** Shadowverse William the Bloody looked out across the sea and flicked his cigarette into the water. He was thinking back on the day his beautiful Drusilla made him new and smiled. She was resting in the hold of the ship, protected from the elements...and herself. She was so weak now that she was still unconscious most of the time. They had barely gotten away, and since when did the simple folk know anything about vampires? Stupid mob had had them outnumbered and facing fire. He had protected Dru, but only just barely. He lit another cigarette and thought about the last hundred years, and specifically the last few decades. They had traveled the world, cutting a brilliant red swath over hills and valleys…striking fear into the hearts of even the most foolish mortals who claimed not to believe in their very existence. They had visited the beauties of countries at war, the turmoil drawing them with the smell of fresh blood. Italy, Germany, Spain, Russia, India…anywhere that people were suffering. And during that time, William the Bloody had worked very hard at making his name something to be whispered with reverence. He had managed to corner the market on the slaying of Slayers. Before the mob had attacked them in Prague he had just managed his 7th. Not bad for 100 years of work, if he did say so himself. But in the time since his sire had been so badly injured he had begun to worry. She wasn’t getting any better. Vampires had very swift healing, and even the serious wounds she had sustained shouldn’t have kept her this weak for this long. He knew something was wrong. Even Angelus and Darla were concerned. And so in every place they had stopped after leaving Prague he searched out every healer, wise person or visionary he could find. He guessed he’d have to keep looking. If only, he thought with at least a small amount of humor, my sire would have a vision… In fact, one of Dru’s visions was the reason William the Bloody and his family were on their way to America in the first place. He had learned from a vision she’d had, right before she had succumbed to the pain of her wounds inflicted by the mob, that The Scourge of Europe was wanted in the New World. He figured out that there was something important for them several years in the future, but that the path to that place and time would be found now in New York City. She had only spoken a few sentences before she had fallen unconscious, and then he and his grandsire had torn the rest of the mob into finger food. He could still remember his fear at seeing her hurt, so strong that he bit into his lip to ease his anger. Cleaning the blood off his lip with the graceful swipe of the tongue, William the Bloody made his way back down to his family’s rooms. He wanted to check on Drusilla before he went to...amuse Angelus and Darla. There was so much fun to be had in the middle of the ocean. Besides, he had introduced his new bit of stuff to his grandsire before boarding the ship; she was still tied to his bed in an opium haze. Maybe a he’d have taste of her before he visited the relatives. Or maybe it was time to introduce the bitch to Darla... God he loved his unlife. *************************************************************** Knownverse – New York City, NY April 1981 Spike looked up at the clock in Time Square. Strange how much and how little things change. At one in the morning the night was young for many humans, not to mention for vampires. Occasionally he would feel one close by, but mostly vamps stuck close to those they knew. Right now Spike could feel one about a block away, but as usual it was a minion -- not even old enough to raise the hairs on the blonde’s neck. The wind, however, was. Spike pulled the coat tighter around him, thinking about the woman who had given it to him. Well, perhaps ‘given’ wasn’t exactly the right word. Just the thought made him want to dance. They had been living in New York for a little over years now. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. Spike had found himself attracted to the new punk culture, and going back to London didn’t seem like a lot of fun. So New York had really been the only option. And as his appearance so aptly showed, Spike was happily ensconced in the noise, violence and excess of that culture. He would have blended in with all the other rag-tag rebels if it weren’t for the coat. And a dance with the beautiful bitch who had lost it to him. It was almost three years ago that Spike had killed his second Slayer. He had run across a few others in his time, but the opportunity had not presented itself before. And besides, this one was different. She had fire. He could have danced all night with that one. She had found him in the subway. Spike had been on his way home from a Ramones’ show and, between the dancing, the drinking, and the drug-laced blood, he wasn’t at his most perceptive. That’s how she had managed to get even that close. And she was something to look at: all “Black is Beautiful” with her Afro, lack of make-up, and clothing that accentuated her assets. Even if his Slaydar hadn’t gone off he would have noticed her. They fought in the car of the subway train, breaking glass and handrails and support poles. They fought to the death because Spike saw something in her eyes...the same something he had seen in that Slayer’s eyes in China: her own death. Spike had started to figure out that vampires feared mortality for almost the exact same reasons that Slayers feared life: it was the unexpected. Vampires expected to unlive forever; Slayers expected to die before they were old enough to do anything other than slay. So when the time came, when a Slayer was feeling like she’d been around long enough to die, then the right someone could swoop in and help her out. And so that’s what he had done. And while he was helping her to her death he figured he might as well help himself to her coat. Because it was so much more than just a coat to him. It was even more than just a symbol of death to one who would have killed him. And even beyond being a symbol of the reputation he had built for killing two Slayers, it became something tangible he could show Angelus when his grandsire returned. Something he could use to prove how worthy of praise he had become. Of course, Spike didn’t see this. And even if he had he would never have admitted it. Not only out of his own sense of pride, but because he knew that there was a part of Drusilla that missed her Daddy, and it was a hole Spike could never fill. He sometimes resented the fact that, no matter how much his beautiful sire adored and relied on him, she missed her sire like any vampire would. But such was unlife. And speaking of his sire, he really ought to get back to the flat with dinner. Even though it had been almost five years since that mob in Prague, Drusilla had never recovered. She had never regained her strength or appetite. If Spike wanted her to eat he had to bring food to her, and even then she would only eat about half the time. So, as usual, he was bringing her carryout. Tonight was Italian. And he could probably make it back just in time for his princess to eat and have a nice bath. The wolfish grin that spanned his face showed his true nature more than his ridges or fangs ever could. As he walked through the door he saw his sire sitting on the floor of the main room. Drusilla looked up at him with glazed eyes. “It has begun,” she said, her eyes rolling around madly. “The tree has begun to burn. You will seek it out and take it to yourself. And the light in the darkness will be found. And we will give our blessing, and the sisters will hold hands and sing. And the stars will weep.” Her eyes clouded over and she looked for a moment as if she might cry. Spike paused, trying to understand the meaning in the insanity of her words, but for once he was unsure. When Dru talked about trees she was usually talking about some kind of powerful entity. So it seemed he would at some point be seeking out a powerful entity...yeah, ok, that was helpful. And then just as suddenly Dru’s face broke out into a wide smile. Spike couldn’t know that it was because Drusilla had just seen her own death. *************************** Pinionverse William looked up at the clock in Time Square. Strange how much and how little things change. At one in the morning the night was young for many humans, not to mention for vampires. Occasionally he would feel one close by, but mostly vamps stuck close to those they knew. Right now Spike could feel one about a block away, but as usual it was a minion -- not even old enough to raise the hairs on the honey-blonde’s neck. The wind, however, was. Spike pulled the coat tighter around him, thinking about the woman who had given it to him. Well, perhaps ‘gifted’ was a better word. Just the thought made him smile. They had been living in New York for a little over three years now. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. William had found himself attracted to the new punk culture, and going back to London didn’t seem like a lot of fun. So New York had really been the only option. And as his appearance so aptly showed, William was happily ensconced in the noise, violence and excess of that culture. It allowed him to vent the energy of his own nature, to observe the humanity he loved so dearly, and to feed almost at will. After all, the humans who were attracted to this culture were often violent and abusive. The same evil that attracted them made it possible for him to feed. He had integrated himself pretty well. And he would have blended in with all the other rag-tag rebels if it weren’t for the coat. And the strong amazing woman who had given it to him. About three years ago, Drusilla had had a vision of another Slayer who needed their help. Dru told him, in the language of her stars, that William would help her, and that in return the Slayer would give him something he was destined to have. William eventually found the Demon Slayer on a subway train. He had been on his way home from a Ramones’ show and, between the dancing, the drinking, and the drug-laced blood he wasn’t at his most perceptive. That’s how she had managed to get even that close to William before he knew who she was. And she was something to look at: all “Black is Beautiful” with her Afro, lack of make-up, and clothing that accentuated her assets. And he could see a light in her eyes; she had been waiting for him as well. She and her Watcher had welcomed the vampires’ help. Between William’s intelligence and Drusilla’s visions, the Slayer had been able to vanquish several demonic threats. She had even let Dru and William watch over her son, Robin, after they all had become better aquainted. After one particularly nasty fight in which William had taken a spear to the chest to save the Slayer, she had thanked him by giving him her coat. It had meant a lot to him at the time, and had come to mean even more to him since she had died at the hands of a Lothrian demon almost a year ago. This coat had come to represent all that he was contributing to the survival of humanity, and he wore it like a badge of his love for them. Since her death, William and Drusilla had been hanging around, waiting for the next opportunity to help out. They slayed the occasional demon, but for the most part things had been quiet since Nicky had died. It was just as well: they were all still grieving for her. And her Watcher had not been able to stay here without her. He had taken Nicky’s son and gone back to England. So William just lived his unlife and waited for something to come along. Such was unlife, after all. And speaking of his sire, he really ought to get back to the flat with dinner. Even though it had been almost five years since that mob in Prague, Drusilla had never recovered. She had never regained her strength or appetite. If William wanted her to eat he had to bring food to her, and even then she would only eat about half the time. Tonight he had come across a man who had been trying to drag a young girl into an alley. He had freed the girl, told her that she had to be more careful about being out alone, and stunned the man so that he would be transportable. And, if William hurried, he could probably make it back just in time for his princess to eat and have a nice bath. The wolfish grin that spanned his face showed his true nature more than his ridges or fangs ever could. As he walked through the door he saw his sire sitting on the floor of the main room. Drusilla looked up at him with glazed eyes. “It has begun,” she said, her eyes rolling around madly. “The tree has begun to weep. You will seek it out and take it to yourself. And the light in the darkness will be found. And we will give our blessing, and the sisters will hold hands and sing. And the stars will smile.” Her eyes clouded over and she looked for a moment as if she might cry. William paused, trying to understand the meaning in the insanity of her words, but for once he was unsure. When Dru talked about trees she was usually talking about some kind of powerful entity. So it seemed he would at some point be seeking out a powerful entity...yeah, ok, that was helpful. And then just as suddenly Dru’s face broke out into a wide smile. William couldn’t know that it was because Drusilla had just seen her own death. *************************** Shadowverse William the Bloody looked up at the clock in Time Square. Strange how much and how little things change. At one in the morning the night was young for many humans, not to for mention vampires. Occasionally he would feel one close by, but mostly vamps stuck close to those they knew. Right now William the Bloody could feel one about a block away, but as usual it was a minion -- not even old enough to raise the hairs on the blonde’s neck. The wind, however, was. William the Bloody pulled the coat tighter around him, thinking about the woman who had given it to him. And oh, what she had given him. Just the thought made his fangs itch. They had been living in New York for a little over three years now. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. Spike had found himself attracted to the new punk culture, and going back to London didn’t seem like a lot of fun. So New York had really been the only option. And as his appearance so aptly showed, Spike was happily ensconced in the noise, violence and excess of that culture. And he might have blended in with all the other rag-tag rebels if it weren’t for the coat. She was still one of his favorites. It was a mere three years ago that Spike had killed that Slayer. He had killed eight by now, and on several continents. He hadn’t killed every Slayer he had come across, and even some of the ones he did kill were dead quickly. This whole Slayer thing had gotten to be almost routine for him: track a new Slayer, go to her, seduce her, then torture and kill her. He had wanted something new, and this girl had given it to him...this one had been different. She had fire. William the Bloody had met her in a subway. He had been on his way home from a Ramones’ show and, between the dancing, the drinking, and the drug-laced blood he wasn’t at his most perceptive. That’s how she had managed to get even that close. And she was something to look at: all “Black is Beautiful” with her Afro, lack of make-up, and clothing that accentuated her assets. His first thought was about testing the theory “the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice”. And she was sweet. But he could admit that part of the entire attraction to this particular Slayer was the coat. They fought in the car of the subway train, breaking glass and handrails and support poles. They would take turns dominating the fight, fighting from one end of the train car to the other. And then William the Bloody grew weary of foreplay and decided to make his move. In classic fashion he had been bantering with her, taunting her about the fight, her outfit, how sweet she would taste. And she had bantered back with a skill equal to that of her fighting. So William the Bloody used his innate skills and twisted that fighting passion into the guise of something else. And he did it with such skill that even she didn’t know that it wasn’t what she really wanted. And all it really took was a few well-intoned words, two fingers and a nipple. And she was eating out of his hand... The game with this one lasted for weeks. William the Bloody would find her while she was patrolling. He would use her energy from the fight to push her passion. And even though every night ended with her saying that if she saw him again she would kill him, every night he found her ended up with him between those voluptuous thighs. She fought herself more than she fought him. She would struggle against her own orgasms because she knew he spoke the truth as he was pounding into her: she was betraying everything she was by letting herself enjoy being fucked by the enemy. But there was so little pleasure in the life of a Slayer that even the knowledge of that betrayal of self wasn’t enough to stop her. That was the fact that William the Bloody always counted on with Slayers: their greatest strength and their greatest weakness were one and the same -- they were alone. And he exploited it every time. And after weeks of torturing this Slayer with orgasms and shame, he threw her down on a park bench, spread those luscious thighs and consumed her, tasting her sweetness, draining every drop of that juice dry. And as she laid there, eyes hollow from the loss of soul and animation, he took the thing that had made her special in the first place. Because it was so much more than just a coat to him. It was even more than just a symbol of death to one who would have killed him. Vampires were whores for a reputation, and this was one William the Bloody had earned in spades. And it was a symbol of his ultimate revenge. And the best part about it all was that he could just keep doing it, over and over again. His family was so supportive. They were always willing to move with him, and they loved watching him work. Sometimes he would even share his conquests with them. It always meant so much more when he could share it with them. Such was unlife. William the Bloody was late. He was supposed to meet Angelus and Darla at some party they had wanted to attend. They would be bringing something with them for his beautiful sire to eat. Even though it had been almost five years since that mob in Prague, Drusilla had never recovered. She had never regained her strength or appetite. If she was to eat they had to bring food to her, and even then she would only eat about half the time. So he would make sure they got her someone tasty tonight; it had been a few days since she had eaten a proper meal. And if he hurried up they could probably make it back just in time for his princess to eat and for them all to have a nice bath. The wolfish grin that spanned his face showed his true nature more than his ridges or fangs ever could. He picked up Darla and Angelus about 1:30 am. They were carrying Drusilla’s meal between them and had a warm welcoming kiss for him. He mentioned his idea about the bath. Much to his delight Darla added her own devious plans involving his grandsire being tied to the faucet. As they walked through the door they stopped short: his sire sitting on the floor of the main room, not seeming to notice they had all come home. Drusilla looked up at him with glazed eyes. “It has begun,” she said, her eyes rolling around madly. “The tree has begun to bleed. You will seek it out and take it to yourself. And the light in the darkness will be found. And we will give our blessing, and the sisters will hold hands and sing. And the stars will bleed.” Her eyes clouded over and she looked for a moment as if she might cry. William the Bloody paused, trying to understand the meaning in the insanity of her words, but for once he was unsure. When Dru talked about trees she was usually talking about some kind of powerful entity. So it seemed he would at some point be seeking out a powerful entity...yeah, ok, that was helpful. And then just as suddenly Dru’s face broke out into a wide smile. William the Bloody couldn’t know that it was because Drusilla had just seen her own death. *************************************************************** PART
4 Willow Rosenberg was nervous. It was the first day of First Grade and she didn’t know anyone. She had gone to a Montessori school before because her parents had told her it would make her smarter. They had been pleased when she had been moved into the First Grade at age 5. And that was really all she wanted: to make her parents happy. But it always felt so unsatisfying. As she walked into the classroom she pulled on her bright red pigtail and adjusted her backpack. She wouldn’t cry; that would disappoint Mommy and Daddy. They were counting on her to do her best, and she couldn’t do that if she was crying. She knew how to talk to adults, so she walked up to the teacher. “Hello Mrs. Salinger. My name is Willow Rosenberg. I don’t know where I’m supposed to sit.” She looked down at her shoes that had little doggies on them. They made her feel a little better. Mrs. Salinger smiled at her. She could already tell that this little girl was terribly bright and terribly unsure of herself. She would have to see what she could do to nurture one and discourage the other. She smiled when she realized just the thing. Alexander Harris was a friendly little boy, and he too needed some healthy self-esteem. She had long suspected that his parents weren’t good to him. So she grabbed Willow’s little hand and took her toward the back of the classroom to a lanky brown-haired little boy. “Alexander, I want you to meet someone very special. This is Willow. She’s new to our class and it would be very nice if you could show her around a little.” She watched the boy’s face light up at his first glance at Willow. She knew he was responding to the attention he clearly never got at home. She watched the little boy put his hand out to shake Willow’s. “Hello Willow. I’m Alesander.” The little redhead’s face took on a decidedly pinkish hue, but she reached her hand out to his and shook it. “Hello Ales...Alez...Xander. It’s nice to meet you.” Mrs. Salinger could tell that the little girl was nervous about her mispronunciation of his name. But one look at the boy’s face and she knew that he didn’t mind at all. So she showed Willow to the seat next to Alexander’s and went up to her desk, knowing that this new little girl would be just fine. Alexander watched carefully as his new friend took off her backpack and put it inside her desk. She had the prettiest shiniest hair he’d ever seen. And she called him ‘Xander’...no one had ever given him a nickname before. His parents usually called him “the child”. Just then the beautiful girl smiled at him, and he knew that he would do anything for her. Even face down Cordelia Chase. He had so many things he wanted to show Willow. “At lunch you can meet my friend Jesse. He’s got a puppy named Dog. You have pretty hair. Will you call me Xander? I’m gonna make Jesse call me Xander from now on.” And she just kept smiling at him, so he blushed. “I babble too,” she said. And that was all it took. *************************** Pinionverse Willow Rosenberg was nervous. It was the first day of First Grade and she didn’t know anyone. She had gone to a Montessori school before because her parents had told her it would make her smarter. They had been pleased when she had been moved into the First Grade at age 5. And that was really all she wanted: to make her parents happy. Because it always felt so good. As she walked into the classroom she pulled on her bright red pigtail and adjusted her backpack. She wouldn’t cry; she couldn’t disappoint Mommy and Daddy. They were counting on her to do her best, and everything would be ok. She knew how to talk to adults, so she walked up to the teacher. “Hello Mrs. Salinger. My name is Willow Rosenberg. I don’t know where I’m supposed to sit.” She looked down at her shoes that had little doggies on them. They made her feel a little better. Mrs. Salinger smiled at her. She could already tell that this little girl was terribly bright. She would have to see what she could do to nurture this one. She smiled when she realized just the thing. Alexander Harris was a friendly little boy, and he needed some healthy self-esteem. She had long suspected that his parents weren’t good to him. So she grabbed Willow’s little hand and took her toward the back of the classroom to a lanky brown-haired little boy. “Alexander, I want you to meet someone very special. This is Willow. She’s new to our class and it would be very nice if you could show her around a little.” She watched the boy’s face light up at his first glance at Willow. She knew he was responding to the attention he clearly never got at home. She watched the little boy put his hand out to shake Willow’s. “Hello Willow. I’m Alesander.” The little redhead’s face took on a decidedly pinkish hue, but she reached her hand out to his and shook it. “Hello Ales...Alez...Xander. It’s nice to meet you.” Mrs. Salinger could tell that the little girl was nervous about her mispronunciation of his name. But one look at the boy’s face and she knew that he didn’t mind at all. So she showed Willow to the seat next to Alexander’s and went up to her desk, knowing that this new little girl would be just fine. Alexander watched carefully as his new friend took off her backpack and put it inside her desk. She had the prettiest shiniest hair he’d ever seen. And she called him ‘Xander’...no one had ever given him a nickname before. His parents usually cal |