[A/N: I’m trying to get back into the groove of writing, after having a terrible bout of pain, and hopefully I’m over that hump. I have a definite game plan in mind, but its coming slower than I had thought. My apologies to those of you who were looking for a quick pay-off. There’s a mention to certain of my girls . . . and hopefully they’ll know it when they see it. The title is from Sir Francis Bacon (Religious Meditations, of Heresies) and the quotes, as always, as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]
Previously: Angelus is in Sunnydale and now Willow’s been told. Giles has found some more intriguing information, but he hasn’t told anyone what he’s found. Dawn has told Spike and Buffy what she found in the journals. Is everyone going to give up the information they are holding? This picks up three days after the last chapter, upon Giles’ return home.
Book Two. Chapter 19. Knowledge is power.
A single conversation with a wise man is better than ten years of study.
Chinese Proverb
You can discover what your enemy fears most
by observing the means he uses to frighten you.
Eric Hoffer
Wesley paced along the length of the small hangar, waiting for the plane carrying Rupert to debark. His connecting flight from Los Angeles ahd arrived ten minutes ago and the passengers were about to. . . there were the first ones.
He’d offered to get Rupert when Buffy had slightly balked when Spike had said the two of them would go. It was clear to all of them but her that Spike was just about fully healed, even the bruises were gone, but Buffy wasn’t easily convinced.
So that was how Wesley found himself waiting for Rupert. It was also how he and Buffy had been patrolling along with the ridiculous Buffybot Spike had had commissioned.
He couldn’t possibly imagine what Spike had been thinking. . . well, actually he could, which just made the entire situation quite funny. Spike’s expression had been priceless when Buffy jeeringly referred to the thing as “skirt girl.”
Tara and Dawn had collapsed in a fit of giggles while the vampire had just stalked from the room, imprecations falling from his lips.
“Wesley?” Giles’ voice broke into Wesley’s musings and he turned to greet the older man.
“Hello Rupert. How was your flight?”
“Thankfully uneventful.” Giles searched Wesley’s face, noting the fatigue around his eyes. “Not sleeping well?”
“Hardly sleeping at all. While Angelus has been quiet, we fear he’s solidifying his position by taking over already organized nests.” Wesley paused as they shouldered past some travelers, then resumed talking once they were outside the airport. “Spike is back on his feet, which is good news. But no one’s heard from Willow.”
Glancing sideways at his companion, Giles commented wryly, “obviously not a good sign.”
Without looking at his fellow Englishman, Wesley nodded.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dawn was sitting on the floor of the living room, the television on, Connor on a blanket beside her, phone at her ear, chattering away with Casey, while Buffy was in the basement doing laundry. Tara was off at late classes and Spike was upstairs when Wesley and Giles came through the door.
Barely registering their presence, Dawn waved hello, going right back into her conversation. Motioning Giles into the kitchen, Wesley offered hm a drink, explaining, “Dawn’s got a boyfriend. She spends a fair amount of time attached to that thing.”
Before Giles had a chance to comment, Buffy was in the kitchen, hugging him. “Hey. Welcome back. How was dreary old London?”
“Not so dreary. But then I was hardly outside at all. Spent most of my trip in the Council libraries in fact.” He tried maintaining a straight face, but Buffy’s welcome was far too enthusiastic for him to remain stoic.
“Right, go Giles with the researchy trip. So. You gonna tell us all the good stuff?” Buffy reached around Giles, opening the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle after glancing up at the clock.
“I thought perhaps I’d wait until everyone is assembled, rather than go over this numerous times.” Giles watched her closely, noting that the gauntness and shadows that had clung to her seemed to be easing somewhat.
“How are you doing?” Giles wanted to know and it seemed like now was a good time to ask.
Putting the bottle on the stove to warm, Buffy stole a glance toward Wesley, then shrugged. Very softly she said, “I’m doing okay. Was afraid for a little bit that I’d lose Spike and Dawn, but I’m okay.” Smiling at him brightly, Buffy continued, “not perky Buffy yet, but working my way toward sometimes chipper.”
Checking the bottle’s temperature, Buffy put it back into the nearly boiling water, smiled at Wesley, saying cryptically, “he’s a bit late. . . wonder why?”
Wesley’s answering smile was a bit lopsided, but his response was equally cryptic. “He’s been going a bit longer every time.”
Just then an ear splitting wail rang through the house and two things happened at once – Dawn yelled “Buffy!” and thumping feet were heard on the stairs.
Spike’s voice reached them. “Niblet, instead of addin’ to the racket, pick up the sprog an’ bring him inside.”
To which she replied, “I’m on the phone.”
Which just caused the other two in the kitchen to laugh, but Giles failed to see the humor in any of it.
Spike entered the kitchen with a caterwauling Connor cradled to his chest, a look of pure chagrin on his features. ‘Kitten, tha’ girl needs to get of ‘er butt and take care of the sprog.”
Realizing the kitchen was more occupied than he thought, Spike said, “never mind. We’ve the convention here already. ‘Lo Rupes.” Handing off the infant to Buffy, Spike perched on the counter. “How was the old sod?”
“It was fine. What I saw of it in any case.” Giles realized that only Tara was missing from this group that he needed to update so he asked, “when will Tara be returning?”
Spike answered, without taking his eyes away from where Buffy was cuddling Connor, “not long. ‘Bout half an hour at most. Got lots to share, Watcher?”
“I do and I’d rather do this once.” He was tired and he wanted to get into his own bed and sleep until sometime late tomorrow morning.
Wesley asked, “is she coming home right after classes?”
“Don’t rightly remember” was Spike’s idle response, but then he shook off his reverie. “Think she an’ dogboy were supposed to be here for movie night.”
“Dog boy?” Giles looked between the other two Englishmen, clearly not understanding.
“He means Oz.” Buffy’s voice was laced with something Giles couldn’t quite pick up on, he thought it might be confusion, but he just discounted it as his own misreading of the entire conversation.
“Oz and Tara are – getting along?”
Spike choked back a snorted laugh, saying “S’right Watcher. Go away for a bit an’ the whole soddin’ hellmouth goes a bit wonky.”
At Giles’ completely baffled look, Spike and Wesley filled him in on all the details of what he’d missed while Buffy listened, feeding Connor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two days she’d been working diligently, relentlessly perfecting the spells and glamors she was going to need to protect herself from Angel. She’d known as clearly as her own name, he was coming for her.
No one else could perform the soul restoration. No one else knew it. She wasn’t going to do it. Wasn’t even going to give the spell to Buffy so that someone else could try. She also wasn’t going to wait while Angel played his stalkery game. No. Going to take control of the whole situation. Maybe. . . Angel will kill Spike and then I’ll take care of Angel – make him all poofy and everything will be like it should be. I’ll have Tara back and Buffy will be my best friend again and life will be good. Yeah. That’s what I’m going to do.
Mind firmly made up, Willow went back to studying the books strewn across her bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dark blue eyes framed by dark lashes surveyed the room, idly noting the broken porcelain bits and tattered lace littering the floor. Dainty feet pirouetted round the room, snippets of songs bouncing off the blood splattered walls. A delicate, deceptively fragile ivory hand cupped the cheek of her latest find, a luscious little girl wrapped in layers of silk and lace, then pulled back, leaving a line of crimson across one cheek.
“Mmmmm. Mummy likes that. . . . lovely pretty ribbons of red dancing all about, curling round.” A cool tongue licked a path from a puckered nipple upwards, pausing to nibble delicately at the throbbing pulse, lapping at the blood pooling in a hollow cheek. “Lots of pretty ribbons for mummy. Does precious kitty want to play?”
Sharpened nails slid down the mostly naked torso, tweaking already engorged nipples, then dipping lower, lower still. The form beneath the questing hand was quiet, the only sounds gasping, panting breaths as cool blood-slick fingers slithered downwards. Dipping two fingers into the warm pussy of her latest prize, Drusilla laughed softly as her toy’s hips raised up, the girl silently begging for more.
“That’s it little kitty cat, purr for mummy.” Sinking her fangs into the breast in front of her, Drusilla stilled, taking long gulps, then stilled again as she felt the silent pull, the feeling of . . . home. . . of Daddy. . . It was not the first time she’d felt it, but this was by far the strongest; cocking her head to the side, Drusilla listened to the call of her Sire, a call only she could hear. . .
Pistoning her fingers in the toy’s warm pussy, Drusilla growled her joy at the thrumming in her veins. Ripping her mouth away, she cooed her delight, forgetting about the willing body beneath her hands. “Daddy’s home, little pussy. . . pssssssss my little pussy shall be just for Daddy now.”
Running her tongue over the bucking form of her latest human, Drusilla singsonged into the girl’s flesh. “Daddy’s home. . . Daddy’s home. . . and he wants his little girl.”
Watching now as her human bucked and writhed in orgasm, Drusilla smiled. “Yes. . . little pussycat shall be Daddy’s prezzie.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy was changing Connor’s diaper, something Giles absolutely never envisioned his slayer doing; Tara and Oz were clattering in the front door, but Giles’ full attention was on the two figures on the floor. Buffy was kneeling by the fireplace, Connor on his blanket and Buffy was actually, and evidently happily, changing the infant’s nappy. He shook his head, trying to come to terms with this vision. He’d thought about waiting to give them his biggest discovery in private, but the sight in front of him had him so rattled that Giles just blurted it all out without thinking.
“You aren’t the first, you know. There have been other Slayers who had children. It’s a rare occurrence, I’ll grant you that, but it has happened.” He paused when Buffy looked at him, her eyes calmly digesting this information. Spike had stilled at the first sound of his voice, lowering the volume on the television, but gradually everyone present had focused on his words, each of them anxiously awaiting whatever else was about to escape from his lips.
“The last slayer to have a child was actually pregnant when she was called.” Remembering what had happened to her, Giles rushed on, “but she wasn’t the first. What is more remarkable were the others.”
“What others?” Buffy shared a look with Spike, knowing which slayer Giles had been referring to and why he’d nearly tripped over himself to skip the story of Spike and Nikki Wood.
“The ones who managed to fall in . . the ones who weren’t called but were identified as potentials and their fates.”
Spike got up off the chair, going to stand beside where Buffy and Connor were, his hand unconsciously stroking her hair. “Go on, Watcher, may as well finish it.”
“The information regarding vampire pregnancies was fairly easily found, however my research did turn up an interesting fact I’m sure none of us considered. The males are all of the same line. They are all Aurelians.”
Buffy’s hand reached up to clasp Spike’s and their fingers entwined, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand. It was his voice that asked the question they were both thinking, “why’m I gettin’ the feeling there’s more to this story?”
“Because there is.” Giles focused his full attention on the couple in front of him, fully aware what he was about to tell them could literally change their lives.
“Six well documented cases of vampire pregnancies, all of them human girls with Aurelian males.” He ticked them off one by one on his fingers.
“Ariadne of Crete, died in 1137, had two children, one in 1138 and another in 1142;”
“Amalie of th Franks, died 1222, had four children, 1224, 1226, 1227 and the last in 1230;”
“Sorcha of Clan MacDonald, died in 1282, had three surviving children 1284, 1285 and 1286;”
“Miriam of the City of Grenada, died 1301, one child 1303;”
“Bryn of Rhuddlan, died in 1587, had two children born in 1588 and 1591; and the last recorded was Isabeau de la Fontaine, died 1622, one child in 1623.”
The room was quiet, none of those present willing to make a sound. Buffy couldn’t look at Spike, afraid of what emotions she would find on his features. She could feel his eyes on her, could feel his tension in the stiffening of his muscles and before she could risk a glance upwards, Giles was speaking again.
“It was Isabeau that lead me to the second part of this, the other half of this puzzle. Isabeau was identified as a potential slayer in 1619. She was never called. Bryn was identified as a potential in 1585. All the others I mentioned were identified within five years of their first deaths.”
Spike was staring down at Buffy, willing her to look up at him, which she finally did when he unconsciously tugged on her hand. The fierceness of the look in his eye coupled with the set of his jaw loosened the coils of fear that had settled in her belly. Buffy smiled up at him and she watched as the ferocity grew.
Heedless of the small drama being played out on the floor of the living room, Giles finally spoke again. “The as of yet unrecorded vampire pregnancy took a bit more uncovering. Darla and Angel. Darla was turned by the Master – do you know when?” At Spike’s shaken head, Giles said, “I believe it was 1609. She was an indentured servant, actually working as a whore, just as the rumors implied. If she is who I now believe her to be, she was born Darla Witherspoon, identified as a potential in 1602, who ran away from home when the Council attempted to approach her in England.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Willow was standing in the middle of Restfield, working on perfecting her ability to conjure fire out of thin air. She’d been practicing outside now for about an hour, leaving the safety of her parents home when one of the curtains got singed.
The fireball spell was proving trickier than she’d imagined, working well only about a third of the time. The sunshine spell was fine, in fact was better than fine, as the vampire dust at her feet attested to. Transmuting the energy from sunshine into flame wasn’t as easy, and for all of her hard work, Willow was no more accurate than when she first started.
Why isn’t this working? This should work without a hitch – so what’s the damn problem? Holding her palm open, Willow blew out a breath, breathing life into the invocation. A tiny pulsing light bathed her pale features, casting almost noon shadows as it flittered above her head.
Willow stared up at the light for long moments, contemplating the sight overhead and the nature of fire. Think Willow . . . what is it that . . . sunlight – glass – dry leaves. Is that? No. Too complicated and it’ll take too long. Think. Put your thinking cap on and work this darn thing out.
“Sunlight to flame . . . “ Pacing back and forth, Willow started muttering chaunts beneath her breath, trying to come up with one that would be simple and effective – and fast. “Sunlight to flame. . . sunlight to flame, never go out in rain. Nope. That’s just silly. Flame, game, same, name, dame, claim, fame, tame. . . . nothing fits.”
A low laugh echoed off the marble surrounding her and Willow’s head snapped up, trying to pinpoint from which direction the sound originated.
Glancing overhead, Willow uttered a single word – “Widen” and the area bathed in light enlarged.
Casting a wary eye all around, Willow waited, instinctively knowing nothing excited Angelus quite the way fear did.
Long minutes passed, or so it seemed, without either adversary speaking. Willow crossed her arms over her chest, a bored expression drifting across her features, hiding her internal agitation well.
She knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get her to panic, to leave the safety of the sunshine. Not gonna happen, big guy. I’m way smarter than you – can soo outplay your game right now.
Angel was impressed. Little Red was all grown up, trying to play with her elders. He could feel the power pulsing within her and he could also sense the deep well of anger nearly swallowing her. She was. . . . magnificent. Or she will be when she’d fully come into her power.
Oh boyo, would ya look at that one. She’s a bright dark one. . . . an dorcha geal realta. She’d make a right fine vampire. He laughed again, for the joy of watching her and the thrill of chasing her.
She’d expected him to laugh, wasn’t phased by his mirth at all. But unlike before, when by now she would’ve been a babbling mess, Willow was determined to remain silent.
“Well, well, well. Look at how little Willow has grown. Not scared of me either. That’s such a shame. I must be losing my touch.” He paused, watching her try to pinpoint his location. She aimed a small ball of sunshine at a spot, but he’d already moved from there.
“That’s not very sporting now, is it? And all this time I thought you liked me. Was all that an act for Buffy’s sake?” She launched another one at him, but again, he’d moved before she could narrow down his position.
“Not a very nice greeting for someone who came to town just to see you. I was expecting something less hostile. I mean really, Willow? Where’s the love?”
She was looking off to her left and she finally spotted him. Angel was leaning against a crypt in a deceptively casual pose, his arms crossed as he leaned back, his ankles crossed as well, a slight smile playing on his face. He was hidden just enough from the sunshine to ensure his safety and had waited patiently until Willow turned around.
“Gotta say, I’m liking the new look. Treading a bit on the dark side, aren’t you?”
Willow arched a dark brow, holding her silence. “So tell me Willow – how come you’re out here all alone? Buffy desert you? Hmmm?”
He paused, staring her down, willing her to say something, but she held her tongue.
“Where’s your boy?” He sniffed, inhaling deeply, his inhalation ending in a surprised spluttering laugh. “Oh I’m sorry . . . Should be asking where’s your girl. Willow I’m surprised – an innocent girl like you? What are the neighbors saying?”
His grin got wider, watching as her composure started to crumble. “So Willow, don’t you just love the taste of a juicy wet pussy? Just where is your girl? Oooohhhh, is she the tasty one living with Buffy? Wonder if she and Spike share?”
Willow’s resolve wavered and she sent a ball of sunshine winging toward Angel, but he laughed, disappearing into a crypt before the light could hit him.
His cruel and callous laughter echoed around the interior of the mausoleum, bouncing back at her from all sides, and its echo still rang in her ears as she raced home.
Okay, I know you're all pissed because I haven't updated in a while, but show me some love anyway. Please?
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm sorry this has taken so long for me to update. I hope you are all still reading. Thank you so much for your patience.