The Summers Inheritance
By Childe Valancourt
Prologue: This tale takes a few liberties with the chronology of the Buffyverse, somewhat mixing the second and third season together. Generally, it is set during the end of the second season after Angel has become Angelus and is fraternizing with Spike and Drusilla in the hopes of vanquishing Buffy once and for all. Buffy, still unused to the sudden change that has come over him, has not yet performed the necessary rituals to invalidate the invitation that allows him access to her house. However, the events of the third season in which the Mayor was vanquished and Faith was put into a coma have occurred as well, though they will not become an issue until later on in the tale. Hopefully, my readers will be kind enough to bear with these liberties -- and enjoy the story!
Episode One: A Marriage and a Funeral
"I want you to wear it." Her mother smiled at her in the mirror over her shoulder. "It was your grandmother's."
Buffy turned, arching her neck while gazing at the reflection in the glass, trying to reconcile the high-collared, Victorian finery of the white gown she was wearing with the girlish face and uncurled blonde hair that fell above the ruffles. She turned to look at her mother and was startled to see the dress of rich velvet brocade that the woman was wearing in lieu of her usually far more casual style.
"Mom." Buffy frowned. "You look all Pemberley Hall-ish."
Joyce Summers smiled and stroked her daughter's hair as though not really listening. "Well," she said. "It's my sweetheart's special day, isn't it?"
Buffy was about to ask what this meant, but even as she started to speak, she felt the world around her shimmer and change and then she was walking down an aisle, her mother's hand in hers, and a white veil over her face, obscuring her sight. Organ music drifted all about her and as she passed each of the aisles, she saw heads turn to follow her progress. Some of them were dressed in the waistcoats and bodices of earlier centuries, others in the jerkin and hose of still more archaic eras. Their faces were as motionless as though they were fashioned of wax rather than flesh and blood, but upon all of them wore expressions of either deep dismay or outright hostility. One young woman, her braided hair eerily similar to Buffy's own in appearance, lifted her hands and formed a cross with her two forefingers: a sign to ward evil.
Buffy felt the colour rise to her cheeks and would have angrily spoken, but the organ music swelled all about them and before she realised it, she was standing before the altar. The reverend, a man dressed all in black save for the white collar at his throat, spoke the words that lay written before him in a thick, ebon-bound book, but it was as though he was speaking in a foreign language for she could understand not the slightest syllable of what he said.
"Is this really the Book of Common Prayer?" she blurted out, fortunately in a whisper.
The reverend's gaunt, haggard face never changed as he slowly lowered the volume – lowered it so that she could see the black-lettered script within and see that the lettering was English but that every letter was printed backwards so that it seemed as though she was viewing the page through a mirror. He resumed reading in that peculiar, distorted tongue and in spite of the glowing lilies and lulling music that surrounded her, she felt a chill of dread touch her heart.
But then a figure to her right caught her eye and, turning, she saw a face that drove away all of the fear and confusion and heard that familiar voice murmur as it drew closer, "This is the way you wanted it, isn't it, Buffy? With your mother standing beside us and your family looking on?"
"My family?" Buffy returned, wrinkling her nose. "They're all strangers to me."
Angel laughed, then took her hand. "So you really want to do this?"
"Of course I do," she said, her eyes now sober. "You know I do."
He lifted her hand, then, and began to slowly slip a golden ring upon her fourth finger. Somehow, in spite of the care with which he did this, the edge of the ring bit into her flesh, causing a rill of blood to leap beneath it. He looked up, then, and his eyes were dancing with gentle laughter as he said, "Well, I know that it's hardly our wedding night yet but…" He lifted her finger to his lips, tasting the blood upon his tongue. Buffy met his eyes, her flesh feeling suddenly cold and yet somehow alive. Somewhere very close to them, she heard the reverend say, "You may kiss the bride."
Her cheeks burned as Angel lifted the veil, his face drawing near to her own.
"I love you," she whispered suddenly, passionately.
"I love you too, Buffy," he said. "But you forgot something."
"What?"
"This."
Joyce stepped forward.
"Buffy, what's wrong—" she began, but was cut off by the stake now buried deep within her breast.
Fountains of blood, darkening the altar cloth, staining the book that the minister held – all this filled Buffy's eyes as she gazed as though drunk with her own horror upon what Angel had done.
"Sorry, Buff," he said, and there was a cruel half-smile on his face as he contemplated the Slayer's visage. "But then again, you probably always knew I'd be no good at these sorts of formal functions. Just not the black suit type, I guess."
* * *
Buffy was choking when she awoke, struggling for air to scream but somehow too buried in the throes of nightmare to do more than gasp and sob into her pillow. Throwing aside the blankets, she climbed out of bed but her legs were shaking far too much for her to stand. Instead, she crouched by the side of her night table, still panting and crying softly at the remembrance of her vision.
The creak of a floorboard somewhere in the hallway outside her room brought her to earth again in a flash. Fumbling in the dark, she felt for her chest filled with stakes and holy water, determined to scare her mother silly but above all to confirm that her mother still lived. Another creak from somewhere outside, this time somehow closer, brought her to her feet – still shaky, but tensed for action. She hadn't been able to find her stakes, but she didn't care. At this point, she just wanted to see her mother's face and hear someone gently tell her that the visions and the night sounds that terrified her now were nothing but the product of taut and anxious nerves. That someone preferably being her mother.
She was surprised when she reached the door to her mother's bedroom and found it closed.
"Mom?" she called. No answer.
"Mom?" she tried again, this time while twisting the doorknob. It refused to turn.
Panic rising, Buffy pounded on the door, all the while screaming her mother's name and all the while receiving no answer. As she did so, however, she felt something brush against her feet and, looking down, saw a folded slip of paper. With shaking hands she picked it up – saw the sketched face of her mother, lost in gentle sleep.
Her next effort was savage with a sort of desperate despair and managed to wrench the bedroom door free of its hinges so that she stumbled inside, her eyes instantly fixing upon the poster bed in which her mother lay. For a moment, her heart was filled with a flood of relief as she saw Joyce's face, eyes closed in slumber. Then she saw the thing, tall and wooden, that grew like a monstrous stump out of her breast and, dizzy with grief and shock, she slumped to the floor and knew no more.
Rupert Giles, his face drawn and haggard, stepped out of the hospital room as Xander and Willow gathered around him.
"So how is she?" Xander was the first to break the silence.
"She will live – and that in itself is a blessing to be thankful for, I fear," Giles replied. With a weary look he added, "She has suffered a tremendous shock after the death of her mother – as I am sure you can imagine – and it will more than likely take several more days for her to recover. In the meantime – " and here he began to speak in a far lower tone. "—I received a call from Mrs. Summers' solicitor only this morning."
"Solicitor?" Xander repeated.
"That's British-speak for 'lawyer,'" Willow informed him.
"Yes, thank you for that annotation, Willow, though I am frankly at a loss as to why it was even necessary," Giles said with his usual brand of quiet exasperation. "At any rate, the good man informed me of certain stipulations in Mrs. Summers final will which were, quite frankly, entirely as much of a shock to me as her brutal end."
"Wait just a minute," Xander interrupted. "I thought wills were supposed to be private. You're not going to be deported now for being duped by an illegal eagle, are you?"
"Xander," Giles said, a growing edge in his voice. "I hardly think that this is the time for such childish jesting. You see, the man kindly informed me that I am now to be the sole guardian of Miss Buffy Summers until she comes of age!"
"What?" Both Willow and Xander, after their simultaneous outburst, were preempted in their further questioning by Giles who said, "Yes, that was rather like my own reaction to the news. But that bit was in turn somewhat overshadowed by what he further said. Apparently, Mrs. Summers has left Buffy a manse off the coast of Massachusetts. A rather handsome one as well, if her solicitor is to be believed."
Willow's brow wrinkled. "But Buffy's mother never seemed all that rich. Why would she have only mentioned it now?"
"There, both I – and her solicitor – are quite baffled," Giles began, but paused in mid-sentence when the door to the chamber that he had just left opened and Buffy, though still a bit unsteady, walked out. At sight of the Scooby Gang, she managed a shaky smile and was instantly assaulted with hugs from both Xander and Willow, as well as a paternal pat from Giles.
"Oh, Buffy," Willow drew away, her eyes bright with tears. "I'm so sorry about your mom."
"Yeah – me too," Buffy whispered, her face flushed as though she were only barely managing to keep a flood of tears back herself. She looked around at all of them and then cleared her throat, her voice now somewhat steadier: "Now, what's all this about my mom's will?"
Coming Soon: A mysterious house in the mists upon the coast of Massachusetts...the visions of Drusilla...and the mysteries surrounding the Summers family...