TITLE: Destiny Entwined
AU: Buffy wasn't the first slayer that died briefly. That slayer comes into the Sunnydale scene pre-'Halloween.'
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy the Vampire slayer, but if I did it would still be running and I would make a few slight changes. So please don't sue.
SUMMARY: Spike has a secret – a deep dark secret that no one, not even Drusilla with her psychic powers, knows about. No one except a young girl that claims to be the Slayer he had encountered years before. It all involves an antique music box (an heirloom passed down from mother to daughter), a poem addressed to a man named William Lennox, and a mysterious painting connected to Spike's human past that was acquired by the Watcher's Council. But things start getting even more peculiar when Spike finds out that this mystical slayer is not only drawn to him, but that they are somehow mysteriously connected by a magical bond so powerful, that not even death can break it. This story has sexual content in it. You have been warned. Also, so there is no confusion, this story will be written in three prospectives: Spike's, Renee's and an Omnipotent. How the layout will be will depend on my mood. Thanks and enjoy.
Chapter 1-Building a Mystery
London – 1869
"William! William!"
Young William Lennox opened his sapphire blue eyes at hearing his name called from his bedroom window. A large grin played on his lips as he silently uttered the name of the voice's owner: Renée. Renée McCullough was his neighbor, his friend, his confidante, and the love of his life. He had known her since he was twelve and she nine, when she had moved to London from America after the death of her mother.
In only his nightshirt, William rushed over to the bedroom window, opening it completely, and thrusting his head out to face his beloved.
"Renée, darling? He locked you in the garret again, didn't he?"
"William, he's been in a foul mood all morning. I dared not argue or anger him in anyway, but the moment I mentioned paying you a visit for your birthday…" Renée went silent and gently touched her cheek where William noticed a fresh bruise.
"Bastard!" he growled wrathfully through gritted teeth. Renée's father, Avery McCullough, was a wealthy and prominent banker, held in high-regard to many of the citizens of London, but also had a secret dark side. Despite the fact that Mr. McCullough had a dreadful temper and the fact he drank heavily, he tortured his only daughter mercilessly, beating her and then, afterwards, locking her in their garret for days at a time without food or water. William remembered many a time he would allow her to climb to his bedroom from the garret, sneak bread, cheese, and water to her and let her wash her self from his water basin. "He ought to be dragged out into the street and hung, he should!"
"Dearest William, after tonight, I will have nothing to fear from him any longer," She beamed, though it must have been very painful to smile, reminding him of their plans. William calmed and returned the smile; today was his Eighteenth birthday. He and Renée had made plans months earlier to elope to Scotland return home to his mother, with Renée as his new bride.
"Renée, my love, I'm anxious with excitement! I wish we were leaving for Scotland at this very moment!"
"Patience, dearest. Soon it will be nearly six o'clock in the evening and then we
shall be in Edinburgh being named Mr. and Mrs. William Lennox without the objection of my father."
William sat on the edge of the window sill and smirked defiantly, "Oh, yes! And once we return, I shall say to your father, 'This woman no longer belongs to you and yours. She is now my wife and you are not welcome in our home!' And with those words I shall slam the door in his face!" he gave a hearty laugh and outstretched his hand to gently tap her chin teasingly, "Shall I climb through the garret window and comfort you there?"
"No, I think I will have the pleasure of your comfort in a more agreeable environment," She offered a soft smile before climbing out of the garret window and into his own. Being neighbors in London had its advantages. Their houses were so close together that Renée and William could easily climb to the other's home with little or no effort. It also was fortunate that the garret window was adjacent to William's bedroom.
Once she was safely inside the room, William's sapphire eyes gazed lovingly into Renée's expressive feline-colored eyes, his hands affectionately cupping her face. He knew she was only fifteen years old, but the love he had for her was overwhelming and the need to protect her from harm was even more so. He had actually come up with the idea of them marrying on his eighteenth birthday. He would be protecting her and gaining a most valuable prize in the process.
After the moment had passed, William leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against hers. He had no wish to deflower her in this moment, though the temptation was almost overwhelming. He pulled reluctantly from the kiss and gently, but protectively, wrapped his arms around her.
"I … I don't think I want to wait until this evening, my darling."
"But, William what about the plans your mother-"
"That can wait until our return. I just… I can't stand you being a prisoner of that bastard any longer! I have enough money-we can call for a coach immediately and be married before the sun sets! Think of it, Renée!"
"I'm not prepared…I've not packed or anything!"
"I have more than enough to pay the expenses of the ceremony and a three day stay at an inn. I'll buy you dresses…any color or design! I've nearly six hundred pounds to cover everything!"
"Six hundred pounds? William, that's your life's savings!"
"You, my love, are well worth every cent and more." He gently kissed her again, his hand gently stroking the side of her face. "It's settled. We leave the moment the coach arrives!"
William grabbed his robe and slipped it on before disappearing downstairs searching for the maid to give her instructions. Upon his return, he requested that Renée wait in the kitchen for him while he dressed. He then put on his best suit (one he reserved for weddings and funerals), and began packing a small suitcase with enough changes of clothes for a three day journey. As he descended the stairwell, he found Renée seated beside the door and the coach coming to a halt in front.
William hurried her into the compartment, hoping that she would not be seen. Soon, they were making their way to downtown London, for he had insisted on purchasing for her a few dresses, a corset, a nightdress, and a wedding gown for their trip to Edinburgh. She did not want to delay their departure though William had told her to take her time and select the dresses she truly wanted, so he never had the chance to see what she had purchased.
Finally, they had settled back inside the carriage, Renée laying her head upon his shoulder and soon falling into an exhausted sleep. William gently stroked her hair and inhaled the fragrant scent of lavender from her skin. His stomach was beginning to anxiously twist into knots; we're finally doing it! We're finally going to be together!
Soon he was being roused by the footman telling him they had arrived at the parish in Edinburgh. His heart began pounding harder and harder as he gently shook his love awake.
"Renée, love," William whispered into her ear amidst his nuzzles and kisses against her cheek, "It's time for us to take our vows."
Once opening her eyes, she offered William a most pleased smile, and then tenderly kissed him before exiting the coach. The bishop, heading the parish, allowed her to use one of their empty cells to change into her wedding gown while William paid for their services and inquired if they could have a photograph taken after the ceremony. The photograph, he felt, would go deservingly to his mother, even though he knew that she not being there for the event would surely break her heart.
Finally, at the fourth hour of the afternoon, William stood waiting at the alter with the vicar for his beloved bride, dreaming of what the future held for them. He imagined that the pair of them would have about four children, for he was an only child and he knew how lonely it was to be. But he was suddenly jerked back into reality as he watched her emerge.
She was absolutely beautiful –the gown was white satin trimmed in periwinkle lace and ribbon and she had white and light blue flowers adorning her hair, the same as the ones that she carried in her bouquet. William felt his chest swell with pride as she finally approached the alter. Nothing would spoil this day, nothing.
"We are gathered her today, in the eyes of God, to join together William Lennox and Renée McCullough in holy matrimony."
Valdosta, Ga. (Southeastern Hellmouth) – 1991 (Two weeks before X-mas)
Renée:
The more I hear him talk, the more I want to smash his face in; but I shouldn't let him get to me. Spike's all mouth-his only real talent. But, hey, I got a lot of pint up rage…need to take it out on somebody.
My name is Renée Alexander and I'm a vampire slayer. Actually I'm the youngest to ever receive the calling; I'm only thirteen and I've been fighting creatures like Spike for almost two years now. I'm good at what I do because I slay in a way that no other slayer has. I believe my technique to be slightly unique; I mean where would you find a thirteen year old anywhere that likes to have every nitty-gritty detail of the Big Bads that they're up against instead of using what's in the Watcher's archive of vampires and demons? I like to know everything, from where it was born to its favorite color.
But Spike is something of a conundrum. I know about the two slayers he killed- one during the Boxer Rebellion and the other the year before I was even born. I knew about his sire, Drusilla, who he'd walk through fire for. But it isn't in the vampire you find the true weakness. It's in the human they once were. With Spike, I have very little to go on: he was born and raised in London, England; he was a hopeless romantic, and a lousy poet. I thought about taunting him about being a sissy-boy but once I thought about it I new that if I did that I would be a dead pre-teen. But I knew there was something deeper, something that no one knew about, or talked about. And I was gonna find out what it was.
I patrol in same areas that I always do, the places where my watcher, Harry Clarkson, told me where vampires like to nest or catch unsuspecting victims. Of course, I knew Spike was following me, I was the Slayer and he was obsessed with killing me. He was studying me like I was trying to study him; watching my moves, trying to find a weakness. It was annoying…really annoying.
"If you're gonna attack me, you might as well do it, Spike. I know your there!"
Spike, as I had presumed stepped out of the shadows, his bleached hair slicked back, and a dangling earring in his right ear. He was already vamped out, a cigarette dangling next to one of his incisors, what a dork. "Well, well. If it isn't the pint-sized Slayer! Are you sure you're aloud to be up this late at night? Shouldn't you be tucked all safe and warm in your beddie-by?"
I rolled my eyes, "Shouldn't you be back at your secret hide-out fawning over 'poor little sickly Drusilla'?"
"Ooo! Gettin' better with your quips, aren't you, pet?" He blew smoke into my face, I guess trying to get me to cough or something. "But your seriously lacking in originality, you are. Don't worry, comes with time…that is if you're still alive."
"Spike, cut the crap and lets get this over with!" I grumbled feeling a little more than annoyed. Spike snorted.
"Me, fight you…you're nothing but a midget, no challenge whatsoever." He shook his head and I snatched the cigarette out from his mouth, risky but, hey, I needed the cigarette. "Hey, give that back."
"Ya snooze, ya loose," I inhaled deeply and coughed a little exhaling.
"See, can't even handle a small toke off a bloody smoke."
"Can so!" I cut back fiercely. Oh yeah! I thought, Come on, push a little more-I've been itching for a fight with you. Spike belted a great laugh.
"Oh, you are too cute! I'd love to play cat and mouse with you, nibblet, really I would. But you're just too green. If I fought you, you would be dead," he snapped his fingers in my face causing me to flinch slightly, "like that. Sorry, pet, but I like my fights to last a little longer than a few seconds."
"You're such a retard! I thought you studied your Slayers so you can figure out how to kill them…and stuff," I was starting to feel a little offended now. "Don't you even know anything about me?"
"Sure I do!" As he offered a toothy vampire grin, his fangs gleamed. "You're the youngest Slayer to ever receive the calling, am I right? That's the only interestin' thing about you-that, and the fact you're eleven years old."
"I'm thirteen, you moron! And I've been killing your kind for a year and 10 months AND counting! I've countered six apocalypses during that time; I've slain 24 Big Bads, 10 of them being vampires." I rant barely two inches away from his face, "and I'm one year's practice away from being a human pretzel!"
"A human pretzel?" He gave me a non-plussed expression. "Is the word 'nut-case' somewhere on your résumé?"
"Don't believe me?" a smirk played across my lips, "Well, I guess I'll have to prove it."
It happened quickly, so quick I don't think he knew it happened until he hit the concrete of a headstone, fifteen or twenty feet from where he stood. I sprang into a hand-stand, wrapped my petite legs around his waist, and, with all the strength I could muster, catapulted him through the air. He was, however, quick to get to his feet and, without warning, I felt a blunt strike against my face, knocking my glasses clear off my face. Spike, then, gripped my arm, twisted it painfully behind me, his chest against my back, and wrenched my head to the side, exposing a bare part of my neck. Great! Now I've pissed him off! Good going, Renée!
"I warned you, tidbit," Spike ran his cold, thick tongue along the length of my neck. "This is just too easy!"
I felt his long incisors and rigid teeth tear through my skin, and the warm, wet, sticky blood trickling down my neck. I began to panic, Oh my god! This is it: I'm going to die! But my saving grace stood before me-a gravestone. The Necromancer's Charm! That's it!
My lips were trembling as I tried to remember the words; it was a spell my watcher was teaching me and I had been trying to perfect it for several months now. Memorizing the words was the easy part-the words summoned the dead from their resting place. But getting the right pitch and tones was the difficult part, for the spell had to be sung in order to control the actions of the dead. The high octave was for attacking, low octave for protection, and medium octave for defense. This would be the first time I would use it in a battle against a demon.
"Ieyui," I began to sing softly in med-octave, my voice slightly quavering and my head swimming, "Nobomenu…Renmiri…Yojuyogo…Hasatekanae Kutamae."
The only result of that was Spike sinking his teeth deeper into my neck and I let out a pained moan. Maybe I wasn't loud enough…I've got to try again because I'm running out of time. I took a small breath and sang the charm again, only this time I sang with what strength I had left. Then I got the expected result. A rotting hand plunged from the ground and snapped its fingers around Spike's ankle.
"What in the…BLOODY HELL!" He released me in a frantic attempt to free his leg from the decaying appendage. I was in a haze but I kept singing, I lifted my eyes slightly to see that Spike and I were both surrounded by walking corpses-both fresh and decomposing alike. Two of the fresher variety gripped my arms gently and lifted me to my feet. Spike glared at me with a perplexed expression on his demonic face, and then glanced at the corpses suddenly surrounding him waiting for the command to attack.
"Now, what were you saying?" I quizzed maliciously.
"Pretty good trick. Wouldn't have expected this out of the Slayer." He nodded approvingly, "But it's gonna take more than twenty corpses to keep me at bay, sweet."
He began ripping the corpses apart, one by one, and I found myself beginning to sing, this time in the high-octave, calling out more dead, ordering them to attack. Soon, Spike was fighting a sea of attacking corpses, desperation apparent on his demonic face. He then disappeared among them, my ears filled with his piercing screams of agony as the corpses began to bite small chunks of meat from his body.
"How's it feel to be the victim, Spike? Does it feel good to be food?" I couldn't help but smile, watching him get a taste of his own medicine.
"Call them off!" I heard him plead painfully. "Call them off, please!"
I don't know why or what I was thinking, probably felt that he had been tortured enough, but I sang again in the low octave, the corpses gathering around me like a protective shield. I glared down at Spike as he lay sprawled on the ground, covered in his own blood, his face now normal as glared hatefully at me through sapphire blue eyes.
"Who's not the challenge now?" I smirked smugly.
"Little bitch!" He gritted his teeth together in rage. "This may have been a minor set-back, but believe me, sweetheart, you're gonna pay for this, mark my words. I don't care how bleeding old you are!"
"Bring it on!" I narrowed my eyes as he disappeared though the field of gravestones. I heaved a heavy sigh as I surveyed the multiple corpses I summoned standing around me like a wall of…corpses. Summoning the dead is easy, sending them is another story-I was still learning how. In my practice sessions with my watcher, I managed to get them to do the 'Hustle' but nothing more.
Well, needless to say, the zombies followed me home because I really didn't have the energy, nor the stomach, to watch a bunch of dead guys do a line dance.
I live with my watcher; he became my guardian after my parents divorced. He told them that I needed something constant in my life and that the environment I was in was not only unhealthy for me, but not a place for me to learn focus and control. I miss my parents sometimes but it's all good. My watcher isn't the kind of guy that is a crotchety old man-he's actually cool. He's 25 years old, was born in England, and looks like the bad male witch in the movie 'Warlock'(which is FINE, by my standards). Sometimes I wish I was older…
"Renée, I was beginning to…" Harry stopped short at seeing the large party of corpses following me, "You brought company?"
"Noticed, huh?" I slightly beamed, holding a bloody clothe to my neck where I had been bitten.
"Spike?" His eyes went directly to my neck.
"Yeah," I glanced at my feet, "He said I wasn't seasoned enough for him."
"We'll just have to prove him wrong, won't we?"
"How? I have nothing to go on-NOTHING."
"Well, I just got though talking on the telephone with the council in London. They have something that may help, and may be of interest to you…something about Spike that no one can seem to figure out."
"What is it?" I said excitedly, Finally!! Now I can find a weakness in him!
"A painting. A painting found in a museum in France. The Council says that the painting has a peculiar air about it." Harry ran his fingers though his long blonde hair, a strange habit that he performs whenever he is puzzled about something. "They called me about it, because I have experience in tracing art to the artists, but, frankly, I'm stumped. It looks as though it may have been a copy of another's work. I told them about your interest in William the Bloody and if I could bring you to London to have a look at it and they agreed so long as it doesn't interfere with your Slaying duties."
"Oh, Harry!! London! Really? I'll be able to see Princess Di! What am I going to wear?…" I bounced up and down gleefully, then glanced around at the party of dead guys behind me, remembering that I hadn't sent them yet, "but first, I think we need to take care of these guys. Um, Harry, How do you do that Sending Charm again?"
Sunnydale, Ca. (Western Hellmouth) - October 30, 1997
The Scoobies sat quietly at the study table within the library and stared at Giles in disbelief.
"Are you sure, Giles?" Buffy Summers, the current Slayer, quizzed with an expression of both skepticism and disappointment. "I mean how can there be two Slayers?"
"I asked the council the same question, but, as it appears this slayer didn't exactly stay dead…she was only dead briefly." Watcher Rupert Giles pulled off his spectacles and cleaned them with a handkerchief from his coat pocket. "But we could use her help, Buffy. She knows more about Spike than any living…or undead person, in this world."
"I know who he's talking about, Buffy." Angel spoke in a low tone, keeping to the shadows as not to be burned in the sun, "Renée Alexander is a seasoned Slayer…she has a talent for knowing her opponents weaknesses before they do battle. We could also use some magic and she was trained in the Arts since she became the slayer. Demons call her the 'Witch Slayer'…Vampires call her 'The Necro-slayer'."
" 'Necro-slayer'?" Xander Harris scratched his dark hair, "What's a 'Necro-slayer'?"
"It means that she can control the dead. She's been perfecting that talent for nearly eight years." Giles answered Xander's query. "She has been searching for Spike for over five years now. She would make a promising ally against him, Buffy."
"Well, yeah. I'm all for the 'Kill Spike' campaign," Buffy pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "But, what about after? I mean, is she going to stay in Sunnydale?"
"No worries, slayer-girl." A soft female voice sounded throughout the Library, and a young spectacle-clad girl with long dark auburn hair, stepped out from behind a book case, tight blue-jeans, a black halter top, and black knee-high work boots covering her body. "I'm just here for the kill…nothing more. I owe him."
The brunette girl turned her head to the side and revealed a nasty scar on her neck. Willow glared wide-eyed and Xander simply mouthed, "Ouch."
"You're Renée Alexander," Giles walked hastily up to Renée, offering his hand, "My condolences on the death of your watcher, Harry Clarkson."
She slightly flinched at the sound of his name, "Yeah…he fought 'til the end…but I still couldn't save him."
"It was a risk he was willing to take; he was a good man. He spoke highly of you," Giles tried to console her with comforting words.
"Well, I hope he's proud of me, wherever he is," She smiled slightly, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Well, enough mush! Let's get down to business! What do you know about Spike?"
"Basically, everything that Angel knows about him," Buffy gestured to Angel as he remained broodingly in the shadows.
"Angelus, sired in 1775, likes to tease his victims, and has very picky taste…" Renee analyzed, "but in 1896, he slipped up and pissed off a tribe of Gypsies, they in turn, cursed him with a soul, and he came to the United States in 1910 and became a sort of recluse away from the other vampires. In his human life, he was born in Ireland in 1757 to a wealthy land owner. His favorite activities were drinking, chasing girls, and gambling. Today they are brooding, protecting innocents and giving the slayer the 'Look of Love'."
At that moment, Buffy blushed with embarrassment and Angel hid his face. Renée glared at them with a grimace, "Oh come on, those were just basics…it's not like I'm gonna tell everything in your life history-that would take too long."
"So, what do we need to find out about Spike in order to put him in an 'Oh no, I'm doomed!" position?" Willow waved her hands slightly to give her words a more dramatic effect.
"What you need to learn is not what Spike is about now, as a vampire," A sinister smile crossed her face. "It's what he was as a human. Just last week, I found the last piece of the puzzle and I think I know what his weakness is." The group, Xander, Willow, Buffy, Angel, and Giles gathered around the veteran slayer as she began going into detail about Spikes past. The surprises and the looks on Angel's face let them know that what Renée knew was something deep, something that had been kept secret for over one hundred twenty years. And now, it was out.
TBC…..
I cannot guarantee that the second chapter will be posted right away. But I would love to hear from people who do not flame. Thank you.