…*…

...*Chapter VII*...

…*…

The rapid amount of objects being sorted through had him at a slight disadvantage. He hadn't been aware that anything could move quite as fast as the woman in front of him was. Erik was guarding, as he had been instructed, and that didn't shake his unease any. There was something off about this whole situation, he could smell it; he just wasn't sure exactly what smelled so odd. "What are you looking for, maybe I could help," he ducked the most recent object to be tossed his way.

Not unusual for her anymore, Darla was irritated. She wanted to wonder when she had become so old feeling and bitchy, but there was no time for self-analysis, not when she was so close to reaching her goal. The fact that Angel hadn't de-invited her mildly amused her since she supposed he could have easily enough. However, the fact that – judging by the amount of her stuff in the room, and the smell – Cordelia had apparently moved in did not. "Perhaps," digging through a pile of Angel's clothing, Darla yanked out body mist from her purse, "spray this."

If somewhat dubious, Erik took the offered item and examined it carefully. Pure jasmine perfume. Well, he figured that smelling like an odd flower would be the least of his worries at the end of this. Besides, he was starting to get the feeling that not only was he missing something; he was missing a hugely important something. Darla knew this Angel person a little too well for this to be any ordinary scheme. Dutifully, Erik pressed the little spray button and the aroma of jasmine masked all the other smells in the room. "Done and done."

An almost content feeling washed over Darla with the smell - she absolutely loved jasmine, it made her think clearer and she knew that made her stronger. Also, this meant she could continue her search without having to smell Cordelia on everything; it had been starting to make her nauseous, if that was even possible. Suddenly, her fingers encountered the rougher surface of paper. Standing on her tiptoes on the chair she had pulled up, Darla snatched the thick bundle out of the closet and examined her prize. "Ah, here it all is. Always such an artist, my boy…"

Curiosity getting the better of him, Erik moved forward and examined the papers carefully. Within the first bundle were several smaller stacks, tied with scraps of silk. He had barely had time to wonder what the silk was from when he really got the chance to look at what was on the paper. Drawings, they were drawings. There was an unfamiliar dark haired woman in the first, and the smallest, stack. "Wow, who's she?"

However, Darla had already thrown that stack away from her and partway across the room. She had no desire to see what he had drawn of this new mortal twit. The second, slightly larger, stack followed quickly, because the vampiress most certainly didn't want to look at pictures of the Slayer, especially if he had continued his trend of slightly… provocative… artistry. The third stack was set aside indifferently, but gently. Then she saw it and her breath caught in her throat for a moment - there it was. "Oh," she carefully untied the papers, aware that some would be quite old.

Erik watched in fascination as the final bundle came into his view. It was by far the largest stack, and undoubtedly his mistress. Feeling as though there might be valuable information to be found, he looked on eagerly, hoping that some of his suspicions might be confirmed. He wisely chose to stay silent.

The first few drawings were new, the clean, crisp, white paper standing out against the drawings behind it. They were in the same style of detailed sketches, and they were of her. She didn't remember the first couple, and since her vampiric memory was basically flawless, she figured they must have been dreams. The next picture she recognized, but it amazed her how at peace she had looked. That night…

Shaking off those memories, she carefully moved aside all the newer pictures and finally reached the tender, yellowing paper she remembered from its prime. In most of them she was laughing or naked, or both, in a few she was sleeping. There was one where she was sitting in her bodice and underskirt, looking out a window at the night. Darla remembered posing for that picture, remembered that night; it had been when she had first discovered his little habit and he had offered to draw her then and there. It had been beautiful.

She didn't want to remember. Not anymore, not the way things were now.

Inadvertently, Erik saved Darla from her thoughts, having until now observed these pictures in silent shock. He had caught a few glimpses of decidedly bare skin that was being sorted just out of his view, and then he had seen drawings that looked to be ancient. He wasn't up on his history, but from the aged paper and the styles of dresses Darla was wearing, he could tell they were definitely over a hundred years old. "Wow, I didn't know you were that old. So what, did that Angel guy draw these?"

Nodding absently, Darla left the drawings lying in abstract piles on the bed then bent to retrieve the other stacks; Drusilla, Buffy, and Cordelia. She carefully hid those in a place she figured it would take Angel a bit to find, and motioned to Erik that it was time to leave. "I'm quite a bit older than those drawings, Erik, but all you really need to know is that I'm older than you will most likely live to see. And yes, my boy drew those."

Following her unhurriedly, Erik hoped that he would finally get some answers. As an afterthought, he sprayed the bottle of jasmine scent he was still holding, because he didn't want to look as though he had forgotten about it and also because this place really did smell old. He couldn't understand how anyone could stand it. "So what was your deal with him?"

"My deal with him," Darla repeated absently, already anticipating the discovery of one of his dirty little secrets and half lost in memories of pleasant times far in the past, in their past. She answered him because she didn't care, didn't care what he thought, what he knew, any of it. "He was my childe, my lover, my mate…"

Erik was vaguely familiar with the use of 'childe'; the idea of having a mate made little sense to him, for his sire had been as inexperienced as he himself was, and he hadn't been undead long enough to find it out on his own. But, lover, now that he most certainly got. This whole situation was starting to make him uneasy, he didn't think getting on Darla's bad side was a good idea, but this guy had been alive a long time. "And now?"

The wound was still slightly fresh to her mind, more so than the stubborn hole in her stomach, for that didn't bother her nearly so much. Still, pain and mind games were what she lived for, what she excelled in, and they were certainly nothing new; she could handle a few twinges. "And now, we're not."

"So…" Erik was confused as to how all this had come about, but he doubted his chances of enlightenment. Whatever had happened, he hoped Angel was prepared because Darla was definitely planning something, and from what he could tell, this didn't seem like some whim for vengeance.

Having moved ahead of him, Darla ascended the stairs and stood in front of the balcony for a moment, surveying their handiwork. The place had thoroughly been ransacked, the pictures were lying in wait, and all she could smell now was jasmine. Her scent, her pictures, her perfume. Perfect. Now hurry home, my darling… In one fluid movement, she jumped over the rails and landed on the floor in front of Erik. Swinging the doors open wide, Darla strode out into the night with the fledgling in tow. "Come now, Erik, it's high time we were off to other things."

…*…

If the open doors hadn't set off warning bells, the scent that had hit him halfway down the street did. Quickly, he got out of the car and took a deep, if unnecessary, breath, inhaling as much as he could. It was the scent all right, exactly as it had been a thousand times before, except now it was most certainly not a comforting smell. Angel turned back to the other occupant of the car, "Stay here, Cordy…"

But the open doors were a bit of a tip off and Cordy knew something was wrong. God, what now? She was tired and still shaken from the bodies in the field and the subsequent images her mind kept conjuring up. "No, Angel, this is my home too. I want to come with you. Besides, it's safer that way," she knew enough to appeal to his protective streak.

Helping her out of the car, Angel cautiously stepped forward, a sense of foreboding coming over him more each step he took. Quickly he realized that he had overreacted - there was nobody around but them. The smells had confused him for a moment, but Cordelia and him were definitely the only ones in the building. "It's safe, I think. Unless there's some demon that I can't sense, smell, or hear." But he already knew it wasn't.

Nodding, Cordelia released his hand and moved forward on her own, eyes flashing in anger that someone had invaded her home, their home. And speaking of smells, "What is that obnoxious odor? Did some cheep whore break into the building and spray her perfume?"

Angel had to physically restrain himself from wincing - not only did Cordelia hate a scent that had been his favorite for centuries, but he felt the insult far more than it's wearer ever would've. I don't know it's… yes I do, of course it's her. "Let's see whose work this looks like before we jump to conclusions - probably Wolfram and Hart after something we don't even have again."

The sight of the front hall was something to behold, papers and everything else that had once been put away strewn over the floor. There were splotches of red, but noticing a container of pig's blood nearby, Angel quickly realized that it was from the raided fridge. While he had been looking all this over Cordelia had moved ahead of him and suddenly shrieked, "Oh my god!"

Running through the mess, Angel hopped over a few chairs and came to what he assumed was her aid. Cordelia was standing in their room, her back to him, and holding… something… "Cordy, what's wrong?"

Spinning around, Cordelia set her hardest glare on Angel and tried not to cry. Not only had her home been ransacked, her privacy violated, her stuff thrown all over the place, but she had just found the worst thing of all. Pictures, of a woman, a woman that was definitely not her, and she knew who it was. Holding up the evidence out of his grasp, she tried to choke down the betrayal. "How could you?! What the hell, Angel!?" She yanked out a particularly vivid portrait of the naked woman, "You know what I went through with Xander… and… I thought you loved me?"

He stood there in shock and horror. Angel recognized the items in his girlfriend's hands now, drawings - his drawings - his drawings of Darla. Immediately, he knew he would have to explain but Angel didn't understand how he possibly could. Cordelia, where are the drawings of Cordelia? "Cordelia, let me explain… I'm sorry… it's not what you think, there are others…"

"Others?!" she cut him off roughly, wanting to run out but knowing she couldn't - he was blocking the door and was faster than her anyway, and she was a mature adult now. I'm not going to run from this. "Wonderful, Angel, not only are there naked drawings of a woman that was not only your ex-girlfriend, but also almost got me killed, but there are others." She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, "I would start talking very fast if I were you."

Moving towards the closet, he reached up and found nothing. He quickly scanned the room for any place where Darla could have hidden the pictures. It took him a few minutes to locate the correct spot, but he did find it. I didn't spend a hundred and fifty years with you and not know you Darla… However, in the time it took another fact dawned on him, there had been someone besides his sire in this room, another vampire. What are you up to? "No, not like that. Look," when she turned her head, he untied them and repeated, more forcefully, "look. These are of you. It's not just her, or anyone. I have lots of these, yes, I was with Darla for a long time, but I'm with you now. This is what I do, I draw."

Slowly, Cordelia scanned over the drawings of herself. She was sleeping, in all of them, sometimes peaceful, sometimes troubled, and they were all dated, signed in Angel's old-fashioned sprawled writing. Biting back the tears for the moment, she asked carefully, "Who else?" When Angel made a little sighing sound, she called out her inner Queen C. "Who else, Angel? I have to know. And, if you've ever loved me, you'll… show me."

The protest died on the tip of his tongue. If nothing else, Angel knew when it was time to stop pushing his luck and obey. These - he'd never meant to show her any, not even the ones of herself, but that wasn't the point. He was being forced now, by the woman he couldn't escape and the one he didn't want to. Pulling out the others, he handed them over dutifully, "Darla, Drusilla, Buffy, you… Cordy - Cordelia, I do - I love you."

She barely skimmed over the papers, not wanting to see them. Smiling faces, laughing faces, sleeping faces, attached to at best partially dressed bodies. And worst of all, it appeared the only two who had ever been aware of this fascination by the man she loved were evil vampires. "All right." She nodded. "Burn them. I never want to see these again - not even the ones of me."

Cautiously Angel reached for the pictures, assuring and at the same time denying her, because he knew he would never burn them. He had kept these things with him for centuries, decades, it didn't matter, because most everything else he had been perfectly willing to give away or leave without. "You'll never see them again, Cordy, I promise. And I do love you, but I can't get rid of them," he hoped she could see the sincerity in his eyes, "it's not about you or because of you. I love you. But these are one of the few things I did as Angelus that I still enjoy doing, and so I keep them. I don't look at them, Cordy - most of the time I forget they're even there, but I've had them for centuries. I can't just get rid of them."

Carefully, Cordelia nodded, she could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Truth; he loved her and he was sorry he had hurt her. Anything else he had said didn't matter. She began to move the pictures forward, towards him, when something caught her eye. Without jerking at all, Cordelia followed that one picture with her eyes, and it wounded her. Another of Darla, but it was new, the paper was white, and what had caught her eye: the date was from only a few days ago, and that was her lover's signature on the bottom. Tears started to well up but she forced them back, deciding that he did love her, and he would tell her what was going on. If he didn't, that would be an issue for later. "Okay," and as soon as he had taken the pictures she turned and left the room, "just give me a minute. I'm going to clean up the entryway."

…*…

"And thanks to much research, these new murders have been connected to a style of serial killer in the eighteen hundreds, who was widely copied at that period in time. Because of the large range of places and times that those murders took place, and the superstitions of the time, it was rumored by masses to have been a vampire. These newer murders appear to be exact copies. And now to our guest analyst, Mr. Timothy Greenheart."

From her spot happily lounging on the couch, Darla watched as sanitized pictures of the recent murders played in the corner, interrupted by newspaper articles recovered from the eighteen hundreds of those murders, just rough sketches. She mused, "Photographs deliver so much more fear to the general population. Those drawings never did our work justice."

The television screen, meanwhile, had switched to Timothy Greenheart's point of view on the subject. He was a nervous looking, twitchy man, with a balding head, thick glasses, and a slightly greenish pallor to match his name. "Due to the obscurity of these reference articles, which were only brought to our attention by an anonymous tip, it is likely that the killer in question is very aware of history, perhaps a librarian or archivist. The peculiar thing about these copycat murders, which led to the ever-popular vampire theory, was that the blood of the victims has been drained in all such cases. This indicates a deeply disturbed psyche, possibly someone who believes they actually are a vampire…"

Jumping up in outrage, Darla pointed first at the television, then cast her scathing glare towards Erik. "Did you hear that?" She hissed, "Believes they actually are a vampire, I'll give them cause to believe too!" Darla slipped into game face and regarded Erik, "Do I not look like a vampire to you, because I was under the impression I was one!"

Nodding quickly, Erik assured her, "You are most certainly a vampire, Mistress, without a doubt. See, there's the fangs, and the bumpies, and the yellow eyes." He shrugged, trying to think of something else he could think of and coming up with nothing at the moment. "Yep, all vampire-ish."

Slipping back into her human mask, Darla nodded almost serenely; she hadn't really cared enough, but she found it amusing how Erik had attempted to reassure her with facts that she already knew. Darla was four hundred, and well aware that she was a demon of the night. "Glad you think so."

Erik couldn't quite decide whether she was being serious or sarcastic, but luckily he remembered a piece of information from the newscast that had intrigued him and decided to change the subject. "They said there was an anonymous tip, who do you think that was? Angel?"

Darla rolled her eyes, "No."

Pausing to think about who else would have known or told about Darla's massacre of the nuns, he turned back to see her raising her eyebrow at him. A sure sign that he was missing something, but what? Then the right conclusion occurred to him, "You? You were the anonymous informant?"

Laughing, Darla nodded. Curling herself up on the couch easily, due to her small frame, Darla looked the very vision of innocence and beauty. It was hard to imagine that not only had she created the sickening display flashing across the screen, it was all part of some much eviler plan. "Of course I told them. It's no fun if your work doesn't get the attention it deserves."

Erik was about to reply when the television filtered back into his frontal focus and promptly distracted him. The man on the screen was back to some normal newscaster, the special guest obviously having fled the show. "I'd like to repeat, this man is presumed very large, deranged, and considered very dangerous. While churches should be the most wary, we don't know his mindset; people should try to stay in groups after dark. However, there is no reason to panic."

Licking her lips wickedly, Darla stretched from her seat, arching up and rolling her shoulders back, moving her neck in a circular motion. After she had stretched properly, the vampiress grinned, "No, Dan, I'd say there's every reason to panic," then she tilted her head slightly, her voice seeming almost bitter, "I never get any credit! Of course it was a man; a woman would have been too weak or some such nonsense. I'll have you know that I was responsible for as much destruction as Angelus then, and more before."

Erik cast a nervous look at Darla, worried that she might explode at any given moment and try to take his head off, or open the curtains, or some other insanity. He'd only been around the volatile older vampire for a few weeks, but already he knew better than to piss her off; she'd alluded to punishments he had no desire to be involved in. "Oh?"

Sighing, Darla completely ignored Erik's nervous glance, or even that he was there. His little questioning voice didn't interrupt her train of thought in the slightest because she didn't pay it any mind. Darla was much more concerned with the vague sketch of the killer that was starting to look like a decidedly familiar figure, thanks to her 'anonymous' tips. "Oh well, let my boy enjoy all the credit this time…"

Erik simply let out the breath he had been holding, glad that Darla was still laughing instead of threatening. She seemed to be lost in thoughts that he'd gotten only a glimpse of when they'd been in Angel's room, and still had no idea what they contained. But for now they were making her happy, so he was more than willing to leave her be. Quietly leaving her to the newscast, Erik couldn't help but wonder at it all. Damn, whatever he did to piss her off, it must have been really bad…