12
Every black coat, that was far too close to the truth. How many times had she wanted to see Spike already, had the flicker of his colors caught her eye, although the hair wouldn't be blonde enough and the coat wouldn't be long enough and she'd turn away, equal parts relieved and disappointed. He knew Jade, and it wasn't fair. Knew more about this soul then she did. But he'd overestimated one thing: his control over her. Lythia'l was the one holding the strings here. So she teleported away, unscathed and free.
She should have felt triumphant, but the moment she reappeared, up on a different floor, she collapsed onto her knees, heaving back a sob that should never have been there in the first place. She. Didn't. Cry. Shouldn't be. She tore off the necklace and stuffed it back into her purse, and that helped. Helped, but the guilt hadn't subsided, not completely. The desperation in Spike's eyes—it must be pure devastation now. But that wasn't her problem. Not while the soul was off. She could clear her head, she could think.
She was very good at thinking. Normally. And it was necessary now, because there was a simple question that needed to be answered. How had she been found? Magic, likely. She'd stayed in Las Vegas for a nearly full twenty four hours, and it was obviously too long of a stretch. So she needed to pack up and leave as soon as possible, though it wasn't best to return to her room, not if they knew which one it was. Which meant she had to steal money again, to buy new clothes again, and it was such a pain. Unless…
There were different kinds of seeking magic, one that she was familiar with, and could differentiated between easily enough, if the vampires and their one-eyed bait lingered here or moved on. So she could watch from a very long distance, and see what they chose next. She teleported to the roof, where it was cold and windy and the whole world seemed lit up, neon signs that danced and flashed. Her eyes, in their full demon form, were astute and perceptive, and the building she was in was wide rather than tall, and she looked and looked.
She was impatient, and about to teleport closer, whether it was a intelligent move or not when she saw three figures, like shadows move towards a car. Except they didn't move like humans might, and she teleported down a level, and then another, until she was able to see them more clearly. It was Spike, Angelus—Angel? And Alexander, heading towards a car. She devoted the make and color to memory. That'd help for the next time, she knew what to look for. Unless they were just turning and leaving. That'd be a welcome ending to this soiree, if Spike would just realise that it was hopeless, but Lythia'l knew better, even without the soul around her neck. No. He'd keep looking.
And they were leaving without sticking around, which meant that they knew where she was going next before she did. She growled irately, a low rumbling sound that was a far cry from a Mok'Tagar's full howl, but it was angry all the same. They'd gone to Clarity. She knew the signs. How often had she used the demon, after all? She'd try to find the seekers, see if it was possible to stick her head out of Haven for a day or two, but never more than that, because they'd come for her. And now, they'd used her to find out where Lythia'l was going, and it was a sour betrayal, but not unexpected. Clarity was a demon, after all, and this was her trade. Although Lythia'l was a bit annoyed, she couldn't be surprised. After all, she would have done the same thing. There was no loyalty there, just business. Lythia'l had lived over a thousand years, and Clarity had plenty to sample each time she'd visited, and that was their transaction. There was no bond there. No friendship, not truly. Not like the one she'd grudgingly had with Jade.
The one she'd destroyed forever. But why? Furious, she held up the soul. Looked at it, glared at its glow as vampires' car drove away, and she teleported back into the building, into her room, where she should have felt safe in it now, in this large, empty room, but all she noticed was the shining pendant in her hand.
"It's not like I stole your body," Lythia'l found herself saying aloud. Trying to explain herself? "It's not like I stole your mind, or your memories. I didn't do any of those things. You still have your immortality, I didn't take that either. I didn't take Spike from you, he's just chosen not to go after you, the real you. The you that's living—sort of. How is that my fault? I didn't maim you and kill you. You're still here. You can still live and laugh and experience, just like any vampire. I didn't do anything bad to you, so why do you make me feel like this?" Guilt. She felt guilt even before she touched the soul and let it swarm over her.
"It was just your soul. Not your emotions, or your heart or your thoughts. It's just your wrong and right, your morality, that's all I took. I didn't destroy your chance with Spike, I didn't. He was always mooning after that bitch anyway, I probably didn't change anything. In fact, you're a vampire now. A real one. He's probably more used to dealing with that then the souled bit, I did you a fav—" she couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't force it out. She'd been able to natter about the rest, but she wasn't trying to convince the soul—like she could. It wasn't a being that would answer her back. She was trying to convince herself. That she hadn't done anything bad or deplorable. Because while that wouldn't normally bother her, it did a lot more now.
"I didn't think he felt that way about you," She said then, and another blasted sob had found its way into her chest, her voice trembling. "If I'd known—It doesn't matter. I didn't do this to punish you. You're still you, wherever you are. You're probably better now. Freer. Not all sulky. You can do anything you want. You can be more like—me." But Jade never wanted to be like her. She was her own self, even if it was inferior to Lythia'l. And none of this, Lythia'l knew, would ever have convinced Jade. It was why she hadn't asked, of course. Why she had just taken, because it was the only option left to her, and she knew that.
So there was no point now—or even when she'd picked up the necklace and started talking to it like a crazy person, which she was aware of—trying to convince the soul. It wouldn't choose to behave. It couldn't choose, like that. It just had its set of rules, set of impulses. And she could ignore it.
Ten years, a hundred years, a thousand years. She could ignore it. She would learn. It wailed right now. She'd let Spike slip through her fingers, and it sang with remorse, with loss. And she felt the misery slipping into her bones, down into her flesh. She felt defeated, when she knew she shouldn't be. She had patience, after all. Lythia'l, daughter of Arachich, and a member of a clan of the Higher Reaches, she'd gotten anything she'd ever wanted through careful planning and waiting, and this was no different.
She could do anything she wanted, and she would prove it, before this soul tore her to pieces, as it was doing now, wracking her with guilt and anguish. And she was glad no-one could see her like this, how very pathetic she was being, so much she had to touch the amulet down on the blanket so she could think clearly.
And clear should have been easy, because now there was nothing else in her head that didn't belong, it was just her, but why was this terrible guilt still here, and why did she keeping thinking of those desperate blue eyes, the pain in them, the imploring. She should have been upset that she'd let another catch slip through her fingers—and she'd even lowered her standards, and she found she really was disappointed that Alexander hadn't been interested in her at all—and how could he not be? And that grudgingly added to his charm, that he'd slipped away and that he'd wanted to, and he was just an ordinary human, and he'd turned her down, and he'd felt like a triumph. The Soul hadn't resisted, not until she'd tried to kiss him, and it had been what she wanted, but not what she wanted, and it was utterly confusing and he was somehow intriguing, the unremarkable boy that he was, and he was only really made interesting by the fact he'd eluded her. And he had eluded her, and she felt strangely disappointed, among a whole mess of things. And she kicked her shoes off, watching them fly across the room, thankful for the satisfaction when one of her heels hit a picture frame and broke it and the glass, and she expected to feel better, but there was that guilt again. And she was just lying there now, limp and confused when there was a very familiar poof of teleportation, and she was no longer alone.
A woman stood in the middle of her room, looking slightly confused as she looked around, a frown on her face as she twirled, and then her eyebrows raised and her eyes lit up as she turned to see Lythia'l, half-crumpled on the bed. And she smiled, and she was very familiar, and Lythia'l recognized her from the bachelorette group, the one who had kept staring at her.
"Oh, there you are again! It's me, Julilon, your fairy Godmother," the woman smiled brightly. She was of Indian descent, and her hair was pulled back in a half-knot, some curls tumbling down a shoulder, and her green eyes were quite bright, and her expression sympathetic as well as excited. "Come to take your sorrows away."
Feeling a little embarrassed by the mess she must look like—her make-up ruined, and this ghastly red-nose from the sniffles, the definition of 'ugly cry', she was a bit skeptical, her voice tremoring with disdain. "This isn't Cinderella." And of course, she knew of Cinderella, Jade's obsession with Disney had led to Lythia'l seeing many a clip of the animated movies, and she couldn't feign ignorance even if she wanted to. Still, she wasn't ignorant either, and the woman before her was no Godmother. In fact, she wasn't even a woman at all, she was a Vengeance demon, and though Lythia'l had clued in on that a bit slower than she would have liked, her research paid off as it often did. "And aren't you vengeance types supposed to be a bit more subtle? I hardly think teleporting into someone's room really constitutes as fitting in."
The woman ignored her as she swept towards the bed to sit beside Lythia'l, and Lythia'l shuffled further away subconsciously. She was a bit wary of ancient demons, as she should be, although Lythia'l wouldn't say that the Vengeance demon was altogether stronger than her, no, she was far too confident for that, still. She didn't know the demon's purpose, and it made her careful.
"Well, some like to be sneaky, but we're not all the same, you know," Julilon said, stretching out on the bed. "These are nice sheets. Soft. The women I'm with, well there wasn't enough beds, so I was relegated to the floor." She pouted. "Just unfair, if you ask me."
Lythia'l narrowed her eyes. "So you're the vengeance demon of jilted lovers? How original."
Julilon made a tsking sound with her teeth. "No, no, I'm very original. No-one wants to be doing the same. Halfrek took all the scorned children, a bit greedy of her really, but after she went down, Adora took her place. And it was Althelope who took over for scorned women—not me. No, I wanted to be completely new and different, and I am. I chose women too, but not the same. I don't exactly have a name for it, but all the girls who are left out of the circle. Who aren't quite the Class A act, aren't part of the IT crowd, you know what I mean?"
"And losing rapid interest in it," Lythia'l muttered, wondering why the demon was here, and not doing something she was so invigorated about instead. There'd been comparisons to Mok'Tagars and Vengeance Demons before, and it struck up a defensive rivalry for Lythia'l.
"Well, anyway. The sister of the groom is at this doe party, but she's just being absolutely ragged on by the Bride. Screamed at, hit. I mean, how is that fair, just because she doesn't have any backup or anyone who wants her there, so I come to the rescue." She smiled, showing off her bright teeth.
"And she wishes something and you make it come true," Lythia'l said dully. "Yes, I know the Vengeance demon ritual. It's very straight forward and humdrum."
Julilon pouted. "Well it would be. But she hasn't wished for a single thing, and I've been hanging around with them for over a day—long weekend getaway, you see—and I was bored, and you've been catching my attention all night, you've just been positively reeking of wrong-doing, and you seem like you needed some Vengeance. Or Justice. You know, some call it the latter."
Lythia'l frowned, sniffing herself subtly to make sure she didn't actually reek of anything, and then she glared back at the presumptuous demon. "Well, I haven't been—" Her eyes flickered to where the soul had been among the blankets. Oh. Of course. Always had to make a scene. Jade'd deny it, but apparently she had a flare for the dramatic, one that a Vengeance demon of all things could pick up. Still. It couldn't be all bad. She knew this part. She'd make a wish, and Julilon would make it come true. So she was good for something, how grand. "I see," She said aloud, not trying to hide her excitement. "Well in that case, I wish—" And then she had a finger over her mouth, pressed vertically to her lips, and perhaps that was a good thing, because Lythia'l hadn't quite fleshed out her thoughts, although she irately shook her head to free herself of the Vengeance demon's unwanted touch.
"Sorry," Julilon said with contrition that was too bright. "I see now that you're not quite… needing the vengeance. I actually came for that." And she shrugged her shoulders in direction of the necklace, and Lythia'l snatched it up immediately, protectively. "It's just crying out, and I was trying to ignore it earlier, but my charge is pretty drunk, and she fell asleep, and here I am, waiting for her to wake up again to try another go."
Lythia'l was very careful to pull the pendant by its string and not the soul itself as she clutched it closer to her. "Well it doesn't exactly form words."
Julilon sighed. "I know. I realise that now. And I was really hoping for some easy wish-making. I guess it was a dud."
"Well, the soul's mine." Lythia'l'd put it back on if it meant she could get a wish out of it. Besides, she could control herself long enough to finish a sentence. "So you can still give me that wish."
"It doesn't belong to you," the demon laughed back. "I can tell, you know. I mean, that's probably why the soul's so upset. That makes you the wronging party, not the wronged one," her eyes widened, and she gave a small laugh, raising up her head and then collapsing it back down on the blankets. "You're safe though. A soul can't really form a wish into words without a mouth."
Lythia'l frowned, furious. "Well, the rest of her is nowhere near, so don't think you can hang around for her to give you something to do." She held the rope tightly in her grip, careful not to let the soul near her. She could control it, she would control it—but just in case. She couldn't risk it.
"You know, you were feeling pretty tormented a minute ago," Julilon commented, looking at her calculatingly. "But, I mean. Just because a bully feels bad doesn't mean they get a wish too. I'm very particular, you know."
"It was more than a minute ago," Lythia'l grumbled. The vengeance demon wasn't getting her facts straight. She could only imagine how 'tormented' she'd been with the soul on her, two very different halves conflicting, but she hadn't put on the soul since nearly a half hour before Miss Vengeance had shown up, and so it wasn't a 'minute ago' at all.
Julilon looked up at her. And why was Lythia'l letting her lay on her bed anyway? The Vengeance demon was presumptuous and pushy, and it was high time that she leave—"No it wasn't," Julilon said, regarding her, almost serious. "It was right before I came here. I mean. It had been really bad before, like fireworks, it's amazing no-one else sensed it, humans are so clueless, really. But you were definitely in mourning when I got here. That's why I came." She added brightly. "But it's no use. You don't really deserve it."
Julilon sighed. "Well, another dead end. You know, being a Vengeance demon isn't easy. Everyone has all these pent up feelings, but they never know what to really wish for, and they get all grumpy when it happens. Or they don't listen to prompting well so I'm hanging around for a week trying to get them to say something that starts with 'I wish', and sometimes it has nothing to do with anything, and here's a million bucks in their lap, but no-one really gets punished."
She was talking, and Lythia'l was barely listening. Julilon had accused her of being conflicted. Without the soul! The very idea of it. The only thing that threatened to break her control was that stupid glowing thing, and the thought that it was beginning to taint her thoughts even when she wasn't wearing it was frightening to say the least.
The Vengeance demon looked off-put at Lythia'l's lack of interest, sighing as she pushed herself off of the bed—finally. "You're just as bad. You got what you wish for," she looked to the soul in Lythia'l's fingers. "And you're just moping. Well, good luck with it all. And I kinda hope that that finds its way back to its owner. All that anguish. That'd be a fun wish, don't you think?" And Julilon winked, and then she was gone.
Finally.
Lonely.
Alone, where she wanted to be. And she should have been so disappointed. Hunt that Vengeance demon down and demand a proper wish fulfilled. She'd been wronged enough in her lifetime. And all the things Spike had said to her, well that was enough to make anyone feel upset. She'd have a few wishes for him, that was for sure, although as she tried to think of them, they were too vehement, too cruel. She didn't really want him to walk around with no voice for the rest of his life, or be turned into a sheep. No, her thoughts weren't biting enough, and the soul wasn't even on her. But she began stroking it, unconsciously, then placed it in her palm.
It was quieter now, but it still burned with indignation and sorrow. It deserved a wish. And Lythia'l knew what the wish would have been. Simple. Soul back where it belonged. And maybe—maybe, Lythia'l could have wished for that too. Or that the Mok'Tagar could have left her alone, so she wouldn't have any need for the soul anyway. And it was when that thought crossed her mind, that she hadn't needed the soul, that Spike was right that she was beginning to think that maybe she had been wrong.
But she couldn't be. She deserved it now. It was hers, she'd fought so hard to be free and now she was… trapped at the hands of a demon. And that thought wasn't right either, because it wasn't hers.
This soul really was going to drive her crazy. So she'd do what she'd been doing for the last couple of years, what she'd tried to do her whole life. Keep. Running. She wouldn't let it catch up to her, wouldn't give up, not now. So she threw her things in her bag and kept going.
She'd teleported several times, looking forward single-mindedly, before she realised that Clarity would have told them her next location, and that she was going straight into their next destination. And she didn't care. She'd just escape them again, and maybe she'd catch another glimpse of the one-eyed man, and this time, he wouldn't be so willing to resist her, but no, it was all about Spike too, and she didn't want it to be. She deserved to have her own affections, which made her all the more determined to place them on anyone but Spike. So let her think of the man with his crooked smile and stammer, no matter how much her soul resisted, because it was around her neck again, and though she left California behind, she felt it chase her.
But they never caught up with her. Triumph and disappointment. She was triumph, and her soul was disappointment. She wondered how many dratted locations Clarity had given them, because where she chose to go or didn't, they were a breath behind her, because despite her hesitations and obstacles, the demon had led them right. But not right enough. And they'd nearly caught her in Kansas City, but she'd teleported away before they could look her way, and her heart pounded with excitement as well as dread. They'd nearly seen her again, and she realised it was a game. That part of her wanted to be caught, and she knew whose fault that was.
It frustrated her that she'd stayed so long, until she was only seconds from them catching sight of her, but now she watched as they sped away. And she didn't see them anymore in her peripherals, hunting, waiting, and they drove so fast and so furiously, and she was elated because they'd finally given up on her. They were gone, at least for now, weren't they? And she was so happy, but not really, because there was still doubt, uncertainty and pain, so she'd hunted down witches in the city and did a tracking spell of her own, and she needed something of who she was tracking, and so she laid the soul within the herbs of the incantation, and found who she was looking for.
Jade. And she was at that little Slayer Base in San Francisco, or near it, and Lythia'l was relieved, because that meant no-one was on her tail, and she was sure that Spike was hurrying back to save his actual lover from death, and Lythia'l hoped that Jade had a lovely little time killing them all, even if pure savagery was a bit uncivilized, but Lythia'l had done what she could. She'd given advice to Spike, and she didn't need to. If he really wanted her back, which was still a surprising admission, then he had to stop following her and go after the real Jade.
But what was the real Jade? Lythia'l knew what she was. She was knowledge and intelligence, and if someone took that and left just her body, well, she wouldn't be the same. And damn this line of thought, but the necklace was around her throat, and she couldn't quite convince herself to take it off. Truth was, she had taken the real Jade. Her conscience was everything to her. Her control. And while Lythia'l had left the love behind, she knew it would have twisted a soulless Jade, as love did to vampires. It would ruin her or spite her. She'd be obsessed or be indifferent, and Lythia'l knew, knew by now that it would be obsession. The obsession that haunted Lythia'l, that she didn't even want, but here it was.
Lythia'l wasn't quite proud of herself anymore, and it seemed she could be blamed quite a bit.
She couldn't carry on like this. It was changing her, not the other way around. She wasn't learning balance, she was learning to live in chaos, and how much of that before she wasn't Lythia'l either.
But maybe it wasn't all that bad. They just assumed Jade would be a bloodthirsty killer, but maybe she wasn't. Maybe she didn't need the soul at all.
And Lythia'l decided she needed to find it out herself—she had a location after all, and the means to get there. It'd take hours; she'd taken so terribly long to come to a decision, but she'd make it.
And she was halfway there before she realised it was the soul again, contorting her mood and making her make these stupid decisions. She had been played by this soul around her neck. But even more than that, she realised she no longer cared. Her curiousity was too great, and her head too muddled, and her guilt too heavy, and she teleported herself, bit by bit, to see what had become of her friend.
And there was destruction, of course. A flare of the dramatic, Lythia'l knew that much. There'd been an odd glamour on the horizon, but she'd poofed through it, and she could see what was being hid. Smoking pieces of metal, fires still lingering, and blood. Lythia'l could smell the acrid stench. Well she was here now. Seen what Jade had done, and perhaps they'd been right to free her. However, her job was done. Still, even at her half-hearted attempt to reassure herself, she knew from the beginning that she wasn't leaving until the job was done, really done. She hadn't seen Jade yet, and she wasn't leaving until she did. Even if it was the smartest thing she could be doing.
She found the group first, and even if it was probably to her best interests to stay far, far away, she approached them with a single-minded determination that would not leave her quaking in fear like some four hundred year old Mok'Tagar. She didn't care if she received indignation from them all, didn't tremble at the thought of discrimination. For once, her and the Soul were perfectly aligned. There was no self-doubt, there was only resolve. She was a woman who got what she wanted.
And when she teleported into the middle of them all, there was a shout, cocking of crossbows, and two very worn and exhausted magic users putting up their hands defensively. She rolled her eyes, letting them flash their natural, vivid hue.
"Not your enemy, obviously," She scoffed, although to be perfectly reasonable—which she was, admittedly, capable of being from time to time—she could understand them being somewhat ruffled. There were just as many of them injured as there were standing. One Slayer was staring at her stump of an arm dazedly, confused. Another was bleeding from her forehead and looked thoroughly unresponsive. And still more laid somewhere among the battleground, she was sure, and though the group had been moving in one direction, resolute, they'd stilled when she'd arrived. They were either looking to flee or looking for Jade, and made the likely wiser decision to stick together, even though it wasn't the best choice for self-preservation. They'd move a lot quicker if they weren't trying to move the wounded, and precious able-bodied Slayers were lifting the infirm, which again, another weakness.
Still, she wasn't here to talk strategy.
"Lythia'l," A familiar voice said. Paler than the last time she saw him, and a few specks of blood on his chin, of which she wasn't quite sure if it were his or not, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight of Alexander again, staring at her with his one eye. "Buffy, this is the Mok'Tagar demon."
"Charmed," continued a short blonde woman who was holding another woman up. Buffy was armed with only a stake—not exactly something that Lythia'l was going to worry about at a long distance, but her companion, a stockier, taller woman who was dressed in black and similarly dark make-up had leveled a crossbow at Lythia'l, while she crushed an obviously broken arm to her stomach. Slayers. So determined to put up a good show when they could barely stand. "Come to see your work?" Her voice was lathered in sarcasm, a scathing, bitter tone, so much that Lythia'l might have flinched under the strength of it if she hadn't grown up in a society that was far used to using tones and words as weapons.
"Not my work," Lythia'l disagreed. "But yes, I did stop by to help. And see old friends," She glanced back at Alexander again. "Hello."
"Great time to pop in and be friendly," Buffy's wounded friend muttered, wincing as she moved her arm again. The blonde spoke something quiet and comforting to settle her down, and Lythia'l centered her focus on the one-eyed man, hoping he would speak. And he did, although it wasn't quite what she had expected.
"You're not welcome here," He answered stiffly, so stubbornly it threw her for a turn. He looked back at her with an intense dislike, as if she were to blame for everything. And some of it, maybe, but it wasn't exactly the reception she was expecting. Or hoping for. A bit more relieve from the one-eyed man would have been nice, and Lythia'l felt strangely disappointed.
"Xander," Another familiar voice sounded, this time being the second vampire who'd come with the earlier hunting party. Angel, or Angelus. Lythia'l had done several readings on notorious vampires, and he'd made some of the headlines, though he had been surprised when she'd mentioned knowing him in the hallway. There was undisguised pain in his nearly-black eyes, and Lythia'l had a feeling it wasn't the physical type. Something had happened, of course, and Lythia'l could only guess that Jade had taken Spike and made a run for it, which was why she was the head of this blaming party. "Let her speak. She's come back. There must be a reason."
"Rubbing it in, maybe?" Alex/Xander said without any mercy. "I mean, if she wanted to give the soul back, a few days ago would have been perfectly fine, since, we were you know, on her doorstep and everything."
"Well, now—" Lythia'l started, interrupted.
"No, Xander, don'tcha know. It probably wasn't convenient," Buffy said in a biting tone.
"No, half of us just had to die first," Buffy's companion wasn't too willing to keep quiet either.
"I'm lost here," The male wizard said, looking a bit confused. "Anyone want to fill me in?"
"The reason we have a rampant Slaypire is this bitch right here," Buffy's companion said, all too helpfully. Lythia'l rolled her eyes, although the words rang true enough, and her soul tugged on her with some guilt. Not now, she urged it. She had to stay focused.
"But don't blast me," Lythia'l added. "Unless you want the Slaypire-on-the-loose thing to be permanent." Alright, that didn't exactly win her the crowd, but she wasn't here to play nice. If she won their hearts, it'd be through action, not talking—her father would be so disappointed. A proper Mok'Tagar would regale them with a story of courage and mercy before engaging on an epic quest, or rather just hoping that talking would remove the need to do anything else, but she wasn't a proper Mok'Tagar anymore. No, she had a soul, and she was about to give it up.
"I wouldn't take blasting off the table," Buffy inputted defiantly. The wizard's eyes were soft with affection and loyalty as he glanced at the blonde, stiffening a little into what she supposed could be attack formation, although she wasn't exactly frightened by the slim, tired looking man who was just as young as the rest of them. Babies, really, all of them.
"I really wouldn't try anything," Lythia'l said in what she hoped was a properly reproachful tone. "I can shoot fireballs out of my eyes." Blatant lie. Did they know that? So far, this wasn't exactly working out beautifully, and time was running short.
"Now's not the time for this," Angel cautioned, still looking at the one-eyed man.
"Okay, I didn't come here to atone," Lythia'l announced. "I get it. Bad things have happened. You blame me. I'm not here to beg, but I can help. Probably. You have a Slaypire on the loose, as you've figured out—"
"You've no idea!" One woman cried out, distraught. She tried to step out from where she had an arm draped around her from Angel, but he pulled her back.
The woman wasn't the only one with a haunted look. The one-armed Slayer hadn't done anything but look at the ground as a young man—more a boy, with dark hair and blood on his chin bandaged her stump. He pressed a few fingers to her cheek in a comforting gesture, murmuring quietly to her, but the glazed over look in her eyes didn't dissipate. And more Slayers had that dazed look, where they realised they didn't know what they were getting into at all. Death haunted this battleground, and despite Lythia'l's talk, she knew who was to blame. So she couldn't waste any more time.
"I'm here to find Jade." Lythia'l said, as straightforward as she could. "Where's Spike?"
"Jade has disappeared," another man said, his tone just as haunted as the rest. He was much, much older than the others, negating the vampire and a blue-colored woman who looked somewhat ancient. A woman was crowded into his arm. See, exactly. This so called group was made more of the enfeebled than anyone else. They should have been welcoming her help, whether she had a bit of a reputation or not, instead, where they lacked in strength, their glares burned holes. "She took Spike with her."
Finally, getting somewhere. "Where?" Lythia'l demanded. "She's not a teleporter," Lythia'l couldn't help but say that with a bit of pride. That was definitely one thing she had over the Slayer-vampire.
"In the hotel. What's left of it," Xander answered, tiredly. Helpful. She smiled cheerfully at him as a bit of a reward, but only got a stony expression in return. Difficult crowd.
"Fine. I suggest you all hobble your way to safety, then." Lythia'l said dismissively. "I'll find her."
"And what are you going to do?" Angel asked. His dark eyes looked pointedly to where the bauble hung on Lythia'l's chest. She hadn't bothered to hide it this time.
"I haven't decided," Lythia'l said. She glanced at Xander again, hopefully, but he was averting his gaze. Man, he really was playing hard to get. How annoyingly attractive, but not now. She had to focus. "Alright," She sighed. "I lied. I am here to atone."
She was rewarded by that one eye gazing back at her, distrusting but not hateful as she teleported away from all of them.
"In the hotel," She snarked quietly to herself. "That narrows it down." Well, it was a large thing, even if half of it had crumpled down into the ground, and she had a feeling speed was of the essence. She popped high into the sky for a look, felt herself fall, and teleported back onto the somewhat solid roof before she could fall too far. Nothing, except—
She craned her head. Somewhere, through the destruction, and pages and pages of loose books and broken furniture and sparks and steam, it seemed like there was something at the bottom of it all. Well, time for a closer look. And she hoped that Jade wasn't lingering in a corner somewhere, so she took it cautiously and slow. But not too slow. Had to find Spike, save Spike, and her soul was not letting her ignore that. So she took a few meters at a time, coming closer and closer until—
She could definitely see two figures now, pressed so tightly together they were almost just one. While she was a bit amused at the thought of Jade finally having sex again, it didn't look like it was quite that arrangement, no, it was the bleach blonde vampire at the mercy of Jade, and she bit back a sigh. She better hurry. And she did, coming closer and closer until she was creeping up behind Jade, and those blue eyes of Spike, the ones that Jade adored so much caught Lythia'l's. And no, she wasn't exactly expecting beaming gratitude, but he started at her, bewildered and distrustful, but there was desperation and need in his eyes, and she could see there was a sliver of wood pressed to his chest.
And he called out to her, "Please!" And Lythia'l's soul swelled and cried with the same pleading. Please, please, please, please, and Lythia'l's breath caught in her mouth, because she'd known what she came here for, but she hadn't wanted to admit it. She was giving up her prize, her freedom. She didn't come here to beat Jade into submission and lock her away, or help her adjust to her new life without a soul. She'd come here to give her her soul back, because Spike was right. It was too strong for Lythia'l, and it made her feel too much, and she should have never chosen a friend. Her friend, her only, real friend. Should never have done this to her. And she hated to lose. Lythia'l hated to lose.
But she couldn't stand to hate herself more.
So she reached up and grabbed Jade's arm, and the woman roared with pain, and they grappled, and Lythia'l was coming closer and then Spike let go, why would he do that, and now she stumbled back from the force of Jade's blow, and Spike had betrayed Lythia'l at the worst time, looking at her with those puppy dog eyes. I wasn't going to kill her, Lythia'l raged silently, or not so silently, a growl to herself, and it was right, because she hadn't thought of killing Jade and putting her out of her misery, at least, not lately, and words burned at her throat and she spat them out.
"Trust me, you idiot," and she didn't know they were the right words, the 'magic' ones, but they felt right, and they obviously had some effect on Spike, because his gaze softened and he steeled his jaw and pulled on Jade again. And with a roar, the Slayer-Vampire's attention was on him again, and he let out a groan as his head was hitting the rocks, and Lythia'l had to act, had to do it now, no more thinking even if that was her best trait, and she fumbled with the necklace around her, and Jade was turning away from Spike's prone form and back to her, and it was Jade's obsession with Spike that served as the distraction, and Lythia'l slipped the soul from her neck as she felt fingers like steel brush her throat, and Jade was clumsier, slower, her arms mangled and weaker, so Lythia'l slipped her arms through the tangle of Jade's and towards her head.
The soul was gone, and perhaps it had just been a manipulation. She'd been wearing it all this time, all these thoughts in her head, and now was the time to realise that it hadn't been what she wanted, that it was the Soul who wanted to rescue Jade.
But it wasn't just the soul, now. They'd been in unison, her and the soul, for the first time. This was finally right.
Lythia'l's freedom for—
Jade's well-being—
Lythia'l didn't need the soul to complete her—
Jade was nothing without it—
And damn it to the higher reaches, she had a bit of a soft spot for this misfit—
Her breath tightened as the bauble left her skin, whistled through the air. Soared past Jade's blood-coated locks and dragged past her cheek, rounded the chin and fell onto collarbones revealed by the low-cut—is that my dress—neck of her dress, and slapped resoundingly onto pale skin.
Look at that, Lythia'l thought, bewildered, as the fingers found their mark around her neck and began to squeeze. She had saved the day and how odd that was. She'd never really put much interest into that before. She hadn't a soul of course, and she didn't have one now. But she didn't really need one. Jade did. She was only human, after all.
The pressure on her throat increased, and she choked for air. Was she actually going to die for this?
The answer to that was an affirmative no, she grabbed at the hand on her neck and pulled with all her might, though the hold faltered, it didn't relent. Now Lythia'l was worried, considering for the first time that maybe it didn't work, and all her heroics had been for nothing, and now air was really hard to come back, and Mok'Tagar or not, she was afraid the soul hadn't clicked, but Jade hadn't torn it off again either, her golden eyes were full of malice and then—
Then a glow suffused those eyes, and they were red-white, not gold, not blue, and Jade gasped with anger and shock and confusion, and as there began to be black blots in Lythia'l's vision, she pulled herself free, gasping for air, elated in the fact that she was alive, because that would have been such an unsatisfying death, as any death was ought to be, and Jade was crying out in a wordless roar.
But Jade had her soul, she had her soul back, and that was because of Lythia'l. And so Lythia'l did the only thing that made sense in such a moment, where she had been good and helpful and deserving of praise.
She teleported away, so she wouldn't have to see Jade's face when Jade realised what she had done.