TITLE:
Darkest Before Dawn 27 "Trojan Horse"
AUTHOR: Nmissi
PART:27/?
DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one.
Especially not Spike. If I did,
what makes you think I'd share him with you?
DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.
Feedback:
Please. Nmissi@aol.com
SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.
NOTE:
I love Spike. I adore Spike. I do not hate Him. I am a redemptionista and a B/S Shipper. I am Not David Fury. Hate mail will be used
to line catboxes.
They'd discussed the idea at length, well into this
morning. Angel was at first violently opposed to the idea, even going so far as
to forbid it entirely.
But even he knew they needed the files. Wolfram and Hart
possessed information that could be crucial to understanding his birth. Lindsay
was convinced of this, and determined to get that information. If this was the
only way he could do it, so be it. Lilah was a soulless bitch anyway, no more
human than he was; less so, in many ways.
He consoled himself with this thought as he pushed the
button for her floor.
In his head, he heard his master's voice.
"If it doesn't work, boy, you know what you have to do."
He felt for the wood in his jacket.
Angel hated this whole plan, but Lindsay had been persuasive.
Angel wanted to be up here, taking the chance. But there was No Way On Earth
Lilah would ever invite Angel across her threshold.
Lindsay cherished a faint hope she still might invite HIM
in.
Her door loomed before him now, dark wood with an ornate
gold lockset and knob, and a peephole. He raised his eyes to it and gave the
best performance he was capable of.
His shoulders slumped. His mouth drooped at the edge. His
hair was unruly, his clothes rumpled. Together he and Angel had carefully
doused him in beer before he entered the building.
She had to buy this. She had to.
His mouth was dry with fear of what would happen if she
didn't.
His hand pressed the bell.
She opened the door, her eyes guarded and wary.
"Lindsay. What a surprise. I thought you'd be dead by
now."
He gave her a drunken grin.
"I'm workin' on it."
Her eyes darted left and right, taking in the empty
hallway.
"Shouldn't you be running by now? They let you go two
weeks ago. If the hitters haven't caught up with you yet, they're bound to be
close by now."
She smiled cruelly.
"And I'd really hate it if they blow your brains all over
the wainscoting."
He adopted a hangdog expression. She'd had a fondness for
him once, long ago, when they'd first gone to work together. He tried to play
on it, hoping against hope there was still some shred of warmth in there for
him.
She shut the door in his face.
Damn.
He slumped up against the door. Time for a new tactic.
"Lilah! LILAH!"
His fists smacked the door loudly.
"Open the door, Lilah!"
Then he changed his tone, demanding turning to
beseeching. But loudly beseeching. Surely her neighbors could hear him by now.
"Please, Lilah. Open up."
She was still ignoring him.
He leaned over, smacking his head against the door again.
"Shit. I think I'm gonna be sick."
He said this loudly, and the door flew open. He felt his
hair tingle as it contacted the invisible barrier between them. He drew back,
into a crouching position, looking up at her pathetically. Hers was the face of
the supremely pissed off.
He smiled up at her, drunken and sickly like.
"Hi Lilah."
She rolled her eyes at him.
"Get in here before somebody sees you. And if you throw
up on anything I will throw you off the balcony. Got it?"
'Guess that suffices for an invitation', he thought.
He stumbled in on his hands and knees.
"We just want to ask you some questions, Merle, please.
We'll pay amply for the information, I assure you."
Wesley stood before Cordelia, his hands out in a
placating gesture. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but something was
terribly wrong here.
Across from him, Merle the informant stood clutching a
sawed off shotgun, pointing the business end their way. There were sweat beads
on his forehead, and his hands shook alarmingly.
"Look, I don't want no trouble."
He gestured with the rifle towards the open door behind
them.
"You two go right back out that door you came in through,
and go tell your vampire I don't want nothin' to do with him or his clan. You
got me? Nothing. Ain't no amount of money worth my skin, pal. No money worth
it."
"We will do just that, Merle. We want no trouble either.
But we do want to know who it is that's frightened you so. Perhaps we can
help-"
His laugh was thin and high
pitched.
"Oh man, that is a joke. You help me. Funny one. You'll
prolly be dead in a day or so anyway."
Behind Wesley, Cordelia was growing gradually more angry.
The day wasn't going well for her so far. Angel'd refused to answer the phone
last night, and this morning. Gunn had gone in to have his stitches out, and
whined the whole way to the doctor's office like a baby. He was currently home
sleeping off the sedative they'd had to give him there.
Wesley had been late picking her up, and consequently
she'd missed her hair appointment. She had no idea when Lance might could fit
her in again, and her highlights were getting coppery.
Now this dweeb was pointing a gun at them and making all
kinds of dire predictions, without really telling them anything. She'd had just
about enough.
She elbowed Protective!Wesley out of her way, and rushed
the demon.
Thank heaven for those self defense courses she'd been
taking.
The way his hands were shaking it didn't take long;
shortly she had him disarmed. She held the gun on him while Wes restrained him
with rope.
"I knew you people were no better'n he was. Tying people
up, invading people's homes…"
His nasal whine grated on Cordelia's already frayed
nerves.
"Shut up. You don't get to talk til we tell you to. Right, Wesley?"
He regarded her deferentially.
"Oh. Yes. Quite right, Merle. Unless we ask you to, you
need not speak right now."
As he leaned in to tighten the ropes, he whispered in his
ear.
"Sorry old man, she's in a dreadful mood this morning.
Please be careful," and smiled at the prisoner apologetically.
The prisoner squirmed in his chair, ropes tightening
against him as he moved. Seeing this, he made a face, then sagged back against
the seat, defeated.
"All right. I'll talk. What do you wanna know?"
Cordy giggled. She couldn't help it. He just sounded like
something out of a bad mob movie.
His annoyed expression emphasized that he didn't share
her sense of humor. She cleared her throat, and got businesslike.
"Okay. Let's just start with the questions we CAME here
to ask you."
He expression brightened slightly.
"Will I still get paid?"
Wes interrupted, irritation in his words.
"Yes, you'll be paid the usual rate. Firstly, What can
you tell us about the attack on Caritas?"
He sighed.
"Look. I wasn't there. I didn't have nothing to do with
it-"
Cordy sat down on his tv set, perching precariously.
"Hey! Don't do that! You're gonna make it tip over!"
She aimed the gun back at him.
"Wesley, Why can't I shoot him now?"
In a patient voice he answered her.
"Because he hasn't answered all our questions yet,
Cordelia."
Yes, but he'd insinuated she was fat. Grounds for a
bullet wound if ever she'd heard any.
She looked daggers at the demon, and scooted back in her
makeshift seat.
"We KNOW you didn't do the hit on Caritas. We saw the
shooters. Humans, mostly."
She tossed her hair and fliply continued.
"Besides, you're not smart enough to pull off something
big time."
He took umbrage to that.
"Hey, I'm VERY big time. I'll have you know I coulda done
it, without leavin' all those
witnesses, I coulda-"
She waved him down with one hand.
"Enough of that. Okay, you're the big bad, yada yada…Can
we move on now? What do you know about Caritas?"
He sighed.
"Look, it was on the street for a few days before it came
down, that there was gonna be a major thing coming down. Caritas was just bad
luck, bad timing."
His gaze was leveled at Cordy.
"They were after your boss, and anyone with him."
Then he shrugged.
"Caritas was just the place, all those people, just in
the way."
He looked sad for a minute.
"Hate that. Nice place it was, you could go there, have a
few drinks, sing a few songs…"
She cut him off.
"Sorry about you losing your beer joint."
She smiled breezily.
"But moving right along, what else do you know? Who
ordered the hit? Who took it? Is it still out there, is somebody still-"
The demon was nodding his head.
" – Gunning for Angel. Yeah, it's still on. One of your
guys is supposed to have whacked all their knights, so the money's back on the
street looking for a new taker. But the hits out there, everybody knows about
it."
The look in his eyes was chilling, as he added,
"If I were you guys, I'd hightail it out of L.A. and stay
real far away from Angel. The deal is for himself, and his kin. You don't wanna
get mistaken for his kin."
It had gone so easily. She'd never even suspected him,
not for a moment.
He'd come on to her, drunkenly groping. And as she
flinched from him, he'd seized her, pulling her close to him. Her knee was
fast, but not that fast. He dodged it even as he brought her neck to his mouth,
his fangs descending, piercing the skin, and ripping it in his haste.
The blood flowed into his mouth, a hot red liquor that
he'd not experienced since his turning. She tasted like sex and power, her skin
was like stroking silk. Her initial struggles only served to fan his ardor, and
he pressed himself against her, damning the layers of fabric in his way.
Once, a long time ago, she'd been innocent. There were
still traces of it within her, hints of purity in her blood. He saw glimpses as
he drank, scenes from a life sold for affluence and influence.
He saw her childhood, scenes so idyllic they made his
heart hurt. He saw her graduation from law school. How idealistic she'd been.
Full of the very best intentions, she'd wanted to right all the wrongs, to
better the world.
He saw her initiation into the firm, and felt blessed.
She'd been a virgin sacrifice. Some hideous demon had known her body before he
took her soul. The image made Lindsay shudder. The fear and pain of her
experience made him want to weep.
She moaned under his mouth, and he felt the tremors shake
her body. The pleasure of the draining could be intense; he knew that. He
caressed her , soothing as he fed.
He felt her heart waning, and pulled himself free. His
yellow eyes sought her gaze.
" If I could give you back your soul, would you want it?"
She lay limp in his arms, too weak to move or speak.
Damn. He should have asked her sooner.
He took the penknife from his pocket, bumping the stake
alongside it with his hand. Pray God he would not need it.
Then he sliced his collarbone, and dropped the knife. He
ran his fingers through the blood, and showed her his hands.
Her eyes grew wide; she knew what he was doing.
He wiped the blood on her lips, and inserted his finger
into her mouth. She slowly sucked at it, first gently, then more insistently.
He seized the back of her head, and brought her mouth to
his neck. She slurped at him desperately, greedily.
He buried his fangs back into her neck, and the pleasure
was tenfold, as the blood closed the circle, flowing in both directions.
The sagged to the floor together, in a heap.