Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Willow Rosenberg liked hanging out in the school library. The new librarian had brought with him so many unusual and rare volumes for her to read. Well, obviously not for her, but then again they might as well have been; on account of the fact that so few visited the library. She was one of a select few and even Owen didn't really count what with him only reading his Emily Dickenson collections and biographies.

Liked on a normal day…

"Well that was weird," Xander mused as they walked in.

"Uh huh," She replied.

"Yeah, I mean its not as if me coming in here isn't Twilight Zone enough for ya!" Xander joked. "Will, are you okay?"

Willow stood in shock. "Oh sure, I've just seen a dead body of a girl with all her lower um…girl parts ripped open…ripped …surrounded with piles of ash in Ms. Millar's classroom… I'm fine…"

"Yeah…" Xander frowned. "Me too…"

Her friend's remark failed to register as she recalled the scene: The still bloody body of Jaclyn McCormick, one of her fellow sophomore students, torn apart. The girl was a no longer a person, she was a carcass. More chilling however, was the thought of how she died. Fang marks on her neck, throat, chest, and even clitoris, suggested an animal of some kind; the number of wounds raised that to a pack. Dogs, it must have been dogs.

Willow shuddered. Never again would she ask her dad for a puppy.

She'd stood in the classroom for more than fifteen minutes waiting for the other students to arrive, staring at the body; eyeing the congealed blood on Jaclyn's lips, the dark crimson centres of her throat – she seemed so peaceful as she lay on the floor. The sight had frightened her beyond words…

Yet…

The body had aroused her interest, her mind, so intoxicatingly… she had even dared to touch the cold, white skin. She'd hacked into the morgue computer so often but there was something about witnessing the physicality of death…

That sickened and disturbed her more than she could have ever believed possible.

Why did Ms. Millar have to be late? Willow thought selfishly. She had merely arrived early, eager for more education. How could she possibly blame her teacher?

For her shock and her unrelenting terror…

"Can I help you Ms Rosenberg?" A well-spoken voice inquired.

Willow only just noticed the librarian as he walked down the steps to the stacks. "No thanks Mr Giles. I'm okay with my… research."

The Englishman looked at her firstly with doubt, peering over his glasses slightly, and then with a sincere concern. "I really don't wish to pry," he said. "But is there something wrong…er…Willow isn't it?"

"Anybody thinking, understatement?" Xander put in.

The librarian stared at Xander as if he were some sort of alien. "I don't think I've seen you here before?"

"I'm Willow's hapless stooge while she poses as one of your earth students to study how to take over the world." Xander remarked, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "I had the wrong ticket in the mothership sweepstakes."

"Yes, quite," the Brit murmured. He turned his attentions back to Willow. "Are you sure? You look a little pale?"

"It's nothing," the girl replied.

"Yeah, right," Xander told her. "You've just seen somebody's dead body in English class. That's nothing…"

Mr Giles raised an eyebrow. "Dead body?" he said.

"An actual dead body?"

"Didn't know you could get any other kind of dead body," Xander said, doing his best to sound completely gormless. "Maybe I should start with the book learnin'…."

The librarian threw the young man a withering glance. "Willow, you saw a dead body?"

"Yeah," Willow's voice shook. "I saw a body…she was…dogs…they ripped her…open with fangs…tore at 'er throat…" Willow started to cry.

Giles pushed a chair close to the girl. Xander helped her to sit.

"There you are!"

Bob Flutie, school principal, stood flushed in the doorway. "I've just heard," he said, addressing Willow. "You must be feeling terrible. I've arranged for a trained councillor, she's coming to see you this afternoon…"

"I'm alright, really Mr Flutie," Willow returned in the midst of her tears.

The principal looked at her doubtfully. "You're in shock," he told her in that exaggerated if genuine sympathy voice of his. "You need to talk to someone at times like this – a professional."

"Perhaps," Mr Giles concurred. "Though it might be a good idea to let her rest in here for a time, just to regain her composure. After all, its as you've said, Willow has gone through a most traumatic experience."

Principal Flutie nodded. "You're right. Thank you Mr Giles," He moved over to Willow and patted her back slightly. "You just take your time."

As Flutie left the library, Willow noted that the librarian followed him - before returning to her sobbing.

"Bob," Giles called. "Could I have word?"

"Yes," the man informed him. "Come into my office."

The two men walked on a few corridors until they reached the principal's office.

"Sit down, please," The principal offered.

"Thank you," Giles replied, getting comfortable on his seat.

"Now, what can I do you for Rupert?"

"Well to be honest, I'm wondering about what on earth has been going on this morning," Giles answered. "This dead body business."

The principal sorted through papers on his desk, looking more than uncomfortable. Clearly Willow Rosenberg wasn't the only one greatly unsettled by the incident. Whatever it was. "A girl," he said. "One of our sophomore year…Jaclyn McCormick was found dead in a classroom."

"Ms. Millar's room," Giles recalled. "Willow said something about this girl, Jaclyn, having been ripped apart by dogs?"

"Yes," Bob said, nervously wiping his brow. "That's the police theory – wild dogs. There was a smashed window in the room."

"And the ash?" Giles asked.

"Ash? Oh! That - A student prank, possibly by…Jaclyn…there was an open window around the back of the school…." The Principal assured him sorrowfully.

"I take it, the police agree?" Giles continued.

"Yes," the other informed him, "Rupert?"

Giles flashed a smile. "Its nothing, I just find the whole thing rather strange that's all. I'd best be off, see how Willow's coping. Oh by the way. Have the authorities removed the body?"

The principal nodded.

"Right."

Giles left the office.

"Well Sherlock Holmes was a Brit," the principal said to himself.

Giles bit at a knuckle. His questioning had been far from subtle but at least he'd received the information he wanted. Or rather, the information he did not want.

If only Jaclyn McCormick had been savaged by a pack of wild dogs…

However the traces of ash made it clear to be something else, something more savage and far less human: vampires. He would need to examine the body first but the circumstantial evidence alone appeared to be enough to support such a conclusion.

I should have learned by now, he thought bitterly. That you can't get away from the responsibility…

Rupert Giles shook his head. He was and always would be a Watcher. The post at Sunnydale High had seemed like such a marvellous way to get some distance from the Council of Great Britain. But then experience should have taught him that seeming and being were two very different things. The gateway to Hell just happened to be in Southern California, more specifically, it just happened to be under Sunnydale. Fighting vampires and such like was a duty in his life.

A duty he would gladly do without.

For a moment he allowed the thought of the ash piles to comfort him. The vampires had been slain for their evil. Then the realisation of the most likely culprit tempered it.

Angel.

Since his first encounter with the vampire, he'd spent hours researching him, making phone calls to his colleagues in Europe for anything of note. The research had led him all too quickly to accounts of "Angelus", a vampire from Ireland who had spent the best part of a century murdering and torturing his way through Europe.

And the more he'd read the less he'd begun to like him.

One Watcher writing of Angelus in the nineteenth century had stated that, "While most other vampires hunt to feed purely out of need or addiction to blood, Angelus hunts purely for gratification and seeks only to bring unimaginable pain and suffering upon his prey before he is finished with them. He is no animal. To my mind he is in all likelihood the most cold-blooded and merciless killer in history…"

Angel had saved him from a vampire near the school campus late one night and for that he had been grateful. Until the battle was over and Angel stared back at him with the feral, angry, eyes of a vampire. Such was his fear at the time; all he could recall was his rescuers name, growled as the demon raced away into the night.

Angel.

Why the vampire had saved him that night had given him the impetus to study him. But then Angel had surprised him by helping him fight off a large pack of vampires attacking a group of small children in Weatherly Park, a few days later. Why, was still a mystery to him and again, Angel hadn't stopped to explain his actions but for some reason he had begun to trust him. A Watcher was beginning to trust his mortal enemy…

Now though he'd started to wonder if both rescues were not part of one of Angelus' sick little mind games…

Returning his thoughts to the matter at hand, Giles decided to make a late night trip to the local morgue.

If he managed to stop at least one new vampire from rising it would be something.

***

The sewers. If you happened to be the sort of person who wasn't big on mirrors, hated the thought of a tan but was partial to a few drops of O-negative, it was the only way to get around town - unless you wanted to be a human torch. Then again if your name happened to be Angel, you met all of the above requirements, but had the added bonus of a soul; even the safe way to get around town wasn't exactly hazard free.

Since his arrival from Manhattan, he'd noticed a marked rise in the number of vampires in transit through the sewer system each month. Not only that, but more of the demons were simply resting there. Darla's arrival was more than a mere coincidence, his gut told him that much. The new arrivals were at the Hellmouth for a reason and if he guessed right, they were all here for the same one.

The Master.

And therein lay the danger in using the sewers to get around. He doubted that Darla would have revealed his amateur slaying but if she had, he would be a sitting duck.

Another vampire - stout young man - brushed against him. Angel kept his head down and remained in his stride. Getting sidetracked by others wasn't going to help matters.

"Got a light?" another vampire asked, as he walked by.

Angel ignored the question.

"Hey don't ignore me!" the vampire caught up and pulled at his leather jacket.

"Get lost pal," Angel shot back. "I don't have a light."

The vampire growled, annoyed. "I deserve a little respect buddy!" He pushed Angel in the back.

Revealing his demonic visage, Angel snarled. The vampire facing him was a 'suit'; mid-fifties, the sort of guy who dyed his hair jet black to try to keep his job with the company, only now he was dead, and his hair colorant was fading. In his short time in Sunnydale, he'd seen plenty of his type rising in the cemeteries; turned to make up the numbers.

This particular one was also drunk.

"You should learn to respect those older and wiser than you buddy," the vampire ranted. "I ain't just a piece of shit, no matter what those corporate punks think! You can't just push me around either!"

Angel caught the other's fist. "Good point kid," He stared hard. The suit backed off.

If he were still alive, Angel knew that he would have breathed a sigh of relief. It was a close call. If the vampire had been closer to his own age, he wouldn't have given up so easily, and drunk or no, a fight would still have attracted the attention of others.

But Angel didn't have time to think of the consequences. He was on a mission; to gather information on the new vamps in town and their movements, the one way he knew how: by visiting The Alibi Room and beating the crap out of the barman.

Willy hated the daytime. It was bad for business. Apart from a Skar and a Fungus demon, the bar was pretty much dead. He had to hand it to vampires – they sure knew how to drink.

Skars were pretty low in the demon pecking order. Lean, muscular, with coal black skin, opaque deep blue eyes and spikes of bone where their mouths should be, they looked fairly intimidating. But then looks weren't really anything even where the denizens of Hell were concerned in his experience, that and they weren't really the sort to drown their sorrows too often.

As for the fungus demon – 'yeesh' probably described the whole thing well enough.

"You guys hear somethin'?" Willy asked.

The Skar grunted. Lord knows what the fungus demon was trying to say.

"There's somethin' in the cellar," The barman whispered. "Oh Jesus there's somethin' in the cellar…."

Stepping out back, Willy shivered. He really didn't know who or what was waiting for him; even the baseball bat failed to calm his nerves. He was a coward. He accepted his lack of spine….

"Willy."

Willy started to sweat. "Who's there?" he called nervously. The voice sounded human, but a human could do him enough damage, aside from being a coward, Willy could hardly claim to be a physical man. He bruised pretty easily.

"Over here."

Looking around, Willy caught movement in the shade.

Oh boy, "Guess you're not too big on the ol' sunlight eh friend?"

"Good call, but I wouldn't walk into the light if I were you."

Suddenly the voice became familiar - too familiar. Willy walked a little closer to his vampire visitor. "Angel!" he said, his tone welcoming. "You're early today. What? You fancied a tan for the ladies?"

No retort came.

"Heh, bad joke," Willy said apologetically. "So I take it that this ain't no social call?"

"Gee Willy, and I thought we were friends," Angel said with mock hurt.

"Oh we are, we are," Willy stuttered.

"Good. Because seeing as we're such good friends, I thought that you might be able to do me a favour," Angel replied.

"Favour? What kind are we talkin' about here?"

"Information."

It figured. Willy had met more than his fair share of bloodsuckers in his time, most kept themselves to themselves, fed on the populous and left town - never batting an eyelid about other demon activity. But Angel was a whole other ball game. The guy seemed to have a real grudge against other vamps, always coming to the bar when there were no others of his kind around – Angel hated them. However, he still took a keen interest in vampire movements. If there was anybody new, then Angel wanted to keep tabs on them. He was unusual but at least he was fair and he paid well if a tip-off rang true.

Sometimes though, Angel would ask for something that was more than his weasely life was worth and would have to resort to other tactics than payment to get what he wanted - usually violence.

"On what?" he asked.

"There's some new players in town," Angel said calmly. "Vampires - I want to you to find out everything you can. That is if you don't already have a little something that you'd want to share?"

Willy rubbed his chin. "Some 'o my regulars, they been talkin' about gettin' out of town. Other vampires, somethin' about 'The Master.' They say these guys are bad news."

"Tell me something I don't know," Angel asked.

"I ain't got nothin' for ya Angel – I swear!"

"Here," the vampire tossed over some greenbacks.

"Fifty?" Willy probed. "This is heavy stuff ya know…."

"Get me all you can and there's another three hundred," Angel instructed.

"Three hundred bucks," Willy said, surprised. "What's the deal with these guys?"

"Just get me what you can," Angel said abruptly. "And Willy?"

"Uh huh."

"Don't screw me around."

"Hey, what d'ya take me for!" Willy narrowed his eyes.

Angel was gone.

He didn't quite know why but Willy knew that he was still sweating. Angel could scare the shit right out of him and when he left it subsided, but if anything his condition was getting worse. Whatever it was that was going to go down in Sunnydale, it had to be serious to get somebody like Angel scared. If there was one thing to recommend being a coward, it was probably a coward's ability to sense things to be afraid of and sense the fear in others – or at least he thought he could. One thing was for certain. He'd get Angel his info.

His coward-sense told him that the three hundred and fifty bucks might be the last that he'd ever see…

That's Willy taken care of. One down, one to go, Angel thought as he made his way back through the tunnels…

If Willy was going to need time, then he needed the expert…

Rupert Giles studied his volume of Bjorn Larsen's "Vampyre – the anatomy of evil" as he packed his weapons. While it was difficult to determine when a vampire would rise, he found it a useful text when it came to calculating an estimate. With luck he would be able to kill the demon within Jaclyn McCormick before it re-animated her corpse – assuming that the girl was turned. If Willow's eyewitness account was accurate then the girl was badly mutilated thus making it highly likely that the girl was only intended to be food.

Either way, he'd find out soon enough.

He grinned. Breaking into a morgue was hardly the pastime of an American librarian. A British librarian doing so simply beggared belief. Then again, it was hardly a pastime; he would take to no pleasure in what he was about to do. Refocusing on the job at hand, he started checking his itinerary:

One crossbow – check, five wooden stakes – check, twelve vials of holy water – check, one crucifix – check…

Flinching, the Watcher glanced out of his office window. Bloody hell Giles, you'll give yourself a heart attack if you're not careful man!

The rapping on his door was gentle and controlled.

"Coming," Giles took out his key. "Hang on a minute."

As he met the gaze of the man standing in front of him, Giles froze.

"Can I come in?"

Stepping back Giles, picked up a wooden crucifix and held it up in front of him. Icons that represented divinity to mankind had been one of the earliest weapons against vampires. The young man grimaced accordingly in response.

Grabbing his crossbow with his free hand, Giles relaxed slightly. "Please do," He said.

"Not like this," Angel said, irritated.

"Forgive me Angelus," Giles said. "Simply a precaution you understand."

"Then at least drop the cross - I'm betting you know how to use the 'bow."

"Hmm. I read that you're something of a gambling 'man'," Giles replied.

"You've done you're homework. Not bad for a Watcher without a Slayer," Angel told him.

"You knew before you came here didn't you?"

Angel nodded. "You tried fighting off a vampire, only two kinds of men do that – the stupid ones and Watchers. Accent told me all I needed to know."

"Why are you here?" Giles asked suspiciously.

"I need your help," Angel confessed. "Something big is going down here and somebody's got to stop it."

Giles laughed. "I think you overestimate Watchers."

"You really don't trust me do you?" Angel glared at the Watcher. "I saved your hide, me, a vampire! Why should I even think about that huh?"

"You're not like other vampires Angel. You like to play games with the people you kill," Giles said coolly. "Frankly, I don't see why such a creature would warrant my trust…."

Angel turned his back on him. Giles' first instinct told him to try his luck and let loose with a crossbow bolt but he'd seen the vampire fight hand-to-hand. If he missed, he wouldn't survive. The vampire seemed deep in thought…

"Everything you've said about me is true," he said frankly. "But if you've checked your books then you know that there's been no record of me feeding on humans this century. Truth is I don't think I've been a vampire for a long time.

"You know what happens right? A demon takes a body – it doesn't take your soul. Where that goes, I don't have a clue… About a hundred years ago I killed a gypsy girl. She was the favourite daughter of her clan – beautiful but like so many young girls, she was as dull as a post. I thought that nobody could have seen me feed off her. I was wrong. A few nights later I stuck around to watch what I thought was a funeral ceremony. Boy, was I wrong!

"See the thing about Romany is, you grow up thinking that gypsy curses are nonsense so when you find out the truth its too late for you. They called it the ritual of restoration. Next thing I know this gypsy man is staring down at me and I'm feeling the most incredible pain…"

Rumanian Woods, 1898

Angelus fell to his knees as it became too much to bear. In his lifetime he had witnessed the most sickening pain within men, in most cases he had delivered it unto them, and still none of it matched what he now felt. It clawed at his heart, an invisible force, tearing him asunder.

Angelus wanted it to stop.

But his enemy was as he himself was.

Without compassion, without mercy – it would never cease.

The gypsy stared at him, eyes hollow with his fury. "It hurts yes?" he said in English. "Good. It will hurt more."

Why do you want to hurt me man? Angelus thought to himself. "Where am I?" he pleaded.

The gypsy smiled contemptuously. "You don't remember. Everything you've done, for a hundred years, in a moment you will. The face of everyone you killed–our daughter's face-they will haunt you and you will know what true suffering is."

"Killed?" Angelus said breathlessly. "I don't…."

Mere moments ago all Angelus was able to recall were his dear friend Sandy Burns and the young woman walking down into the alley. Now, his memory was different.

Very different, fuller, vivid and more terrifying than any nightmare.

Darla - his reawakening into the night, the men, the women, the little ones, Drusilla.

The gypsy girl, the daughter the man spoke of…how she loved life in her innocence…the innocence he violated so joyously.

"Liam, Angel! Please!" his mother's scream, as he…

As he killed her. As he killed them all with a smile…

Angelus screamed. "No!"

"Yes!" the gypsy man hissed with satisfaction. "Feel it Mulo…feel the pain…"

"No! Sandy? Sandy? C'mon, stop foolin' around man!" Angelus yelled maniacally. "Where are ye? Sandy!"

"He's gone," the gypsy chided. "All your friends are gone. You killed them."

Angelus crawled forward and clawed at the man's legs. What had he done to him? What was he? What kind of monster had Darla made him? He couldn't be what he now saw with his mind's eye. He was a man.

He was a man.

"What have you done to me?" Angelus sobbed.

"We have given you a gift," the gypsy said with pride. "We have returned to you that which you sacrificed, vampire. We have brought you back your soul."

"My soul?" Angel wept, perplexed. "What did ye call me?"

The gypsy laughed callously. "Vampire. You are a demon, my boy!"

"Demon…" Angelus repeated. His mind flashed back to Darla's face. Her yellow, predatory eyes, her blood stained fangs. She was a vampire. He remembered the myths from childhood. He had drunk of her blood. He was a vampire. "God!" he screamed. "Why have you forsaken me?"