Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Dedication to a righteous cause brought with it heavy responsibilities and the hardest of realisations: although you understand the truth to which you have sworn your belief, others will shun it. Therein Luke saw the symbolism. And killing a vampire notwithstanding he took satisfaction in the mortal's suffering. Staring coldly, the rogue thought of him killing his second demon of the night only served to intensify the feeling.

She had failed… and though his master might find his heart grieving for her, she was no loss - petulant pup.

"Well?" his growl was low. "What have you to say for yourself?"

Darla wept. "Sad news brother…"

Glory! Not only would his master return, but he would finally have a chance to settle his score with Angelus. Dare to usurp him would he!

"…He's coming home!"

"Then where is he?" Luke demanded, furiously working to maintain control. He couldn't let her see his frustration.

"Back at his apartment," Darla returned. "He has a little someone to take care of first."

A little someone! Of course, it had to be! Luke thought bitterly. Angelus had always been a slave to his whims; more concerned with torturous murder, with his human games, than serving a cause. "I fail to see his loyalty," he said.

"I disagree," Darla answered shrewdly. "He has his eye on a girl, he says his going craft his 'masterpiece' out of her make her one of us – a killer."

"And?"

"His soul – what of it? If he really is the Angel I travelled with he'll do worse than send her to hell but if he stops short then he's lying…"

"Your judgement is clouded Darla," Luke said, tone harsh. "He is yours, you care too much for him."

"No!" Darla's face changed. "I know him…"

"Enough! Very well…I must continue preparations for the ritual…leave my sight!"

"When the Master wakes…you'll have a very sore ass Luke dear…"

Luke turned his head away groaning. One day…one day…

***

Giles sat alone in his chair, blankly losing his mind to the box in front of him as it spat out all manner of nonsense from Suzanne Sommers and her bloody 'Thigh Master' to Melrose Place. Willpower alone it seemed was not enough to make a quick recovery, unfortunately for his brain.

"I vowed never to watch you," he told the television set. "You came with this apartment but I swore on my grandmother's grave that I would never watch you or else I may be struck down by lightening and yet I'm still here – watching you. Bloody vampires."

Blindly reaching out, his hands found themselves attached to this morning's edition of the Sunnydale Press (he had meant to read it earlier but there had been the most interesting feature on making the prefect gravy for chicken at 9:00…). "A man beaten to death…well, well, will wonders ever cease? A man was actually killed with some normality in this town…" he said to himself. "No, how silly of me, his body was surrounded by ash."

The phone interrupted his train of speech.

Gritting his teeth Giles pulled the telephone towards him. "Hello?"

"Watcher?"

"Angel." Giles replied bluntly.

The line went dead.

Swearing, Angel slammed his palm fiercely into the public phone, releasing a hundred quarters on top of his own.

Gutless.

Pulling his jacket tighter to his skin, he walked back down the stairwell to his apartment, moving out of the line of sunlight that echoed through the halls of the building. Contacting the Watcher was a bad idea, even if the man actually found himself believing that his actions were for some sort of greater good, it would only weaken his gambit. And where the Master's followers were concerned such weakness meant nothing less than a one-way ticket to dust. Still, it didn't mean the man was now useless to him, it just meant that he would have to redefine their already shaky relationship. He was going to be the villain of his piece but for every hero there had to be a nemesis – a hero.

Who better than a Watcher?

Unlocking the door, his mind was already setting things into motion. The girl was the key to his mission but others had already died; the young children that some distraught sibling or guardian would have doubtlessly discovered dead on blood soaked tyre swings. He needed the Watcher to be his Van Helsing and if he'd researched his past as he'd claimed then a few more well chosen sacrifices in succession would be enough to convince him of his re-emergence as a killer…

Sacrifices – such an easy word to use, and such a blatant lie.

People whose lives were snuffed out by others were never sacrificed. They were murdered. Generals in war murdered and became heralded as heroes; politicians murdered and found their way into power – all, used the word 'sacrifice'. But in the end they were killers, sending humans to hell like lambs to the slaughter.

No, he would just take the girl that Darla had 'given' him

He would still be a killer.

Just as he was before…

Paris, 1754

Once she'd moved out of the back street, she could feel them in every fibre of her being. Finally, it would be over. Tonight she would finish what she had started and vanquish Darla.

And Angelus…

At the thought of the young vampire, Yvette clenched a fist until she drew her own blood. Now he would pay for what he had done to her.

To Mackenzie…

Though some three months had passed, the memory remained as vivid as ever. Her Watcher's room delicately illuminated by candlelight, every possession maintained in orderly fashion; everything as it were meant to be.

Save for him.

The second he opened his eyes; she understood what he had done.

"Your Watcher was a fine gentleman," he'd said with a delicate Irish lilt. "But then fear always adds to the flavour." The vampire stepped into the light.

Her stomach had turned violently as his tongue passed across his lips freeing the blood from them. "Don't cry lass," Angelus continued. "He's in a better place now. My, he looks as peaceful as Christ himself doesn't he now? "

Spinning around, her heart lost its will for her to live once she set her eyes upon her Watcher. Mackenzie had been a dignified man but Angelus had robbed him of it. First, he had torn the man's throat apart. Then, perhaps whilst he retained his last breath, the vampire had pushed stakes through his hands and legs to nail his blood stained form to the door.

She could not remember saying anything in reply from that moment on…only that she attacked him without the slightest thought…and that he had bested her while letting her live…

Tonight though – she would have vengeance.

Crossbow firm in hand, the Slayer kicked down the front door of the guest house

Tonight Angelus would die…

Darla did not appreciate her Angel's plan. For one so inexperienced to confront a Slayer in combat amounted to suicide. Only had she witnessed her sire kill such a mortal, leading her to decide that it was better to avoid conflict with such mortals. But she was too weak to do anything to stop her blood child.

Darla was afraid for him…

With more anxiety than she would ever admit to Angelus' face, she prayed that the Old Ones would be with him as she sunk her fangs into the dark fur of one of her sewer-mates…

Amongst the darkness, Angelus imagined the look on her face the moment she walked over the threshold, a dozen dead bodies; the family that owned the guesthouse - she would be angry.

As if she were not angry enough…

She had sworn to kill him the last time they had fought, a promise that the Slayer would no doubt keep. But at least she had made such a vow; at least he had something. He'd been to enough taverns to know that if you drunk less than the man who was going to beat the hell out of you, then you won. Hatred was strong ale – and the Slayer had drunk more than her fair share of late.

"Angelus!" She screamed. "Tonight, this ends!"

Moving lethargically from the windowsill on which he lounged, the young vampire took what should have been a deep breath and readied his right hand into a fist.

Well, Angel my boy…time to see what kind of man you really are then…

"Aye," Angelus shouted merrily as he stumbled his way downstairs to greet his visitor. "But, you're a civilised lady, are ye sure that we can't have a go at this over a drink? One more won't do me any harm, I can assure ye!"

The Slayer laughed madly. "You're either insane or braver than I thought if you need drink for your courage"

"My dear lady, are you insinuating that I am a drunkard?" Angelus slurred with a wide smile. "Oh wait! So I am!"

"A pity…I was hoping that this would hurt you more…but it will have to do!"

With that the Slayer charged with impossible speed, stake aloft, poised for his still heart.

Angelus giggled boyishly. "Don't worry your pretty little head, there's more than enough to go around!" he said, tone darkening. The vampire hunter grunted a curse as he grabbed her stake arm, ceasing her momentum before a sharp thrust of his head knocked her back.

Wiping the blood from her nose onto the back of her hand, Yvette grinned. "I was hoping you'd be ready."

"Well," Angelus said brazenly. "I have your old man to thank for that lesson – terrible business, poor old goat didn't have a chance…and all 'cause he wasn't ready"

The girl did not utter another word; giving her reply with a fierce, if easily parried, kick to his head.

That's it Slayer! Get to the end of ye tether!

Grabbing her hair, Angelus sent a knee into his opponent's jaw and once again backed away. "I'll give ye this," he growled tamely. "Ye never know when ye should give up. Now your Watcher that's right ain't it? – Didn't even squirm."

The Slayer let lose with an enraged left jab.

Angelus moved sharply to his right. " 'Back! Away, foul demon!'" He said in a grandly appalling accent, waving his hand as if he were holding a cross. "I mean please! He's what a hundred and five? And I'm in me twenties!"

Dodging another quick kick, the vampire grabbed a chair and smashed it across the Slayer's face. Watching her fall backwards, he advanced at pace, stretching out for a weak kick.

On her back, Yvette Deschamps felt sick as her bitter teardrops ran down the back of her throat. Mackenzie had told her of the others, warned her that she would never live the longest of lives that she could imagine. "But another will come and the fight will go on…" he had said. She winced. The splinters had torn her face to shreds and continued to sink deeper and deeper into it, until the agony paralysed her. Angelus stood over her with his small predatory eyes.

She knew her fate.

"I came to kill you!" she shrieked, angry with herself.

Angelus knelt down on top of her. "That ye did," he whispered, commiserating. "And I think ye should have…but…"

"What?"

"Ye cared," Angelus snarled, sinking his fangs into the Slayer's throat.

Holy mother!

Power, sudden and undiluted; it ran through his dead veins, filling him with strength, such unimaginable strength. For the most tenuous of moments, Angelus thought that he had become the Slayer, being one with her unnatural power. Tearing his fangs away from his young victim, he understood what his sire had told him.

Slayers were indeed powerful, but Angelus; still young and fuelled by the arrogance of victory, had reached his own conclusion…

Their strength only made the kill sweeter…

In another year or so, he would learn his lesson…

***

Willow had remained crossed legged on her own doorstep since 6:30. It was now 7:30.

Cramp was starting to set in.

"Okay, I want to go to the Bronze," she told herself. "Mom and Dad are away, it's Saturday night. I can be party-girl even if I am loony girl right now…"

"Well, that's a funny looking straight jacket you got there…"

"Huh?"

Startled, she looked up to find herself looking at one of those tall, dark and handsome types – the sort Harmony or Cordelia had seemingly spent half their lives drooling over in magazines apart from the fact that this particular one was so obviously real and talking to her?

"Why are you talking…huh…Oh? Hey, don't I know you?"

"Who knows?" the man replied. "I hang out at the Bronze so maybe."

"The Bronze," Willow muttered.

"You know I'm heading there right now it want to go?" the man offered with a smile. "Hope I'm not out of line but you look as if you could use a break from moping."

"Moping - oh no - I wasn't moping I was just thinking…"

The man sat down beside her and clasped his hands together. "Believe me when I say 'I've been there' brooding really doesn't do your social world any big favours, trust me on that."

Willow shook her head with mild laughter. "Getting that now. You know its funny I usually can't a say a word around a strange guy, not that you're strange in any way, I…"

"Actually 'strange' is a pretty accurate word for me," the man replied, amused. "So…uh…hang on gimme a second…"

"Willow," she answered chirpily. "Willow Rosenberg…"

"So then 'Willow Rosenberg' would you do me the honour of accompanying me to The Bronze tonight?"

Turning her head, Willow locked eyes with her new would-be friend. Ever since she was a kid, Ira Rosenberg had constantly reminded his daughter never to talk and walk off with strangers. But there was something about this guy, a clear sincerity even in eyes as dark as his were…something very familiar

"I accept your offer…" Willow said quietly.

"Oh my name!" The man looked embarrassed. "The name's 'Angel'… pleased to meet you…"

Me too Angel…