Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's notes: Many thanks for the comments so far. Much appreciated. Lindsey seems to be popular - I might give him a cameo. Anyway, here's the next chapter; enjoy.
Death Awaits: chapter 6 - Patrol
Buffy bends down and closes the girl's eyes. "Five minutes, and we miss this," she says bitterly. "Come on."
We leave her behind with a backward glance. I wonder aloud why people have not noticed the vampires and the demons in this town, and the Slayer shrugs.
"People are blind. But they can surprise you." She tells me about her graduating class from high school, and the gift they gave her for being an unofficial class protector. It is a sweet story, and she clearly holds it and her peers in affection. I am about to comment, when two figures ahead of us are caught in the orange glow of a streetlamp.
"There." I point, as they fade into the darkness again.
"Who was it?"
"I think it was the Breton again," I say, unsure again. "He had long hair . Angelus doesn't have long hair, does he?"
"Not the last time I looked, no," Buffy replies. "Short and spiky. Okay, let's try and catch them." We quicken our pace and stop talking. Buffy is twirling a stake in her hand. Mine is in a pocket - I rather think that if I get it out I'll drop it from sheer nervousness. I don't know why I am so nervous. These are not the first vampires I have hunted and killed. Perhaps it is the presence, calm and concentrated, of the Slayer beside me.
I give up trying to think straight and work to keep up with Buffy's determined stride. Now the pair we are following is only a streetlamp ahead, about one hundred metres. Buffy is twirling her stake faster, and quickens her pace another notch.
Ahead of us, the two men pause at the corner of the block. Across the street there is a gate and a sign. Buffy stands on tiptoe and whispers, "Restfield Cemetery." We wait, in the shadows cast by a tall hedge.
"Where the hell are they?" The voice carries - not that of the Frenchman, but slightly deeper and possessing a strong American accent. Buffy frowns.
"The important thing is that we are on time," comes the reply, and now I know that we are following Luc Tarpeau. His companion has us both mystified, and I exchange shrugs with Buffy. She looks ready to go and stake the Breton now, and her mouth is set. She looks at me, and takes one step, and then freezes.
The cemetery gate swings open with a squeak, and two more people emerge from the grounds, closing the gate behind them. One is tall, and broadly built, the other slim and feminine. Buffy takes a deep breath, and clutches my sleeve, and this tells me even if I had not already worked it out that this, at last, is Angelus.
"Luc." The greeting is cursory. "Had a good evening?"
"Ça va. Someone spoilt my coat."
"Such a pretty coat." This last voice is sweet and light and barely carries to our ears. The Slayer frowns.
"I hope you killed them." Angelus again, uncaring.
"In the Bronze. Too many people around. If I see him again, I might do."
"Who cares about the crowds?" the first voice says. "I say kill 'em all."
"An excellent idea, if it weren't for the attention-drawing factor," the woman's voice says. "I thought you'd learned quicker than that, Charles."
Angelus cuts in. "Gunn . Darla . now is not the time. If we've all eaten, I thought we'd go to see Willy, and let him know I'm back."
"We're back, darling," Darla says, and Angelus' laugh, even from a distance, makes my hair stand on end.
"We're back. And I can't wait to see Buffy's face."
From around the bush I see him link arms with Darla, and the four of them stroll off, talking cheerfully. I am glad I cannot hear their conversation. Buffy throws her stake on the ground with a sudden, impetuous movement of rage. I look at her, and see with astonishment that tears are trickling down her cheeks. The Slayer, so efficient and organised, is crying.
I pat her awkwardly on the back, and she sniffs loudly. "Thanks."
"What do you want to do?" I ask, not sure what we can do.
Buffy pulls out a crumpled tissue and wipes her eyes. "Tomorrow I'll go and see Willy, and see what . what they had to say."
"Who's Willy?"
"Oh, he runs a bar for demons. Gets money off them for giving them drinks, and money off us for telling me about them. He's scared of Angel." I button up my coat, and nod to myself. I can see why, and all I've seen is a dark silhouette. Buffy seems to pull herself together. "Right now, how do you feel about killing something?"
I agree that this seems a good idea, and she leads me into the cemetery. We wander, somewhat aimlessly, each occupied with our own thoughts, until a movement catches my eye. The Slayer sees it at the same time, and we turn as one and purposefully stride over to the grave.
Buffy taps the shoulder the figure sitting on the ground next to a simple wooden grave-marker. "Excuse me?" The woman turns around, and the Slayer nods in satisfaction at her distorted, vampiric features. "Do you mind if I put this through your heart?" She waves the stake, and the vampire springs up and attacks, clumsily. Buffy sidesteps, and flips the creature neatly over a nearby cherub, and follows that up with a spin-kick that sends the vampire flying once more. I watch, in interest and astonishment at her speed and her grace. It is really rather a special thing to observe, this lethal combination, and I get lost in it as the Slayer and the vampire lead their dance around the graveyard. Buffy does not seem to want to kill the vampire outright, and I wonder at that momentarily before being distracted myself by the hand and arm that are emerging from the new grave beside me.
The fledgling, a young man when he had been alive, clambers on to the ground, stands up slowly, and brushes dust off the smart suit he had been buried in. I get out my stake, and go in for the attack.
The resulting fight is short but satisfying, and as I turn from staking the newborn vampire, Buffy is brushing ashes off her own coat. "Nice one."
"Thank you," I say, pleased with her approval.
"I feel much better," she says, beginning to head towards the gates. "But don't tell Giles it took me so long to dust that one, all right? I just . I wanted to work off some aggression."
"Sometimes you have to," I reply, and, after a pause, tell her of the day we received the news of Wesley's death. She listens in silence as I speak of the disbelief and then anger I felt, and how I went down to the gym at Headquarters and spent an hour pummelling the stuffing out of a punch bag, trying to lift as much weight as I possibly could. "I don't think I knew what I was doing," I finish. "I just felt so furious, that he'd died so far from home, nobody beside him, disowned by the Council. It wasn't fair. Wes was a good man."
"I never really got to know him properly," Buffy admits, pushing her hands into her pockets. "I didn't want someone to take over from Giles. And Wesley was an awful Watcher, you know?"
"Over-enthusiastic?" I suggest, and she nods. "He meant well, Buffy. Really he did. And I think he'd begun to change, to care, to grow. His last letter was the most cheerful I'd had for a while." I feel my hands balling into fists. "It's not right, what happened."
After a moment, Buffy smiles at me. "We'll finish this off, you and me, Mike. You can take revenge for Wesley, and I'll do my job, and then we'll show the Council what's what. Angel, Darla, the French guy, and whoever the other one is - we'll finish them all."
"I hope so," I say. "I really hope so."
Author's notes: Many thanks for the comments so far. Much appreciated. Lindsey seems to be popular - I might give him a cameo. Anyway, here's the next chapter; enjoy.
Death Awaits: chapter 6 - Patrol
Buffy bends down and closes the girl's eyes. "Five minutes, and we miss this," she says bitterly. "Come on."
We leave her behind with a backward glance. I wonder aloud why people have not noticed the vampires and the demons in this town, and the Slayer shrugs.
"People are blind. But they can surprise you." She tells me about her graduating class from high school, and the gift they gave her for being an unofficial class protector. It is a sweet story, and she clearly holds it and her peers in affection. I am about to comment, when two figures ahead of us are caught in the orange glow of a streetlamp.
"There." I point, as they fade into the darkness again.
"Who was it?"
"I think it was the Breton again," I say, unsure again. "He had long hair . Angelus doesn't have long hair, does he?"
"Not the last time I looked, no," Buffy replies. "Short and spiky. Okay, let's try and catch them." We quicken our pace and stop talking. Buffy is twirling a stake in her hand. Mine is in a pocket - I rather think that if I get it out I'll drop it from sheer nervousness. I don't know why I am so nervous. These are not the first vampires I have hunted and killed. Perhaps it is the presence, calm and concentrated, of the Slayer beside me.
I give up trying to think straight and work to keep up with Buffy's determined stride. Now the pair we are following is only a streetlamp ahead, about one hundred metres. Buffy is twirling her stake faster, and quickens her pace another notch.
Ahead of us, the two men pause at the corner of the block. Across the street there is a gate and a sign. Buffy stands on tiptoe and whispers, "Restfield Cemetery." We wait, in the shadows cast by a tall hedge.
"Where the hell are they?" The voice carries - not that of the Frenchman, but slightly deeper and possessing a strong American accent. Buffy frowns.
"The important thing is that we are on time," comes the reply, and now I know that we are following Luc Tarpeau. His companion has us both mystified, and I exchange shrugs with Buffy. She looks ready to go and stake the Breton now, and her mouth is set. She looks at me, and takes one step, and then freezes.
The cemetery gate swings open with a squeak, and two more people emerge from the grounds, closing the gate behind them. One is tall, and broadly built, the other slim and feminine. Buffy takes a deep breath, and clutches my sleeve, and this tells me even if I had not already worked it out that this, at last, is Angelus.
"Luc." The greeting is cursory. "Had a good evening?"
"Ça va. Someone spoilt my coat."
"Such a pretty coat." This last voice is sweet and light and barely carries to our ears. The Slayer frowns.
"I hope you killed them." Angelus again, uncaring.
"In the Bronze. Too many people around. If I see him again, I might do."
"Who cares about the crowds?" the first voice says. "I say kill 'em all."
"An excellent idea, if it weren't for the attention-drawing factor," the woman's voice says. "I thought you'd learned quicker than that, Charles."
Angelus cuts in. "Gunn . Darla . now is not the time. If we've all eaten, I thought we'd go to see Willy, and let him know I'm back."
"We're back, darling," Darla says, and Angelus' laugh, even from a distance, makes my hair stand on end.
"We're back. And I can't wait to see Buffy's face."
From around the bush I see him link arms with Darla, and the four of them stroll off, talking cheerfully. I am glad I cannot hear their conversation. Buffy throws her stake on the ground with a sudden, impetuous movement of rage. I look at her, and see with astonishment that tears are trickling down her cheeks. The Slayer, so efficient and organised, is crying.
I pat her awkwardly on the back, and she sniffs loudly. "Thanks."
"What do you want to do?" I ask, not sure what we can do.
Buffy pulls out a crumpled tissue and wipes her eyes. "Tomorrow I'll go and see Willy, and see what . what they had to say."
"Who's Willy?"
"Oh, he runs a bar for demons. Gets money off them for giving them drinks, and money off us for telling me about them. He's scared of Angel." I button up my coat, and nod to myself. I can see why, and all I've seen is a dark silhouette. Buffy seems to pull herself together. "Right now, how do you feel about killing something?"
I agree that this seems a good idea, and she leads me into the cemetery. We wander, somewhat aimlessly, each occupied with our own thoughts, until a movement catches my eye. The Slayer sees it at the same time, and we turn as one and purposefully stride over to the grave.
Buffy taps the shoulder the figure sitting on the ground next to a simple wooden grave-marker. "Excuse me?" The woman turns around, and the Slayer nods in satisfaction at her distorted, vampiric features. "Do you mind if I put this through your heart?" She waves the stake, and the vampire springs up and attacks, clumsily. Buffy sidesteps, and flips the creature neatly over a nearby cherub, and follows that up with a spin-kick that sends the vampire flying once more. I watch, in interest and astonishment at her speed and her grace. It is really rather a special thing to observe, this lethal combination, and I get lost in it as the Slayer and the vampire lead their dance around the graveyard. Buffy does not seem to want to kill the vampire outright, and I wonder at that momentarily before being distracted myself by the hand and arm that are emerging from the new grave beside me.
The fledgling, a young man when he had been alive, clambers on to the ground, stands up slowly, and brushes dust off the smart suit he had been buried in. I get out my stake, and go in for the attack.
The resulting fight is short but satisfying, and as I turn from staking the newborn vampire, Buffy is brushing ashes off her own coat. "Nice one."
"Thank you," I say, pleased with her approval.
"I feel much better," she says, beginning to head towards the gates. "But don't tell Giles it took me so long to dust that one, all right? I just . I wanted to work off some aggression."
"Sometimes you have to," I reply, and, after a pause, tell her of the day we received the news of Wesley's death. She listens in silence as I speak of the disbelief and then anger I felt, and how I went down to the gym at Headquarters and spent an hour pummelling the stuffing out of a punch bag, trying to lift as much weight as I possibly could. "I don't think I knew what I was doing," I finish. "I just felt so furious, that he'd died so far from home, nobody beside him, disowned by the Council. It wasn't fair. Wes was a good man."
"I never really got to know him properly," Buffy admits, pushing her hands into her pockets. "I didn't want someone to take over from Giles. And Wesley was an awful Watcher, you know?"
"Over-enthusiastic?" I suggest, and she nods. "He meant well, Buffy. Really he did. And I think he'd begun to change, to care, to grow. His last letter was the most cheerful I'd had for a while." I feel my hands balling into fists. "It's not right, what happened."
After a moment, Buffy smiles at me. "We'll finish this off, you and me, Mike. You can take revenge for Wesley, and I'll do my job, and then we'll show the Council what's what. Angel, Darla, the French guy, and whoever the other one is - we'll finish them all."
"I hope so," I say. "I really hope so."