"Subject is female, approximately twenty five years of age. No external
trauma evident."
The coroner paused, glancing at the woman's face. Her eyes were closed, but her features were locked in a look of sheer terror. He retrieved a towel from the counter near the autopsy table, and used it to cover her face. In his many years he'd seen nearly every way a person could die, and had thought himself immune to the horrors they'd had to face, but for some reason that look unnerved him.
"Subject appears to have died within the last twenty four hours. Known prostitue and drug-user, probable cause of death, given the lack of external wounding, is an overdose of some kind."
Picking up a scalpel from the tray that sat next to him, he said into the microphone, "Making the initial incision."
He cut carefully, using a piece of gauze to wipe away the blood as the blade slid through her flesh. He placed the scalpal back on the tray, and looked over, finding the retractor.
When he turned back to the corpse, he screamed, the retractor slipping from his hand and falling to the floor with a loud clang. He backed away from the table, fighting the urge to turn and run, as thousands of spiders poured from the incision, crawling over the woman's body. The woman's lips parted slightly, and the last things he saw before losing his nerve and running out through the door were two slender, black legs reaching out over the woman's bottom lip.
---
Buffy hadn't slept well. Spike's experience worried her, as did his increasingly unstable mental state. He hadn't been able to tell her much about the voice he'd heard, other than how it'd made him feel, but it had been enough to keep her mind working most of the night.
She walked downstairs, still in her pajamas, and started the coffee maker. She'd come to rely more and more on coffee in the mornings, as between her new job at the school, and her patrols at night, she barely managed to get any sleep.
She stared out the window as she waited for the coffee to finish brewing. She'd tried to get Spike to come home with her, but he'd refused. She didn't like the idea of him being alone if the voice he'd heard returned. But insane or not, the vampire was stubborn, and short of knocking him out and carrying him to her house, there had been little she could do to convince him.
She hated seeing him like that. She hated feeling responsible for him, for his condition, but everything she tried to do to help him just seemed to make things worse. If he was right, and something big was coming, she also worried that they might need his help, but in his current state, he wasn't exactly reliable.
She was still thinking when Willow walked into the kitchen. "Morning," the young witch said brightly.
"Hey."
Willow rummaged through the cabinet, and pulled out a box of Captain Crunch. She sat down across the counter from Buffy, and noticing her friend's serious expression, said "Long night?"
"You could say that."
"Want to talk about it?" Willow mumbled through a mouthful of dry cereal.
"I saw Spike last night."
Willow's hand stopped halfway to her mouth. "Was he like, you know, out?"
"No. I went to see him."
Buffy sighed. "I worry about him, sometimes. Every time I see him, he seems to get a little worse. Last night was bad even for Spike, though."
"Bad how?" Willow asked, a note of concern entering her voice.
"He said something's coming. Said he heard something calling him. I guess it was promising everything all the little bad's might want for a good time. You know, blood, death, pain, the usual."
Buffy downed the last of her coffee, and continued, "This wasn't just crazy talk. At least, I don't think it was. The last vampire I dusted on patrol sort of froze in the middle of the fight. I can't stop wondering if maybe he'd heard it, too."
"Ok, just to be clear," Willow said, "a vampire, with a soul, who happens to be crazy, starts hearing voices and this is a sign of the apocalypse?"
"This was different, Will. I think I can read him pretty well now, I mean, it's still not easy, sometimes talking to him is like trying to understand Drusilla..."
Buffy stopped. He wasn't quite as bad as Drusilla was, but she wondered just how bad it would be if he reached the level of madness Drusilla had. She shook her head, saying "It was different. I know. Besides, can we really afford to take the chance he's wrong?"
"Alright. But what do we do about it?"
"I don't know," Buffy said, staring at the countertop. "What if we need him, Will? Worse, what if he starts actually listening to... well, whatever it was?"
Willow considered that. She still didn't trust Spike, but she did believe the vampire was trying to stay away from evil. Still... "I don't think that'll happen. You won't let it."
Buffy smiled. "No. I won't."
"Ok," Buffy said, starting to form a plan, "I think it's time we got Spike out of that basement. And I might have an idea of how to help him. I don't think he'll like it, though."
---
He'd slept amazingly well. The hooker had had simple fears, but her response to them had been greater than he'd expected. He'd truly enjoyed his time with her. He almost wished she hadn't given up so soon.
The sun was up, and he walked out onto the balcony without bothering to dress, letting the light warm him. He was tempted to start the preparations for the next calling, but it would be more effective if he waited until to dark to begin, since the calling wouldn't really be worthwhile until the more nocturnal inhabitants of Sunnydale were awake and active.
There were other things he needed to do during the daylight hours, though. He showered, and dressed, deciding on a more conservative outfit than the one he'd worn the night before. He looked at himself in the mirror, and was amused at just how normal he looked. Blue t-shirt, black jeans, and a pair of white tennis shoes. The black eyes and cruel smile were the only thing that really betrayed his nature, and adding a pair of brown-tinted sunglasses helped soften his look even more. Without being able to see his eyes in the mirror, the smile appeared harmless enough to him, and, satisified with his appearance, he grabbed his keys and set out into the city.
---
Spike had slept without dreaming. Buffy had still been there when he'd finally fallen asleep, and for the first time in weeks, he'd felt safe. He knew she'd be gone when he woke up, but the rest left him feeling stronger. He almost smiled at the memory of her, sitting with him, talking to him, until the first face flashed through his mind. He whimpered, remembering how the girl hadn't begged for her own life, but for the life of her husband. Spike closed his eyes, trying to forget the amusement he'd felt, since her husband had already been dead. Another face, this time with only the memory of a scream came to him, and another, and another.
He curled up on the floor, his eyes shut so tight that were beginning to hurt, but the tears came anyway.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
---
The shop was surprisingly well stocked. His information had been more than accurate, many of the jars contained powders and herbs used only in the highest levels of spellcasting. "Can I help you?"
He'd been examining the various herbs and their labels when the voice came. He turned, putting on his most charming smile, and said "Maybe. I'm looking for something... special. I doubt you have it, but I was hoping you might be able to tell me where I might get it."
The man behind the counter looked at his customer, trying to guage him. He looked like anyone off the street, young, attractive, but in his years of running the shop, he'd learned that looks are almost always deceiving. "That depends on what you're looking for."
"A few things, actually," the man said, walking up to the counter. "First, a translated copy of the Nalten Grimoire. A full translation, the copy I have only has certain passages translated, and very poorly translated at that."
"From what I hear, at least," he added quickly.
"Oof, that's a pretty pricey bit of merchandise," the storeowner said. "I can get it, but it'll take me a few days. I won't be able to discount it for you, though."
"That's fine. Second, I'll need a summoning bowl. Highest quality you can manage, again, price isn't an issue."
The clerk thought for a moment. "I might have something in stock. But if you don't mind me asking, what for? I assume you've got something in mind already."
The man smiled. "Not really, at least, not yet." The lie came easily, but he continued, in case the shopkeeper had any lingering doubts, "I'm still learning, I know I'm not ready for anything that requires the book or the bowl, but they... well, they sort of give me a goal to shoot for, you know? They'll give me a reason to keep trying even when I fail."
The shopkeeper smiled back at him, and said, "Yeah, I know what you mean. When I was getting started, I blew a minor conjuration, literally. Tried conjuring a guardian wisp, ended up causing an explosion. You just gotta keep trying. You'll get it, eventually."
"Yeah," the man said, laughing, "I know."
"Names John, friends call me Jay," the storeowner said, extending his hand.
"Matthew," the man said as he took J's hand. "Matt to my friends."
"Well, Matt, let me see if I can find that bowl for you."
As John turned to head into the back of the store, Matthew allowed himself a small smile. It was always amusing when he could fool someone who should know better. He probed the man's mind gently, making note of the surface fears he found. Nothing too surprising, but they'd give him an opening to explore the man's deeper fears later.
John returned with a bronze bowl. The outer surface was covered in silver runes, and, smiling again, Matthew looked at him. "I believe I've found exactly what I need."
---
A/N: The opening scene is indicative of some of the things that are going to happen later. Hopefully, some of them will be even worse. Thanks for the reviews, but if I might ask, I'd like more feedback on Matthew. Too much? Too little? Not scary enough? I love writing villians, but for some reason I'm still having trouble nailing this one down.
Anyway, let me know what you think.
The coroner paused, glancing at the woman's face. Her eyes were closed, but her features were locked in a look of sheer terror. He retrieved a towel from the counter near the autopsy table, and used it to cover her face. In his many years he'd seen nearly every way a person could die, and had thought himself immune to the horrors they'd had to face, but for some reason that look unnerved him.
"Subject appears to have died within the last twenty four hours. Known prostitue and drug-user, probable cause of death, given the lack of external wounding, is an overdose of some kind."
Picking up a scalpel from the tray that sat next to him, he said into the microphone, "Making the initial incision."
He cut carefully, using a piece of gauze to wipe away the blood as the blade slid through her flesh. He placed the scalpal back on the tray, and looked over, finding the retractor.
When he turned back to the corpse, he screamed, the retractor slipping from his hand and falling to the floor with a loud clang. He backed away from the table, fighting the urge to turn and run, as thousands of spiders poured from the incision, crawling over the woman's body. The woman's lips parted slightly, and the last things he saw before losing his nerve and running out through the door were two slender, black legs reaching out over the woman's bottom lip.
---
Buffy hadn't slept well. Spike's experience worried her, as did his increasingly unstable mental state. He hadn't been able to tell her much about the voice he'd heard, other than how it'd made him feel, but it had been enough to keep her mind working most of the night.
She walked downstairs, still in her pajamas, and started the coffee maker. She'd come to rely more and more on coffee in the mornings, as between her new job at the school, and her patrols at night, she barely managed to get any sleep.
She stared out the window as she waited for the coffee to finish brewing. She'd tried to get Spike to come home with her, but he'd refused. She didn't like the idea of him being alone if the voice he'd heard returned. But insane or not, the vampire was stubborn, and short of knocking him out and carrying him to her house, there had been little she could do to convince him.
She hated seeing him like that. She hated feeling responsible for him, for his condition, but everything she tried to do to help him just seemed to make things worse. If he was right, and something big was coming, she also worried that they might need his help, but in his current state, he wasn't exactly reliable.
She was still thinking when Willow walked into the kitchen. "Morning," the young witch said brightly.
"Hey."
Willow rummaged through the cabinet, and pulled out a box of Captain Crunch. She sat down across the counter from Buffy, and noticing her friend's serious expression, said "Long night?"
"You could say that."
"Want to talk about it?" Willow mumbled through a mouthful of dry cereal.
"I saw Spike last night."
Willow's hand stopped halfway to her mouth. "Was he like, you know, out?"
"No. I went to see him."
Buffy sighed. "I worry about him, sometimes. Every time I see him, he seems to get a little worse. Last night was bad even for Spike, though."
"Bad how?" Willow asked, a note of concern entering her voice.
"He said something's coming. Said he heard something calling him. I guess it was promising everything all the little bad's might want for a good time. You know, blood, death, pain, the usual."
Buffy downed the last of her coffee, and continued, "This wasn't just crazy talk. At least, I don't think it was. The last vampire I dusted on patrol sort of froze in the middle of the fight. I can't stop wondering if maybe he'd heard it, too."
"Ok, just to be clear," Willow said, "a vampire, with a soul, who happens to be crazy, starts hearing voices and this is a sign of the apocalypse?"
"This was different, Will. I think I can read him pretty well now, I mean, it's still not easy, sometimes talking to him is like trying to understand Drusilla..."
Buffy stopped. He wasn't quite as bad as Drusilla was, but she wondered just how bad it would be if he reached the level of madness Drusilla had. She shook her head, saying "It was different. I know. Besides, can we really afford to take the chance he's wrong?"
"Alright. But what do we do about it?"
"I don't know," Buffy said, staring at the countertop. "What if we need him, Will? Worse, what if he starts actually listening to... well, whatever it was?"
Willow considered that. She still didn't trust Spike, but she did believe the vampire was trying to stay away from evil. Still... "I don't think that'll happen. You won't let it."
Buffy smiled. "No. I won't."
"Ok," Buffy said, starting to form a plan, "I think it's time we got Spike out of that basement. And I might have an idea of how to help him. I don't think he'll like it, though."
---
He'd slept amazingly well. The hooker had had simple fears, but her response to them had been greater than he'd expected. He'd truly enjoyed his time with her. He almost wished she hadn't given up so soon.
The sun was up, and he walked out onto the balcony without bothering to dress, letting the light warm him. He was tempted to start the preparations for the next calling, but it would be more effective if he waited until to dark to begin, since the calling wouldn't really be worthwhile until the more nocturnal inhabitants of Sunnydale were awake and active.
There were other things he needed to do during the daylight hours, though. He showered, and dressed, deciding on a more conservative outfit than the one he'd worn the night before. He looked at himself in the mirror, and was amused at just how normal he looked. Blue t-shirt, black jeans, and a pair of white tennis shoes. The black eyes and cruel smile were the only thing that really betrayed his nature, and adding a pair of brown-tinted sunglasses helped soften his look even more. Without being able to see his eyes in the mirror, the smile appeared harmless enough to him, and, satisified with his appearance, he grabbed his keys and set out into the city.
---
Spike had slept without dreaming. Buffy had still been there when he'd finally fallen asleep, and for the first time in weeks, he'd felt safe. He knew she'd be gone when he woke up, but the rest left him feeling stronger. He almost smiled at the memory of her, sitting with him, talking to him, until the first face flashed through his mind. He whimpered, remembering how the girl hadn't begged for her own life, but for the life of her husband. Spike closed his eyes, trying to forget the amusement he'd felt, since her husband had already been dead. Another face, this time with only the memory of a scream came to him, and another, and another.
He curled up on the floor, his eyes shut so tight that were beginning to hurt, but the tears came anyway.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
---
The shop was surprisingly well stocked. His information had been more than accurate, many of the jars contained powders and herbs used only in the highest levels of spellcasting. "Can I help you?"
He'd been examining the various herbs and their labels when the voice came. He turned, putting on his most charming smile, and said "Maybe. I'm looking for something... special. I doubt you have it, but I was hoping you might be able to tell me where I might get it."
The man behind the counter looked at his customer, trying to guage him. He looked like anyone off the street, young, attractive, but in his years of running the shop, he'd learned that looks are almost always deceiving. "That depends on what you're looking for."
"A few things, actually," the man said, walking up to the counter. "First, a translated copy of the Nalten Grimoire. A full translation, the copy I have only has certain passages translated, and very poorly translated at that."
"From what I hear, at least," he added quickly.
"Oof, that's a pretty pricey bit of merchandise," the storeowner said. "I can get it, but it'll take me a few days. I won't be able to discount it for you, though."
"That's fine. Second, I'll need a summoning bowl. Highest quality you can manage, again, price isn't an issue."
The clerk thought for a moment. "I might have something in stock. But if you don't mind me asking, what for? I assume you've got something in mind already."
The man smiled. "Not really, at least, not yet." The lie came easily, but he continued, in case the shopkeeper had any lingering doubts, "I'm still learning, I know I'm not ready for anything that requires the book or the bowl, but they... well, they sort of give me a goal to shoot for, you know? They'll give me a reason to keep trying even when I fail."
The shopkeeper smiled back at him, and said, "Yeah, I know what you mean. When I was getting started, I blew a minor conjuration, literally. Tried conjuring a guardian wisp, ended up causing an explosion. You just gotta keep trying. You'll get it, eventually."
"Yeah," the man said, laughing, "I know."
"Names John, friends call me Jay," the storeowner said, extending his hand.
"Matthew," the man said as he took J's hand. "Matt to my friends."
"Well, Matt, let me see if I can find that bowl for you."
As John turned to head into the back of the store, Matthew allowed himself a small smile. It was always amusing when he could fool someone who should know better. He probed the man's mind gently, making note of the surface fears he found. Nothing too surprising, but they'd give him an opening to explore the man's deeper fears later.
John returned with a bronze bowl. The outer surface was covered in silver runes, and, smiling again, Matthew looked at him. "I believe I've found exactly what I need."
---
A/N: The opening scene is indicative of some of the things that are going to happen later. Hopefully, some of them will be even worse. Thanks for the reviews, but if I might ask, I'd like more feedback on Matthew. Too much? Too little? Not scary enough? I love writing villians, but for some reason I'm still having trouble nailing this one down.
Anyway, let me know what you think.