Chapter Six
"So are you going to give me your number?" slurred the girl that had far too much to drink.
What was name? Carol? Candy? Darryl Hayes struggled to remember. But he doubted even she could recall it herself, so what did it matter? He smiled at her, being careful not to spill the tequila over her handkerchief of a dress and spoke in her ear.
"I thought you didn't want it?" he teased. She giggled.
"I changed my mind."
Writing his number on a napkin, Darryl caught a glimpse of his watch. 12.52 a.m. He had told his wife Linda that he was just going for a quick drink with some work buddies and would be home soon after. She was definitely going to suspect foul play now. Careful planning and utter lack of evidence had been able to keep Darryl's little liaisons secret and Linda just thought she had jealous wife syndrome.
"Shit," he hissed and screwed up the napkin.
"Hey," protested Cara or Candice. "You were meant to give that to me."
"Yeah, sorry," he said, more concerned with his thoughts and shoved his number into her palm.
"That was rude," she hiccuped. "I don't know why I agreed to taking this."
She waved the napkin in his face. He batted her hand away. It was most certainly time to leave. He'd have to change into the spare shirt he kept in his car, the one he had on reeked of perfume and bar room smoke, straighten out his hair and swallow a couple of breath mints before arriving home.
"I've got to go babe," he said quickly and left the table.
"Where are you going?" Corrie or Cally called after him.
His car was parked on the corner. Hurrying, he started to unbutton his tell tale shirt, cursing. The new shirt was laying on the backseat. Yanking open the car door and pulling off the incriminating garment, he grabbed the fresh one and slung it on. As he fiddled with the collar, he turned around. Right in front of him stood a girl. He hadn't heard anyone approach.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
She smiled at him. Whoever she was, she was very beautiful. Darryl smiled back flirtatiously.
"Need a ride somewhere?"
"No," she said in a low voice.
"Directions?"
"I don't need those either?"
"Then what?" he asked a little impatiently, remembering the time.
Silently as an owl, she put her hand to his bare chest. He hadn't had time to button his shirt. He didn't get what she was doing but he didn't exactly mind either. Her skin was very cool and soft. Probably used a tonne of those creams and lotions that his wife cluttered the bathroom with. Her eyes were luminous. Darryl felt swallowed in them. Slowly, a strange tingling sensation began to spread across his chest. It was vaguely like having a cramp or pins and needles, only pleasant. Looking down, he expected her hand to be massaging his skin but it was perfectly still.
"How are you doing that?" he questioned, grinning.
The sensation grew, becoming almost unbearable but incredible. He felt his knees began to buckle and he stooped.
"Oh God," he gasped, closing his eyes.
It was then the pain began. In a split second, it went from being splendid to horrific. Fiery shards of hurt shot through him. It felt like being ripped apart from the inside. All he could do was stand there, his voice wouldn't even come out of his throat, getting lodged in what seemed like molten lava running through his veins. Managing to squeeze on eye open, he saw the girl now contorted. Her head was thrown back, her long hair almost touched the sidewalk below. Where she touched him, there was a white glow, flecked with sunset orange. The light pulsed and flowed through her arm. It took him a moment to realise it was flowing inside her veins. With a final agonising blast of sulphurous suffering, she released him. The force that was between them broke and blasted him off his feet. He hit the hard ground, falling on his back but felt little pain. All he felt was rage, inexplicable anger and hatred. When his eyes met the girl, an instinct he had never before owned told him who she was.
"Kiathlica," he hissed in a dark voice.
The force had not even ruffled her hair. Glowing, fresh from the feed, she took in a deep breath of the night air. Then she regarded her new solider. There was coldness in his eyes and ire in his fists.
"How do you feel?" she purred.
"People. I need to hurt them. They are tainted," he croaked.
"Then do what is in your new nature to do."
At her order, Darryl headed into the almost empty streets, searching for those that were wretched and weak. They did not warrant life in Her world.
Haralon rearranged his heavy robe, put on his game face and knocked at the motel room door. Most of the paint peeled away as his blue demon knuckles rapped. He heard a few hushed voices and footsteps.
"Who's there?" asked a voice from in the room.
"Haralon. I have that piece of information you requested."
The lock opened and Rhett half opened the door, leaning in the doorway to block it in case the guest tried to go where they were not wanted. Haralon rolled his eyes. Rhett was an unrelenting son of a bitch. They had had a long alliance but he still trusted no one.
"Rhett, it's me," he implored. "No need or such formalities."
The demon peeped over the man's shoulder, angling for a glimpse of the Lady herself. Rumours were that a few big players were making themselves at home in Sunnydale presently. Rhett snapped an arm in front of his eye line and Haralon recoiled. He gave Rhett and apologetic look.
"Sorry. It's not every day you get to see her yourself."
He knew he had said something wrong when the man's face darkened.
"Address the Lady with the proper respect, you lowly snivelling demon."
"Oh for the love of God, give it a rest for three seconds," called Everett, getting up and coming to the door.
He gently pulled Rhett aside and ushered Haralon in. The demon looked around intently then had a face of disappointment.
"So the Lady's not here?"
"Not at present," answered Everett. "She has gone out. You wouldn't believe where, even if I told you."
"Oh. Well, like I was telling grumpy there, I got what you guys asked for."
Haralon sat on one of the beds and made himself comfortable.
"A friend of a friend was in the neighbourhood and said it was the Slayer and her pals that lifted your gear. Why, I don't know."
Rhett frowned, getting tired of that meddling Slayer girl. He refused to accept that they would need her when the time came. Other uses would be found for her.
"Where would they be keeping them?" inquired Everett.
He tried to keep his face untelling of his ambivalence. The plan had succeed, the Slayer had retrieved what was left for her. In time, it would mean great pain for all, least of all the Slayer. Her part saddened him. It would be a lot for a young girl. He was beginning to feel the sorrow and hurt already. "People tell me that her Watcher is a librarian or something at the school. How convenient is that? The Council thought that one out well."
Rhett's cold, impatient glare brought him back to the point.
"Anyway, so my guess is they'd be in the library. But that's not concrete, mind you. So don't go blaming me if it's wrong. I'm still aching from that drowning incident."
"You can go," said Rhett, waving a hand to dismiss him.
Haralon rose to his feet and straightened his robe.
"Glad to be of service," he called on his way out.
Safely out of Rhett's poison sight, he shrugged. He often wondered if this job was worth all the hassle he got from guys like that. There wasn't even a union he could go to about unfair treatment.
"So are you going to give me your number?" slurred the girl that had far too much to drink.
What was name? Carol? Candy? Darryl Hayes struggled to remember. But he doubted even she could recall it herself, so what did it matter? He smiled at her, being careful not to spill the tequila over her handkerchief of a dress and spoke in her ear.
"I thought you didn't want it?" he teased. She giggled.
"I changed my mind."
Writing his number on a napkin, Darryl caught a glimpse of his watch. 12.52 a.m. He had told his wife Linda that he was just going for a quick drink with some work buddies and would be home soon after. She was definitely going to suspect foul play now. Careful planning and utter lack of evidence had been able to keep Darryl's little liaisons secret and Linda just thought she had jealous wife syndrome.
"Shit," he hissed and screwed up the napkin.
"Hey," protested Cara or Candice. "You were meant to give that to me."
"Yeah, sorry," he said, more concerned with his thoughts and shoved his number into her palm.
"That was rude," she hiccuped. "I don't know why I agreed to taking this."
She waved the napkin in his face. He batted her hand away. It was most certainly time to leave. He'd have to change into the spare shirt he kept in his car, the one he had on reeked of perfume and bar room smoke, straighten out his hair and swallow a couple of breath mints before arriving home.
"I've got to go babe," he said quickly and left the table.
"Where are you going?" Corrie or Cally called after him.
His car was parked on the corner. Hurrying, he started to unbutton his tell tale shirt, cursing. The new shirt was laying on the backseat. Yanking open the car door and pulling off the incriminating garment, he grabbed the fresh one and slung it on. As he fiddled with the collar, he turned around. Right in front of him stood a girl. He hadn't heard anyone approach.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
She smiled at him. Whoever she was, she was very beautiful. Darryl smiled back flirtatiously.
"Need a ride somewhere?"
"No," she said in a low voice.
"Directions?"
"I don't need those either?"
"Then what?" he asked a little impatiently, remembering the time.
Silently as an owl, she put her hand to his bare chest. He hadn't had time to button his shirt. He didn't get what she was doing but he didn't exactly mind either. Her skin was very cool and soft. Probably used a tonne of those creams and lotions that his wife cluttered the bathroom with. Her eyes were luminous. Darryl felt swallowed in them. Slowly, a strange tingling sensation began to spread across his chest. It was vaguely like having a cramp or pins and needles, only pleasant. Looking down, he expected her hand to be massaging his skin but it was perfectly still.
"How are you doing that?" he questioned, grinning.
The sensation grew, becoming almost unbearable but incredible. He felt his knees began to buckle and he stooped.
"Oh God," he gasped, closing his eyes.
It was then the pain began. In a split second, it went from being splendid to horrific. Fiery shards of hurt shot through him. It felt like being ripped apart from the inside. All he could do was stand there, his voice wouldn't even come out of his throat, getting lodged in what seemed like molten lava running through his veins. Managing to squeeze on eye open, he saw the girl now contorted. Her head was thrown back, her long hair almost touched the sidewalk below. Where she touched him, there was a white glow, flecked with sunset orange. The light pulsed and flowed through her arm. It took him a moment to realise it was flowing inside her veins. With a final agonising blast of sulphurous suffering, she released him. The force that was between them broke and blasted him off his feet. He hit the hard ground, falling on his back but felt little pain. All he felt was rage, inexplicable anger and hatred. When his eyes met the girl, an instinct he had never before owned told him who she was.
"Kiathlica," he hissed in a dark voice.
The force had not even ruffled her hair. Glowing, fresh from the feed, she took in a deep breath of the night air. Then she regarded her new solider. There was coldness in his eyes and ire in his fists.
"How do you feel?" she purred.
"People. I need to hurt them. They are tainted," he croaked.
"Then do what is in your new nature to do."
At her order, Darryl headed into the almost empty streets, searching for those that were wretched and weak. They did not warrant life in Her world.
Haralon rearranged his heavy robe, put on his game face and knocked at the motel room door. Most of the paint peeled away as his blue demon knuckles rapped. He heard a few hushed voices and footsteps.
"Who's there?" asked a voice from in the room.
"Haralon. I have that piece of information you requested."
The lock opened and Rhett half opened the door, leaning in the doorway to block it in case the guest tried to go where they were not wanted. Haralon rolled his eyes. Rhett was an unrelenting son of a bitch. They had had a long alliance but he still trusted no one.
"Rhett, it's me," he implored. "No need or such formalities."
The demon peeped over the man's shoulder, angling for a glimpse of the Lady herself. Rumours were that a few big players were making themselves at home in Sunnydale presently. Rhett snapped an arm in front of his eye line and Haralon recoiled. He gave Rhett and apologetic look.
"Sorry. It's not every day you get to see her yourself."
He knew he had said something wrong when the man's face darkened.
"Address the Lady with the proper respect, you lowly snivelling demon."
"Oh for the love of God, give it a rest for three seconds," called Everett, getting up and coming to the door.
He gently pulled Rhett aside and ushered Haralon in. The demon looked around intently then had a face of disappointment.
"So the Lady's not here?"
"Not at present," answered Everett. "She has gone out. You wouldn't believe where, even if I told you."
"Oh. Well, like I was telling grumpy there, I got what you guys asked for."
Haralon sat on one of the beds and made himself comfortable.
"A friend of a friend was in the neighbourhood and said it was the Slayer and her pals that lifted your gear. Why, I don't know."
Rhett frowned, getting tired of that meddling Slayer girl. He refused to accept that they would need her when the time came. Other uses would be found for her.
"Where would they be keeping them?" inquired Everett.
He tried to keep his face untelling of his ambivalence. The plan had succeed, the Slayer had retrieved what was left for her. In time, it would mean great pain for all, least of all the Slayer. Her part saddened him. It would be a lot for a young girl. He was beginning to feel the sorrow and hurt already. "People tell me that her Watcher is a librarian or something at the school. How convenient is that? The Council thought that one out well."
Rhett's cold, impatient glare brought him back to the point.
"Anyway, so my guess is they'd be in the library. But that's not concrete, mind you. So don't go blaming me if it's wrong. I'm still aching from that drowning incident."
"You can go," said Rhett, waving a hand to dismiss him.
Haralon rose to his feet and straightened his robe.
"Glad to be of service," he called on his way out.
Safely out of Rhett's poison sight, he shrugged. He often wondered if this job was worth all the hassle he got from guys like that. There wasn't even a union he could go to about unfair treatment.