Real
Ch 9
~Dawn~
I don't even want to know where Spike got the art supplies. My nose wrinkles in disgust as I examine the dried blood on the pallet knife. I follow him down an interior hallway, carrying a double armful of supplies and trying not to trip over the chains he's hobbled me with. We are moving to another room in the same building, this one has two banks of outside windows that have been shuttered to prevent the sunlight from entering. Without saying a word, he places the stolen canvas and easel between them, and then runs my chains through an eye bolt in the floor. He turns quickly and opens the shutters, backing away as the rectangle of light grows. The toes of his shoes are a mere inch from the sunlight that could burn him. I've always wondered where that comes from, that willingness to dare the light. He plays with it the way a cat plays with a snake, batting at it, poking it, daring it to strike him.
The open windows leave the easel bathed in a pool of sunshine, and I turn the big three foot by five foot canvas long ways as he moves one of the red brocade sofas to a place just beyond the sunbeam's leading edge. Then I watch from the safety of my sunlit haven as he follows my instructions and drapes the folds of the red satin sheet so that the peaks and valleys pool interestingly on the floor. I'm struck by the oddest sense of déjà vu. Can you have déjà vu about something that happens in the future? It's just that he's always done this for me. He's always set up my props and escorted my models. In a weird way, I feel like I'm home and not home at the same time. The moment is broken as Drusilla comes in, wrapped in another red sheet, and hissing at the sunlight.
"Don't worry, luv, I've made sure the sun won't touch you. You lay down and sleep, and when you wake up you'll have a pretty picture and a snack". He glances over his shoulder and gives me a roguish look.
I can't believe he's trying to comfort her by offering me as a snack! I hate to tell him, but I do not intend to be an addition to anyone's diet. I now have a nice pointy wooden paint brush in my hand, and the first vamp that comes near me it going to get a taste, even if it is Spike.
He has decided that I am to do a semi-recumbent nude, so that I might capture the seductive nature of his lovely princess. Gag! I would have put her in the middle of all her toys, thrown some skulls in for good measure, and called it a portrait of madness.
Drusilla arranges herself on the couch so that sheet falls, revealing one perfect white breast crowned with a dusky rose nipple. Against the dark red backdrop of the couch her skin becomes so pale that it seems luminescent, and I am almost excited by the challenge of trying to capture the porcelain transparency of her skin with its lacy tracery of blue veins. Her face turns toward me, and a hungry smile plays about her mouth… her eyes are hypnotic. I shake my head to clear my mind, and continue to set up my paints and palette within easy reach on the floor.
Spike lingers within view of the canvas, foiling any thought that I might have had about painting a picture that would take me to safety, so I give myself over to the art process. Drusilla's face has all the ethereality of a Renoir nude, but her body is lithe and almost wiry in its strength. I instruct Spike to partially drape the sheet across her torso so that it enhances more then it reveals. Mystery and allure have always been my trademarks, and Drusilla's beauty cries out for that touch.
My breathing slows, and I feel my body and mind enter that Zen state where paint on canvas is transformed into art. My arm becomes an extension of my eye, and I work the whole canvas treating the background and foreground as one unit. The red and gold brocade of the couch blends with the black of her hair as it spreads out over the creamy whiteness of her shoulders. I squeeze some ultrameridian blue onto my pallet to capture the low lights of her raven hair. Cleaning my brush, I begin to work in ocher and umber trying to capture the way the stained and tattered wallpaper kisses her knee above the sofa back. Continuing to paint, I move on to the bloodless white skin of her legs as they lie in sharp contrast with the background. Nothing is ever truly white though, not even a vampire's skin, and I add the barest hints of burnt sienna to some areas and cadmium red in others. Her far leg is raised slightly, and her lower one is tucked coquettishly beneath it. The shadows between them hint at things …well, things that I just don't want to think about.
The brush licks at the canvas, stroking the shadow of her waist where it arches against the cushion. Everything is thick and layered with texture. I work swiftly, trying to capture the physical essence of the woman before me. An impulse hits me and I wonder what would happen if I took my hand and pushed. Would I be inside her? Would we become some sort of weird Dru/Dawn amalgam? The thought gives me the willies; I push it aside and continue to paint…and paint…and paint.
I work until I am almost dead with exhaustion. The sun's already going down. I can hardly believe I've worked all day without a break, and my arm aches so bad that it would probably be less painful to chop it off. And I'm hungry! My tummy growls loud enough to be heard, especially by vampiric hearing, maybe it will remind Spike that I need actual human food.
Speaking of Spike…I look around and he's gone. It's just me and Drusilla again. Oh shit, she's realized I've stopped painting, and the look on her face is not one of lasting gratitude! She's hungry, too, and she's staring at me like I'm an O positive popsicle. I move toward the windows holding my paintbrush ready in case she decides to rush me.
Drusilla begins to stalk me, herding me backwards until I'm at the end of my tether. I remember one of the self defense lessons my Spike taught me- decoy and distraction. I shout Spike's name as loud as I can and point toward the door, and sure enough, she turns. I don't think she could have been as surprised as I was when he came through the door carrying a greasy newspaper wrapped bundle, and dragging a brown haired teenager, a bit younger than me. The boy catches my eyes and pleads with me to tell him what's going on.
"Here, I thought you might be hungry, so I picked up some fish and chips for you." He tosses the greasy bundle at me. "And Dru, I didn't forget you."
She prances toward him clapping her hands like a little kid getting a treat. He smiles fondly at her and thrusts the boy into her arms. Quick as a cobra, she sinks her teeth into him with audible relish. She is so happy that she's purring and smacking her lips as she feeds. I know I should do something, something heroic like Buffy would, but it happens so fast that I can only stand there frozen in horror and watch. Spike smiles at Drusilla, taking delight in the pleasure she shows at killing. Leaning over he sinks his fangs into the other side of the boy's neck, and they stand there slurping him like two high school sweethearts sharing a milkshake. All too soon the boy drops from between them to lie in a broken heap on the floor.
The boy's death releases me from my shocked paralysis, and I crawl, as far away from the two of them as my chain will allow, retching and crying. My stomach has been so empty for so long that nothing comes up but bile. Lost in my own cowardliness and misery, I never see the brown booted toe until the kick sends me rolling. I try to protect myself by curling up into a ball, just like he taught me. The memories of those training lessons make the contrast between his actions now even worse. Right now, I hate him, and that hurts worse then any physical pain I might have from being kicked.
"Something bothering you? You act like you've never seen me kill before."
"I have never seen you kill a human; you've always protected me from that." The last bit comes out half wail and half accusation, and I look up at him with tear filled eyes. We stare at each other for along time, neither one of us breaking contact, until Drusilla comes up and tugs on his arm.
"Leave me alone, woman, can'tcha see I'm busy", he says as he turns on her angrily, but she laughs and kisses him, running her hands up and down his chest over the fabric of his shirt.
"Would my boy like to be naughty?"
A kaleidoscope of emotions plays across his face, and it settles into a caricature of lust. He kisses her back hungrily, and I am shut out of his thoughts like a stray mutt chained in the yard. She leads him back the couch all the while undressing him and whispering endearments that make my stomach crawl. His shirt falls to the floor giving me a view of his broad shoulders and well muscled back, and I wince as her nails leave red welts across the pale skin of his shoulders.
The only word I know to describe my view of their foreplay is surreal, it's like I'm invisible to them, and they show no inhibition about me watching. Groping around in the backseats of cars with high school boys, and a few stolen minutes of watching Janice's father's video tapes has not prepared me for this. It's sensual and erotic, and the power of his passion leaves me quivering in turmoil. My mind is a confusing mixture of emotion. I hate him for killing that boy, am angry with him for loving someone other than Buffy, and in all honesty – I want him, and I wish it was me in his arms. Chained and squatting in my corner, I try to imagine what it would be like to have him as a lover- try to imagine myself in Drusilla's place, being sucked, and licked, and touched. Involuntarily, my hand moves to stroke myself though the fabric of my gown; her eye catches mine, and suddenly I am invisible no more.
"William, you're being rude. Me thinks our guest would like to join us."
"And you'd like that would you, pet?" He looks between the two of us, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. Then swaggers over and gestures for me to extend my legs so that he can unshackle me. The chains drop of with a clank. Then running his hand slowly down my arm, he captures it and begins to peel my fingers from the forgotten paintbrush that I still hold in my grasp.
"You weren't thinking of using this on me, now were you?" He drops the wooden brush on the floor, and encircling my wrists in his large square palms and strong tapered fingers; he pulls me so tightly against his chest that I have to tilt my head back to look into his face. Spike's eyes search mine, looking for something, for what I am not sure. I try to remind myself of who this man will be in my future: my pseudo-parent, my sister's lover, my friend, but nothing means much at this moment with the feel of his body against mine.
I've wanted this so much, and I wanted this for so long, that I shiver inside with both terror and expectation. Spike's hands roam across my body and his touch burns me through the shear linen of the paint spattered nightgown that I wear. Dru joins us and begins to push my gown up from behind, her claws scratch lightly over my thighs and buttocks. She lingers at my lower back running her tongue up my spine, and then kissing my neck she pulls the nightgown over my head and I am left naked standing between them.
Drusilla turns me toward her and running her hands up my stomach, she cups my breasts pinching their nipples. Hunger and lust make me light headed, and I find myself leaning back against Spike's chest as he cradles me between his arms. Our motions become dreamlike and kissing and touching, the three of us sway together.
Thigh to thigh and breast to back, Drusilla's hand snake's between my legs stroking the center of my being. Gently Spike brings his lips down on mine, kissing me tenderly, and it feels so good, so right.
"Such a pretty little flower, don't worry, my boy will rip the petal right off," Drusilla murmurs.
At Drusilla's words he stops. I look into his eyes, his familiar blue eyes, and all I can see is my own confusion mirrored there. He reaches up, his fingertips trailing along my face, and captures one of my braids between his fingers. The heavy plait falls across my shoulder and slides down until the white bow comes to rest on my chest above where my heart would be. He lays his hand on top of it, and I can feel my heart beating against the flesh of his palm. My hand covers his and I move it to my breast. "It's okay", I say with a slight nod, "I trust you".
His eyes turn a steely gray, and he holds me away from him, his fingers digging painfully into the skin of my upper arms. Looking me in the eyes, he mouths silently, "Run!" His features morph and he lunges across me, dragging Drusilla into his arms. With the suddenness of a tiger, he sinks his fangs into her neck.
I grab up the discarded nightgown and make a break for the door before he changes his mind. Thundering down the steps as if I had the wild hunt baying at my heels, I pause only long enough to tug the material over my head before breaking out on to the streets. I continue to run; my bare feet slapping the cold stone cobbles in panic.
Occurs at the same time Dawn is painting
~Dr. Lawrence~
How did women move in this century? I admit crawling down a tree is not something that was probably done with any frequency, but I feel weighted down just walking with all these layers on. I hope no one saw me. I tuck my skirt and shake out the heavy petticoat, and head toward the servant's entrance. Rapping on the door, I try to adjust my demeanor to what I imagine a nurse in the late part of the nineteenth century would act like. Ha! I knew all those historical romance novels I've read would come in handy someday.
It had taken some talking to convince the vampire that I could do this, but he had finally agreed. I was to present myself to his family as a nurse for his sister. She needs consistency in her treatment and at least I will be there to stop them from bleeding her again.
The door is opened by a heavy woman in an immaculate black and white uniform. She wears a dust cap on her head with the no nonsense air of a drill sergeant. I'm not sure if women shake hands in this day and time, so I just nod my head and smile. "Hello, the doctor sent me. He said that you were needing a nurse."
"Oh, right then, you must be here for Miss Paige. The woman's brow wrinkles in confusion. 'Odd that, nobody told me to expect you. Come along, I'll introduce you to the Missus."
I follow her up the same stairs that I snuck down only hours before to steal some food from the pantry. They are much easier to navigate in the daylight. The way is narrow and the steps are so shallow that you can not place your whole foot down. I am surprised when she leads me right to Paige's door and knocks.
"Ma'am, the doctor sent over a nurse for Paige."
I am surprised by the appearance of the old woman who sits in the chair by the girl's bedside. He hadn't mentioned that they'd been raised by their grandmother.
"Oh, good! When I asked yesterday, he said there was no one he could send."
"I was available."
"Are you from the States?"
"Yes." No use trying to hide my accent.
"And you have experience dealing with those suffering from illness?"
She's looking at me like I'm here to steal the family silver. I'd better warm up the body language a little. "Yes, ma'am", I smile and extend my arms out opening up my posture. See, I have nothing to hide. "I've worked in the medical profession for the past ten years." Of course, that was as a psychiatrist and not a nurse, but let's not quibble.
Her voice is firm, causing me to revise my age estimate downward. She probably isn't as old as I am and yet she looks as frail and bent as a geriatric patient in her seventies.
"Momma? I want to see William." Paige's eyes still gleam with a feverish brightness and her voice is breathless and weak.
"William's not here, child. He went away along time ago, and he can't come back." She looks defeated as she sits and rubs her daughter's hand. She turns and stares over her shoulder at me, her eyes filling with anguish. "Paige is my last living child. Her brother, William, was murdered seven years ago. You will… You will do everything you can to see she's alright?"
"Yes, ma'am, I'll give her the best care I know how to." Which is certainly a lot better then you'd be able to get in this century from anyone else.
"I think I shall go lay down for a while, since you're here. Do you need anything before I go?"
"I would like some ice, if some could be found. It would help bring down her fever."
"Ice? I'll tell Mrs. Norris to flag the ice man down when she hears his cart come by."
The rest of the morning alternates between forcing willow bark tea down Paige's throat every time she opens her eyes, sponging her down with ice water when she grows restless, and changing the sweat dampened sheets when they become soggy to the touch. The diligent work pays off though, and by noon, the fever seems to have broken. The restless turning and tossing eases and Paige seems to fall into a more normal sleep.
Hours later, Paige's voice wakes me from the light doze I have fallen into.
"May I have some water?"
"Yes, of course." I help her sit up, and hold the glass against her cracked lips as she drinks.
When she finishes, she closes her eyes, and leans back against the pillows. "Who are you?"
Oh dear, here we go again. "I'm your nurse; you have scarlet fever, remember?"
"I remember seeing you come through the window with William." Her voice is scratchy, and I can tell her throat still hurts.
"That was just a dream, brought on by the fever." God, I hate lying about this! I supposed help my patients make sense out of what they experience not lie to them.
"I suppose you'll tell me the other time I saw him was just a dream, too."
"What other time?"
"It was night… the night after they buried him.
"What happened in the dream?"
"It wasn't a dream", she said adamantly. "I went to the graveyard that night, and I saw him. His hands were all bloody and his clothes were covered with dirt. I thought we had buried him alive. I called to him, but he sprinted away. I ran after him trying to keep him in sight. I had almost caught up to him…"
She starts choking and I offer her a drink of water, but she waves me away. Her eyes are watering now, but I'm not sure it's from the coughing or if she's crying because of what she saw. I wait patiently for her to organize her thoughts.
Slowly, she wipes her eyes and carries on. "I watched my brother rip the throat out of one of the grounds keepers. I think… I fainted then for I have no memory until the next morning when I woke up on the front porch steps.
"That had to be quite a traumatic dream, for a young girl."
"Stop, just stop…" She grabs my hand, "I know my brother is here. I may not have understood what I saw when I was twelve …Doctor, but I've read Mister Stoker's Dracula since then, and I know what he is.
"Your brother is dead." I pick up the water pitcher from its stand and go out in the hallway, fighting the urge to tell her the truth.
The vampire grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the linen closet across from Paige's room, surprising a strangled cry from my lips.
"We need to talk."
"What do you think you're doing? Your sister is already convinced that you are here! She keeps waking up and asking for you. You're just lucky; everyone's convinced she's delirious."
"Look, I need some information. I've figured out where they probably have Dawn, and it may come down to a fight to get her back. Now, I know you've got martial art's training of some kind, but do you have any weapons training?"
"No, I'm only a blue belt in tai kwon do. And do you realize your sister knows you're a vampire?"
"What!"
"She saw you! When you arose from your tomb, or whatever it is you vampires do!"
"I bloody well clawed my way out of my coffin. Hmm…"
"What's the hmm for?"
"My sister was lucky, that's all. If she'd have actually gotten to me she wouldn't be around right now. When a vampire first rises the hunger overwhelms them, they feed from anything that moves until the craving for blood is satisfied."
"You mean you didn't take her back to the house after she fainted?"
"She said someone took her home?" He looks baffled, and then shakes his head. "Look it doesn't matter, Paige has been dead to me for over seventy years. Right now, my job is to find Dawn and get us home. And tonight you're my backup, so pay attention.
I understand his point, but damn those sociopathic tendencies are really getting on my nerves.
~Spike~
I turn and stare as I hear her stumble over a pile of trash and send it clattering. It looks like Doc's night vision is a bit on the weak side.
"Another alley? And now the hem of this blasted skirt is all wet. Please explain to me again why I had to wear it? I can't fight in it."
Hell's bells, she whines almost as much as Harris. "You are wearing the bloody skirt, because women in this day and age don't wear pants, and you're too curvy to pass for a boy."
She sighs.
We continue to trudge in silence until we get to the place where I'd found the body the night before. "I ran out of time last night to track them any farther than this. Gods, I wish I had the witch here; she could follow the trail in a blink. We, on the other hand, will have to wait for the dew to settle so that I can see the tracks."
"Witch? Witches are real, too? Do you know how often I've had clients say they were witches, and then told them witches weren't real."
"Yeah, witches are real; don't get you panties in a wad, most of the one's claiming to be witches ain't. Buffy's got this friend- Red though, who's a mighty powerful witch. She's had some addiction problems with the black stuff lately, but I bet she's working on some spell to bring us back, right now."
"Do you really think so?" Her voice is childishly hopeful.
"I'm sure of it." I look up between the buildings and watch the clouds surround the moon like a halo. God, I've missed London. The fog rises from the earth in ghostly patches in a way that just sends chills down my spine. Always felt like the boogieman was waiting right around the corner. 'Course after I became a vampire, I was the boogieman. The damp mist makes the corpse's heel marks shine like two slimy snail trails pointing the direction from which he was dragged. The trail is obscured in places by other tracks, but the lines are distinctly parallel and can be picked up again with a little scouting.
We've traveled about five blocks from where we started when the surrounding buildings start to feel familiar and I begin to remember the summer that Dru and I lived in the offices of an abandoned warehouse near here. The place is easy to find now that I know where to look.
I pull Doc to a halt beside the building's door. "Look, you stay behind me on the stairs, and when we find them you just back me up with the crossbow."
"But I don't know how to use it."
Well, neither did Harmony and she still terrorized people with it. "I don't want you to use it. I just want you to wave it around and look menacing. And for god's sake keep your hand away from the trigger. Ya got the cross I gave you?"
She nods.
I head up the stairs quietly. I signal Doc to stay where she is and listen. Sounds yes, but no breathing, no heartbeat, and I smell… BLOODY HELL! I kick in the door, and am met with a sight that stops me in my tracks.
He…I...He's kneeling, bare assed, with his teeth sunk into Dru's jugular. This isn't a normal love bite, this is 'control', and I can feel my…his… mind pushing down on hers keeping her still. My entrance breaks his concentration, and she thrusts him away, and crawls to couch whimpering and tearing at her hair.
. "Where's Dawn? What did you do with her?"
He wipes his mouth on the back of his arm. "You'll not find her here, mate. The bint's escaped."
Gone? Frustration and relief mix and I lash out, punching him in the nose. "Wipe that arrogant look off your face ya buggerin' idiot." Damn, that felt good, now I know why Buffy does it to me so often.
Dru springs up from the couch tackling the two of us, clawing and scratching like wildcat on LSD. "Wrong, wrong, it's all wrong." She reaches up and slashes me…him cross the face crying, "Nothing's left but paint and ashes." It takes the two of us to subdue her, and I'm not sure which of us lands the punch that knocks her unconscious. Doc kicks a set of manacles over to me and I slap them on her wrists.
"What did she do that for?" Spike asks as he cradles his bleeding cheek. "I didn't do anything, except get rid of the little bitch."
"I'd advise you to get used to it, mate", I tell him as I toss him a pair of pants. "Summers' women have a way of ticking her off."
"Doc, you stay here with Drusilla. I'm taking mini me. We'll be back when we find Dawn."
"I ain't going anywhere with you, ya white haired ponce."
"You'll do as I say, you stupid 'git."
"You're not my bloody sire."
"No, your sire's lying unconscious with a crossbow trained on her. A crossbow held by my friend over there." I stifle a laugh as Doc makes an effort to look menacing.
"Another one of your bloody thralls? If you're so god-awful powerful, why the hell did you come back here?"
Thralls? Just what the hell has Dawn been telling him?
I drag him out the door; calling out warnings to Doc over my shoulder about how to deal with Dru. We head out on to the streets shouting Dawn's name. Déjà vu. I'm struck by a wave of exasperation; I tell you some days it feels like I've spent half my life hunting that girl.
"So what was with 'controlling' Dru?"
"Nothin', things got outta hand that's all."
"Bollocks!" I slam him up against a convenient wall. "No need to lie, mate, I'll get the memory back sooner or later. Sooner just keeps you standing."
"You can't kill me, ya sodding prick, or you won't be here either."
He has a point. "Well, there's always 'control'. I remember you didn't enjoy it too much when Angelus used it on you, and I bet that I can do even better. I know the ins and outs of your mind like it was my own. Come to think of it; it is mine. I know what makes me tick. I know every knot to yank, and every button to push. And I know your deepest fears." I smooth the lapel of his collar with my fingertips, and watch him pale even further. "I can make the next few minutes of our life a living hell, or you can just tell me what I want to know."
He gives me a disgusted look and attempts to push me away, but he can't even budge me. "I'll have none of that, laddie. Show some respect to your elder." I stare deep into his eyes, forcing my will on his. Our eyes lock, and for just a second I twist his train of thought, stabbing a shaft of fear through his heart.
"Alright, alright, Dru was just playing one of her games, and I didn't want to go along."
I maintain eye contact, but back off on the mental pressure.
"Ya know, trying to make me just like her 'evil daddy'. Always dressing up the bints so that they look like Paige or Mother, bringing home babies, and what not. Just couldn't stomach it tonight."
I quirk an eyebrow at him. I'd forgotten about all those freakin' mind games that Dru used to pull. She'd lost interest after the first fifty years or so.
"Oh, don't look at me like that. Noticed there weren't any marks on the chit."
"Just how closely did you check?"
"Saw enough to know that sweet cunt of hers ain't ever received visitors."
The implication of his words hits me, and I slam my fist into the side of his head. I hope he bloody well saw stars! "Watch your mouth, that girl's like a daughter to me."
"Ya mean a sister don't you." He smirked. "The bint looks enough like Paige that she gave me a start in that alley."
"You didn't sleep with her did you?" Gods, I try to imagine how I'll explain that one to Buffy, shish-a-bob city here I come. I wonder what I can bribe Dawn with to keep her mouth shut.
"Nah. It was the damn braids. The rug rat looked like she was all of twelve years old."
I relax in relief and we begin to walk. We go a few more blocks, calling every few steps. After a while, he stops, takes out his tobacco, and begins to roll a cigarette. I wave a Marlborough at him and light one for myself.
He takes a puff. "Sweet, some frenchy import?"
"Nah, you'll not see smokes like these for another sixty years at least."
"So what's it like in the future?"
How should I answer him? All the triumphs and the failures come rushing to the forefront of my mind. My tongue's paralyzed with the effort of figuring out what to say.
"So you gonna tell me?
"No."
"No!"
"No. If I tell you, you'll just mess things up. What I will tell you is that the future is downright bloody marvelous. There will be blood, shagging, and Slayers."
"Slayers?"
"Yeah, three of 'em. And the last one's so good she'll break your heart."
