TITLE: The Caged Birds Sing
AUTHOR: Eloise
RATING: PG13
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise to put them away carefully when I'm finished.
NOTES: Chapter 3 of 5. Thanks for the reviews, everyone. Sorry about the Copellia slip, Imzadi, I should have known that. Glad you guys are enjoying these little back-stories; I'm really enjoying writing them! Wes really wants me to write his chapter, but I've told him that it's Faith's turn next. And, of course, being the gentleman that he is, he let me write hers first. It's set just before the Season 3 Buffy ep. 'Faith, Hope and Trick.'
Chapter title and the quote come from Soul Cages Chp.3
Chapter 3: Living Dead Girl
'His eyes met hers, burned with a blue-flamed intensity. And she wanted desperately for him to see it. See past the living dead girl.'
(Faith – 'The Child with his Father's Eyes')
She dumped the bag of groceries on to the bed of her motel room, and eyed the contents with distaste. Tinned spaghetti, slices of processed cheese, some doubtfully fresh bread, tortilla chips, and a selection of candy bars that made her teeth ache just looking at them.
She sighed and lifted a tin of alphabetti spaghetti. Stuck her penknife into the lid of the tin, and worked round the edge, finally peeling back the lid to reveal the bright orange congealed mass inside. Now there was a colour that existed nowhere in nature. She switched on the T.V. and plonked herself on the end of the bed, rummaging in the bag for a plastic fork.
She had done this a thousand times. When her mom had been out of it, she had raided their poorly stocked cupboards, and ate whatever she could find. She never bothered to heat stuff up; they hadn't owned a microwave, and the electric company were always cutting them off for non-payment of their utilities bill. So she had developed a taste, or at least a resistance to the taste, of cold tinned food. She kicked off her boots and swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti, half-watching the cartoon on the screen ahead of her.
It was a Disney cartoon, one of those early ones, a classic. She wasn't too sure about that. Any of the Disney stuff she had seen in her childhood had been so saccharine it had made her want to hurl. Nothing she saw in those films bore any resemblance to the life she had led.
But as she watched, she decided she quite liked this one. There was a surreal quality to it, a strange darkness that she recognized. A little girl lost in a weird dream world, full of half mad rabbits, singing flowers and seriously stoned caterpillars. Plus that accent.
She gave herself a mental shake, scooped another forkful into her mouth.
*~*~*~*
The tank top was wicked cool, she decided, stuffing it back into the bag she had brought with her to the mall. Dave and Debbie – God, they even sounded like some kind of Mormon singing duo – gave her more than enough allowance to cover the price of the top, but it was a hard habit to break. She craved the danger, the thrill of knowing she was putting one over on the stupid store detectives. She reached into the bag again and brought out a lipstick, twisted it up deftly, smearing her lips dark red. The name on the tube was 'Dragon's Blood.' She liked that.
'Excuse me, Miss.'
Shit. Miss.
Only cops and security guards would call her 'Miss' She turned to face a trim sandy-haired woman in her early thirties. About average height, and dressed in an understated but rather elegant grey suit. She did not look like a store detective.
'I don't believe you paid for those items.' Her voice was soft, with an accent she could not immediately place. Not South Boston, anyway.
'Five finger discount.' She smiled sweetly, held up five fingers briefly, then folded all but her middle finger down.
The woman pressed her lips together in disapproval.
'I can see I've got my work cut out for me, Faith.'
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she slid her hand into the back pocket of her jeans, feeling for her switchblade.
'Who the hell are you, lady?'
A list of possibilities was already forming in her mind. Truant officer; social worker; caseworker from her foster team. She hated the fact that these people knew more about her than she ever knew about them. Talked to her as if they were going to be best buds at a slumber party, when all that ever happened was her life got even more messed up than it already was. And that was saying something.
The other woman looked at her steadily.
'You're a difficult girl to find. Not particularly fond of school, it seems.'
So, truant officer it was.
'I'm seventeen. Don't have to be there.'
'No, I suppose not. It's just, well, that was my cover. Substitute English teacher.'
Ah, that was the accent. She was from England. What the hell did she mean about her 'cover'? Who in their right mind would want to infiltrate her crappy high school?
'Look, perhaps I'd better explain this from the start. Do you want to get a coffee?'
Faith narrowed her eyes, gave the woman a long calculating look.
'You buying?'
The Englishwoman smiled. 'Of course. I can even offer jelly donuts.'
Faith shrugged.
'What the hell. Lead the way.'
It was always the quiet, normal looking ones. From looking at her, you would never have guessed that this pleasant, well-dressed woman was actually a paranoid lunatic with definite psychotic suicidal tendencies. Well, unless you possessed some of those tendencies yourself. Which was the only explanation for the situation in which Faith now found herself.
She was in one of the older city cemeteries, lounging on a headstone near a recently dug grave. The Englishwoman, who had introduced herself as Helen Sharpe, was seated on the headstone opposite, calmly describing the best methods of killing a vampire. She was holding what looked like the top of a stair banister, which had been sharpened to a very precise point. She was waving the weapon around rather wildly as she spoke, and Faith had a brief vision of her own hacked and bloody body on the morning news. 'Troubled teen truant slain in frenzied wooden post attack.' Kind of had a nice ring to it, she thought, almost wistfully. The woman finally completed her lecture, and lightly tossed her the weapon. Faith caught it expertly, felt a little stir in the pit of her stomach, as her fingers ran over the worn wood. As if it belonged there, in her hand.
'So. Let me see if I've got this straight. Monsters and vampires exist, demons are real, and the bogeyman really lives under my bed. And you work for a bunch of people who devote their lives to training teenage girls to…' she paused, trying to remember her exact words, 'slay them. You know, this whole slaying gig would probably work out a lot better for you if you picked more suitable candidates. Oh, I don't know, say professional wrestlers, or a bunch of ex-cons. My feeling is, your average cheerleader just isn't going to get the job done.'
'I understand that all of this is rather a shock to you, Faith, but we don't choose slayers. They are called.' She spoke in a slightly condescending tone.
'Well, my machine mustn't be picking up, then.' Faith sniped back sarcastically. 'Look, Ms. Sharpe, or Helen, or whatever the hell your name is, not that I don't think you're a fun lady to be with, but you need to get yourself some serious professional help. There are no such things as vampires.'
'Tell that to the undead corpse behind you.'
She twisted round to face a guy in his mid-twenties, wearing a business suit and a bewildered expression on what appeared to be his face. His features seemed to be distorted, as if his forehead and nose were made of too many layers of rubber, and his teeth were those of a wild animal, the incisors reminding her of the vampires in so many trashy horror flicks. His eyes were not human, they seemed to glow golden, almost cat-like.
Oh God. The woman was so delusional she had paid some actor to dress up in cheesy special effects makeup. Faith reached out to rip off the latex mask, and was shocked when her hand came into contact with his skin. Shit. The guy was ice cold.
A weird little shiver ran down her spine, and she took a step back from him.
'It's okay. You feel it, don't you?' The woman's voice was very quiet. 'That sense of evil.'
The guy shook his head, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He suddenly stood very still, sniffed the cool night air in a way that reminded Faith of a dog picking up a scent.
Then he growled; a deep, low, guttural and completely inhuman sound, that made her think that maybe the woman wasn't insane at all. In a flash, the guy had her by the neck, her feet dangling inches off the ground.
'What the hell am I supposed to do?' She yelled to her companion, who was watching them with apparent unconcern.
'Relax, Faith, Trust your instincts.'
Her main instinct was not to become dinner, and she struggled in his iron grasp, aiming her knee into his groin expertly. There was a howl; and the vampire dropped her quickly, and hunched over to more properly explore his pain.
'Good girl! Now, press home your advantage.'
Faith spun on the balls of her feet, using the momentum she had created to carry her foot hard into the creature's chest, knocking him to the ground. She felt a rush of exhilaration, allowing the energy coursing through her body to control her movements. She kicked him again, swung her fist into his stomach, and then remembered the wooden stake. She pulled the vampire onto his back, then placed the stake against his chest and shoved hard.
There was very little sound. One minute she was straddling the creature, and the next she was kneeling in a pile of dust.
She looked up at the Englishwoman, who was smiling broadly at her. Faith stood up, brushed the remaining traces of vampire from her clothes. She couldn't keep the grin off her own face. Shit. This was what she was born for.
'Lady, I think I just got the call.'
*~*~*~*
She dug her fork deeper into the tin, scraping the side of her thumb against the ragged edge of the lid. The cut welled slowly; she stared in fascination at the thin line of blood that slowly blossomed along the slit. She watched as her blood pooled and ran down towards her hand, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. The pain finally made itself known and she lifted her thumb to her mouth, sucked the wound absently.
Helen had told her of the other slayers, of the ones who had not wanted the responsibility of being the Chosen One. She could never understand that. She had meant nothing all her life. Her mom had made sure she knew that. 'My little mistake', she would call her, in the rare moments when she showed Faith something approaching affection.
After she had been taken into care, she had discovered that she was nothing but a case file number; a headache for an overworked social services department, who were more than happy to ship her out to any foster family who would have her. And there hadn't been many of those. She wasn't cute, and she wasn't sweet, and most of those families really wanted babies who would love them unconditionally, and not stomp around the house, throwing stuff and generally hurling abuse at them. So she learned that she didn't really matter.
Even with Debbie and Dave, who had put up with her for over a year, Faith knew that it wasn't really about her. She was simply a project to them, a chance to prove how wonderful they were at saving her lost soul. She, Faith, meant nothing.
Until Helen had come into her life. She had given her a reason for her existence, had treated her as if she was worth something. Faith had mattered to her. And for the first time in her life, she had felt valued. Her thumb gave another throb, and she sucked harder, blinking back tears furiously.
*~*~*~*
She had forgotten what it was like to feel this afraid. Her heart thumped so hard that she was sure it echoed through every room of this nightmarish house. She had dozed off after a training session at Helen's, and had a weirdly lucid dream, where Helen was really mad with someone and she was yelling that it wasn't right, they couldn't do it, she would have no part of it.
And then someone who wasn't her watcher moved towards her, cold fingers touching her bare arm, a needle sliding in. Cold blue eyes watching her with dispassionate curiosity. Helen's voice again, pleading this time, and then the other spoke; coldly, quietly, a voice that sent shivers along her spine. Then darkness fell.
She had woken in this place; in the semi-darkness of a bedroom, and had immediately sensed the presence of the vampire in the house. As she had struggled with the locked door, it had become terrifyingly apparent that she no longer possessed any slayer powers. There were several fresh needle tracks in her upper arm, which she figured meant that she had been drugged.
This had been done on purpose.
Now she cowered against the door, suddenly small again, unable to control what was going to happen to her.
'Faith!' A hissed whisper came from the window.
She turned to see Helen swing her leg over the casement, and climb into the room. She was breathing heavily.
'I am so out of condition!' She leaned over for a moment, hands on her hips. 'Are you okay?'
She couldn't speak, felt the hot pressure of tears well up behind her eyes.
'Did he - hurt you?' Helen's voice wobbled a little, and she came over, knelt down beside her on the floor.
She managed to shake her head.
'Helen – something's happened to me. I'm not strong.' She couldn't keep the tremble out of her own voice, and a tear splashed onto the worn denim of her jeans.
'Bastards!' Helen breathed the word viciously; and she knew they were in trouble. Helen never, ever cursed. She was always picking Faith up on her swearing. Things must be really bad.
'It's a test, Faith. When a slayer reaches the age of eighteen, the Council has decreed they must undergo a rite of passage, to prove their resourcefulness.' Her voice was full of disgust.
'A completely outdated exercise in cruelty, which proves nothing other than the fact that the Council of Watchers is an anachronistic bunch of misogynists.
Faith wasn't sure exactly what she meant, but she could tell that Helen hadn't been a party to it.
'What's the test?' She whispered.
'The cruciamentum.' Helen spat. 'They lock the weakened slayer in a house with a vicious vampire. The slayer is given no weapons, but is expected to defeat the vampire using her stealth, wit and cunning.' Scorn dripped off every syllable.
'And what usually happens?'
'Well, let's just say not many of the slayers have made it past eighteen. It's a completely hopeless situation, and those that did survive usually put their escape down to luck, rather than any great strategy.'
Helen put her hand over Faith's own, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
'I thought perhaps you could do with some luck.'
Then she reached into her pocket, and pulled out a jewelled dagger, which had an inscription carved into the handle.
'The vampire you are supposed to face is called Kakistos. His name comes from the Greek, meaning the worst of the worst. He is one of the very oldest vampires we know of. The council had heard rumours that he was in this area, so they let it be known that the slayer had challenged him. He's an old fashioned vampire, really prides himself on the fact that he's never been bested by a slayer. So when they issued the challenge, he couldn't resist.'
She paused, ran her fingers over the jewelled hilt of the weapon.
'When I found out about it, I tried to stop them.'
Only now did Faith notice the red marks on Helen's face, the beginnings of a black eye. She felt anger rise in her throat.
'But I did manage to find out about this.'
She held out the dagger to Faith, who took it carefully. Moonlight from the open window glinted off the blade, and the jewels that were inset in the heavy handle seemed to glow in the heat of her hand.
'It's about nine hundred years old, supposedly fashioned by the Knights Hospitallers, who used it against the infidel in the crusades. It is thought to possess the power to permanently wound those who do not follow Christ. A category that would include our master vampire. The inscription on the handle loosely translates as "death to the unbeliever".'
Faith allowed herself a little smile. Even in a situation as desperate as the one they now faced, Helen couldn't quite control the watcher-lecturing gene.
'So, I'm guessing that this night hospital knife must be pretty valuable, if it's as old as you say. How come it isn't locked up in a museum somewhere?'
Even in the dark, she saw the warm blush spread across her watcher's face. Once they had established the fact that Faith would no longer be attending high school, Helen's cover had been changed to a visiting curator at the Museum of Fine Arts
'Oh, Helen, tell me it ain't so!' Faith teased softly.
The older woman looked a little sheepish, and shrugged her shoulders.
'Five finger discount, Faith. Anyway, I'll replace it once the job is done.'
Faith felt her heart swell; that anyone would think her worthy of such trust, was almost unbelievable.
The feeling of joy was, unfortunately, short-lived.
There was a sudden crash of rotten wood splintering, and the door to the bedroom gave way easily.
'So, Slayer, we meet at last.'
He was possibly the most unpleasant specimen of the undead she had faced, and considering some of the low unlives she had dusted, that was saying something. He was almost as broad as he was tall, his game face a permanent expression, the fingers of his hands cloven into goat-like hooves.
She scooted back against the wall, suddenly realizing what she was up against. This was a vampire she would have had trouble despatching had she been at full slayer strength. In her current state, she hadn't a hope in hell of dusting this son of a bitch.
'And you brought a friend. How considerate, bringing me an appetizer before the entrée.'
He leaned down, placed his grotesque excuse for a hand on her trembling thigh.
'Mm, I can feel the adrenaline in your pulse. Slayer blood and uncontrollable terror; such a heady cocktail.'
She swung her hand, slashing wildly at his face with the dagger, its blade ripping into the flesh above his eye, then slicing down through the socket. He roared involuntarily, and lifted his cloven fingers to the wound, blindly trying to hold his eye in place.
'You will pay for that, bitch!' He screamed, seizing Helen by her throat and hauling her to her feet. 'You will get to see her butchered before you die.'
Faith was transfixed in horror. The knife slipped from her grasp and Kakistos scooped it up, held its tip to Helen's face.
'An eye for an eye, my dear.'
*~*~*~*
She stared into the empty tin, the last few strands of spaghetti clinging limply to the sides of the can.
She remembered the look in her watcher's eyes just before the vampire took his revenge. A look of such trust and faith. Helen believed in her, even without her powers. Had believed in her until the moment Faith turned away, fled from a scene she couldn't witness, would not witness. She had looked back, once, after she had climbed out of the window.
The look in Helen's eyes then had broken her. A look of such serenity, understanding, forgiveness. She had betrayed the only person in her life who had ever cared about her.
So all the others had been right. She meant nothing, was worse than nothing. A traitor to her watcher, a selfish weak coward. She had the chance to save her, and had chosen to run.
And she'd been running ever since.