Chapter ten.
Angel.
I raise my head groggily, and stare at the blank brick wall in front of my face. The smell of the ocean comes to me, and another smell, much more familiar, as well.
Human blood.
I try to move my arms, and the rattle of chains tells me that I'm trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving. I try moving the rest of me as well; no go. So I raise my head up further, and squint into the gloom, letting my natural night vision start to work again after being unconcious.
The sound of boots on the stone floor reaches my ears, and I feel a hand touching my cheek before I see her.
"Angelus. Good, you're awake. We can finally get started. Brendan! Let's get this thing underway," she calls back over her shoulder, and another vampire enters the cavernous room that I can just now make out. His shockingly red hair stands up in gelled spikes all over his head, and his attempt at looking cool by wearing a soul patch is laughable.
The woman, on the other hand, scares me just a bit. She has that look in her eyes that zealots get; cold, empty, soulless. Her brunette hair shines as the male vamp lights some large tapers that rest in sconces around the room.
She grasps my chin in her hand, and looks me in the eyes. I've never seen anyone that has naturally violet eyes before. It's strange, but in a way mesmerizing.
"So, you know who I am. Should I know you?" I ask and she grins.
"I should think so. We're longtime compatriots of Spike and Drusilla's. Surely they've mentioned us?"
"Uh, no. Not to me. And the name's Angel, by the way."
"Those idiots!" she spouts, obviously angered by the slight perpetrated upon her by Spike. Not surprising.
"They really never mentioned us?" she asks suspiciously.
"Nope. Sorry…um," I trail off.
"Oh, yes. I'm Gillian. Brendan and Gillian. From the old country," she says, smiling brightly, and inwardly I groan. They think they have camraderie with me because we're all from Ireland. Great. Another nutcase vampire. Time to set her straight.
"So, what do you want with me? I'd be a lot more helpful if you could let me out of these chains."
She whirls back to face me, her demon showing, fangs dripping spittle. "You aren't going anywhere!" She screams, and I'm sure now this is not one to be taken lightly. Crazy ones never are.
"Now, Gill, lets calm down," says the redhead, approaching us at last. "Remember the shaman told us we have to be calm in order for this thing to work."
She pets his head like a dog's.
"Sweet Brendan. Let's do this."
They walk to the corner of the room, where a small table sits, covered in silver cloth and pentacles. In the center hangs an upside down cross. A small jar also sits on the table, which the male now picks up and dips a paint brush into.
"So, what are you guys doing? Apocalypse, world in peril, raising a demon?" I ask them, hoping to distract them as I try and work on the cuffs holding my chains around my wrists.
"Shut it, traitor," says Brendan, and glares at me as he begins to paint a pentagram on the floor. With blood. That must be where the smell was coming from.
"Traitor? Now, that's pretty harsh for someone who doesn't even know me," I quip, God I'm picking up Buffy's speech habits, too, and he kicks me in the leg as he passes by, still painting away.
"Kills his own kind. Hangs with the Slayer," he practically spits at me. "Angelus, the scourge of Europe, reduced to an errand boy for the white hats. Pathetic."
"I am my kind," I say, and he growls at me.
"Brendan, are you done?" Gillian trills, and he answers her. "Almost, love. You can start the incense now."
She lights some incense on the altar, and immediately the candles lit around the room flare to brilliant heights, then dim almost completely.
Gillian grins with demonic glee. "It's working!"
"Right," the male vamp says, and dusts his knees off, putting the paintbrush down on the altar. "Your turn, Angel," he mocks, and I tense as he approaches, jar of blood still held in his hands.
"You can't hold me here forever. You know how strong we are," I tell him, in a last ditch effort to sway him.
"You won't be," he says, and throws the jar of blood in my face.
It burns like acid.
With a roar I leap at him, arms caught by the chains, blood and gore dripping off my face onto my chest.
They laugh as they retreat, stopping at the altar.
"Ready, dear?"
"As you are, my love," the woman answers, and picks up a book as the man lifts another small jar from the table. He approaches the center of the pentagram, gingerly stepping over the freshly painted lines.
I fight to reach him, but my vision is suddenly blurry, and I realize I want for nothing at all but to sit down. So I do.
I shake my head, trying to clear it, and watch helplessly as the young vampire begins to shake a dusty substance onto the center of the magical pentagram, muttering what I assume to be an incantation.
I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to get the blood out of them, and lift my arms off the floor, but only succeed in raising them a few inches. The room tilts, and I shut my eyes, feeling but not controlling my body as it topples over.
"Get him, Gill, and bring him here," Brendan says, and I can only watch feebly as the woman lifts me, having unlocked the cuffs around my wrists and ankles. She carries me to the middle of the room, and dumps me uncerimoniously into the middle of the circle.
"Now, baby, now," she whispers, fangs shining and her face in a sweat, excitement pouring out of her in waves.
I lie there, and watch as Brendan takes the book from her, and walks to me.
"Wo sind sie, Ihren Oberst? Kommen sie Aus! Kommen Sie Aus! Blut fur Sie, Blut fur lieben!" he screeches, and I stare in shock as he whips out a long, beautiful dagger with crosses etched on the blade. This isn't going to be pleasant.
"Furher, lieben," he echoes, and slashes my right wrist with the blade. I hiss, and try to pull my injured hand into my chest, but I still can't move a muscle. My blood pumps in spurts onto the floor, and mixes with the ashes there.
The room begins to tremble as the two vampires step away from the pentagram. The candles flicker, grow brighter, and grow dim several times.
The smell of incense grows strong, and I hear rain begin to patter on the roof of the building we're in. Wind whips through the room suddenly, and I blink, eyes stinging with the blood and the smoke of the incense.
"Well?" says Gillian. "What's happening?"
"Shhhhh," Brendan puts a finger to her lips. "He's coming, I can feel it."
They both crouch by the altar like children waiting for Santa Claus.
The earth trembles again violently, and I am pitched backward as a crack appears in the floor, steam hissing from the rent in the earth.
The rain intensifies outside, and the temperature rises, bathing us all in sweat. The other two creep forward, clinging to each other as the room rocks back and forth with the violence of the quake.
"WHO CALLS ME?" a voice rips through the building, and the candles snuff out, one by one.
"Your children call you, Master. Rise up! Rise up! Your hour is at hand! Rise!"
The woman cackles through her fangs, and repeats the man. "Rise up, Master!"
"Rise, and take this blood sacrifice we have brought you, your undead evilness," Brendan states, and I grimmace as the heat intensifies.
The light from the crack blasts through the room, and we all leap back, shielding our eyes. Of course I can barely move, but I manage to raise my hand to block my face from the dazzling glow.
"Angelus?"
I lower my hand, and gaze at a face I thought I would not see ever again.
He still has fruit punch mouth.
TBC.
