Conversations about Vampires
by Alixtii

"Okay, this is where I have a problem. See, because we're talking about vampires. We're having a talk with vampires in it. "

--Xander, in "The Harvest"

London, England – December 1903

"What shall we do without you, grandmother?"

Spike watched as Darla bristled at Dru's use of "grandmother." "Whatever you want to," she said briskly. It was obvious to Spike that Darla really could not have cared less what would happen to Dru and him.

"Must you go?"

"My master has called me," she said. "I must answer. I hope you would show me so much respect."

Right, thought Spike. He just happens to call you a few years after Angelus leaves himself—a subject which Darla still refused to talk about it. And it has nothing at all with being a convenient excuse to get rid of us.

Drusilla's thoughts, however, seemed to be in a different place. "Of course, grandmother," she said. "You will call out to me, and I will save you, put you in the dirt and we will be together again."

"Erm, yes, Drusilla," Darla said, clearly having no clue what Dru had just said. (Spike didn't have a sodding clue either, but then, she hadn't been talking to him now, had she?) "I have no doubt that you will do that. Keep Spike in line, Drusilla; never forget who is the sire and who is the chylde."

"Oh, my Spike'll be good," Dru whispered to her grandsire conspiratorially. "He's my knight in blemished armor."

"That's right, love," said Spike, choosing to take the comment as a compliment. "We'll get along."

"Well, good luck with that," Darla said. "And who knows? We might meet again."

"Goodbye, grandmother," Drusilla said with something close to actual sorrow. "The cloth of the Church does not become you. Angelus knows. Or else, he will"

"The Church doesn't become me, you...." Darla trailed off, clearly trying to keep the parting civil. "Goodbye, Drusilla. Goodbye, William. Have fun."

Spike put his arm around the waist of his lover and his sire. "We will," he said to Darla. "Don't worry about that, we will."

London, England – December 2003

"Well, at least your subject is still on this plane of existence. And evil. How does that look for me? I write a long thesis, even impressed Travers, the poor late bastard. Incredibly dangerous, was the jist of it. Do not underestimate. And then what happens? He sacrifices his life to close the Hellmouth."

"Well, you were right about one thing; he wasn't to be underestimated. Lydia, what happened was extraordinary circumstances. It in no way reflects upon the quality of your research."

"I didn't even get his age right. But that's not even the point. If extraordinary circumstances can happen once, Reginald, they can happen again. Don't you understand? This is going to change everything about the way we work."

"Hmm. And I thought the First Evil blowing up the Council HQ did that."

"Don't jest, Reg, it's in bad taste. A vampire, choosing on its own accord to search out a soul, go through whatever trials necessary—"

"He was obsessed, Lydia. It doesn't change what he was: amoral, consciousless, a mindless predator."

"No, that's your subject. And even she, insane as she is, could feel love. Reginald, I've studied William the Bloody for over a decade. He's passionate, yes. But he's more than a predator." Lydia paused, smiled weakly. "But that's enough of that. My thesis is written, defended, accepted years ago. It might have blown up with the other half of the archives—the ones not stolen by Sirk or Giles, bless their thievish souls—for all the good it'll do us now."

Reginald nodded. "It's lucky I had already checked these out, or I would really be up the creek without a paddle, as the Americans would say."

"Have you had any success? Any idea where she might be?"

"Returned to Europe, certainly," he answered. "I have some sightings in the Czech Republic which might be her. And then there are the reports from Romania."

"Romania? Isn't that where Angelus was ensouled? What does she want?"

"There's a method to her madness, that much I am sure about that. But what?"

"Maybe she wants a soul, too."

"And then the entire Order of Aurelius will end up getting souls. Besides, what would she do with a soul? She's mad."

"Then she won't have to worry about going crazy when the guilt falls onto her. Hmm, what if we're looking at this the wrong way? Wax on, wax off. If someone can insert a soul, he can remove it as well."

Reginald looked at his lover in shock. "You think she is trying to de- ensoul Angelus?"

"It fits her M.O. It's worth looking into."

"It's worth more than that—if that's the case, we have to move fast. Where's the Slayer? In Spain?"

"Which slayer?" Lydia pointed out. "We only have a few hundred on our hands."

"You know the one I mean. The first one—the experienced one. The Summers girl."

"In Italy, I think. Rome, with her sister. Your best bet is Rupert Giles."

"You should call him, Lydia. You have more superiority than I do."

"Hmm, last time Rupert and I parted it wasn't exactly on the best of terms. But I'll do my best."

"Have him get in touch with the Summers girl, and see what he can do with the other slayers he has under his wing. The second Slayer in particular should know about this; she was able to bring down Angelus just last year."

"And then she'll have to deal with Dru too, no doubt. Hmm—Faith versus Drusilla. Two criminally insane, preternaturally strong brunettes locked in mortal combat. Sort of poetic, don't you think?"

"You might want try to get a call in to Wyndam-Pryce's son, too, at Wolfram and Hart, while you're at it. The more people aware of the situation, the better."

"Yet another person with whom parting was not a sweet sorrow." Lydia sighed. "You know, Reg, we'd better be right about this."

"Do you have any idea what'll happen if we are right and don't do anything?"

Lydia sighed. "I know, I know. But here's hoping, nonetheless."

Somewhere near Romania...

Solomon looked at Jezebel. "Why are we here, in this God-forsaken country?"

Jezebel shook her head. "Not God-forsaken. They know God too well, have stolen His secrets. Like her—too in tune with the darkness."

"She's a madwoman."

Jezebel shrugged. "True enough. But did you see what she did to Arthur? Wouldn't just stake him; made sure his death was slow and agonizing. I saw a vial of holy water in her purse, Solomon. I don't think it's for cauterizing wounds—especially since we don't bleed all that fast, lacking circulation and all.

"Besides, she's an Aurelian, and they're strong. She may be the eldest of her Order now, even, if you don't count Angelus. So I wouldn't suggest crossing her. She's our mistress and we're her minions."

Solomon nodded, resigned. "However did we get this gig? In the middle of Eastern Europe, the minions of a crazywoman...."

London, England

"I managed to contact the Slayer. She and her sister are making their way to Romania as we speak, with all possible haste."

Reginald nodded, then paused. "Something's happened. What is it?"

"I also made a phone call to the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart, where's Wyndam-Pryce's son is working. As you suggested."

"Not the best way to warm up to father, working at an evil law firm. Did he say anything about returning the archives Sirk stole?"

Lydia shook his head. "No, he was on a leave of absence because he—get this—thought he shot his father."

Reginald looked at her in shock. "I knew the two didn't get along, but..."

"It gets better. Guess who's turned up at Wolfram and Hart?"

"A vampiric Perry Mason."

"None other than a newly resurrected William the Bloody."

"Human?"

"Still vampire. Although as I hear it, possibly in the running for the Shanshu."

"That's ridiculous, there's the whole part about the visions and..." He stopped. "Drusilla?"

"It's possible," confirmed Lydia. "I'm not sure what to think."

"Well, congratulations," said Reginald. "Your thesis isn't obsolete after all. Where did you get all this information?"

"From Angelus' secretary. A Ms. Harmony Kendall. She was quite talkative. Then she remembered she wasn't suppose to tell me and swore me to secrecy. Something about him going crazy if the Slayer ever found out."

"Harmony Kendall," Reginald repeated, the name uncertain on his tongue. "The name sounds familiar somehow."

"I thought so, too, so I ran the name through the Council's database. Turns out she's a vampire, speculated to be a member of the Order of Aurelius through an alternate line created by the Master right before the Slayer killed him."

"A vampire? As Angelus' secretary? And talkative? Don't tell me she has a soul too."

"Not insofar as I can tell. But you never know with these Aurelians."

"Well, Angelus won't have one for long if we don't get cracking—won't have a soul, I mean, not a secretary—unless Drusilla stakes the secretary, which I guess would always be possible. Did you get through to Cleveland?"

Lydia nodded. "They're on alert. They've sent one of their operatives, someone named Andrew, to feel out the situation without alerting Angelus or his staff. If Angelus loses his soul, Faith will be in town within hours, ready for anything."

"Good. We'll need her to be, no doubt."

Somewhere in Romania....

The gypsy knew who the dark woman in front of her was. There was no doubt about it—she was Death. She and her two companions—a brunette man and a blonde woman, each as deadly as the other—had come into the village and slaughtered half of it before they had found the woman they were looking for.

"We were a family once, you know," the woman said. "Grandmother, Daddy, my William, and me. The stars sang and said we would be together forever. My William, he said we would be together forever. But then something happened, and made the stars lie. Do you know what it was?"

The gypsy woman knew, but did not speak.

"You were naughty and put that wicked soul within him. Run and catch, run and catch, the lamb's fled from the blackberry patch. Daddy had to leave. He tried to be evil, but his heart wasn't in it. Hearts are important things, you know. Daddy once gave me a heart, later, when he finally freed himself from the Angel-beast. But now the Angel-beast is back, and Miss Edith is very angry.

"Do you like my story? It is a sad story, you know. Never was there a tale of more woe than this of Drusilla and her fine beau. Grandmummy left to go to her Master, that dreadful creature with the bloody mouth. We couldn't invite him to tea, not looking like that we couldn't. What would people think?"

Through all of this, the gypsy sat very still, not moving. Drusilla went on.

"It was just William and me, then. No Daddy, no Grandmum, but we had each other. We were in love. Have you ever loved anyone? You have, I can smell it. Was he very handsome? My William is very handsome, you know. Grandmum could never see it, but Daddy knew. And I knew, of course, because the stars whispered it to me.

"We had a wonderful time. We danced through Europe, a slow waltz. The children screamed out of key. They had to be punished. My William and I came up with the most exquisite punishments. Do you want me to show you?"

The old woman, already pressed against the wall, did all she could do to flatten herself even further.

"And then came her. The Slayer. The she-devil. Or we came to her, after Prague. The stars were cross with me then. They are a horrible thing, Slayers are: an infection, a plague. You kill one, another one comes up. Like avocadoes, or peppermints. My William killed two Slayers, he did. But it wasn't good enough. You know how they taste? Like ashes. William let me taste once, before we made love over the girl's body. When I killed a Slayer, I didn't even drink: I looked in her eyes and slit her throat, like a mother with a little lost lamb.

"He tasted like her, like ashes. Ashes and dust. He was covered in her, all I could see was her devil's face. He went back to her, you know, which is when the men found him and put the metal in his head. Metal, keeping him from being what he was. A cage."

The vampire's voice grew wistful. "We had a cage once. In London. We would keep a girl in it and listen to her scream. Even Angelus admitted the music was beautiful. But cages are not for my William. Do you know what happens when you put a wild animal in a cage? It becomes tame—until even I could not help him anymore. He went himself and got one of those filthy souls, and it burned him up. The river showed it to me, in my dreams.

"And now he's back. Do you know where he is? With Daddy. They are a family again, fighting and scratching just like in old times. They all got souls: even Grandmummy had a soul growing inside her. But they were a family. I want to have a family. I want to be with them, even if Daddy still won't hurt me. Even if I can't be naughty. Even if I need a dirty soul.

"You can give me a soul."

It was at that moment that a crossbow bolt flew through the air and pierced her chest.

A/N: My previous author notes at this point asked "Is Drusilla dusted? Chances I'll end up writing more of this, but this seems a logical spot to end for now." Now, all you need to do is go to the next chapter which--not to spoil the suspense for anyone reading this for the first time--sorta implies the outcome.

I decided to collapse several scenes together in order to make longer chapters. I've beem thinking in "pentads" as I write this anyway--a flashback, followed by a "December 2003" scene in the same location (or Los Angeles if the flashback is in Sunnydale) and then three more scenes all set in December 2003. I hope you like the new format, as it allows me to come up with titles for the chapters and start each new chapter with a quote, as above.

Alixtii.