London, 1880
The violins played softly in the background of the party. Cecily Adams rested on the settee, her heart pounding in embarrassment. The sounds of party guests chattering and laughing floated through the large townhouse. She stared out the window trying to maintain her composure.
"Cecily?" She heard her name spoken softly behind her. Turning, she saw William. The slender man stood before her in a mud-brown suit that matched his tousled, slightly curly hair. Thin glasses rested on a pointed nose. Hollow cheeks and thin lips further contributed, completing the image of a stuffy librarian.
"Oh… leave me alone." She faced the window, fanning herself to relieve the burning in her cheeks.
"Oh," said William, waving his hand in disregard, "they're vulgarians. He joined her on the settee with a chuckle. "They're not like you and I."
Cecily blinked in astonishment. Her fan paused in midair.
"You and I? I'm going to ask you a very personal question, and I demand an honest answer. Do you understand?" William nodded, his eyes glowing eagerly.
"Your poetry, it's- they're… not written about me, are they?" She looked at him with apprehension.
"They're about how I feel," he said, his eyes glowing with barely concealed emotion.
"Yes, but are they about me?" she persisted, her gaze never wavering. William looked into her eyes.
"Every syllable."
Cecily turned away, covering her face with the fan. "Oh God!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, uh… I know it's sudden," he said, glancing at his feet. "And please, if they're no good, they're only words. But the feeling behind them… I love you, Cecily."
"Please stop," she cried softly in the direction of the window.
"I- I know I'm a bad poet, but I'm a good man. All I ask is… is- is that you try to see me-" Cecily faced him.
"I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William." She stood up to leave. Turning once again to the man on the settee, she said "You're beneath me." Her back to him, she smoothly walked from the room to rejoin the party.
Cecily smiled and greeted her guests. While flawlessly following social etiquette, she tried to push away the fresh memory of humiliation. William was a wishy-washy sliver of a man who lived in a world of his own. His awkward manner made him an easy target for ridicule. In addition, he had the irritating tendency to continuously cover scraps of paper with horrendous poetry.
"Cecily! Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you!" She turned at the sound of Gretchen, her best friend. They kissed each others' cheeks in greeting. Cecily led her friend gently by the elbow until they were alone in a corner of the room, where she recounted the frightful conversation with William.
"Oh darling!" Gretchen's eyes widened as she covered her mouth and giggled. "How horrible! I do hope that he got the message!" Cecily allowed herself a small chuckle at the incident. Poor William!
A tall, elegant woman in a pale pink, pure silk gown glided to the girls in the corner. The woman's dark hair was piled high on her head, revealing diamond earrings and a string of genuine pearls around her neck. Her blue eyes glittered angrily when she made eye contact.
"Cecily!" the woman hissed "What are you doing here in the corner? Have you entirely forgotten your manners? We have guests to greet!"
"Yes, Mother," Cecily responded quietly. She glanced at Gretchen, who gave her a sympathetic look. Her shoulders straightened as she lifted her chin and plastered a glowing, insincere smile across her face. Small footsteps carried her smoothly across the floor as every facet of her upbringing took control. A lady always put her best foot forward.
London, 1890
"Mother! Come see the monkeys!" Cecily Powell smiled at her six-year old son. He grabbed her hand and pulled, trying to make her move faster. She quickened her pace, trying to appease the child's impatience.
The sun shone warmly on her shoulders and cheeks. A gentle breeze ruffled the tassels on the edges of her parasol. The clear blue sky promised quiet weather for the afternoon. Her son skipped along ahead of her. The London zoo was his favorite place to visit in the spring.
He stepped up to the cages and grinned, blowing raspberries to the chimpanzees. One of the chimps noticed him and stared back blankly. The boy giggled and made faces. The chimp's lower lip curled down, and its face broke into a lopsided grin.
Smiling, Cecily picked up her son. He wrapped his arms around her neck and played with tendrils of hair curling around her face.
"Oh, ma-ma, no! I'm not done looking at the monkeys yet!" her son squealed, reaching toward the cage with all the might his little body could muster.
"I know, Charles. But it's time to go home; papa will be waiting for us if we don't hurry." Charles sighed in disappointment but ceased his struggling. She set him down and he walked quietly beside her, clinging to her thumb. The footman held the door of the carriage open for them. They sat in comfortable silence for the ride home.
When they approached the Powell family home, the butler opened the door for them. Cecily handed him her gloves, hat and parasol. He bowed as he accepted them. When Cecily had her back turned, he winked at Charles evoking a grin.
"Thank you, Bernard," Cecily murmured. Instantly, the butler's face remade itself into a mask of absolute indifference. He made a slight bow to the lady of the house and gracefully vanished, as only butlers can do.
Cecily and Charles went into the dining room where Thomas was sitting patiently at the head of the table.
"Daddy!" Charles ran to his father, who was often at work and never able to spend much time with him.
"Charles! Is this how a gentleman behaves?" his father barked. The boy stopped in his tracks, chastised. He slowly and carefully walked to his father and gave him a peck on the cheek.
"It's wonderful to see you father, how was your day?" Desperate for approval, the child behaved as much like a gentlemen as a six-year old possibly could. Cecily found it comical. She could hardly wait to see the man that little Charles would grow in to.
"My day was fine. Thank you for asking." Thomas answered cordially, setting a good example for his only son. As the maid served dinner to the family, Cecily's thoughts wandered happily over the family seated with her.
She and Thomas had been married nine years. He had been the most promising of all her suitors, and her judgment had served her well. Thomas rose to be the governor of the Bank of England He was able to provide a luxurious living for his family and proved to be a good father. He had even understood that Cecily did not want to leave her family home. After her mother's death, they'd moved into the much smaller house that had belonged to the Adams family for generations. It took four years of trying for her to become pregnant. The labor nearly killed her. Afterwards, the doctor informed her that she could never have another child. While she was saddened to hear this, little Charles was such a marvel that she doubted she had enough room in her heart to love another child. He was her curly blond-haired, bright blue-eyed treasure.
"So how was the zoo? Did you enjoy your outing?" The question had
been directed at Cecily, but it was Charles who answered.
"Oh, yes father! We saw birds and-"
"Charles! Was the question directed at you?" Thomas fixed his son with a stern glare. Charles studied the rug under his chair.
"No sir," he mumbled.
"Do gentlemen answer questions that are not addressed to them?"
"No sir." Thomas glanced at Cecily and winked. She tried to hide her smile.
"So, Charles, how was your outing?" The boy's face broke into a wide grin and he picked up exactly where he left off.
"We saw giraffes and elephants and monkeys! And… thalie... thilie…" he looked to his mother for help.
"Thylacines," Cecily filled in.
"Thylacines. One of the monkeys made a face at me, it looked like this!" The boy's lower lip curled down in an amusing attempt to imitate the chimpanzee's expression. Cecily chuckled softly into her napkin and looked at her husband, her eyes gleaming with adoration for their son.
Much later that night, Cecily was awakened by a crash coming from the general area of the drawing room. She sat bolt upright, listening carefully. Thomas was fast asleep next to her. He mumbled in response to her insistent nudging. She poked him harder, covering his mouth with her hand. His eyes suddenly popped open.
"I think there's someone in the house," she whispered, removing her hand. Thomas's eyes widened. They sat in silence, enveloped in the pitch-black dark of the room. Sounds of someone creeping around downstairs softly bled through the floors and walls of the old house. Thomas rose, trying to make as little sound as possible. He walked to the fireplace, lifted the poker and walked to the door.
Cecily followed her husband into the hall, where he motioned for her to stay. A creak came from the door of her son's bedroom. Both Thomas and Cecily jumped at the noise. Charles peeked out of his room, eyes cloudy with sleep. His eyes widened when he noticed the fire poker in Thomas's hand. Cecily fixed him with a stern glare and raised a finger to her lips. Her heart was still pounding at the sound the door had made. She held out her arms and he walked carefully to her.
Thomas tip-toed down the stairs, poker in hand. Cecily listened intently from the top of the stairs, while Charles clung to her leg. Thomas's muffled voice wafted up to his wife and child; he was, no doubt, telling the burglar to leave. A voice she didn't recognize replied angrily, followed by a soft moan. Fearing the worst, she covered her mouth with her hands to keep from screaming and temporarily released her hold on Charles. In the momentary distraction, the boy let go of her leg and ran down the stairs. Petrified, Cecily could only watch as her son ran to his father.
Recovering her senses, she chased after her son. The hardwood floor was cold on her bare feet as she entered the drawing room. A lamp had been lit. As she ran through the doorway, she was grasped from behind by someone with strong arms. A hand clapped over her mouth.
Thomas was lying on the floor. His eyes stared emptily at the ceiling. Her son had been dumped unceremoniously on top of him. A pool of blood surrounded them. Whose it was, she couldn't tell.
"Listen carefully, you rich, spoiled whore," a harsh voice whispered into her ear. "You are going to lie down on the floor and keep your eyes closed. I am going to walk out the door and you will never see me again." Hatred dripped from every syllable. He forced her over to her fallen family, forcing her to lay face-down in blood. Her stomach churned, but she forced it to be still. She heard the burglar go towards the door, step through it and shut it. She lied in place until she was certain he wouldn't return.
Sitting up, Cecily could barely control her body's tremors. Hands shaking violently, she rolled her son's tiny body over to reveal that his throat had been slit. Thomas's nightshirt was pure red. Her hands dripping with blood, she covered her face trying to block out the gruesome picture. A blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the house when she could no longer deny the truth.
Bernard came running from the servant's quarters followed by two of the maids. Sarah and Mary were still pulling on their bathrobes and blinking the sleep from their eyes when they entered the drawing room. All three froze for an instant before immediately taking control of the situation. Bernard went to the telephone and demanded to be connected to Scotland Yard. The maids went to Cecily's side and pulled her away from the bodies.
Cecily had gone into shock. Mary helped her mistress to a chair as Sarah hurried off for a wet towel. The angry crimson covered her face, hands and dress.
A loud knock on the door announced the presence of police officers. Bernard opened the door to let them enter. Two men in dark blue uniforms came into the room. Their eyes widened as they absorbed the morbid scene before them.
Cecily sat through their procedural questions, tonelessly answering and barely conscious of the words coming out of her mouth. The police had the bodies taken away. They cordially expressed their condolences before leaving. The room fell into complete silence, with Cecily still immobile on the settee. Mary brought tea, which she drank slowly. Sarah led the way upstairs to a bath that had just been drawn. She allowed the maid to help her undress, but paused as Mary started to take the blood-covered nightgown away.
"Leave that in the bedroom, Mary," she said.
"But madam, it's ruined. Why-"
"I said leave it!" Cecily insisted harshly. Tears came to Mary's eyes as she bobbed a slight curtsey and took the nightgown to the bedroom. Cecily sank into the steaming water. She wasn't sure that she'd even blinked since the incident. Behind closed eyes, images of her child and her husband flashed across her mind.
Suddenly, the shock wore off and her soul finally understood what had just happened. Iron bars gripped her lungs and tightened. The blood from her hands mixed with the bathwater, turning it slightly pink. Charles's blood. Thomas's blood. Quickly rising to her knees, she leaned over the side and vomited onto the bathroom tile floor. With no food in her stomach, muscles contracted and forced her to expel tea and bile. Spent, Cecily collapsed back into the bathwater, futilely seeking comfort in the heat.
Mary appeared a few moments later. She looked at the floor and looked at Cecily. Cecily was furiously scrubbing blood from her hands and face with a cloth. Turning around, she went to find a mop and bucket.
Bernard appeared with tea and sandwiches, finding Cecily wrapped in a clean robe. A towel held her hair in a turban on top of her head. Her face and eyes looked nearly dead, completely void of emotion.
"Tea, madam? Bernard asked, proffering the tray. Cecily daintily picked up the cup of tea and the saucer, leaving Bernard to set the tray on the table next to the bed. He quietly made his exit.
Cecily sat on the corner of the bed, thinking hard. In the past, when things went wrong, she had always run to Thomas. But Thomas wasn't there. The thought kept repeating itself. Thomas isn't here. Thomas isn't here. Charles… the light of her life… was gone. Nothing would bring him back.
Going over to the desk drawer, she pulled out Thomas's flask. Shaking it, she found it to be half empty. She wrinkled her nose and took a sip. The fumes clogged her nose and throat as the liquid burned its way down to her stomach. She coughed and then drank some more.
Cecily wandered into Charles's room. Gaping loss engulfed her as she saw that his covers were still mussed from where he'd been sleeping just hours ago. Her soul felt completely empty. Beginning to feel slightly numb, she downed another mouthful of whiskey. Sitting on the bed, her fingers gently traced the indentation of Charles's head in the pillow. She laid down, trying to absorb his smell from the pillow. The faint soapy scent wafted into her nostrils.
She poured the remaining contents of the flask down her throat and carelessly let it fall to the floor. The alcohol was working; before long, she was unconscious.
The next morning, Cecily awoke to strange surroundings. The sunlight coming through the window sent painful spikes into her brain. When she realized that she was in Charles's room, everything rushed back.
She began to aimlessly wander through the house, looking at pictures. Then she remembered the trunk in the attic that held keepsakes from the wedding. Even with a lit candle, the attic stairs were treacherous. Walking over to the trunk, she turned the key that was always in the lock. It clicked and sprung open, releasing the top of the trunk.
Nestled on top of her wedding gown was a stack of photos of Charles's first year. She and Thomas were happy and in love, so thrilled to finally be holding their son. Agony hurled twisting nails through her intestines. A piece of degenerate criminal trash had torn her life from limb to limb. Although she yearned to release the pain, not a single tear would fall.
A muffled rattle shattered her reverie. Icy tendrils of terror snaked down her spine. Something under a pile of old clothes was moving.
She crept over to the pile of clothes, pulling them aside to see what was underneath. Moving the final skirt revealed another trunk underneath. The name Marguerite Adams was engraved on the lid. Her fingers briefly traced the letters. Marguerite Adams was the name of her great aunt, her grandmother's sister. She knelt before the trunk, lifting the lid.
The trunk was empty, save for an old book. It was large and leather-bound, with an odd symbol on the cover. But before she could pick it up, it began to glow. The light intensified, blinding her until her eyes clamped shut to block out the light. Strange voices whispered "your destiny is here. Your destiny… your destiny…"
Terrified, Cecily slammed the lid closed and ran down the stairs. She ran to her bedroom and sat down on the bed, trying to calm herself. The book had been glowing. Glowing! She shook her head in confusion. She must be going mad. It must have been a hallucination brought on by severe trauma. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way back up the stairs to the trunk.
The book now lay still; there were no strange lights, no voices. She took a deep breath and picked it up. Trembling, her hands turned the cover, revealing the first page. It was written in an incomprehensible language. But as she turned the pages, the words began to run together. The dark red ink writhed on the page, seemingly alive. She blinked; the book had translated itself into English!
Vaguely, Cecily recalled family stories about Aunt Marguerite. They'd called her a witch, but she had always thought that was in reference to the old woman's bad temper. Intrigued, she turned page after page.
The spells in this book had been hand-written, presumably by her aunt. One of them, Limrena's Nest, actually liquefied the entrails of the target. A malicious smile formed across her lips as she enjoyed a brutal image of this fate for the villain that had destroyed her life. If only she knew how to find him.
Suddenly, the pages began to turn of their own volition. Although startled, she lifted her hands, waiting for them to come to rest. They did, at another spell. This one required the blood of the slain, as well as a few other herbs and recitations. It was called Eyes of Vengeance. Cecily's eyes narrowed.
She carried the book downstairs to the bedroom. Gnawing pains in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten yet. Shoving the book under her pillow, she rang for Bernard. He arranged to have lunch brought to her. Over tomato soup and a ham sandwich, she studied the two spells. Before long, she had a list of supplies.
Cecily had heard rumors of shops in the dodgier parts of London, shops that sold things no normal person would want to buy. She chewed on her thumbnail, thinking quickly. Plan formulated, she had a servant find the address of just such a shop.
Letting her hair down and brushing it quickly, Cecily tried to erase all traces of professional care. Running back upstairs to the attic, she went through the pile of clothes that had been sitting on top of her aunt's trunk. In the tangled mess hid a perfect combination; a dull grey, tattered skirt and a faded lavender blouse. The clothes must have belonged to a servant at some point; she couldn't imagine anyone from her family having worn them.
Half an hour later the footman helped her step into the carriage. He had an odd expression on his face but asked no questions. He took her to a spot a few blocks away from her destination. Cecily told him to stay where he was, that she would return shortly.
The address she'd found took her to a seemingly empty building. The windows were covered in dust and grime. Cecily wiped at a small corner of the glass with her sleeve. Wiping the dirt on her skirt, she peeked through to see a completely bare room that obviously hadn't been occupied for years. Stumped, she stood back for a moment and pondered the situation. Just to be sure, she tried the door anyway.
The door gave way easily to reveal a room that looked nothing like what she'd seen through the window. Polished oak shelves were lined with books and strange jars. A spotless hardwood floor added to the clean and efficient atmosphere. Glass display cases held odd bits of jewelry and beautiful stones. A clerk stood behind the counter peering at her through enormous spectacles. She walked over and handed him her list. He raised an eyebrow as he checked it over. Nodding, he immediately took himself off to fill the order.
When Cecily returned to the carriage, it was with a sense of small victory. She had found an invisible shop to buy supplies to work magic! Only twenty-four hours ago she would have turned her nose at the very thought of what she was now hoping to accomplish.
Back in the bedroom, she read the spells over and over again, making sure she truly understood what needed to take place. The first spell, the locator spell, would be no problem. But for the second spell, she needed a personal item belonging to the target.
She laid out the stained nightgown on the floor. Pouring sea salt around her in a circle, she began to chant. The circle created, she sprinkled powdered wolfs bane over the dress. Finishing her chant, she looked down at the dress. It had begun to glow with an unearthly light. The blood moved and flowed over the fabric, eventually forming a map of London. A glimmering spot hovered over what looked like a pub in the poorest part of the city. That spot continued to glow. Cecily checked the time; it was nearly 8:30. No doubt he was there drinking, using the money he'd made from selling her things. He would be there for quite awhile.
She re-donned her low apparel, shifting uncomfortably in the rough fabric. A small vial was secured in the waistband of the skirt. The vial contained most of the ingredients of the potion required by Limrena's Nest. It waited only for the personal item and flame. Taking a final look at herself, she set off.
An hour later a local church bell rang out the time in the dark. Cecily stood before the door, plucking up her courage. Taking a deep breath, her shaking hands grasped the handle and pulled, taking her into the dark world of alcoholics in poverty.
Only her upbringing kept her from wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale cigars and ale. Candles and low-hanging gas lamps barely lit the large room. Raw wooden tables surrounded the large bar in the center. She quietly sat in a corner table and studied her surroundings. There were three men in the bar, other than the bartender. Momentary panic filled her as she realized a flaw in the plan. She had no idea what the murderer looked like!
The man at the corner of the bar was laughing loudly. He and the bartender had obviously just shared something amusing. Curious, she sat at the opposite end, listening.
"And the duck said…" The drunk was telling a joke, but the very sound of his voice caused fear to spread through her body. A picture of Charles and Thomas, dumped on the floor, flashed through her mind. There was no mistaking the deep, raspy speech.
Plucking up her courage, she smiled and walked up to the two men and confidently ordered whiskey. Barely sipping the glass that was put in front of her, she smiled at the drunk, hoping he wouldn't recognize her. She had on enough makeup to look like a common prostitute.
"Missy, what do you say we go out back?" He grinned and took her elbow.
"Oh no, not yet," she replied flirtatiously. "Not until you've let me buy you a drink!" A motion to the bartender and another glass of whiskey appeared on the counter. She bought drink after drink for him until his senses slip away into oblivion. Any amount of groping and bad breath was a small price to pay for the accomplishment of her goal.
In the middle of a story, her quarry completely lost consciousness. While the bartender was looking another direction, she plucked a few hairs from his head. A smile played across her lips as Cecily walked to a table in the corner of the room. A gas lamp offered a dim glow from the center of the table. She put the hairs in the vial and shook it thoroughly. Potion in hand, she took the chimney off of the lamp. Still unable to take the smile from her face, she emptied the vial onto the flame and waited, her eyes never leaving the unconscious figure.
He raised his head woozily. His hands went to his stomach, as if he were trying to relieve a cramp. Falling to his knees, dry heaves wracked his body. The other occupants turned at the sound of gagging.
Clinging to the bar, he dragged himself to his feet. The man staggered a few steps, agony contorting his face. His mouth opened as if to scream, but no sounds emerged. Audible gurgles emanated from his stomach.
Licking her lips, Cecily watched her enemy slowly force his head to tilt downwards. Wide, frightened eyes looked at his torso. Nearly immobile fingers pulled his shirt up. What looked to be a swarm of worms wriggled beneath the skin. The writhing mass began to glow red as hands and feet burst into flames.
A hair-raising scream of sharp and burning torment was followed by cries of terror as the burning figure ran around the room. All of the alcohol in the room began to flame. Cecily ran towards the door. From a safe distance, she watched as the building burned, with her son's murderer in the center of it all.
Suddenly she felt two huge hands on either side of her head, holding her still. The world around her twisted and warped as bolts of energy shot through her brain. She screamed as everything went black.
Silence and complete dark enveloped her. Cecily opened her mouth to scream. Before the sound could leave her throat, a monster appeared in front of her. The skin covering his warped face was blue. Pointed ears and horns further added to his grotesque appearance. A white beard was tied with a leather strip, contrasting sharply with flowing black robes. Hands clasped in front of him, the horrible beast leaned slightly toward her.
"You have much anger and pain." Cecily's mouth dropped open. The thing spoke English! "Your work here was truly inspiring. I would like to offer you a position." Cecily, paralyzed with fear, could only stare. The demon continued in a business-like manner.
"I am D'Hoffryn, Lord of Arashmaha. I'm a patron of a family, of sorts. We're vengeance demons, and we'd like you to join us." Cecily's pounding heart began to calm as her breathing slowed.
"What do you want me to do?" she ventured.
"Why, what you've done here, punish those who abuse children!" he replied. "There are wronged children all over the world. They need someone who understands and loves them. They need you."
Cecily thought about it for a moment. Without Charles, her life had no meaning. For all his ugly appearance, D'Hoffryn seemed to mean her no harm. In fact, his cordial manner and concern for the children of the world touched her.
'I accept." Her voice sounded clear and confident.
"Excellent! Welcome to the fold, Halfrek." He touched both sides of her head, and teleported them both to Arashmaha.
Sunnydale, 2002
"Can it be? Can it be Christine?" Music soared around Raoul's heart-breakingly pure tenor. Halfrek sat in the second row on Broadway in New York City for a production of Phantom of the Opera. Being a vengeance demon definitely had its perks.
Suddenly, she heard an old friend calling her name. Hallie, get your ass down here! The anger in Anyanka's voice echoed inside her skull. Not thinking, she immediately teleported to see what her friend wanted.
"You rang?" she asked. Mind-numbing pain shot through her as she materialized. Looking down, she saw that a sword had been shoved through her torso. Halfrek looked down at the sword and into Anyanka's eyes before losing consciousness.
She began to regain consciousness in enough time to hear Anyanka yelling "Her pendant! Get her pendant!" Rising quickly, she pushed Anya across the room with a gesture.
"There will be no touching of the pendant." She stood up, dusting herself off. Everyone in the room bore a look of utter confusion and fear. "What?" She chuckled. "Did you think I'd be stopped by a sword in the chest?" She looked down at the new hole in her blouse. "Flesh wound. Honestly Anyanka, you used to know better."
"How could you? Why would you do this?" her friend asked.
"I told you I was going to take care of some business while I was here in town."
"Yeah, but cursing us! Some of them are in the wedding party." Anyanka looked wounded. Cecily shrugged.
"I just go where I-" she stopped short. Standing against the wall was a vampire. Black jeans and a black t-shirt were covered by a black, leather trench coat. Over a century later, even with the short, bleached-blond hair, she was able to recognize him. "William?" He took another look at her and blinked.
The demon standing before Spike addressed him by an old name. He looked at her. Veins covered her face, almost completely hiding any traces of humanity. Even at that, her voice struck a chord that hadn't sounded in a very long time.
"Hey, wait a minute." His eyes narrowed.
"You guys know each other?" The voice came from a small blond girl. Halfrek assumed that this was one of Anyanka's friends.
"No," she said, giggling softly. She casually fluffed her hair with her left hand.
"Not really," Spike agreed, looking away from her. After all these years, some things truly never changed. A lady always put her best foot forward.