Another Compendium of Lost Moments
By: Lesera128
Rated: M
Disclaimer: Here the normal rigmarole is posited. No, unfortunately I don't own anything from Bones or Angel... or anything else. Yup, I'm back, baby…and I'm wrecking havoc as needed to tell the most awesome and epic Angel-Bones crossover ever conceived. However, since it's only for the purposes of creative enjoyment and amusing distraction, I think we're okay. Are there any other questions? No? ::blinks:: Good. Then, moving on―
Summary: A series of drabbles, one-shots, missing scenes, and snapshots from the world of Brennan the Witch and Angel (Booth). Rated M. Very AU. BonesxAngel Xover.
A/N: For your reading pleasure, I offer another little entry into the world of Angelus and the Whirlwind during the days of the 19th century in London. Again, this is just pure coincidence since Chapter 1 also was staring Angelus. But I've gotten some requests from people who have wondered where Brennan fit in with the whole group of Darla, Angelus, Drusilla, and William (Spike). We've seen her interact individually with three of the four but never all at once. This piece finally strikes that off the author's to-do list. And for a fun fact, we've actually yet to see Drusilla make an appearance in the world of Brennan the Witch and Angelus/Angel-Booth. This piece rectifies that.
Logistical Notes: The story takes place roughly in the chronology between "Barging In" and "Making Him Beg." If any of you recall the flashback to the tale of Helen the Vampire that Booth relived as a memory in "Echoes True and False," this little ditty can be seen as a prequel to that interlude.
GUH Alert: Umm, not really. Just a little flash of things as Angelus is, well, Angelus.
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Chapter 2: The Witch's Coven
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Belgravia, London, England ~ May 28, 1880
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"I don't think it's Daddy-dear, although it would be if the wicked witchy knew what very naughty, naughty mischief dear-naughty, naughty Daddy has been up to since the wicked witch went wickedly on her wicked way," chanted the breathy voice in an airy, almost trance-like song.
Brennan swirled the brandy in her glass and looked up with a half-attentive, heavy-lidded gaze as the tiresome voice grated on her mind. She sat in a chair, back straight, half-bored, half-inclined to bolt out the door but for the word she had been forced to give her hostess. In truth, she hadn't even expected to be able to make it to the party which was why she had agreed in the first place to Darla's invitation.
It had only been by chance that she'd ended up in Darla's home, theoretically in honor of Queen Victoria's impending birthday celebration that would be marked on the 29th. In reality, Darla used any excuse to throw a good party. And, throwing a good party was something that Darla had always done, very, very well.
For her part, when Brennan had originally been told of Darla's entertaining plans, she didn't think she was going to be able to make it. She'd only recently returned to London from Somerset on a trip that she often made to visit the ancestral lands of her mother's people around what had been known since the times of the Romans as Glastonbury Tor. For as long as she remembered, she'd tried to make the trip two or three times each year. It wasn't as if she had any living relatives that she knew of who resided there. But, whenever she journeyed into Somerset, she felt a connection to the land which was in and of itself a very powerful place. The inherent power that was concentrated in that one place could be sensed by those who were skilled enough to read such things in the land.
The concentration of power at Glastonbury was probably what had drawn so many different people to what had become an unofficial pilgrimage types for people of all backgrounds over the years. While she had been there, Brennan had always enjoyed visiting the gardens that were kept just below the Tor in the ruins of what had been Glastonbury Abbey before it had been destroyed at the order of Henry VIII during the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1539.
Brennan had only been six at the time, but the stories she'd heard from her father—who'd actually been in Glastonbury on business and had witnessed the execution of Abbot Richard Whiting on November 15, 1539. Like so many who had taken issue with the king's decision to break with Rome over what amounted to secular issues and personal politics, Whiting had remained faithful to the Roman Catholic Church like so many before him including the pious former chancellor of England—and one time great friend of the king—Sir Thomas More.. Along with two of his monks, Whiting had been fastened to large slabs of wood and dragged by horses to Glastonbury Tor. Once they had reached the top of the Tor, they were each hanged, drawn, and quartered. The martyred abbot's head was stuck atop the western gate of the Abbey as a warning to each. Her father had been as disgusted by the unlawfulness of Whiting's execution—since no formal charges had ever been laid against him in support of the treason of which he'd been accused. As he'd regaled Brennan with details of the execution when she was older, the thought had always struck the witch that surely such evil done in man's name in such a holy (although not necessarily Christian) place surely would've left its mark.
Still, despite the evilness represented by Whiting's martyrdom on the tor, Brennan had only ever felt peace when she visited the small town. The gardens that she so loved to visit weren't that far from the Chalice Well of the Red and White Springs. While the water had never been all that refreshing from the perspective of palatability when one was trying to quench one's thirst because of the high iron content that gave the springs its name, it did serve another and even more impressively important purpose. Brennan had found that when she made potions, scryed, or did almost any spell that required purified water, when she used water that she had retrieved from the springs at Glastonbury, she found her own substantial powers were impressively amplified for some reason. Thus, Brennan always brought a significant stock of several gallons of both consecrated and unblessed water when she returned from Somerset to her home in London.
Brennan's thoughts of Glastonbury and its mysterious powers were banished from her mind when the all too familiar voice broke into her reverie on the heels of the lyrical sighs that she'd originally ignored upon her arrival at the party.
"I know that face," the voice said with more than a bit of teasing present in it. "I know that face, Brennan, my dear, so tell me—who are you planning on hexing now?"
Turning around, the witch saw her hostess and old friend Darla making her way towards her clad in an emerald green, high collared silk dress cut in the latest Victorian fashion. While the frock wasn't appealing to Brennan's tastes, she was willing to give credit where credit was due. Brennan had to admit that, as ever, Darla's taste and style was as impeccable as ever. The green jewel tone dress she wore, accessorized with an impressive set of emeralds and opals that she wore draped from her ears, neck, wrists, and fingers, made Darla's pale porcelain skin, soft green eyes, and silvery blonde hair look deceptively delicate.
For her part, Brennan herself was clad in a dark blue dress with a bodice that, while emphasizing her ample décolletage, would probably be considered indecent in any other social circle. Her auburn hair was piled high on her head, held in place by three silver hairclips covered in Celtic knotwork. But for a single marquis-cut pendant that she wore on a silver chain that rested between the cleft of her breasts, Brennan's only other ornament was an unseen silver dagger that she wore belted to her thigh just above where her black Spanish leather knee-high boots ended.
Tilting her head at Darla, Brennan arched an eyebrow as she asked, "What makes you think I'm hexing someone?"
Shrugging slightly, Darla chuckled, "It's the furrow of your brow combined with that particular frown that you have on your very pretty face, my dear. I've seen it many, many times before, and almost shortly thereafter I've seen that look cross your face, someone who's been stupid enough to cross you ends up hexed. So amuse me, dear Tempe, and tell me who did what to raise your ire this time?"
Brennan opened her mouth to answer her old friend's question, but she was quickly cut off when a dreamy voice answered for her.
"I don't think it's daddy-dear that's made her so unhappy, Grand-mummy, although it certainly would be if the Wicked Witchy knew what mischief dear naughty Daddy has been up to since the Wicked Witch went on her wicked way."
Brennan and Darla turned slightly when the source of the wistful voice made her presence stepped forward from where she had lingered at Darla's left hand-side.
Angelus's most recent progeny, Drusilla, approached the pair with a vaguely swaying motion. She was tall, lean and lithe-limbed, with a broad forehead, large eyes, long, delicately-hewn nose and apple-shaped cheeks that gave her visage an almost triangular appearance. Rich tresses of wavy, dark brown hair framed her face and drew out her long-lashed eyes of pale aquamarine. It didn't go without Darla's notice that the first woman Angelus made a vampire was, like his human mother, a slender, dark-haired, pale eyed woman with delicate features.
Even Brennan had to admit that her lover's childe was a striking woman. She was dressed in a somewhat plain if flattering dark purple dress that was very similar to the cut and style of Darla's gown. Unlike Darla, however, Drusilla wore no jewelry. However, she still looked quite stunning despite the simplicity of her dress.
Making a note of the unusual simplicity of her dress, Bren turned to Darla with a small smirk. "Don't tell me, Darla," she chuckled. "Has Drusilla so displeased you again that she's being punished by you having taken all her jewels?"
Darla flashed Drusilla a look of warning that wasn't lost on Brennan, but Drusilla didn't seem to notice. Not directly speaking to Brennan, but clearly responding to her question, the brunette vampire responded, "I had a lovely set of amethysts and pearls on such a lovely gold chain that he ripped from that fat lady's too fat throat before he drained her dry, and Daddy had promised me he was going to give them to me when he got the clasp fixed and pretty once more, but he gave them to her instead…."
Brennan tilted her head in askance at Darla for clarification of Drusilla's words. Shaking her head lightly when Darla had no forthcoming explanation, Brennan turned back to the younger vampire. Looking over at her with a critical eye, Brennan slowly bowed her head at Drusilla as a properly formal greeting.
"Drusilla," she added cordially when the young vampiress gazed back with the same relatively blank look that always seemed to color her face. After a moment, as Brennan kept her firm stare focused directly on Drusilla's face, the younger vampire furrowed a confused brow.
"Grandmummy?" she said, turning to her grandsire with a pleading look.
With the ever indulgent if somewhat impatient smile that seemed to often grace her face when it came to Drusilla, Darla raised a brow.
"Yes, dear?"
Murmuring, Drusilla said, "I think Daddy's scary sorceress just greeted me, but I'm not quite sure why."
With a slight click of her tongue, Darla said to Drusilla, "Brennan." As if she was explaining to a small child, she told her childe's childe, "This is Brennan, Drusilla, who is my dear friend as well. She's the gracious individual who just said hello to you because it's polite to do so…" Darla shot the younger vampire a pointed look before she continued. "As you well know, dear. And, it's a good thing to remember, I think, that Brennan has always had, if nothing else, stupendously good taste and impeccably stylish manners."
Brennan couldn't help but to chuckle slightly at the compliments. "That's very kind of you to say, Darla," she nodded at the blonde vampire. "Thank you."
Waving her hand dismissively, Darla said, "Come now, Tempe. You've known me long enough to know that while I'm many things, I'm most definitely not kind. I only said, in this particular instance, what I said because it's the truth."
Brennan opened her mouth to say something, but once more, she was interrupted by Drusilla's wispy voice.
"Daddy isn't honest like Grandmummy," Drusilla crooned. "So sad it is," she told no one in particular. "So very sad that Daddy hasn't learned from Grandmummy to be more honest or at least to be less truthful more better."
Tilting her head, Darla again clucked her tongue as she tsked, "Such poor grammar, Drusilla." She shook her head as she added, "Surely you know better, hmmm?"
Nodding with a sad smile, Drusilla responded, "Indeed I do, Grandmummy. Indeed I do. But the pretty poetry that Sweet William makes sounds better than if I use my adjectives and adverbs properly instead of happily sacrificing them like I just did to make pretty parallel sounds." She nodded again to confirm her choice. "Don't you think so?"
For her part, Brennan looked to Darla and rolled her eyes before she asked, "Translation?"
Shrugging her shoulders, Darla said, "The translation, Tempe dear, is that Angelus is obviously doing as Angelus does and Drusilla, smart, dear girl that she is, just ratted him out." She smirked a bit at Drusilla as she nodded in appreciation at her, "Good girl."
Drusilla blinked several times as she said, "I'm not sure for what, but as ever, I only want to please you, Grandmummy."
Nodding, Darla said, "Well, you have, dear girl, you have." She paused for a beat and then looked back at Brennan as she said, "Angelus's problem, as you well know, Tempe, is that he's always thought he was smarter and more clever than he actually is. He thinks he's so subtle, when in reality, we both know that subtle is a word that is alien to his vocabulary...especially when it comes to his fucking."
Scowling a bit at her choice in wording, Brennan muttered, "And who is he fucking now?"
Although Brennan expected Darla or Drusilla to answer, this time it was a third voice, softly cultured in an upper-class diction espoused by those who had grown up in London and been educated in places like Oxford or Cambridge, who responded.
He brushed a wavy lock of light brown hair off his forehead and cocked an eyebrow, lazily surveying the trio of beautiful women before him, letting his gaze linger on his beloved sire, Drusilla, then finally turned to Brennan, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he swallowed, unable to deny her beauty or the way his body thrummed at the sight of her. "Not a who, Mistress Brennan," he said with a smirk, "but a what. A very common and crude what who doesn't deserve the descriptor of being a 'who' if you ask me." He paused for a beat and gave Brennan an appreciative look as he added with a shy smile, "Nothing at all like you, if you ask me."
At the implied compliment, Drusilla's dark brown eyes hardened to almost black chips as she sauntered over to William Pratt and draped herself around him.
"Pretty William had better not think to deal with such unpretty things as Helen la Loca or the Wickedy Witch. It will make me grossly unhappy if you go the way Daddy-dear has gone and begin to favor either or one of them." She paused and made a face as her mouth crinkled. "The Evil Doer of Spells smells better than the other one. Nasty Helen is, as Grandmummy said, one without class. The other one that Daddy seems to like so well these days has cheap perfume, a cheaper accent, and shrieks that aren't even palatable to my ears. And I thought I loved all things that shriek." She paused, pouting a bit, as she added, "Or, at least I did before I heard Daddy tupping the nasty what in Grandmummy's bed."
Laughing a bit at Drusilla's rambled confession, William leaned in to give Drusilla a lingering kiss. When he pulled away, he winked at her as he said, "Never fear, love. I wouldn't dip my wick in that needy twat's twat even if I could do it with Angelus's prick instead of my own." He then turned to Brennan and added, "Of course, he's been doing that a lot lately. Shacking up with that sodding flake." He nodded at Brennan and said, "You two didn't have a falling out of some kind, did you? I mean, random streetwalkers and ladies he slakes his thirst on in more ways than one aside, I thought Angelus has been too busy bouncing between you and Darla here like a lawn tennis ball at Wimbledon to get into trouble with anyone else. The two of you seemed to be getting on well when Darla had her dinner party a couple o' months back, but I suppose that maybe you started sharing him or something? I just can't fathom why you'd share him with such low quality goods as to let Helen be your fourth wheel."
Brennan's blue eyes flashed dark as she turned towards Darla, "You knew about this?"
Darla, who for her part had been quiet up to that point, winced a bit but remained silent.
Grinding her teeth at Darla's uncharacteristic silence, Brennan pressed her again, "He's been fucking Helen while I've been gone?"
Again, Darla looked away. This time, William finally offered the answer for which Brennan had been looking. "Including and up to right now, I think. I believe—" He looked off in the distance and then gestured with a wave of his hand, "I believe they're in the serving pantry having a go at it as we speak."
A slight blue energy that didn't go unnoticed by any members of the trio began to flash in Brennan's eyes. The energy caused Darla to frown since she knew what caused the tell-tale blue haze.
"Now," she began in as soothing and as comforting a tone of voice as possible. "Tempe, dear." She reached over and lightly placed her hand on Brennan's arm. "There's no need to be hasty, dear."
Spinning on her feet, Brennan looked at Darla sharply and asked, "You knew?"
Wincing a bit, Darla had a tired look on her face as she recognized Brennan's anger for what it was. Not wanting to be the one to pay the freight for the witch's anger, Darla quickly tried to shift the blame as she always did, apt as she was to cover her own ass and save her own skin. "I suspected," she finally sighed as she withered under Brennan's stare, not from fear but from a desire not to be waylaid or impugned anymore than necessary. "But I wouldn't say I knew for certain, no."
Her angry voice grew louder as Brennan growled, "Darla."
Again, the blonde female vampire grimaced a bit as she answered with a face devoid of any intimidation, "Yes?"
Pointing at her with a stab of her finger, Brennan asked, "Tell me...a simple 'yes' or 'no' will suffice." The pair of women faced off for a long moment, Brennan's cool blue pewter eyes locking on Darla's softer ice blue irises. Neither blinked before Brennan let out another growl. "Did. You. Know.?" She pressed.
Darla looked away with a look of distaste maring her beautiful visage. It was almost as if she had smelled something foul before she sighed. "Tempe…"
"Did you know?" Brennan's voice dropped again, sharp as the silver dagger that she carried in a silk sash at her hip. Darla's eyes went to the weapon before she looked at Brennan. For a third time, one which Darla knew to be the last, Brennan muttered, "Did you know that Angelus has taken up with Helen again?"
Darla paused for a beat but then slowly nodded. "Unfortunately," she answered. "Yes, I did. And, I was going to tell you, but..."
Brennan arched a pointed auburn eyebrow at Darla as she prompted her friend, "But?"
"But," Darla answered. "I didn't. Because I knew that you'd get this way."
"What way?" Brennan snapped, emotion clearly rote in her tone as her body stiffened in unspent anger in a way that seemed to intrigue Drusilla and amuse William. For her part, Darla appeared over it as she waved a dismissive hand. "Tempe, come now. You know…you know him. You know he has his comings and goings…"
Rolling her eyes, Brennan cut off her friend and hostess. "I've often said I don't give two figs who Angelus fucks be it man, woman, or four-footed farm animal least he doesn't come to my bed wreaking of them. But you know how I feel about Helen. She is…terrible."
Shaking her head, Darla clucked a tongue at her friend. "You are getting far too attached-"
Brennan raised a finger in Darla's direction, twisting it in the air three times, making a small circle, as a tiny amount of static blue electricity popped off her finger tip. The sparks caused Drusilla's eyes to widen further in merriment as she applauded happily. William leaned forward a bit to examine things closer. It was only Darla, who knew of what Brennan was capable of, took the display as the warning it was meant to be.
"I'm sorry, Brennan," Darla immediately said, never breaking her gaze as she locked eyes once more with her friend. "I truly thought it was for the better if you didn't know."
The witch scowled, her dark, finely-shaped brows furrowing low over narrowed eyes that flickered with anger and a blue energy that made the elder vampiress swallow nervously. "You'll all be sorry when I'm through with you," Brennan muttered under her breath. "Every last damn one of you." Her slender, square jaw tightened and her azure eyes flashed brightly, setting alight a charge in the air that prickled the hair on the backs of every neck in the room other than her own. "Starting with the self-styled master of this house," she snapped as she turned on her heel and headed towards the opposite side of the home where the kitchen, storeroom and serving pantry were.
William Pratt stood between his sire and great-grandsire and watched the witch disappear around the corner, his lip curled in a wicked smirk that both women noticed before shrugging and snickered. "I'm not one for the dice tables," he chuckled. "But any of you want to give me odds as to whether or not our friend Angelus will still have a prick and bollocks when he turns into bed in the morning?" Darla turned to him with a disapproving frown. "Oh come on," he groaned. "It's not like you won't be able to find yourself a substitute tumble while grandpop's knob's growing back." Snaking his arm around Drusilla's slender waist, he added, "And you, love, will be better off without—"
His commentary was abruptly interrupted by the slamming of a door at the bottom of the stairs. Three pairs of eyebrows immediately quirked at the sound, and three pairs of eyes swiveled among themselves.
"Seems that Nasty Helen certainly hurried on her merry, smelly way," Drusilla noted in her uniquely lyrical way. "Now the wicked witchy witch won't whip her smelly slutty self…"
William's angular features screwed and twisted as he puzzled over his sire's statement, then straightened again as he gave a crooked smile and shrugged as the pair watched the witch disappear in the direction of where they knew Angelus had taken refuge for his rutting with Helen. "Indeed, but Angelus may wish he'd had his pretty little Florentine fuck-toy around to draw Brennan's fire by the time she's done with him."
Brennan paused at the top of the stairs and considered her options. The palladium of leaded glass in the window cut into Darla's front door still vibrated faintly after the door slammed closed, so she knew that Florentine vampire Helen couldn't have gotten more than a half block away. She considered pursuing her, but a shuffling sound down the hall caught her attention and distracted her ire, refocusing it on an alternate target as she walked into the kitchen.
In the back of the kitchen, the door to the serving pantry hung open and she saw a familiar figure standing on the opposite side of the small room. Her nostrils flared as she nudged the door open with her arm and stood in the doorway, her narrowed eyes flickering with a bright blue energy as she watched him shrug back into his wrinkled white shirt, the ropy muscles of his back shifting and small dimples in his lower back deepening and fading again as he let the shirt fall to his waist. She could tell by the moment of hesitation as he began buttoning his shirt that he knew she was there.
"Ya missed me," he said with a cocky, self-satisfied grin as he turned around, an overprounced statement, not a question as Angelus turned to greet Brennan's enraged form. He'd smelled her before she'd breezed into the room, and he was unabashed at having been caught, having been happy to see her in truth since it had been so long and her presence was unexpected. Angelus watched her eyes swivel downward to where his gray worsted wool trousers hung low on his narrow, bony hips and the button-fly gaped open around his half-soft cock. He felt himself harden a little and his balls tighten as she stood there staring at his groin as he inhaled the spicy mixture of cinnamon and cloves and a deeper mixture of something else that mixed together to signal her anger. It took him a minute to realize that something familiar was missing in her scent. Only later would he realize what he should have taken as a warning that there was no want or desire to be smelled on her person. "Because I know I certainly missed you, lass."
Brennan inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of sex and Angelus and a pungently distasteful smell that was a mixture of sickly sweet overripe clementines and vanilla powder. She swallowed a cough before she opened her mouth to say something. Anger rolled off her in waves, and it was like an aphrodisiac to Angelus. But for once, just for once, Brennan let her brain take control instead of her anger. She opened her mouth to begin berating her vampire-lover and then immediately it snapped shut. She tilted her head once, narrowed her eyes at Angelus, finally shook her head in disgust, and turned sharply on her booted heels and left the room without another word.
Mildly disappointed, Angelus exited the closet as he watched Brennan's form disappear whence it came. Walking passed where Drusilla and William stood, the latter clearly disappointed, Angelus looked at Drusilla's childe and a hardness came onto his face. "You got a fuckin' problem, Wee Willy?"
A clearly unimpressed look crossed William's face as he rolled his eyes and then looked in the direction of Brennan's retreating form. Only he was smart enough to realize that while Brennan may have retreated, such a retreat would be only for strategic reasons and only temporary.
"Not me, mate," William said as he shook his head. "But you will."
He paused as he watched Brennan stop for a few precious seconds at the front door where Darla waited. The witch leaned in towards the ear of Angelus's sire, the pair of heads swiveled back and gazed a matching pair of blue eyes at brunette haired Irish vampire, and then Brennan gave a wordless curt nod. With a further whirlwind of frenetic energy, Brennan took her traveling cloak that Darla offered, swept it around her body with a flourish, and then left the house with a loud crash of the door.
Darla, ever thoughtful, came forward with a clearly disappointed look on her face, as she shook her head at Angelus. "My dear boy, when will you ever learn?"
She left the statement hanging in mid-air, not giving Angelus a chance to talk his way out of this one as she already had a fine idea of what Brennan had in mind to wrought against Helen and against Angelus. But as far as she could see, Angelus deserved whatever he was going to get from the witch. And if she could help bring it about, cutting him down to size every now and then wasn't a bad thing for her. Especially since he'd all but ruined her carefully planned party once again.
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A/N2: So. There we have it. In case you ever wondered what set Brennan off on her murderous little rampage where Helen the Vampire was concerned? There you go. Turns out that Angelus wasn't that far off the mark when he wouldn't buy Brennan's BS that her anger was just because Helen had A) screwed Brennan's father at the same time she was screwing Angelus or B) ripped Brennan off financially. Of course it had to be personal! Anyway…hope you enjoyed it. And, if so inclined, I'd really appreciate any reviews to get some feedback on what you think of things since I still feel rusty as hell about getting back into a regular writing jive! Thanks you in advance….