Shadowed Souls Part 1 Chapter 3, an angel fanfic

Disclaimer: Please see Part 1 – Chapter 1…

SHADOWED SOULS

Chapter 3

"I can't believe the little cow's still alive!" Nigel seethed.

"Not the Sevres, please." Ffion requested in amusement, sprawled lazily on the bed in a bit of silk not big enough to qualify as a "scrap of cloth".

Nigel replaced the ornately decorated antique cup back on the saucer, his ire fading somewhat as he looked at his fiancée – in two days wife – who appeared remarkably undisturbed by the failure of their plan to have Dawn Summers murdered. Ffion's London apartment was spacious and airy, with high ceilings and a soothing, complementary pastel décor, each room full of expensive, tastefully arranged antique furniture, ornaments and object d'art that disguised the mystical nature of many of them. Only in the master bedroom did hints of a less demure personality show, in the rich damask silk bedclothes, the bright turquoise and daffodil cushions. Going over to the bed, as Ffion popped another strawberry into her mouth and squished it firmly between teeth made perfect by one of London's top orthodontists, Nigel ignored the gauzy frippery masquerading as a garment, sliding his hand up her inner thigh to her secret place, his fingers stroking, grinning as her breath hitched and her lips parted. He still wasn't quite ready to give up the sulking though. "I still can't believe that Staavuz screwed up!"

"But he didn't lead them back to us," Ffion pointed out as calmly as if Nigel wasn't doing what he was doing. "There will be another opportunity shortly, an even better one, anyway. An opportunity spelled "Prophecy"."

Nigel paused. "True Prophecy?"

Ffion nodded – when it came to prophecies, mystical texts were overwhelmed with them like fleas on a sewer rat, but the reliability of each individual prophecy swung wildly from "only useful to line the bottom of your birdcage" to "infallible", and often it wasn't clear until too late just which extremity of this pendulum any given oracle was headed towards. However, a "True Prophecy" such as that blasted Shanshu, for example, was definitely within in the "infallible" category; it might get the odd minor detail not quite spot on, but when it came to the Big Picture, take it as read.

There were very, very few proven True Prophecies in any dimension, and this one was particularly problematic. Millennia of wars, plagues and in recent centuries the denial of the mystical reality in Earth's powerful Western Hemisphere, meant that often vital, irreplaceable texts got destroyed, prophets were killed mid-verse, and learned scholars died before they could accomplish essential translations. The Shanshu was one, a mysterious long lost text called Niall or Niamh or Neil, nobody was sure which, had been another, and the Niiahzian Scrolls yet another, though the last had had to be drastically repaired.

Ffion wasn't quite clear on what had happened, but she did remember that last year an ancient demon called Sahjhan had moved through time trying to falsify parts of the Niiahzian Scrolls. Of course, you couldn't falsify True Prophecy, because whatever you did, things twisted back on themselves: Destiny struggles to reassert the pattern that was meant to be. Sometimes, happily, it fails, and sometimes, happily, it succeeds1. That proverb had been uttered 5,000 years ago by one of Ffion's own Watcher ancestresses. Something about patricide or infanticide…Angel the Vampire With A Soul killing a baby? However, he had done no such thing. The literal translation had been "the sire will slay his seed", which meant nothing to anyone and no noticeable cataclysm had occurred, but Ffion knew that somehow, the prophecy would or had come to pass.

Coming back to herself, Ffion told Nigel, "Yes, indeed. Unfortunately it's all rather vague, because we had to chase down fragments from a hundred different sources, some of which no longer exist, like the Niall Scroll or whatever it is, but basically it seems that something nasty will destroy the Slayers, making that little American slut Summers the only one of her kind again."

"Any idea when?"

"Soon, is all the chronologists could work out, there isn't enough information to be precise. However, the thought occurs to me, that perhaps we needn't make another direct assault on dear little Dawn. If we were to merely have a man on the ground as it were…"

Nigel beamed, "Waiting in the wings? Loitering with intent? Someone who could remove the younger Miss Summers when everyone else is distracted by battling whatever Big Bad is trying to take out the excess Slayers?"

"Exactly." Ffion grinned back at him, pleased she had taken him into her confidence; contrary to her expectations, Nigel Wyndham-Pryce was proving a most satisfactory partner both in crime and passion. "Like a Russian sleeper in those hysterical American "Reds are everywhere" movies. By the time Buffy and her acolytes look up from the slice-and-dice and notice anything wrong, it will be way too late."

They grinned at each, resembling two Great White Sharks in a feeding frenzy.

Continued in Chapter 4…