Another update. I've been lax about working on the story this week, but I've got the next update edited and ready and I should have that up within a week's time. I really appreciated the feedback I received last time. It means a lot, especially since this is the first longer piece I have published in quite a while.

The London season was nearly over, and the sticky hot days began to be accompanied by swiftly cooling nights, much to Buffy's delight. In mourning as she was, she only attended a scant few events, but her sometime-friend Cordelia Chase had coaxed her into joining her at a more informal party held at the townhouse Cordelia's family was renting for the summer. Born to a British father and an American mother, she had grown up attending the same American finishing school as Buffy, but her father wanted her to find a British husband. For her part, Cordelia was less interested in her future spouse's nationality than his looks, wealth, and malleability, an attitude Buffy found somewhat crass, but nonetheless amusing.

Actually, that was a fair description of Cordelia herself. The Lord knew she had her moments, but though Cordelia could be selfish, cruel, and petty, Buffy found that the other girl was also capable of bravery, loyalty, and was more cunning than most would guess. She could also be commended for her good taste, Buffy noted, glancing around the well-lit room. The small, informal party was full of some of the movers and shakers in high society, among them a few troublemakers, yet Cordelia, who was the official hostess for the evening, did a remarkable job ensuring the evening would not become something that would feed the society gossips or tar her good name.

"Buffy," the beauty in question drawled, getting her attention, "could you try not to spend the whole party staring at the walls?"

Buffy gave her a sticky sweet smile in response.

"I was just admiring the wallpaper, Cordy darling," she responded, "it's so charming and quaint. It reminds me of my grandmother's parlor."

Her backhanded compliment earned her a scowl, and Buffy stood and flounced away to talk to someone else. No sense in sticking around long enough to await a response from her friend's sharp tongue.

As she moved gracefully in no direction in particular, a handsome man suddenly stepped into her path, looking at her curiously.

Actually, that description did him a gross disservice. This man was beautiful. Not classically handsome, no, his features were too brutally masculine for that, but the strong brow and nose, those slashing cheekbones, that cruel, sculpted mouth smiling slightly presented a picture that was all too appealing. And he was examining her just as intently. As their eyes met and she felt her stomach tingle, he frowned slightly and took the few steps that remained to place him directly in front of her, bowing slightly as she hastily presented her hand.

His mouth didn't linger over it but he did seem reluctant to let her hand go as he looked at her with something more intense than curiosity.

"I apologize for my rudeness," he murmured in a low attractive voice, his accent a curious blend with elements she couldn't totally identify. "I don't believe we have met before, and yet I feel I have seen you somewhere," he continued, giving her a smile that, though apologetic, did nothing to assure her that she was not somehow in danger, teetering on a precipice.

"My name is Liam Angelus," he continued. She smiled at him shyly in response.

"Elizabeth Summers. Is me. I mean," she paused and blushed. What in the name of the Lord was wrong with her?

As one of Cordelia's more vapid admirers stumbled her way drunkenly, Liam Angelus guided her decisively to the side with a gentle hand on her elbow. Buffy smiled at him gratefully studying him from underneath her lashes. A party such as this was hard to gain admittance to without an impressive title, a fortune, or both. For her part, she had the dubious favor of the hostess, a not inconsiderable inheritance, and a very powerful guardian. She had never heard of this man, and unless he was one of the few nobles who didn't introduce themselves with a title, she doubted he had any rank of importance. The wealthiest men in the city were well-known, even to her, after a brief amount of time in London. She wondered if he was friendly with Cordelia. The thought was not appealing.

"I usually go by Buffy," she said, her tone more moderated. Though her heart was still beating faster than it had any right to, her breathing was under control and she appeared to be capable of talking without embarrassing herself, so that was something.

"Buffy," he said, rolling her name off his tongue, dark, fathomless eyes meeting hers again. "It suits you."

It hadn't been too difficult to discover Buffy's schedule for the evening, though the sheer amount of time involved had been a bit embarrassing for Angelus. Luckily, no one had noticed or commented on it and he didn't need to waste any time eviscerating someone. Securing an invitation to what was supposed to be a small and intimate event proved more difficult, but as ever, his way with women ensured he got what he wanted. One of the hostess' friends was easy to persuade into promising an invitation to the very handsome, very generous stranger who seemed so enamored with her and begged to see her the next night. He had been greeted with some suspicion, but no small amount of appreciation by Cordelia Chase, and William had taken her helpful friend Harmony for a little walk she was hopefully going to return from having utterly forgotten about him in favor of his progeny. If not, she wouldn't return at all.

He had decided, in the end, to take William with him, which he was hoping he wasn't going to regret. Still, since the younger vampire had better pray Angelus didn't repent taking him along, he was optimistic about the night. Nothing like the threat of pain and humiliation, even unspoken, to prompt good behavior. As soon as the insipid Miss Kendall had been whisked away to the gardens, Angelus was able to focus his attentions fully on his chosen prey.

Miss Summers was talking with Cordelia Chase, trading veiled insults, and he took advantage of her distraction to drink her in greedily. Surpassingly lovely, this girl, with her hair in loose golden curls that he was sure would be soft to the touch. Her lashes were long and the shadow they cast on her cheek was exquisite. She was wearing soft lavender again and he longed to see her in some other color, once she was out of mourning. He reminded himself with some amusement that she might not live that long.

As she turned away from her…friend, his eyes locked onto her, taking in the pulse in her neck, her tongue as she moistened her lips, her own eyes, as they scanned the room. He stepped forward swiftly, suddenly impatient, eager to intercept her. No doubt, her gaze would have reached him eventually, but that wasn't soon enough for him. He stepped in her path and took her in as she reacted to him for the first time.

There was surprise in those exquisite eyes, like polished pieces of jade (and wasn't that a pretty picture to ponder, the girl wearing nothing but precious beads looped around that dainty neck that would match eyes closed in agony or ecstasy) and he watched her hungrily as she took him in. He was pleased to see her gaze linger on his shoulders with a certain amount of feminine appreciation, before moving to meet his eyes. Now that he knew he had her, in a sense, he needed to reassure the girl he wasn't a threat.

Angelus sometimes amused himself by being completely honest with his victims, claiming he didn't need to lie to them. In truth, pretending to be little more than a handsome gentleman was a lie. Pretending to be at all gentle, or kind, or good, was a lie. The truth of his nature was so terrible even other demons gave him a wide berth when he was in a temper, and his reputation was earned by a career so bloody and disturbing, that his legend had taken hold over the continent. Angelus was perversely aware of his dishonesty as he moved to make Buffy Summers at ease. He worked to pitch his voice low and smooth, to make his face a mask of polite interest.

"I apologize for my rudeness. I don't believe we have met before, and yet I feel I have seen you somewhere," he said, speaking quietly and smiling at her, watching her eyes carefully. "My name is Liam Angelus." It was too risky to introduce himself merely as Angelus in this case. It was not a name used by any other being he had met, and his goal for the moment was to seduce her, not to interest her with some yarn about his name.

He watched her blush, enraptured.

"Elizabeth Summers. Is me. I mean," she paused and he listened to the sound of her heartbeat.

Angelus was pleased to see her so beguiled in turn. It was only fair after all. With his keen sight, movement on the periphery of his vision meant that he had plenty of time to reach out with deliberate slowness and move his latest obsession out of the way of an intoxicated fop.

"I usually go by Buffy," she continued, slightly more composed.

"Buffy," he repeated, inwardly laughing at how her eyes dilated slightly, "It suits you." In truth, he thought the name a bit silly, unworthy of such an exquisite creature, but he couldn't deny there was something sort of sweet about the name, sweet like absinthe rolled under the tongue with a sugar cube, or the taste of an innocent's blood.

"I prefer Angelus myself," he confessed to her, forcing his eyes not to stray to her neck for too long. Or her neckline, which though hardly the lowest in the room, still hinted at what were undoubtedly lovely young breasts. He contained his amusement as she traced over his face again.

"Well I must say that the name suits you as well," Buffy replied quietly, lowering her eyes, "after a fashion."

Oh, but she had wit this one. For her beauty alone Angelus would have desired her, but there was something appealing about knowing she was a little too bold for society's standards. Then again, society liked women to be utterly passive, and men to be almost utterly passive, but he was willing to be generous in his estimation of the girl's character. It was more diverting to assume the comments she had offered Miss Chase were true to her nature.

While he longed to suggest a dance, or a stroll in the gardens, he knew she was not the sort of girl who would accept. The society virgins were careful to avoid even the appearance of impropriety and the fact that she did appear to be attracted to him just made it all the more likely she would take care not to get too close to him. Yet.

"Have you been in London long, Miss Summers?" he asked. "Excuse me, Buffy."

She treated him with a pert tap of her fan against his chest, eyes silently reprimanding him for his little slip, perhaps deducing its calculated nature.

"Not long enough," she replied, "and in other ways, perhaps too long."

Amused, he thought wryly that he was supposed to be the mysterious one. Not this slip of a girl just turned eighteen.

He allowed himself to laugh quietly. "Well, I've done a fair bit of traveling myself, and I sometimes feel that way. Dare I ask if we share the same cause for our similar attitudes towards our gracious hostess, London?"

She gave him a sad smile in response, and he cursed himself a fool for not knowing the cause.

"You seem the sort to dare whatever he likes," she replied, "but I shall simply say we do not have the same reasons and move on to a happier topic, or at least one that allows me to burden you with questions rather than necessitate quick thinking on my part."

"Ask away my lady," he replied, tucking away her comments for later analysis.

"Where have you traveled?" she asked, "That seems both polite and innocuous, but gives me plenty of chances to pry, doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does," he said, grinning at her, "but it also gives me a number of opportunities to boast, which I suspect will not be well received. You seem the sort who would pass a quick and damning judgment on any poor man who, momentarily forgetting himself in the light of your beauty, proceeded to exaggerate his exploits even slightly."

"I suspect I am," she replied swiftly. But he could tell she liked being called pretty.

"I count myself fortunate that I won't need to exaggerate then," he continued.

"To impress me?" she queried, eyes bright.

"That too," he assured her.

This was good. He could feel her warming to him. Not a moth to his flame, nor even ensnared, no, she was drawing him in, even as he was drawing her. Perhaps the seduction on her part was unconscious, but it was there none the less. She might be in mourning but despite some quietness he sensed was perhaps uncharacteristic, she seemed vivacious and a little flirtatious. She had a confidence that allowed her to make comments that a different girl would never have thought of, or been able to deliver.

Something in him longed to steal her away with him then and there, but there would be greater pleasure to be gained by waiting, and so he would. As he refocused his efforts on enchanting his latest obsession, he took a moment to luxuriate in present. Circumstances and company being what they were, only a good feed and a fuck later tonight would make things better, and he had plans to procure them both. Oh yes, he thought, letting his eyes trace over Buffy's figure, things were shaping up very nicely indeed.

Buffy opened her eyes to a room aglow with the sunrise, soft light diffusing through her curtains. She smiled sleepily and stretched her arms. Last night had been, well, it had been something. While she cursed herself for looking a fool in front of the most attractive man she had ever met, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to him than met the eye. Her mouth traced his name.

Angelus.

What a man. Since her parents' death she hadn't really been interested in anyone, her petty flirtations becoming meaningless in comparison with the loss she felt. They hadn't been very loving, Hank and Joyce, but they were her parents all the same.

Yes, she had put thoughts of pretty boys aside, but Liam Angelus was no boy. Angelus suited him, she thought, he looked positively angelic to her eyes. Although there was something sort of…wicked about him. Something about him made her feel he was laughing at her. She decided, then and there, that she didn't like him. It would be far too risky to like him. She shivered a little and turned to glance at her clock, wincing when she saw the time. She was shocked her maid hadn't roused her yet. She was supposed to be meeting Willow for a luncheon, and considering the time she might be better off skipping breakfast altogether. She was hungry, but it would just be herself and Willow, and possibly Alexander, and she didn't worry about appearing to have to heavy an appetite in front of them. They were neither of them the sort to judge a girl by what she ate.

Thinking about it, Buffy hoped that it would just be Willow she would see for the meal. She wanted to talk to someone about Angelus, and unfortunately Willow's friend had already made his interest in her clear, albeit clumsily. She wanted to swoon over the handsome stranger and complain about his high handedness and mysterious nature without arousing someone's jealousy.

As she called for the maid and began looking at dresses to wear, her mind turned to what she and Willow were planning on doing after they ate. Willow's parents were usually very busy, her father occupied with running a large private bank and her mother with her tireless efforts to improve education for the working classes in the City. Her home was massive, and more easily afforded the girls privacy than Giles' home, where Buffy herself was a guest.

And considering their purpose, that privacy was ideal.

A week ago Buffy had shown her friend the books she had discovered in her guardian's library and like Buffy, Willow had been skeptical and intrigued by turns. After some deliberation the girls had agreed to try a spell, to see if they could harness the magicks the books described. Some of the spells warned of dire consequences for failure, but others were described as simple things that Buffy had pointed out seemed hardly worth performing with magick. Willow, for her part, had supposed that they were like stepping stones to higher powers, like the stories they had read as small children, or the simple sums they had practiced.

Buffy, for her part, was horrified that something so thrilling as magick could be likened to the dullness of academia, but seeing the fond expression on Willow's face, she wisely kept her mouth shut. There was no other friend she would trust with a secret such as this.

As her carriage approached Willow's home, Buffy's eyes barely took in the exquisite front garden arrangement, unusual in a home so close to the city as to be barely outside it. Her heart was beating in her throat and for the second time in as many days, she longed for something, with a foreign, fierce desire. As the footman helped her out of the carriage she scarcely noticed the few drops of rain that had begun to fall.

As the Rosenburg butler, West, lead her to the room in the wing of the home considered Willow's, Buffy thought, inexplicably, of a pair of dark eyes. She pushed the thought out of her mind and focused on what she and Willow hoped to accomplish. As her eyes met her friend's soft brown ones, she was thrilled to see the same eager desire mirrored there. They went through the motions of being served impatiently, longing for the maid to leave. As she left the room, Buffy spoke consciously for the first time since she had entered her carriage.

"Should we wait?" she asked, "or….."

Willow glanced out the window, where it was raining softly.

"Let's eat," she said, "but quickly. You have the books?"

Buffy nodded. "I do," she said, nodding to the hatbox she had brought, ostensibly to show her friend some new fashion. It was the surest way to avoid questions from Giles.

"I met someone last night" Buffy said blushing slightly and inwardly apologizing to Willow for mentioning the fete she was not invited to. Cordelia didn't like Willow.

"At Cordelia's?" Willow asked, her normally sweet face making a moue of distaste. Buffy mentally reevaluated her plans to coerce the two girls into being friends and decided to put them aside for the time being.

"Yes," she replied. "We just sort of bumped into each other, and we only spoke briefly, but Willow, he's the most beautiful man I have ever seen. He's sort of tall, and dark, and mysterious, and well, I really didn't like him – I mean, he was really arrogant, although I think he was trying to hide it, but there was something about him…" She trailed off.

"But he's good looking?" her friend asked, a hint of mischief on her face mixing with her usual cheerful excitement.

Buffy shook her head softly, her curls bouncing as she moved.

"Oh he shone everyone else down, but it's not just that," she insisted. "There's something about him…something that's just…I don't know, different!" She paused a moment. "He said he looked forward to seeing me again. I think, well, I think it was more than a social nicety. I think I will see him again. In fact," here she quieted again, "I'm quite sure that I will."

"Well," said Willow, evidently not entirely convinced, "it may be that I will be there to see for myself."

"Yes," said Buffy, "he wasn't one of Cordelia's crowd, that's for sure. He definitely acted like he had power, and dressed like he had money, but he's not one of those boys and men that usually occupy her parties, if you know what I mean."

"Yes," said the redhead. "I rather think I do."

Buffy sighed internally. It was a shame there was bad blood between Willow and Cordelia. They were very different sorts of girls, and it was probably too much to ask that they be friends, but she wished they had not already feuded before she arrived. Cordelia had been snubbing Willow, dismissing her not for her religion, as was so common, but for her style, and her shy manners. Willow, for her part, was not the sort to forgive a slight, and in any case, Cordelia was not the sort to apologize.

So Buffy went to Cordelia's fashionable parties, and lunched and went to parks and events with Willow. As she finished her tea, she still couldn't help but wish things could be different. Hate, it seemed, could grow in even the softest of hearts.

Idly, she wondered if the opposite could be true of love, and then carefully pushed the thought away to the back of her mind with all the other things she planned on dealing with the week after never.

Willow quickly drank her tea in a way that could most kindly be described as 'less than ladylike'.

"If only Alexander could see you now," Buffy said, with a wink. Her friend blushed, good mood restored and all was right between them again. Buffy glanced down at the inconspicuous hatbox and raised an eyebrow. Willow nodded eagerly, and rang the bell that would summon the maid back to their room. The girls made polite, meaningless conversation while the maid cleared away the dishes and Willow instructed her to leave them be for a few hours, as they were going to retire to the small parlor and answer letters together. When the maid left the room the girls waited a breath before Buffy jumped out of her chair, and whipped the top off the hatbox, withdrawing the spellbook with reverent hands. She rushed to the parlor ignoring good manners, but as Willow followed, she reasoned that her friend hardly cared, and that some rules were made to be broken occasionally.

Buffy chose a cushy loveseat, and brushed her skirts out of the way, making room for her friend. Both were quickly seated, and Buffy proceeded to open the book and page through it quickly.

Buffy turned to the page she was seeking and pointed.

"Here," she said, "This one."

"Levitation," Willow whispered reverently.

"It will be clear if we are successful, and we can easily explain anything away, and it seems safe," Buffy whispered in return. The girls were leaning in, as though someone was there to witness their most exciting secret.

"Should I try first?" Buffy whispered. Willow nodded eagerly. Buffy scanned over the instructions, if the two sentences could even be called that, and took a deep breath.

Clear your minde, the book said. Clear your minde, and drawing upon the forces withen you, focus most intently on a small object, and with your minde and your magick, lift the object.

The second sentence discouragingly proclaimed, You will almost certainly fail. It's simple structure and accurate spelling were an insult to the more encouraging phrase that preceded it.

Buffy let her deep breath out and took another one, focusing on the little ball of tissue paper that had been nominated as the object in question, and imagined it rising.

Nothing.

She tried again, focusing on it, willing it to rise. She wasn't sure what the 'forces withen you' were, or how to access them, so she was hoping a lot of willpower would be sufficient. It was not.

After staring at the little brown scrap for what surely was longer than five minutes she gave up.

"You try," she told Willow, unwilling to admit defeat. Willow nodded and focused on the ball. Nothing happened for several minutes, and then, incredibly, the ball gave a little wobble, rose slowly off the table, and then dropped the inch as Willow jumped up in wonder.

"Wow," she said. Buffy's jaw had dropped in a manner that was probably most unattractive, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"You did it!" she exclaimed, thrilled, and a little jealous. "How did you do it?"

"I, I don't know!" Willow exclaimed. "I just focused, and I felt a sort of center in me, and then I tried to make the tissue rise, and Buffy, it was so difficult! It felt heavy! And then I just sort of pushed, and it worked!"

"Amazing," Buffy whispered. "Let me try again." Willow nodded eyes intent on her friend. Buffy closed her eyes, lips pressed tight together. She tried looking around inside herself but the whole thing seemed kind of silly and pointless; how could one look inside? It was all a metaphor, surely. Similar to when people told others to look inside themselves for compassion, or charity when they were asking for money.

What was inside her? she wondered. Grief. Dark grey grief like shroud around her. Hope, for her friends and her future, stubborn green shoots. Strength that she had never before needed, golden and towering, like pillars reflecting light. Anger. Anger at the world, at its harshness, at those who condescended to her and offered empty words of condolences. Anger that she suppressed because it was wrong to feel like this, it was pointless, because the world simply couldn't be changed, it was as it had always been, broken, corrupt, and cruel…Anger that roared like a lioness and cracked like a summer storm. Buffy opened her eyes.

The tissue was on fire.

The clock was being wound up. Scratch, went the mice. The cat purred. There were four. Then three. Two.

The mouse ran up the clock. It was the only survivor. The clock struck one. Mouse ran down. Hickory dickory. Dock.

The moon was talking to her tonight. It was lovely and full, but it would wane. Everything withered. The flowers in the boxes were dying, and she couldn't abide the sight of them. Tick tock.

The man in black was sharpening his scythe. Three would die before the winter came. And when the winter came, it would bring the snow and the darkness.

The sun was too bright, even with thick, dark curtains clocking the light. Her boy was quiet, curled up tight. Her daddy was pacing in the room to the right. And Darla, darling Darla was dying, but she didn't know it yet. Dru wasn't going to tell her. She was being a bad girl, and would have to take her medicine later, for the light that was coming was going to kill her. It could kill them all, or just give them a fright.

The stars whispered to her. They warned her. Drusilla listened.