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Chapter 51

“His name is Havlov. He was a Russian Cossack before being turned by the Master in 1523. As a human, Havlov was a sadistic bastard, and the Master nurtured that quality in him. Backfired though, when Havlov’s fellow Cossacks found out what he’d become and nearly got them both killed.”

“Couldn’t have made the Master too happy,” Buffy commented.

“Yes…. Well, the Master decided to visit the Colonies, let things settle down a bit. Allow the stories of vampires to get embellished until they became tales told to children to keep them in line. While there, he heard stories of a woman. A whore that had forsaken God and lay on her deathbed.”

“Darla,” Spike growled.

“Yes, Darla. She became the Master’s favorite, but Havlov thought to reclaim that place for himself. Nothing he ever tried worked, though. Darla may have been just a fledge, but she’d seen things as a human. Knew the nature of man, and applied those principles to demons.”

“What? That all men are assholes and not to be trusted?”

“Oi, luv! I take exception to that! Not a bloody arsehole, and you know you can trust me.”

“Sorry, was having a flashback to my pre-Slayer days.” She gave a cheeky grin to Spike; he snorted and rolled his eyes at her attempt at being funny.

“Buffy’s right, though. Darla didn’t trust him, and stayed close to the Master’s side. At least until they’d returned to Europe. The wealth she’d suddenly found herself surrounded by eventually got to her… bored her, truthfully… and she started venturing out alone more often. She was almost half a century by then, and the Aurelian clan then was like it is now, very close-knit. Havlov kept his eye on her, however, looking for signs of weakness.”

“I take it he found one?” Buffy asked.

“Yeah… though she enjoyed her life in the upper crust of London society, Darla was, and always would be, a commoner by nature. And keep in mind, she was a prostitute.”

“Give ‘er a good tumble in a darkened alley and she was happy,” Spike interjected. At Buffy’s look he added, “What? ‘m just sayin’. It was how she met Angelus, after all.”

“How very true, Spike. And, it was Havlov that took Darla and a couple of others from the clan up to Ireland. See, he’d spied her watching some of the human commoners as they drank and caroused at several of the waterfront taverns in London and figured the way to get her from the Master’s side was for her to find a pet of her own. It worked. She made Angelus and three years later, they departed for parts unknown.”

“So, with his number one competition out of the way, Havlov could again become the Master’s favorite?” Buffy added, nodding thoughtfully.

“Guess it didn’t work though, because I’ve barely heard of him,” Clayton added. “Have you, Joseph?” Of the assembled vampires, discounting Spike, Clayton was the second oldest at forty years; Joseph had an extra twenty years on him.

“Vaguely. Nothing substantial,” Joseph replied. “I couldn’t pick him out among the clan. Adam? You’re the one that suspected one of the Master’s disgruntled childer.”

“Only because it fits the pattern. The Master has too many childer for me to keep track of, and any inquiries I might make now would tip our hand.”

“It’s not really going to matter,” Doyle told them. “With the blood rite having been performed, the Master is going to know. It’ll be a perfect opportunity for Havlov to get back in the Master’s good graces…take out those that would dare to break from the Aurelian clan, and he would be redeemed. Since you guys represent the crème de la crème of the British aristocracy, your ‘deaths’ would wipe out the visible presence of vampires in society.”

“Allowing Havlov’s plan of a free-for-all to come to pass,” Renee concluded.

“How much time do we have?” Spike asked.

“Another twenty-four hours at most,” Doyle hypothesized.

“Oh my god, Spike. The servants. What—”

“It’s all been taken care of, luv.” He didn’t mention to her that though they’d been pensioned off with enough money to see themselves, their children, and their children’s children, settled in a life of luxury, most had elected to stay in London – even after they’d been told that the mark each of them bore on their necks was no guarantee to their continued safety. Spike had growled at their stubbornness but had written out glowing letters of recommendation that his servants could use to seek employment elsewhere.

Spike pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against to walk towards the windows. The heavy curtains had sealed out the late-afternoon sun, and he pulled the material aside to see that darkness had descended. He stood there for a moment, staring out at the peaceful countryside, his features oddly wistful at realizing that everything was about to change.

Without bothering to turn around, he spoke quietly. “You heard him. We’ve got less than twenty-four hours. Go by horseback and gather what you might need, the rest we leave behind. We’ll meet up at the Dowager Duchess of Sevring’s estate. She’s off visiting her son and his wife and won’t mind us using her place for however long we might need.

The group quickly departed, and a moment later, Spike felt the Slayer’s arms slide around his waist.

“Hey, kitten,” he murmured quietly, grabbing her hands and drawing her in front of him. He lifted her left hand, placing a kiss to the top of the ruby ring she wore – the wedding ring she’d never taken off, no matter the other jewelry he’d gifted her with over the years.

“Spike, I’m sor—”

“No regrets, luv. Like you said, it was past time.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“’m not. Just gotten used to this place, is all. Now, run and get your stuff, I’ll be there in a minute.” Spike placed a quick kiss on her lips then shooed her from the room.

The click of the door as it closed was ominously loud to the two remaining occupants. Spike turned, his brow quirked as he gazed upon the fidgeting half-breed.

“Well?”

“W-well what?” Doyle asked nervously.

“Don’t ‘well what’ me. You know what ‘m talkin’ about.”

“Uhhhh…”

“How ‘bout I start, and you feel free to cut in anytime?” He saw the trapped expression on his friend’s face and snorted. “Let’s start with that song and dance you gave me over twenty years ago about my and the Slayer’s destiny. Good enough for you?”

From his place across the room, Doyle swallowed heavily. He always knew that the conversation he was having now with the vampire would likely get him killed – no matter that they were friends. Which was why he’d been so close-mouthed on the whole “destiny” situation.

“Havlov was just a red herring, something to get the Slayer motivated. And she fell right into your bloody trap...drawin’ me and those around us with her.” Spike was pacing now, clearly not happy with the conclusions he was drawing. “You said it yourself, heck, even history shows us that vampires become creatures of the night. So, what’sit matter that Havlov gets his wish?”

“Spike…”

“No! I’m tired of bein’ led about on a string. And, ‘m not gonna risk one of my own for your bloody Powers until you tell me exactly what’s goin’ on.” He stopped his pacing, amber gaze boring into that of the half-breed’s blue.

Doyle rose on shaky limbs and crossed to the bar. If he were going to die, it would be with a drink in his hands.

“Her presence here is instrumental in the coming battle. Yours too,” Doyle told him, his back still to the vampire.

“You’ve told me this already. Right after the Slayer got her memories back.”

“Yes…only… I lied a bit about the time frame.” The growl had him stammering out his excuses. “It wasn’t me, Spike. Do you think I liked not telling you the entire truth up front? I knew this day was going to come…where I’d have to explain myself…explain what the Powers intended all along.”

“And just what is it they do ‘intend’?”

“Everto Proeliator Lux Lucis…roughly translated, Demon Warriors of Light. Hell, when the Powers told me about it, I had to laugh. Especially when they told me that the vampire was you.” Seeing Spike’s less-than-pleased expression, Doyle rushed to explain. “I mean, come on… William the Bloody? The self-professed Slayer of Slayers? Breaking from his clan and forming his own sect that helped maintain the balance of good and evil, a claimed Slayer at his side?”

Doyle plopped back in his chair, talking a healthy drink of his brandy.

“I watched her when she came back from L.A., you know, after the thing with the Master. Heck, I spent the latter half of the summer trailing behind her in L.A. It’s where I’m from…not that it matters. But, I watched her and couldn’t help thinking, ‘This is the girl that’s going to do all that? This self-destructive Slayer that seemed to almost welcome death.’ I have to tell ya, I thought the Powers had a screw loose.”

Spike started at hearing that Buffy had had a death wish. Struggling to reconcile the strong-willed Slayer he’d fought on her parent-teacher night, with a Slayer that could have been his third. He grabbed a drink for himself, settling in a seat across from Doyle. “What happened?”

“She exorcised a few demons. See, the Anointed One was bent on resurrecting the Master, and had reassembled the vampire’s bones. Slayer found out about it… about the same time she found out some of her friends had been taken captive. She went in, stopped the resurrection spell, and got out her frustration by taking a sledgehammer to the Master’s skeleton. Fine piece of work, too.”

Spike smirked as an image came to mind, Buffy playing ‘grind the bones.’

“Still…I wasn’t convinced about her destiny. Then you showed up. But, I still wasn’t convinced. Especially when you went after her at school. Good thing her mom happened along.”

“Axe hurt like a right bitch,” Spike murmured, rubbing the back of his head in memory.

“Then Halloween happened, and I thought, okay, maybe the Powers do know what they’re talking about, because suddenly you and the Slayer were gone. When I watched you in the alley, I was surprised. You could have easily drained her dry. But, you didn’t.”

“You’re the one that pointed out to do so would affect my chances of getting back home,” Spike commented.

“True, but when do you ever let rational thought stay your natural impulses?”

Spike grumbled but didn’t answer.

“Anyway, the rest is pretty much history. You claimed the Slayer. She fell in love with you, and you her. She’s far exceeded any expectations the Powers had for her regarding her training. You both have brought about the prophecy all on your own. Everything you’ve done has enabled you to fulfill your role. After this thing with Havlov, you and your clan will disappear, meld into the shadows—”

“And what?”

“Quit being so obtuse. This is your destiny, William. You and your ‘Warriors of Light’ will observe the goings on of man and demon alike and maintain balance. You have all the tools you might need to see to your task. Money. Power. Anonymity.”

“So we’re just supposed to wander the globe taking out the Big Bads?”

“Something like that, yeah. You’ll become like the wind, so when you do extract your justice, no one will be the wiser to you and yours.”

“And how long—”

“I really can’t answer that. But, you get your clan in hand, mold them to your ways, so that when you are yanked back, they’ll continue on in your absence.”

“What happens when we’re back in the present? We just go back to our old ways?”

“I’ve shown you your path, only you can decide whether or not you stay on it.”

Doyle had disappeared not long after his speech, leaving Spike with a lot to decide. Gulping down the last of his brandy, he walked out of the study and hurried to catch up with the Slayer. They had an errant childe to dust, and a future to decide.

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