Midnight in the Garden of Evil
Chapter 20
~*~*~*~*~
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or
fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Edgar Allen Poe
The Raven
~*~*~*~*~
Quentin Travers cowered in the cellar beneath the library.
He’d tried to escape from the building but the exits were locked –
and bound with more than mere everyday metal, he’d wager.
The locks were both physical and magical – and there was no way out. His mind flashed back to the Cruciamentum, Buffy’s mention
of the ancient ritual was disturbing. He’d
been involved in three of them in some form or other, the last two during his
tenure as Head of the Watchers’ Council.
He’d observed them impassively, setting loose a vicious vampire to prey
on a weakened girl. He watched not
caring who survived, simply noting the Watchers’ files with the outcome.
And now he was the hunted.
How had the vampires bypassed the barriers?
And the vampire with Buffy Summers?
He knew him – or knew of him, rather. William the Bloody – Spike.
Slayer of Slayers. What had
occurred to have the vicious beast turn a Slayer rather than slaughter her?
The thought of a vampire Slayer with the combined strength
of her natural ability and that of the creature she should be slaughtering was
terrifying.
His heart was pounding in his chest and he was shaking,
whether from the cold or from fear he didn’t know, probably both.
He’d burrowed beneath a shoddy desk pushed into the far corner of the
cellar and forgotten there for half a century.
A pile of old rugs had slipped back into place to cover him in his hiding
place and the dust was just visible in the almost total darkness where it was
settling down around him. Instinctively,
he pushed himself further back into the sanctuary of the desk well.
His heart almost stopped when he heard the clacking of
heels on the stone floor. He
couldn’t tell whether they were approaching or going away, the echoes of the
footfalls distorted by the cocoon of rugs and the heavy wooden desk surrounding
him. He held his breath as he
listened.
Silence.
Maybe he was safe? Maybe
they’d given up trying to find him? His mind raced, panicked, as he went over his options.
None. None at all.
He’d exhausted all escape routes; even the ones that only he knew about
were shut solid. He wondered, idly,
which of the interlopers had such strong magic that they could bind the building
so completely. Buffy Summers and
William the Bloody were vampires; they had no need of magic.
That left Giles and the girl. He
doubted it would be Giles. He was a
failure as a Watcher and would be equally so as a warlock.
So it had to be the girl. Willow
Rosenberg. He was impressed,
despite the dire straits he found himself in.
She must have access to enormous power, and still so young.
He’d begun to relax as his safe haven remained unbreached and let the
tension ease from his aching limbs. The
cold and damp from the floor was seeping through him and his teeth began to
chatter.
Somebody was sure to notice his absence and take steps to
oust the intruders. It was only a
matter of time. He just needed to
sit it out. The Watchers’ Council
was impenetrable.
Heavier footsteps drew his notice. He could hear the soft sound of someone talking and wondered
whether he should peek out to see if his rescue party had arrived.
No matter; even if he wanted to, he doubted his legs would obey him.
He’d just have to wait and see.
Footsteps again, definitely coming nearer – nearer
still…stopping. He held his
breath once more, willing his racing pulse to quiet and clamping his hand over
his mouth to forestall the rising urge to scream from bursting forth.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the
sibilant female voice chanted. “Come out, come out wherever you are…”
Quentin Travers started to sob quietly.
“Yeah, Watcherman – we know you’re here.
We can smell you. Right tasty treat, you are – all succulent and full of
fear.”
The vampires’ quarry whimpered, the sound just barely
audible but pinpointing his position exactly.
Buffy and Spike shared a smile. They’d
slaked their hunger en route to the cellar by draining a number of unlucky
Council employees who’d crossed their path; but there were other needs to see
to.
Revenge. Bloodlust.
Chaos.
Spike nodded towards the pile of dusty rugs, motioning
silently with his hands that he would rip them back. Buffy nodded her agreement,
her yellow eyes glistening in the half-light of the cellar.
She licked her lips in anticipation of the treat to come.
It was her Sire’s gift to her.
Quentin was huddled, arms wrapped around his knees as he
tried to curl in on himself. He was
chanting silently, lips moving, eyes tightly shut. Absolute terror had closed down his thought processes so that
all that remained was the repeated litany of a childhood prayer. ‘Gentle
Jesus, meek and mild, look upon…’
He felt the rush of air as the rugs were wrenched away, his
eyes opening automatically and limbs poised to run with the adrenaline boost his
pumping heart delivered. He tried
to scramble forwards, only to find his vision filled with feral yellow eyes and
murderous fangs. Buffy shot her
hand out to grip his throat and dragged him from his bolthole.
Travers whimpered, so terrified that he lost control of his
bowels and bladder, his jaw slack as he gave up all hope of survival.
Buffy wrinkled her nose in distaste; she’d lost all
appetite for his blood now that he’d soiled himself.
Still, she knew what had to be done to cause him the most horror but
he’d have to be cleaned off first.
“Ok, pet? Ready
to do your worst?”
Buffy nodded, squeezing tighter until Travers lost
consciousness. Thing was, she
couldn’t bring herself to touch his rank body any more than necessary.
Spike realized her dilemma when she distastefully dropped the unconscious
Watcher to the floor.
“No time to go all dainty on me. Big bad vampire now, sweetness.
Got to get your pretty little hands dirty every now and then.”
Buffy turned to face him, eyes downcast and still blazing
yellow, fangs overlapping her bottom lip quite marring her attempt to pout.
She was the picture of corrupted innocence.
Spike wanted to rip off her clothes and corrupt her even more.
But there would be time enough for that.
“Right then. No
problem – we’ll just bundle him up in a rug and drag him back to his office.
You grab his hands, pet. I’ll
take the mucky end. And let’s get
a move on, yeah? Ripper and Red
must be shagged senseless by now and raring to get down to business.”
~*~*~*~*~
Willow stretched out her pale body, arching her back and
smiling dreamily as she lay on the carpeted floor of the dining room, surrounded
by dead Watchers. Ripper was
patting down bodies in an attempt to find some post-coital cigs but so far was
coming up empty-handed. Willow
lazily waved her hand, the gesture producing the requisite object and matches to
lie on the table. Her naked lover
grinned and crossed the room, kicking the corpses out of his way as he went.
Lighting up, he took a long drag and turned lust-filled eyes on his young
protégée lying oh so appealingly, open legged and open armed, with her
kiss-swollen lips.
Regretfully, he willed his burgeoning erection to sag.
Delightful as another round would be, they had other pressing business.
Ripper sank to his knees and swept his hand along from her toes up
towards her sex. Willow arched into
his touch, begging him wordlessly to bring her off again.
Then the feel of his fingers was gone and he was slipping on his
trousers.
“Ripper…please…”
“We haven’t time.
Later. Once we’ve dealt
with Quentin, I’ll fuck you until you scream, I promise. Now we’ve got to go murder some more sorry souls.
Get dressed.”
Willow sighed, but did as he asked, her mind replaying the
events of the past hour and flushing her skin at the heated memories.
Hand in hand they’d wandered the corridors, Willow throwing up a
glamour as they’d moved through the Council’s headquarters.
She took perverse pleasure in casting the illusion of Quentin Travers and
chuckled to herself when she noted the glances of distaste that came her way.
Locating the dining room, Ripper had thrown open the door
to find about a dozen Council employees seated at the table enjoying dinner.
The slam of the door without anybody touching it had the diners in a
panic and when Willow shrugged off the appearance of their leader and her eyes
had darkened to raven pools, cries of consternation had filled the room.
She’d silenced them quickly, a gesture shooting them up to the ceiling,
arms and legs spread as she’d done earlier to Travers.
Reveling in the fear that permeated the air, the witch and the demon had
seized each other, tearing at clothes and flesh as they copulated violently
under the horrified stares of their victims.
As an added pleasure, Willow stretched her captives until they screamed;
the orgasms that followed for both her and Ripper were all the more intense for
the soundtrack.
And when her lust was finally satiated, she’d ripped out
their guts and let them fall in a mess of blood and intestines to the floor.
“Ready?” Ripper
was standing by the door, holding out his hand.
Willow scanned the red-stained carpet and the gory bodies with
satisfaction. Kicking at a lolling
head that impeded her path, she joined her lover and headed back to Travers’
office and the culmination of their plans.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike lounged behind the desk, crossed feet resting on the
top as he reclined on the tilted chair. Buffy
was pacing in front of the door, still wearing her vamp face as they waited for
Ripper and Willow to turn up.
Travers lay naked in a wet puddle on the floor, still
unconscious. Spike had
unceremoniously grabbed a passer-by from the corridor and had him strip the
soiled man and bathe him before dumping the Head of the Council back in his
room. The cooling body of the
unlucky assistant was slumped in a corner, the fang marks in his neck still
bloody; his mouth similarly smeared with red.
“Spike, why did you have me feed that man?”
“You know why, pet.
We have to make minions – unless you want to waste all our time on shit
jobs like this. I know what I’d
rather be doing. Anyway you need to
know what to do to make more of us if we’re to have a full complement to pull
Ripper’s plan off. Alright?”
Buffy nodded, still tasting the tang of blood on her lips
and licking at the gash in her own wrist. She
mused on how she’d feel when her first sired vampire rose.
“But he’s not my…Childe is he -- just a minion?”
“Yeah, love, you didn’t give him anywhere near enough
blood to make a Childe. And there
has to be intent too. But I’m not
showing you that…not bloody sharing you with anybody, ever. You’re my only Childe and that’s the way it’s stayin’,
and you’re never gonna have one. Minions
are all that Ripper needs. Least
ways, it’s all he’s getting. Soon
as this is over, we’ll cut loose and head off.
We couldn’t leave a Childe here, Buffy, there are too many
responsibilities. We need to be
free of all that; gonna show you how a vampire lives, pet.
Gonna show you the world.”
Buffy launched herself across the desk, scattering the
papers and pushing Spike backwards to the floor, straddling him as he landed.
She crushed his lips, slicing them with her fangs and drinking Sire’s
blood while her hands were busily opening his shirt and jeans.
She seized his cock, pumping it to hardness and loving the way he groaned
into her kiss.
“Bloody hell! Not
that it isn’t a treat watching you two at play, but we do have
something to do, I believe.” Ripper
and Willow stood watching the vampires, hungry eyes fixed on Buffy’s hand as
it slowly continued stroking Spike’s engorged flesh.
Buffy didn’t let up until she felt the cool spurt of
semen fill her palm and dribble through her fingers.
The onlookers watched as she licked her hand like a cat, not wasting a
single drop. Spike gazed at her in
wonder. She was everything and more
than he’d ever dreamed of in a mate. The
sooner they’d finished this, the better. Then they could get on with their eternity.
Bestowing a kiss to her now smooth brow, he gently set her aside and got
to his feet, refastening his shirt and jeans.
“You’re late, Ripper.
Where’ve you been?”
“Occupied. Where’s
Travers?”
Spike thumbed over his shoulder to the naked and bruised
man. Ripper’s delighted smile
beamed at him.
“Pure genius! I’d
never have thought of stripping him. Very
humiliating for him – just the job! You are an evil bastard, Spike.”
“Thanks ever so, but it was more necessary than planned.
Wanker pissed and shat himself when Buffy flashed him the fang.”
Ripper chuckled. Giles
always thought that Travers was a big bag of piss and wind.
Nice to be proven right.
“Willow? Wake
him. I want him to know what’s
going to happen to his precious Council.”
The witch snapped her fingers and Quentin’s eyes opened
slowly, blinking the room into focus. Seeing
familiar surroundings he had a moment’s blissful notion that he’d dreamed
the whole experience…until he focused on the other occupants of his personal
space. A wail bubbled up inside him
but never made it out of his mouth.
“Mute.” Willow waved her hand dismissively.
They needed him to listen; they didn’t need him to speak.
Like a puppet, he rose to his feet, his body under
Willow’s control. She jerked his
limbs to have him stand in front of his own desk facing Ripper, who was now
seated in Travers’ righted chair.
“Suppose you’re wondering what we’re doing here?
Well, here’s the thing, Quentin. You’re
an obnoxious little shit and I can’t find one person with a good word to say
about you. But you have power. The
Watcher’s Council is powerful. But
so am I.”
Ripper flashed his demon-red eyes at the horrified man.
“See, I’m more than the bumbling duffer you like to think I am.
I had a taste of glory many years ago when you were busy trampling over
the little people on your way to the top. I
have craved more ever since. And
now I have the chance. Meet
Eyghon.”
Ripper’s face became more angular; his eyes red and
slanted, his voice deep and booming around the room.
“I’m taking over in your place and your army of
Watchers will become my army of darkness with access to all your secrets, all
your resources. I will use them for
the furtherance of evil. And you,
my dear Quentin…you can be my right-hand man.”
Both vampires rushed him, two sets of fangs piercing his
neck simultaneously as they drained him, their hands caressing the back of each
other’s neck as they drank. On
the point of his death they stopped, listening to his faltering heartbeat.
Travers collapsed to the floor on the last beat of his heart, Spike’s gashed and bloody wrist still pressed against his slackening mouth.