by Spikesdeb & SpikesKat

Chapter 5

~*~*~*~*~

Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

 

Edgar Allen Poe
The Raven

~*~*~*~*~ 

Giles loitered in the corridor outside Willow’s chemistry class waiting for it to let out.  Eventually the door burst open allowing the crush of teenagers to infest the corridor with their shrieks and chatter.  Principal Snyder may have had it right about them, Ripper considered.  

“Willow! Do you have a moment?  I have a project I think you’re able to help me with.”  

“Sure, Giles!  Shall I go get Xander and Buffy?”  Willow walked alongside him to the library, her clear green eyes trusting and childlike.   

“No, that won’t be necessary.  Buffy’s not feeling a hundred percent so I’ve sent her to lie down for a while.  And Xander…well, he won’t be of any use to me for this.  Research and magic, not really his idea of a fun time, I understand.”  

“No,” she giggled. “He actually thinks it’s a form of torture.  He’s very strange.  OH!  You said magic?  But you said it was dangerous to mess with it?”  

“Well, that’s correct, Willow, but I need some assistance with a spell, and you’ve shown a remarkable aptitude in so short a time. I think that as long as I ‘hold your hand’ as it were and we don’t delve too deep, we should be safe.  Trust me.”  

His lips curved, a lazy Giles grin, all crinkled eyes, finger-combed hair and eminently trustworthy.  Willow responded with her wide, innocent smile.  He intended it to be her last.  

Alone in the library, Ripper introduced Willow to the same grounding crystal he had used to distract Buffy.  She was so excited, doing everything he asked of her without question.  It was disappointingly easy.  At least with Buffy he got a little backchat to play with.  Once she was under the trance, he rolled up the sleeve of her fluffy purple sweater, noting her poor taste in clothes.  Well, Eyghon would soon put paid to that.  Purple and fluffy he wasn’t, his choice ranging from black to even blacker and almost entirely tight leather.   

Ripper wiped his hands to rid himself of the feel of soft wool, pulling out a bottle of black ink, a needle, and a swab of cotton wool.  It would be easier to control her if she was marked as his before he seduced her to the dark side. She had potential – once the simpering little-girl act was gone, things would get interesting.  In fact, looking at her now, cheeks flushed and lips parted slightly, eyes wide and trusting, Ripper felt a tightening in his groin.  He allowed himself the small pleasure of brushing the back of his hand down her cheek along her jaw line and down to the slight swell of her breasts beneath the hideous top, his fingers just dipping below the neckline to feel the beat of her heart.  

Reluctantly, he refrained from taking it any further.  There would be time enough for that later.  He became all business, opening the ink and getting on with tattooing her with the master’s mark.  He didn’t intend to carry out the same ritual that would bind her as he had been.  No, for his plans to be successful he needed an entirely different relationship with Willow.  She had the makings of a powerful witch, her aura fizzing around her, pulsing pure and white.  The only question was whether that aura would remain pure or succumb to the lure of dark and decadent pleasure.  To Ripper, there was no question; she would embrace his way entirely.  

Finishing up his work, he swabbed it over with the alcohol soaked cotton wool, reveling in the fact that the liquid would burn her skin.  From such small frissons, ecstasy would come.  He replaced the ink and other instruments back in his briefcase, smoothed down her sleeve and broke her trance.  

Willow blinked owlishly, and then gasped as she became aware of the stinging sensation on her left bicep.  Rolling up her sleeve she drew in a shuddering breath as she eyed the red and puckered tattoo, shooting a bewildered glance at Giles.  

The question she was about to ask died on her lips as Eyghon spoke through Ripper, his voice menacing, eyes blazing yellow.  

“Elcuso maia; fressa tu ecouta moi el Diabla.  Laite messa ton mavella.  De regalta, de regalta, de regalta!”  

At his final intonation, his eyes flashed burning into hers, which flared an answering burst of color.  But her eyes were not yellow; they were black – entirely black, no pupil and iris, just blank black pools.   

As he swept his gaze appraisingly over her altered features, Ripper spoke again, holding out his hand to her.  

“Welcome, Willow, to your destiny.”  

She slid to her feet, holding out her hand to clasp his fingers.  Unable to resist, Ripper pulled the nubile young woman flush against his chest.  Fixing her black and expressionless eyes with his demonic gaze, he lunged at her mouth and pressed a savage kiss against her lips, biting down on the tender flesh before letting go and laughing at the pure joy of it.  Willow soundlessly brought a hand up to feel the trickle of blood where his teeth had pierced her skin, gazing at the crimson fluid left on her fingers before sucking them into her mouth.  

“Master.”  

“You are a maiden of Eyghon, Willow.  You are to do my bidding in all things.  I wish you to bring more to our cause.  I want the Slayer, I want Angel, and I want Xander.  Do you understand?”  

“Yes.  I will do your bidding.”  

Willow’s voice was toneless, her face expressionless.  The ritual had entirely subdued her own will to that of Eyghon.  She was ready to receive the gift of dark magic.  She was already open to it; a little part of Willow Rosenberg usually kept locked deep inside her was eager to be lost in the hedonism of dark and dangerous necromancy.  All Ripper had to do was provide the means of absorbing it.  

Walking to the back of the library, to his private room, he collected a large and heavy tome embossed with silver sigils on a black, leather-bound cover.  Stroking it reverently as he returned to the motionless form of the teenager, his heartbeat sped up in anticipation of the mayhem and slaughter to come.  

“Willow, do you feel it -- the yearning for the power?  How it calls to you…”  

She turned her coal black eyes towards him, eyes of a predator.  “Yes.  I want it.”  

“Then do as I say.  Come here.”  

He placed the book on the table, opening it at a page marked by a bejeweled dagger.  It was sleek and razor sharp, an assassin’s blade, and he cradled it lovingly before handing it to her hilt first.  

She took the blade unhesitatingly in her right hand, gazing at him as she waited for his instructions.  

“The book needs your blood.  As the text absorbs your essence, thus it will release its own and the link will be forged.  Give it what it craves, Willow, so that you can receive that which your heart desires.”  

Willow kept her ebony eyes locked on his as she stabbed the knife through the palm of her left hand, the blade passing straight through and lodging in her flesh.  She didn’t flinch, made no sound.  Turning her hand so that the blood dripped onto the pages of the open book, the newly-awakened witch was soon wreathed in a mist of black and red tendrils that snaked about her body, passing in and out of orifices and lifting her flame-red hair with the power that crackled along her form.  

Suddenly, the mist dispersed, her hair settled back down to hang long against her heated neck.  Her eyes were green again, her movements no longer stilted but graceful.  She looked on Ripper with the knowledge of ages in her eyes.  The witch was in complete harmony with the magic that wrapped her heart and soul in its dark and seductive embrace and was eager to test her powers.  

“I am more than I was,” she purred, her voice full of wanton promise.  

“Yes, you are.  You have the ancient power of witches and warlocks running through your veins.  You are the conduit to a bottomless well of powerful black magic.  You will bend that power to my will.  You will be my handmaiden.”  

“No.  I will not.  I will be your consort, your equal.”  

Ripper threw his head back and laughed, a deep throaty rumble so unlike Giles that it was a wonder his voice box could process the sound.  

“Yes, Willow.  I rather suspect you will.”  

~*~*~*~*~  

Spike and Drusilla were feeding lazily on a pizza delivery boy when Ripper and Willow entered the factory.  Both the librarian and the student were unconcerned when the lifeless body slumped to the floor, the dead eyes staring sightlessly at them.  

“Ripper!  You’re back early, and you’ve brought a snack.  Well I would, but I’ve got to watch the waistline.  Being dead… ’s no excuse to let the body go.”  Spike curled his tongue behind his teeth as he grinned at the newcomers, stroking his hand down along his torso to rest on his hip.  

“No, Spike.”  Drusilla coiled herself around him, placing a warning hand on his arm.  She shook her head wordlessly.  

“Yeah?  You think I shouldn’t have a nibble, Princess?”  

“I think what Drusilla is trying to get you to understand, Spike, is that Willow is exactly what we need for our plan work.”  

Spike snorted.  “What?  Nerd-girl here is something more than an entrée?  Are you out of your bleedin’ tree?  You said you were getting some magical assistance, make it all easy; instead you bring me this little girl…”  

Spike’s words were cut off as he found himself suddenly suspended in mid air, legs kicking as he tried to regain control of his body.  Willow’s arm was outstretched, her eyes once again ebony pools, as she muttered incantations under her breath.  

“Oh.  Bugger.  Right you are then, Red.  I’ll play.  A regular Sabrina aren’t you?  Care to put me down, pet?”  

Willow released him with a gesture, the blond vampire falling in a heap at her feet.  He remained on the floor, doubled up with laughter.  “Oh, man!  You are one evil bastard, Ripper.  Using the Slayer’s own pal against her?  I swear, your mind’s so twisted I bet you can see the back of your own head without a mirror.”  

“And we’ve barely scratched the surface.  Everything ready?”  

“Yeah, all set here.  When we doing the deed?”  

“Well, we’re both invited for supper at a certain Slayer’s residence tonight. We can finalize the dates there.”  

“An invite, huh?  That’s always handy for a vampire to know.  Specifically me?  How’d you swing that with Buffy?”  

“Not Buffy.  I went to the tree…”  

As realization dawned, Spike smirked.  Ripper was a useful ally to have.  He opened all the right doors…  

~*~*~*~*~  

“Mrs. Summers.  Lovely to see you again and thank you for asking us.  This is Spike.”  

“Nice to meet you.”  As she held out her hand she looked puzzled.  “Have we met?”  

He decided to brazen it out.  “Er, yeah.  You hit me on the head with an axe.  ‘Get the hell away from my daughter’.  I think we got off on the wrong foot.”  

Joyce was taken aback by his presence in her house, but he was with Mr. Giles and she trusted the librarian implicitly.  There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation.  

“Mr. Giles?” she queried.  

Silently cursing Spike for not inventing a cover story, he quickly invented a plausible reason for him being there.  

“Ah, Mrs. Summers…yes.  Well, the reason I asked Spike to join me is to apologize for the misunderstanding.  He’s actually a colleague of mine who got caught up in the unpleasantness at the school.  Apparently, he thought that Buffy was attacking people and was only acting in self-defense.  I’m sure you can see how a stranger to this country might overreact, faced with the mayhem of that night.”  

Joyce considered the intense stare of Rupert Giles, his clear eyes and slight smile.  Truth be told, she’d more than a little crush on him – if it could still be called a crush at her age.  He’d proven himself a very caring and loyal friend so far as Buffy was concerned; in the short time she’d known him.   

“Of course.  Perfectly understandable.  I’m glad Mr. Giles brought you round to meet me…Spike?”  

“Uh…a nickname I picked up from the last school I was at.  Something to do with the hair…you know?  Teenagers!”  

Spike rolled his eyes to indicate a general puzzlement at the actions of the young, hoping to find common ground.  She was a bit of all right this lady, well turned out and fragrant.  Yeah, she’d make a lovely meal, all lush and tasty.  He’d come back for her once he’d dealt with her daughter…  

Joyce Summers smiled at the young man standing in front of her.  He was very attractive, chiseled features and deep, deep blue eyes.  His accent only enhanced his mellow and rumbling voice further.   

After spending time chatting about school with Mr. Giles and finding out that Spike was quite the expert on Latin and Greek culture, the trio shared a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen of 1630 Revello Drive – granted it was laced with brandy, deliciously comforting and soothing.  Spike was very interested in her work in the gallery and demonstrated a remarkable understanding of ethnic art.  

The evening flew by, Joyce delighting in the company of two such interesting men -- as opposed to her usual evening fare of snack foods and game shows.  

“Mr. Giles, I’d like to beg a favor of you if I may.  I have to go out of town tomorrow and I’d appreciate it if you could look out for Buffy.  She’s at that boundary-pushing age, and I know she’s a sensible girl really but she just sometimes…well, I don’t really know how to describe what she does.  She has a little problem following the rules.  I’ll only be gone overnight but I’d feel so much better knowing you were looking over her shoulder.”  

This was so easy.  The one protector of the Slayer who would stop at nothing to see that she was out of harm’s way was leaving town…it was serendipity, that’s what it was.  Ripper told Giles to piss off and stop using such poncey language…  

“Of course, Mrs. Summers.  It’ll be a pleasure.  Though how kindly Buffy will take to being babysat is another matter.”  

“Oh, I’m sure you can handle her, Mr. Giles.   She listens to you, looks up to you.  I’ll be able to relax knowing you are here for her.”  

“Yes. Of course I’ll be here for her.  You can count on me.”  

Joyce watched as they walked off towards Giles’s battered Citroen. As she waved them off at the doorway, she felt better about going away and leaving Buffy overnight.  She’d be safe with them, she was sure of it.  They’d take good care of her.  

“Have to hand it to you, Ripper.  You play the bumbling librarian to a tee.  Almost puked at the sight of you playing up to the Slayer’s mum.  What’s that all about?”  

“I like her.  She’s a nice lady.  Or rather, Giles likes her.  I just want to bend her over and fuck her ‘til she screams.”  

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow in acknowledgement.  “Wouldn’t say no to a bit of that myself,” he smirked.

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