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.