27 August, 1899

We left Paris three days after Rosalind's visit. Angelus was eager to get moving and see if he could pick up Penn's trail, but his business affairs and the house ... and me ... held him up. I think that, if it had only been him and Will, he would have gone on and left all the contracts in his Childe's capable hands.

Which is not to say we weren't busy those days, we were. Since we had to release most of the staff on short notice, including the butler (Angelus says that although Paris is a fun city he simply cannot see the point in maintaining a permanent staff here beyond a housekeeper and a few maids -- his words), Felicity and I -- and Cook -- spent an entire day closing up the house. By the time we were finished we were covered in sweat and dust; my stomach was rumbling with hunger, too, but somehow the thought of food was just too nauseating.

The result? Bath and sleep ... in that order with no stops in between.

The next day, after a very LONG breakfast of cheese omelets and croissants with chocolate, I rifled through my things until I found a letter of introduction Louise had written for me before we left London. It was small and square, Louise's tiny scrawl decorating one side of the fine parchment while an old-fashioned wax seal held it closed. Although I didn't know *precisely* what it said, I knew its purpose. I sent the remaining footman to get the carriage while I dressed, then I pulled a reluctant Felicity along for company as the driver maneuvered through the streets to a small, discreet salon run by a lady named Madame de Moreville. She seemed a bit put off with my "untimely" arrival, but shrugged it off after reading Louise's letter and learning I was leaving the next day ...

Buffy stood perfectly still as the taller woman circled her, ignoring the appraising glares and instead drinking in her surroundings. Unlike the salons from her time, this one, like the one in London, was decorated like a formal ladies parlor ... but was not quite used as such. Women in various stages of dishabille littered the room; some were lounging on couches or chairs, while others sat in a nearby indoor garden taking in a little sun and nibbling on petite watercress sandwiches or a confection that looked like divinity.

The walls were a rich mixture of subtle creams and golden ivory and brilliant, vivid green. The pattern was so intricate that at first Buffy was sure that the walls had to be papered, but a closer look was followed by the astonishing conclusion that the designs had been painted onto the walls themselves. The attention to detail was not spared anywhere; the floor was a highly polished black walnut whose gleam was only broken by the plush cream and gold oriental carpets that were accented with the same green as the walls. Buffy's eyes raked over the furniture, noting that it, too, was made of black walnut and its upholstery incorporated the same color scheme.

Madame de Moreville noted Buffy's preoccupation and smiled ever so slightly. "Lovely, yes?"

Buffy nodded. "Very much so."

"I insisted," Madame told her as she led the way through the room. "This is not only a place to be groomed, as it were, but a place where we may freely relax ... it deserves the same care and attention as our own retiring rooms."

"I ... it's beautiful," Buffy told her. "I couldn't have imagined ... "

Madame sniffed. "I should think not. London may have one or two elegant salons, but the art of the servante aux petits soins was born in Paris and at the French court. Speaking of, I shall send ... "

Buffy glanced up to see Madame purse her lips in thought, cocking her head to the side in thought. This sight, one common enough, seized Buffy with the strangest sense of deja vu for a reason she couldn't fathom. Her mind apparently made up, Madame glanced down at the young woman before her and the Slayer suddenly realized *why* the older woman seemed so familiar.

She resembled Louise, but not in the strictest sense. It was more in her mannerisms and, Buffy thought, her height and her bone structure.

Madame smiled wryly. "Ahhhh ... Louise said that for all your 'youthful, quaint mixture of provincial innocence and carnal knowledge' you were really quite sharp."

"You're related, somehow," the Slayer said softly.

"Sisters," Madame responded as she continued to lead Buffy down a long hall. "Actually, half-sisters ... we had the same father but different mothers. I was, to use an older turn of language, born on the wrong side of the blanket."

No more needed to be said; in recent months Buffy had quickly learned that the phrase applied to illegitimate children, irregardless of whether the child was born before, during or after the marriage of one of the parents. Between the three of them, Louise and Angelus and William had been very thorough in this part of Buffy's education.

Madame noticed the look on Buffy's face and laughed. "There's no need to pity me, my dear. Unlike so many others like myself, my mother was not a maid or a governess but the daughter of the Marquis de Moreville and the wife of the Comte d'Anjelean. She was able to pass me off as his child and he was never the wiser."

"So why do you use your grandfather's name?" Buffy blurted before she could stop herself.

To her surprise, Madame laughed. "Because my 'father' died penniless and my husband frittered away my inheritance ... most of it ... The Marquis bequeathed me a sum upon his death that was held in trust in England, under English law, with the stipulation that neither I nor my husband was to be made aware of its existence until after he or I died. Once he died there was no law in France that could keep me from controlling those funds; I changed my name -- it seemed fitting -- and used the sum to open my salon."

"The rest is, as they say, history," she shrugged.

"Oh."

"Now," Madame clapped, suddenly all business once again. "I believe I shall send Caroline to attend to your needs ... she can do marvels with hair and color ... "

And she did; Caroline, I mean. All the while she questioned me about the colors I wore, the fabrics, whether I was more active at night or during the day; I wondered why, at first, but it didn't take long for me to figure out that she was using my responses to decide how to proceed. It takes longer to do hair here than in our time, but when she was finished my hair was neatly trimmed and back to my natural color (you remember... when we first met), a dark blonde to which she added a few lighter sections around my face. It looks better than it did, especially considering that I'm paler now than when I arrived here eight months ago.

After that I was waxed again ... I had *all* my body hair removed. It hurt like hell for a few minutes, but the rich moisturizing cream combined with my Slayer healing took care of it soon enough. Okay, so I also nearly broke the bottle trying to get to the aspirin, but even I have my limits. It's different, not like just getting your bikini line done; everything is smooth and tinged a nice rose color, and I can't seem to keep from looking at myself. Narcissistic of me, I know, but I feel so ... wanton and loose and free. Felicity was unduly horrified at first, but even she grew a little curious after a few hours and started asking me what it was like. Her eyes grew round and she blushed and stammered a bit, but all the while I could see the little wheels in her head turn, processing yet more information.

There are days when she reminds me so much of Willow.

But that's not important right now.

When we returned to the house it was close to dusk and Angelus was still closeted with his lawyers in the study, but Will was lounging on my bed awaiting my return ...

William lay sprawled across the rumpled bed inhaling the scent of the woman who had vacated it earlier that day. Daffodils, he mused, she smells of daffodils and honey, a sweet mixture that spoke of springtime and life ... a scent only fitting for their immortal Slayer. He rubbed his face against the soft linen sheets and the light silk coverlet as he imagined how she would look with her head cast back, her lips open as she moaned his name on a breathy whisper as a union of their bodies gave her the ultimate pleasure ...

Idly, he wondered why his fantasy merely involved Buffy and not his Sire. Perhaps it was simply because he was on her bed, surrounded only by her scent since their last fun little romp had been in Angelus' bed. Or was there something more ... ? Was he jealous over the sudden rush to find Penn? The vampire cast back his mind in search of images of his sibling and came away with no true sense of jealousy, no more than when his Sire made Drusilla after driving her mad. In fact, he realized, his only true feelings of jealousy emerged when Darla monopolized Angelus and left he and Drusilla to fend for themselves.

Or was he fantasizing about wanting something he seldom ever had? Oh, yes, he and Buffy were free to indulge themselves with one another whenever they pleased, but more often than not Angelus was there as well. Perhaps, he pondered, I simply wish to be alone with her for a night, as I am occasionally alone with Angelus.

His ruminations, however, were interrupted when the door opened, admitting the object of his fantasy and her little maid. He immediately dismissed the younger woman, who was already backing out the door after catching sight of his almost nude body. Poor little chit, he mused, still such an innocent little thing.

Buffy was startled to find William, clothed in only his trousers, sprawled amongst her unmade sheets. She felt Felicity's unease and knew the girl was half out the door when Will dismissed her with a wave of the hand, but once the door shut she allowed herself a small grin. "Bored?"

"Hungry," he told her wolfishly.

"Ahhh ... should I worry?" she teased.

He didn't answer, but Buffy knew his eyes tracked her as she placed her bag on the table and went to take off the wide-brimmed hat. When the last pin dropped into a tiny box on the vanity table she tossed the monstrosity aside, bracing herself for his reaction. After a few beats she turned to find the cause of his lack of reaction and found him studying her instead.

"It's darker," he whispered.

Buffy nodded, chewing her lip. "My natural color. Do you ... ?"

William studied the vision before him. Resplendent in a morning dress of dark rose colored silk that had three-quarter length sleeves with lace filling and a square neckline, her hair bound up in a loose chignon on the back of her head while a few stray tendrils escaped to frame her face, he thought she was very likely one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

He beckoned her to him and Buffy lowered herself onto the bed as he sat up, his cerulean eyes meeting hers as he reached out to capture one of the stray tendrils. "Like it?" he whispered. "It's like molten honey in sunlight, and it frames this exquisite piece of ivory masquerading as flesh as if it were created as such. Your blood rushes beneath the surface and you color so richly, like the pinkest rose."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but his lips lightly brushed across hers in a silken caress and she swallowed her words, save a small gasp that escaped when his mouth left hers to follow his fingers. His mouth moved over her inner wrist so softly she thought she might have only imagined it, had he not been with her in that instant. "And this," he continued, his fingers slipping beneath the neckline. "This is a bountiful orchard encased in a silk that mirrors the rush of your blood beneath your skin."

She shivered when his mouth closed over a hardened nipple and her head tipped back ever so slowly as her hands reached up to tangle in his hair. So smooth, she thought, the strands and waves are far finer and softer than anyone could ever imagine ... and his skin is cool and hard, so wonderfully shaped and sculpted. He was a statue come to life.

Over the course of nearly a full hundred years of life, mortal and undead, William had seen the fashions, especially those of women, evolve countless times. Yet at this moment he had seen no style more fitting than the one she wore now, the simple dress that scorned corsets and frills for the simplicity of the natural shape. However, as much as he adored the look, his years had also taught him one thing more.

Unfastening any dress rarely changed.

As the silk slid from her shoulders to her hips, he smiled and lightly stroked her side, trailing the tips of his fingers from the slope of her shoulder to the curve of her breast, and from there to her straight side and the swell of her hips. She leaned back and lifted her hips when his eyes asked, and Buffy sighed as the air brushed over her nude body.

For his part, William simply stared at the banquet before him, his eyes turning from blue to gold as he took in the arousing sight of her smooth and hairless triangle. The flesh was growing pinker as she panted, and he nearly cried out when he saw her outer lips glistening with her desire. Then he did as he had before, caressing the ever darkening flesh; his finger slid inside her tight sheath and he growled as her muscles clamped down on the digit, and when they released it with a shudder he used the tip to encircle the center of her pleasure. She moaned and tossed her head to the side as her hips lifted, and he grinned as he leaned down to complete the caress with a kiss.

When he pressed his mouth to her sex, his tongue caressing her swollen clitoris, Buffy cried out in pleasure... a pleasure that turned to shock when he pulled away and sat back on his heels. William's golden eyes raked over her with fiercely possessive look, one she was more accustomed to seeing on Angelus, but it quickly mellowed into a hot and languid and adoring gaze that she was still unused to seeing on him --

Usually that gaze was reserved for his Sire.

His hands curled in her hair before sliding down the column of her neck, passed her shoulders and down to her hips, where he cupped her bare sex as she trembled with desire. "Do I like it, sweeting? Do I *like* this?"

Buffy mewled.

"Oh, no, this is beyond like," he whispered huskily, his thumbs rubbing her swollen labia. "Here is the center of life and death ... from here all life begins and it is here, when I come inside you, that I sometimes want to die, truly die, from the pleasure. Like it, my sweet? I adore you, all of you, from your hair in its natural color to your bare sex ... and everything in between and beyond. You are springtime incarnate, my very own Persephone."

Already on the edge, his words moved Buffy to tears. Tiny saltwater droplets leaked from her eyes and as William leaned over to lick them away she grasped at his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes sought his and he found them a stormy mixture of green and grey and gold, darkened by her fierce need. So perfect, he thought, so brilliant and needy and beautiful ... who could deny her anything? Certainly not him, so within seconds she was clinging to him as she writhed in ecstasy, the tiny caresses on her tender pearl enough to catapult her into the abyss.

Colors swam before her eyes and the rush of her blood sounded in her ears as she rode out the storm, gasping for breath as she came back to earth. Blindly, she reached out for her lover, dragging him down for a kiss even as her fingers moved deftly to free him from his trousers.

His impatience coming to the fore, William growled as they struggled with his pants, finally ripping the material in haste. Freed from its confinement his manhood stood fully erect, a tiny drop of moisture glistening on its tip, and Buffy touched it with a trembling hand, eliciting a deeper growl from the vampire. So big, she thought hazily, so very large, large enough to fill me completely and make me scream for mercy... Her thoughts scattered as he growled once more, his face shifting to reveal that of his demon and Buffy was seized with lust at the sight. She leaned back on the pillows, arching her throat and spreading her legs even as she lifted her hips in invitation.

And no vampire will refuse an invitation.

Snarling, he thrust deeply inside her as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her daffodil and honey scent as her velvety walls held his cock in an iron grip. Oh, but this was surely the sweetest death, were his last thoughts as Buffy lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, strategically placing it so that her tender pearl was rubbed by his now furious thrusts. She moaned and keened his name, her head tipping back as his name fell from her lips.

His fantasy was quickly becoming reality and William could no longer wait; he shifted so that he gripped her knees, forcing them up towards her head, positioning her in a way that left her completely open. He took only a few seconds to gaze at the erotic picture she presented, her neck arched and legs spread so that her desire gleamed in the low light, but the image was burned into his mind as he thrust within her one last time before piercing her sweet flesh with his fangs in search of her honey and wine-like blood.

Buffy whimpered and mewled as he fed from her, sating his hunger even as he sated his pleasure. The tension that had been building began to peak and she keened his name as she reached fulfillment, trembling in his arms as his feeding quickly forced her into the abyss yet again.

As the storm of their passion began to recede, William collapsed on top of her, his body trembling with the aftereffects of lust. He gave a low throaty growl as his face shifted once more, but his golden eyes did not disappear as he lapped at the closing wound on her throat. Buffy crooned as his lips caressed the holes, her fingers curling in his hair as he flipped them over so that she lay sprawled on top of him, his manhood still cradled deep within her center.

Neither spoke, but in those moments no words were needed. Simple kisses and caresses, the language of lovers, would suffice until later when words would be a necessity ... but for those moments, William and Buffy existed only for each other and each defined the borders of the other's world.

Our idyll didn't last, of course, they never do. Still, even when Angelus joined us an hour or so later it was just as nice and orgasmic. It's a pity you can't see your reflection because the sight of William and Angelus as they mate with one another is a sight that is so beyond anything I've ever seen in my life. The way their bodies press together ... how Angelus leans over his Childe, stroking and squeezing the younger vampire's shaft ... the way Will looks when he rubs against his Sire and purrs with pleasure and need ... the hauntingly exquisite expression on their faces as they share blood during orgasm ...

The sight of their demons frolicking in bed as they tumble back and forth in a mock battle for dominance ... some days it's enough to make me wish I could experience what they must be feeling ...

Mmmphmm. But you really don't want to hear anymore, do you?

Anyway ... what I was getting to was Angelus' reactions to this whole situation with Penn. At first I didn't think anything of it -- I mean, we frequently sleep three to a bed ... but ever since the night Rosalind brought us the news he's been more possessive, more controlling. It's manifested itself in several ways over the past few weeks, but the most noticeable has been our sleeping arrangements. Like I said, it's not unusual for us to share a bed, but ever since Paris he's kept us together even when we sleep. He managed on the train to Bucharest and while we traveled through Eastern Europe, and he's managed here on the boat.

Poor Felicity has been stuck by herself more often than not ... For her, though, the worst came when Angelus wanted to scout the countryside around one of the larger villages; he made her stay behind at the flat while we spent three days and nights searching through the forests and talking with the resident demon population. Angelus had left three minions in the village to listen for information and to watch her, but by the time we returned -- bedraggled and in desperate need of a hot bath -- the two remaining minions were terrified of her. Turns out that one of them decided that since feeding options were slim they would feed off her; Felicity wigged and tripped over a chair in her haste to get away, but once cornered her fighting instincts kicked in and she threatened them with one of the broken chair legs. One apparently underestimated her completely and she lost her temper and, well, staked him. The other two got the picture very quickly and left her alone... they still won't go near her.

Angelus laughed when he found out ... said any vampire stupid enough to try to feed off a girl who spent most of her time around two Masters and a Slayer was simply asking for trouble. He actually thanked her for culling the herd!

I swear, Angel, there are some days when I look at her and expect to see red hair and hear her babbling ...

We only spent two weeks in Eastern Europe before Angelus finally accepted that Penn was simply not there anymore, so we headed south to the port of Ephesus; we spent two days in the old Roman city before the ship Angelus was waiting for docked, so Felicity and I traipsed over the old ruins and bought several bolts of wool from the markets. By the time we boarded the ship we were both pink from long hours in the sun and we had plenty of material for winter clothes.

I did my damnedest to ignore the alarm that was being raised over the strange murders ... because in the end, that's all I can do.

14 November, 1899

I haven't written in a long time -- been too busy or too tired. Since leaving Ephesus, we've spent over a month sailing around the Mediterranean following up any possible leads on Penn. I've seen parts of Turkey, Greece and Italy, the southern parts of France and Spain, North Africa and Egypt ... more of the world than I ever expected.

Of course, I never expected to be immortal and living with two soulless vampires, either, so ...

We sail, we dock, we search then we sail some more ... that's been the way the past month or more has gone. I'm sick of it too, and Felicity really was sick; she got some type food poisoning in Cairo, even though we were staying in one of the English hotels in the city and eating predominantly western European food. I think it was that ... whatever it was ... we ate while we were in Giza one day to see the Pyramids. Angelus had sent me out during the day to meet with some of his more human contacts, as usual, and I took Felicity with me, as usual. After we were done we took a slight detour and did some sightseeing ... as usual.

The unusual was that about an hour after we had a snack, a local delicacy that I can't pronounce, much less spell, Felicity started feeling really bad. At first I thought it was the heat, but she was turning a pale green in the face, too, so I took her back to the hotel and sent for a doctor. Apparently this has happened to other Europeans before; since she needed rest and was put on a specific diet for a week or two, Angelus decided he and William would seek out the other leads by themselves.

They returned ten days later, dusty and once again disappointed. However, Angelus had received word from a Sept leader that Penn had been sighted just east of Egypt a few weeks earlier, so off we went ...

I still didn't know much about Penn; you never brought him up and Angelus wouldn't discuss him other than to say that we'd find him soon. Will was more open, but even he was guarded and would not, for any reason, explain why a vampire (even one with a soul) would seek sanctuary in Jerusalem. And it seemed the trip was a bust -- we soon found that Penn had left the city the very night we arrived, but to where was anybody's guess. Angelus was furious (to say the least), so I took Felicity out the next morning and followed a hunch.

What hunch? Well, during his tirade Angelus mentioned some of Penn's more unusual qualities (that's the nicest way to put it), up to and including his obsession with God and the churches. I mean, carving a cross on the cheek of a victim ...

Issues much?

Anyway, from Angelus' rantings I gathered that Penn's mortal years were spent in a stern religious environment; he might seek out some similar institution, though, especially if the residual religious programming (don'tcha love my pop psychology?) was still in place. And you know what?

I was right.

After a whole day of searching, I finally found a small Catholic Church in the Old City ... the only one I *hadn't* been to that day. Why just the Catholic churches, you ask? Not only are they the predominant Christian church in the city (okay, so there are also the Eastern Orthodox churches, but I ruled them out because Penn was from Western Europe) ... but what would Penn have been seeking? Forgiveness, that's what. And having been raised in a more Puritan-esque manner, he'd know that any Protestant clergy would tell him that forgiveness, true forgiveness, begins when you forgive yourself.

That's something even you have yet to realize.

Anyway, from what little I know, Catholic priests have the power to absolve guilt and sin, right? Well, close enough. So, I figured he would find a priest to hear his confession, but I swear I was beginning to wonder if he even bothered to find a priest, or just found the nearest rabbi. It was almost night when we found the last church and it was so still and dark that I wasn't even sure it was open or that anyone was there ...

"Come in, my child. God's house is never closed to those in need."

The soft voice jerked Buffy out of her reverie and drew her gaze from the simple, sand covered Gothic arch and into the depths of the transept. What had once seemed like a fathomless darkness within now appeared to only a small darkness surrounding a few lights, so she glanced over at Felicity as the two stepped through the doorway and into the church. What had from the still sunny street seemed pitch black was actually a dim setting that masked the ancient walls that were crumbling and the sandy rock-hewn floor. The interior was more spartan than she had expected, but Buffy admitted that the simple wood and wrought iron furnishing seemed more appropriate.

A small sigh relief from Felicity made Buffy smile. Apparently the girl had the same thoughts; even though she now lived with demons on a regular basis, and before that with a depraved and lascivious aunt, her very thorough Anglican upbringing had left her with an aversion to anything that could be considered Papist. She had been tense while in every church, and had been distinctly uncomfortable when the two had been forced to wait through a service before speaking with the clergy.

Now, though, she seemed more relaxed, Buffy thought, but then again, it could be due to exhaustion and overexertion. She waved to the empty pews and Felicity eagerly sank down onto the hard wood and tipped back her head, her eyes sliding closed as her mistress conferred with the priest.

"What can I do for you, my child?"

Buffy considered the priest for a moment, taking in everything from his English accent to his sparklingly wise green eyes, and had the strangest feeling of deja vu. Shaking it off, she smiled ruefully before asking, "I'm not really sure how I should phrase this ... "

"Father Theodore," the priest said kindly. "And the best way is usually the simplest."

She grinned. "In that case ... I'm looking for my brother-in-law," she started, sticking to the story she and Felicity had concocted. "We know he's left the city, but we have no idea where he's going and how ... stable... he is, emotionally. He's recently been through a very traumatic experience ... I know you can't tell me what was said under confession, but if you could tell me if he was here and how he was ... His hair is sort of dark blonde or light brown -- "

"Medium build, gray-blue eyes and very pale skin," Father Theodore concluded.

Buffy blinked. "Well, yes."

The priest motioned her to a nearby pew where he soon joined her, but he faced the altar as he spoke. "The one you seek was here just the night before last, but I did not hear his confession so ... " He turned to face her and asked, "May I speak freely?"

Buffy bit her lip and nodded.

"Your brother-in-law is quite disturbed," Father Theodore told her. "However, I suspect you already know this, so I will tell you what occurred. He arrived just after the midnight mass was concluded and had he arrived sooner I do believe many of my parishioners would have been severely frightened. I was about to retire for the evening and was waiting on Father Andrew to return when he quite suddenly burst in and threw himself on the altar, screaming incoherently."

Buffy's eyes strayed to the simple altar, a stone table draped with white linen with a crucifix in the center along with a goblet, as Father Theodore continued. "After a few minutes he began to make sense, relatively speaking. He was begging for forgiveness and asking for peace, for the pain to stop and to be as he was ... over and over again, his face covered with blood ... " the priest shuddered.

He was crying, she thought, desperate for someone to help him ...

Father Theodore was silent for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. "I'll say no more, save that he would not make a confession yet still begged me to intercede on his behalf ... I tried to explain, but he would not listen. He finally bowed his head and said that he was unworthy of any divine grace and, before I could stop him, he was gone. I chased him for a few yards, but it was dark and he seemed sure of foot ... I'm sorry, but I know no more."

Buffy sighed. "Thank you, Father. I ... I know that must have been a disturbing experience, but I ... "

"Disturbing?" the priest echoed. "Yes, it was disturbing ... but I truly hope that I have been of some assistance ...?"

"Oh, yes," Buffy told him as she stood. "You have been a tremendous help, more than you can imagine. Thank you."

"I do hope you find him soon," Father Theodore told her seriously. "He is in a great deal of spiritual and -- I dare say -- physical danger. He needs help."

Buffy nodded. "We know, Father, we know. Again, thank you."

As she was turning to leave she felt his hand on her shoulder and turned to see him make the sign of the cross over her as he whispered a Latin benediction. At her quizzical look, he inclined his head and said, "I can tell you are even less likely to make a confession than your brother-in-law..."

"I'm not Catholic."

"It does not matter, for I sense that you must walk in even darker places than this part of Jerusalem, and that you must do so alone," he told her as he glanced at Felicity. "Giving you a blessing is the ... least I can do."

She nodded and he whispered once more, his voice low and echoing in the cavernous room. Tiny shivers raced through her as she thought about his words, but she shoved them aside for later contemplation and thanked him before leaving the tiny church.

I'm still not sure what he meant ... "you must walk in even darker places" ... he couldn't know, could he? Maybe he just saw worry and insecurity on my face ... that must be it. To even consider anything else is to go somewhere I *really* don't want to go ...

Angelus was not overly thrilled by the news I brought back, but it strengthened his resolve to continue the search. Upon arriving here, he was out and about as soon as he was able and even now, as I write, he's off with the few Sept leaders of the Order of Aurelius that live here in Athens. Felicity is asleep and Will is pacing the floor beside me; he wants to be out searching, but he wants to 'look after' me just as much. It's not like I can't protect myself (and Felicity), but I don't speak the local Greek dialect (no Greek, really) so I can't communicate all that well.

More later.

31 December, 1899

We finally stopped traveling about three weeks ago, once it became obvious that our constant searching was getting us nowhere fast. So, Angelus decided that we should spend the next few months here in Florence, just in case Penn remembers their plans to meet up here and figures it's worth a shot. Who knows? Maybe he will.

Florence is so beautiful, even in winter. I barely speak more than a few words of Italian, and only because I've kinda been forced to learn so I can tell people what I want when A or W aren't around. Needless to say, my grasp of the language sucks ... but it doesn't suck dead bunnies through a straw anymore.

The villa, though ... It sits halfway up a hill outside the city, surrounded by vineyards and a few olive trees and cobbled walks. The villa itself has been covered in pinkish-orange stucco and has raised ceilings, but the inside is all marble and rattan and wicker with light mahogany wooden beds draped with pale blue, cream and gold duvets and sheets. Because it's built into the side of the hill, the two floors (three if you count the cellar) are partially submerged; the first floor, where you enter from the front drive, has ceilings that rise to the top of the second floor and lots of windows. I was a bit confused at first, but once I discovered that the bedrooms were on the second floor and all but two had no windows, I understood.

The villa was designed to protect its vampire inhabitants while at the same time deflecting attention from the locals, which it does very well. Angelus told me that the bedchambers on either end of the house were guestrooms set aside for humans (or adventurous vampires). Not only that, but the receiving rooms, the kitchen and the dining rooms on the first floor are set farther back so that vampires can easily move about by day and only have to cover one or two windows ... none of which would be noticed. The very front hall and the rooms to either side compose the ballroom, which is only used at night anyway.

All in all, pretty smart. The villa is much smaller than the other houses Angelus owns (only twenty rooms, total; six are bedrooms and each end room has its own bath -- Felicity has one of those), but he admits that he usually spends little time here ... so why bother? Still, I like it here; maybe it's the sunlight or the warmth that reminds me of California, or maybe I'm just glad to be away from the sharp eyes of London's ton ... or perhaps I'm just glad to have several hundred miles between Indara and myself.

Of course, I'm not being dragged all over Europe and North Africa anymore, either.

My room here is lovely ... airy, in a way that none of the others could be. The bed is light mahogany (so is the rest of the furniture) and covered with pale yellow and white duvets and sheets, all with gold trim, and the floors are a well-worn white pine (don't ask me where they got it) with woven rugs. The walls were whitewashed, with a mural of the gardens above the villa on the far wall, while the others had a grapevine pattern stenciled in a border close to the ceiling. Like I said, a pretty place, smaller and more cozy than the huge monstrosities Angelus calls houses.

Anyway ...

It's nice to be able to just exist ... no interruptions, no parties, nobody demanding your attention and no big Clan politics. Okay, so Angelus had to take Will and go into Rome a few nights ago to put down a little unrest among the local members of Clan Aurelius, but everything was settled and the catalyst traced to an anonymous note (probably originating with one of Harold's sympathizers, Angelus thinks) that fanned the flames of their unhappiness. A and W have gone down to Florence for a little while tonight, just to put in an appearance; I've stayed here because I just don't feel like dressing up and socializing.

It's almost midnight, so I think I'll go open a bottle of champagne (1800, Moselle) that Angelus only thought he was hiding from me and toast the twentieth century ... which seems really odd somehow ...

Buffy eyed the ticking clock as its hands indicated five 'til twelve. Only five more minutes, she thought. Five more minutes until the year 1900 ... until I can rejoin the twentieth century and then only a little under a hundred until I can go home ... it seems like so far away ... but here's to one more year.

She had raised the glass to admire the way the light refracted through the golden liquid in the beveled goblet when the door opened, admitting a slightly nervous Felicity. The younger woman bit her lip and asked, "Were you expecting visitors tonight, milady?"

"No," Buffy answered, her curiosity piqued. "Why?"

"Well," the young maid hedged. "There's a young English lady here to see you, but she will not give her name or present a card ... yet she insists that you will see her."

Buffy frowned and started for the door. "Did she say anything else?"

Felicity nodded. "She said to remember Bath."

The Slayer's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline as she told Felicity to show the woman in, turning to pour another glass of champagne for her guest. Only two people could possibly darken her doorstep, she mused, and both were more trustworthy than most of those she had met. Lovely Eleanor Stanley Chase was surely one of Cordelia's ancestors and someone she hadn't seen in months, but Buffy knew from their correspondence that the woman had a tight security network. On the other hand, Eleanor wasn't above being adventurous and breaking rules in search of fun; a mysterious midnight call on a friend -- so long as no one found out and ruined her social rep -- would be typical Nellie behavior.

The other possibility seemed far more remote, Buffy thought. In this world, her sister Slayer, Alicia, also counted as a friend although their correspondence was infrequent at best. Both went to great lengths to ensure that no one else knew of their letters, a feat Buffy had found easier during her travels in search of the elusive Penn. Since she frequently wrote to Louise and Georgina in London, as well as Eleanor, posting another letter to someone else proved almost too easy. However, she hadn't written to Alicia since arriving in Florence, so ...

Buffy's reverie was broken when the door opened and shut, and she turned to face her mysterious guest. As her eyes locked with the other woman's, she briefly tightened her fingers on the glass, relaxing her grip before she crackled the expensive crystal. Her guest's lips quirked.

"I had not truly thought to see you again, either," she said.

Buffy nodded. "Only too true, but here you are. Champagne?"

The woman shook her head. "I had best not."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but the chimes of the clock sounded, their tinkling announcing the arrival of a new year, a new decade and a new century. Her eyes slid over to her friend and, for the first time, she realized the other's condition.

"How ...?" she whispered.

"Happy New Year, Buffy," Alicia replied, her voice weary. "I need your help."

 

The End