"You know I don't favor blondes, Plum," I replied, trying to hide my irritation at this unexpected hitch in my plans for a pas de deux.  I'd wanted Dru to myself for an hour.  

I was hungry, however, and if it made my girl happy, I wasn't about to complain.  

"Is there a card, then? What's that on the string 'round her neck?" I prompted, nodding at a twist of twine that decorated the teenager's throat.  A bit of paper was dangling like a pendant from the improvised choker.  Dru turned her head to read the typewritten lines and then snatched at the paper.  Her nails cut the girl's skin, tearing the tag free of its mooring. 

"She's from Darla, in America," she said, clapping her hands in delight as she bounced back to my side and handed me the note. 

"'Sorry, I can't be there in person'," I read off, "'Here's a sip of something to fortify you both against the cold night, love Darla.'"  I snorted, not believing my eyes, "Hardly like her Worship to come over sentimental all of a sudden.  Still, can't turn up our nose at a free meal." 

"Shhhh," Dru admonished me, shaking a finger as she backed away, "Bad manners will get you flogged before supper.  Always thinking of your stomach when I want to play."   

She hiked up her skirts and knelt on the bed, then walked forward on her knees to face the captive.  She prodded the girl savagely making her twitch and moan.  

"Look at me, Lovely," Drusilla cooed, swaying hypnotically. "My aren't you fresh and juicy.  I was like you once…before I was visited by angels.  Pale and pure.  Bet you're sweet as ripe cherries down below." 

"She's just a bit of a thing, ain't she?" I said, tilting my head, not really fancying the prospect of deflowering insipid virgins.  

Dru ignored me.  She was staring into the teen's terrified eyes making the little bit's pulse quicken.  I sighed, resigning myself to the role of spectator.  I stretched out on the bed, slipped one hand into my open fly and settled back to watch. 

"You have a china doll face," she told the girl sometime later. "Just like our Miss Alice used to have…but not as dirty.  Miss Alice got thrown in the kitchen fire.  Only because she liked to watch Spike when he's sleeping…and she would go on and on…telling me all of his dreams. It was Miss Alice first told me of HER!" 

"So, you want me to throw this one on the fire, too?" I asked, heading off the tirade.   

I knew the answer to my question already by the arch of Dru's nude body.  She wanted the girl in our bed.  She was caressing herself as she studied the now naked child, licking her lips in anticipation of the fun we might all have together.  She turned her luminous gaze on me and smiled wickedly.  My heart sank. 

"Do her for me Spike," she purred. "Be her Cherubim.  Force her open.  Make her bleed. Make her scream." 

"And what do I get if I do?" I asked, lazily, bored beyond the telling of it by the idea of raping the dinner. 

"You'll get caged and no food for a week if you don't," Drusilla replied, kicking my hip hard with one bare foot.   

I barely flinched, continuing to smoke as I considered my options.  None of them looked good.  I studied Drusilla through the blue veil of my exhalations, searching for any sign of charity.  Her chin was set in a stubborn line.  Not one thing would please her but a trip to the Nunnery. 

I took a last leisurely drag on my cigarette before pinching it out between two fingers. Feeling put upon, I swung my feet to the floor.  There was nothing for it but to play out my part, re-enacting the past for the umpteenth time.  I consoled myself that at least we hadn't the costumes for this go around.  I hated the burning with crosses and holy water.  Dru scooted up the bed away from the girl as I circled into position. 

"I shall be Mother Superior," my Love declared, arranging herself primly against the headboard, hands covering her privates, "forced to look on in shame and horror." 

It was a good hour before I was allowed to feed.  And another one ticked by before Dru had enough blood and screaming to mollify her, but finally, I got my tumble.  It was sublime, as usual.  I came, shuddering and, as custom directed, gasped in polite unison with my partner.  After I was spent, I levered back, lowering my head to lick along the milky curves of Drusilla's perfect body, like the loyal dog I was.  I didn't mind if she made me obey, as long as she gave me my treat in the end.   

I was happy again, well pleased with the fiery reaction I'd managed to engender.  If my Sire had a fault, it was her tendency to have orgasmically induced visions at the most inopportune times.  She would drift off topic into fanciful parables.  It was a rare day when she focused on the proceedings all the way through. 

I rolled to one side, reaching for my pack and lighter.  The room swam around me.  Disoriented, I slid off the bed, sprawling unceremoniously across the floor.  I tried to rise, shaking my head to clear it and found I was tangled up with the mortal remains of the teenager.  We had cast her drained carcass aside when we'd gotten down to business. 

"Oh, my head's gone all funny," Dru giggled, from above, as I struggled to disengage from the corpse.   

There was something odd about the body.  I squinted through the fog in my brain, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.  Cuneiform symbols were rising like wheals under the girl's skin.  My blood ran colder as I recognized the language and finally made out the words. 

"Drusilla, get dressed," I ordered, lurching urgently to my feet. "Hurry now. Get your clothes on, Pet.  We need to be moving."   

I pulled on my pants, leaning into the wall for stability.  Giving up on the pointless fumbling with my button fly, I tried for my boots, dropping them repeatedly before I managed to get them on my feet.  I didn't bother with a shirt.  Spotting my duster at the end of the bed, I bent over to retrieve it, nearly crashing to the floor in the process.  Dru hadn't shifted in the slightest.  She was wafting a hand in front of her face, no doubt enchanted by the pretty colors.  I saw them, too, but had no time to make a rainbow connection at present. 

"Dru-SIL-LA," I bellowed, separating the syllables for emphasis as I staggered around the bed and took hold of her.  “They’re coming for us.” 

Already, I could smell the smoke of the torches and hear the blood cries of the human mob mixed with the muted screams of our dying children.  Desperately, I hauled my Sire to her feet.  She fought me, clawing into the sheets bringing them up with her.  Impatient with her struggles, I struck Dru hard to the temple, wrapping her in the bed linen as she sagged.  Then, fighting my own sense of self-preservation, which was clamoring for me to cut and run, I half-carried, half-dragged her toward the door.   

It was slow going. My vision was blurred by streaks of color and light.  My drugged muscles were slow to respond and my knees kept buckling.  As I struggled up from the floor for the third time, there was a sharp exchange of shouted voices in the corridor and someone burst into the room.  I felt my human façade fall away as I shifted into a defensive crouch.   

It was Gracie and two others, wankers but family. 

“Come on,” Gracie yelled, from what seemed like a great distance even though she was practically on top of me.  “What the Hell is wrong with you?  They’re right behind us.  We have to get her out of here.”  

“Drugged,” I managed, by way of explanation. 

“FUCK,” Gracie snarled, kicking me to one side as she hefted Dru into her arms.  I rolled with the strike, and as soon as the room steadied around me, I scrambled to my feet, again.  Gracie, Dru and the two wankers were almost to the fire escape by the time I made the hallway.  They showed no inclination to wait for the handicapped. 

There was a great roaring noise from behind me, I didn’t need to look back to know the mob had arrived on our floor.  I redoubled my pitiful efforts and made it to the stairwell just as the door flew open and Gracie stumbled back out.  

“They’ve cut us off below,” she yelped, thrusting the dead weight of Drusilla into my arms.  She’d added three more to the entourage.  “Magical barriers,” she continued as we turned to face the on-coming rush of irate humanity, “They’re saying it’s Tung.” 

“It is,” I confirmed.  “I got his calling card.” 

"Looks like they're resurrecting the venerable defenestration," I remarked, showing off my upper crust education.  I ruined the effect by bursting into a fit of giggles when my precise enunciation struck my drugged mind as hilarious. 

"Looks like what?" Gracie sniffed, absently.  She was shuffling about like a trapped animal. 

I tried to marshal my thoughts and mumbled, "Throwing us out the window."   

The full explanation of the assassination technique known as the Prague Defenestration eluded me but an idea struck the softened mush of my brain and I wrestled with it, repeating, "Window…window? Window!" 

Galvanized, I thrust Dru into the arms of the nearest wanker and staggered to the first door off the corridor on the street side of the building.  My shoulder crashed into the wooden portal, partly from planning and partly from losing my balance halfway across the hall.  I stumbled into the room, clinging to the doorknob so fiercely I nearly dislocated my arm from the socket.  A cursory glance at the accommodations showed them suitable to my emerging plan. 

"In here," I ordered, turning back to wave at my companions.  As Gracie and Company moved to obey, the mob noise swelled, ominously.  I shoved the lad holding Drusilla toward the far side of the room as he entered, snapping, "Keep her clear." 

He looked blank but, thankfully, didn't argue.  They were used to me taking charge and I didn't disappoint.  

"Gracie block this door," I said, slamming the portal closed.  I pointed at two other siblings, "You and you…help her out."   

"Mind if I ask what the Hell you think your doing?" Gracie snarled, even as she pushed a mahogany tallboy in front of the door.  

"We're getting out of here," I returned, making my drunken way to the bay window.  "By the same route they've got in mind." 

"Out the window?" Gracie asked, her tone a balanced mix of admiration and doubt. 

"You got a better idea?" I challenged, half-hoping she had.  A cursory glance outside showed a steep drop of four stories to a mob in the street, bellowing for our blood.  I clung dizzily to the windowsill, trying not to vomit. 

The group in the corridor had reached our position.  From the sound of things, they had a couple of axes and a lot of determination. I glanced back at the remains of my family and pulled myself together.  I kicked off my boots, slipped out of my duster and staggered across to take Drusilla from the arms of her keeper.   

"Alright, people, we aren't here for the view," I barked.  Nodding at the four strapping boys and pointing, I ordered, "Break out the glass and form a chain to the roof, I'll hand Dru up to you." 

All but one of them, the lad who’d been holding Drusilla, leaped to obey.  I wrapped my leather coat around my love to protect her from flying debris as the window shattered.  Dru moaned, squirming slightly, as I threaded her right arm through a sleeve.  I considered putting her out again but let it go, concentrating instead on getting her into the duster as Gracie and the boys enlarged the opening to the great outdoors, knocking away shards of glass. 

The noise from the street increased three-fold, and then increased again as one by one my relatives started making for the roof.  We were only one floor away from this refuge and, once there, we could travel the rooftops of Prague for several blocks.  The city was one of the easiest to traverse in this fashion.  Its houses and hotels huddled together like gossiping old women, eaves touching. 

“Look,” the lad hanging back said, “maybe we should stand and fight.” 

“And maybe you should get your arse out there,” I bristled, in no mood for eleventh hour dissention. 

“W-Wh-What if we fall?” he gulped, still not moving.  He was white as a sheet and smelled nasty the way dead things do when they’re all riled up.  “A gypsy woman once told me I’d die from a fall,” he confided, his voice a breaking squeak. 

“Got that part wrong, didn’t she?” I pointed out. 

“Maybe she meant permanently,” he insisted, backing away, even as Gracie came toward him. 

My russet haired sibling grabbed the coward by the elbow and hustled him to the window, growling, “What say I throw you out so we can see if you bounce?”  She shoved him outside where he dangled, eyes pinched shut, shrieking. 

I wasn’t one to stand in the way of a bit of fun but we had work to do and we needed able-bodied people to do it.  Couldn’t be wasting them on Late Night with Letterman experiments.  On the other hand, if the boy was useless, Gracie might as well let him go.  I gave a put upon sigh, wondering why I was always the sensible one.  The door behind me splintered inward under the urging of an unseen ax-man, Gracie jumped, the dangling wanker screamed and I gave reason one last shot, because, while the boy was taking up space probably put to better use by a house plant, he was family. 

“Oh, for pity’s sake, lad,” I said, embarrassed to be related to the git, “you’re a vampire!  You can’t be afraid of heights!  Besides…buildings covered with curly-cues ain’t it?” He eased open one eye to look and nodded slightly.  I nodded back, “Well, alright then, grab on to something ‘fore Gracie lets go.” He did as I asked, moving mechanically but moving. “That’s it,” I urged, as he scrambled out of sight. “Be like climbing the bloody stairs at Grandma’s.” 

I wasn’t lying to the boy.  Prague was noted for its ornate buildings and the Hotel St. George was no exception to the rule.  The façade was covered in stone carvings, angels and gargoyles and such rot.  Easy to climb if you're slightly athletic and sober.  But a right bitch if you happen to be portly or pissed off your ass.  Less than two minutes after I talked Junior out the window, one of our number, a bloke well over 20 stone, tumbled to his doom.  Gracie ducked her head back inside, avoiding him as he fell. 

"This is insane," she remarked and I wasn't the one to argue the point.  She nodded her head at Dru and commanded, "Give her to me." I hesitated and my sibling snarled, "You know you'll never make it." 

I looked down into my beloved's pale upturned face and sighing, pressed my lips to hers.  For a moment the world stood still as Dru's arms stole around my neck.  She smelled as sweet as calla lilies.  She was smiling as I broke the kiss, her liquid eyes fluttered open and she murmured my name, sleepily, "Spike?" 

"Hang on, Luv," I said.  "You're just going for a little ride."  Before I could change my mind, I gave her over to Gracie, warning, "Drop her and you'll be dying for the next fifty years." 

Gracie didn't bother to acknowledge my threat but I knew she took me seriously.  Tossing Dru over one shoulder, she stepped out onto the tiny ledge and started her climb.  The Prague Historical Re-enactors were nearly through the door by this time and my choices were limited; immediate death by the mob in the hall, being tossed out the window by same or falling off the building as I climbed.  The latter option, offering a slightly delayed death at the hands of the mob in the street, seemed like my best bet. 

A fresh night breeze tickled my nose as I clambered outside.  It promised me a shot at freedom.  It lied, of course.  

Knowing it would be suicide to look down, I glanced up.  Gracie was halfway to the roof. Just passing Drusilla to the second in our ladder of wankers, she climbed another five feet and reached down to take my darling girl back into her custody.  It was gratifying to see my plan working even if I wasn't an active participant.  There was a harsh tangle of voices as the door-smashing mob streamed into the room I was trying to vacate.  The sound concentrated my impaired faculties and I turned hasty attention toward seeking hand and footholds in the nearby stonework. 

Expecting to be dragged back any second, I climbed, passing the first of my siblings quickly.  In all fairness, Jimmy Stewart seemed to be frozen in place by his fear of heights.  I pressed on, concentrating on my technique, fingers, toes, shift up an inch, etc.  I was well behind the main party as they made the rooftop.  I heard Gracie's glad cry and Drusilla chanting nonsense and I smiled.  

Then I heard the twang of bowstrings, a series of harsh screams and the unforgettable inrush of air caused by a bit of wood through an undead heart.  Dust wafted around me in clouds, settling grimly on my skin.  There was a scuffling noise and a falling body rocketed past, inches away.  During our brief encounter, I registered the body as male, horrified, about 23 years old with an Asiatic cast to his features.  Not one of my crew.  Risking a fall of my own, I leaned out, looking up. Drusilla was still whole but held fast in the arms of my worst enemy.  

Guan-yin Tung was waiting for me on the roof.   

"It is you I want," he called, in the Mandarin Chinese I had been forced to learn thanks to him.  "Join us and she dies quickly." 

It wasn't much of a bargain from my end of things.  First, there was the fact that I didn’t believe him.  He wanted me to suffer and Dru was a means to that end.  Second, I could see he had forty or so men-at-arms with him and I wasn't at my best.  Even if he was telling the truth, I'd be captured and tortured and Drusilla would be dust.  On the other hand, if I didn't do as he said, there was a chance he would keep Dru around as a hostage.  He knew me well enough by now to know I would come for her. 

I glanced down, the mob below had thinned out a bit but it hardly mattered when, in the words of Butch (or possibly Sundance), "the fall alone was going to kill me."  Of course, technically, the fall wouldn't kill me.  Vamps aren't that fragile or, from my point of view, lucky.  The fall would maim me, severely, bashing out my brains or breaking my neck, so I wouldn't be able to escape from the sunlight or the stake-waving locals.  I decided the better part of valor was a fall from a lower level and started back down the building.   

Tung barked a command and a flurry of arrows rained around me.  One pierced my shoulder missing the more vital area near my heart by about 2 inches.  The thunk and lancing pain was enough to loosen my hold, however, and I started to slide.  I pressed into the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase on the bumpy surface.  I managed to slow my descent just as I drew opposite the window we had originally climbed through.  I halted level with the sill.   

Ten feet above, the agoraphobic was still clinging to his spot but the indoor mob had apparently moved on.  I felt a glimmer of hope.  If I could get inside, I could pick my spot and force Tung to come to me.  With painstaking care, I edged toward the sanctuary of the broken out window.  Two more arrows bit into me before I reached the ledge but I was inches away from that scant sanctuary when Mr. Vertigo took one in the throat and fell.  The weight of his body slamming into me carried us both to the pavement four stories below. 

Falling four floors is a bugger.  Especially, when you've no life to flash before your eyes. 

With nothing else to occupy my time, I managed to reverse our positions in the air so the wanker landed first, cushioning my smack into Mother Earth.  The snapping of my collarbone and right arm and the grinding of cartilage in my knees was a heavy price to pay for remaining conscious.  But it could have been worse.   

I lurched upright, wiping off the chunkier bits of Junior’s brain spatter.  The nearly incapacitating pain of my own injuries was nothing when compared to my relative’s squishy condition.   And the nice thing about pain is the way it instantly sobers.  My head was marvelously clear.  Handy fact since I was barely on my feet when the remains of the street mob surged in.  I pulled an unbroken arrow from my flesh to use as a weapon, set my back to the wall and we got to it.  

The fighting was brutal, close and bloody.  I fanged up and crunched down on any parts in my sphere of influence, wringing necks, breaking limbs and ripping open throats with glorious abandon.  I was drenched in red nectar within minutes.  One of the locals prodded me with a pitchfork and lost his head and his weapon.  Armed with the pointy farm implement I held the crowd at bay, stabbing and bludgeoning.  The first rush of eager lambs to the slaughter died off to a cautious circling of wary and opportunistic wolves.   

And then the wolves scattered as sirens whooped down the street.  

The police had arrived to break up our unlicensed assembly.  I glanced up as several small cars squealed around the corner and popped out pressed uniforms.  Peripherally, I caught the gimlet eye of one of Tung’s soldiers as he ducked back into the foyer of the Hotel St. George.  I was being out flanked.   I considered my chances of successfully running…on shattered kneecaps, pin-cushioned with broken arrows and covered with blood.  Slim to none.  It was less than an hour until sunrise and I was in no shape to continue fighting the masses.  Luckily, help was at hand. 

Many demons are against the order of society, but I have no problem with it.  Civilization is a treat.  I like a world where people still open their hearts and homes to a stranger in need. And, to my way of thinking, there are times when the police are a dead man’s best friend.  I dropped my weapon and sidled along the wall, distancing myself from the pile of bodies.  Then, I cradled my damaged arm to my chest and started yelling.

“Pomoc!  Krvacim!” I screamed, hoarsely.  Holding out a plaintive hand, I staggered toward the nearest official. And then, so he'd know I was English, I translated, "Help!  I'm bleeding!  I've been robbed.  Please…help…I need a doctor.  Byl jsem okraden…prosim…doktora…pomoc…pommmm…” 

I collapsed, artlessly, into the arms of the dewy-faced officer, letting my open eyes glaze over.  He lowered me to the ground and, obligingly, took up my cry, "Doktora! Pomoc! Doktora!" 

The medical men arrived with alacrity.  Noting my shallow breathing, graphic wounds and the copious amount of blood, they didn’t stop to question when they couldn't get a tactile pulse.  The clammy condition of my skin and my lack of response were enough for the diagnosis of near fatal blood loss.  I was in shock, pressure too shallow and low for a reading, close to death and in need of immediate attention.  They shifted me to a stretcher and dashed for one of several ambulances.   

I was skewered with an IV, running to a bag of plasma, and transferred to a wheeled cot before they loaded me into the vehicle.  One of the attendants flashed a bright light into my eyes while the other whipped up a stethoscope and listened to my heart.  I played dead.  Rather convincingly.  I stopped my faux breathing and failed to flinch, flutter or dilate.  I was given another injection and hastily wired up to monitors.  The ambulance started moving.  There was an ominous hum of equipment, a barked order of "Clear" and I was hit with a jolt of electricity that arched my body four inches off the antiseptic sheets. 

"Bloody Fucking Hell," I screamed, hardly overstating my case.  Snarling into my fangs, I sat up, seized the bloke with the electric paddles in his grip and with one hand snapped his neck.   

The man in charge of the vital signs monitor, screeched, stumbled back and skittered to the far wall of the vehicle.  He curled into a ball and threw up his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself.  I assessed the situation and noticed we were isolated from the driver, who was still making good time.   

"Speak English?" I asked, the survivor as I plucked the IV out of my arm.  He bobbled his head up and down, babbling out a heavily accented request for mercy.  I let my fangs recede as I asked, "You know what I am?"  He nodded again, going white and I smiled reassuringly, "Don't worry, Mate, I need you to patch me up.  Do a good job and you get out of this alive, understand?"  Another nod and a tiny squeak as I hauled him upright, inquiring, "Now…how long 'til we reach the hospital?" 

"Fifteen, twenty minutes," he replied, in a dull fatalistic tone, "depending on traffic and the route."   

"Plenty of time to get me into working order, then," I said, indicating he should hop to it.

He took a bit more persuading but eventually I coaxed him into helping.  He cut off my clothing with a shaking hand.  Gritting my teeth, I watched him ease the arrow points out of my body and hastily bandage up the wounds.  When he was finished, I splashed myself down with alcohol, washing off the blood of the masses.   I yanked on my right wrist until my shattered ulna and the two halves of my broken collarbone lined up.  I would need a day or two of rest and a bit of blood for the bones to set proper.  My knees were healing already. 

Motioning to the Doktora, I told him to strip his partner and hand over the clothes.  He did as I asked, eyeing me warily all the while.  He seemed fascinated by my package, dangling about in the breeze. I figured, in his line of work, he'd seen it all before, so it must have been something about me in particular.  Buggery wasn't exactly my cup of tea but if I hadn't been so rushed I'd have given the boy a thrill for his trouble.  Things being what they were, I decided to hide the light of my nakedness under a bushel.   

I worked the shirt he handed me over my damaged arm and shoulder.  Leaving it open, I was stepping into the dead man's pants when the intercom to the driver crackled out a coded message.  I had time to glance toward my companion and see his eyes light with hope before the ambulance skidded around a corner and slammed to a stop.  Pants around my thighs, I lost my balance, crashing to the floor.  The angel of mercy was on top of me in a flat second. 

"Vampire," he hissed, in his native Czech, stabbing down with a fragment of arrow. 

Some things are instinctive.  I caught the wrist of his armed hand and snapped it.  He howled briefly then gurgled as I took hold of his chin, positioned his neck and bit carefully into his jugular.  I held him in a close embrace and he pressed against me, confirming my earlier suspicions.  'Course, the bite takes a lot of people that way.  And a lot of my kind too.   

The salty sweetness of fresh blood slid down my throat.  It was thick and sticky as honey but still a refreshing draught after a hard night's labor.  Common sense should have told me I hadn’t time for a sit-down dinner, but then I was always a tad impulsive in the face of temptation.  I was just giving into the rush of it all, thinking how my half-naked state was a blessing in disguise and how an EMT might make a nice addition to the family, when the back door of the ambulance popped open.  

There was a scurry of movement as Ororo Munroe’s dead brother tumbled onto the pavement and I found myself looking over Tasty Poof’s shoulder into a trio of startled faces.   

One of the newcomers screamed and ran.  One screamed and fainted.  And the third, spat out an oath and rushed me.  There’s always a hero about when you'd least expect it.