14  -  Let's Not Forget About the Hate

#

Cordelia leaned back on the couch, sighing, trying to stretch the wariness out of her aching bones. These last few months she had been on the road almost nonstop and it was starting to take its toll on her. Not that she would ever allow herself to appear tired in front of the others, no way. She might not be the Beauty Queen of Sunnydale High School anymore, but she still had her pride.

She checked her time planner. Nine weeks to go until the big day. Nine weeks that were still filled with a lot of work, but mostly local stuff. Some more TV interviews - everyone wanted one after the assassination attempt had gone out live and in color - some meetings with senators, an interview for an article in Time Magazine.

There was, of course, that big final speech thing. It was a great honor, she knew that, to be allowed to hold a speech before the assembled Congress, and right before they would decide on the Vampire Legalization Act, too. Everyone would look at her and the words she spoke would help shape the future of an entire race.

She was not daunted by the prospect. Okay, maybe a little, but she had known what she was getting into the moment she had started working with the pro-Vampire lobby. Granted, she had never in her wildest dreams imagined that she would become the head of it, but Monica Chase's daughter would not let herself be intimidated by a bunch of dusty politicians or nation-wide fame. No way.

She still had to write that speech, though. Cordelia was good at improvising and did most of her speeches pretty much spur of the moment, but this was much too important to mess up. Some of her lobby colleagues had wanted to hire a professional speech writer for that one, but she would have none of it.

Darla had once told her that the reason for her success was that everyone who listened to her quickly realized that she believed every word she said. Which was true, Cordy did believe every word of it. Vampires were people, everyone who'd just spend a little effort on getting to know them would realize it. They deserved to be treated equal to everyone else.

With a chuckle she remembered the day she had spent watching Angel talk to Buffy when the Slayer had been a captive here in the Hyperion, still convinced that all Vampire's were the spawn of Satan. Angel had told her his story and she had made an offhand comment about how he wanted his poor little Childer to live in a nation where they would not be judged by the lengths of their fangs, but by the content of their character. Cordy had almost exploded into giggles.

Not that she'd be able to use something like that in her speech, sadly. Politicians were, for the most part, not very humorous fellows. So she would have to go to the heart of the matter. Gunn had been kind enough to loan her his records of Martin Luther King's speeches and she had gathered some more material from the net. Never hurt to let oneself be inspired.

Refilling her cup from the large coffee can standing on her desk, she began to scribble some notes.

#

In the workout room of the Hyperion Buffy put the coup de grace on the abused punching bag, kicking it off its hinges and making it fly halfway through the room. She had pounded on it for nearly an hour and didn't feel better in the least.

Her thoughts were still spiraling around the topic of Faith. Faith, who had beaten her bloody. Faith, who had tried to take Angel away from her. Faith, who had the nerve to just show up and ... she forced herself to calm down.

No, calming down didn't work. She looked at the pitiful remains of the punching bag and decided that she needed something else to beat up. Thankfully she heard a noise as someone passed by the gym and stormed out through the door, coming face to face with Spike.

"Spike!" She greeted him. "Just the man I was looking for."

"Who? Me?" He looked confused for a moment, almost like a kid that was caught doing something stupid. Maybe he'd been out drinking again? She couldn't smell any alcohol on him, thought that might just be a result of him not breathing.
 
"Yes. I'm still too worked up to go to sleep. I need a good sparring. You up for it?"

Something very much like relief spread across his face and Buffy was too wired to give it more than a passing thought. He accompanied her back into the gym and took off his coat, falling into a fighting stance

"Don't hold back, okay?" She told him as she prepared to attack.

"Okay, but you keep Peaches off my back if you get too bruised for smoochies!"

"Deal!"

Moments later she was upon him, kicking and punching, drowning herself in the thoughtless action of combat. Spike matched her blow for blow, moving with the same inhuman swiftness she herself had. Both of them were sweating mere minutes into the fight.

Buffy felt the knots in her brain slowly loosening as the fighting helped relax her. This was actually the first time she had ever fought against Spike, they had never sparred before.

Something about his fighting style was very familiar, though. Her body seemed to remember fighting someone who moved just like him. Angel? No, Angel fought a different style, as did Darla. Spike, he moved almost like ... nah, couldn't be. Spike of all people ...

All that thinking about Faith must have screwed her up worse than she thought.

#

Marshall Kate Lockley sat behind her desk and stared at the mountains of paper that had descended upon it like an avalanche. She liked to think of paperwork as a tangible force of evil, trying to bury her in order to keep her from catching the bad guys.

It didn't help that she was essentially working without a partner right now. She didn't know exactly what was keeping Angel so busy these last few weeks, but it didn't take supernatural insight to see that it worried him tremendously. From what she had been able to gather he was neck-deep in arcane Vampire shit and she certainly didn't want to get involved with that.

That meant, though, that the solving of the assassination attempt on Cordelia Chase was left to her. Seeing as Cordelia was one of Angel's closest friends, whatever kept him away from this case had to be even more important than Kate imagined. He had just told her that he would not be able to devote much of his time to the investigation and that he trusted her to handle it.

She made a mental note of what she already knew.

The sniper's name had been Kyle Taylor, a gun for hire of the best caliber. His price had ranged somewhere in the six to seven digit range and he was wanted for questioning in several other cases of assassination, though no proof had ever been able to link him to any of these crimes.

The fake bodyguard's real name had been Graham Marks, not Riley Finn, and he was almost a blank page as far as criminal records were concerned. A few years ago he had been questioned in connection with a terrorist incident in Iowa, but never even been accused of anything.

Searching Marks' apartment had produced a large amount of cash in a nondescript envelope that held no fingerprints save Marks' own. If one added the sum paid to Marks to the average cost of hiring one Kyle Taylor one got a very, very large amount of money. Much more than your average hate group could possibly pay.

The FBI had managed to find one of Taylor's bank accounts, one which had received a large payment shortly prior to the assassination attempt, and followed a paper trail that led through at least three different dummy corporations and ended up in a country that, as Kate knew, was the home of an organization that was able and certainly willing to dish out this much cash for such a purpose.

Twenty minutes later Kate pulled into the parking lot of Los Angeles state prison and flashed her badge to the guard at the reception desk.

"Marshall Kate Lockley," she told him, "here to see Quentin Travis."

15  -  Where Is a Worthy Vampire When You Need One?
 

#

The black-clad man was shivering with fear, sweat staining his brow, his hands shaking badly as he approached the table and the object lying on it. He was acutely aware of the eyes watching him from the twilight of the room, only the occasional flicker of candlelight allowing him to see their demonic visages.

With trembling fingers he reached out and touched the cover of the book. It felt like ice, sucking the warmth out from under his skin, drawing him down into a cold abyss. Reciting prayers under his breath he flipped open the first page and stared at the strange and disturbing runes he could see there.

The air around him filled with an eerie light as the book awoke under his fingers. The runes shifted and changed, power pouring out from them, surrounding him, probing deep into his mind and soul, looking for something.

Moments later there was a flash of blinding pain, an agony so terrible and all-encompassing that he did not even have time to scream.

The book fell shut again.

Master Grigori shook his head in disappointment as he beheld the pitiful remains of their latest attempt to open the Necronomicon. Someone worthy, it said. Someone the book found worthy of opening it. Apparently this one had not been worthy.

"He was a priest," Grigori growled, "by all accounts the most virtuous man around. And yet the book burned him."

 "I guess virtue is not the answer then." The sorcerer mused, also looking at the heap of ash that had been a man just seconds ago. Eldritch flame was still playing across the remains and threw strange shadows on the walls.

Grigori threw his hands into the air and stalked around the room.

"These experiments of yours have gone on long enough, sorcerer. You have set how many people on this book yet? A dozen? More? It wanted none of them."

"If you are so impatient you are welcome to try and open it with your own hand, Grigori. Maybe the Necronomicon will take a liking to you."

The ancient Vampire stared at the black book lying peacefully on the table and cursed loudly. Weeks had passed and no progress, none at all. They had tried it with Vampire fledglings, humans, demons, priests, sinners, pregnant women, innocent children, none of it had worked. The Necronomicon had burned them all and the pages had closed once more of their own accord, what brief glimpses they had seen of its interior showing nothing but indecipherable runes and writings.

"It is difficult," the sorcerer said when Grigori made no attempt to touch the book, "to extrapolate what qualities the book is looking for in a worthy reader when all we have to go on is Angelus. I have searched records of the Necronomicon that go back thousands of years, yet Angelus is the only one we know of who was ever successful in opening it."

Grigori continued pacing the room while the sorcerer reclined on his chair, deep in thought. Grigori did not like being in the presence of this creature and his patience was running thin. The sorcerer seemed unimpressed by both his impatience and the continuous string of failed attempts.

"Maybe it is not so much the person who opens the book," the sorcerer mused, "but rather the intent behind it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that all the people we brought here opened the book because we told them to do it under threat of death. They were full of fear. Angelus, on the other hand, is a fanatic. When he opened the book he was thinking of nothing but his holy quest. Maybe that is what the book is looking for. Someone who approaches it with no fear and holy intent. Or what he himself thinks of as holy intent."

Grigori thought about that. His hatred for Angelus and what he had done to them all was an almost tangible thing, but he managed to look past it and approach things rationally. Angelus. Hounded by his own kind. Filled with a desperate need to spread his own curse among his brethren. A hundred Vampires on his heels with murder on their mind. The power to change the world in his hands. What had he felt at that moment? What had been going on inside his head? What had the Necronomicon seen in him?

Grigori considered his own state of mind. His was a holy intent as well, he did not doubt that for a second. To free his race of the curse of conscience. To kill the pain that assailed them all night and day. Yet was he without fear? Was he a man who had nothing left to lose? He stared at the Necronomicon and knew that it was not so. He feared what would happen should he touch it, he feared for his own existence, and that fear might well mean his doom.

"So what we need," Grigori said, "is someone who wants to open the book, is not afraid of dying in the process, and has a holy intent on his mind, is that what you are saying?"

"In essence, yes." The sorcerer said.

"Great. Where do you think we can find such a person to do it for us?"

The sorcerer gave Grigori a curious glance, maybe having expected that Grigori thought himself to fit into all these categories.

"Then again," the sorcerer said, "maybe we are approaching this entire thing all wrong."

"Yet a new idea?" Grigori snorted.

"All this time we have been looking for someone who can open this book for us. Yet why are we looking for someone new? Why not look to the person that we know is capable of opening the book?"

For a moment Grigori was confused, then he understood.

"Angelus? You want to make Angelus open the book for us? I think you are going insane, sorcerer. As you yourself said, Angelus is a fanatic. He would rather kill himself than do anything that might endanger his precious Restoration."

The sorcerer rose in a swirl of black robe and his inhuman eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight.

"There are ways to bend even one as strong as Angelus to our will, Grigori. Every man can be broken."

He approached Grigori and the Vampire felt the slightest trickle of fear run down his spine.

"Bring me Angelus!" The sorcerer said. "Deliver him to me and I promise you, I will make him open this book for us, Grigori. He will beg me to let him open it for us."

Grigori considered this idea and found it to his liking. It would be irony worthy of the drama. To have the same man that had laid this curse upon them be the one to take it away again. Grigori closed his eyes and imagined Angelus on his knees, begging for the pain to stop, begging to open the book for them.

It was a beautiful image.

"Besides," the sorcerer added, "once we have persuaded the Necronomicon to open to us and found a spell to reverse the Restoration, we will need someone to test it on. Can you think of a better candidate than the Scourge of Europe?"

Grigori smiled broadly. That was an even lovelier picture.

"Very well." He said. "It will not be easy, but I will deliver Angelus to you. You should better be able to do what you say, though, sorcerer. I know Angelus and I know the people who consider themselves his friends and comrades. Once he is in our hands they will move heaven and hell to find us and the forces allied against us will be terrible indeed."

"I will break him." The sorcerer said. "Just make sure he comes here!"

Grigori nodded, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. To capture Angelus out of the midst of his allies. Difficult, but not impossible. They would certainly come after him with all the force they could muster, maybe with the aid of the Vampirium behind them.

Then again, if he just played his cards the right way ...
 

16  -  Vengeance From the Prison Cell

#
 

"Mr. Giles?" Kate Lockley asked.

"Yes. You must be Marshall Lockley."

"Please call me Kate. Thanks for agreeing to help, Mr. Giles."

"It is no inconvenience, I assure you. I am just as eager to clear this up as you are. Quite more so, I might wager."

Giles and Kate walked toward the interview room of the state prison, chatting. This was Kate's second visit to this cheery place in the last 48 hours, the first having been a total failure. Quentin Travis had completely refused to talk to her, though he had seen fit to tell her that he might be persuaded to talk to his old colleague.

Angel had filled her in on the details about one Rupert Giles. Formerly a member of the Watchers' Council, the same organization Travis belonged to, he had turned his back on them when the Watchers saw fit to eliminate the Slayer Buffy Summers for betraying her sacred duty.

Kate stayed at the fringes of Angel's tightly knit group of friends, reluctant to get herself involved to deeply in arcane Vampire shit, but it was impossible to miss the deep feelings Giles held for Angel's girlfriend. When he had been told that the assassination attempt on Cordelia that had resulted in Buffy being shot had likely originated with the Watchers, he had been very eager to help.

They sat down in a gray room that held nothing but a simple table and three uncomfortable chairs. Only minutes later a guard entered through the opposite door, bringing a man in gray prison slacks into the room.

"Hello, Rupert!" Travis said, giving his former colleague a cold smile.

"Quentin." Giles simply said, making no effort to hide his disdain for the other man.

Travis sat down and Kate motioned for the guard to leave them alone. After the door fell shut there was icy silence for a good long while.

"Life among the demons seems to suit you, Rupert." Travis said eventually. "Does your Vampire friend pay you a large salary?"

"You sent the assassin." Giles said, ignoring Travis' words.

"To the point, yes? Well, so be it. Seeing as I am stuck here in a prison cell I did not, of course, personally arrange things, but ..." He shrugged.

"Why Ms. Chase?" Giles asked.

"Why not your precious Buffy, you mean?" Travis asked with a smile. "Quite simple, Rupert. At this moment in time the lovely Ms. Chase is a much greater threat to the continued existence of humankind than the rouge Slayer ever could be."

Giles just looked at him, refusing to let himself be drawn into a discussion about how Vampires had changed and no longer posed a threat to humankind. Travis either didn't believe in the changes of the Restoration or he didn't care about them. Either way he would not rest until he saw all Vampires dead.

"Your little murder attempt has failed, though." Kate told the old Watcher.

"Yes, it did, didn't it? Thanks to your little bitch, Rupert. I imagine you are quite proud of her, aren't you? I heard she is sleeping with a Vampire these days. Tell me, Rupert. Have you discovered the pleasures of dead flesh yet?"

Travis' eyes blazed with anger, but Giles heard the undertone in his words.

"There is another assassin." He simply stated.

"While there is money ..." Travis shrugged, not saying any more.

"You do realize," Kate said, "that just because you are already in prison doesn't mean that we can't accuse you of another crime, Mr. Travis. Hiring killers to assassinate someone ..."

"... will get me what?" Travis asked. "I am an old man, Ms. Lockley. The years I have already been sentenced to in return for my efforts to save the human race mean that I have essentially been incarcerated for life. What else can you do to me?"

Giles struggled to keep his emotions under control and his voice sounded as flat and cold as ever.

"Even if you do manage to have her killed, what do you think that will achieve? Ms. Chase's popularity is already so that her death will turn her into a martyr, especially if it can be proven that the Watchers' Council is behind it. The American public isn't too fond of you, Quentin. Your deeds will make sure that the Vampire Legalization Act goes through Congress."

Travis shook his head, smiling.

"I know what another of your bunch of traitors has done to our reputation here, Rupert. Windham-Pryce might have turned the American public against us, but do you honestly think we care what this nation of idiots thinks about us? Let the Americans legalize their Vampires, it will be their doom before too long. We just want to make sure that Ms. Chase can not spew her venom any further than she already has."

Travis leaned across the table and his eyes shot holes into Giles.

"No Evil Shall Be Spared, Rupert Giles! Cordelia Chase will die! Neither you nor your friends will be able to stop it. No Evil Shall Be Spared!"

Kate had managed to control herself all through Travis' rant, despite seething inside. She wasn't the most patriotic of Americans, but hearing this bastard call them a bunch of idiots was not something she could just let pass. Travis' final words snapped her self control.

She rose from the table and grabbed Travis by his prison slacks, slamming him into the walls. The old man grunted with the pain.

"Listen well, you old bastard!" Kate hissed at him. "If anything should happen to Ms. Chase or anyone else because of you I will make certain that you get accused once more. I know a Judge who will be happy to sentence you to death for that. We'll dust off the electric chair and I'll watch you fry, you bastard! Understand me?"

Travis just looked at her and a smile played across his lips.

"You think threatening me will achieve anything? Go ahead, beat me up, kill me! It won't make a difference. Every true Watcher is prepared to die for the cause. Go ahead, Ms. Lockley!"

Kate was trembling with rage, but Giles' hand on her shoulder helped her regain her self-control. He slowly drew her away from Travis, whose smile never wavered.

Kate and Giles left the interview room, telling the guard to get Travis back into his cell.

"How can you stay so calm with this ... this bastard!" Kate asked.

"Hm?" Giles looked at her, seemingly distracted. "Oh, sorry, I was elsewhere. I have known Travis for quite some time, Ms. Lockley. Until a short time ago his ranting still made sense to me, as insane as it sounds."

He sighed.

"Besides, the only thing you could have achieved in there would have been getting yourself into trouble. He is not worth that. Travis wanted me there to taunt me, nothing more. He never intended to cooperate in any way and he won't. He is a fanatic of the most dangerous kind, Ms. Lockley. Ready and willing to die for what he believes."

Kate shook her head. She didn't understand how people could allow themselves to be so consumed by hatred and, truth to be told, she didn't want to understand.

They walked out of the prison and onto the parking lot, where the sun was shining down. Kate felt better immediately, as if the light could wash of the filth that had gathered on her skin just by being in the presence of that bastard.

"What was that slogan he mouthed off?" She asked Giles.

"Hm?"

"When he leaned over the table. That 'Spare No Evil' bit."

"No Evil Shall Be Spared. You could call it a mantra, if you will. It was the first rule the Council taught to its Watchers and the Slayer. There are greater and lesser evils in the world, but none of them is to be spared."

"Great motto," Kate said sarcastically, "if you can figure out a foolproof method to define good and evil, that is."

"I fear the Council was never much concerned with that last part." Giles said.

They arrived at Giles' car and shook hands.

"Thanks for coming, Mr. Giles. Sorry it was such a waste of time."

"Don't be sorry. If there is anything else I can do to help, please let me know!"

"I will."

On the long drive back to the Hyperion Hotel Giles was deep in thought. There was so much to do. They still hadn't found a trace of the Necronomicon. He would have to warn Buffy and Cordelia that another assassin was likely to strike. There was the strange relationship that was starting to form between him and Darla, something he could still not quite make sense of.

So much to do, so much to handle. So why was it that the only thing he could think of Travis' face, warped by anger and hatred, and the words he himself had once believed in.

"No Evil Shall Be Spared." Giles muttered under his breath
 

17  -  Call to Arms and Furious Battle

#

Spike sat in the lobby of the Hyperion and watched the hands of the clock tick down. Any moment now, unless she was late. His eyes strayed towards the entrance again, then back to the clock, while his fingers were nervously running across the bump in his coat that hid the twin Winchester Magnums he always wore. Not that he expected to need them tonight, but it paid to be careful.

The entrance doors opened and Faith stuck her head inside, looking around nervously.

"Come on in, pet, they're not here yet!" Spike said.

Faith walked into the lobby and Spike took a moment to take in her appearance. She was dressed as close to timid as he had ever seen her. Black jeans, not leather pants, pale blue blouse instead of a skimpy top, her hair tied back into a pony tail. If he hadn't known better he might have mistaken her for a shy school girl.

"Did ... did Angel talk to her?" Faith asked, coming closer.

There was a crashing sound from somewhere upstairs, followed by a loud yell.

"I believe he is doing so right now." Spike chuckled.

#

"I can't believe you're doing this!" Buffy yelled at Angel, her eyes darting around for something else she could break.

"Calm down, Buffy! Please!"

"Calm down? Calm down? You just told me that you invited the psycho bitch that tried to kill me not once, but twice, over for dinner? How the hell do you expect me to be calm?"

Angel quickly darted across the room and caught the second vase Buffy had just knocked down, setting it safely on top of the table. Buffy was trembling with outrage, he could feel it when he put his hands on her shoulders.

"Faith made some mistakes, Buffy, but ..."

"Mistakes? She tried to kill me, Angel! She didn't warn me when Travis nearly put a bullet through my face and then she jumped me and tried to beat me to death. How the hell do you expect me to ..."

Buffy ranted on and Angel sighed. He had hoped this would go a little more smoothly, but weeks and weeks of looking for the Necronomicon and worrying had left him tired, edgy, and rapidly approaching the end of even his limitless patience.

"Buffy, stop this!" He thundered at her, which actually caused her to shut up for a second. Angel never yelled at her. He never did.

"Faith did something very stupid," Angel said, "but she is trying to change. I talked to her and I am convinced of it. She regrets what she has done and all she is asking for is a second chance from us. A second chance, Buffy. You remember what that is?"

He could see her flinch when he said those words and it pained him. He didn't want to remind her of the things she had done in the service of the Watchers' Council, but he needed to break through to her. He walked closer and grabbed her hands in his.

"Beloved, I know how much she has hurt you. Under normal circumstances anyone who has hurt you would get nothing from me but a very painful beating. But I know Faith, I have known her for years. She is a confused child. She thought you would take her place in my heart. Then she suddenly found herself with superhuman strength and took it as a sign that her loving me was meant to be. She made a lot of mistakes, but that shouldn't ruin her entire life."

Buffy looked up at him, anger and hurt battling inside her.

"She tried to take you from me." She whispered.

"No one can do that, beloved. No one. This isn't about us, Buffy. This is about giving a confused young girl a second chance. The same thing each of us has been given. How can we deny it to her?"

Buffy shook off his hands.

"I don't understand how you can be so trusting of her. I mean, granted, I am still pissed at her for beating me up, but that isn't the whole point. Doesn't it strike you as odd that Faith comes back just when the Necronomicon is stolen and the Watchers' Council sends assassins after us?"

Angel shook his head.

"The Watchers' Council doesn't know about Faith, Buffy. And Faith never knew anything about the Necronomicon except that it exists. I have talked to her. I believe that she is honest with us. Do you trust my judgment?"

"That is a very unfair question." Buffy pouted, pacing up and down the room.

"No, it's not. Do you trust my judgment?"

Buffy opened her mouth to say more, but the look in Angel's eyes shut her up. He meant that question, she realized.

"Yes, I do trust you." She finally mumbled.

"Good. Then we'll go downstairs and meet her. I'm not asking you to be best friends with her, Buffy. Just give her a chance, okay?"

Buffy nodded, clearly not happy about the situation. Angel sighed in relief, he really didn't need any fights with her right now. Together they walked down into the lobby.

#

Spike watched as Angel and Buffy came down the stairs, sensing the tension between them. Small wonder, he thought. Buffy stopped walking as she saw Faith standing beside him and the tension in the room multiplied.

"Hello, Buffy." Faith said, doing her best to sound and look unthreatening.

"Faith!" Buffy simply said, her voice cold as ice.

Angel nudged Buffy and got her to continue walking down the stairs. Spike and Faith slowly walked to meet them. The two girls stopped facing each other with Angel and Spike on either side, hoping they wouldn't have to go between them.

"Thanks for having me here." Faith said.

"Not my decision." Buffy mumbled, glaring at Faith.

"I prepared us something to eat." Angel said, trying to break the tension. "We can sit down and talk things through over dinner."

For a moment Spike thought that no one had heard a word Angel had said, but then Buffy shrugged and started walking toward the dining room. Faith threw a look at Angel, who gave her an encouraging nod, then everyone started following Buffy.

Spike was halfway to the dining room when something made him tense. Something had jerked his supernatural senses wide awake and he found himself aware of everything around him. The smells, the sounds, ...

Something was moving in the shadows. Something that smelled of old death.

Angel turned halfway toward Spike and both Vampires communicated without words. They were not alone. Spike saw Buffy tense as she noticed it, too. Faith needed a moment longer, but she also fell into what Spike recognized as the fighting stance he had taught her.

Spike was about to motion the others to move on into the dining room when the shadows around them came alive. Spike had time to see at least a dozen shapes running toward them, then he was busy fighting for his life.

"Stay together!" Angel yelled even as he threw a kick at one of the black-clad shapes. Spike shoved one of the attackers back and reached for his guns, but another tackled him to the ground before he could aim the guns. He saw the gleam of a large blade, large enough to take his head off, and then the attacker was gone. Faith offered him his hand and pulled him back to his feet.

There was no time for a thank you. Two more attackers pounced on Spike and Faith. He had time to recognize them as Vampires and then it was all fighting. Punch, kick, duck, faint, weave, punch again. He felt a face break under his fist even as something solid and painful caught him in the side.

The unmistakable sound of Vampires exploding into dust reached his ears and he saw that Buffy had demolished a chair to get herself some weapons. Another Vampire fell victim to her improvised stake and Spike finally managed to draw his guns.

He started pouring bullets into the two shapes immediately in front of him, knowing it wouldn't kill them, but put them down for the moment. Buffy quickly rolled across the floor and finished the wounded Vampires.

Spike saw Faith and Angel several meters away from them, separated by a nearly solid mass of attackers. Spike pumped bullets into every shape in sight, not caring whether those he wounded would stay down for any length of time. The attackers seemed to concentrate on Angel and he saw blades and stakes in some of their hands.

The lights in the lobby fizzled and died, the room descending into darkness. Spike tried to get a bearing but even his excellent night vision had trouble making out the attacking Vampires in this pitch blackness.

He allowed instinct to take over, diving into what his senses told him was the thickest mass of attackers, and threw punches left and right. He heard some more dust explosions and just hoped that Angel was not among them. He heard Buffy swear some distance to his right, followed by yet another dusting. She seemed to be holding her own.

Where were Faith and Angel?

Something exploded and what little Spike still saw of the room was clouded out by some kind of thick, black smoke. Blackout bomb, he realized. Even Vampires wouldn't see a thing where those things detonated. He considered just shooting into the cloud, then shelved the idea, remembering that there were two girls out there who were rather receptive to bullets.

"Peaches!" He yelled, grabbing a shape that suddenly appeared right in front of him. He was rewarded with a hard kick, accompanied by a string of cursing he recognized only too well.

"Buffy, it's me!"

"Spike?"

The two of them held on to each other for reference and made their way through the complete dark until they reached a wall. Spike didn't hear the sounds of fighting anymore, but maybe they were just lying in wait.

After what seemed like an eternity the darkness faded and the lights came back on. The sound of running feet made both of them turn around, only to see Wesley, Darla, Giles, and Doyle run into the lobby, shortly followed by Cordelia. Most of them were armed.

"What was going on here?" Giles asked. "We heard the shooting."

Spike looked around the lobby and saw that it was empty except for them and some piles of dust. Buffy stood beside him and he saw her eyes dart around the room.

"Where is Angel?" She whispered.

Spike reached out with all his senses, trying to feel the presence of his Sire. He wasn't here, he was sure after a second. His eyes found the dust heaps on the floor. All the attackers seemed to gun for Angel. Was it possible ...?

"Angel!" Buffy whimpered.

Giles was by her side immediately, draping his arms around her. No, Spike thought, it just wasn't possible. Not Peaches. He was so distraught that, for a long moment, he didn't realize that someone else was missing.

Where the hell was Faith?
 

18  -  What Do We Know?
 

#
 

"He is not dead!" Buffy yelled.

"Buffy," Giles said, trying to soothe her, "we must face the facts here. He was right in the middle of that battle, Spike said the attackers seemed to be centering on him, and ..."

"He is not dead!" Darla said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Giles asked.

"He is my Childe, Rupert. I called him forth from the grave. I would know it had he passed on. Believe me, he is still alive."

Spike walked through the remains of the battle, inspecting the heaps of dust.

"Whoever these buggers were," he said, "they were thorough. Nothing left behind, no weapons, no traces of where they might have hailed from. Or where they went."

"If we assume that they have captured Angel," Doyle said, "what do you think they want with him?"

Wesley looked around, his forehead furrowed with thought.

"If this is the work of our thief, I think he is getting desperate."

"How so?" Buffy asked.

"Well, he or she stole the book over a month ago and yet nothing has happened. Odds are they have not figured out how to make the Necronomicon work for them. They also probably know that just about every Vampire worldwide is looking for them."

Giles nodded. "So they kidnap the only man in the world who has opened the Necronomicon and lived to tell the tale."

Doyle was taking out his cell phone and talked to Gunn, telling him to put his people on every airport and train station leading out of the city. Once Gunn learned that Angel had been kidnapped he did not hesitate to get to work. Spike did the same with the local Vampires working for Angel, telling them to get going or he would hurt them badly.

Buffy stood in the middle of this pandemonium and all she could think about was Angel. They had taken him from her. He had said no one would take him away from her and yet they had. They would try and make him open the book for them. Once that happened he would cease to be her Angel and turn into a demon. A demon she would have to ...

"We'll get him back." Darla whispered to her, draping her arm around the Slayer.

"How?" Buffy asked. "We haven't the slightest clue who has taken the Necronomicon. We don't even know where to look for him."

Darla was about to say more - some empty words about how things would work out fine in the end - when Buffy suddenly tensed. A strange look appeared in her eyes and Darla involuntarily took a step back as the demon inside her recognized what was going on. The Slayer was coming to the forth with a vengeance.

"Buffy, what ...?" She asked, but Buffy motioned for her to be quiet.

A second later Buffy moved with a speed Darla found almost impossible to follow and thrust her fist through a closed door nearby, which led into a closet. She grabbed something inside and pulled. A large body crashed through the door and landed at the Slayer's feet.

"It's one of them!" Spike yelled, going for his guns.

Darla was by Buffy's side in an instant, looking down at their prey. A large Vampire, dressed in a black combat suit, or rather the remains of one. Most of his chest was gone, flesh torn, broken ribs sticking out. His heart was still intact. They could all see it very clearly.

"They left him behind?" Doyle asked.

"Probably Spike's bullets," Darla said, "took him down and he crawled away from the battle."

She could see the prone Vampire trying to reach something hanging from a shoulder strap, only his mangled arms wouldn't obey his commands. Darla quickly snatched it away from him, holding it out for the others to see.

"Incendiary charge." She said.

"The Vampire version of a cyanide capsule." Spike told the non-Vampires present.

"The others who were wounded and unable to get away probably dusted themselves with that," Darla continued, "but our friend here was too badly wounded to do so, so he tried to hide."

For a moment all of them just stared down at the crippled Vampire, then Buffy was upon him, pulling him by clenching her fingers into his torn chest, snarling into his face.

"Where are they taking him?" She yelled at her prey. "Who sent you? What will they do to Angel?"

Darla motioned to Spike and he gently pulled the Slayer away.

"Why don't you let Darla handle this, pet?" He told her as he held her back. "She has a lot of experience in doing these things."

Darla sighed, not very fond of how she had come by said experience. This was about Angel, though. No matter that they were not lovers any longer, he was still her Childe. More, he was her friend.

She knelt down in front of the crippled Vampire and her face shifted into its true form. Glowing amber eyes locked with those of the other and she flung her power out toward him. The Vampire tried to crawl away, but Doyle and Spike immediately crouched down to hold him tightly.

Darla gazed into his eyes and penetrated past his defenses. He was an old Vampire, old and strong, but he was not a Master. Only very few Vampires, those directly descendant from one of the twelve great bloodlines, had the potential to develop all the powers the mortals so liked to display in their movies.

Darla could not turn herself into a bat or compel vermin to do her bidding like some of her fellow Masters could, but the day she couldn't mesmerize a mere Vampire foot soldier was the day she'd walk into the sun.

"You are in me!" She whispered to the other Vampire, who slowly nodded, his eyes following her every movement. Darla remembered Drusilla, her other Grandchilde, who had been even better at mesmerism that she was. She wished Dru was here right now, because the resistance this Vampire put up was astounding.

"Who is your Master?" She asked him, pouring every erg of her willpower into her gaze. She could feel the barriers inside the Vampire's mind. Someone else had put them there, she was sure. This simple soldier was not strong enough to shield himself from her.

"My Master ..." the Vampire mumbled, his voice barely there due to a punctured lung.

"Who is it?" Darla repeated her question.

She saw a crack in the barrier and lunged at it with all her willpower. The Vampire opened his mouth to speak again, but screamed instead. Darla had half a second to realize what was happening and withdrew her mind from that of her prey.

The crippled Vampire surged to his feet, broken limps shrugging aside those that held him. He managed two steps, then crumbled to the floor, spilling some of his innards out onto the carpet. He didn't move anymore.

"Darla, are you okay?"

Darla needed a few seconds to recognize Giles' face looking at her. She had gotten out just in time.

"Booby trap." She told the others. "Someone warded his thoughts against this kind of intrusion. I am afraid there is not much left of his mind or his memories."

Buffy knelt down and pounded her fists into the floor hard enough to rip the carpet and crack the floor boards underneath.

"Damn it! We don't know a thing, not a thing!"

"Quite the contrary." Giles said. "Darla, unless I am mistaken there are not a lot of Vampires who could ward their minions' minds like that, are there?"

"No," Darla shook her head, "only another Master could have done this."

"The Vampirium!" Spike growled.

"Probably." Darla consented.

"There are rogue Masters outside the Vampirium." Doyle said. "Or so I have heard."

"Self-proclaimed Masters." Darla said. "Not one of them is capable of this. No, only one of the Vampirium can be behind this. Only the Masters have the resources to mount this kind of attack, too."

"Or the guts." Spike added.

Buffy rose, fury clouding her face.

"Then let's go to your precious Vampirium and get our answers!"

"Not a good idea, Buffy." Giles said.

"The Vampirium Elders are much more powerful than any Vampire you've ever met." Darla said. "I am the youngest of them. If we just walk before them and start throwing accusations around they will not only not listen, they will probably kill us."

"We need some kind of proof." Wesley said. "Something tangible to bring before them."

"How about that?" Spike asked.

Everyone looked down to where Spike crouched next to the fallen Vampire. He had ripped the combat suit the other wore down to the waist, making the branding on the left shoulder visible to all.

"Old-fashioned bastard!" Darla shook her head.

"What is that?" Buffy asked, leaning closer.

"I believe this is the brand of a Vampire Order, Buffy." Giles said. "Though I thought the custom of branding one's minions had gone out of fashion centuries ago."

"Only for the more modern Orders, Rupert." Darla said. "Some still like to cling to their old ways."

"You know that symbol?" Buffy asked, trembling with the need to do something.

"Oh yes, I do." Darla said.

Her eyes looked at the symbol burned into the Vampire's shoulder. A winged animal, a snake's tail curled behind it, flanked by two stars.

The symbol of the Order of Grigori.
 

19  -  To Make the World a Better Place for Demonkind

#
 

"I don't expect you to understand me." One Vampire said.

"Sadly I understand you only too well." The other answered.

Grigori looked at Angel through the steel bars that separated them. The Vampire imprisoned here was almost a millennium younger than he was, yet Grigori felt a chill looking into Angel's dark eyes.

"You laid this curse upon us." Grigori accused him.

"I do not see it as a curse, Nicolai."

"Of course you don't. You see it as a blessing. A great thing you done for the Vampire race. We should all be thankful, correct? You probably expect us to kiss your feet."

Angel shook his head.

"I only wanted to stop the killings."

"Oh, did you?" Grigori asked. "Well, then I guess you failed. You didn't turn us into saints, Angelus. No, you turned us into humans. And humans do a very good job of killing each other, don't they? In fact they do it much better than us. I was there at Nagasaki, Angelus. I saw them drop the bomb. We never did anything like that, did we?"

"What do you want, Nicolai?" Angel asked.

"Did you ever think that there might just be a reason why we were as we were? A reason why we were soulless monsters, preying on the humans?"

"I am sure you have arrived at a conclusion for yourself that you intend to share with me."

"Correct, Angelus. You see, the humans need us. They need us the way we were. To keep them in check. The predators are gone these days. And the prey has just about destroyed this world as a result. They need us, Angelus."

Angel gave a low chuckle.

"What is this, Nicolai? Some kind of cheap explanation for what you want to do? You don't need to convert me, not that you could. And from looking at you I'm sure I already know your real motivation."

Angel walked closer to the bars.

"You are coward, Nicolai Alexandre Grigori! You're afraid to deal with your own conscience. Do you have nightmares when you sleep? Do you see the victims of your demon when you close your eyes?"

Grigori's face was a mask of naked fury.

"I wouldn't have to deal with my conscience if it hadn't been for you, Angelus. You put this curse on all of us. We didn't ask you for it."

"Of course you didn't. Why would a demon want a conscience? We are not demons, though. We are people, Nicolai."

"For now!" Grigori said, smiling.

Angel chuckled again.

"I guess my presence here is due to the fact that the Necronomicon rejects you. So you think having me here will help. Maybe you think that you might ... convince me to help you. I am curious, Nicolai. How do you plan to go about this? Enlighten me!"

"Oh, I will enlighten you, Angelus. To be precise, once I know how to reverse the Restoration you will be the first the enjoy the return to the old ways."

Grigori leaned forward.

"I am looking forward to meeting the Scourge of Europe once more."

"That will never happen." Angel said matter-of-factly.

"I will remind you of those words." Grigori said, then walked away. Angel was left alone in a small cell and looked around for a way to escape.

#

"We don't have much time." The sorcerer said.

"What do you mean?"

"The signs. There are forces allying against us. Angelus's allies are going to come for him."

Grigori shook his head.

"This is not possible. We left no trace for them. My men are professionals, they don't make mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes." The sorcerer said. "We need to make haste."

"Then I propose you get started with convincing him to help us!"

"I won't need long, Grigori. Angelus' is a very strong man, but his guilt and pain over the things he has done are even stronger. Given the right … incentive he will be more than happy to aid us."

"Get to it then! I want to get this over with as much as you do."

Grigori stomped off and didn't see the sorcerer's lips spread into a broad smile.

"I don't think so, Grigori," he grinned, "I honestly don't think so."

#

In another part of Grigori's fortress-like retreat one of his commando troops ducked into a shadowed corner and sighed in relief. Thankfully Grigori's troops wore special sound-dampening and heat-masking combat suits, otherwise every other trooper on the plane that had brought them here would have noticed some very unusual characteristics about this 'Vampire'.

A heartbeat, for example.

Faith took off the mask she had taken from the wounded trooper just before he had crumbled into dust. Getting caught up in the attacker's retreat had been more a coincidence than anything else, but she intended to make best use of it once she had seen whom they had taken with them.

Angel was here, a prisoner. From what she had heard they intended to do some very unpleasant things to him. She needed to help him, that was the sole reason she had gone on this suicidal adventure. And, a selfish voice inside her whispered, saving him might go a long way toward making things right between them once more.

She calmed herself down. Time to concentrate and figure out what to do. Okay, she was in a fucking fortress somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Russia, if she had read the map on the plane right. They had flown for nearly fifteen hours, so that should work out, too. Not that she knew Russia from Iowa, she admitted to herself.

Stuck somewhere in Russia, hundreds of Vampires all around, and she all by her lonesome. Not very good odds, even for someone with Slayer strength. The best she could do in the current situation was to stay low and look for some way to call in the cavalry.

Now she only needed a really good idea how to do that.

In the movies the guy that got stuck behind enemy lines always managed to get to a radio and send a message to his friends. Only problem with that plan was that Faith had no idea how to operate a fucking radio. And even if she had, why would Spike, Darla, Buffy, and the others listen for a radio message? They didn't even know she was here, they probably thought she had bolted at first sign of trouble. Or worse, been in on the attack.

There had to be a way. Maybe a phone? She knew how to use a phone. She even knew the area code for Los Angeles and the number of the Hyperion. The country code for the US? Yes, she knew that one, too. She thought. Her parents had taken her on a short trip to Canada once, before they died, and little Faith had been excited to call home and talk to her grandmother, telling her of all the exciting things she had seen.

Of course whether the code was the same when phoning from Russia as it was from Canada was anyone's guess.

Lacking a better idea Faith started looking for a phone in this Vampire fortress. Her stomach also reminded her that she hadn't eaten anything these last twenty hours or so.

She just hoped there was something else than blood to be found around here.

Go to Part 20