Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: While I have taken the liberty of adding a few characters of my own creation, all of the original "ANGEL" and "BtVS" characters and their worlds belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and The WB. All are used without permission and no copyright infringement is intended. Like most that post, I'm broke, so please don't sue.
Spoilers: All seasons of ANGEL & BtVS.
Distribution: If you already have permission to archive my work, feel free to add this part as well. All others may share my work by forwarding it to other readers, but please ask before archiving it on a web site. Thanks.
Feedback: I've been suffering from writer's block for so long that any feedback would be *greatly* appreciated!
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The smell of lavender had been wafting through the house on Ronda Vista Drive for over an hour. Moira was shocked to notice the fragrance grew stronger when Aoífe came down from the third floor and stood at the top of the three steps that led down into the livingroom.
"Not your usual scent," the mortal woman commented dryly.
Her aunt, the vampire, shook her heard, smiling sadly. "It used to be. For more than eight hundred years, if I wore a fragrance, it was lavender. Thanks to the wonders of modern alchemy I have the perfume I normally wear now."
"Why the change?"
"I had a dream."
"I didn't mean today."
"Oh." Aoífe didn't particularly want to share her reasons with her niece, but a few days earlier she hadn't wanted to recount her dreams to Moira. Yet after doing so Aoífe had felt as though an incredible weight had been lifted off of her. Didn't she want to feel that same sense of relief again?
The ancient witch stepped down into the room and crossed over to the fireplace. Sometime during the day, after she had drifted off to sleep, another series of storms had moved in off the Pacific and a small fire had been lit to combat the dampness the rain brought on. Moira was seated in a chair beside the fireplace. Aoífe sat down near her niece's feet, perching on the brick hearth, tucking her knees up under her chin, wrapping her arms tightly around her shins. She suddenly looked even younger than her frozen age of twenty-three.
The truly young woman was afraid her question had been too personal. Her aunt looked as though she might cry at any moment. Moira wished she'd learn to keep her mouth shut, stop asking her probing questions. Especially since lately it seemed as though the simplest things set Aoífe off. The pressure of living to fulfill prophesies was getting to be a bit much. Moira feared the vampire might crack long before her part was played out.
"He took something I loved and twisted it, made it vile," Aoífe sighed, her voice cracking as she fought to hold in her emotions. After pausing for a moment to regain her composure, she began to tell her tale.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
He had been a vampire for just a little over a week. He was systematically working his way through Galway, killing off all those who had ever roused a deep emotion in his mortal self, whether it had been love or hate. Family, friends, girls he had courted in his youth, the lovers and the whores he'd taken in later years, rivals and enemies... no doubt making his way down some sort of mental list, for Angelus always loved a plan. To this day I think he deliberately saved me for the end, though I'm not sure if it was because I was one of the last people to try to let Liam know he was worthy of love, to confess my love for him, or if it was something more. Now that he was a vampire, could he sense that I wasn't what I had lead him to believe? If he knew what I was, did he also know that we were very different, that I was older and more powerful than his own sire? Did he despise me? Did he fear me?
No, he didn't have a clue that I was a vampire. Oh, he still despised me and as for keeping his distance, it had nothing to do with fear. It was only part of his plan and I wasn't in a position to put an end to any of it. I could not interfere with his murderous games, at least not where his family was concerned. All others fell into a gray zone. I was free to try to save as many as I could, but at the same time I didn't want to reveal my true nature or the full extent of my powers. It was impossible for me to do much of anything, anyway, short of destroying him. I had no way to predict whom he would strike down next.
When he finally came after me, I was still working in the tavern where he'd first met me. I had only taken the job so that I could approach him on what was safe ground for him. I certainly didn't need the work. As soon as he was turned, I had been warned, been told to flee, but I couldn't abandon those few people at that rough establishment who had shown me some kindness, who had befriended me. It was still within my powers to see that no harm came to them. I wouldn't leave them unprotected. If I stayed in one place, at least I could save a few people.
With all the recent deaths in town, the tavern cleared out shortly after the dinner hour, which came earlier with each passing day, with each new death. No sane or sober person wanted to be out after dark since that's when all the mysterious mayhem seemed to be taking place. Oh yes, murders aplenty were being committed during the hours from dusk 'til dawn. There were still those who were foolish enough to venture out, those alcoholics, as we would label them today, who thought of nothing but their next drink. But after a few nights even the drunks stopped knocking on the closed tavern doors when they realized that we were not going to open up for them.
I could feel him that night, out there in the shadows, watching and waiting. At times it felt as if he was so close, too close, perhaps in the kitchen or in one of the little rooms above. He wouldn't dare. No, he couldn't, I told myself, sure that the wards I placed on the building would keep him out. Still, his presence was grating on my already ragged nerves. I hadn't slept in days. I was afraid to because sometimes, when I closed my eyes, Liam came to me. I couldn't see him in my dreams, but he was everywhere, drowning me in all of his sorrow and regret.
I was the last one to remain down stairs that night. Paddy, the barkeep, had retired shortly after closing and counting up the days receipts. All of the 'working' girls had been let go earlier. He left me to mop down the main floor, while Rory struggled in the kitchen to get the last of the dinner dishes cleaned and dried and ready for the next day's business.
Rory was a sweet young boy, just turned seventeen. His parents had died a few years back and he had lived with his older sister until her own family had grown to the point where there was no longer any room for him in their small home. Besides, he told me one night, with as much bravado as he could muster, he was a man now and needed to start making his own way in the world. Liam was quick to point out that the lad was smitten with me. I paid him no mind. He was already drunk that night and seemed unduly jealous of the boy.
When I went into the kitchen to retrieve a mop and bucket, I saw that poor Rory was practically asleep on his feet. Since I was in no real hurry to find sleep myself, I sent him off to bed with the promise of doing the remaining dishes myself. He thanked me profusely, giving me a warm hug that lasted perhaps a moment or two too long. Then blushing furiously, the lad ran up the back stairs.
It was close to ten when I started my own climb up those steep, narrow steps. As I neared the top of the flight, I smelt the fragrance of fresh blood drifting down toward me. It was at first just a trace, subtle. I passed it off as nothing more the smell of one of the mortal woman who was experiencing her monthly. But the closer I moved to my room, the stronger the scent got. By the time I was ready to open my door, I had no doubts about what laying waiting for me behind it. The only question was whose body would I discover?
Rory had been laid out on my bed. His chest was bare and I knew that he was naked beneath the sheet that had been so artfully draped over his lower body, the pristine white muslin laying over him in the same casual way a man would cover himself on a cool night while he waited for his lover to come to bed. The poor boy was nearly the same color as the sheets, save for the golden hair and lashes, his pale blue lips and the angry, red bite marks on the side of his neck.
The greatest horror of all was that boy was still alive, just barely. His heart beat was faint and erratic, his breathing shallow. I quickly moved to his side, so that I could better assess the damage. I wish now that I had not. When I first touched Rory, his eyes shot open. There was so much pain and fear swirling about in those crystal blue orbs that I couldn't hold back my tears. And I was sorry for that because I knew my weakness would only add to his suffering. Words of comfort were useless at that point in time. He was going to die, and we both knew it. The only question was how long it would take.
I don't know if it was by design, or by sheer luck, but Angelus had drained Rory to the point where he might have lingered for days and yet the leech took just enough blood from the boy to make it impossible for me to heal him without turning him. There was only one thing for me to do. I had to finish what Angelus had started.
I sat down on the bed and carefully pulled the dying child up into my lap. At first I did nothing more than hold Rory close, gently stroking his bare back as his head fell down to rest on my breast. But before long I felt a wet warmth seeping through my skirt and spreading over my thighs. That's when I knew that Angelus had ravaged the boy in more ways than one. I knew it was time to put an end to Rory's dolor as well as his physical pain.
I spoke to Rory, telling him that I was going to release him from the horrible pain he felt, that I would help him rest. I told him honestly that all he had seen was real but that he must remember that God's love was greater than every conceivable evil here on earth and that someday man would find a way to drive the demons out forever. I then created the image of an angel in my mind and I shared it with Rory. In his own mind he saw the angel Suriel, the angel of healing. This glorious creature, who looked so like the human boy I cradled in my lap, with his shimmering golden hair and clear blue eyes, would make Rory whole again and lead him to the place where his parents waited for him. I didn't dare let the boy into my mind far enough to learn that Suriel is also one of the angels of death.
Sitting up had caused the boy to loose more blood and he mercifully slipped into unconsciousness before I slid my fangs into his neck. For the first time, I killed a human, drinking down what little blood was left inside the tattered and torn body of an innocent seventeen-year-old boy. The greatest degradation for both Rory and me came after I had finished performing the act, when I realized that I was aroused.
****
Almost ten minutes had passed and Aoífe had not spoken another word. She had turned her head toward the huge window at the end of the room and was staring out at the night sky. The clouds had drifted away once more, the rain had scrubbed the city clean of smog so that countless stars were now visible, twinkling on a deep blue velvet background.
Moira was confused. The tale her aunt had was horrific in and of itself but...
"What did any of that have to do with lavender?"
Aoífe shuddered violently. She shut her eyes, tight. A strangled wail of pain was loosed as tears started to leak for the corners of closed eyes. When the redheaded witch laid down on her side, pressing her cheek against the cold bricks of the hearth, Moira was sure she had finally asked one too many questions. Then Aoífe started to talk again and her niece wasn't sure if she should be relieved or give in to the terror slowly building up inside of her.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
I was left with the onerous task of having to take care of Rory's body. I couldn't flee and leave him in my room, much as I suddenly wanted to. The boy deserved better treatment than that.
As soon as I was sure that everyone in building was asleep, I carried the body out and started a two-mile trek through the unnaturally quiet city and the dark countryside that surrounded it. I had hidden myself and the dead boy I carried under the cloak of a spell. I felt the murderous fiend's presence distinctly when I first stepped out if the tavern, but I couldn't spy him anywhere in my immediate vicinity. So I took off at a quick pace and the further away I got, the weaker that sensation became, until I couldn't sense Angelus at all, or any other vampires for that matter, and I let the spell fall away. It was getting late and I needed to hurry if I wanted to get the body buried and return to my room in time to put it in order before anyone thought to come looking for me.
I laid Rory to rest beside his parents, whispering a few appropriate prayers as I did so. His grave would be unmarked and it pained me greatly to think that his sister would never learn what had transpired. She would go through the rest of her days wondering what had become of her brother. But what could I have said to her? To tell the truth would have made me seem mad. To believe it would have driven her mad. Had there been more time and less fear of Angelus striking again, I would have disguised the boy's wounds and fabricated an elaborate lie so that he could have had a proper mass and burial, so his family could know some peace.
Dawn was just breaking when I climbed the back stairs for the second time. As I made my way up to my room, I braced myself for the lingering odor of Rory's blood. Instead I was greeted by the scent of clean water and lavender.
The body on my bed this time was posed in exactly the same manner as the first had been. It was just as nude. The fresh, clean sheets were just as artfully draped. The skin was as pale as the first's and the lips just as blue. Only this time there was no heartbeat, no shallow breathing. Azure and gold had been replaced by mahogany and mink. It was also impossible not to note that while the first body had been that of a boy, this one was a man's body and every visible feature was disturbingly beautiful. Once again I was forced to acknowledge the sexual arousal I felt in the face of death.
A lewd grin slid across Angelus' lips, his eyes sparkled with mad glee.
"Hello, lover," he purred.
**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**
Moira handed Aoífe a short glass of Irish, Bushmill's to be sure. The vampire tossed it back, then hissed through her fangs as the whiskey burned a path down her throat.
"You could have sipped at it like a lady," Moira commented dryly.
Aoífe watched as her niece awkwardly lowered herself back into the wing chair beside the fireplace. Her pregnancy was becoming more obvious with each passing day and Aoífe found that she was slightly jealous. Her own two children were dead and buried in Ireland. They'd been gone for many years but Aoífe still missed them and remembered them clearly. How could she not? For centuries they had haunted her in her dreams and now... well, now there where those who looked so very much like them, those who looked like all the truly important people from her past.
The witched frowned as she stared disparagingly at the empty Waterford tumbler. Another fine product from home, was her petulant thought as she watched the light from the fire play off the diamond-cut surface of the crystal. Aoífe had no idea where the sudden animosity toward her homeland had come from. Perhaps it was because it seemed as though the only time she returned there was when her life was in shambles. From the moment she had decided that destiny could best be served if she became a vampire, her time spent in Ireland was filled with too much pain, too many bad memories. Even those times that brought her great joy, like the day of Liam's birth, were tainted by the heartache that inevitably followed.
"Yeah, well," Aoífe drawled, refocusing on her current surroundings, "I haven't been a lady since the night I took that big plunge in the pool of the walking dead back in 943."
"That's not what I meant and you know it," sighed Moira. "I know you're upset but tuck your fangs away, Love. You can flash them later at someone who'll actually be frightened by them. Doyle maybe, because you know he's not going to help you willingly."
"Aye," the witch groaned. "You think my little countryman's still miffed?"
"No, why would he be?" the young woman replied with obvious sarcasm. "I mean, after all, you only got him blind-drunk, kidnapped him and then cursed him with mind-splitting visions."
"I did *not* curse him!" Aoífe snarled. "The Powers That Be had already made him a seer. All I did was re-tune his reception for them."
"Yeah, well, I don't think Doyle will be thanking you for that adjustment any time soon."
"I don't much care," was Aoífe's half-hearted attempt at self-defense. "I did what needed to be done. Doyle's supposed to use his visions to help Angel, but he's fought them since day one, even managed to redirect them. Somehow I don't think that the occasional preview of the winner's circle at a horse race or an early glimpse of the scoreboard reading at the end of a Laker's game is the kind of assistance Angel needs."
"Might come in handy if he's broke? And how about what Doyle needs?"
"The Powers That Be gave him a gift and he tried to reject it. No, worse than that, he misused it."
"And all of you white hats think that forcing him to help Angel will make up for that?"
"The road to redemption is a rocky path."
"What about you, Aoífe? What crime have you committed? What sin set you on your thorny trail?"
"Christ, Moira," the vampire snapped. "Haven't you figured it out yet? Didn't you listen to the rest of the coven, especially the old vampires, when they've whispered in your ear these last few years? Don't you understand what it is that they're too scared say aloud?"
"No, no I don't."
"I'm not like the rest of them. I have a soul, but it's not a mortal soul. I have been born and reborn since day that God sent his angels down to give the earth to man and to cast the demons out. I'm not sure that you could call it being born. I don't even know who my parents where this last time, if I ever had actual parents. I don't really remember my past lives. I just know that I have always been here and that in this life I was raised by Máthair and all the rest of the clan. I know that I was the first of my kind and that someday I will be the last."
Aoífe could plainly see that Moira was shocked by what she had heard. Being a mere mortal, she was dumbfounded by her ancestor's revelation. But there was still more that Aoífe had to say.
"You asked me what my crime was, why I strive for redemption. Well it's quite simple. My sin is that of every fallen angel. I put my love for another before my love for God."
After Aoífe's little speech, both women where silent for a time. It wasn't until the small mantle clock chimed ten that either of them moved.
Aoífe rose from her sitting place on the hearth.
"I need to go find Doyle now," she said, heading for the front door.
"Please wait," Moira called after her.
The vampire turned back toward the young woman who she knew now would never accept her gift of immortal life, even though she had prepared for it since early childhood. Aoífe had already decided that she wouldn't ever even ask Willow to be her Childe, and when she had finished speaking a few minutes ago, she had seen the look in Moira's eyes and knew she had lost her as well.
Aoífe’s line of vampiric progeny had come to an end. She would make no more.
With a sad sigh, Aoífe addressed her niece.
"What is it? I really must go."
"Before you leave, would you please tell me the rest of what happened that night in your room, back in Galway?"
"It was actually early morning by then," Aoífe corrected.
"So, Angelus was trapped then, unable to leave because of the sunlight."
"Trapped? Yes, I suppose he was trapped. We both were."
"Are you telling me that you didn't run?"
"It really wasn't an option."
"What did he do to you?" Moira asked cautiously. "Did he... did he rape you?"
Aoífe hung her head for a moment, staring at the polished wood floorboards. Moira couldn't see her aunt's face but she could see the way the redhead's shoulders tensed and her fists balled up so tight that little droplets of blood fell from the wounds her nails created in her palms. Then all the fight seemed to go out of her, her arms and hands were lax at her sides. When Aoífe looked up, there were crystal pink tears streaming down her cheeks.
"No," she whispered hoarsely. "He didn't rape me, didn't even try. What he did was far worse. First he bathed me with warm, clean water and my favorite lavender soap. Then he made love to me."
End
Entry 29-4