The Whitechapel Project

E-mail:  gpref@aol.com

Rating:  R

Summary:  Willow and friend meet Jack the Ripper

Disclaimer:  All characters and aspects of the fictional environment are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, et al.  There is no intent, or remote possibility, of anyone profiting from this.

Distribution:  If you'd like it ask and I'll let you take it.

Feedback:  Please

Note:  This is in response to knightie@KnightFlyer.zzn.com (Ann)'s challenge

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Part: 1~

Willow and her companion pressed themselves against the damp brick.  The gaslight turned the thick London fog a dirty yellow in the seedy square.  She could hear measured steps approaching.  He was stalking them now and he was in no hurry.  Her mind flashed back to another time and place, the point where it all started.

~~~*~~~

Willow was finally beginning to feel like her old self.  The magic addiction pangs were now just dull aches that only flared when she was at loose ends. That was why she was at the Magic Box on a Saturday night, keeping busy.  She hoped that Spike would have come by to see her earlier.  She'd waited at her house, she'd moved back there from Buffy's spare room as an experiment in independence.  At first it was lonely, then Spike started coming around.

She smiled remembering his first visit.  She'd been there a few days and hadn't left the house, she'd hardly left her room.  She was looking for something to eat when she heard the knocking.  Ignoring it, she continued rooting through the nearly empty fridge.  The knocking continued.  Finally, she slammed the fridge door and stomped to the front door.  She threw it open and started in.

"Buffy, I'm perfectly fine.  I don't need you to baby sit ….."

She stopped short when she saw him standing there, cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

He began to slowly applaud, " well done, brilliant performance, I almost believed you weren't completely around the bend."

Willow bit her tongue and took a breath, " what do you want?"

"Not what I want luv, thought you might want to talk to someone who won't tip toe around and kiss your sweet round bottom, someone to tell you the truth."

Willow didn't know whether to slam the door in his face or give him a piece of her mind first.  Just then she caught the 'bottom' reference and blushed furiously.

"Leave my bottom alone.  I mean off your lips, not for kissing for talking, I …"

He started to laugh as she stumbled along.  She'd never heard him laugh like that before, it was free and sweet and infectious.  She started to laugh along with him.

After a few moments, she invited him in without his cigarette.

"You can smoke outside, on the patio or the balcony out back, ' she said leading him back to the kitchen.

"What hit this place? " he said surveying the results of her search for dinner.

She explained then admitted she hadn't eaten that day.

He shook his head, " haven't changed or showered either I'd guess, " he said taking in her lank hair and grubby sweats.

He sent her upstairs as he started to clear the kitchen counters.

Showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she felt almost human and really hungry.

At the top of the stairs she caught the scent of fresh coffee and scrambled eggs, she nearly flew to the kitchen.

He fed her until she couldn't eat any more and then they talked as they did the dishes.

He was true to his word, he was supportive, but he was honest.  He encouraged her to get out and to take better care of herself.  He treated her like an adult, an adult with an addiction problem, but an adult.  He told her she was wrong when he thought she was, and usually he was right.  They fell into a comfortable routine; he would stop by most nights after sundown for a few hours, sometimes longer.  She'd tell him about her day and he would listen. If he were there late, he'd stay on the couch when she went to bed.

Sometimes, she'd dream that he didn't stay on the couch.  He'd come to her door and call out to her softly.  She'd answer and he'd slip under the covers and snuggle up against her.  She always was surprised that somewhere between the door and bed he'd lost all of his clothes.  Unfortunately at this point she always woke up.

She shrugged, well he didn't come by and there was nothing she could do about it.  She picked up the box of books she was sorting and took it into the back room.

When Giles left for England, he'd taken some of his rarest books and left the rest.  Willow had wanted to put the entire collection together for easier researching.  These books would go in the small bookcase that had held his personal collection.

She put the box down and picked up a cloth.  She wiped the dust from the three empty shelves.  On the top shelf, her cloth caught on something. Looking closer, she noticed a space between the shelf and the back of the case.  He cautiously put a finger into the space and felt something.  In a few moments, she'd rescued a folder from behind the shelf.  It was dusty, but when she'd wiped it off, she could read the faded writing on the tab, 'Whitechapel Project'.

Curious, she opened it and began to read.  She sat for an hour and then spent another re reading the entire file.

Finally, she put the folder down and let out a soft whistle.

Rupert Giles had come by the nickname 'Ripper' not because of some early violent tendencies, but because as a university student he had been obsessed with Jack the Ripper the Victorian serial killer.  Willow knew that many people including mystery writers, detectives and historians had their own theories about the mysterious killer's identity, of course, they all remained theories.

Giles had a theory as well, but he had something the others didn't have, a plan for traveling back to 1888 London for the proof.

~Part: 2~

The first few sheets in the file were twenty-year-old letters between Giles and Ethan.  That's where she found the origin of the 'ripper' name.  In them, they discussed the various theories on the identity of Jack the Ripper.  In the last one, Giles laid out his theory, that the Ripper was some kind of supernatural being on a quest of some kind.

He'd found a copy of a list in the reported evidence in the case.  The police had dismissed it at the time as illiterate nonsense.  Giles had found that it was in fact written in an obscure Celtic language much used by early British witches and warlocks in conjuring spells.  He'd partially translated the list and found that the items corresponded to descriptions of the mutilations performed on the known Ripper victims.  He'd noted the woman's name and the date of the attack next to each item.  Each item except the last, that one he couldn't translate.

He thought the fact that there hadn't been a killing to correspond to the last item on the list had something to do with the abrupt end of the Ripper's reign of terror.  For some reason, he'd failed at his last task.

That was the part that intrigued Giles, what had stopped him from completing his gruesome cycle and maybe more importantly from performing the spell requiring the grisly offerings.  He searched the most obscure archives and newspaper records for the answer.  He even took a room in the East End of London and spent months tracing the Ripper's every move.  He was worn down and within an inch of quitting when he found it.

The book was a dirty and cracked ledger; in fact the grime of a hundred years may have been the only thing holding it together.  The room he had taken was in a rundown four story brick building on the edge of what once was the worst of the London slums.  At the time of the murders, it was divided into two room suites, bedroom and sitting room.  Considering the location, they were very luxurious.  That was because young men with more money than sense rented them as bases for sampling the worst of the city's sins.  The book was the rent ledger from 1888; he'd found it while absentmindedly looking through a huge old dresser in the basement for some tools to fix the continuously dripping faucet in his room.  Once he realized what it was, he turned to the time of the murders.  He didn't expect to find anything.  This building hadn't been mentioned in any of the significant police reports or newspaper stories.  He ran his finger down the list of names; it gave him a chill to feel this paper that had been perhaps touched by a witness or a detective. His finger hesitated then stopped at a name halfway down the sheet and he stared at the entry.  "Suite 2A - Mr. Rupert Giles"

Spurred on by this strange coincidence, he managed to get access to the entire Scotland Yard Ripper file.  A phone call from a former professor working on a Victorian history did the trick.  He already knew everything in the file directly connected to the Ripper's identity.  This time, he turned to the 'unimportant' files; the ones that were ignored in all the histories. A careful study showed a shadowy presence around the last of the Ripper murders.  A well to do young gentleman with rooms in the area who was present in the background of the investigation.  When a detective was weary and thirsty from a long night of interviewing, this 'nice young gentleman' was there with the offer of a pint or two and a pub meal.  If he gained some information on the investigation in exchange, no one seemed worried.  There were dinners and theater tickets for the overworked medical examiners as well.

There was a letter to Ethan detailing the evidence and Giles' conclusion.  He didn't believe it was a coincidence, he believed that he was the 'young gentleman' in the reports.  If that were true, then he had found a way to travel back in time and all he had to do was follow that trail and it would inevitably leads him back to 1888 London.  At this point, the correspondence stopped.  Apparently Ethan thought his friend had been working too hard and had let his obsession with the Ripper cloud his judgment.

The next documents were dated two months later; it seemed to have taken that long for Giles to convince Ethan that he wasn't "round the bend" as he put it.  Ethan and Giles were scouring every occult source for information on time travel.  They quickly realized that a significant amount of information in the form of stories and legends existed; the problem was sifting through it all for the few available grains of truth.

Six months later, they pooled their information.  There had been confirmed cases of time travel.  It was possible to open a temporal port between times utilizing certain spells and magic objects.  They managed to recreate one of the spells, one that had been used successfully in the seventeen hundreds in Germany.  They also had gathered together what information they could on the 'rules' or limitations of these trips.

First they had all been short, the longest about two weeks.  Things from the 'future' could be carried back, but they had to be things that existed in the 'past' being visited, no guns at King Arthur's Court.  For safety's sake, clothing and items taken should blend in with the time being visited.

As far as paradoxes went, the ones where a time traveler sneezes and returns to find mice running the world, you evidently couldn't change the big things. The tide of history was too strong, but there was some evidence that small changes to the travelers' lives did occur.  Finally, there was mixed evidence on the ultimate safety of the traveler.  If the traveler were to die in the past, what would happen to his future life?  Travelers were injured in the past and returned safely.  The uncomfortable conclusion was that if the traveler did die in the past, he could not have existed in the future and there would be no evidence that he had traveled or had even existed in his own time.

Giles was prepared to take the risk.  He found suitable Victorian clothes at a theatrical costume house in London.  He packed a reproduction nineteenth century leather suitcase and even managed to find more than enough money of the time for a two-week stay at antique coin dealers.  All he needed was the magic object required by the spell and he was ready.

The object was a quarter sized blood red stone in an engraved copper setting. He had a detailed drawing and was confident that he and Ethan could unearth it.  They scoured Europe first; they sent letters contacted scholars and a few less savory characters.  They searched for an entire year with no results.  Gradually, other things in their lives began to displace the search.  They continued with their education, Giles was chosen for training by the Council.  Ethan drifted into some less wholesome endeavors.  They kept a watch for the stone, reporting progress by letter as their lives drew them apart.  At first they updated the search every few months, then a couple of times a year and then the letters all but stopped.  For five years, there was nothing added to the file.  Finally about ten years ago, Giles wrote the last file entry.

'Ethan,

I had no luck with the African dealer.

As we both would admit, neither of us would qualify as a 'nice young man' toeven the most myopic Victorian landlady.  I find it hard to admit, but thewhole thing must have been a coincidence.  I was so sure, I wanted to believeand I did.  I'm going to collect all our work and file it away. It might makesomething interesting to read to the  grandchildren by the fire, if either ofus lives long enough.  Please be careful, some of the things I've heard aboutyour friends …. Just be careful.

By the way, I may be going to the US for the council, bloody colonials.

To the end of a long and fruitless search,

Ripper'

It was nearly midnight when Willow finished rereading the file for the third time.  There was something tickling her memory.  She rose stiffly and walked out to the sales area of the shop.  Opening a drawer, she began opening small boxes.  The third one was it.  The label said bead necklace, silver/copper/gold.  She opened it.  The necklace consisted of four beads one green mounted in silver, two blue mounted in gold and one quarter sized blood red stone mounted in copper.  In the end, Giles did find it.

The file excited Willow, this lost part of Giles' early life.  Finding the stone just made it that more fascinating.  She had to tell someone.

~~~*~~~

She put her hand in her pocket again to feel the reassuring presence of the stake.  It had been a long time since she'd been out at night without Buffy. The cemetery seemed quiet, but it was one of the most patrolled areas for a reason.  Finally she saw the faint light through the trees.  She let out a deep breath.  He was home.

Then she heard the sounds, at first she thought it was fighting.  She could hear things being overturned and what sounded like bodies flying around. Then the shouting started.  She recognized his voice.  She pulled her stake from her pocket and put her eye to a crack in one of the small stained glass panels in the wall of his crypt.

Her heart sank, he wasn't fighting and the shouts weren't about pain.  It was Spike and Buffy.  He was sitting in his single chair his bare chest gleamed palely; she was naked and kneeling in front of him.  His head was thrown back and his eyes shut tight.  His fingers were twined in her hair, her head was moving.  As she watched stunned, he pulled her up until she straddled his lap.  He picked her up by the hips and settled her slowly down.  It was her turn to throw her head back and moan.

Willow turned and stumbled away.

How could he, how could she? She thought to her self.  All the late night talks and … and…just a friend.  It wasn't enough and it wasn't fair.

She stopped leaning against a tree.

"Pull yourself together, " she said to herself.  "He didn't make any promises to you.  Anyway, she's your best friend, you should be happy for her."

"Fuck that," she answered herself, " I might have to accept losing him, but I don't have to be happy about it."

She took a deep breath and let it out.  I need a change, something interesting, no exciting.  She smiled to herself, first some more research, a few phone calls and ……

She headed back to the Magic Shop and a new start.

~Part: 3~

Willow returned home. She quickly filled a suitcase.  As she was about to close it, she stopped and returned to her dresser.  Opening a drawer, she searched around and pulled out a small wooden box.  It had been in that drawer ever since she realized she had an addiction problem.  It contained some magic herbs and objects.  No one knew she had kept it.  Buffy and the rest would have taken it away from her believing that she wouldn't be able to resist using them.  She shoved it into the bag and closed it.  On the way down stairs, she grabbed her computer case.

She spent the early hours of Sunday in the Magic Shop studying the Whitechapel file.  When she was finished, she put the file and her notes in her laptop case.  Moving into the front of the shop, she retrieved the box containing the necklace with the red stone.  She picked it up and turned it over in her fingers.  Sighing, she put it down on the counter and pulled out her checkbook.  She checked the price tag and wrote out a check and put it on the register.

Glancing at the clock, she picked out her cell phone and entered a long distance number, it ran six times.

"Angel Investigations ….." the sleep blurred voice started.

"Wait a minute, it's Sunday.  Who the hell is calling me at seven AM on Sunday?" the voice demanded.

"Hi .. ah .. Cordy it's me Willow."

There was a short silence on the other end.

"Willow, is something wrong?" Cordelia asked.

"I'd like to come and see you and maybe ask Wesley a couple of questions, but mainly to see you."

"That's better," Cordelia said.

"Is there a motel close to your place?  I might stay a day or ….. " Willow added.

An angry Cordelia interrupted, " you will not stay in a motel, you will stay here with me."

"Ah, thanks Cordy I appreciate….."

Willow was interrupted again, " when are you leaving?"

"In a few minutes, " Willow replied.

"Great, see you in four hours, now I'm going back to sleep."

Willow heard the line go dead.  She clicked the 'end' button and shook her head.

Some things never change, she thought to her self.

She got out her laptop and connected it to the phone line.  In a few moments, he was on line, she clicked the 'write' Icon and typed Dawn's email address.

'Dawnie,

I'm going away for a little while.  Everything is OK, I don't want anyone toworry.  I'll be away for a week or so.  I thought I'd drive up to LA andvisit Cordy and check out the big city.

Please let Buffy, Xander and Anya know.

See you soon,

W'

She stared at the screen, then clicked on the email and changed a line.

' Please let Buffy, Xander, Anya and Spike know.'

She looked again, she moved the cursor over the line again.

Then with a quick movement, she moved to the send button and clicked.

Five minutes later, she locked the shop door and headed for the interstate.

~~~*~~~

"My treat, " Willow said as they entered the restaurant in the most exclusive Beverly Hills Hotel.

She smoothed her new close-cropped hair, " getting me an appointment with Mr. Oscar on an hour's notice, I owe you for that.  I still don't know how you worked your sexy voice thing on him, it's not like there's ever gonna be a Mrs. Oscar."

Cordelia looked around at the actors, producers and directors busy at their power lunching.

"How did you…." Cordy asked in amazement.

Willow grinned as the tuxedoed host led them to a table.

"My cousin is an intern at MGM, she had the publicity department make the reservation."

"You have a relative in the industry and you never told me?" Cordelia said with restrained anger.

Reaching their table, Willow leaned toward her, " she just started, I'll give you her number."

They nodded as the host handed them menus.

"Ms. Rosenberg, Ms. Chase, Ms. Sarah Rosenberg wanted you to know that your visit is with the compliments of MGM," the host said with a brilliant smile.

They played, 'isn't that what's his name' and 'I think that is him' with a little bit of 'she looks much older in person' through out their meal; and enjoyed every minute.

Willow was half way through a huge concoction called death by chocolate when Cordelia put down her cup of unsweetened black coffee with a frown.

"I don't know how you do it.  If I ate that, my ass would spread so fast I'd get stuck in this chair."

Willow put her spoon down and wiped fudge sauce from her lips, " yeah, and I've got such a cute little figure and clothes fit me so well.  That's what all you girls say to us ' double a cups' when our boyfriends have their noses stuck in your cleavage."

Cordelia stared for a moment then started to laugh.  Willow joined in and they laughed so hard that several of their neighbors turned to look.

Cordelia caught her breath and Willow winked and pushed her unfinished dessert across the table.

"Ok, " Cordelia said chasing down the last sliver of chocolate from her plate, " what did you want to ask me?"

"Can you give me the name of a good costume company, one that would sell one or two items?"

"I know just the place, I'll take you there on the way back home."

~~~*~~~

Cordelia crossed and uncrossed her legs then she got up and paced the waiting room.

What the hell is she up to, she thought, Willow's been in there for hours. Squaring her shoulders she pushed through the door to the interior of the costume house.  She walked rapidly down the row of dark changing rooms and stopped by the only one showing a light.

She put he hand on the knob and turned pushing the door inward, "I can't stand it, you have to tell me ….."

She stopped in mid sentence coloring, " oh I'm sorry sir, I thought my friend was in …

She looked closer at the slender young man in the long black coat, gray silk vest and striped pants.  He turned away and pulled his top hat lower on his head.

"Willow, what the hell is going on?"

~Part: 4~

The ride home was tense; Willow had promised to explain everything when they got back to the apartment.  Neither girl was anxious to break the silence.

After carrying in the box from the costume company, they settled around Cordelia's tiny kitchen table.  Willow jumped when a tray with two mugs and a flask of coffee slid onto the table as if by magic.

"Sorry, "  she said, " I forgot about Dennis."

The other girl nodded, " thanks Dennis, I think we may need this tonight."

Willow filled the mugs.  Cordelia took a small sip and sat back expectantly.

Willow fiddled with her mug for a moment and looked up, "OK, this is going to sound really strange.  I was trying to keep busy by straightening things up at the Magic Shop and I found a folder that Giles left."

Willow told her the whole story including her plans to complete Giles' experiment.  She left out what she had seen at Spike's crypt.

"I have to dress like a man, as a woman, I'd be either a whore or a helpless young lady.  I don't think I'd want to be either."

Cordelia stared at her friend.  Without speaking, she took the mugs and the empty flask to the sink.  She rinsed and dried them; then turned drying her hands on the dishtowel.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" she asked angrily.

Willow seemed surprised at her friend's attitude, " it's something Giles put a lot of effort into.  He was very thorough, he was really into the whole subject."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

Willow looked away.

"Did you?" Cordelia insisted.

"No, " Willow said softly, " he doesn't even know I found the folder."

Cordelia sat down and took Willow's hand, " this is way too dangerous for you or anyone to try.  It's all built on guesses and the crazy ideas of couple of college students for God's sake."

Willow locked eyes with her, "I need a change.  I need to go somewhere different and do something exciting.  I can't just sit in Sunnydale while all my friends watch and wait for me to make a mistake.  When I do, they'll pat me on the back and tell me that they know how hard it is and that I'll do better next time and that they love me and that ……"

"I just have to do it!" Willow said her face hot and red, tears beginning to leak from her eyes.

Cordelia gave her a sympathetic look and then sat back in her chair.

After a moment, she asked, " who is it?"

Willow looked back blankly.

Cordelia smiled knowingly, " when ever I've felt I had to make a drastic change in my life, it was because of a relationship; an ending, a beginning or worse one that never was."

She saw Willow flinch.

"So unrequited is it?  It's not Oz again?"

Willow shook her head.

"Xander?" she asked.

"No, not Xander."

Cordelia thought for a minute, then her eyes widened, " it's not that witch friend of yours, what's her name Tori or something.  Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Tara, her name is Tara and no it's not her.  I'd be better off it were another girl."

Cordelia's eyes flashed, " hold on, you didn't come to LA for some other reason did you?  Not to see someone for the last time before you left on your big adventure?  Someone who isn't a girl or a boy, who isn't human at all?"

Willow was surprised at the strength of Cordelia's reaction, " no, no not Angel he's not the one."

Cordelia's relief showed, " not that it would matter to me except it might affect the business."

Cordelia frowned, " he's not the one, that's what you said.  You said it's not Angel, you didn't say it's not a vampire, you ….."

"Spike?"

Willow closed her eyes for a moment.  When she opened them, she sighed and nodded.  Then she told her about the evenings they'd spent together and how much he'd helped her and how her feelings began to change.  Then she told her what she had seen at the crypt.

"That son of a bitch," Cordelia said.

"It's not really his fault, I mean she is the Slayer and…."

"And she can't keep her pants on especially around other people's .. ah friends," Cordelia said.

A tray with a bottle of and two glasses slid quietly onto the table.  The bottle moved pouring a stiff drink in each glass.  The girls lifted their glasses.

"Fuck'em all they don't deserve us, " Cordelia said.

"All men warm and cold, ' Willow continued, " except for nice considerate ghosts, " she added.

Cordelia took a long swallow and leaned toward Willow, "you know that's not her original nose."

Willow nodded and drained her glass.

"And, " Cordy continued, " I'm not all that sure about the boobs."

~~~*~~~

Later the same morning, Willow and Cordelia were in Angel's office nursing two very large hangovers.

"Is that all the aspirin?" Willow said softly.

Cordelia flinched, " no reason to shout, I'm sitting right here?"

"Hi, I heard you were in town, how's everything in Sunnydale, " Angel said entering the office and slamming the door behind him.

Both girls jumped and moaned.

"Oh did we have a little too much fun last night?" he asked with a grin.

"I don't recall that there was any fun involved, " Willow said in a shaky voice, " right Cordy?"

"Total lack of fun, except for the male stripper, that was kinda nice," Cordelia said with a weak smile.

"Yeah, ' Willow agreed, " he had the biggest ….."

Angel backed out quietly closing the door behind him.

"Come in here all cheery will he, " Cordelia muttered.

"Do you know how wasted we must have been to think that Angel is too cheerful?" Willow added.

Cordelia gingerly nodded in agreement.

There was a light knock on the door and Wesley came in.

"Willow, I've searched everywhere and here's the best I could do, sorry."

He handed her a slip of paper.  Willow had asked him to try and translate the last item on Giles' Jack the Ripper list.

She opened the paper and read, ' magical life essence (?)'

"Thanks Wesley, " she said.

~~~*~~~

"I can't talk you out of this?" Cordelia pleaded.

Willow shook her head and sprinkled red powder from a small leather pouch onto a yellowed and cracked map.

They were in an unused room in the hotel.  Willow was dressed in one of her new male outfits the rest of her belongings were packed in a leather valise positioned on one corner of the map.

"Money, what will you use for money? " Cordelia asked desperately.

"My grandfather's coin collection.  I inherited it, it has more than enough authentic pre 1888 English money for a week's stay."

Cordelia's face fell, " I still think this is a big mistake.  You said that you could end up changing your life now."

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing."

"OK, " she continued, " remember, tell them I took off to visit some relatives in Seattle and I'll be back in a week."

Cordelia nodded.

Willow picked up the bag and stood in the center of the map.  She smiled at Cordelia and said, "don't worry."

Then she dropped some black powder from her hand onto the map. There was a flash of light and she was gone.

Cordelia began to cry.

~Part: 5~

Harry Jones had been selling old clothes from his barrow for twenty years on the same East London corner.  He was sure that nothing in heaven or hell could surprise him.  That was before the young man holding the leather case materialized next to him.  One minute he was lighting his stub of a pipe and the next he was shoulder to shoulder with the stranger.  He could only stare as the man coolly bent over and picked up a large sheet of paper from the sidewalk, folded it and slid it into a pocket.  Then he tipped his hat to Harry, crossed the street and was lost in the crowd.

Harry stared motionless until the match he was holding burned down to his grubby fingers.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed dropping the match.

~~~*~~~

It was the smell that surprised her, it was a combination of locker room and horse barn.  A good part of the locker room smell was coming from a wheeled cart that materialized next to her.  She smiled at the expression on the face of the cart owner.  He looked like he'd seen a ghost, maybe he had.

Under the barrow man's glassy gaze, she stepped off the map, pocketed it and hurried across the crowded street dodging carriages and the residue of their one horse power engines.

She checked the brass plates on the front of the nearly identical brick buildings until she spotted a familiar number.  She walked up a short flight of stairs and entered the lobby.  When the door opened, a bell sounded.

"How do you do, " a middle aged woman started as she emerged from a door on Willow's right.

She continued, " welcome to Brighton House, I am Mrs. Harris."

Willow almost offered her hand, but at the last minute realized the woman's hands remained wrapped around a blue covered ledger.  She gave a slight bow instead.

"I was hoping that you had a suite available for the next two weeks, ' she said lowering the pitch of her voice.

Mrs. Harris's lips seemed to become even thinner as she eyed the young man before her with a practiced eye.

Our tariff is six shillings a week, but we may not have any vacancies at the moment.  We are very particular as to the gentlemen we accommodate, " she said in a chilly tone.

"Madam, I was told at home in Canada that Brighton House was a well run establishment and I see that I was told the truth.  I believe you said a guinea a week was the tariff?"

Mrs. Harris' eyes widened at Willow's offer of more than twice the rate quoted, followed by a greedy smile.

"Why didn't you tell me that you had references?"  she said opening the ledger.

Willow watched as she ran her finger down the page.

It was the ledger that Giles had found in the basement and turned to the very page of his great discovery.  She could see the photocopied image in her mind's eye.  She read the names and suite numbers until the woman's finger stopped at the first empty space.

Willow watched in fascination as she filled in the suite number.

"Suite 2A it is Mr. ahh " she looked at Willow expectantly.

"Giles, " she said, "Rupert Giles."

~~~*~~~

Willow closed the door behind the maid who had explained the primitive plumbing system and informed her of the meal times in the dining room.

She turned back and sat on the bed and sighed.

What came over me, she asked her self, using Giles' name like that?

The name had jumped to her lips without thinking.  Maybe it was fate trying to make events mirror the historical record.  She decided to think about it later; right now she was in 1888 London and in pursuit of Jack the Ripper

She stood at the window and watched the flickering gaslights reflected in the street puddles.  She'd already unpacked and eaten some tea and toast.  She glanced again at her grandfather's pocket watch it was nearly time.  She shrugged into her coat and picked up her hat and stick.  Pausing for a moment, she hefted the stick.  She'd found it at the Costume Company.  They called it a 'life preserver' it looked like a walking stick, but the top portion was loaded with lead.  It made a nasty weapon.

She had an appointment, this was the night of the last Ripper murder and she had the location memorized.

~~~*~~~

Willow crouched down behind a tumbled down brick wall in a seedy court.  Her nerves were on edge, the murder should happen any time now.  She concentrated all her senses, then she heard it.  Steps coming from the street, they seemed too loud to be the victims.  Willow strained her eyes as a portly figure came into view.  As he penetrated into the court, Willow could see that he wore a cheap looking rumpled suit and had a dusty bowler on the back of his head.

She was puzzled, she felt disappointed some how that he was so ordin…

"What the hell are you doing behind that bleeding wall, get your effing arse out here where I can see you, ' the figure demanded in a drunken voice.

He peered into the darkness, " is it you Finmann?  It'll do you no good, my story was filed hours ago.  Come on out and buy us a drink."

Willow rose and slowly approached him.

After a few moments, Willow had discovered that her companion was Pat Grady a part time crime reporter for a ha'penny daily.

"What story were you speaking of, " Willow asked still trying to be alert to any sounds that might indicate the Ripper or his victim.

"What story?" he demanded, "Why the latest Ripper murder. It happened here in this very court last night."

"Last night, " Willow said puzzled, " I don't understand."

Mr. Grady grinned, " I should have known.  A toff like you would read The Times.  They switched dates in their story.  The body was discovered early this morning, but the murder itself was last night.  The reported confused the date of the murder with that of discovery of the body.  The bloody Times, always right is the bloody Times, ' he continued in a sing song voice.

"How about a pint my good man? " the reporter suggested.

Willow shrugged and they walked off together, " the name's Giles, " she said, " Rupert Giles."

~Part: 6~

She waded through the crowded smoke filled room behind the portly reporter.

"Make way lads, make way for the workin' press, " he boomed out cheerily.

"You workin'?" a large bearded man at the bar shouted back, "that'll be the day Pat Grady."

This was met with a chorus of agreement from the rest of the men at the bar.

"A pint of bitter and a double brandy, no make that two double brandies if you would my good man, " Pat said to the smiling bar man.

"Check the poor box, " the bearded man called out, " Grady's buying brandy."

Again a chorus of laughter followed the big man's remark.

Grady pulled himself up to his full five feet three inches and turned to the crowd.

"I'll have you know I have a patron, a gentleman of discriminating taste who appreciates my talents and wishes to converse with me in private.  So I'll thank you to leave us alone this evening."

He nodded to Willow who threw a few coins on the bar and picked up one of the brandies.  She followed him to a small table in a dark corner.

One of the other men at the bar called out to Willow, " sir, if you'd like to talk to someone who can actually spell, I'll be here."

The laughter followed them to the table.

Willow sat and pushed the brandy across the table, " I don't think I'll have anything, thank you."

The little round man downed the first double brandy in one swallow.

"My recommendation exactly, " he said wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  "This stuff, " he said picking up the second brandy, " is not up to your usual standard."

He downed the glass with a splutter, " it's barely up to mine, " he added as he reached for the pint.

After a few more Willow sponsored trips to the bar, the reporter began filling Willow in on the Ripper murders.  She listened intently, but was disappointed to hear no new information.

She was about to make her excuses and return to her rooms, when something he said caught her attention.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I just said that it's a bleeding shame that these Ripper murders are taking all the attention away from the blood killings."

He went on to explain that before the Ripper murders began there had been a series of killings of both men and women in the same general area.  Six people had been found with neck mutilations completely drained of blood.  He had been writing a series on the killings when his editor had ordered him to switch to the Ripper.

"Mark my words, " he added, " they'll find another one tomorrow morning and in Grouse Court if I know anything."

Under her questioning, he explained that he had detected a pattern to the killings both in time and locale.  Based on his figures, there would be another of the blood killings tonight in the vicinity of a dreary slum area dead end called rather grandly, Grouse Court.

"Although, " he warned her with an exaggerated wink, " you'll find more 'chickens' than grouse if you know what I mean."  This aside was accompanied with several rather painful pokes to the ribs.

After getting directions along with a few more off color warnings, she left him enough for another round and made for the door.

A half-hour and a hurried walk through the damp and fog found her in Grouse Court.  She was alone after pointedly turning down the advances of two of the local 'chickens'.  She smiled when she heard them leaving together.

"We're the wrong sort for his kind I reckon."

"Right you are, " her companion agreed, " did you see him walk away?  Put a frock on and take him to the Lord Mayor's Ball you could."

Willow listened to the laughter fade and made a mental note to walk a little stiffer, like Xander said about Giles, like he had a stick up his.."

Her thoughts were interrupted by noises coming from the direction the two women had taken.  There were a few screams and some male voices raised above the general confusion.  This was followed by a short silence and then by what might have been the same men arguing about something.  Willow ducked into a shadowed doorway and gripping her 'life preserver' as the voices approached.

"You are bloody useless you are, " a voice said with disgust.

Willow could now make out the group as they entered the court.  There were four well-dressed young men.  Two were holding a third by the arms while the fourth continued to berate him.

"Fucking useless and I don't give a tinker's dam who your sire is."

"You'd best be careful, when Angelus comes back from Ireland, he and Darla will.." the prisoner's words were interrupted by a vicious slap.

"I don't give a damn about Angelus. Darla or the rest of the bogeyman crew you keep spouting on about.  I can take care of myself, I can take care of them and I can take care of the likes of you."

The fourth man took a step back, " two sweet little whores we had right in our hands and you send them running before we can get a good grip on them, ' he shook his head, " and you call yourself a vampire."

Willow stood frozen.  It had taken her a while to realize what was happening and who it was happening to.  She heard the names and the voice was familiar but he had a full head of brown hair.  It was the voice that finally convinced her that it was Spike.

The angry man walked to the edge of the square and picked up a piece of an old crate from the gutter.  He used his vampire strength to pull it apart in one swift movement.  He flourished the sharp piece of wood in his right hand. Dropping the rest of the scraps, he turned back to the group.

"Well William, we'll give your regards to Angelus and Darla just before we stake them."

Willow rushed from her hiding place and took a vicious swing at the figure with the stake.  The force of the loaded cane threw him stunned against the wall.  She followed through with a swing at the one holding Spike's right arm.  She hit him in the shoulder and he grabbed his arm in pain and staggered back.

Spike reversed the hold of the other one and there was a sickening snap like a dry twig and he sunk to his knees holding his useless arm.

Spike picked up one of the discarded scraps of wood and staked both of his captors.

The fourth vampire however had regained his senses and charged Spike from behind.

Willow screamed but it was too late, the stake sank deep into Spike's back.

She rushed his attacker and with almost superhuman strength jabbed the end of her stick into his heart.  Amid the flurry of dust, she turned to Spike.

He wasn't dust, so it didn't get his heart, she thought to herself, but he seemed badly hurt.  She closed her eyes and gripped the end of the stake.  It took all her strength to withdraw it.  She let it clatter to the street and stuffed a handkerchief into the hole in the back of his jacket to try and stem the flow of black sticky blood oozing from the wound.

He was still semiconscious when she got him to his feet and putting a shoulder under his arm half walked and half dragged him to the next street in search of a cab.

At the door of her building, Willow thanked the cabby with a generous tip and rang the night bell hoping that Mrs. Harris was fast asleep.

Martha, the maid who had helped her to her room yesterday, opened the door.

"Martha, my friend is ill, could you please help us up to my rooms?" Willow asked.

The girl nodded and took one of Spike's arms while Willow took the other.

Soon they had him stretched out on Willow's bed.

"Could you bring some boiling water and clean rags?"

The girl smiled and disappeared silently.

She quickly returned with a steaming basin and some lengths of clean but threadbare sheets.  She also had a pot of tea and some teacakes.

She nodded at the tray, " I thought you might be hungry."

After bandaging the wound as best she could, she joined the maid in the sitting room.

Willow gestured toward the tea tray, " would you care for something?"

The girl smiled and poured two cups.

She passed one and a plate of cakes to Willow. " thank you kindly Miss."

Willow's eyes opened wide and she put down her cup.

"Don't worry Miss, your secret is safe with me.  Mrs. Harris can't see beyond next weeks rent and the rest of the staff haven't the imagination."

"How did you know?" Willow asked.

"Little things in your walk and the way you sit down.  Just now you started to run your hands down the back of your legs before you sat, no man would smooth his skirt before sitting."

"Was there anything else?"

The girl began to blush.

"Please I'm not angry, I just don't want to make the same mistakes again."

Martha pointed toward Willow's lap, " as my Dad might have said, you can see there's a wee bit missing."

It was Willow's turn to blush.

Martha finished her tea, " I'll leave you and your young man alone now.  If you need anything else just ring the bell.  I'm on call all night, or what's left of it, " she said with a yawn."

Dawn, she thought to herself after Martha left.  She hurried into the bedroom to check the drapes.  She was relieved to see that no light could penetrate the close fitting heavy velvet.  I guess a lot of the guests slept through the day after their slumming expeditions, she thought.

She brought a candle closer to check his condition; she was shocked by his appearance.  His face had a waxy yellow cast and he seemed to be aging and actually shrinking.  The wound must be too severe for even his vampire healing power to overcome.

She sat on the side of the bed and wracked her brains for a spell or a potion or anything that could bring him back.

After a few moments, she got up and went to the sitting room.  She searched the pockets of her coat and vest and pulled out her grandfather's pocket watch.  She put the watch and chain on the tea tray and carried it in to the bedroom.

She placed the tray on the bedside table.  She picked up the watch chain and unsnapped something from the opposite end.  It was an antique gold penknife.

She poured hot tea over the knife into one of the empty teacups.  Then she rolled up her left sleeve.  Taking the knife in her right hand, she made a small incision in the vein in her left wrist.  She filled the other teacup half full with the blood.  She had to squeeze a wadded up bandage to maintain the flow.  She then wrapped the bandage around the wound.

She carefully fed him the contents of the cup and sat back exhausted and pale to wait.

~Part: 7~

Willow was still half-asleep when she felt something soft and cool brush her cheek.  She wriggled and ran a finger over the spot.  Then she felt it again.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked directly into a familiar pair of ice blue eyes.

His cool lips brushed her cheek again and then settled on hers.  Soft at first, they became more insistent.  She felt his hands slip under her T-shirt, his fingertips lightly stroked her breasts.  Her lips opened to his pressuring tongue.  She closed her eyes and put her arms around his neck. She felt him pull back then he murmured softly.  She couldn't quite make out what he was saying.

"Willow sell 'em why."

She didn't understand and concentrated on his voice.

"Where the hell am I?"

Willow sat up, completely awake now.  She watched as a semiconscious Spike moved restlessly on the bed repeating his demand.

Damn, she thought to herself, a dream.  She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, but it was no use, she was awake for good.

She went into the other room and unwrapped her wrist.

A few minutes later, she returned with a half cup of blood.

She sat on the edge of the bed and propped his head up on her lap and helped him drink.

It was encouraging that the yellow cast to his complexion and the waxy look were both gone.

A few hours later, he was conscious and mustered enough strength to pull himself up.

Willow, dressed again in her male disguise, waited for his questions.

"You're the bloke that pulled me out last night, right?"

Willow nodded.

He looked around the room, " this is your place?"

She nodded again.

He picked up the dirty cup from the bedside table, " this is yours too, "  it was a statement and not a question.

"Yes, " she said.

He paused for a moment.

He smiled, " can we forget the bloke thing?"

"How did you…"

He put a finger to his nose, " all the clothes in the world can't fool this."

She reddened but continued, "how are you feeling?"

"Not bad, "  he picked up the cup again, " thanks to this."  He winked, "especially powerful, witches blood is."

This time, she just stared.

He grinned, " it's the taste, nothing like it, believe me."

"Now, " he asked pulling himself up straighter, " what is all this about?"

She told him her name and introduced herself as an American living in London pursuing her own theory on the Ripper murders.

"I think the Ripper is a demon, maybe even a vampire. Not just any demon, but one on a mission. "

She took the slip of paper she'd given Wesley to translate from her pocket, " and I think this might be the key."

Spike took it and glanced at the characters, " not Gaelic maybe old Irish or even Cornish, Celtic at least.  Copy it down for me, I know a few people."

She smiled, "that's what I hoped you say.  What can you tell me about the demon world here in London?  Has there been anything unusual, anything that could be connected to the Ripper?"

He slumped back into the pillows, " I haven't been in town very long, I've been traveling with some friends on the continent.  They went ahead to Ireland and I guess I fell in with some bad companions."

Willow looked disappointed.

"But here is someone you could talk to, " he noticed her expression, " no, he's not one of us; he's a live one.  He's always around the demon community, he's forever asking questions.  He's always good for a pint or a large gin for a thirsty vampire."

Spike was beginning to fade, she could actually see the lines in his face deepen.

"Go to the Lyceum Theater, I think he works for that ponce Henry Irving.  He has a full beard and a round face, always dresses in black, he ……." His eyes closed as his voice drifted off.

Willow pulled the sheet up to his chin and tip toed out.

She rang for Martha and picked up her coat, hat and gloves.

Answering Martha's knock, she told the maid she'd be out for a while but that her friend would be staying.

"I want you to promise me something, " Willow asked.  "I want you to promise not to enter these rooms under any circumstances until I return, will you promise me that?"

The bewildered girl nodded.

Willow slipped a cord holding a silver cross over the doorknob and followed the maid into the hall.

The doorkeeper at the Lyceum's stage door was not being very helpful.  She gave him Spike's description of the vampire groupie.  From his expression, she was sure that he knew who it was.  His only response however was a blank look and a request to ' please move on sir.'

She was about to resort to bribery when she noticed a poster for a recent performance on the brick wall next to the door and recognized the name listed s stage manager.

"Could I have a slip of paper and a pencil?" she asked.

The man shrugged and handed her a half sheet of paper and the stub of a pencil. She wrote leaning against the stage door.  When she was finished, she folded the paper in half, wrote a name on the outside and handed it back with the pencil.

He glanced at the name and gave her a questioning look.

"Please take that in, I'll wait here, " she directed.

He hesitated for a moment then disappeared into the theater.

In a few minutes, he returned.  He held the door open and then led her inside.  He opened the door to a small office.

"Please come in, " the bearded man said from behind his desk.

When she seated herself across from him, he tossed her message onto the desk.

"What s this supposed to mean? " he asked.

She picked it up and read it over:

'Mr. Bram Stoker' was the name written on the cover.

The message was,  'It's all real isn't it?'

She had signed it, 'Van Helsing.'

~Part: 8~

Willow pushed the paper back across the table.

"The undead, the bat winged blood feasting bogeymen of Rumanian old wives tales, are real and they're here in London."

Stoker sat back in his chair and considered Willow, " and this concerns me how Mr. Van Helsing?"

"It's Doctor not Mister, but …"

She was interrupted, " I know, but since it isn't your real name, it doesn't make any difference, ' Stoker said with a thin smile.   "I should know since the esteemed Doctor is actually a character in my manuscript."

" I must assume that someone here in the theater has read it and is telling tales out of school.  That you listen to backstage gossip does little to convince me that we have any business together.  I enjoy a horror story as much as the next man, but Mr. , I apologize, Dr. Van Helsing but I am very busy at present."

Stoker started to stand to show the interview was over.

Willow didn't move, " William, Darla, Drusilla and Angelus, " she said pronouncing each name with deliberation.

Stoker hesitated and sat down.

Willow continued, " there were two others with William while the rest are in Ireland," she gave him an inquiring look.

Stoker looked surprised, " probably Vance and Francis, well dressed, clean shaven and rather burly?"

Willow nodded, " they were staked last night in Grouse Court.  They had a disagreement with William and he and I resolved the issue by dissolving them."

The other man smiled, " Very amusing, but I still fail to see why you've come to me."

"You probably know more about the vampire community in London than anyone else."

"And?" Stoker asked.

"I need some information," Willow responded.

She told him about Giles' theory of the Ripper murders.

He thought for a moment then rose and walked past her to the door.

"Please come with me."

After climbing to the third floor of the theater building, Stoker stopped at an unmarked wooden door.  He unlocked it with a key from his watch chain and ushered her in. He lit a gas fixture on the wall and a golden glow lit the room.  It was small maybe ten feet square.  The floor to ceiling bookcases on three of the walls made it seem smaller.

Stoker motioned Willow to take a seat at a small rectangular table in the center of the room.  He took an oil lamp from the table and lit it then carried it to the shelves on the left side of the room.

"All of these, " he said running a hand along a shelf, " are works about vampires, demons and the legends of the undead."

"These, " he touched the shelf again, " are the first and most important volumes in my collection."

He pulled a modest sized old leather bound book from the shelf and carried it to the table.  He sat opposite her and rested a hand on the unopened volume.

"Several years ago, Mr. Irving decided to tour the central and eastern regions of the continent.  The Germans are very fond of Shakespeare and Irving is his very best interpreter, even if he does say so himself," he added with a wry smile.

"I was acting as his secretary at the time.  We had just finished a very well received engagement in Vienna and were preparing for the trip home when a message came from the Imperial government.  It was a request to continue our tour for a few more weeks in some of the 'less well-known' areas of the empire.  Irving assured us all that he had no intention of playing in some string of eastern backwaters to simple peasants and their simpler masters. That was before he was summoned to an audience with the Royal Archduke and was presented with some comic opera decoration.  Needless to say, we were on the road next day."

"Near the end of the tour, we were traveling near the Romanian - Hungarian border.  The weather was filthy and had been so for days.  Everyone's spirits were down and Irving had a horrid cold.  It was that cold that was the beginning of all this, " he gestured at the shelves encircling the room.

"Arriving at the hotel, we found an official letter from the local Imperial Representative transmitting a dinner invitation for Irving from a local nobleman.  Attendance by Irving was out of the question, but as the gentleman was a nobleman, I was deputized to attend in his place."

"The carriage ride was a reckless race through the dark foggy mountain lanes. By the time I arrived at the rather tumbled down castle, I was willing to believe any horrific old wives tale.  This willingness was not reduced with my introduction to my host.  His list of names and titles seemed endless; but in homage to his most infamous ancestor, he styled himself Count Dracula."

"He was quite gracious, despite the fact that he was prevented from eating due to some stomach upset, he regaled me with samples of the horrific folk tales from his native mountains.  Over brandy, he continued to discuss the peasant superstitions that he thought were the cause for the prejudicial way in which he and his fellow nobles were treated.  We talked, I did participate by asking pertinent questions, until nearly sun up.  He insisted that I stay the rest of the night and start off fresh the next day."

"I was settled in a large and musty bedroom and just about to drop off when I heard an unusual sound.  It seemed to come from the window.  I rose and threw open the window and was immediately greeted with a dizzying view into the valley below.  I was staring down in horror when I heard the sound again.  I craned my neck and caught sight of someone literally hanging out of the next window.  He had a feverish look and his voice was hoarse as he shouted, "are you English?"

"I replied and some of the feverishness seemed to leave his eyes.  He explained that he was a clerk form an English law firm come to help the Count organize his household for a move to England.  Then he started to tell me of the horrific things that had happened to him at the hands of Dracula and his minions.  My blood ran cold as I listened.  After nearly an hour, he stopped and I could hear the door of his room open. He said goodbye and darted back into the room.  It was the last I would see of him."

"Later that morning, the servants rather unceremoniously sent me on my way. I thought about what I'd been told, it seemed fantastic, but I thought I'd best see what I could do to rescue my compatriot.  After catching up on my work, I managed to get an audience with Irving; as soon as I mentioned the man's name, Irving gave me a strange look.  Then he told me that just this afternoon, the 'Englisher visitor' was found in the rugged mountain stream that ran so far below the castle.  He appeared to have drowned; Count Dracula expressed his sympathy for the gentleman's family and friends."

"I spent the remainder of our visit purchasing the first volumes of my collection.  I also shamefully over tipped by way of bribing the locals to obtain more specific information.  On my return to London, I discovered that a subculture of much more junior vampires existed right here in London.  This brings us back to your earlier question about the Ripper murders."

Willow sat forward, " could it be Dracula?" she asked.

He shook his head, " the ritual nature of the killings don't seem to fit his history, also I have it on good authority that he remains in his castle."

"But, " he said sliding the book across to her, " there is another possibility.  Refer to page 278.  If my guess is correct, we may soon be wishing that it were only Dracula."

~Part: 9~

Willow carefully turned the brittle yellowed pages.  When she reached page 278, she began to read.

She studied the ornate Latin text carefully and the more that she read the more frightened she became.  Finally, she closed the book and looked up.

"Is this all true?" she put a hand on the book.

He nodded, " I had the same suspicion about the Ripper that you had.  I used my connections with the London demon underground to verify my theory."

"And did they?" she asked.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, " yes."

She sat forward on her chair, " what did you do?"

He looked away, " nothing, I did nothing.  I was too frightened.  I tried to tell myself that it wasn't my affair.  The real reason was the story told by my fellow guest at Dracula's castle."

"You read the passage, " he tapped the book, " what choice did I have?"

Willow considered what she'd read.  The passage was taken from a medieval tale of two brothers.  They were Princes and joint heirs of their tiny mountain kingdom.  The elder was a great warrior and had always acted as protector to his younger brother.  One day, powerful wizards captured the younger brother.  The older Prince scoured the countryside, but finally returned empty handed to the Royal hunting lodge.  The lodge was in the darkest mountain forests of the kingdom with servants drawn from the half tamed mountain tribes.

The Prince sat exhausted in the deserted great hall and wept in frustration and anger.  How could the greatest warrior in the kingdom be powerless to protect his own brother?

"The weapons of a warrior can be more than swords and daggers, if the warrior has the courage to but ask, " a voice said from the shadows behind him.

The Prince turned to see the bent form of the old lodge keeper emerge from the darkness.

"My Prince, " he said with a small bow, " what are you willing to give to find and rescue your brother?

The Prince's first thought was to angrily demand the old man to tell him what he knew or suffer the consequences.  Then he remembered the deference his father had given the old man and the tale he'd heard as a boy.

The old man had once been a powerful leader of the mountain tribes, a fierce fighter against the Prince's father.  During one especially vicious campaign, his father had disappeared on a patrol deep in the mountains.  He was gone for two days and nights.  On the third day, he returned to camp in company with the soon to be Royal Lodge keeper.  From that point on, there was no further resistance in the mountains and the King's fortunes advanced in all areas.  Later there were tales of strange mountain ceremonies performed to guarantee the King's success and promises made and secrets to be kept.

The Prince responded humbly, " as a friend of my father the King, I ask your help."

The old man smiled, " and what will you give?"

"I would give all that I have, " the Prince replied.

"Spoken like a true son of your father."

"Your brother is being held by very powerful wizards, it is their intention to rule the kingdom through him in the fullness of time.  If he stays under their influence for much longer, he will be theirs forever."

"How can I find him, how can I rescue him?"  the Prince pleaded.

"They are under a very powerful enchantment, no living man can find them and no living man can destroy them."

The Prince's temper flared, " old man what nonsense is this?"

"Are you willing to pay the price, my Prince?" the old man asked.

The old man put up a hand before the Prince could respond, " will you put yourself in my hands?"

The Prince looked into a pair of eyes as deep and black as the pits of hell. He bowed his head and nodded.

That night, the Prince made a devil's bargain.  He willingly surrendered his soul and his very life's blood.  In exchange, he was promised eternal life and the strength to defeat any mortal enemy.  At the end of the ceremony, twin talismen were hung around his neck.

"With the magic images of the sun and the moon, you will hold mastery of both the day and the night," the old man proclaimed.

At the stroke of midnight, he rode out of the mountains clad in a suit of armor as black and dead as the eyes of a corpse, and with a cold and silent heart followed the scent of his enemies.

An hour before dawn, he came upon the wizard's enchanted castle.  With his superhuman strength, he slaughtered the castle's defenders to a man.  In a cold-blooded frenzy, he stormed the wizard's tower.  He shrugged off their spells and crushed them one by one.  Reaching the room at the top of the tower, he was confronted by a warrior in a suit of shining white armor.

The black Prince attacked.  The struggle went back and forth furiously.  When the black Prince's strength seemed too much, the white warrior would summon strength from some hidden well and fight on.  He was valiant, but destined to defeat by the Black Prince's new supernatural strength.  Finally standing over the defeated enemy, he slowly lifted his sword and then plunged it into the white armored chest.

He bent and removed the battered white helmet and revealed the face of his brother.

An animal howl pierced the dank coppery atmosphere.

The old mountain chieftain was waiting when the Prince thundered into the clearing where the dark ceremonies had taken place.

"Old man, curse your devil's bargain.  I'll cut out your black heart for a thief of souls."

The old man smiled, " my Prince," he said mildly, " did you not find the wizard's enchanted castle?  Did you not possess the strength to defeat your enemies?"

"My enemies yes, but my brother was not my enemy."

The old man smiled and told the Prince the truth.

"The bargain I made with you, I made with your father before you.  It was with my help that he conquered his kingdom.  All was well for many years as you and your brother grew in strength.  You were a great warrior a man after your father's heart, a great student of death, destruction and human cruelty. Your brother was different, he was a kind and gentle boy.  His heart was so good that even you felt the need to defend him."

"This good soul attracted the attention of a group of wizards who practiced the white magic of good and opposed the king and all his works.  They saw your brother as an opportunity to deliver the kingdom away from the forces of so called evil.  They approached him and gradually began to indoctrinate him with their vision.  When they were ready to move against us, he joined them. Together they formed a formidable force.  To defeat them, we needed a powerful champion, a cold and heartless warrior."

"You have served your father well my Prince.  He would say as much himself if he were here."

The Prince's eyes glowed red as he reached into his saddlebag and tossed an object at he old man's feet.  He paled as he recognized the head of the King.

"Ask him old man, ask him yourself, " the Prince said.

The mountains rang with the struggle between the dark Prince and the mountain wizard.  The wizard's spells were powerful, but the Prince was stronger. Finally, they stood face to face.  The Prince smiled coldly as he raised his sword.  As a final act of defiance, the wizard ripped the sun talisman from the Princes neck and smashed it as the sword fell.

That night the Prince drank the wizard's lifeblood, and in a dark ceremony pledged eternal war on the mortal world and all who practiced magic.

With the sunrise, he discovered the consequences of the wizard's last act. With only the lunar talisman remaining, the sunlight had become deadly to him.  His mastery was limited to the night.

Thus went the story of Prince Goran, the first and most powerful of the vampire breed.

"He's in London, the father of all vampires?" Willow asked.

Stoker nodded, "all the evidence I could gather from the local vampire community supports it, especially the similarity between the Ripper mutilations and some of the Princes recorded rituals."

Willow glanced at her watch, " it's getting late.  I want to be in the Ripper's hunting grounds by dark and there are a few arrangements I need to make."

The man looked at her in astonishment, " in the face of this, " he gestured toward the dusty volume on the table, " how can you even consider setting foot in the East End?"

"The sequence of murders isn't complete.  If he isn't stopped before he completes the ritual, I wouldn't want to answer for the safety of London, England or the entire world."

~Part: 10~

For all that she hurried, it was after sundown when Willow arrived back at her rooms.

As soon as she was through the door, her spirits sank.  She could feel that he was gone.

She sank into a chair.

I should have known it, she thought, he had no reason to stay.  I have no hold over him, I have to realize that he's William the fledgling and not the Spike I knew in Sunnydale.

With a sigh, she rose and began to gather the supplies for tonight's mission. She was packing a small bag when there was a knock at the door.

"Mr. Giles, ' it was Martha's voice, "you have a visitor."

She opened the door to a smiling Martha and behind her Spike.

"Thank you Martha, ' she said gesturing for Spike to enter.

As soon as the door was closed, they both started to talk at once.

"You first, " Willow said.

"No," Spike responded, " trousers or no, ladies first."

Willow colored, " I just wanted to thank you for coming back.  I know this isn't your concern."

He waved off her thanks, "I'd be in a dust bin if it weren't for you."

He spotted the bag and his face fell, " you're leaving?"

She shook her head, " no, just getting some things together for tonight."

"Tonight?  You aren't going looking for the Ripper?"  he asked in amazement.

She nodded.

"Are you bloody crazy?" he said angrily.  "Is proving out some cock and bull theory worth your life?  You have no idea of the danger, no idea of what's out there."

"Prince Goran?" she said.

Her answer silenced him for a moment, "all right, you know a name, probably heard some bleeding ghost story or old wives tale about the so called 'king of the vampires', but you don't know how powerful he is."

He crossed to her and put a hand on each shoulder and looked deep into her eyes, " you have to listen to me, this isn't just a vampire.  He's pure evil, he made a personal pact with the dark forces.  Every vampire in London is in hiding, even they're afraid of getting involved with him."

Her gaze never wavered, " not every vampire is in hiding," she said softly.

He dropped his hands and took a step back, " I didn't want to … I couldn't …bloody hell, " he said turning away.

He shook his head from side to side, " you can feel the evil, it pulls you, it…"

She interrupted him, " you can sense him?"

He sighed, " it's how we know when and where to hide."

"Can you tell how far away he is?"

He became agitated, ' every time I feel it, I go the other way.  I don't walk I run.  You should do the same bloody thing."

Willow pulled on her coat and picked up the bag.

"I understand, I just hoped that you might be able to give me some idea of where to start looking."

"I can't …"

She opened the door, " I'm sorry William, I shouldn't have asked."

"Hold on, " he said, ' I didn't say I wouldn't go, I just said we shouldn't go."

She smiled and crossed into the corridor.

He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper he'd written the words that made up the last item on the Ripper's list.

Glancing at it, he almost called her back.  Should I tell her what it means, he thought remembering the old bookseller's translation?  Would it change her mind?

"William, the cab is here, ' she called from the stairs.

He shrugged and shoved the paper back into his pocket and followed her.

~~~*~~~

It took an hour of crisscrossing the narrow East End lanes in a thickening fog before he felt the Prince's presence.

He directed the cab through a series of increasingly mean streets toward an especially dismal quarter then called out for the cabby to stop.

A few moments later, they were walking through the fog along a deserted street.  They were careful to keep to the shadows cast by the tenements on either side.

"How close are we? " she whispered.

"Too close, " he said hoarsely.

He took her arm and pulled her into a small cobbled square.  He pointed toward a street entering the square about fifty feet away.

He put a finger to his lips.

She strained but heard only the faint noise of passing traffic on distant city avenues.

Gradually, she could hear a regular clicking sound.  The sounds resolved into footsteps.  They approached at a measured pace as if their maker was out for an evening's stroll.

"My child, where are you?"

The voice caused them both to jump.  It was very deep with a slight accent.

"I know that you are there, I have a bond with all my children."

The voice had an almost humorous tone, as if the speaker were party to a secret joke.

The steps halted, " you've brought someone with you, and not just anyone.  No my child you've brought me a witch."

Willow and her companion pressed themselves against the damp brick.  The gaslight turned the thick London fog a dirty yellow in the seedy square.  She could hear measured steps approaching.  He was stalking them now and he was in no hurry.

A large figure was silhouetted against the gas light across the square.

"My quest is complete, you've brought me the final piece."

Willow's thoughts went back to Wesley's uncertain translation of the last item on the Ripper's list, 'magical life essence'.

As she reached for her bag, she felt strong arms circle her pressing her arms down to her sides.

She looked up into the yellow eyes of Spike's game face.

"I tried to warn you, " he whispered.

"Yes master, " he called out, " I have it here, the final item, a witch's heart.

~Part: 11~

Willow was in shock and couldn't react when Spike released her arms.  She never saw the punch aimed at her chin.  Her head filled with stars that winked out one by one on the way to total blackness.

She recovered consciousness slowly.  Her head was ringing and her jaw was sore.  She tried to move and realized she was bound to some flat surface.

When she opened her eyes, it took a few moments for her eyes to focus on her surroundings.

She was in a large room lit with flickering candles that barely held off the shadows.  She felt a cold draft and realized she was now dressed much more lightly.  She wriggled a bit and craned her neck.

She was dressed in a long black gown made of some thin material, perhaps silk.

She blushed momentarily wondering who had changed her, then reminded herself that a little embarrassment was the least of her worries.

Hearing steps approach, she closed her eyes.

"So you're with us again little witch, " a deep voice said.

"I must apologize for my child's impetuosity.  There was no need for such physical measures. I'm certain that I could have convinced you to accompany us.  Although, in his defense, I'm sure that he meant well."

She could feel his presence as he stood next to her.

With an involuntary movement, she opened her eyes.

He was very tall with dead white skin.  His face was lined with age but his hair was glossy black.  Then her eyes slid across his face and settled on his eyes.

The pupils were huge and a dead dull black.  She felt as if she were falling into them, she tried to look away, but she couldn't move.  She saw his mouth curve into a mirthless grin showing an unnatural number of pointed yellow teeth.

"Do you feel it witch?" he whispered leaning down to her.  "This is the real power in this world.  Against it your spells and potions are nothing but a child's feeble attempt to thwart the night's darkness."

Willow fought to speak, but couldn't move her lips.  She tried to look away, but her eyes were fixed on his.

"Trying to resist, how courageous.  Do you really think any mortal can resist?"

Her mind seethed with anger, but she could do nothing.

He sighed, " I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but I suppose you need a small demonstration."

He lifted his left hand and her hand followed it.  He nodded and she nodded. He paused with an evil grin.

"Come here my son, " he said gesturing to the shadows behind him.

Spike approached slowly and stopped when the other silently held up a palm.

"Little witch, my powers are not limited to parlor game tricks.

"Look at my child, ' he said.

Her eyes swung to fix on Spike.

"He is a very handsome boy is he not, ' he said softly nodding his head.

Her head moved in unison.

"I think you are attracted to him, I think you want him more than anything else in this world."

Her heart began to pound, her mouth opened and she licked her lips.  Her breath came in short bursts.  Her body was on fire, she was burning for him. She wriggled her hips trying to get some relief.  She could feel the dampness at her core.  She began to whimper, she didn't think she could stand it for another moment.

He laughed and passed a thin black nailed hand across her face.

Her body stopped yearning as if a switch had been turned.

He chuckled and walked away.

She finally had a chance to look at Spike, he was no longer in game face but his expression was impenetrable.

She saw him steal a glance at his watch then turn to his 'Master'.

"Prince, Spike asked, " what can I do?"

"First, " he said lashing out with a vicious backhand blow, " gaining some humility would be in order."

Spike picked himself up, " Master please I know your plans are beyond my understanding, forgive me."

""That's better, you see the witch's heart is precious to me. My plans for London depend on carrying out the ritual.  The others were merely cattle and sheep to be butchered for their necessary parts.  They laid the foundation for the crowning sacrifice."

He turned toward Willow.

"The mortals had no chance.  You see witch, I am the eldest of the immortal blood demon clan.  We of the first generations are the true sons of darkness."

"Compared to these pitiful imitations, " he gave a disdainful look at Spike, " we are invincible.  His sort tremble at wolfbane, garlic and crosses."

He walked to a large crate in the center of the room and swung open the lid, " we draw our strength from our native earth.  These mongrels have no home, no roots in the high dark mountains."

Willow spotted movement out of the corner of her eye, it was Spike returning his watch to his pocket.  He caught Willow's eye, but his expression remained unchanged.

"Witch, do you wonder what your sacrifice will provide?  Should I add to your misery by describing the evil you will contribute to?"

He showed his formidable teeth once again in his idea of a smile, " there lies deep down below this very spot a very special place.  Places like this are rare in the world.  Centuries ago I made a bargain at such a place.  With the completion of the ritual, a hellmouth where the demon and mortal worlds are one will open on this very spot.  Oh what evil I will do then!"

Again Willow noticed Spike's careful movement this time toward her.

The Prince's smile faded and he pulled his watch from his pocket and snapped it open.

He gave Spike an angry look and snapped it closed, " I should have snapped your neck on first meeting, " he snorted.

He walked to the crate, stepped into it and looked back, " keep the witch alive at penalty of eternal pain, I will complete the sacrifice after the sun has gone."

Willow watched in wonder at what happened next.

Spike grabbed Willow's bag and pulled out the bottle of holy water she'd packed.  With the same motion, he threw it toward the crate.  It smashed on the inside of the closing lid.  The lid fell with a bang.  Smoke poured through the seams of the crate along with a piercing scream.

Willow and Spike watched the crate shake and strain at its joints.  Finally the movement stopped and the room was filled with the odor of death.

Spike untied her and helped her up.  She rubbed her wrists and he massaged her ankles for a moment.

He reached up and gently touched her jaw.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't think of anything else to do.  I knew neither one of us could have stopped him then.  I just was trying to delay things and guarantee that I could stay with you.  I figured that if you were unconscious his highness wouldn't carry you himself. "

"My only idea was to delay him as much as possible and take the first opportunity to escape or kill him."

"I don't know how to thank you, " Willow said.  "You could have run or gone along with him."

He looked away, " I still owed you for the other night and I didn't much care for this unholier than thou attitude."

He grinned as he helped her down from the table, " and I wouldn't have missed the chance to undress you for anything."

~Part: 12~

"Shush, " Spike said to Willow.

He cocked his head and listened.  After a few moments, he crossed to a shadowy doorway.  She heard the sound of bolts being slid into place.

He came back to her, " I think we should think about getting out of here. The late Prince's associates are on their way and we don't want to be here when they arrive."

"But the sun, " Willow objected.

"Don't forget we're in London, " he said with a grin.

Willow went to a window and lifted the corner of the curtain.  She dropped it back and turned to him.

"I don't understand, between the fog and rain it could be midnight out there."

She gestured toward the crate where a few wisps of smoke could still be seen, " but why was he so anxious to be in there by sunrise if there wasn't any sun?"

"First generation had the power but there were strings attached.  He had to carry a little bit of the old sod with him and be sure to be in it by sunrise, " he explained.

He pulled her coat over her shoulders, " let's find a cab."

~~~*~~~

He helped her from the cab and up to the door.  With Martha leading the way, they entered Willow's rooms.

Martha helped her off with her coat and stood back for a moment, " I think the gown is a definite improvement over trousers, ' she said with a smile.

Willow nodded thanks.

"Will you be needing anything …… sir?" she asked.

"No thank you, I'm just going to get some rest, " she said slumping into a chair.

Spike followed Martha to the door and locked it after her, " just to be safe, " he said as he watched her disappear into the bedroom.

"Spike, " she called a few minutes later, " could you come here?"

When he entered the room she was standing next to the bed still in the dark gown.

She waved him closer.

When he was standing in front of her, she extended her arms to the ceiling.

"You did such a nice job putting it on, I was hoping you'd help me take it off, " she said softly.

He didn't hesitate but gathered the dress and slid the silk up over her head and let it drop behind her.  He put his arms around her and found her lips. She opened to his insistent tongue as they slowly collapsed onto the bed.

~~~*~~~

She slowly pulled her arm free and slid carefully away from him.  She dressed quickly in the male clothes they'd carried back from the Prince's house. Taking her bag, she made sure that she had packed all the things she'd brought.

She went to the sitting room and put the bag on the sofa.  She reached in and after a moment's searching withdrew a small wooden box.  She opened the lid and took out a few pinches of powder and a bit of dried flower.  She walked back toward the bedroom.

She stood in the doorway and watched him.  She knew she should be ashamed of herself.  She knew she couldn't have him in her own time, so she took what she could have now.

"Hell, " she murmured thinking of the last few hours, " it was damn well worth it."

She sighed and sprinkled the powder over the flower.  Holding it in her hand, she said a few words and the flower burst into a cold blue flame.  It flared for a moment and then was gone.

He couldn't have any memories of her, the chances for a real dislocation of her time was too high.  Because it was necessary, didn't mean it was easy.

She snatched her bag and crossed to the door, she stopped for a moment to drop her latchkey on a small table then left closing the door quietly behind her.

She found Martha in the front hall near the door.

"Something's come up and I have to leave.  My friend will be staying on for a while."

Martha frowned, " you'll not be coming back?"

Willow shook her head.

"Tis a real shame it is, I think the two of you …"

"No, it's not possible," Willow said.

"But I want you to have this, " she continued handing the woman the remains of her money.

"I couldn't, " Martha said when she saw the amount.

"I insist, " Willow replied.

She opened the door then turned back, " there's something you should know about my friend."

Martha gave a knowing smile and showed Willow the silver cross she wore around her neck, " I'll be careful, be sure that you are."

Willow hurried across the street and found the spot when she'd arrived.  She quickly unfolded the map, stood on it and dropped some black powder.  She calmly nodded to the old man standing next to his barrow as she disappeared.

~~~*~~~

Willow blinked, she was back in the hotel room in LA.  Cordelia was asleep in a chair a few feet away.

"Hi, " Willow called out softly.  Cordelia's eyes flew open and she sat up.

"You're back, ' she said, " are you OK?  Tell me everything."

Willow answered, " yes and later.

~~~*~~~

The next evening she pulled into her driveway.  He turned off the ignition. It had taken all she had to escape Cordy without telling her the whole story. Maybe later, she thought to herself, maybe never is more likely.

How was she going to be able to face him after all that happened back in London?  Could she go back to just being a friend and listening to him moon over the Slayer?

Hell no, she said to herself.

She walked to the door and let herself in.  She put the bag down by the door and yawned.  Glancing around the room, she noticed his duster draped over the back of the sofa.

Damn, I really don't want to see him tonight, she thought.

Spying a light in the kitchen, she tiptoed across the room and up the stairs. She slowly opened the door to her bedroom and closed it behind her.  She put her hand on the light switch.

"Is that you luv?  It's about bloody time Cordy called hours ago.  I left a few things in the kitchen if you were hungry."

She heard the bed creak, " I don't know if it's getting the new soul or moving in together, but I know what I'm hungry for."

A line from one of Giles' letters regarding time travel paradoxes came back to her, ' .. but there was some evidence that small changes to the travelers' lives did occur.'

She smiled in the darkness and began to undress, "small changes my ass," she said to no one in particular.

END
 

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