PROLOGUE - 2012

In a Sunnydale park, the trees shuddered and tossed from the wind that raged in the night. Dark clouds rumbled across the blackened sky and swallowed up the cold light of the full moon. Dust and debris danced in the howling storm, illuminated sharply by sudden flashes of lightning.

The thunderclaps which followed were deafening, yet their sound was drowned out by an unearthly, anguished cry that echoed up to the heavens.

Willow stood with her arms stretched out to her sides, her head flung back and her eyes squeezed shut as she released a tormented wail from the very depths of her being. Not since the night she had been turned, eleven years earlier, had she felt such helpless despair.

Her scream fully spent, she lowered her head and took in the terrible scene before her.

A few paces away, Spike was kneeling on the ground. Cradled in his arms was Buffy's lifeless body. Her blood coated his lips.

Rage coursed through the redheaded vampire's veins, and her body tensed with the desire to wreak bloody vengeance on her friend's murderer. She advanced slowly, yet with lethal determination. Spike released the dead Slayer and rose to meet her.

*****

PRESENT DAY - 2002

Buffy spun with lethal precision and kicked her demon opponent squarely on the chin. Well, as squarely as was possible for a Morgash demon. He staggered back momentarily but came at her again with dogged persistence.

The thing that Buffy hated about fighting Morgash demons was their flexible, elastic physique, which made it like fighting a bowl of jello. They just jiggled and rebounded, even from the most forceful blows. The real danger was in wearing herself out against their wobbly indifference.

If only she could bring the thing to its knees and get an open shot at its ears. Killing a Morgash demon was a lot like popping a water balloon. A sharp jab to the ears, where their outer membrane was thinnest, and they pretty much burst into a gooey mess.

Purple goo, to be precise.

Suddenly, Buffy glimpsed a blur of motion and her internal proximity alarm announced a vampire. Just what she didn't need right now.

Before the Slayer had a chance to drop Mr. Pointy from her sleeve, the blur of motion darted behind the Morgash demon and caused it to topple awkwardly to the ground. Without hesitation, Buffy pounced and stabbed her index fingers in its ears, then leapt back in an effort to avoid being splashed by the demon's viscous, purple insides.

No such luck on the Hellmouth.

"So much for those shoes," Buffy grumbled as she was sprayed from the knees down.

"At least your slacks can be machine washed."

Buffy turned to answer the vampire who had, for some unknown reason, helped her against the Morgash demon.

Willow smiled hesitantly. "Hi, Buffy."

The Slayer blinked back at her, surprised.

"Willow....hi...." Buffy replied awkwardly before regaining her composure. "Thanks for the help."

The redheaded vampire shrugged nonchalantly. "Knocking opponents off balance is kind of my specialty. I go for the unexpected approach."

"Whatever works, I guess," Buffy agreed, still uncomfortable. "Speaking of unexpected, what brings you to Sunnydale?"

"You." Willow was forthright with her explanation. "Giles is worried. He called Angel."

"And Angel sent you?" Buffy's voice was deceptively light.

"Angel and I discussed what Giles told him and we both had the same diagnosis. It was my choice to come. You and I need to talk," Willow explained.

Buffy dropped her eyes, unable to look directly at the vampire who bore her best friend's face. Too much had happened in the past few weeks for her to know what to say. And it didn't help that The Date was coming up.

This weekend would mark exactly a year since the day that Buffy had wished a living, breathing Willow a great time at a conference in L.A.

A conference from which her *human* friend had never returned.

The feeling of smooth, cool wood slipping into her hand made Buffy jerk her eyes back up to the redheaded vampire, who had pressed a stake into the Slayer's hand. Buffy gaped back at her.

"Of course, you could just put everyone out of your misery and stake me," Willow murmured calmly, "Although I'd prefer to talk."

Buffy froze, the stake clenched tightly in her hand and pressed dangerously against Willow's chest. She held it there for several moments, its sharp tip indenting the indigo blue tunic draped fluidly over the vampire's form. Willow remained motionless, not so much as blinking. Eventually, Buffy stepped back and let the hand that held the stake drop slowly to her side.

"Talking is good," Buffy relented.

"Bronze?" Willow proposed.

"Sure. Fewer distractions of the creepy ghoulish variety there than here," Buffy agreed, before adding awkwardly, "Um...present company excepted..."

Willow laughed. "No problem. Besides, sometimes creepy ghouls like to relax with hot tea."

*****

Willow felt strange sitting in a former hangout from her human past. She remembered how disconcerting it had been for her mortal self to learn of the ease with which vampires and demons mingled among the patrons of clubs like The Bronze.

Now, here she was, enjoying the view from the other side.

From the look that Buffy gave her across the table, the Slayer was just as uncomfortable as her vampire companion. Their drinks -- decaffeinated green tea for Willow, a non-fat mocha for Buffy -- sat untouched as they tried to think of the best way to approach the subject. At last, Willow simply decided to confront Buffy head-on.

"So...Giles said that you've been cutting yourself off from everyone, pushing them away. He's concerned for you."

"He shouldn't be. Compared to Glory, fighting your average vamp or demon has been a cinch. Things are fine," Buffy shrugged indifferently.

"That isn't what bothers him. Being a good fighter is okay when your opponents are *outside* of yourself. But something has turned you inward. And you're pulling away from everyone who tries to help you," Willow countered.

"I'm fine," Buffy said quietly, looking distantly across the room.

"Would this be 'fine' as in completely detached from the people who have always been your best source of emotional support and physical back-up in the world's most dangerous calling?" Willow chided wryly, "Because I'm not familiar with that definition of 'fine' in the dictionary."

Buffy's eyes snapped instantly to Willow and a lump rose in her throat. It was uncanny how much that remark sounded like the old Willow.

"Why do you care?" Buffy demanded softly, her voice catching slightly.

Without flinching, Willow replied, "The old Willow would have cared. I'm not so different from her, all things considered. And that's what's been bothering you, isn't it?"

People bustled in the background, laughing and raising their voices to be heard over the general din of the Bronze. Yet silence reigned at the table Buffy and Willow shared, as Buffy struggled to sustain her solid wall of strength against the cracks that Willow's comments had opened up. Demons, she could handle. Nothing unsettled the Slayer more than confronting her own insecurities when she didn't have the solution to them.

Buffy didn't know what to think anymore. Ever since she had been told of her mission as the Chosen One, Buffy had been drilled in the official doctrine that vampires were evil -- demons who had nothing in common with the humans whose corpses they animated. But the 'demon' who sat across from her possessed greater insight into Buffy's emotions than most of her friends. Just as Willow always had.

Buffy sighed. "That's only the tip of the iceberg."

The admission was cathartic. Tension drained from her muscles and she closed her eyes as she took a deep sip of her mocha. When she set her cup down and re-opened her eyes, she saw Willow watching her with a familiar, sympathetic expression that Buffy remembered from many a late-night heart-to-heart chat.

"Problems are never small on the Hellmouth, are they?" Willow mused.

With a thoughtful lift of the eyebrows, Buffy pursed her lips slightly and began to speak.

"It isn't you that I'm afraid of...it's me..."

The redheaded vampire waited patiently as Buffy furrowed her brow, searching for the right words to express the lingering frustrations that had caused her to withdraw from her friends.

"I feel like this has been building for a couple of years. Back in the beginning, when I first started slaying, it was so easy. Kill vamps, protect innocents. Never needed to give it a second thought. But after Angel...even Spike...and now you...I can't draw the line between good and evil so clearly. Me. The Slayer. The one with built-in signals for detecting the walking dead. I no longer accept what I always thought I knew. I wonder if this is why Slayers die young? We lose sight of our purpose."

"Or maybe you just learn to see more clearly," Willow suggested. "You've already beaten the odds, Buffy. You've done more than most Slayers ever have. You've even faced a hell god. I think in your heart, you still know your purpose, even if it isn't as simple as it used to be. What you've lost sight of is the reason you've been able to beat the odds: trusting a good team of friends."

"I can't involve them any more, Willow," Buffy murmured, a pained expression on her face. "It's too dangerous. I know it was dangerous before, when I really believed in what I was doing. But now that I have doubts...I just can't bring myself to put my friends at risk when I no longer know what I'm fighting for. They deserve to move on with their lives, a little wiser for the wear."

"Buffy, what has gotten into you?" Willow demanded softly. "Nobody else doubts your judgment. Why do you?"

"Because I can't even abide by the most basic Slayer principle!" Buffy retorted angrily. " 'Vampires are evil because they kill people, and they should be staked.' But it's not so clear as that... You kill people...you've made it clear that you don't intend to give it up...but there's so much of Willow in you that I can't just write you off as evil...I can't..."

Buffy rested her elbows on the table and massaged her temples with tight, frustrated fingertips. Willow looked on with empathy and waved off the waitress when she approached.

Finally, Willow stood and moved to Buffy's side. Resting a hand lightly on Buffy's shoulder, Willow said, "I know advice coming from me is hard to take right now. I could offer you the perspective of someone who has had plenty of chances to discover how many shades of gray there are between good and evil. But I think you should talk to Giles. He hasn't let you down yet, and I think it would be easier for you to hear it from him. Just don't...well...if you ever find that you want to talk to...me...give me a call. I'll come up."

With that, Willow left Buffy to confront her inner demons and walked out into the night. It would have been useless to try to push her further. They no longer had that kind of relationship; Willow was amazed that Buffy had even said as much as she had.

Maybe there was still hope.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a town like this?"

Willow smiled and turned in the direction of her lover's voice.

"The way I remember it, you drove me here," she answered.

"Under protest," Spike clarified as he strolled leisurely toward her. When he drew close he leaned down and brushed a soft kiss against her lips, rapidly deepening it into a hungry exploration of her mouth.

"Don't...seem...to be....protesting...now..." Willow managed to murmur around his tongue.

Spike inched his mouth away from hers and whispered against her jaw, "Figured you were done here and I could take you back for a special night on the town."

"Special?" Willow asked curiously.

Still encircling her loosely in his embrace, Spike pulled back far enough to look into her eyes and said, "You've an anniversary coming up, luv. Peaches bloody well won't *celebrate* it. Actually feels bad for you, the nonce. Thought I'd let you know you're appreciated as you are."

Willow stilled and her expression shifted from surprise to amusement and finally tender affection. "I don't know what to say. That's sweet of you, Spike...so...does this mean you're glad you didn't stake me?"

"Well..." Spike admitted slowly, reaching into the pocket of his duster, "...*this* does."

He handed her a small, black velvet pouch with a silk drawstring. Willow's soft lips parted as she stared at it in surprise, and then looked up at Spike. His eyes danced invitingly, urging her to end the suspense and look inside the pouch. With a shy smile, she loosened the drawstring and tipped the pouch's contents into her palm.

A smooth, ebony stone rested in her hand. Superficially, it resembled the stones used in the Japanese game of Go. But the minute it touched her skin, and Willow felt the power radiating from its surface into her flesh, she knew exactly what it was.

"A faroe stone!" Willow pronounced with reverent awe. "Spike, *how* did you get this? The last fifty demons who have tried to extract one from the Baku Hellmouth have--"

"I know," Spike interrupted, "Got sucked into other dimensions through the vortex. S'what makes 'em rare. Damned near impossible to grab. But there *are* twelve out in the world right now."

"And you got your hands on one..." Willow murmured.

"No, *you've* got your hands on one," Spike countered. "Took me awhile to think of something as unique as you."

Willow smiled and clutched the faroe stone tightly in her hand. It was precious indeed. Faroe stones were legendary for their power, forged by eons in proximity to a portal between dimensions. Almost any spell could be broken by one, although in the case of very strong magic the stone would be exhausted by one use.

"I'll save this for a rainy day," Willow promised as she leaned up to kiss her lover. After a brief yet intense union of lips and tongues, she drew away and whispered, "Thank you, Spike. You've made me feel special."

"You are...and I can make you feel lots of things tonight, luv...Ready to go?" Spike tempted her.

"Mm hmm," Willow's reply was muffled against Spike's lips.

*****

Spike's penchant for speed behind the wheel ensured that they made it back to Los Angeles by 1:00 a.m., leaving plenty of time for a night on the town. Willow had long since given up on warning him about the California Highway Patrol. In Spike's philosophy, being a vampire meant never having to worry about speeding tickets.

When Spike finally pulled his DeSoto into a parking spot, Willow recognized where they were and she smiled. They were in the upscale restaurant district where Spike had taken her on their first hunt together. Barely a block away, she spied the outdoor patio bar where she'd made her first kill with Spike.

Turning to Spike, she teased, "Going sentimental on me, Spike?"

"Going *lots* of things on you, luv, but sentimental isn't one of 'em," Spike retorted, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Down, boy..." Willow purred. "So, shall we?"

"Whatever my lady's heart desires," Spike agreed, raising her hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. Unable to stop, he kissed his way down to her wrist, which he licked and sucked with gentle persistence. Willow closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensation. She let out a gasp of pleasure when she felt his fangs sink into her flesh and his tongue lap at her blood.

"At this rate, we won't get any hunting done..." Willow hissed, her eyes flashing amber with arousal.

Spike chuckled and released her. "D'you know how deliciously responsive you are, little minion?"

"Let's do this quickly. I need to get you home," Willow proposed, wanting nothing more than to return to Spike's room and ravish him.

"Tsk, tsk," her lover chided her. "Patience, Willow. Indulge me."

Willow smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with a playfulness and innocence that a demon just shouldn't have. Spike crooked his arm and held it out to her. She looped her arm through it and let him guide her toward the patio bar. As they walked, Spike thought of the tantalizing contradictions about Willow that so enthralled him. His initial revulsion had long since been replaced by obsession with her paradoxical blend of characteristics: sweet innocence combined with a killer's grace. She had preserved the traits of humanity that drew vampires to their warm-blooded prey, yet she had gained a demon's fire. Spike found it intoxicating, and for the first time, he struggled with a nagging, secret regret.

If only he had been the one to turn her. To make her his.

They entered the restaurant and sought out a table in a shadowy corner of the patio. The waitress brought them a pitcher of sangria at Spike's request, which he seasoned with his own blood when no one was watching. Not to be outdone, Willow bit into her own wrist and let it bleed into the pitcher as well. When the two vampires took their first sip, the union of their blood was like an aphrodisiac.

A young couple caught their attention, and Spike lightly stroked the back of Willow's hand as they watched the human lovers. From the few snippets of conversation that Willow paid attention to, she gathered that the couple was celebrating the anniversary of their first date. She caught the interested gleam in Spike's eye, and knew that their plans for the evening had just taken shape. As they continued eavesdropping, Spike casually wrapped an arm around Willow and slipped his hand into the short sleeve of her top. Insinuating his fingers beneath the edge of her bra, he slid his palm over the plump swell of her breast and fondled her, gently rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger as they studied their prey.

When the man paid the bill and escorted his girlfriend toward the door, Willow and Spike followed. As the human pair strolled to an elegant hotel a few blocks away, their deadly shadows moved with them. Crossing through a lobby even more palatial and lavish than the Hyperion's, the man and woman entered an elevator and pushed the button for the twelfth floor. The man grew slightly wary when Willow and Spike stepped in, having noticed them at the patio bar. He shrugged it off as conceivable that other guests of the hotel would seek out the same nearby restaurant.

But when the vampires stepped off at the same floor as the human couple, Willow and Spike savored the hint of fear that the man gave off.

When the man unlocked the door to a suite and ushered his girlfriend inside, Spike struck. Hurling the man to the floor, Spike reached for the girlfriend and knocked her unconscious. Before the man could shout in alarm, Spike clapped a strong hand over his mouth and invited Willow to join him in draining the struggling human. Within minutes, his pale, lifeless body lay beside his girlfriend's on the floor.

Ignoring the humans at their feet, Spike looked around the luxurious suite and whistled. "A bloke could get used to a room like this. Gives me a few ideas about the lair..."

Willow stepped over the man's body and moved through the room, taking in every lavish detail. With the eagerness of a child, she kicked off her shoes to tread barefoot on the velvety-soft Persian rug that overlay the wall-to-wall carpet. She ran her fingertips lightly over the gauzy curtains draped around the king-sized bed. An antique, mahogany bar, meticulously restored, graced the far wall. Willow crossed to investigate, and Spike followed. When they opened it to peruse the collection, the blond vampire let out another low whistle and reverently pulled out a bottle.

"Bloody hell...Domaine Boingnères, 1974 Pur Colombard. Time to break out the snifters, luv," he purred as his eyes remained riveted to the deep amber liquid.

"What is it?" Willow asked, intrigued.

"Armagnac. Very, very good Armagnac, and a far sight better than the stock you'll find in the liquor cabinet of your average hotel room," Spike explained.

Willow grinned. "I never would have pegged you for a connoisseur, Spike. You've always struck me as the pint of ale type."

"No argument there," Spike agreed. "But when you've been around long as I have, you sample what's out there. Pretty boring, otherwise..."

He was about to pour them two glasses when a faint moan rose from the woman, who was regaining consciousness. Pursing his lips, Spike observed, "Looks like we finish the banquet first. Just as well, Armagnac is an after-dinner brandy."

Spike lifted the woman in his arms and carried her to the bed. He set her down, shed his duster, and then reclined comfortably with the woman propped against his chest. Crooking his finger, he fixed Willow with a come-hither stare. Smiling, she joined him. They lay facing each other, separated by the slowly reviving woman. Before she came to her senses, Spike and Willow kissed each other briefly and then dipped their heads to drink from her. Trapping her in a deadly embrace, they caressed each other's arms as they sucked her life away.

When they had finished, Spike shoved the corpse off the bed and pulled Willow flush against him. For the remainder of the evening, they explored each other's bodies with an intimate knowledge based on many nights in each other's arms. As familiar as they were with exactly which touches pleased the most, their lovemaking had yet to lose its freshness.

Again, Spike reveled in Willow's un-demonlike innocence. Even as a vampire, somehow she managed to shag like an eager virgin.

He hoped she'd never stop.

*****

Two nights later, Willow was still glowing from the decadent evening Spike had shown her on her "anniversary". She had gone without a kill for several weeks, and although the familiar twinge of regret had clouded her thoughts afterward, she couldn't deny how good it felt.

She paced in the courtyard, lost in thought.

Contrary to Spike's assessment of his sire, Angel *had* remembered the anniversary of her turning. Although it had been very low-key, what Angel had said had moved her deeply.

"I can't celebrate your death. I *will* celebrate everything you've accomplished this year, and wish you hope for the future. I didn't really know what to get you. If I could, I'd give you your life back -- any other gift seems insignificant. But, I hope you'll like this..."

Willow smiled to herself at the image of Angel offering her a bonsai tree. He had been so adorably awkward, but the symbolism hadn't been lost on her.

"Thank you, Angel...for this, and for all of your work at 'pruning' me this year..." Willow had laughed shakily, touched by his show of affectionate pride.

...which had led to a far more carnal display of affection...

Willow was still smiling over her memories when the telephone in Angel's office rang. It surprised her, since Angel's co-workers had yet to abandon their other location and return to the Hyperion. Calls usually went to the other office. Moving back inside, she crossed the lobby to the front desk and answered.

"Angel Investigations," Willow announced, dispensing with Cordelia's chirpy catch-phrase.

"Willow...it's Tara."

"Tara, hi!" Willow's voice brightened. "What's up?"

"Can you come to Sunnydale? Tonight, if possible?" Tara asked anxiously.

Willow grew concerned. "Sure...it might take me a little while to find Spike, since he's the one with the car. But, yeah, I can be there. What's wrong?"

"It's the Hellmouth."

*****

Within half an hour, Willow had found Spike at one of his favorite dives. After another ninety minutes, they stood before the magic shop. A light still shone further back in the store, and Willow knew that the gang was all there, gathered around various worn tomes of prophecies and spells.

Willow rapped on the door and waited, her keen hearing picking up the sounds of shuffling and movement. After a few moments, Giles came into view. He went as still as was possible for a mortal when he saw her through the glass. Although he quickly recovered his composure, Willow had spied the brief knitting of his brow and twitch of his mouth that betrayed an inner pain at seeing her.

He was the last of her human friends to confront her new incarnation face-to-face.

The reserved, bespectacled Watcher unlocked the door and held it open for his visitors. "Hello, Willow. It's been a long time... Spike...good evening."

"So, what's the emergency?" Spike demanded as he strode into the magic shop and glanced around in disgust. He was glad to leave the entire chipped, Scooby-helping epoch of his unlife behind him, and was none too keen on returning to a place that reminded him of how low he had sunk.

If it weren't for his redheaded enchantress, he wouldn't have come.

As Giles walked them back to where the others were waiting, he explained their current dilemma.

"About a month ago, there was a minor tremor in Sunnydale. We assumed it was an earthquake, although Tara said something about it felt strange...almost mystically disturbing. I thought nothing of it, until Buffy observed that the number of vampires and demons she encountered on her patrols had plummeted dramatically. Anya suggested that they had sensed a disturbance in the Hellmouth and had fled the area."

Willow frowned with concern. "Has anything else happened since?"

"No, but we've all been digging through the usual volumes to see if there is a prophecy that I overlooked, or any record of something like this occurring elsewhere," Giles sighed wearily.

They neared the research party seated around a table stacked with books, and Willow smiled as Tara looked up at her. The fair-haired Wiccan rose and came over to give her a hug. When Tara stepped back, Spike clenched his jaw and wrapped his arm possessively around Willow's shoulders. He *really* didn't want to be here.

Well...he wouldn't have minded the visit to Sunnydale if beating the crap out of these humans were on the agenda. But he'd taken a blood oath...

As if reading his thoughts, Buffy glared back from the far side of the table and asked, "What is *he* doing here?"

"He's with me," Willow explained calmly. "If I stay, he stays. If he goes, I go...Besides, you might need his help."

"Nice to see you, too, Slayer," Spike sneered. "Be even nicer to see you dead."

"Spike...you promised..." Willow pinched his ass in warning. He yelped, but abandoned his hostile stance. Outwardly, at least.

"If we'd only known. Pinch Deadboy Jr. on the ass and he shuts up," Xander quipped.

Anya shoved him and gave him her most displeased look. "Hey! No pinching anybody's ass but mine!"

Willow giggled. "Hi Xander, Anya."

Xander smiled back. "Hey, Wills."

"How is vampdom? It looks like it's done your wardrobe some good," Anya inquired blithely.

"Anya!" Xander chided her softly.

"What? She always used to wear those hippie, granola outfits. I think black looks much better on her," Anya insisted.

Willow laughed. "I have a lot of crimson and dark green, too."

"Oh, please! Can we get on with it, luv?" Spike whined impatiently.

Willow squeezed his hand sympathetically, and then asked Giles, "Why did you need us to come to Sunnydale? If you're looking for answers about what's wrong with the Hellmouth, I might have been able to help research in Los Angeles."

"Well...it was Tara's idea, actually," Giles confessed.

"Demons seem to be able to detect something, but they're not exactly willing to help the Slayer. I figured what we needed was...well..." Tara stammered awkwardly.

"A friendly demon?" Willow finished for her, grinning.

"Crikey, this is turning into a bad cartoon," Spike grumbled to himself. Willow ignored him.

"I'll try to help, but I should let you know that so far, I haven't sensed anything specific. There's definitely something wrong...I can feel that much...but I'm afraid that doesn't tell you anything you don't already know," Willow observed.

"We don't think other demons have sensed anything terribly specific, either," Giles acknowledged. "Just enough for their instincts to convince them to leave. But Tara thinks that the two of you might enhance your perception with a spell."

Willow raised her eyebrows and beamed affectionately at Tara. "Wow! Good thinking, sweetie."

"I got everything ready for the spell while we were waiting for you to get here," Tara said, blushing. "We could get started now, if it's okay with you."

"Sure, could you do Spike, too?" Willow suggested, thinking that they might as well avail themselves of his demon perception, too.

Her lover couldn't resist the opportunity to make a lewd remark. "What if I don't *want* her to do me, luv? I'm holding out for Hannah...almost got her persuaded, too...ow!..."

Willow's sharp elbow in his ribs silenced the blond vampire.

Tara briefly explained the spell and the two witches cast it. Willow and Spike felt their eyes burn as the spell took effect, then looked around the shop.

"Don't see anything different," Spike remarked.

"Let's walk around a little bit," Willow suggested, heading for the front door. The rest of the gang followed.

Holding hands as if they were out for an ordinary evening stroll, Willow and Spike proceeded down the sidewalk. They continued toward the cemetery. Several blocks before they reached it, both vampires stopped and gaped.

"Now we know where the bloody fire is," Spike muttered in awe.

"Yeah," Willow nodded, wide-eyed. "Big fire...very big fire..."

Snaking through the asphalt in the middle of the street was a jagged vein of energy. It looked like a forked bolt of lightning embedded in the ground. The rift meandered down the street as far as they could see.

"What is it? What do you see?" Buffy asked.

To the best of her ability, Willow described the disquieting scene before her. As an afterthought she added, "If I didn't know that Sunnydale isn't on a volcano, I'd say it looks a lot like an eruption."

"Can a Hellmouth erupt? Never mind, stupid question," Xander noted.

"You said there was something like an earthquake about a month ago. Could that have affected the Hellmouth?" Willow asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Giles replied. "Considering where it's located, there have been numerous occasions on which California's plate tectonics have disrupted normal activity in Sunnydale without provoking a reaction from the Hellmouth."

"Something else then...some other major disturbance of the Hellmouthy kind..." Buffy declared.

Willow frowned and racked her brains. A half-formed theory remained frustratingly beyond her grasp. At last, in a sudden flash of inspiration, it became clear. "Glory!"

The others jumped slightly, startled by Willow's outburst. The redheaded vampire continued. "Remember how she succeeded in opening the portal briefly before you killed her?"

Buffy nodded grimly. It wasn't a memory she cared to revisit. To close the portal, they'd had to kill Dawn.

True, they had revived her almost immediately afterward with CPR. But that temporary death, so necessary to stop the collapse of all walls between dimensions, had nonetheless been devastating for Buffy. She hadn't been prepared to look upon the lifeless body of her sister so soon after seeing her mother in the same position.

"Well, what if that portal put a strain on the Hellmouth? After all, the Hellmouth is a portal between dimensions, too. So, what if two portals aren't meant to be near each other? What if it's like plate tectonics...two portals collide and, boom, a fault line?"

"Willow...you may have something..." Giles breathed, his mind racing as he considered the ramifications of her theory. "Let's get back to the shop. If what you're suggesting is true, we need to find a way to repair the damage."

A tremor shook the ground, and Willow and Spike saw another thin crack snake off from the main rift of energy.

"Best be quick about it," Spike noted dryly.

*****

With a better idea of what to look for, Giles soon found a similar incident on the small Aegean island of Thera in 1450 B.C.

"Great, so how did they stop it?" Buffy asked.

"They didn't," Giles advised her soberly. "The strain caused a volcanic eruption, and over half of the island was obliterated."

"I'm thinkin' that's not what we want to happen here." True to form, Xander stated the obvious.

"Wait...I think I've found something..." Willow announced excitedly, looking up from her book. "We could channel the natural magic around the Hellmouth to reinforce it. Sort of a realignment of the supernatural balance..."

"That would be a pretty big job," Tara cautioned. "We'd need help."

"We'll call Hannah and Cyrene. With the four of us, I think we could handle it," Willow suggested.

"It's nearly dawn, luv. Won't be able to do this until tomorrow night," Spike reminded her.

"Oh...okay...well, we can call them and then find a place to stay," Willow conceded.

Xander, Anya and Buffy looked at each other at the awkward reminder of their friend's status. They had all been about to propose that Willow stay with them, until the realization that they would be inviting a vampire into their homes hit with full force. That made it painfully clear to each of them how far they had to go in adjusting to Willow's new persona.

Tara, however, had already made her peace with Willow's vampire nature, as the numerous bites on her neck attested. "You can stay with me. Both you and Spike."

"No funny stuff," Spike warned. "Hands off my girl...unless you're up for a threesome."

"Eww, mental image!" Xander protested.

"You don't like threesomes?" Anya frowned in disappointment.

Buffy looked profoundly uncomfortable.

Willow giggled. "He means thank you, Tara."

Willow made a quick call to Hannah and Cyrene, who sleepily agreed to drive up from Los Angeles later that day. Then, she bid farewell to the gang and turned to accompany Tara and Spike to Tara's apartment. Before she could go, Giles' hand on her shoulder made her pause.

"Willow...it's good to have you back..." came his quiet, heartfelt admission. More than once that evening, Giles had been struck by her dedication and her likeness to the old "research girl". He blinked back the tell-tale moisture in his eyes.

When Willow pulled him in for an affectionate hug, his resolve faltered and a solitary, salty drop slid down his cheek.

*****

The following evening, Hannah and Cyrene met the entire gang at the magic shop. The four witches made their preparations for channeling the natural magic of the surrounding environs. Cyrene told Willow that she had consulted her Druid friend in Brittany, Loïc, and he had suggested that they work in proximity to the oldest tree they could find.

"What is it with Druids and trees, anyway?" Spike wondered aloud.

The group made their way to City Hall, where a stately, ancient maple spread its branches far out over the street. Buffy, Giles, Xander and Anya were on hand to deal with any unexpected problems, so that the coven could concentrate its efforts on healing the rift.

Joining hands, Willow, Tara, Hannah and Cyrene invoked the Goddess and then focused on their link to the natural magic around them. The agitated vibrations signaled how greatly the fissure in the Hellmouth had disrupted the mystical balance. The four Wiccans let the magic flow through them, re-directing it, until they could feel the natural harmony restoring itself. They continued like that until, satisfied that they were successful, they released each other's hands and looked around.

"It's working," Spike observed, as he saw the jagged fork of energy slowly begin to knit itself shut. Willow let her eyes wander along the shrinking fissure and nodded in agreement.

"I'm beat," Hannah announced. "That was more intense than yoga."

"Want a neck massage, luv?"

"Stop fixating on my girlfriend's neck," Cyrene chuckled.

"Don't worry, I'll chaperone," Willow promised impishly as the group began walking back to the magic shop.

"Some chaperone..." Hannah giggled as Spike pulled both Willow and Hannah against him.

Xander, Giles, Buffy and Anya followed behind the trio, dumbstruck by their easy familiarity. Buffy slowed to walk beside Cyrene.

"Doesn't that bother you?" Buffy asked her, gesturing toward Spike and Hannah.

"I trust Hannah," Cyrene shrugged amiably. "She's having fun with a little experimentation. But I know her, and she won't let him get any further than a few bites."

Buffy's eyes widened in shock, and she managed to squeak out, "Oh..."

They walked together in silence for a few minutes before Buffy spoke again.

"Can I ask you a...kind of *personal* question?"

"Sure."

"Don't Wiccans have a code that involves doing no harm?"

"It's the center of our beliefs," Cyrene confirmed.

"Then how...why...?" Buffy stammered, having difficulty finding the right words.

"Why do we accept Willow as she is? Why do we welcome her into our circle?" Cyrene prompted with a smile.

"Something like that," Buffy confessed.

"There's more to Willow than just killing. To reduce her to no more than that would, in a way, be doing harm," Cyrene explained.

"Well...but...killing is a lot more serious than stereotyping someone," Buffy argued, frustrated.

"Yes...so, are you going to destroy every lion and wolf and rattlesnake on the planet?" Cyrene challenged with a bemused smile.

"That's different. Animals just kill to survive," Buffy protested.

"So does Willow. As vampires go, she's pretty restrained," Cyrene countered.

"But she kills *humans*..." Buffy persisted.

"I see...human life is sacred, whereas other forms of life aren't?" Cyrene observed calmly. "It's that kind of thinking, the belief that human beings are somehow above the rest of nature, that has gotten the world in such a mess. Life and death belong to the order of things. Willow is a part of that. We don't necessarily approve of what she has to do, but we welcome her in communion to remind her of the world she's connected to. If we didn't, what would prevent her from losing all sense of connection to humans, and amusing herself with cruelty like any other vampire?"

They had reached the magic shop, where the others were already inside relaxing. Buffy looked in and saw Willow laughing with Xander, Giles chatting with Tara and Spike, and the blond vampire massaging Hannah's neck. The Slayer felt confused and overwhelmed.

"Coming in?" Cyrene asked her gently.

"I...I need to think..." Buffy murmured, a pained expression on her face. As she backed away, Cyrene watched her go with a sympathetic smile and then entered the shop. She crossed to join Willow, Xander and Anya.

After a few minutes, Xander and Anya fell into playful bickering. While they were preoccupied with each other, Willow leaned over to Cyrene and murmured, "Thanks for everything you said to Buffy."

When Cyrene arched an eyebrow at her, Willow explained with a grin, "Vampiric hearing. I kind of listened in..."

Cyrene smiled back and squeezed her hand.

"Willow...I've been talking with Loïc about our coven...about you. He's told me some interesting things. Among the Druids, there are legends about the old times...way, way back. Loïc says there was a time when witches and vampires interacted with each other more freely. This rigid divide between an imagined, absolute Good and Evil came later, when the established Church drove out pagan practices. Loïc and I have wondered whether this created an enmity that hadn't existed before. Regardless of that, I believe that at one time, witches, vampires, and other mystical beings found a way to co-exist. I want to see if we can't re-capture the earlier ways...I know it sounds awful, like I had ulterior motives for forming a coven with you--"

"It's okay," Willow interrupted. "You don't need to apologize to a vampire for having motives that aren't a hundred percent pure. Mine certainly aren't. I've learned that *nothing* is that pure."

"Yeah...some of us haven't, though," Cyrene sighed, looking out the store windows in the direction that Buffy had wandered off.

Willow looked out as well, and then back at Cyrene. Giving her hand one, final squeeze, she said to the dark-haired Wiccan, "Thanks, Cyrene. For everything."

*****

Willow found Buffy in the cemetery, standing before her mother's grave. She approached and waited silently beside her former friend.

"Things change so fast," Buffy murmured at last.

"Yeah...they do," Willow agreed.

"I want to capture every moment and make it last, but I can't..." Buffy continued, her eyes glimmering. "I want to be able to believe that everything is as simple as it seemed when I was fifteen, but I can't. I want to keep everyone I love exactly the way they are, but I can't..."

Buffy sniffled, and a fat teardrop spilled over her eyelashes.

"But I can learn to accept good friends when they come along... because they don't come along that often...especially not friends like you..." Buffy finished with a shaky, tearful smile.

Willow didn't try to hold back her own tears. Even if Buffy's confession hadn't moved her, her ability to sense the Slayer's physical condition would have been her undoing.

They stood together, vampire and Slayer, in a cleansing embrace.

"Buffy, my dear," Willow chuckled, "This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

*****

2012

A long and beautiful friendship...

As she had so many times in the past decade, Willow and Spike strolled through one of the many Sunnydale parks to meet Buffy.

Willow enjoyed her bi-weekly visits to the old gang, whether to fight the latest supernatural threat churned out by the Hellmouth, or to make Xander and Anya's children, Jesse and Julie, squeal with glee at Halloween when she wore her demon face openly to take them Trick-or-Treating.

The kids never failed to return home in triumph with grossly-swollen bags of candy.

Of course, it hadn't all been easy. Willow's remembered the persistent demands from the Watchers Council to sever all ties with "the vampire element". Those demands had finally backfired on the Council. They had refused to listen to Buffy's account of the numerous battles she might have lost, and the times she might have died, had it not been for the assistance of Willow, Spike, and Angel.

And so, three years ago, Buffy had simply stopped communicating with them.

She dismissed their tirades about how "unnatural" her association with vampires was.

She even ignored a stern warning from the Head of the Council himself, Henry Lloyd, that she should think seriously about the consequences of "betraying" her calling as a Slayer.

Giles had continued to send reports on her activities for another few months, but he, too, grew so exasperated by his colleagues that he formally broke with them. Perceiving this as an opportunity to reassert their control over the renegade Slayer, the Council had sent a new Watcher to supervise Buffy.

They felt the cold slap of reality when they discovered that Willow had cast a bliss spell on him and locked him in his apartment with a regular supply of food, wine, and chocolates. He was recalled immediately, and afterward the Council left Buffy to her own.

So, the Council had learned its lesson.

Demons, however, had a far *flatter* learning-curve.

Willow smiled and shook her head in amusement at the familiar sight of Buffy standing, slightly out of breath, over yet another vanquished demon. Would they ever learn? She supposed that she shouldn't be surprised that a Vanteri demon would have attacked the legendary Slayer. They might exhale poison fumes, but they were stupid as dirt.

"Ow!" Buffy yelped, wincing slightly as she clapped her hand over her neck. Willow's smile instantly faded. She had felt the stinging pain as if her own neck had been pricked, thanks to her peculiar sensitivity to the Slayer. In horror, she watched Buffy stagger and drop to her knees. The Slayer's agony seared Willow's own body, and Willow fought to control her reaction.

"Buffy!" Willow screamed as she darted toward her fallen friend. Spike followed fast at her heels.

As Willow reached Buffy's side and dropped down to examine her, the Slayer looked at her with groggy, disoriented eyes and pulled a fine-stainless-steel needle out of her neck. A sickly-pale-blue tint was already spreading around the microscopic puncture wound, signaling the onset of necrosis.

A cold rage swept through Willow and she plucked the needle from Buffy's shaking hand. Focusing her powers on the needle, Willow spoke a single word, "venite", sending out a magical snare to capture and draw back the one who had fired the poison dart at Buffy. Whoever it was couldn't have fled beyond the range of Willow's powers.

Sure enough, the desperate shrieks of the assassin echoed from fifty yards away. They grew louder as the hapless man was pulled inexorably toward the clearing, until he came into view, clawing desperately at the ground and bucking in vain against the invisible force that held him.

"Spike!" Willow hissed, "Immobilize him, but don't kill him."

With a cold, predatory sneer Spike strode forward and seized the panicked human, who looked no more than twenty-five years old. Planting his booted foot on the young man's tail bone, the blond vampire pressed down until he heard the satisfying sound of snapping bone and agonized screams. Certain that he had damaged the man's lower back enough to render him paralyzed, Spike rested his boot menacingly against one of the man's shoulder blades and demanded coolly, "What poison'd you use?"

The man panted, his body wracked with pain, but refused to answer. His silence broke into a tormented howl when Spike stomped down and shattered his shoulder.

"Care to give it another go, mate?" He so enjoyed torturing humans, and normally couldn't do it in Willow's presence.

The man shuddered with dry heaves as his body went into shock from the pain. When his gagging ceased, he gloated weakly, "Doesn't matter if you know now. She's dead. There's no stopping it."

Losing patience, Spike grasped the man's right hand and snapped his index finger. Over the renewed shrieks, Spike growled, "Name. The. Poison. Or I'll rip this off and feed it to you."

"A-ambergris...Th-thalax venom," the man gasped. "No...known... antidote."

Willow felt a tear slide down her cheek. He was right. Even her faroe stone was useless, its power effective against magic but not ordinary human physiological reactions to a poison. And one of the very few spells it couldn't work was the reversal of time. So much power in her hands, and yet she was helpless!

Buffy was as good as dead.

And it would be painful. The Ambergris Thalax was a species of demonic viper. While harmless to vampires, its venom was lethal to mortals, even a Slayer, and it ravaged the body with a particularly gruesome death.

"No," Willow whispered in defeat, as she looked upon the painful grimace on Buffy's face.

"Willow..." Buffy rasped, "It's too late...I can feel it...but you can still help me."

"What?" Willow murmured.

"Let me die quickly...don't wait for the poison..."

"No!" Willow exclaimed, horrified. "Buffy, no...God, anything but that! I can't..."

"You'd be sparing me...Willow, please..."

Spike left the young man quivering beneath a gnarled oak tree and returned to Willow and the fatally-stricken Slayer. Stooping beside her, he fixed Buffy with a resolute gaze and said, "I'll do it. You've been a worthy opponent, Slayer. Not fit you should die at the hand of a coward."

Buffy smiled faintly before a fit of coughing wracked her weakened form. The blue tinge had spread over her neck and down one arm. Trying to steel her nerves, Buffy replied, "You did promise to make it quick for me, once."

"This wasn't what I had in mind...but I'm a man of my word," Spike answered grimly.

The blond vampire gently cradled the dying Slayer against his chest. Buffy looked to Willow one last time and grasped her friend's hand.

"Tell Angel...I love him..." Buffy implored, as tears glistened in her eyes.

Willow nodded, weeping openly and covering her mouth with one hand to prevent her despair from screaming forth.

Buffy looked up at the vampire who was about to make good on a fifteen-year-old offer. Summoning her last reserves of stoicism, she said calmly, "Thank you, Spike."

"It's an honor," he stated with conviction.

Letting his demon come to the fore, Spike tilted her neck to the side and caressed it with the reverence of a lover. He lowered his mouth to her vulnerable flesh and bit down swiftly, draining her life's essence. When her heartbeat faltered he pulled away, and both vampires stilled momentarily as they felt death settle over her body.

A second later, Willow exploded.

She surged to her feet and let out a cry of pure anguish. She staggered blindly away from Buffy and Spike, as if by turning her back on the scene she could undo everything that had happened. Her heartfelt rage manifested itself in a sudden, devastating transformation of the surrounding environment.

Trees shuddered and tossed from the wind that raged in the night. Dark clouds rumbled across the blackened sky and swallowed up the cold light of the full moon. Dust and debris danced in the howling storm, illuminated at sharp intervals by sudden flashes of lightning.

The heavens wept.

Rage coursed through the redheaded vampire's veins, and her body tensed with the desire to wreak bloody vengeance on her friend's murderer. She advanced slowly, yet with lethal determination. Spike released the dead Slayer and rose at her approach.

When she reached him, the blond vampire turned and walked in solidarity beside her toward the broken young man who lay paralyzed on the ground. He cowered up at them, knowing that he looked into the face of his own death.

Willow glared down at him and hissed coldly.

"You!"

The man shivered, numb with fear, yet he said nothing. Willow shoved him with her foot, flipping him onto his back like a helpless tortoise. She stared down at him and growled through clenched teeth, "Who sent you?"

He shook his head, silently hoping for a quick death.

His hopes were sorely misguided.

Willow crouched over him and sneered contemptuously, "You're obviously too stupid to plan something like this on your own. So...Who. Sent. You?...Do you need me to spell it out for you?"

She grasped the thin, navy cotton of the man's shirt and ripped it down the center. Placing a clawed finger on his exposed abdomen, the redheaded vampire made a torturously-slow incision. Blood welled up in the W-shaped cut, and Willow calmly sounded out each letter as she inscribed it in his flesh, ignoring the man's blood-curdling screams for her to stop.

"W....h....o....s....e...n...t...y...o...u...!...Oh, damn," Willow remarked coldly. "That last one was supposed to be a question mark. Didn't come out quite right. Oh, well...are you ready to talk yet?"

"Maybe he can't read from that angle, luv," Spike suggested, "Want me to pluck out one of his eyes and hold it closer so he can see the writing?"

"Be my guest," Willow agreed smoothly, narrowing her eyes at the look of abject terror that flashed across the man's face. She had a hunch that she was about to learn what she wanted to know.

"God, no! Please! Please just kill me!" he begged.

"Not bloody likely. Been too long since I've had this much fun maiming someone. 'Course, I could be persuaded to make a deal if you cooperate with the lady," Spike observed.

"The Council..." the man stammered as tremors shook him violently.

"What, the bloody Watchers? Slayer's one of their own..." the blond vampire retorted.

"No...not *theirs*...not since *she* came along..." the man wheezed painfully, glancing furtively at Willow.

Willow stiffened. Her eyes dulled as the guilt hit her. She should have anticipated this. How could she have been so *stupid* as to believe the Watchers Council would simply let Buffy go?!

For the love of mercy...she had been the cause of Buffy's death...

"Fuck it!" Spike snapped the man's neck in disgust, shoved the corpse aside and gathered Willow into his arms.

"It's all my fault..." Willow whimpered.

"Like hell it is," Spike countered sternly, "You're the best thing that ever happened to that girl, and you bloody well know it. Don't give them a victory over you, too...Deal with your grief in the time-honored tradition."

Willow looked up at him, tear-filled eyes questioning. He rested his forehead against hers and growled seductively, "Revenge."

Taking solace in Spike's strong embrace, Willow confessed bitterly, "I've never wanted so badly to kill humans. I want to get every last one of the bastards responsible for this."

"That's the spirit, luv," Spike chuckled.

A horrible realization settled in, and Willow pulled back slightly. "Spike...Angel doesn't know..."

Her companion nodded soberly. "I don't fancy telling him, but we've no choice--"

"No, that's not what I mean," Willow interrupted. "I mean that Angel wasn't warned about this by the Powers. Cordelia would have seen this coming in one of her visions, and Angel would have broken land-speed records to get here in time. Something is wrong..."

*****

"Cordy? Cordy! What's wrong?" Angel shouted in alarm as his Seer let out an unearthly scream and collapsed on the floor. "Wesley! Gunn! Dammit, get in here now!"

Angel's co-workers came running and found the dark vampire trying to soothe Cordelia as she lay curled in a fetal position, clutching her head in agony. None of her visions had ever been this painful.

"What happened?" Wesley asked.

"One minute we were talking, and the next she doubled over. She's been having trouble with her visions lately," Angel explained as he rocked Cordelia gently in his arms.

"I thought she hadn't been getting them," Gunn observed.

"No, they've been coming, but she said it felt like they were suspended just before she could see them," Angel clarified.

"Oh God!" Cordelia moaned, grimacing in pain.

"Sshh...shh....it's okay, Cordy...take your time," Angel reassured her.

"No! No, it's not okay! Angel, you have to go right away," Cordelia insisted in a near panic.

"Where, Cordy? What did you see?"

A sense of dread washed over Cordelia, and the blood drained from her face. "Oh no...it's too late..." she whispered.

"What is it?" Angel coaxed her to respond.

Cordelia looked at him mournfully, and her lower lip trembled as she said, "Angel...it's Buffy..."

*****

Rupert Giles was jolted out of his serene enjoyment of the latest Barbara Kingsolver novel by the frantic buzzing of his intercom. Setting aside his book, he crossed the spacious loft apartment he had remodeled over the magic shop and spoke into the device. "Yes?"

"Giles, it's me. Let us in," Willow replied.

How odd...her voice sounded strained. The ex-Watcher reasoned that it must be the poor quality of the intercom. "I'll be right down," he informed her as he pressed the button that released the lock on the main door.

Slipping on his shoes, Giles descended the stairs to the shop. Seeing Willow, he greeted her with a casual query.

"I hope you didn't get caught in that storm."

"I *was* that storm," Willow answered in a desolate voice. Something about her demeanor sent a chill through Giles, and he glanced over at Spike. A sickening pit formed in his stomach as he saw the body slung over the blond vampire's shoulder.

"Dear God...no..." Giles breathed in horror.

Spike fixed him with a solemn gaze, and then swung Buffy's lifeless body off his shoulder and laid it gently on a couch near the literature section. Giles walked toward her, dazed, yet unable to stop his feet. At last he stood over her fragile form, staring down in mute disbelief. He knelt down and brushed a few strands of hair tenderly away from her face. With a sudden jerk he hunched over, squeezed his eyes shut, and clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails drew blood from his palms.

She had held the dearest place in his heart. He had watched her grow strong and confident with the same pride that any father would have felt.

After a few moments, Giles recovered his composure somewhat, and drew in several deep, calming breaths. Bending over the body once more, he placed a reverent kiss on Buffy's forehead, and then stood up. Turning to Willow, he asked quietly, "Who did this?"

The redheaded vampire told him the horrible truth. "The Watchers Council. They sent an assassin. He used a poisoned dart..."

"Ambergris Thalax venom," Giles acknowledged, recognizing the symptoms. "But...the Council? Why?"

"That's the bloody $64,000 question, isn't it?" Spike drawled sarcastically.

"The assassin said it was because of me," Willow added.

"Here now," Spike chided her as he stepped close and gripped her upper arms gently. "Already told you that was rot. Slayer wouldn't want you to take the blame. She'd want you to go after 'em."

"Spike is right, Willow...What we need to figure out is who devised and...*executed*...this plan," Giles agreed. "First...though...we should let the others know."

There was silence.

"I'll call Los Angeles," Giles continued, steeling himself for the heart-wrenching task. "Angel will want to be here. And Mr. Wyndham-Price may be able to learn more about the Council's dealings. I doubt that any of my own contacts will be privy to much."

Spike wrapped his arms protectively around Willow and held her as Giles dialed Angel's number. The two vampires remained immobile and oblivious, shutting themselves off from everything except each other.

There was a greater measure of sorrow in Willow's thoughts than in Spike's, although Spike had meant it when he'd told Buffy that she was a worthy opponent. Over the years, they had arrived at a mutual tolerance for Willow's sake. And as the longest-lived Slayer on record, Buffy had earned the blond vampire's respect. Spike felt that a fellow fighter had at least deserved to be bested by a superior opponent, rather than killed by treachery.

Willow was devastated.

Neither she nor Buffy had been naïve enough to think that they could recapture the friendship they had shared when Willow was human. But over time they had built a different kind of friendship -- one that had outlasted their friendship while Willow had still been alive. Contrary to everything in their respective natures, they had relied on each other, confided in one another, and shared an unshakable trust. Willow felt like a part of her had been amputated.

She was shaken from her sad thoughts by Giles, who approached them and reported on his conversation with Wesley.

"Mr. Wyndham-Price said that Angel left twenty minutes ago. Apparently, Cordelia did have a vision. That's the strange thing, though."

"What?" Willow prompted him.

"Well, for the past week or so, Cordelia has felt...blocked, for lack of a better word. She described it as feeling that a vision was hovering at the edge of her perception but not reaching her. She would have momentary glimpses of images, but lose them before she could make any sense of what she'd seen."

Spike let out a low whistle. "Think it was some sort of spell?"

"It might have been. But to interfere with sendings from the Powers That Be...it would take magic stronger than I can comprehend..." Giles conceded.

"Even the combined efforts of my coven couldn't have pulled off something like that," Willow observed grimly.

"All that to keep my sire at bay," Spike muttered, dumbfounded by the lengths the Council had gone to.

"They didn't want to take the risk that he might save her," Willow growled as her anger mounted. "They knew he would have, if he'd found out in time."

"Willow," Giles interjected delicately, "That might not be the best point to dwell upon when Angel arrives."

"No, it won't," Willow acknowledged. "Just seeing her will destroy him. I don't want to think of what will happen when he learns who was behind this."

Spike locked gazes with Giles, deadly serious.

"Better clear out any breakables while you can, Watcher."

*****

The door to the magic shop flew open.

The only reason that it hadn't been ripped from its hinges was that, at Spike's suggestion, Giles had unlocked it in anticipation of Angel's arrival.

Willow and Giles had spent the intervening hour and a half making the phone calls that no one ever wants to make. Willow had contacted Anya and Xander, and was grateful to the ex-demon for steadying Xander as his sobs grew increasingly hysterical. It was agreed that they would wait to join the others until the following day, since the makeshift wake was no place for children. Meanwhile, Giles had called Dawn in San Diego, where she was currently in medical school. Their conversation had been brief, as Dawn wanted to make arrangements to return to Sunnydale as soon as possible.

The last member of Buffy's intimate circle strode into the magic shop. Without so much as acknowledging the others present, he went directly to where the Slayer's body rested on the couch.

Angel stood, rigid as a statue, and gazed upon his beloved.

Slowly he sank to the edge of the couch and gathered her frail form into his arms. Rocking her gently, he stared at her face and let the tears flow freely. Their lives had been so busy during the past few months...the last time they had spoken, it had been a brief update about his latest case, her latest demon slaying...routine news about work. Damn it! It wasn't supposed to happen this way! They were supposed to have the chance to say good-bye...

A sad, persistent inner voice chided him.

This was how it always happened.

As one who had caused so many abrupt deaths himself, he should know better.

<Death waits for no one...>

He didn't hear Giles pull the shades in the store-front windows or hang a hand-scrawled sign in the door informing the public that the store would be closed for the remainder of the week. Nor did the dark vampire notice when Willow and Spike sat down at a nearby table, silently joining him in his vigil. Nothing broke his reverent gaze, nor interrupted the flow of memories that bombarded Angel as he cradled his first true love, and the greatest warrior he, or the world, had ever seen.

Daylight began to filter through the gaps between the shades and the windows, but didn't reach far enough into the store to pose a threat to the vampires who sat in somber shadow. The morning wore on. Periodically customers rattled the door, as if they were incapable of reading the clearly-marked sign. And still it was quiet as a tomb, while the living and the dead kept watch over their fallen friend.

Shortly after noon, Angel broke the silence.

"Spike...your mark is on her throat," the dark vampire observed softly.

"Coup de grace," his childe explained. "I drained her, but I didn't kill her."

For the first time since he had entered the store nearly ten hours earlier, Angel looked away from Buffy's face and turned his eyes toward Willow and Spike, awaiting an explanation.

"Buffy was poisoned by a hired assassin of the Watchers Council," Willow informed him.

Angel's eyes narrowed.

"*What*?!" he demanded.

"I spoke with Mr. Wyndham-Price just after you left," Giles added. "He's endeavoring to uncover any information he can about those who were behind this."

An enraged snarl broke forth from Angel's mouth. All semblance of control lost, his demonic face emerged as he rose from the couch.

"She was the best Slayer on record, and your organization took her out? What purpose could that possibly serve?" Angel spat angrily as he stalked toward Giles.

Willow and Spike hastily interposed themselves between the former Watcher and Angel. Spike struggled to hold his enraged sire back, while Willow shielded Giles with her body and attempted to make Angel listen to reason.

"Angel, no. You can't blame Giles for this. He cared about Buffy as much as any of us."

Giles stared back at Angel, matching his glare with an equal measure of barely-suppressed rage. "The Watchers Council ceased to be *my* organization the minute they decided to murder Buffy."

The standoff lasted only a few moments more before Angel regained his composure and resumed his human face. Spike relaxed his hold and let his sire step free.

"I'm sorry, Rupert," Angel muttered weakly.

Giles exhaled the breath that he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. "No harm done...but...perhaps you might care to take advantage of the training room while I call your colleagues in Los Angeles to see if they've learned anything."

Angel's jaw clenched as he considered the offer. Spike caught his eye, knowing exactly what his sire needed.

"Let's you and me go a round, Sire," the blond vampire offered.

Angel nodded. The tension that coiled inside him had almost reached the breaking point. Stiffly, he headed toward the training room, followed by the childe who, for all his rebellion, still showed a loyalty to Angel unmatched by any other.

With the exception of Willow.

As she watched her companions leave, Willow spoke up. "Angel..."

Her mentor paused and turned bitter, mournful eyes to her.

"Buffy asked me to tell you that she loved you. Her last thoughts were of you."

For a moment, Angel said nothing. There were no signs to reveal that he had heard her at all, until Willow caught a glimmer of moisture hovering at the rim of his eyelid. As he turned to continue toward the training room, he acknowledged in a strained, broken voice, "Thank you, Willow."

Her heart went out to him. She felt no jealousy at the strength of his emotions for Buffy, only sorrow. Willow had long ago reconciled herself to the fact that Buffy was burned into his heart with a greater permanence than his own soul. But she harbored no petty rivalry toward Buffy, knowing that for the past decade, she had enjoyed what Angel couldn't let himself share with Buffy, precisely *because* he loved Buffy so much.

His touch. His passion. His longing to be held tenderly in someone's arms. It was difficult for him to share this with Willow and maintain his control. It would have been impossible with Buffy.

Willow shook herself out of her mental wanderings. There would be time enough for reflection. Right now, she had a friend to avenge.

The redheaded vampire listened while Giles spoke with Wesley on the phone. When it became clear that all of Wesley's inquiries had come to naught, Willow stationed herself at Giles' computer and set about trying to hack into the Council's database. When Angel and Spike returned, tattered and bruised, from the training room an hour later, all of her efforts had been unsuccessful. The Council had covered its tracks very carefully.

"Bloody hell!" Willow cursed, her long-time association with Spike showing. "There's nothing! Short of draining every single Council member, we might never get the ones who killed Buffy."

"That such a bad idea?" Spike gave her a sinister arch of the eyebrow.

"I'm in," Angel stated flatly.

Willow's eyes widened. "Angel...you're not serious? You haven't killed in cold blood since...since..."

"Since the Powers gave me a chance at redemption by fighting the good fight. I know the drill, Willow," Angel growled bitterly. "But sometimes fighting the good fight doesn't get the job done. Either the Powers aren't *able* to protect their own, or they aren't *interested* in doing it!"

Just as Angel's tirade was escalating, there was a blinding flash and a shining, translucent figure stood before them. It looked like a Greek youth draped in classical garb.

"Champion," the figure addressed Angel. "You are called."

With no further words, the figure vanished and Angel collapsed to the floor.

As Willow knelt anxiously beside Angel's unconscious form, Spike remarked dryly, "Guess somebody heard him."

*****

Angel found himself suspended in a field of stars. He felt no ground beneath his feet, but he didn't feel as though he were floating. He couldn't really feel anything at all. The youth who had summoned him was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, Angel thought he might be dreaming.

Then a voice drifted close to his ear.

"A sacred covenant has been violated."

Before Angel could defend himself for what he had said in anger, the voice interrupted him.

"Your words were foolish and presumptuous, but it is not that which concerns us. The Slayer's death was not ordained in this manner. Seven of our servants have tampered with the fabric of fate."

Even as questions formed in Angel's mind, the voice anticipated them and began explaining why, for the first time, the Powers had reached out to him directly.

"For your pain, you are to be granted what mercy we can offer. But we need an instrument to right the wrong..."

*****

Willow, Spike and Giles watched as Angel's body jerked and his eyes snapped open. Slowly, he pushed himself up, rested on his knees momentarily, then rose powerfully to his feet. He gazed back at his companions with a cold, determined smirk. Something about his expression, and the intensity that seemed to ripple off of him, made Willow shiver.

"Angel, are you okay?" she asked.

"Never better," the dark vampire replied in a low, silky growl.

Giles, like Willow, sensed danger in the air. Trying to maintain his veneer of calm, the Watcher inquired, "What did the Powers say?"

Angel's smirk widened into a predatory grin. "The Council is to be scourged."

Spike had been unsure about the familiar signature that had assaulted his senses when his sire first awakened, but that statement eliminated all doubts. The voice...the words...it could only be...

"Angelus."

"Nothing gets past you, does it, boy?" Angelus winked at his childe.

"Dear God," Giles breathed as he backed away.

"Miss me, Rupert?" Angelus chuckled. He noticed Willow step closer to Giles, as if to shield the Watcher from the sadistic demon who once had tortured him. "Don't bother, kid. If I was going to kill him, you couldn't stop me. As it is, Rupert isn't on my agenda."

"How'd you get out? The Poof was as far from happy as it gets," Spike quipped, drawing his sire's attention away from Willow.

"Would you believe 'time off for good behavior'?" Angelus suggested coyly.

"Not bloody likely," Spike snorted. "But 'designated Angel of Death', that I'd believe."

Angelus's eyes burned into his childe's. "You know me well." Shifting his gaze in order to address all of them, the dark vampire explained. "Seven members of the Watchers Council conspired to kill off their own Slayer. They knew Soul Boy could stop them if one of Cordelia's visions warned him in advance. So they dredged up a *very* ancient spell that prevented the Seer from receiving visions from the Powers. That, not even the Powers can forgive. That's where I come in."

"Poetic justice," Giles breathed. "You're the worst the Council has ever known. The Watchers Chronicles are full of horrific accounts of your deeds, but record only a single occasion on which you were defeated in combat...by the very Slayer they murdered. And for that, the Powers have unleashed you."

With a deadly smile that bared his teeth fully, Angelus confirmed, "I've been given carte blanche over the seven Council members responsible for the Slayer's assassination, with one condition: They all die."

"Brutally," Spike added, with a tremor of delight in his voice. This was a chance to slaughter alongside his sire once again, to leave a path of devastation that would become the stuff of legends... Hell, he hadn't been this excited about anything in a long time.

"Just like old times, Spike," Angelus affirmed, his stance and demeanor mirroring Spike's thrill at the prospect of violence.

"So when do we leave?" Giles asked solemnly.

"Have to get an overnight flight, 'less the Powers want vengeance to wait three weeks while we book passage on a bloody cruise ship," Spike observed.

"And who said you're going with us, Rupert?" Angelus growled dismissively. "You're not cut out for the kind of scourge I have in mind."

Giles removed his glasses, strode toward Angelus, and glared coldly at him. It was clear that Ripper wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"Try me."

Before the two males could take their aggressive posturing any further, Willow interrupted.

"We leave as soon as I'm ready."

Angelus sneered, "You think the Powers put *you* in charge of exacting vengeance, little girl?"

As intimidating as Angelus was when he unleashed the ruthlessness that had made him the Scourge of Europe, Willow was no longer the frightened minion of eleven years ago. She wasn't yet a master, but she had enough fortitude to stand up to him.

Setting her jaw, Willow retorted coolly, "I think I'm the one who can get us there. No planes or boats necessary. Just one phone call to my coven."

"If it's the spell I think you're thinking of, you haven't tried that one in over ten years. Sure it's safe, luv? This'll be more than a chip," Spike asked, concerned.

"How touching," Angelus muttered sarcastically. Spike shot him the look of death, while Willow ignored him, choosing instead to reassure Spike.

"That's why I'm calling for reinforcements. Besides, this is the fastest way for us to travel without having to worry about the sun, and I suspect we're on a tight schedule."

"You think the Council is already preparing to face us?" Giles speculated.

"They have to have anticipated some kind of retribution, although I doubt they know that the Powers have given us their blessing," Willow explained. "But what I meant was that I think Angelus has a time limit."

All eyes turned to the dark vampire, whose sullen expression revealed that Willow had hit the mark.

"We have ten days," Angelus confirmed. "So there's no time to waste. I intend to spend every minute of it torturing seven humans, with the Powers' seal of approval. Make your call."

As Willow moved to the phone behind the counter, Giles stammered, somewhat perplexed "But, Willow, how did you know?"

"About the expiration date stamped on Angelus?" Willow replied, arching her eyebrow coolly at the dark vampire. When Giles nodded, she continued. "The Powers might have their reasons for tapping Angelus as their instrument of retribution, but I can't see them trusting him. A deadline would be the only way to keep him focused on the task at hand. Well, a deadline with some clear threats about what would happen if he blew off the assignment."

"True, I have a timetable." Angelus crossed toward her slowly, his pace measured, deliberate, and deadly. "But as long as I get the job done, they'll overlook any incidental kills along the way..."

Angelus paused just long enough for his full meaning to sink in, before he mused, "Xander should be stopping by to pay his respects soon, shouldn't he? Wonder if he'll bring the kids..."

Willow glared at him. "Enough, Angelus."

"Don't taunt me again. I may not be here for long, but you'd be amazed at the damage I can do."

She nodded at him curtly, then turned away and dialed Cyrene's number. After a few rings, her friend and coven sister answered. Willow explained the situation, including her need for the coven's assistance with a spell to transport three vampires and one human all the way to London. However, she was caught off guard by Cyrene's reassurance that she, Hannah and Tara had already started their preparations.

"How did you know?" Willow murmured in disbelief.

"Loïc called us from Saint-Brieuc. He felt something. He said it wasn't entirely clear, but he knew that his help would be needed for a spell involving travel across great distances. We thought it might be you, but never guessed you'd be taking a couple of vampires and a Watcher along for the ride," Cyrene informed her.

"Loïc felt something?" the redheaded vampire repeated, somewhat surprised that their Druid friend had been drawn into this.

"Yes. He's not a Seer, but he suspected it was a message from higher beings. It's something he's experienced a few times before. And it's just as well. We'll need his help to be precise across such a vast space. With four of you traveling so far, we'll be lucky to manage with only five of us sending."

It took a moment for Willow to recover from this latest development. Apparently, the Powers meant business. "All right, then...how soon can you be here?"

"Another five minutes and we're out the door. Give us about two hours after that."

"Thanks, Cyrene," Willow sighed.

"Sister..." Cyrene added gently, "I always told you that the rigid separation between Good and Evil was a human distortion...that in the past, witches and vampires often found common cause. Somehow...I always knew this day would come. I'm only sorry that it had to be... well...I'm sorry about Buffy."

"Thank you..." Willow shuddered as new tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "We'll be waiting for you."

Willow set down the phone. With her back to the others, she leaned against the counter and took a few moments to compose herself, wanting to show as little weakness in front of Angelus as possible. When she felt calm, she approached Giles, who had been calculating the difference in time zones between California and Britain to determine an arrival window that would be safe for the vampires.

"Giles..." she murmured softly.

"Hmm?" he replied, not looking up.

"Are you sure that you want to come with us?"

The former Watcher paused and turned warily toward Willow, unsure of her intent. She continued.

"There's no turning back, once we do this. I doubt it's something the Watchers Council will ever forget. While that means little to Angelus, Spike or me, it could cut you off for the rest of your life. I know how you feel about them now...believe me, I want to hate all of them. But the Powers made it clear that only seven were actually involved...in time, there might be cause for you to work with a new-and-improved Council. Not, however, if they associate you forever with Angelus and with their own scourge, no matter how deserved it might have been."

An enigmatic half-smile played over Giles' lips and he lowered his gaze thoughtfully. When he brought his eyes back to Willow's, his reply was steady and determined.

"I appreciate your concern, Willow. I realize that the consequences of our actions will weigh more heavily on me than on the rest of you. But I need to be a part of it. You aren't the only one with a...dark side...caged up. Mine has been provoked, and if I pass up my opportunity for justice, it will rage within me until it drives me mad. I ask only one favor of you."

"What?" Willow prompted.

"If ever you think I need it, remind me who I am. I have less experience than you with re-establishing control when my darker side has been free to indulge its passions."

"I think I can help you out with that," Willow promised with a smile.

*****

By the time Hannah, Cyrene, and Tara arrived, extensive plans had already been set in place. Buffy's body had been moved upstairs to Giles's apartment when Willow grew uncomfortable with the looks Angelus had given it. Giles had placed Dawn in charge of the funeral arrangements, then called Xander and Anya to suggest that they wait to come to the store until the next day. When he explained the presence of Angelus and their impending departure for London, the mere mention of Angelus was enough to persuade Xander to keep himself, and the children, well away.

Willow made arrangements over the Internet for an apartment they could use as a base camp. A fifty-thousand pound bank account she created ensured that an agent would meet them with keys -- would wait all night, if need be.

Meanwhile, Angelus had given Giles the names of the seven Council members they were to eliminate.

Henry Lloyd, Head of the Council.

Charles Watson, Demonologist.

Thomas Lytle, Head Archivist.

Margaret Austen, Acquisitions.

Fiona Leary, Head of Prophecy Research.

Andrew Barnes, Council Member.

Winston Barnes, Council Member.

Giles had noted grimly that the names belonged to some of the most influential members of the Watchers Council. Lloyd had been Head of the Council for close to twenty-three years. The Barneses, father and son, came from a family of Watchers that went back eight generations.

The very heart of the Council. If it had a heart; at any rate, the Old Guard.

Giles was in the middle of recounting what he knew about each individual when Willow's coven sisters arrived.

After greeting her, Hannah, Cyrene and Tara encircled her in a collective embrace, surrounding her on all sides with compassion and the calming influence of natural magic. The mood was broken by a snide remark from Angelus.

"How girly."

The women drew apart and Cyrene shot a disdainful look at the dark vampire. Electing not to dignify his mocking words with a response, she said to Willow, "We have everything we need. The ingredients are already mixed. If you're ready, we can get started right away. All I need to do is call Loïc."

Willow nodded. "The sooner, the better. If we leave now we should arrive at 1:00 a.m."

Giles gestured to the phone behind the counter, and Cyrene dialed the number for her Druid friend in St. Brieuc.

"Allo, Loïc? Oui, tout est prêt. Nous commençons maintenant...Du sang? Oui, on peut le faire, si tu crois...d'accord...au revoir."

Cyrene turned back to the others. "I told Loïc we were starting now, so he's expecting us. He'll feed the spell from his end, which should help ensure that you end up in London rather than Edinburgh or somewhere on the Continent. But he suggested that we strengthen our bond as added insurance."

"Blood?" Willow asked.

"Blood," Cyrene confirmed.

"I like the in-flight cocktail service already," Angelus chuckled wickedly as he eyed the human women with interest. Tara blanched, and Willow placed a reassuring hand on her arm. The redheaded vampire nuzzled Tara's neck until she relaxed. Willow then sank her fangs into one of the many bite marks she had made over the years, and drank. Spike drew close to Hannah and did the same.

"Shall we, sweetheart?" Angelus smirked and held his arms out to Cyrene. Narrowing her eyes, the tall, dark-haired woman walked silently toward him until her body was flush against his.

Cyrene offered her neck without so much as flinching, pulse and heartbeat steady, and whispered in his ear, "Ready whenever you are, Tough Guy."

Angelus growled in pleasure at her fearlessness. Shifting to his true face, he pierced her flesh and suckled hungrily at her neck. While he relished her strength of will, it didn't prevent him from delighting smugly at the barely-audible sigh she let out when he finally released her. If he weren't on a schedule, he would have enjoyed spending a few weeks mastering this one.

But that soft, fleeting sigh was the only sign that betrayed that Cyrene had been affected at all. Without pausing to recover, she extracted herself from Angelus's arms and went back to business. The coven's humans had begun sprinkling the powdered mixture in a wide circle on the floor. Willow joined them after she had finished drinking from Giles and arranging her companions in the center of the circle.

The four Wiccans closed themselves inside the circle with the others and, once all had joined hands, began their incantation. Power surged through them as the spell was achieved. The circle ignited in a blinding-violet flame of such intensity that the flash radiated out several blocks beyond the magic shop.

When the three human Wiccans recovered their sight, the travelers had vanished.

The trip was almost instantaneous for Giles and the vampires, although for a split-second, Willow glimpsed the blurred face of a raven-haired man surrounded by candles. It was the first time she had ever seen Loïc, although she hoped it wouldn't be the last.

The image faded quickly, and Willow found herself with her companions in the middle of St. James Park.

The deep tolling of a bell resounded in the air.

Spike grinned wryly. "Good ol' Ben. Welcome to London, boys and girls."

His bravado was lost, however, when the draining effects of the spell hit them, and all four collapsed to the ground.

*****

Although weary, they recovered before any unfortunate passersby noticed them.

Wanting to minimize their visibility, Spike broke into a car, hotwired it, and had them at their Southwark flat in no time. They abandoned the car several blocks from the building, before meeting the agent who was waiting to hand them the keys. The young man, who appeared to be Indian or Pakistani, showed them into a spacious, furnished flat, which he assured them had thick drapes and was already wired with Ethernet cable. Once he was persuaded that they found the arrangements suitable, he let himself out.

"I'm bloody drained after that trip. Who's up for a hunt?" Spike asked.

"A childe after my own heart," Angelus voiced his approval, before adding snidely, "How about you Rupert? Care to join us?"

"Thank you, but no," Giles answered, too weary to rise to Angelus's bait.

Willow opted to stay behind with Giles. As her vampire companions started to leave, she cautioned, "Try not to attract too much attention. Remember that your reputations precede you. Anyone associated with the Watchers Council would easily recognize you, especially if you're together."

"How did I ever survive all these centuries without you?" Angelus drawled condescendingly.

"Care to join us, luv?" Spike offered.

Before Willow could answer, Angelus taunted her further. "With that fiery mane of hers? Hell, then we'd really be a matched set. We might as well phone ahead to let them know we're coming."

Willow shot daggers with her eyes and answered sweetly, "No thanks, boys. I think I'll stay with Giles and work on our strategy. But, Angelus, darling..."

She paused for effect, waiting until she had his full attention. Then she waved her hand before her, shimmered, and reappeared with curly brown tresses, sable eyes and honey-gold skin, and continued, "...I know how to keep a low profile. We'll see how well you--"

Before Willow had finished speaking, Angelus crossed the room and delivered a savage, back-handed blow to her face. The impact drove her to the floor, where she shakily clutched her hand over a bloody nose. She annulled the glamour spell. Angelus crouched down, grasped her hair, and pulled it back until she was forced to look up at him.

His eyes were cold.

Spike growled angrily and moved as if to intercede. A low, menacing growl held him back.

"William, *stay*!"

Angelus addressed Willow with the same, deadly voice which brooked no disagreement.

"Never mouth off to me. This is your first and last warning. I'll deal with you later."

Although the air was thick with tension, Giles found the resolve to speak.

"We're supposed to be fighting the Council, not each other."

Without diverting his piercing gaze from Willow, Angelus replied, "I haven't lost sight of that, Rupert. But someone has forgotten her place."

As much as her dignity rebelled, Willow knew that she must salvage their alliance so that they could complete the mission. Lowering her eyes in submission, she murmured, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me, Angelus."

He gave her a smug half-smile and said, "That's better."

Without warning, Angelus pulled her roughly up to him and captured her mouth in a harsh, dominating kiss. When he released her, he winked and added, "You can persuade me to forgive you...later... Let's go, Spike. It's probably been ages since you've been hunting with an equal."

Rising to his feet, Angelus walked back to Spike. The blond vampire cast an anguished glance at Willow. He was torn. Inwardly, he felt a twinge of shame at how closely his sire's last remark had hit home. While he did love to hunt with Willow, and found her absolutely enchanting when she was stalking her prey, she didn't thrive on drawing out their fear. At the same time, Angelus's cavalier domination of Willow evoked some of Spike's more bitter memories of the dark vampire's previous return. Mission or no mission, he'd be damned if he was going to tolerate a repeat performance.

However, Spike eased slightly when Willow managed a slight smile for him. He returned it, knowing that this must be equally difficult for her. Nothing in her unconventional existence had prepared her for a vampire like Angelus. Familiar impulses, forged from many an incident with a tearful, broken Drusilla, welled up in the blond vampire. He prepared himself to put himself in Angelus's way and keep him from dissecting her, one vulnerable spot at a time, as only Angelus could.

He wasn't in a wheelchair this time, and could handle whatever Angelus dished out.

Might even enjoy it.

Saying nothing further, Angelus and Spike left to hunt.

When they had gone, Giles helped Willow to her feet.

"Did he hurt you?" Giles asked gently.

"Nothing permanent," Willow assured him. "Mostly my pride."

Clenching his jaw, the ex-Watcher muttered, "Ten days and counting..."

Willow tried to keep up with Giles's discussion of their strategy for ensnaring the seven conspirators, but found herself numbly retreating into her own mind. At one point, Giles noticed her withdrawal and diplomatically proposed that they should continue this later, since he was tired and needed his rest. Willow smiled at him gratefully.

"This isn't going to be easy," Giles acknowledged soberly.

"I know," came Willow's soft reply. "I'm not ready for this...It's still too raw. I just want to stop everything and cry it all out. But I can't...not with *him* around..."

"No, he would certainly find a way to exploit any weakness. I, as well as anyone, know about his talent in that area," Giles agreed. "Just remember, Willow, that as dubious as this alliance is, it is *still* an alliance. You quite rightly pointed out that Angelus is operating under certain constraints. So, for what it's worth, I believe we are relatively safe for now."

Willow nodded and closed her eyes. For a few moments, she remained silent as she struggled with powerful emotions. Emotions she knew Angelus would ridicule her for feeling. After all, it was because of her weaker demon that she cared for the select group of humans who had been her companions during the past ten years. To Angelus, her grief over the death of a Slayer would be one more sign of her inferior status.

Opening her eyes once more, Willow looked at Giles with a vulnerability that she couldn't safely reveal in the dark vampire's presence.

"I wish Angel were here..."

*****

Angelus and Spike walked together in silence for a while, until Angelus finally spoke.

"Don't sulk, William. She'll get over it."

Not looking at his sire, Spike muttered, "Leave her alone, Angelus."

Angelus quirked an eyebrow. "Are you challenging me, boy?"

"Don't want to...but I will..."

"I can still beat the crap out of you, and you know it."

"Fine. Get it out of your system."

The dark vampire halted in his tracks; Spike followed suit. They faced off for several moments. It was a dance of defiance and authority they had shared since the night Angelus had wooed and turned a beautiful, cocky Englishman so many ages ago.

Spike refused to be played. No doubt his sire had already sized-up his devotion to Willow and was devising creative ways to manipulate both of them with it. It went beyond establishing his authority as senior vamp. Bloody prick considered it seduction of a sort: tear down his childer's intimacies and remind them that *everything* went through him. Remind them that he was the Alpha and Omega of their existence, and that no desire was more powerful than the bond of blood.

Well, let him play his fucking games. Spike was willing to be seduced this time. He was strong. And if it kept the bastard's attention away from Willow, so much the better.

Angelus read his childe, savoring the inner conflict that Spike so beautifully wore on his face, just as he always had. So much agitation, barely restrained. That he loved the little minion was obvious. But even more delicious was the fact that, as much as Spike's willingness to defy him could be attributed to his affection for Willow, Angelus knew that it was also part of their own, dark mating ritual. Knew it even though his childe hated to admit the truth. So many times, Angelus had watched through the Soul as Spike baited him, taunted him, gave him every excuse for a fight. And he knew that whatever discipline and passion the Soul had meted out, it hadn't been quite enough.

The Soul was too squeamish to satisfy his all of childe's appetites.

Abruptly, Angelus threw his head back and laughed.

"You've really got it bad, haven't you, Spike? First your Dark Princess, now a Red Princess."

"Sod off!" Spike glared at him.

"Don't push me..." Angelus warned darkly, before easing back into a conversational tone of voice. "We don't have much time, and there are other things I'd rather do with it than fight you. It's been over a century since things were right between us."

"Yeah, well, things change..." Spike shrugged dismissively.

"I know you and the Soul renewed the claim," Angelus continued seductively, "But don't tell me that you didn't think about this the minute I came back. He's left you wanting..."

The silence stretched out for several moments before Spike answered truthfully, "I thought about it. I'm bloody well thinking about it now. But...fuck it all, Angelus, she hasn't properly learned our ways. *Angel* saw to that."

Angelus nodded curtly. "I know. It's the only reason I let her off with a slap. You know I could have done worse...and *have* done worse to you on a number of occasions..."

"No shit," Spike chuckled ruefully.

"You learned. So will she. She'll think twice next time."

"I don't always think twice," Spike reminded him.

"You like a sound thrashing," Angelus corrected. "Does your little minion? Could be interesting..."

Spike bristled. "Don't."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Nothing permanent, Angelus...*please*..." Spike formed the last word with difficulty, hating to voice even a tacit submission to his sire.

His Willow was worth it, though.

Angelus's eyes flashed in triumph. The look put Spike in his place, and the two vampires abandoned their conflict. Spike knew that Angelus would still discipline Willow later, but he also trusted the unspoken promise that had passed between them: his sire would exercise restraint, for Spike's sake.

"Fancy a stroll through the Borough, mate?" Spike suggested, tapping out a cigarette and lighting it.

"I never could resist a chance to hunt with you, Spike," Angelus grinned. Stepping closer, he plucked the cigarette from Spike's fingers and held it aside as he covered his childe's mouth with his own. Languidly, their tongues caressed each other, soon smoothed by the sweet nectar of their blood as their demonic faces emerged and fangs danced along lips.

At last, Angelus pulled away. The cigarette had long since burned down to a column of ash. As the dark vampire discarded the remains, he purred at his childe, "I only hope this hunt ends like all the others did."

Spike's taut, muscular form quivered with desire. "Who the bloody hell needs a stroll any more..."

Angelus chuckled and drew near to Spike once more. He brought his face close to Spike's and brushed his mouth sensually over the sharp curves of his cheeks, the smooth skin of his brow, and down the enticing column of his neck. An appreciative growl rumbled in Spike's throat and his eyes slipped shut. Angelus whispered seductively in his ear, "But it's so much better after you've been serenaded by their screams...warmed by their blood...felt your lips swell at the vibrations of their pulse..."

"Someone young..." Spike hissed, painfully aroused by his sire's mesmerizing voice.

"Come...I know what you need...we've only to find her..." Angelus urged Spike to follow him.

"Her?" Spike's confusion took the edge off his arousal, and allowed him to focus.

"You'll see...you'll understand..." Angelus smiled cryptically.

The two vampires began a leisurely stroll through streets they hadn't prowled together in over a century. They laughed over memories summoned by the locale -- a familiar alleyway that had been the site of a drunken kill, a refurbished building where Spike had discovered that morphine did indeed affect vampires the same way it did humans...

"I still can't believe that little chit believed me when I told her they were *needle* marks," Spike roared, as tears of mirth squeezed from his eyes. He was so wrapped up in his story that he was caught off guard when Angelus paused and motioned for him to be silent.

The dark vampire's eyes glinted with a look Spike knew well, and he scanned the region for whatever prey had tempted his sire. His skin tingled with anticipation when he saw her walking on the other side of the street.

She was trim, almost boyish, and couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen. Her skin glowed under the light of a street lamp with that ethereal pallor so characteristic of English girls. Wide, curious eyes were softened by eyebrows that arched with a seemingly-timeless wisdom.

And tousled red hair cascaded down just to her shoulders.

"Striking resemblance, isn't it?" Angelus remarked quietly as they stalked the girl, maintaining a discreet distance.

"Absolutely exquisite," Spike agreed, entranced.

"I know what you've wished all these years," Angelus continued, "You've kicked yourself for not getting to her first, while you still could. You've wished that it had been *you* to embrace her, savor her warmth, taste her fading heartbeat...you dream of what it would have been to sire her...you wish that *you*, not some pathetic minion, shared that bond with her..."

"Yes..." Spike rasped, closing his eyes briefly.

"Then let the games begin," Angelus declared with a devilish wink.

It wasn't long before they made their move. When she reached into her handbag and fumbled for her apartment keys, Angelus knocked her unconscious, and slung her over his shoulder in a blur of motion. Within ten minutes, he and Spike had located a decrepit, unattended multi-story car park where they ensconced themselves with the girl.

As was his right, Angelus drank from her first, but didn't drain her. Unbuttoning her blouse, he ran his hand appreciatively over her bare chest. Smirking at his childe, who looked on, mesmerized, Angelus encouraged him to indulge his fantasies about Willow with their captive. Angelus pushed the girl into Spike's arms, and removed her blouse.

Spike struggled with temptation.

He closed his eyes and nuzzled the girl's neck, growing hard at the feel of her pulse against his lips.

But he couldn't do it. Shame at what Willow would feel if she knew shattered the fantasy.

Biting deep into her neck, he drained her swiftly.

When he raised his head, he saw disgust in his sire's eyes.

"What the hell was that?"

"Got carried away."

"Some things never change. She's got you whipped," Angelus sneered.

Spike shrugged, feigning indifference. "Still hungry. The chit didn't quite satisfy. Let's go find another."

He moved to get up, but Angelus stopped him. "Satisfy me, first."

With her blood trickling down his chin, Spike looked at Angelus and fire shot straight to his groin at the look of hunger in those sable eyes.

When he hesitated, Angelus taunted, "You used to have more fight in you."

Their mouths came together with brutal force as they stripped each other in a tangle of hands and clothing. The dark vampire moved behind his childe and ran admiring, possessive hands over his wiry form. Roughly, Angelus pinned Spike against his chest with an iron grip as he reached around and deftly undid the younger vampire's fly. With firm, practiced strokes he summoned forth an appreciative moan from Spike's lips.

Angelus took him hard and fast against the cold concrete. Looming over his childe's kneeling form, almost engulfing him, the dark vampire grabbed his lover's hips and plunged forward. Joined, they thrust powerfully against each other, growling as they felt their ecstasy rising. With a roar, Angelus came, sinking his fangs deep into the nape of Spike's neck. Every nerve ending in Spike's body flared, and he screamed as his sire's hand squeezed the release from his shaft.

The first rays of sunlight were just breaking over the horizon when sire and childe staggered into their temporary lair, having finished their hunt with a couple of street cleaners. The vampires could sense Giles' slow, measured heartbeat behind the closed door to one of the bedrooms, while Willow slept serenely on the couch in the main room.

Spike gazed at her and whispered to Angelus, "I'd rather she not know about tonight...about that little chit."

Angelus chuckled and lapsed into the soft brogue he used when he wanted to taunt his childe. "Goin' soft on me, are ye William? Just think of the things I could do with that dirty little secret."

"Sod off," Spike murmured, scowling peevishly at his sire.

"Oh, I'll show you the meaning of sod off, boy..." Angelus promised as he wrapped strong arms around Spike and tugged him into the spare bedroom.

*****

The following evening, just after dusk, found Willow and Giles sitting at a table in the main room discussing strategies for their initial assault on the Council. During the day, Giles had purchased a computer and had found out what he could about the seven conspirators' recent activities.

"The Council's manor is protected by some powerful Druidic runes...very ancient, and likely to keep the three of you out even if I were able to invite you in," Giles explained. "Which I probably can't, if they have formally removed my name from the roster of Watchers."

"Wouldn't they have, since you broke contact with the Council years ago?" Willow asked.

"It would have been the most likely course of action, although sometimes the Council has been known to hold off if they want someone back badly enough," Giles agreed.

"Are there any counter-spells that could override the runes?" Willow pressed further. "I did bring my faroe stone with me, but I don't want to waste it."

"I'm afraid there aren't. That is precisely the reason that these runes were chosen for--"

Giles was interrupted by a command from across the room.

"Willow...come here."

The redheaded vampire froze at the sound of Angelus's voice.

She turned slowly and saw him standing in the doorway to the bedroom he had shared with Spike that morning. He regarded her dispassionately, his face void of any expression. She knew better than to resist.

Spike had slipped out of the bedroom and was standing to one side of his sire. From the tic in his jaw, Willow could tell that he wasn't happy; he managed to flash her a supportive glance. As she began walking toward the dark vampire, she said to Giles, "Why don't you go over the plans we've discussed so far with Spike...We can pick up where we left off later."

With barely-suppressed rage, Giles watched her go. He wanted to leap up and shout at the arrogant bastard not to touch Willow, but a stern look from Spike cautioned him not to interfere. The ex-Watcher knew how deeply Spike cared for her, and couldn't imagine him allowing Angelus to do any serious harm unchallenged. So, contrary to every impulse that screamed at him to protect Willow, Giles held his peace and watched Angelus close the door behind them.

"Watcher...let's you and me go discuss the game plan over a pint in a nice, discreet little corner of the local pub," Spike proposed in a tone that made it clear he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Giles took a long, sad look at the closed door before donning his jacket and accompanying the blond vampire out into the night.

*****

Willow found herself naked, face-down on the bed, her arms secured to the bed posts. For a good fifteen minutes, Angelus lashed her with his belt. Yet aside from the angry cracks of the leather against her skin, which eventually began to draw blood, the room was silent. Angelus said nothing as he whipped her, and Willow refused to cry out. It had been over a decade since she had been treated this way, and in that time she had grown stronger and more resilient. But it hurt. The punishment was even more painful emotionally than physically, for never, *never* had Angel raised his hand to her, except in sparring bouts.

At last, Angelus stopped and sat down on the bed beside her. Almost tenderly, he released her from her bonds and waited until she rolled to her side and looked him in the eye.

"Don't presume to tell me what to do ever again, and do not mock me," Angelus warned sternly. "I brought half of Europe to its knees long before you were ever turned, so I think we've established that I know how to take care of myself."

Willow nodded and lowered her gaze, silently chanting her mantra, <we have to work together, we have to work together...>, to bolster her resolve. When she had subdued her desire to turn him into a toad, she looked up at him again and said, "I apologize for my behavior. The Powers appointed you to lead this mission, and I should have acknowledged that they wouldn't give you that authority without good reason."

"I'm glad we understand each other," Angelus replied evenly. He rose to his feet. Willow moved to do likewise but stilled when he commanded, "Stay. I'm going to get some water and a cloth to clean you up."

She was still staring at the door in shock when he returned a few moments later with a wash cloth, a towel, and a bowl which he set on the nightstand. He sat down next to her.

"Turn over," Angelus instructed. When Willow hesitated, he continued his preparations as if nothing were amiss. Submerging the wash cloth in the bowl and soaking it, he asked as he wrung out the excess water, "Must I repeat myself?"

Willow blinked at him warily but moved to comply. Angelus drew the damp cloth in long, gentle strokes across the stripes he had inflicted. In spite of herself, Willow felt herself relaxing into his soothing touch. Angelus chuckled.

"I'm not such a monster, Willow...Well, actually, I *am* a monster. But for what I have planned, I need you strong, not broken. Besides...you're under my protection, even if it was the Soul who initiated it. And I take care of my own."

As Angelus set aside the wash cloth and patted Willow's back dry with the towel. She winced slightly at the feel of rough cotton on her raw skin, then glanced at him uncertainly over her shoulder.

"You find this confusing," Angelus observed.

"I expected as much when you...disciplined me," Willow agreed, "This...nurturing...this is the part I don't get."

Her choice of words elicited a wry grin. Angelus placed his powerful hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. "It will be hard for you to understand, since you never had a proper sire. Punishments and...*nurturing*, as you like to call it...are all part of the bond. My childer are just that, *mine*. Mine to correct when they disobey me, mine to heal when they're wounded...even if I gave them those wounds. And unless they've provoked me into staking them, I'll always heal them. I don't want them incapacitated for long. I want them strong. So, you aren't my childe, but *nurturing* isn't beyond my abilities."

"Oh...well, thank you, then..." Willow stammered, still perplexed by his behavior, and somewhat hurt by the reference to her sire. But she accepted his explanation.

"Speaking of which..." Angelus drew her closer, "...you haven't fed in nearly two days."

<Hoo boy...> Willow choked back her panic. She didn't know if she could handle feeding from him...

Angelus was in no mood to give her a choice in the matter. Brushing his lips against her ear, he whispered, "Feed...or I'll force it down your throat..."

Well, if he put it *that* way...

Willow brought her mouth to his neck and nuzzled briefly before sinking her fangs into his flesh. His potent blood burned through her veins and left her dizzy with the taste of power, ruthlessness, and lust. She clutched at him fiercely, too drunk with his essence to care that this was leading where it always did...that she was about to succumb to the same, vicious bastard who had just whipped her.

Spike had said it long ago.

<*Blood* is your truth. The only truth for any of us...>

Giving into the frenzy, Willow eagerly assisted Angelus in removing his shirt, all the while suckling at his neck. Soon his clothes were fully discarded and Angelus thrust violently into Willow, who matched him with a ferocity of her own. Occasionally Willow hissed when Angelus's weight crushed her wounded back too deeply into the bed, but the pain was quickly replaced with the pleasure of his skilled ministrations. They ground their hips together in an erotic dance as Angelus nipped and sucked his way down Willow's neck toward her breasts. Teasing first one, then the other, taut peak with his tongue, Angelus eventually planted an open-mouthed kiss over her entire areola. Letting his fangs drop, he pierced the tender flesh and drew her blood into his mouth, tearing an ecstatic scream from Willow's lips.

Their movements grew increasingly frenetic, and suddenly Angelus pulled up, hoisted Willow into his arms and slammed her against the head board. She was so aroused that she scarcely noticed the pain in her back. Her body was desperate for release and a low growl rumbled in her throat. Angelus answered with an equally-feral growl as he pounded her against the wall, his cock hard and insistent. It wasn't long before both of their bodies tightened with the brief, ultimate contraction of pleasure that precedes the explosion of all tension. Willow sank her fangs into his shoulder as she rode the waves of her release.

They rested against the head board for several minutes as they came down from their climax. Angelus then withdrew from Willow, lay back, and cradled her against his chest. At last he broke the silence.

"Spike and Rupert will be back soon. Are you ready to get back to the business of murder and mayhem?"

"Yeah..." Willow muttered, still dazed. "Just...give me a moment..."

Her head bobbed slightly as Angelus chuckled deeply. After another minute or two, he pushed her up and handed her her shirt.

"Get dressed...You can tell me what you and Rupert have mapped out so far..."

*****

When Giles and Spike returned from the pub, they walked in on Willow and Angelus, engaged in an intense discussion of the notes that Giles had compiled earlier in the day about their seven targets. Giles was dumbfounded, given how things had been when he and Spike had left. By contrast, Spike's face relaxed into a relieved grin. He could smell his sire and Willow all over each other, and knew that the discipline had been mild, no more than necessary to re-establish a hierarchy.

While he was grateful to his sire for not hurting her, deep down he knew that Willow deserved credit for resolving the conflict. She must have placated Angelus. If she hadn't, mission or no, he would have beaten her unconscious, or worse.

"There you are," Angelus announced, as if he and Willow had been waiting all night for them. "Red and I have chosen the first target. Now that you're back, we can go cause a little pain...no, a *lot* of pain..."

Giles stared, still confused by the easy interaction between Angelus and Willow, but Spike took it all in stride. His sire was indeed back, and it was bloody glorious!

"Might I ask upon whom you decided?" Giles inquired when he had recovered his composure.

"Not *whom*...*what*..." Willow explained. "We've studied the runes protecting the Council manor where the archives are housed. With the right magic, we can make this a very interesting game. Come on, Giles. I'll explain on the way..."

*****

Footsteps fell softly on the plush carpet of the reading room, disturbing the customary silence of the hall.

Thomas Lytle, Head Archivist of the Watchers Library, looked up from the two volumes he had been cross-referencing for information on a prophecy. His pulse sped up slightly, even as he reassured himself that there was no threat. He and his colleagues had anticipated that the rogue Slayer's vampire lover would attempt retribution, but he knew that the manor which housed the library and the Council's meeting room was protected by powerful magic.

Lytle's eyebrows arched in surprise at the unexpected sight of the rogue Slayer's former Watcher, Rupert Giles, standing a few paces from the library door.

"Rupert?" the archivist greeted him in a carefully-neutral tone.

"Good evening, Thomas. Working late, I see," Giles answered, his voice equally devoid of any emotion.

"Yes, well as you know, prophecies are best handled with advance research," Lytle continued the masquerade of pleasantries, "So, dear chap, what brings you here at this time of night?"

"An errand. I have a message to deliver."

The sturdy, gray-haired archivist clamped down on the tremor of fear provoked by the remark. Giles's tone was calm, but something about his demeanor signaled danger. It was the eyes -- cold, almost inhuman. Maintaining his veneer of calm, Lytle prompted Giles to continue.

"A message for whom?"

"For the seven of you who conspired against your own Slayer, and against the very Powers whose work you claim to carry out."

The two men faced one another. Lytle narrowed his eyes at Giles, but offered no reply to the accusation. Tilting his head slightly toward the door, but without diverting his gaze from Lytle, Giles called out, "Angelus...Spike...Willow...do come in, please."

All semblance of courage vanished from the archivist as the three vampires strolled easily into the library. No vampire should have been able to get past the reinforcing spells that the Council had invoked.

"How did....this isn't possible...you couldn't have...." Lytle babbled in a panic.

"The reinforcing spells?" Willow offered a bemused grin to their first victim. "Yes, that was pretty strong magic, all right. Druidic runes, weren't they? Top-notch. But I guess my faroe stone trumps your runes."

"F-f-faroe stone?" Lytle's face paled. They were rare, and their power unrivaled. How had one fallen into the hands of a vampire?

Responding to his unasked question, Willow said, "An anniversary present."

"Ahh, the dilemma. What to get the witch who has everything?" Spike played along, relishing the waves of fear rolling off of the cringing archivist.

"Shame on me. I never did get you anything...can I make it up to you?" Angelus mused, keeping in the spirit of their game.

Willow wisely chose not to correct him by bringing up Angel's gift of the bonsai tree. A reference to his souled counterpart would most likely throw his stride in a way that Willow didn't want to. Her eyes narrowed wickedly. "Hmm...let's see...well, my tastes are pretty simple. Never did care for baubles...Maybe you could just offer me a nice toast to longevity and future happiness..."

"A toast, she says!" Angelus roared heartily. Then he adopted a thoughtful expression and began to pace. "Hmm....let me put some consideration into this. Far be it from me to shame my countrymen by offering a toast that is anything less than brilliant..."

As he pondered his choice of words, prolonging Lytle's tortured anticipation, Angelus strolled over to a glass-fronted cabinet that contained relics. Smashing the glass, he extracted two silver chalices. Walking back with the vessels, he announced, "I've got it. The perfect formula for future happiness. Spike, my boy, time to tap the keg."

The blond vampire grinned devilishly and played along. "As you wish, Sire."

Removing an iron railroad spike from the pocket of his leather duster, Spike shoved the archivist unceremoniously against a wall, stretched out one of the man's trembling arms and impaled his wrist. Lytle shrieked in agony as blood rushed from the wound. With the ease of a host at a banquet, Angelus filled his make-shift goblets with the blood and offered one to Willow. She accepted it with courtesy, and Angelus raised his own cup with a dramatic flourish.

"Very well, my lady. A toast to your future happiness. Here's to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking. If you cheat, may you cheat death. If you steal, may you steal a human's soul. If you fight, may you fight beside those of your clan. And if you drink, may you drink with me."

Willow saluted him with her raised cup and drank down the rich, coppery elixir. "Thank you, Angelus. That was lovely."

Angelus bowed with mock-gallantry and tossed aside his chalice.

"You know, Willow..." Giles remarked casually, "I, too, was remiss in not offering you an anniversary gift. While you might not fancy baubles, I do recall that you were always fond of books..."

Willow laughed and gestured broadly to the entire library. "Surprise me, Giles."

Spike, meanwhile, was amusing himself by leaning against the wall next to Lytle and ripping off the man's fingernails as casually as he might check his own nails for chipped polish. Lytle, though rapidly losing consciousness from blood loss, managed a beleaguered howl for each nail that was torn from his free hand.

Soon Giles returned with about half a dozen leather-bound volumes which he spread out on a table before Willow.

"Let's see...Bernhard's vampire chronicles...Littré's demon taxonomy...apocalyptic prophecies...does anything strike you as particularly interesting?" Giles asked.

Willow picked up one of the smaller tomes and examined it. Hand-written on vellum pages, it dealt with the training and monitoring of Slayers. As Willow scrutinized it further, she found references to the ritual poisoning of a Slayer to test her resourcefulness ...various charms and amulets that could exert mind-control over a Slayer...and on and on.

Her expression of amusement hardened into a scowl. She'd still had no outlet for her grief over Buffy's murder, and seeing such a book enraged her.

"This is a piece of trash," she hissed, handing the book to Giles. "I wouldn't even line a litter box with it."

"Really?" Giles mused, the glint in his eyes revealing a deadly purpose. "Well, then, I shall dispose of it. I don't see a dustbin anywhere...but I suppose I can improvise."

Ripping a page from the offending volume, Giles crumpled it in his hand and walked toward Lytle. Prying the man's mouth open, Giles --giving himself over to Ripper -- forced the page down his throat. At Lytle's panicked gagging, Giles leaned close and growled, "This is for Buffy. You can choke on your precious work, you Judas."

With chillingly precise movements, and not a glimmer of remorse in his expression, Giles force-fed sheet after sheet of the text to the Watcher until the miserable man suffocated on the very pages that the Council had once used to test Buffy. Lytle's face became a gruesome death mask: his eyes were frozen in a lifeless stare, and blood and saliva ran from the corners of his mouth around the protruding, last page that Giles had stuffed in it.

"My, my, Rupert..." Angelus chuckled darkly, "Wouldn't have guessed you had it in you. We may make a vampire of you yet..."

Giles fixed him with a cool stare, but said nothing. Although Willow had relished their vengeance against the first of Buffy's murderers, concern for her human friend now tugged at her.

"Are we through here?" she asked the others.

"One down, six to go," Spike quipped dryly.

"Not quite," Angelus answered Willow's query. "Before we leave, we burn it...all of it."

"Yes," Giles agreed quietly, "This collection is the heart of the Council's power. Or, at least, the symbol of that power since they have back-up files stored on computer databases in scattered locations. But for centuries, this library gave the Council its authority over all matters concerning vampires, demons and the like."

"Lets 'em know we were here," Spike added. "Care to do the honors, luv?"

"Sure," Willow smiled. Holding out her hand with the palm slightly cupped and facing upward, she intoned firmly, "Fiat ignis."

A ball of flame appeared in her palm and she deftly hurled it at one of the book stacks in the library. The conjured fire quickly spread along the stacks, igniting and devouring the painstakingly-preserved volumes. Willow and Giles gathered together the few volumes he had spread before her, intending to salvage some of the rarer texts for Giles' own collection.

Angelus admired the blaze and. As he signaled for the others to follow him into the night, he announced with satisfaction, "It's good to be back!"

*****

In the elegant Kensington residence of Henry Lloyd, the events of the previous evening were discussed in earnest.

That Thomas Lytle's tortured, charred corpse had been found among the debris was indeed a painful blow. But what brought real fear into the hearts of those present were the details that the firemen hadn't noticed.

"How could it be possible?" Winston Barnes hissed. "Are you *absolutely* sure?"

"Oh, please!" Charles Watson snapped in reply. "I helped renew those runes six months ago. Do you think I wouldn't know? Believe me, any that weren't burned beyond recognition have been inverted!"

"Yes, you *did* renew those runes..." Margaret Austen pointed out, her voice thick with accusation. "And when you did, you assured us that no magic was powerful enough to alter them."

"This was found just inside the main entry to the manor," Henry Lloyd announced, holding out a smooth, black stone. "On the floor, right beside an 'A' written in what, I assume, was Thomas's blood."

The Demonologist, Watson, snatched the stone from Lloyd's hand and murmured in awe, "A faroe stone...and it appears to be spent. I believe we have our answer as to how the runes were inverted."

"But the 'A' in blood...that doesn't fit the profile of the souled vampire," Andrew Barnes protested.

"We're not dealing with him. I think it's clear from the sheer scale of the destruction that we're dealing with Angelus," his father, Winston, clarified.

"And his childe, who left his calling card in Thomas's wrist," Fiona Leary added solemnly.

"Which also implicates the Red Minion," Charles Watson deduced. "No doubt she wielded the faroe stone and inverted the runes."

"What does that mean for us, exactly?" Fiona asked nervously.

Watson exchanged a brief, ominous glance with Lloyd, the Head of the Council and the one who had initiated their small circle in what was supposed to have been a clean strike to restore the Council to its proper working relationship with Slayers. It was all too clear to Watson that they had made a terrible, terrible error in judgment. Yet what chilled him even more than the news he was about to give his colleagues was the fact that he saw nothing in Lloyd's eyes to indicate that the man acknowledged the error.

"It means that the one who inverted the runes -- the Red Minion, we presume -- now has control over any spell that was tied to those runes," Watson explained.

"But we tied them to the protection barriers around our own homes!" Andrew Barnes exclaimed with alarm.

The room fell silent.

"Dear God..." Fiona breathed, "The manor has been destroyed, and they have access to our homes..."

*****

"Yes, you stupid git!" Spike bellowed with contempt. "And yet there you are, discussing everything in one of those homes. Bloody twits!"

He, Angelus, Giles, and Willow reclined in the main room of their flat and continued eavesdropping on their prey, thanks to a spell Willow had worked through one of the inverted runes.

"So, they're making it easier for us. Why are you complaining, Spike?" Willow teased him.

"Come on, luv! Where's the challenge?" Spike pouted.

Angelus laughed at his petulant childe. "Now, Spike, where's your sense of creativity? When did human obliviousness ever stop us from enjoying a good game of cat and mouse?"

"The question is, who will run first?" Giles remarked thoughtfully.

"The woman...wait, she's speaking again...that one....who is she, Giles?" Willow asked.

"It sounds like Fiona...yes, I believe it is," the ex-Watcher replied.

"She's scared. So scared, you can almost smell it," Willow observed.

Angelus smiled approvingly at Willow, pleased by her ability to dissect and anticipate human behavior, nearly the match of his own. "She was the last one recruited into their circle," the dark vampire hinted.

"So, most likely the first to run," Spike concluded his sire's train of thought.

"Rupert, where would she most likely seek asylum?" Angelus asked, already forming a plan.

*****

Fiona Leary drove her car along the road to Horsham, cursing her colleagues for prolonging their discussion of the situation past dusk. She should never have listened to them! In their arrogance, they had assured her that nobody would ever know the identity of their small circle. No records had ever been kept of their plans -- meeting times, orders, inquiries, all had been committed to memory, rather than written down.

But someone knew everything.

She couldn't believe how stupid they'd been. The *Powers* knew. Why had she believed Henry Lloyd when he had insisted the repercussions would be moderate, given that they were actually "serving the greater good in the ultimate scheme of things"? That stuffy old prig was so blinded by his own righteousness that he had convinced himself, and all the others, that it was the Council's place to balance the scales.

<And I let myself be seduced by every word!> Fiona berated herself.

Her self-chastisement was cut short when a sudden movement snapped her attention back to the road. She gasped and slammed on the brakes as an uprooted tree fell across the tarmac. The car skidded out of control and crashed into a ditch.

Shaken, Fiona recovered her composure, then surveyed the situation. Although the sun had sunk below the horizon, the evening was just fresh enough that in the twilight she could see her surroundings. The Horsham parish church was only about a kilometer further down the road.

As soon as she saw the tree that had caused her "accident", Fiona knew she was being stalked. There wasn't so much as a breeze in the air, yet something...someone...had pulled that tree up by its roots, which hung at the base of the trunk, still clinging to clumps of soil.

Her heart raced.

As she scanned the area, Fiona saw no one. But they were out there, waiting. Of that she was certain.

She couldn't stay in the car. Cars didn't provide supernatural barriers against vampires. If she waited, she was as good as dead. But if she went out into the night, she was most likely dead as well.

The petite woman steeled herself. Not without a fight...

She reached into the back seat and retrieved the crossbow loaded with wooden bolts that she had packed for protection. Knowing that it improved the odds of her survival only marginally, she clutched it to herself and, breathing deeply, opened the door and climbed out of the car.

The sky was growing darker.

In no mood to emulate the brainless characters in horror movies who walked slowly and hesitantly when they were about to be attacked, Fiona ran full-throttle toward the church. It was her best hope.

As she ran, she heard laughter echoing behind her. Then footsteps, getting closer and closer, no matter how hard she ran...

Yet they didn't strike.

And that was when she made her last mistake.

When she was barely ten meters from the church, she foolishly stole a glance behind her. Still, she saw nothing. However, no longer concentrating on where she was going, she stepped on a rock in her path. It threw her off balance and sent her sprawling to the ground.

The laughter returned. Now it was closer.

When Fiona scrambled to her feet, facing away from the church and still clutching the crossbow, she saw them. By their appearance, she knew them immediately. Angelus...William the Bloody...and the Red Minion. They looked at her with amusement as she inched away from them, creeping toward the church as they slowly moved with her, until she was at the entry.

"Stay back...all of you!" Fiona insisted as she held the crossbow in front of her and backed toward the heavy wooden door of the church. Trembling, she reached behind her for the iron handle, desperate for the safety of a sacred space.

Angelus watched her with laughing eyes, as he continued to hold his hands up like an indulgent parent facing a small child with a water pistol. "And how long do you think you can hide in there?"

"Longer than you can wait outside," she hissed triumphantly as she pulled the door open. However, her triumph was short-lived, turning to panic when she backed straight into a body standing just inside the threshold. Before she could wheel around to confront her new opponent, strong arms reached around her and wrested the crossbow from her grip.

"Vampires may be skittish about entering churches, but I am not," Giles stated coldly as he pushed her outside, the crossbow now pointed squarely at her back.

Spike chuckled and said to Angelus, "And you wanted to leave him in Sunnydale."

"So this is the first time I've ever been wrong," Angelus retorted, although his voice revealed more amusement than irritation. Stalking toward Fiona with a sinister gleam in his eye, Angelus gathered her in his arms and began a macabre waltz. The dark vampire savored the delicious scent of fear as it grew stronger and stronger.

"Indeed, I'm rather glad that you're here, Rupert. Saves me the trouble of handling all those pesky arrangements that have to be made during daylight hours. Speaking of which..." Angelus continued.

"Everything is prepared. We'll find what we need around back," Giles confirmed.

"Excellent," Angelus hissed. "Come along, my dear. You've had a long day, now it's time for you to retire."

"I hope you burn in hell!" Fiona screamed, struggling for her life as Angelus carried her effortlessly through the parish cemetery toward the back of the church.

"Tsk, tsk," Angelus rebuked her. "Only one woman has ever been able to consign me to the flames of hell, and you don't even come close to measuring up. Soon enough, though, you'll have one thing in common..."

Spike laughed uproariously at Fiona's mounting panic, while Willow and Giles followed with grim determination.

They came upon a long, shallow wooden crate, a covered plastic bucket, and a freshly-dug grave. Fiona's eyes widened when Angelus kicked the lid off the crate and she realized that she was looking at her own coffin. Her screams renewed, but in a flash Angelus had clamped his hand over her mouth and whispered in her ear.

"Tell me, sweetheart, do you like poetry? I've always been fond of Yeats, myself. How does this sound for your eulogy?"

Spike stepped forward and started to undress her while Angelus began reciting the morbid verses of 'A Dream of Death':

"I dreamed that one had died in a strange place, near no accustomed hand...and they had nailed the boards above her face, the peasants of that land -- you know, I don't really think of myself as a peasant--" Angelus frowned as he digressed from his poetry recitation.

Spike slid first the sweater, then the blouse, from Fiona's shoulders, stroking her shivering skin in a twisted mockery of a lover's touch. He raised one of her wrists to his mouth and kissed it before sinking his fangs in as deep as the bone. Another wail of agony broke forth from the captive woman, but was muffled by Angelus's hand. Willow approached them, grasped Fiona's other arm, and began to drink as well.

"Don't drain her..." Angelus reminded them. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes...Wondering to lay her in that solitude, and raised above her mound a cross they had made out of two bits of wood, and planted cypress round...we'll just skip the cross part...never cared for them...."

Spike and Willow dropped her wounded wrists and finished removing her clothes. As she stood, naked and vulnerable, Spike allowed himself a frenzy of biting. He bit her thighs, her belly, her hips, and her breasts, drinking very little but leaving gashes that oozed blood. As he did so, Angelus finished his poem.

"...And left her to the indifferent stars above, until I carved these words: She was more beautiful than thy first love, but now lies under boards."

With that, he removed his hand from Fiona's mouth and kissed her. The woman's confusion instantly turned to terror and then shock as Angelus let his demonic face surge to the fore and savagely bit off her tongue. He spit it into the grave and licked her blood from his lips.

Unable to do more than gurgle on her own blood, Fiona offered no resistance as Angelus tossed her unceremoniously into the crate. He then removed the lid from the plastic bucket and tipped it over her, sprinkling her liberally with writhing maggots. Those that fell on her open wounds instinctively began burrowing into her flesh.

As he looked down on her, Angelus pondered lightly, "I wonder what's worse, asphyxiation or being eaten alive? Well, no worry...even though screw-worm larvae can drop a full-grown horse in seven days, I'd wager you'll suffocate long before that. No, the maggots won't kill you...they'll just ensure that your last hours of life feel really, really bad."

Spike peered into the crate and added with a wink, "Sweet dreams, luv."

He and Willow then fixed the lid over the top and nailed it down tightly. Far stronger than human pallbearers, Spike and Angelus pushed the crate to the edge of the grave, climbed down, and then lifted it into their bare hands and lowered it into the earth. They hoisted themselves out and looked down with satisfaction.

Picking up a shovel, Giles pitched a clump of earth onto the crate and murmured, "The blood that they have shed will hide no longer in the blood-sloken soil, but cries to Heaven... 'How are the mighty fallen'..."

Angelus chuckled as he likewise grabbed a shovel and helped Giles fill the grave with dirt. "You know, Rupert, I once met Sir Henry, in 1859, I think it was..."

*****

"She's not answering..." Andrew Barnes announced as he listened for a few more moments before switching off his cell phone.

"Damn!" Charles Watson swore.

"I suspect that Fiona panicked and tried to run," Henry Lloyd surmised.

"Well, anyone might have guessed that, given the way she was going on about it yesterday," Margaret Austen remarked.

All eyes snapped up, as the remaining five conspirators looked at each other in instant realization.

"Someone didn't have to guess. They listened to our every word," Winston Barnes voiced the horrible truth.

"Correction...*are* listening..." Henry Lloyd stated tersely.

A cacophany of shouts and accusations erupted as all present reacted to the unsettling discovery that they were being monitored like rats in a maze. At last, Henry Lloyd was able to make his voice heard above the din, and persuaded his colleagues to listen.

"There is still one safe place available to us," he informed them calmly. "But it would be better for us to speak of this elsewhere."

*****

"Well, Spike, it just got more challenging," Willow quipped, as the five conspirators abandoned Henry Lloyd's home, thus moving beyond the reach of her spell.

"You know, I should *hurt* you for rubbing my nose in it," Spike retorted.

"Promises, promises..." Willow sighed with a wink. Her blond companion smirked back at her.

"*Children*, we'll have time for that later," Angelus broke in. "Right now, we have people to kill, and to kill them, we have to get at them. Rupert, check the database again."

"Well, all right, but I've been over it ten times and I haven't found reference to any Council properties to which Willow hasn't already gained access via the runes," Giles muttered as he rubbed weary eyes and prepared to launch a search on the computer.

"Which databases have you checked?" Willow asked, moving to stand behind him so she could look at the screen.

"Every one for which there are records, dating back to 1919. I'm sorry, but I couldn't get any records dating prior to the First World War," Giles explained as he scrolled through various lists.

Willow followed along as he clicked through various screens. When they came to records for the years 1939-1949, she stopped him.

"Hold it...what's this one? Why haven't I seen it in any of the other records?"

Giles scrutinized the name through his spectacles. "Wren...I don't think there has ever been a Wren in the Council. It's possible that this was one of the temporary shelters used during the war."

"Do you think Lloyd could be taking them there?" Willow suggested.

"You may be on to something, Willow," Giles confirmed with renewed zeal for the search. "Now all we need to do is figure out who the owner was, and track his descendants...although..."

"Although *what*?" Spike demanded impatiently.

"Well, all we have for the name is Wren, and the first initial, 'C'," Giles muttered. The ex-Watcher continued to search through various directories for another few minutes, when suddenly a riotous laugh split the air. All of them looked over at Angelus, who was shaking his head and grinning.

"Don't bother looking for descendants," the dark vampire advised. "I know where it is. The real problem will be getting three of us inside."

Giles stared at him in confusion. "What, you mean an invitation?"

"Oh, it'll take a little more than the usual invitation for Spike, Willow and I to be able to function at full strength in Chris Wren's house," Angelus offered cryptically, waiting for the flicker of recognition in the ex-Watcher's eyes.

As the dark vampire had hoped, that spark appeared in an instant, and Giles gasped, "Christopher Wren, the architect...St. Paul's cathedral! Of *course*...no wonder it was still standing after the fire-bombing of London."

"What's wrong with churches?" Willow asked.

Angelus scowled at her in disgust. "Were you turned yesterday? Churches? Sacred spaces that are anathema to vampires?"

"But I thought Spike fought Buffy in one, once..." Willow insisted defensively.

"And nearly got myself dusted," Spike added solemnly, "He's right, luv. In a pinch, we could get ourselves in, but once inside we'd be too weak to do much."

"Unless...." Giles mused thoughtfully.

"Unless what?" Angelus prompted him.

"A sacred space ceases to be potent if it's desecrated," Giles reasoned.

"Been there, done that," Spike quipped blithely, "This is a bloody cathedral we're talking about. You'd need a fucking monster of a desecration for that. More than spitting on a sodding icon."

"It can be arranged," Giles said quietly.

Willow saw the sad determination in his face, and grew concerned. He had already been pushing his boundaries with everything they had done so far. No matter how much he cared for Buffy, he wasn't a vampire -- he was still human. He had a soul, and a conscience, and something told Willow that he was too close to the edge...that he was about to pay too high a price for vengeance.

"How?" Willow demanded, summoning up her resolve face.

"Willow...please trust me on this," Giles answered. When he saw that she was about to argue with him, he added, "I suspect I know what you're worried about. Don't worry...I'm not planning anything that will put me in *eternal* jeopardy."

Willow bit her lip, still worried about her human friend. Before she could debate the issue further, Angelus interrupted impatiently. "As long as you can make sure we can fight in there, that's all that matters. Can you deliver?"

"Yes, I can."

"Then let's go," Angelus commanded as he rose to his feet. Giles and Spike moved to follow, but Willow remained rooted in place near the computer, her brow furrowed. The dark vampire fixed her with a stern glare and warned, "No time for games, Red. Move. Now."

"No...this is exactly the time for games," Willow insisted fervently. "Angelus, please hear me out. If you don't want to -- well, then take off your belt and get ready to use it, because I'm going to say this anyway!"

Spike cursed softly as he saw a familiar clench to his sire's jaw. In an instant, Angelus was flush against Willow. He whisked his belt from his pants loops and wrapped it menacingly around her neck, tugging the ends with just enough pressure to make her aware that he could crush her throat if he so chose.

"Make it quick and make it good," Angelus murmured, his voice low and deadly. "If it isn't, I'll leave you here unconscious, and when we return from slaughtering Council members, what I do to you won't be pretty."

Willow forced herself to remain calm and nodded. "Alexei."

"You get the picture," Angelus agreed.

"No...not me. Them," she explained. "If Giles wants to put himself at risk, I can't stop him. But it should be worth it. It needs to be a lesson that won't be forgotten, ever. That can't happen unless we make an example of these five, and to do that we need witnesses."

Angelus stared at her intently for a minute longer, before he released her and slipped his belt back on. As soon as he had fastened the buckle, his fist shot out and connected with Willow's jaw, sending her hurtling across the room. Without saying another word to her, he instructed Giles to contact a few members of the Council with an anonymous message about coming to St. Paul's cathedral for further information on the recent fire at the manor. With a furtive glance at Willow, Giles went to the phone to make the calls.

While Giles spoke briefly to several different Council members, Angelus crossed the room to stand over Willow. He looked down at her. Then a smirk lifted at the corner of his mouth and he extended a hand to help her up. Confused, Willow frowned, but accepted his gesture and allowed him to raise her to her feet.

"That was for your tone of voice," the dark vampire stated. "But I like your thinking. I always did love an audience..."

Pulling Willow closer, Angelus nuzzled his cheek against hers and whispered in her ear, "...and I love your fire, little one...you are so much like my boy...so defiant..."

In spite of herself, Willow felt her desire mounting. Not because of the intimate pressure of his body against hers, but because of what she heard in his voice.

Pride.

Before her emotions grew seriously distracting, Giles finished his calls and cleared his throat. "The lure has been cast."

"Right. Shall we, mates?" Spike suggested, holding the door open with a flourish. Willow looked at him and caught his sympathetic wink and nod in mute support of her successful experiment in standing up to Angelus. The dark vampire followed, carrying a sinister-looking, black leather satchel.

Although she still had misgivings about what Giles might have planned, Willow felt herself warming to the thrill of the hunt. As they descended the stairs from their flat, she announced dramatically, "Here's to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking..."

Smiling, Giles joined in. "If you cheat, may you cheat death."

"If you steal, may you steal a human's soul," Spike proclaimed loudly, before drawing close to Willow, placing a light kiss on her neck and adding, "...or my heart..."

Clapping both Willow and Spike on the back, Angelus boomed, "If you fight, may you fight beside those of your clan."

As they stepped out into the darkened street, all four of their voices echoed resoundingly.

"And if you drink, may you drink with me!"

*****

In the crypt below St. Paul's, five humans discussed their survival in hushed, fearful tones.

"I say we get out of the country, leave first thing in the morning!" Andrew Barnes urged.

"And go where?" Margaret Austen snapped wearily. "By definition, they have all the time in the world. Time enough to track us down."

Charles Watson ran a tired hand over his forehead and through his thinning hair. "Not to mention the fact that they were able to discover our identities in the first place. If they had the means to do that, I highly doubt we would be successful in our efforts to elude them."

"We must destroy them," Henry Lloyd agreed.

Winston Barnes let out a sharp, incredulous laugh and was about to speak when Henry Lloyd abruptly held up his hand for silence. They listened, pulses racing and nerves tingling.

Footsteps echoed above them on the black-and-white checkered marble floor of the sanctuary.

"They can't have gotten in! It...it could be a caretaker" Margaret Austen insisted, although her voice lacked conviction.

"It isn't them..." Henry Lloyd agreed, attempting to sound more confident than he was. "But it could be hired muscle. As we know, far too many low-lifes are willing to work for demons. Two of us should investigate...Charles, do you have your revolver?"

The demonologist nodded, reached beneath his jacket, and withdrew the weapon. Henry Lloyd gripped the hunting knife he had brought for protection and said, "Watson, you come with me. The rest of you, stay here. If we fail to return in ten minutes, take the tunnels beneath the crypt."

The two elder statesmen of the Council mounted the stairs and emerged into the dimly-lit sanctuary. Detecting motion near the high altar, they moved cautiously toward the elaborate structure.

Henry Lloyd stiffened when he recognized the man who was sprinkling ashes on the floor before the altar.

"Rupert Giles..." Lloyd declared coldly.

Giles looked over his shoulder at the two Council members, turned, and rose to his feet. "Good evening, Henry...Charles..."

"What are you doing here?" Charles Watson demanded accusingly.

"He's helping them," Lloyd broke in before Giles could speak. "He is betraying his own kind and has chosen to serve soulless demons."

"You...worm! You helped those monsters kill Thomas and Fiona?!?!" Watson bellowed.

"And I'm going to help them kill you as well," Giles acknowledged coolly.

"You are a fool," Lloyd spat contemptuously, "Has your bitterness over your rogue Slayer's death so blinded you that you can't see that you've cast your lot with unprincipled killers who will think nothing of slaughtering you, once you've served your purpose?"

"I suppose you would know about unprincipled killers, wouldn't you, Henry?" Giles replied with a lifted eyebrow.

"How dare you?" Lloyd retorted, scowling indignantly at Giles. "What we did, we did for the greater good of humanity. You can hardly say the same of those vampires."

"For humanity's benefit...or for *yours*? *Your* power, *your* agenda..." Giles countered. He took a step toward Henry Lloyd.

"Stop right there!" the Head of the Council warned, seething with rage.

Giles complied, regarding his adversary with a bemused yet deadly smile. After a moment, he turned back to the materials he had been working with before the altar.

"Stop what you're doing, Giles," Henry Lloyd ordered.

Without looking back, Giles replied softly, "One more pass of the ashes, a brief incantation, and the desecration of this altar will allow Angelus, Spike and Willow to enter. Then we shall see the sorry end of your misguided scheme."

"No!" Lloyd shouted as he lunged for Giles.

Too late, Charles Watson realized the ex-Watcher's true intention, and attempted to restrain his colleague. "Henry, wait! He can't--"

But before the demonologist could grab hold of him, Lloyd swung his arm down and stabbed Giles in the back with his hunting knife. Giles groaned in pain and slumped forward. Charles Watson pulled his angry colleague away from the wounded man and exclaimed, "He was bluffing! Simple magic can't desecrate a cathedral!"

Giles rolled over weakly, coughed, and looked up at the two Council members. "No, it can't. But a mortal sin...thou shalt not kill, Henry..."

"You're not dead..." Watson countered shakily, as Henry Lloyd stared blankly in shock.

Eyes narrowing triumphantly, Giles gazed back at them and quoted Scripture. " 'You have heard that it was said to the men of old, you shall not kill; and whoever kills shall be liable to judgment. But I say to you that every one who is angry with his brother shall be liable to judgment.' "

"Intent is the same as action..." Lloyd murmured numbly. He dropped the knife, which clattered to the floor as the cold realization of what he had done hit him.

From the shadows a few paces away, a deadly voice interrupted their confrontation.

"Checkmate."

Angelus stepped forward, his cold, cruel face revealing the essence of his nature.

The Bringer of Death.

Panicked, Charles Watson swung around to fire his revolver at the murderous fiend who stood before them. However, before he could pull the trigger there was a rush of motion and Spike was upon him. With sadistic delight, the blond vampire not only wrenched the gun from his hand, but he tore Watson's hand completely off of his arm. The demonologist shrieked in agony and instinctively clutched his wounded limb toward his chest.

"Ahh, sudden, rapid blood loss," Spike sighed appreciatively. "No better way to disarm your opponent."

Angelus strode forward, grasped Henry Lloyd by the neck, and delivered a bone-crunching blow to his skull, rendering the man unconscious. He let Lloyd's form drop to the floor and then went still. Cocking his head to the side and listening for a moment, Angelus announced, "There are heartbeats below ground... in the crypt. Spike, come with me. Willow, watch these two."

The two male vampires stalked off in search of their prey, leaving Willow with the two incapacitated Council members and her wounded friend.

"Giles," she murmured, kneeling beside him and supporting his head against her shoulder, "How bad is it?"

"It's painful...thankfully, I think he missed the vital organs," Giles wheezed with considerable effort. His face looked dangerously pale.

Willow propped him up carefully and examined his back. "You're bleeding pretty heavily..." She inhaled the scent of his blood and frowned. "This smells deeply oxygenated...I'm not sure, but the knife might have punctured one of your lungs..."

"Not...good..." Giles managed to squeeze out.

"Hang on," Willow insisted as she gently lowered his shoulders to the floor. Determined to stabilize him until he could be treated in a hospital, she steeled herself for the excruciating measures she was about to take.

Ripping the hem of her shirt, she bunched the material in her fist and walked over to the baptismal font. Gritting her teeth, she dipped the wadded fabric into the water. As it seeped through the cotton and burned her fingers, she hissed in agony. Returning quickly to Giles, she propped him up again and ripped his shirt down the back. Very delicately, she pressed the soaked material against his wound and, ignoring her own pain, chanted solemnly, "De morte transire ad vitam."

As quickly as possible, Willow rid herself of the burning fabric, which had already left any patch of skin it touched raw and enflamed. She re-examined the wound and saw that the flow of blood had slowed. A sniff revealed that the blood was no longer the richly-oxygenated blood of the lungs. Satisfied that she had done what she could, Willow eased Giles down against the cold, marble floor to rest.

And then she noticed it.

A heartbeat.

Racing...frantic...terrified...

It was coming from above ground, not down where Angelus and Spike had gone to root out the other conspirators. Had one slipped by them somehow?

No matter. Deftly removing the two, unconscious Council members' belts, she tied their wrists behind their backs. Or, in the case of Watson, his left wrist and the bloody stump that was what was left of his right wrist. Using their neckties, she lashed the belts tightly to a grate in the floor at the base of a nearby pillar. Then, she went to track the human who owned that heartbeat.

*****

Margaret Austen shook with fear in the darkened recesses of the Whispering Gallery. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was terrified past thinking clearly, and merely wrapped her arms around herself and rocked.

Cold panic gripped her and nearly caused her heart to stop when a faint voice reached her through the stillness of the dome.

"I can hear you..."

She shivered uncontrollably, but began to inch toward one of the exits. It had been panic that had driven her to flee the crypt while those *monsters* had attacked Winston and his son Andrew. She berated herself now for attempting to hide, rather than simply bolting for the door and seeking out *any* well-peopled night spot.

Years of work cataloguing newly-acquired volumes for the Watchers Library had done little to teach her how to handle being stalked by vampires.

Losing her nerve, Margaret bolted.

Only to find herself face-to-face with a comely, young-looking redhead who had appeared from nowhere.

Dear God.

The Red Minion.

"Going somewhere?" the deadly, titian-haired vampire asked her coyly.

Before Margaret could scream, she was up against the wall with fangs embedded deeply in her neck. As the blood drained away, she experienced a wave of dizziness and everything went dark.

*****

"You wandered off," Angelus observed as Willow returned to the altar with Margaret Austen slung over her shoulder.

"Something caught my fancy," Willow smirked as she shrugged the middle-aged woman off her back and onto the floor. All five of the conspirators lay at their feet.

"Oi! You nibbled!" Spike chided her at the sight of Willow's mark on Austen's neck.

Willow looked at the familiar fang marks on Andrew Barnes's neck, then up at Spike. "So did you."

"All right, all right, *quiet*, you two..." Angelus broke in. "Let's get them ready, in case our audience actually shows up."

"How long we waitin' before we just kill this lot?" Spike asked.

"We have about three hours until dawn," Angelus noted.

"And Giles needs to get to a hospital soon," Willow added.

"That would be greatly appreciated," Giles muttered with a weak smile.

Angelus strolled over to where Giles was reclining against a pillar and considered him thoughtfully. "We could fix you up right here, Rupert."

Willow's eyes widened in shock as she realized what Angelus was suggesting. Giles picked up on the dark vampire's meaning as well, yet he maintained his composure.

"If it's all the same to you, Angelus, I prefer to remain among the living. Old habits die hard."

Angelus blinked at him and then burst out laughing. When the sound ceased echoing through the cathedral, he added, "Well said. You know...you took a gamble back there. How did you know you could get one of them to try to kill you?"

"Oh, that..." Giles confessed slowly. "Well, I'll admit that I thought any one of them might be angry enough to kill me when I revealed that I'd helped you kill Thomas and Fiona. However, murder wasn't really the sin I was after. I hoped that if I provoked Henry enough, I could elicit an even older, more primal sin."

Angelus raised his eyebrows and mulled over this for a moment. Eventually, a knowing grin stretched across his face. "Pride. Lucifer's sin, the grandfather of Cain's."

Giles nodded, too fatigued to say more.

"Got the job done," Spike muttered indifferently. "Now we just sit and wait."

"No, now we set the stage, William..." Angelus corrected, with a wicked gleam in his eye. "It's been too long, boy...you're getting rusty."

Spike stood indignantly and tossed aside the cigarette he'd been smoking. "Rusty?! I'll show you rusty..."

*****

The stage was set by the time the first Council member arrived. She was a tall, slender Jamaican woman, somewhere in her early thirties, and her eyes flared with horror at the scene she beheld near the high altar.

Five of the most senior members of the Watchers Council were stripped naked and bound helplessly. Charles Watson and Margaret Austen were lashed to wooden prayer benches, Winston and Andrew Barnes were tied, kneeling, to the base of the two forward pillars at the high altar, while the Head of the Council himself, Henry Lloyd, hung upside-down like a fly trapped in a spider's web. Strips of red fabric, most likely ripped from one of the altar cloths, were tightly lashed around his ankles and secured around the same pillars to which Watson and Austen were bound. Lloyd dangled about five feet above the floor.

"Help...us..." Winston Barnes wheezed pitifully from his captive position. The young woman recoiled at the sight of him, eyes glassy and head hanging limply to the side. He looked as though he were already dead.

Without warning, the young woman felt a cold body pressed up against her back and strong hands trapping her arms at her sides. She screamed.

"Welcome, my dear," a sinister voice whispered in her ear. "You're just in time for the show."

She was unable to see the powerful individual who held her prisoner, but she had all too clear a view at the shirtless, pallid blond man who pushed a high-backed wooden chair across the floor toward her, and the equally-pale, red-headed woman who approached with several lengths of electrical cord.

Wait...not human...vampires!

The young woman had only been with the Council for three years, so it took a few moments for her to make the connection between the unnatural chill of the body that had trapped her, and the deadly pallor of the two monsters she saw before her. But once she realized who...or *what*...held her captive, her mind worked frantically to place the faces. Not all vampires were recognized individually in the Watchers' chronicles, but there was something familiar about the blond and the redhead.

Blond...redhead...

...she'd seen a record, somewhere in the index of American vampires...

That was it. Spike, or William the Bloody. An old one. And the Red Minion. Dangerous because she was also a formidable, practicing witch.

As Spike slid the seat behind her and the Red Minion tied her wrists securely to the arms of the chair, the young woman realized with dread whom the third vampire *must* be. The companion with whom their names were so often associated in the records...

"Comfy?" a handsome, dark-haired vampire asked as he stepped in front of her and checked her bonds to make sure they were secure.

"Angelus..." the young woman breathed.

*****

Two more Council members arrived soon after the young Jamaican woman. Like her, they were tied to heavy wooden chairs. The chairs were then arranged in a semi-circle with an unobstructed view of the haggard senior Council members.

Angelus addressed his audience, eager to get on with the much more interesting business of torturing people to death. "You were brought here as witnesses. All five of these Watchers will die, broken as only *I* can break a human being. Admire my craftsmanship. Commit every detail to memory. You three will write the definitive account of how I scourged the highest levels of the Watchers Council. If you fail to record even a single act, I'll track you down and give you a personal demonstration to jog your memory. Have I made myself clear?"

The young woman and the two men who had arrived after her nodded mutely, their hearts throbbing frantically against their ribs.

"Willow, fill them in on the background," Angelus commanded. "I have some whipping to do. Spike, my boy...time to have *fun*..."

The blond vampire grinned sadistically and accompanied his sire to the black, leather satchel that Angelus had brought with them to the cathedral. The dark vampire withdrew a thick, deadly-looking bull whip, coiled sinuously as a viper. With a flick of the wrist, he unwound it with a resounding crack.

Meanwhile, Spike rummaged briefly in the bag before pulling out a cruel set of pliers. Then, with predatory grace, he and Angelus stalked toward their targets: Winston Barnes for Spike, Andrew Barnes for Angelus.

Spike was about to take the pliers to the elder Barnes' pectoral muscles when his sire's voice halted him.

"Face the man this way...Let him watch while I whip his son to death."

Spike complied, twisting Winston Barnes toward the other pillar before he squeezed the man's chest with the pliers and yanked.

To the macabre serenade of screams, Willow began to recount the deeds of the conspirators to her horrified, captive audience. She told them of Buffy's assassination, and of the measures that the seven conspirators took to prevent Angel from being warned about the plot through his Seer.

How they had utilized an ancient spell to deflect visions from Cordelia to another human being who, inexperienced and unprepared for the intensity of the sendings, had staggered in front of an oncoming car and died twenty-four hours later.

How the next person to whom they deflected Cordelia's visions was driven insane.

Lives of innocents whom the conspirators had deemed expendable in order to achieve their goal of murdering a Slayer who no longer answered to the Council.

"They interfered with the Powers That Be, and now they're paying the price," Willow declared solemnly. "It was the Powers who released Angelus to deliver their message..."

Leaning in close to the trembling, tear-stricken Jamaican woman, Willow smiled wickedly and said, "They're really pissed...Never forget that yours is to serve the greater good, not to think you can impose *your* vision of what the greater good is...This," Willow gestured toward her companions, who were zealously inflicting wounds on the two Barneses, "is what happens to those who fuck with the Powers."

Somehow, the young woman found the courage to speak, albeit shakily. "The Powers That Be are a force for good...Y-you expect me to believe that they would use Angelus as an agent for their work in the world?"

Willow shrugged. "The Powers tap whom they will."

"So *you* say," the woman argued fervently. "You're a vampire, just as evil and heartless as those two. Why should I trust what you have to say? You don't speak for the Powers."

"O ye of little faith," Willow chuckled. However, she grew serious when she felt a strange force gathering outside her. While it reminded her of the link to the natural world she often felt as a Wiccan, it was different...almost...sentient...a whirlwind of beings. With sudden clarity, Willow realized what was about to happen.

"Careful what you wish for," she warned the outspoken woman. "Insist that the Powers speak for themselves, and they just might do it."

A violent seizure gripped the young woman, who shrieked as the force of her first vision hit her. Within moments, she was bombarded with vivid images of every event Willow had described, the truth seared painfully into her mind. Willow looked down at her and almost felt pity. Her unwillingness to believe had earned the woman a burden she would carry for the rest of her life.

The Powers had made another Seer.

Willow glanced at the other witnesses, who were gaping in abject terror at the vile acts they were forced to observe. She turned just in time to see Angelus lick the bull whip with broad, gluttonous sweeps of his tongue, savoring the blood of Andrew Barnes. The slashed, lacerated body of the younger Barnes hung lifeless from the pillar.

His father, Winston, was not only dead, but barely recognizable after Spike's attentions. Blood coated the blond vampire's hands and forearms all the way up to his elbows. Willow walked toward him with a gleam in her eye, grasped one of his hands, and began to suck his fingers clean. Spike growled his approval and his eyes slid shut with pleasure at the feel of her tongue snaking around his digits. He was on the verge of pushing her to the floor and taking her right there when an angry exclamation burst forth from Angelus.

"Dammit! We lost one before we could kill her..."

Willow and Spike looked over to where Angelus stood scowling down at Margaret Austen's dead body.

"Heart attack?" Spike asked.

"Oh, probably," Angelus spat with contempt.

"Well, look at it this way," Willow attempted to placate him. "At least we scared her to death."

"It's not the same," the dark vampire grumbled.

"We still have two more left," Willow insisted. She walked over to him and, placing both hands on his cheeks gave him a quick peck on the mouth as one would a sulking child. A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

"You keep an eye on the Head Watcher," Angelus instructed, giving her a deep, sensual kiss. When he released her, he added, "Don't let him die before we've finished the other one."

Angelus went to join his childe in torturing Charles Watson, while Willow moved to stand by Henry Lloyd's head as he dangled upside-down and watched the proceedings unfold.

"The Council will hunt you down...turn every one of you to dust..." Lloyd hissed at her.

"Maybe...but not in your lifetime..." Willow retorted easily.

In short order, Angelus and Spike had eviscerated Charles Watson and drained him dry. They abandoned his corpse, no longer of any interest, and approached their final victim.

"You know, dawn isn't far away," Angelus observed. "We need to make this quick and painful."

"Burning alive is always good," Willow suggested.

"Works for me," Spike agreed.

"Auto-da-fé it is, then," Angelus declared. He strode toward his satchel of deadly instruments and pulled out a canister of kerosene.

"No....no...." Henry Lloyd protested as he struggled vainly against his restraints.

As Angelus doused the doomed man with fuel, he allowed himself the final satisfaction of taunting the conspiracy's mastermind with the *real* reason he had agreed to exact retribution for the Powers.

"Make no mistake, Watcher," Angelus growled in his ear. "This isn't just about vengeance for the Powers That Be. I couldn't care less about their higher purpose. But...Buffy was *mine* to kill...She alone stood against me. She alone defeated me. The only way I'd ever save my reputation would be to take her out. You stole that opportunity from me. So, now you get to take her place...."

"Fiends! Monsters!" Lloyd shrieked, abandoning all pretense of stoicism. Though he refrained from begging for mercy, he continued to spew obscenities at the three vampires.

Willow rolled her eyes in disgust. "Bored now..."

"Spike, have you got a light?" Angelus chuckled.

Spike grinned back. Walking over to his leather duster, abandoned on the floor before he had started working over Winston Barnes, and pulled his silver lighter and a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket. Tapping the pack, he pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips as he walked back to Henry Lloyd's precariously-suspended form. Without a word, Spike flicked the lighter and held it beneath Lloyd's head. With a whoosh of flame, Lloyd was ignited and his curses instantly changed to screams.

Without missing a beat, Spike lit his cigarette, puffed briefly, and then quipped, "We 'bout done 'ere?"

Angelus nodded his approval. "I'd call this a good night's work."

As the male vampires went to put on the shirts they'd stripped off before they'd set themselves to task, Willow checked up on Giles, who had been reclining at a safe distance from the slaughter. He still looked pale and fragile.

"How are you, Giles?" Willow asked softly.

For a moment, the ex-Watcher said nothing. He stared at Henry Lloyd's burning body, the bright flames reflecting in his spectacles. Then, turning his eyes to Willow, he confessed in a strained voice, "A part of me...a very, very dark side of me...wishes I could have held the lighter. At the same time, I'm...relieved...that I was incapacitated. Angelus was right...I don't have the backbone for this kind of vengeance. As much as I loved Buffy..."

"Shh," Willow broke in reassuringly, "It's okay, Giles...I understand."

She gathered him up against her and rose to her feet. Supporting him against one shoulder, she called to her blond companion. "Spike, help me with Giles."

"Quite the trouper, mate," Spike remarked as he slid Giles' other arm around his shoulder.

Together they followed Angelus out of St. Paul's, leaving behind three traumatized Watchers. Willow cast a spell to prevent the fire from spreading beyond the altar, so that they would live to record what they had witnessed. Helpless captives, they could only wait, surrounded by corpses, for someone to arrive in the morning and set them free.

*****

It was close enough to dawn that the vampires knew they wouldn't have time to escort Giles to the hospital and make it back to their flat before the sun rose. So Willow volunteered to look after Giles while Angelus and Spike returned to their temporary lair.

At the hospital, the physician remarked on the astounding degree to which Giles's stab wound, which should have been fatal, seemed to have begun healing. The doctor felt he should be kept twenty-four hours for observation, but did little more than dress the wound, administer a unit of plasma to replenish some of the blood Giles had lost, and prescribe antibiotics. At Willow's insistence, Giles was settled in a private room rather than the ward. Before the orderly left, Giles asked that the blinds be drawn so he could sleep. When the sun's rays were effectively blocked out, Willow was safely able to sneak in.

"So, it looks like you'll survive..." she observed with a weary smile.

"Yes...as always, I'll carry on..." Giles conceded, but with a numb emptiness that Willow found unsettling.

"Giles...I know that there are worse things than knife wounds...and some of the damage you've suffered will take a lot more than antibiotics to heal. But there are plenty of people out there who won't let you go through it alone..."

Giles stopped her.

"I am a mortal man," he began quietly. "Closer to the end of my life than the beginning. At some point, those of us with finite life-spans are forced to ask: why? What have I accomplished? Why patch myself up and start all over? I suppose the drive for self-preservation made me seek hospital care without even thinking twice. But now...now that the dust has settled, I wonder what I have to look forward to."

"Don't you dare talk like that!" Willow growled sternly, clutching his hand. "What have you accomplished? Plenty. If Buffy were here, she'd tell you that if it weren't for you, she'd have given up on several occasions. If it hadn't been for you, I might never have pursued my interest in witchcraft. In which case, I would have been dusted within twenty-four hours of having been turned. To Dawn, you've been better than her own father, and the same goes for Xander. You hold everyone together, Giles."

"But I have betrayed everything that I was, every principle I upheld," Giles muttered bitterly. "I know that what Buffy's murderers did was wrong, but the brutality of what *I* did...it made me see that I have just as much darkness inside me. I wasn't just carrying out justice...I *enjoyed* it. And now I can never claim to be the man I was before..."

Willow hung her head, letting her brow rest against clasped hands for several moments as the weight of his remorse hit her. When she finally spoke, it was in a soft, forlorn tone.

"Not a night goes by that I don't struggle with my demon, that I don't have to fight the temptation to write off all of humanity as nothing better than prey. People like you and Buffy gave me a reason to see the value in human life. Now Buffy is dead...and what those Council members did has all but destroyed my faith that there is anything redeeming about human beings. Or that I should even care if there were...Without you, I don't know how long I'll be able to care..."

Giles stared at her, aghast. His lips pursed in frustration. Finally, he released a low, rueful chuckle and said, "That's blackmail, Willow. I've never heard anything so ruthlessly manipulative in all my life."

Willow smirked, relieved that her words seemed to have hit the mark. "That's the trouble with us vampires, my friend. We're ruthless."

Giles continued to chuckle, but his melancholy laughter soon turned to sobs. The inner hardness he had maintained in order to complete their task collapsed, now that the work was done, and his emotions poured forth in a shuddering stream of tears. He cried for Buffy, for himself...for a sad, sad world. But he also allowed himself to take comfort in Willow's reassuring embrace.

When he had spent himself, Willow urged him to get some sleep and promised she would return before he was discharged. Not wanting to risk the possibility that an orderly would open the blinds while she dozed in the chair in Giles's room, she sought out an unobtrusive place below ground.

Once in the basement, she saw the door to the morgue and rolled her eyes.

<Oh, why not?> she mused inwardly. <Hope nobody tries to autopsy me...Wait'll I tell Spike about this...>

*****

They had five days left.

The Powers That Be had indeed chosen their instrument of retribution well. Once again, Angelus had demonstrated his virtuosity in bloodshed, by slaughtering the most powerful members of the Watchers Council in half the time allotted him.

At first, Willow had expected that the Powers would simply restore Angel, given that the task had been completed. But it became clear that, for some reason, Angelus was to stay for the full ten days.

Not wanting to let him loose in Sunnydale, but recognizing that it wasn't wise to stay in London, Willow persuaded the others to take the TGV to Paris and spend their remaining days there. Angelus ridiculed her for wanting to protect her human friends back home, but was perfectly amenable to the idea of wreaking havoc in France.

Giles chose to finish recuperating in Giverny, in the countryside just outside of Paris. Now that their mission was finished, he had no desire to spend any more time with Angelus, and figured that some time wandering through Monet's gardens would do him some good.

Which left Willow in Paris with Spike and his sire.

Angelus seemed oddly resigned to his impending re-imprisonment. Although he reveled in hunting and tormenting American tourists as if he hoped to make up for lost time, Willow grew increasingly suspicious. She couldn't believe that he would go quietly when the Powers restored Angel's soul. He had to be up to something.

Yet, nothing he did struck Willow as out-of-the-ordinary.

Often, he and Spike would share hunting their chosen victims, reliving their glory days together and leaving Willow to admire the sights of the city by herself. As they did on their next-to-last evening before Angel's appointed return.

"I can't believe they didn't speak English in that restaurant. Everybody speaks English!" whined a passing American woman.

"Oh, they probably did, but that snooty waiter couldn't be bothered to be a little *helpful*. You know the French, they're so rude," her friend huffed testily.

"Well, they should be a little nicer to us, considering that it's our money that keeps them in business," the first woman grumbled.

"Let's just go find a McDonald's. At least *there* we can get ice-cubes in our Coke."

Comfortably ensconced at a café table out on the trottoir, the three vampires watched with disdain as the petulant tourists waddled by in their well-cushioned sneakers. After they had passed, Angelus rose from his seat and announced, "I believe that's my cue. Spike? Willow?"

Spike was already on his feet, ready to join his sire for another bit of sport with the self-indulgent, camera-toting crowd. Willow elected to stay behind.

"There's one for each of you. I'll find my own, later. I think I'd like to stay and finish my wine."

"As you like," Angelus shrugged. "We'll make sure they finish *their* whine. Spike?"

"Be right there," Spike assured him. Angelus left to stalk the two women. The blond vampire dropped to his knees beside Willow's seat and stroked his knuckles against her cheek. "You okay, luv? You've kept to yourself the past few days."

"I'm fine...just cautious..." Willow explained.

Spike fixed her with a knowing gaze. "You don't trust him."

Willow laughed. "You're too perceptive by half. No, I don't trust him. I've been keeping my eyes open. But you should go catch up. As much as I don't trust him, I know how much it means to you to have your sire, your real sire, back for a while."

"Now who's perceptive?" Spike smiled at her sheepishly. Willow had hit home. He hadn't indulged in this much blood sport in decades. "Sure you don't mind?"

"Go on. Get out of here," she shoved him playfully. He trapped her hands in his and leaned in for a slow, deep, measured kiss.

"I've been neglecting you. I'll spend a week making it up to you when we get back," Spike promised.

"Make it two," Willow teased.

"Do I hear three?" Spike purred seductively, nibbling at the corner of her mouth.

"At this rate, you'll never catch up." Willow nodded in the direction Angelus had taken. With a final kiss, Spike hurried after him.

Willow sat back and sipped her Beaujolais.

She had to admit...despite her misgivings about Angelus, this wasn't bad for her first trip to Paris.

"I can't believe we came all the way to see the Mona Lisa, and it's so small and surrounded by god-damned Japanese college kids that we couldn't even get a good look at it," a portly man bellowed crossly to his wife as they passed by. "We should have just gotten a post card."

A sly hint of a smile tugged at Willow's lips as she watched them continue down the street.

"There goes dinner now..."

*****

The following evening, Willow left Angelus and Spike to their final night of hunting and went to browse the bouquinistes' stalls along the Seine. As Giles had so aptly noted, she did love books. Even though her French was too rusty for her to be able to read anything, she enjoyed the simple aesthetics of the old, leather-bound volumes, the black-and-white postcards from the early twentieth century, and the kitschy, colorful covers of Paris Match from the 1950s.

Of course, most of the vendors began folding down the sturdy green lids of their stalls about half an hour after she got there, since she couldn't arrive before dusk. So she wandered out to the Pont des Arts, past the pastels that an artist had spread out on the bridge's wooden planks, and settled in at the railing to watch the lighted tour barges float beneath her on the river.

She smiled wistfully as she heard couples to her left and right teasing each other with kisses and gasping at caresses that were far from chaste. What was it about people in this city?

"Truly a view for lovers," a familiar voice spoke behind her. Willow's guard went up as she turned to greet him.

"Hello, Angelus. I thought you and Spike were hitting the Marais tonight."

He flashed her a charming smile. "We were. Actually, Spike is still drinking with some off-duty gendarmes he plans to dine on later. But I told him I wanted to spend some time with you."

"Did you?" Willow arched her eyebrow coolly.

"That surprises you?" Angelus countered.

"Not at all. I was expecting as much. So, where shall we go hunting?" Willow kept her tone even.

Angelus drew closer and wrapped his arms loosely about her waist in imitation of the many human couples on the bridge. "You know what I want, lover," he purred in her ear. "But you don't trust me, do you?"

"You're never wrong, Angelus," Willow admitted indirectly.

He laughed softly in her ear. "I could threaten to kill every human on this bridge if you don't agree..."

"Come on, Angelus," Willow chided him, with a gaze that both seduced and challenged. "I may not be quite the vampire that you are, but I *am* a vampire. Killing a few humans won't sway me."

Angelus nibbled on her earlobe. "Mmm...you flatter me, Willow. Well, then...since you're not interested, how about I leave you to yourself and take a trip to Giverny?"

Willow stiffened and tried to pull away, but Angelus trapped her in his powerful arms. "You son of a bitch..." she spat.

A deep chuckle rumbled from the dark vampire's throat. "Darla wouldn't take that remark very kindly. But, then, she isn't here. What do you say, Willow? Is Rupert's life worth giving me one last fuck?"

"Just one," Willow clarified through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I don't know...it might turn into nine or ten," Angelus countered smoothly. "But I know what you're worried about. You think I'm trying to get you to fuck the soul away as soon as it comes back. Relax. I *thought* about it...but as much as I'd love to pull that off, the plan is flawed. The minute the soul is back, you'll know it, and by then I won't be in a position to keep you going. I don't delude myself into thinking that you'd continue to the point that it would jeopardize your precious Angel."

"So why...?" Willow asked, still suspicious.

Angelus smiled wickedly. "Because he'll remember every minute of it...Do you think I meant for this to be unpleasant, Willow? Not for you. I plan to show you the kind of tenderness and passion he can't let himself have with you. It'll tear him up to know I gave you what he never can."

Willow's lower lip trembled, but she held her tears back. "I hate you...I really, really hate you."

"Giverny or the hotel, lover...your choice," Angelus sighed with mock resignation.

"All right, *lover*," Willow snarled, glaring at him like an opponent. "Show me what you've got."

Triumphantly, Angelus stepped back and with affected gallantry raised her hand to his lips and brushed a chaste kiss against her knuckles. He draped his arm across her shoulders and began to guide her back to their hotel.

Once in their room, Willow saw that Angelus had planned this long before. A bottle of Taittinger was chilling in a silver ice bucket, with two champagne flutes ready nearby. A dozen candles were arranged around the room, and Angelus patiently lit each one. In the soft glow of candlelight, he uncorked the champagne, filled the slender flutes, and offered one to Willow.

He was any woman's dream of romance.

But Willow knew all too well what lurked beneath that pretty surface. She had told Giles that vampires were ruthless.

Angelus was a vampire's vampire, with the ruthlessness to match it.

"I know you're fond of toasts, Willow. So what shall we drink to?" he teased darkly.

"How about I wish you good riddance?" Willow replied with sweet venom.

Angelus wouldn't be baited. "A farewell, then...au revoir, ma chérie." He tapped his flute lightly against hers; reluctantly Willow drank with him.

When they had finished, Angelus took her glass and set both of theirs down. Moving to stand behind her, he rested his hands on her shoulders and gently began massaging her neck.

"Willow," he murmured, "I told you that this was going to be a night of pleasure. That won't be very easy if you don't relax..."

The redheaded vampire wanted to smack him for presuming that she would enjoy a single minute of this, but his threat against Giles hung over her head. She was going to have to let herself enjoy this. Physically, that shouldn't be a problem. She had no doubts about Angelus's skill. But if she couldn't reconcile herself to it emotionally, the physical enjoyment would be hard to get started.

"I'm trying..." Willow protested.

"Let me help you," Angelus offered. With achingly-slow gestures, he removed each article of her clothing, indulging in sensual caresses of each part of her body as he exposed it. Splayed fingers swept along her side and up her arms as he lifted her shirt over her head and discarded it. Nimbly he unhooked her bra, then slid each satin strap from her shoulders and cupped her breasts as the garment fell to the floor. Teasingly, he circled her straining nipples with his thumbs before letting his hands drop to her waist.

Willow was already leaning willingly back into his chest.

Angelus slipped both hands under the elastic of her flowing skirt and eased it down, hooking his fingers into her panties to guide them along as well. Rather than simply letting her clothing fall to the floor, his hands inched it slowly down her legs. His fingers wrapped around her thighs, swept over the sensitive hollow at the back of each knee, and trailed lightly over her calves.

When he had reached her ankles, Angelus began to kiss his way back up. He started with light, butterfly kisses on her calves and thighs, and progressed to hungry, open-mouthed kisses by the time he had reached the small of her back. Willow was moaning and spreading her legs for him by the time he was fully upright and nuzzling at the nape of her neck.

She felt a twinge of shame when she actually whimpered in disappointment as Angelus pulled away briefly to strip off his own clothes.

"Lie down on your stomach," Angelus whispered.

Willow glanced questioningly at him over her shoulder, and he took advantage of her slightly-parted lips. Covering her mouth with his own, he let his tongue thrust languidly against hers until Willow was moaning again. Then he pulled away and nudged her toward the bed. Without hesitation, she crawled onto it and stretched out, face down.

She heard Angelus pull open a dresser drawer and pull something out. There was a faint snap, and Willow felt drops of oil on her back.

"Where did you--?"

"Sex shop in the eighteenth arrondissement," Angelus explained as he began to spread the massage oil over her skin.

Soon Angelus was splaying his fingers over her body and running his hands from her shoulders to her ass, occasionally pressing down firmly on a specific point for brief intervals. Willow realized he was mapping out the terrain. Soon he stopped his exploration, and when Willow next felt his touch it was on her shoulders, his hands kneading firmly. She almost moaned aloud at the exquisite sensation of his strong hands working her shoulders, as if he were shaping her to his will, but she managed to suppress her cry. His palms moved from her shoulders to her shoulder blades, making slow, languid circles along the way.

His palms and fingers made calculated rolling motions over her oil-lubricated flesh as they slid down her body to her ribs. He stopped at her ribcage and paid meticulous attention to each rib, starting at her spine and following them around their course to the bedspread.

Willow sighed in pure, unadultered bliss as she surrendered herself over to the delicious sensations coursing through her body. How could someone so evil have a touch that felt like heaven? She nestled her head more deeply into her crooked arms as Angelus swept his slicked palms down over her hips and began massaging the pliable flesh of her bottom. As his hands moved down to the soft crease where her thigh met her ass, his fingertips brushed tantalizingly against her intimate folds, always retreating before Willow could fully enjoy his touch. Aching for more contact, she discreetly parted her thighs.

Angelus gave no indication that he noticed her silent invitation, and continued working his way down her thighs. He added generous amounts of oil, caressing it into her skin. Inch by wonderful inch, he pressed his knuckles down her calves, following the contours of her muscles and mercilessly squeezing the tension out of them. Next, his hands wrapped around her slender ankles and tenderly massaged her ankle bones and heels with firm, rhythmic motions.

But Willow's undoing came when Angelus took first one, then the other, foot between his strong hands and caressed the arch. She squirmed uncontrollably until the tantalizing sensations were too much to bear any longer.

"Angelus, please!" Willow sobbed. "You win...I'm begging you...please!"

"Shh, Willow...no..." Angelus soothed her tenderly. "No begging. I promised to make love to you...begging has no place between us tonight."

Settling himself between her spread legs, Angelus slid a finger into her as he began to tease the small of her back with his tongue. Willow didn't even try to hold back her whimpers of pleasure as she raised her hips to match his thrusts. Angelus kissed his way up her spine as he slipped another two fingers inside her. Sucking on the column of her neck, he let his weight rest on her, pressing her hips down firmly against his fingers and grinding her into the bed. The sensation of his fingers fucking her hard and fast, combined with the friction of her clit against the bed, soon built Willow to a screaming climax.

From then on, the evening passed in a daze for the redheaded vampire. Angelus showed her a tenderness and patient attentiveness to her needs that surprised her. He spread her reverently beneath him and spent a full hour worshipping her from head to toe before easing into her again and rhythmically building her to another powerful release.

With an almost childlike playfulness, the dark vampire coaxed Willow to apply massage oil to her hands and explore his body at her leisure. He lay submissively beneath her, gazing up at her with a fire in his eyes that made her tremble, as she gave herself over to the sensual feel of his skin against hers. Against his nature as a master vampire, Angelus gave full control to Willow. He didn't try to force her hands where he wanted them to go, but offered up his body to her like a sacrifice. He made no proud efforts to demonstrate his superior will by hiding the effect she was having on him, but openly moaned and gasped when a caress or a stroke brought him pleasure.

For one terrifyingly treacherous moment, a small voice inside Willow wondered if Angelus might be able to feel love, after all.

She pushed the thought away.

Their lovemaking continued into the early morning, when suddenly Angelus tensed. His face clenched in pain briefly, and he fought against the sensation.

Brushing his hand tenderly against Willow's cheek, he murmured, "Looks like time's up."

"What?" Willow all but cried out, unprepared for the end of the evening she had so dreaded when it began.

"Gotta go," Angelus laughed painfully. His eyes held a lingering regret, and he added softly, "Give my love to William. Just like we did tonight."

With a final seizure, Angelus was gone and Willow looked down into the disoriented gaze of a newly-resouled Angel.

"Willow?" he asked hesitantly.

Willow struggled against her desire to touch him and welcome him once again into her body. Every inch of her was tingling from the things Angelus had done to her during the night, and against her better judgment she craved more.

"Willow? Are you okay?" Angel repeated.

She was shaking. Something was wrong...as good as it had been, she should be able to calm herself down. But her efforts were failing. Far from diminishing, her desire to push Angel back and make love to him was steadily mounting. In a panic, Willow scrambled off the bed, leaving a confused Angel gaping at her odd behavior.

Her eyes fell on the near-empty bottle of massage oil. She grabbed it and smelled, her senses alert. A faint perfume, so light that it could go unnoticed...*had* gone unnoticed...wafted up.

That bastard.

Frantically, Willow flung herself at the dresser and yanked open the drawer. There inside lay a small, glass bottle. Twisting off the stopper, Willow detected a much stronger, more concentrated dose of the same scent in the massage oil and her suspicions were confirmed.

That sneaky, low-down, no-good bastard! A love potion!

She and Angel were saturated with it.

Willow saw the danger clearly now. She had to get away from him until the effects wore off. Without a word, she scooped her shirt up off the floor and pulled it on.

"Willow, what is it?!?" Angel grew increasingly alarmed. "What are you doing?"

"I'll explain later," Willow answered shakily, calling upon every reserve of strength to fight off the urge to ravish him.

She slid on her skirt and was bending down for her boots when Angel reached out to her. "I don't understand what's going on--"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!!!" Willow yelped, knowing she would be lost if their skin came in contact again. She practically leaped away from him and staggered to the door. Before he could follow her, Willow escaped, not bothering to put on her boots.

She burst out of the hotel...

...and into the punishing rays of the sun.

Howling in pain as her skin began to smoke, Willow ran blindly toward the nearest Metro stop. She half-scrambled, half-fell down the stairs until she had reached the safety of subterranean shade.

Miraculously, her boots were still clutched in her hands.

She slipped them on, wincing at the soreness of her sun-blistered skin, and then fished in her skirt pocket for the carte jaune that would allow her unlimited rides on the Metro throughout the day.

However, she swiftly discovered that she would have to come up with another plan. Between the agony of her burned skin and the incessant yearning that the love potion made her feel, Willow could barely focus. She needed somewhere to curl up and just wait out the misery. Not wanting a repeat performance of her dash through the sunlight, Willow considered which Metro stops connected with underground entrances to buildings.

With relief, she realized that she wasn't far from the stop for the Louvre. And from her visit early on in their stay, she knew the perfect spot for a vampire to suffer in private.

Getting off when the train reached the right platform, Willow managed to sneak into the museum -- not having any money on her -- by blending into the crowds of tourists. Very carefully, she avoided the broad patches of sunlight that streamed in through the glass panels of the Pyramid entrance, and made her way down to the basement.

There, in the expanses of the medieval dungeon that had been excavated beneath the modern museum, Willow crawled into a dusty cistern, drew her knees tightly against her chest, and hoped that nobody would investigate the quiet, haunting moans that rose up from her hiding place.

*****

When Willow returned to their hotel room, disheveled from her day holed up in the Louvre, a very worried Angel was waiting for her.

"Willow! You're safe!" he exclaimed as he nearly knocked her down with a grateful embrace. "Spike is out looking for you...Giles is due back from Giverny soon. What in the name of hell made you run off like that?!?!"

Willow smiled wearily and drew a hand across her face. "Angelus thought he could arrange a little get-out-of-jail-free card."

Angel's expression darkened. He knew his counterpart well and would have expected as much. "What did he do?"

Briefly, Willow explained about the charmed massage oil and her reaction to him once the soul had returned. She assured him that she had spent the daylight hours safely ensconced in the Louvre, although she let him believe that she had been enjoying David's mammoth tableaux and Michaelangelo's sculptures.

"I'm sorry he toyed with you, Willow. It's my fault...He drew on my memories. He knew how much I love you...how willing I would be..." Angel murmured, his brow furrowed with remorse at having been the cause of Willow's trauma.

"Shh, it's okay," Willow kissed him, before teasing playfully. "So you love me. I promise not to hold it against you."

He smiled weakly, but his expression was still tempered with regret. "I'm also sorry you had to put up with him for so long."

"It wasn't all bad," Willow insisted gently. "Anyway, don't apologize. It isn't your fault we were stuck with him for that long."

Angel's eyes took on a profound, faraway look as he confessed, "Yes, it was. Well, in a way it was."

"What do you mean?" Willow wrinkled her brow, puzzled.

"The Powers kept him here in order for me to enjoy the full consolation they had granted me," Angel whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

Willow watched as a tear slipped from his eye. But the broad, unabashed smile that stretched across his face reassured her that it was a tear of joy.

"Ten days with Buffy," Angel explained. "Our souls were joined for ten days. It was the best the Powers could offer, since we were cheated out of time that we were supposed to have together...But it was almost enough."

"Oh, Angel..." Willow sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around him and burying her face against his chest. "I'm happy for you."

At that moment, the door to their hotel room slammed open with a loud bang and Spike stormed in, followed moments later by Giles. The blond vampire's eyes widened with relief at the sight of Willow. When Angelus had insisted on a night alone with Willow, Spike had feared the worst. When he returned to find Angel, disoriented and muttering something about Willow running off in broad daylight, his fears seemed confirmed.

But she was safe.

His relief quickly turned to fury. Striding over to her, he shouted, "Don't you *ever* scare me like that again! I was nearly out of my mind worrying you'd let the sun cast you to the winds!!"

Angel willingly released her into Spike's desperate embrace. As the blond vampire engulfed her protectively in his arms, he whispered softly, "Don't ever leave me, baby."

"Shh, Spike, it's okay," Willow soothed him, kissing his eyelids and steadily easing the tension out of him.

Giles relaxed and let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of their entire ordeal with it. Willow was safe. Angelus was gone, and Angel's soul had returned. And Spike...well, Spike was putty in Willow's hands.

Everything was back to normal.

"So, who's ready to go home?" Giles inquired.

A chorus of voices rose in unison, all ready for the adventure to be over.

*****

THE END

To Be Continued in Masters and Minions 5: Oil and Blood
 
 

NOTES:

The poem recited by Angelus was 'A Dream of Death' by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939).

The excerpts recited by Giles as he buried Fiona Leary are taken from 'Philip Van Artevelde: A Dramatic Romance in Two Parts' by Sir Henry Taylor (1800-1886).

The Scriptural passages cited by Giles after he was stabbed are Matthew 5:21-22.

Angelus's toast to Willow is an alteration of a traditional Irish toast: " Here's to the four hinges of society. May you fight, steal, lie and drink. When you fight, may you fight for your country. When you steal, may you steal away from bad company. When you lie, may you lie at the side of your sweetheart. And when you drink, may you drink with me." (There are a number of variations)

And, for those unfamiliar with architecture, Christopher Wren was the architect who designed St. Paul's Cathedral in London...at least in its current manifestation.