1. The Father    

Imagine my surprise when I realized that the representatives had been chosen, that the ritual had already begun, and my impulsive childe was committed to drinking cup after cup of blood until one of two things happened.

Either he died, or he was the only delegate left standing.

What the hell did Spike think he was doing?

I am the head of the clan. It should have been me out there. It should have been my existence on the line, not his. But here I am, in the kind of vast hall that's always used for rituals like this, standing along the sidelines with Willow. Too many candles in here. That's what I hate about rituals. Meanwhile, my boy waits in the inner circle with thirty other vamps...all but one of them doomed to die.

Since when did Spike sacrifice himself for anyone else?

Okay, that's not quite fair, I'll admit. I saw him place himself in harm's way -- in *my* way -- to protect Drusilla, time and time again.

If he survives this, I'm going to kick his ass.

This isn't a game. Dammit, he knows that.

Did he really think I'd want him to risk himself in my stead?

I'm too old for this...way too old. His lips close over the rim of the cup, the same cup that brought an ugly death to two of the five clan representatives who drank from it before him. The anticipation is more than my nerves can take.

I just got him back.

After a century of antagonism, betrayal, and abandonment...I'm not ready to lose---

Thank God.

He's still here.

The cupbearer moves on. Spike has survived this round. Which is more than can be said for the next representative, who turns a sickly shade of gray before disintegrating into dust.

Win some, lose some.

It's been ages since I've participated in any of the blood rites of my kind. Vampire culture in all its glory, where the weak crumble -- literally. Once upon a time, I would have reveled in the thrill and gloated over the fallen. Angelus loved this crap, loved flaunting his power in the vampire version of Russian roulette.

Now it just feels...off.

I don't belong here. It's been so long...so long...

You can read the anger and resentment on their faces. All the clans whose representatives couldn't withstand the first round glare at the survivors. It doesn't take much to guess what they're thinking -- they're wishing death on the survivors, and humiliation to their clans.

I don't belong here. These may be my kind, but I have nothing in common with them.

Yeah...

Yeah, it would be easy to let myself believe that.

It would be a lot easier to stomach than the truth.

Gunn's unimpressed, Who-The-Hell-Are-You-Kidding face looms large in my memories right now. He was never afraid to call me on my own self- denial. If he were still alive, he'd call me on this.

And he'd be right.

I'm scared as hell of how familiar this is -- and how tempting.

What is really terrifying about this ritual -- besides the fact that I could lose my childe -- is that the temptation to slip back into vampire society, and subject the clans to my dominion, is great. Power was the one temptation Angelus never could resist, and so help me, I feel the pull.

It would be so easy to give in.

To. Just. Give. In.

I can't lose my soul. There's no danger of that. I have Willow to thank for it, and I will never, ever be able to thank her as much as she deserves. But that doesn't leave me in the clear. If Spike survives, if we come out on top in this jockeying for status, I could get comfortable with the power. Really, really comfortable. The demon doesn't give up, either. It's bound, but it knows that I'm always listening.

<Give in.>

<Why not?...What's to lose?>

<Not your soul any more.>

<Think of all the *good* you could do, all the lives you could save, when all of L.A.'s vampires are under your authority.>

A seduction worthy of Lucifer himself: the end justifies the means.

Just another step toward hell.

And wouldn't it be easy to pretend I was doing it all for the well-being of others, and not because I enjoyed having the power...

The path to hell isn't paved with good intentions; it's paved with self-righteousness.

Andrew Murdoch is refilling the cup. I know his kind: shrewd enough to stay neutral while the rest of us hammer it out, then return to collect the benefit. The inner circle is down to twenty-three. Murdoch raises the cup to the first vamp's mouth.

Another survivor.

Then the blood in my veins runs cold, colder than usual even for a walking corpse. Spike is drinking again. It doesn't faze him. He even gulps down three swallows rather than the required sip. I shouldn't be surprised; once a cocky bastard, always a cocky bastard.

Meanwhile, I'm having a heart attack, which is a pretty neat trick for a dead guy.

Willow's gentle squeeze of my hand reminds me to keep my emotions in check. Great. Just great. I've been radiating fear and worry over my childe in a hall filled with the city's most powerful vampires, during a ritual intended to sort out the weak from the strong.

Great.

Murdoch moves on to the next representative.

So much for him. Vamp dust really stings when it gets in your eyes.

Willow is fascinated by all of this. When she's curious, Willow's face lights up and her eyes almost burn, they're so intense. This is yet another new experience. I wonder what's going on behind that furrowed brow. Her eyes track every move, and even though I'm watching the same events, I can't help feeling like her steady gaze is catching things I've missed.

I stop wondering when Murdoch completes his pass around the circle.

And then there were eighteen.

Oh....mother of God...not yet...this is hell. I should know, I've been there. Should I be grateful that Murdoch is filling the cup from the pitcher containing the mingled blood his minions collected from Spike, Willow and me? The suspense won't last much longer. This is it. Either Spike will be the only one left standing after this round, or he'll die in one of the later rounds. God, please don't let it be the second. I couldn't bear to watch him wait, condemned, as the cup made its way around until the fatal draught.

I've lost count of the number of times I've faced a 'moment of truth' since I pledged to serve the Powers that Be. So why doesn't it get any easier?

So far, so good. Every vamp before Spike has dropped, and he's savoring our heady brew. His eyes are closed and the look of sheer bliss on his face shoots straight to my groin. I can just imagine what our blood tastes like, laced with the ritual poison.

Intoxicatingly deadly. Spike loves the taste of risk.

Murdoch moves on, and I watch every tilt of the cup as if it were a stake poised over Spike's heart. Only Willow's presence beside me steadies me. I don't even want to think what I'd be feeling if she were out there. She and Spike complete me. Before Sunnydale, I never could have imagined myself as I've come to be, thanks to them.

At peace. Connected.

It should be me out there. Then I wouldn't have to worry about watching either of them die.

But I might not have to. Six vamps have tasted our blood since Murdoch passed Spike, and six have been reduced to dust. I can sense the tension in the room, and I know this particular mood well: it's the scent of dreadful realization. I used to be a connoisseur of this emotion, and how it gave just the right bitter edge to a victim's blood. The other clans must have expected this. The tension mounts as more and more of them begin to suspect that their worst fears are coming true.

Three more down as the cup continues its lethal journey around the circle. It's almost enough to make me hope--

No....God, please, no.

A vamp from one of the tougher clans in the Inglewood neighborhood has survived drinking our blood.

My childe won't emerge from the circle.

I see the subtle clench of Spike's jaw as he realizes it, too.

Why did I agree to this? Why didn't I just let the clans destroy each other? If I had been willing to let them all go to hell in their fight for dominance, I wouldn't have to watch my childe drink the Cup of Death. But they would have taken too many of L.A.'s unsuspecting humans down with them.

I hate the Powers right now. I can't remember the last time I felt rage this cold. I've done my duty, I've served them and saved innocent after innocent. I know I'm still paying for my sins as Angelus. The innocents I've saved are still far fewer than those I brutally tortured and slaughtered. But just when I think I'm doing what They want me to, and that maybe, *maybe* I'll have a chance to tip the scales, They strip me of something I care about. First Buffy. Now Spike.

Willow may have permanently fixed my soul, but it feels like the Powers are peeling it away, layer by layer. It hurts like hell.

Then I notice it.

The survivor from Inglewood isn't doing so well.

Murdoch has almost completed the circle; aside from Spike and the Inglewood vamp, only two others remain. But the Inglewood vamp is swaying, and I'm not the only one who notices it now. I hear the murmurs running throughout the assembly, and Murdoch pauses to see what has caused the excitement.

As Murdoch turns, a trickle of blood seeps from the Inglewood vamp's nostril. Black, thick, and unclean, it drips over his lip and down his chin. He's spasming now, and more blood is oozing from his pores. With a jerk, he coughs up a spurt of poisoned blood. Suddenly, all that is left is a cloud of dust.

For a minute, I almost believe I can breathe again. My relief is that great. Two more contenders to go, and my childe will be safe. I start to hope again.

And then...

...there he is. The sole survivor. And damned if he isn't smirking, too -- as if he hadn't just escaped death by the skin of his fangs. I don't know whether I want to beat that smirk out of him for having deliberately ignored my instructions, or parade him before the others with pride.

Of course, due to the nature of this ritual, one urge overwhelms all others.

I want to drink him.

He's free to step out of the circle now, but far be it from my childe to do the expected. Never one to go quietly, he strides over to the table where Murdoch had set the accoutrements of the ritual. Before Murdoch can muster a protest, Spike is lifting the bowl of leftover blood to his lips and drinking it down. He's definitely given everyone a show tonight. As I scan the room, I can see more than a few vamps gaping at him as if he were drinking a vat of holy water.

Murdoch speaks, silencing the agitated, resentful muttering of the other clans.

"Order of Aurelius, Angelus, Sire of William, who stands as the only survivor of the Cup of Death, the challenge falls to your clan. What is your command?"

"Convene the clans in two nights. We'll make our decision known then."

It's the maximum delay I can take in this ritual, and as far as the decision is concerned, we don't really need it. Willow, Spike and I discussed every detail even before we called the challenge. But our decision will involve serious responsibility, the kind I'm not sure I'm ready for. I need to know that they both understand exactly what this could do to me.

That, and I owe Spike a serious pounding for pulling this stunt against my explicit orders.

Although...

"As you will. What location do you set for the gathering?"

"Willow tells me you have a board room that can accommodate sixty. Each challenging clan must meet us there, accompanied by no more than one second. I leave the other arrangements to you."

"My domain is at your service. It shall be arranged."

Murdoch is almost salivating. Fine. I don't want to be bothered with these details, and he's perfectly willing to enhance his clan's status by serving as my agent.

The challenge has formally established us as the most powerful clan in the city, so by right I close the ceremony.

Just before I speak, I catch my disobedient childe's eye and convey my displeasure at his stunt. He goes completely still for a moment -- he knows.

That's right, boy. The night isn't over yet, and I can still show you fear.

"The challenge is ours. Spike, Willow, come."        

2. The Son        

What the bloody hell am I doin' here?

I don't do selflessness; that's the Poof's gig.

So if anyone is surprised to see me step up for a ritual that'll leave all but one vampire dead, I've got 'em beat by a soddin' mile.

What the fuck am I doin' here?

Don't even need to look behind me to know what my sire's reaction is. I can feel it in my blood: confusion, rage...hang on, fear? Oh, bloody hell, *not* fear! He hasn't been out of the loop long enough to forget what rituals are for. We're all on stage here. He keeps that up, every vamp here'll laugh us out of the hall.

At least my Red knows how to command a crowd. Not a flicker of fear there. Like royalty, she is. From the minute we walked in, she's carried herself like she owns the room and every vamp in it. Granted, I caught her in a slight start when Murdoch read my name off the list instead of Angel's, but she covered it so fast I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who noticed.

This is the way it had to be, see? Don't care if my sire does beat the demon out of me later... if I'm still standin', that is.

I'm the right choice, right-of-sire be damned. Red's come far, but she's still young and knows sod all about blood rituals. Peaches may be older, but he spent a century hiding from himself. He's strong, but Red-Cross-in-a-ziploc and Cabernet Swine haven't left him much of a stomach for the likes of what'll be passed in The Cup. That leaves me.

'sides, I've got an ace up my sleeve. With each vamp who steps into the circle, my chances get better and better.

Most of 'em are familiar faces, and the faces are perched above necks I know quite well.

That's why -- bugger it all -- I'm the right choice. Out of the thirty-odd vamps here, I've sampled twenty at least. Angelus didn't sire a fool. He was showin' me the tricks of the trade long before most of the sods in this room were made.

Trick Number One: know your competition.

Wankers. They never get it. They always think it's about sex.

This is probably their first crack at the Cup of Death. No idea what it takes to win; no long-term plan. Almost too easy, this lot.

Sure, I developed a rep as a horny bastard. Can't say I minded much. Probably helped. Made it easier when they all thought I was just after a quick suck. As if those few gropes and bites meant anything. I didn't lie to Meg when I told her there hadn't been any vamps for me other than Red and my sire. This was strategy, not sex.

If any of my clueless 'partners' had been around in the old days, they'd've thought a bit harder about why I wanted a quick nip-and-sip...and why they never got a taste of me.

I'm ready for 'em. Bloody hell, after three decades I've inoculated myself.

Murdoch's nearly finished the ritual rot. Some dust here, a few Latin verses there, and poof -- each clan's blood is deadly to vamps from weaker clans. Don't know how it works; don't care. All I care about is leaving this circle on two feet, not in a dust pan.

Like him there. Too bad, mate.

Too bad for *you*, that is. My odds look quite nice.

Two down. My turn. Not that I'm worried. Murdoch started with blood from one of the weaker clans here -- I'm damned surprised that any other vamps were dusted at all. I swallow a draught and he moves past me with the cup.

Crikey, for a challenge, this is boring.

'bout as riveting as listening to Wussley catalogue his latest demon research.

Time I showed these tossers how it's done.

Murdoch makes his way 'round the circle. First cup took out seven -- not bad. He dumps the remaining blood in a bowl, wipes the cup, and refills it. Round two is off, and the blood is from a clan I know...quite well. Rather tasty lot, they are.

More's the pity for them.

No question that I can handle this blend, so let's liven things up.

Alright, *shake* things up might be a better word.

I down my swig and Murdoch moves to pull the Cup away. Not so fast, mate. He's probably wonderin' if this is a breach of the ritual, but my grip is firm around his wrist as I take another couple of gulps.

Ahh...that's more like it. A little tremble in his wrist; every eye in the room riveted in bleedin' awe...yeah, now *this* is what a damned challenge is supposed to be like.

Oh...fuck no!

No, no, no...Satan's beard, Peaches! What a way to bloody ruin the moment. Put a fuckin' lid on that fear, already. I *had* this crowd, had 'em in the palm of my hand.

There. That's better...somethin's calmed 'im down. Number one guess is Red. That's my girl.

Augh! Crikey, the sod next to me was a dusty one. Just my luck I'll *sneeze* and come off like a damned wanker.

Wonder what Red thinks. Probably understands the magic involved a fair sight better than I do, and she saw her share of rituals when she was lookin' for a spell for my sire. But she hasn't really done the vamp ritual scene. We've kept to ourselves, Angel, Red and I; haven't really mixed with the other clans where politics were concerned. Wouldn't surprise me if she were drinkin' this up. Red always was curious about the ins and outs of vampire culture. Probably had a lot to do with her bloody worthless sire gettin' staked before he could teach her anything. It damn well should've been me who brought her over.

Well, well...looks like it's show time, kiddies.

Thought we ranked higher than that.

Maybe Murdoch's just gettin' impatient. 'Cos if he's makin' the rounds with *our* blood, this round'll be the last. Our clan may just be the three of us, but we're stronger than the lot of 'em.

We'd better be. Don't fancy leavin' here as a bit of dust in Red's hair.

Odds're fine so far. Murdoch makes his way from vamp to vamp, and they're droppin' like flies. 's almost hypnotic: sip, poof, sip, poof, sip, poof.

Ahh, but then he comes to me...and my sip is greedy because there is no death for me in this cup, only pure, blinding ecstasy. I can feel Red and my sire burn along my veins and the fuckin' incredible rush as our combined strength mocks the effects of the poison and damnedifitdoesntbeateverysoddingthrillintheworldtostaredowndeathitself.

Damn, this challenge needs to end *now*; I'll crawl outta my bleedin' skin if I don't taste my sire, my Red -- and *soon*.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck. NO DAMNED BLOODY WAY! He's still standing...no... *sod* no, this ain't the way it goes, the bleedin' Fat Lady ain't singin' for me yet. Think, mate...I've sampled those goods, tasted him not ten years ago. Not to mention a few others in his clan. HOW THE FUCK CAN HE STILL BE STANDING?!?

Forgive. Me. Sire ... for I have fucked up royally...

Red...Willow...oh, God, luv...we didn't have enough time. If I'd known it'd come to this...

And I don't even get a bloody last request. No chance to ask either of you to TAKE THESE BASTARDS OUT IN A TRAIL OF BLOODY DEVASTATION. Pity. Always thought it'd be the kind of memorial I deserved.

Hold on...

What's this, then?

About. Bloody. Time.

So he hasn't got the stomach for us after all. Looks bloody awful -- would've been better for the sod if he'd been dusted straight off. His face is nothing but a mess of blood...eugh.

Hard luck, mate, but better you than me.

I've got this, nice and neat in my pocket. Those two at the end of the line know it, too. Ohhh yeaahh....smell that fear! Makes it all worthwhile. Puts a smile on my face, a spring in my step, and all that rot.

Didn't think we could pull it off, didja sods? Look at 'em, every vamp in this room is scowlin' 'cos they hate bein' shown up by a clan of *three*. Time to show 'em how it's done.

Murdoch hasn't a clue what I'm up to; wouldn't be surprised if the calculating sonofabitch had never been Master of a ritual before. That's certainly the least demonly gape I've seen on a vamp's face; he was probably expecting me to step out of the circle as soon as the others bit the dust.

That'd be boring. Much better to drain the surplus blood from the bowl he'd dumped it in. ... Sweet blood of the devil! That could leave a bloke three sheets to the wind. Strong stuff.

Doesn't take Murdoch long to recover his wits though. Always was quick to snap back; even after he lost his first-made.

"Order of Aurelius, Angelus, Sire of William, who stands as the only survivor of the Cup of Death, the challenge falls to your clan. What is your command?"

What idiot wrote the script for these rituals, anyway?

"Convene the clans in two nights. We'll make our decision known then."

Now that's unexpected.

My sire could hand down the decision right now -- he, Red and I went over everything last night. That's what this bleedin' ritual was all about: we divvy up Ramirez's territory among the clans, and what we say goes.

So why the delay?

And then I turn and look at my sire.

Shit.

So much for bein' the bloody conquering hero. He's gonna pound me within an inch of my unlife when we get home.

Nice night for it.

"The challenge is ours. Spike, Willow, come."

Party's over, boys and girls.

My sire turns on his heel and strides forth, knowing that Red and I'll follow. He's always had a way of leavin' a room like everyone in it was only so much debris in his wake. Red offers me a wink and a smile, and it *almost* makes the thrashing I'm bound to get at Angel's hand worthwhile. My girl loved every minute of the show. I can see it in those beautiful eyes of hers.

Tell me, what man wouldn't take a beating for that?        

3. The Unholy Spirit    

You know how one of the weird things about coming home from a trip is seeing how much has changed? Like how you can move away for a year or two, and come back to find your favorite bookstore has moved or there's a Thai restaurant where the corner grocer used to be? It's never that simple for me.

I go away on a trip and wind up with a major identity crisis.

All it took was a weekend conference in L.A., and that was the end of *one* Willow.

So then I wander the earth for twenty years, looking for a way to make Angel's soul permanent, and what do I find when I come back?

Another Willow.

Not that I mind...actually, it was one of the best surprises waiting for me. It made every fear I had about reuniting with Tara, Hannah, and Cyrene after so long just kind of go "poof". Well, okay, they'd already made me feel welcome when I called them up and they invited me over for tea and spells, even though it had been almost a full lifetime for them since last we'd seen each other. But that night at Hannah and Cyrene's place, I had one of those moments I'll never forget.

"Willow, can you give me a hand in here?"

Okay, I've been a vampire for over thirty years -- longer than I lived as a human. Yet somehow I manage to have just as many gullible, dorky moments as I did as a teenager in Sunnydale. Something about Hannah's request for help, as she steeped an infusion of rosemary and mint in her kitchen, was so casual and easy it made me feel all warm and welcomed-back. It was familiar. I felt almost like it hadn't been a whole two decades since I'd severed the ties with my coven.

Imagine my surprise when a girl with Hannah's eyes and Loïc's raven hair came down the hall, just as I was getting up to help, and asked, "Whatcha need, mom?"

I may have earned the nickname Netgirl, but I was also pretty good as Mathgirl. Two plus two equals me sniffling and blinking back tears that no other self-respecting vampire would be caught dead showing. Well, figuratively speaking.

They'd named their daughter after me.

And here she was, twenty years old, almost an identical twin the Hannah I'd left.

Cyrene told me it was their way of keeping me with them, at least in spirit.

Have I already mentioned the un-demonly blubbering?

Vampires just weren't meant to blow their noses. Lets just say our bodies are dead, so we don't make mucus or anything...but we *do* have one bodily fluid in abundance. Eww.

That's what got me here, standing in a grand hall that's decked out in full Goth for a ritual, trying to cover my surprise when the Master of the Ritual, Andrew Murdoch, reads Spike's name instead of Angel's from his list of delegates. Not the blubbering, I mean. That's not why I'm here. It was just the feeling of *that* moment, when I realized there was another, special Willow in the world, and she and I were connected to each other by some pretty amazing people, that brought me to *this* moment.

You see, Hannah and Cyrene's place...um, and I guess Loïc's, too, technically, since he took to spending six months out of every year with them after Willow was born...is in the middle of a war zone.

Apparently, Spike kind of eradicated an entire clan while I was away. Angel thinks it was a big one -- somewhere between forty and fifty members, but he's not sure. Spike says he lost count after thirty.

Well, at least he found something to do with his time.

But big clans mean lots of territory and power; no big clan where there used to be one means trouble.

Especially to the humans caught in the crossfire. Vampires don't like witnesses. It's basic survival rules. The human population outstrips the vampire population by far. If humans knew about us -- I mean all of them, not just the Watchers and victims -- they could clean us out systematically. One-on-one, a human is no match for a vampire. But a determined group of humans that knows our vulnerabilities and how to find our lairs could do a lot of damage. I should know, I used to be a Slayerette.

So when a vampire clan war begins, you can expect the human death toll to skyrocket. Sure, the vamps are more interested in taking each other out -- humans are insignificant bystanders. But the minute they become potential witnesses, they're more-than-potentially dead.

And the fighting isn't carried on behind closed doors, either. Some of the most violent streetfighting in a city goes on between vampires. Humans don't know this, because none who've seen anything live to tell about it.

Hannah, Cyrene, and Willow...and Loïc if it's between November and May...happen to live at ground zero.

Not good.

I couldn't let them get hurt. That just wasn't an option.

Spike thought they could all move in with us at the Hyperion until things settled down. I teased him about just wanting 24-hour access to Hannah's neck, and then felt horrible when he said he couldn't really give human necks more than a passing fancy any more, other than as food.

I think Megan will be with him for a long time.

He recovered quickly; Spike always does, at least on the outside. He teased me right back about thinking it was "as bleedin' simple as tellin' all the vamps to stop fightin' and go stand in the bloody corner like naughty boys and girls".

It probably wasn't intended as a serious suggestion. In fact, I think Spike was pretty surprised when Angel said it was a possibility.

But Angel just left it there. He didn't follow up until I pressed him; more than that, he seemed uncomfortable about it. He still seems uncomfortable, now that the die is cast and we're in the middle of the ritual.

The Cup of Death.

From what Angel explained, vampires developed it in the eighteenth century. The wars of religion were over, and open feuding was dangerously conspicious. Cities didn't quite afford the degree of anonymity that they do now. Fewer people, after all. Isolated duels could be explained; something like The Pit would be harder to cover up. So they found a more discreet way to sort out who was the most powerful.

Spike once told me that blood is our truth. The Cup of Death takes that literally.

We're all linked by blood, but the connection is especially strong between members of a clan, who drink from each other on a regular basis. The Cup of Death takes advantage of this by using a potion -- a mixture of mandrake, cinchona, Lamia venom, and a few other ingredients -- that transmutes the combined blood of a clan into a toxin that's deadly to vampires from weaker clans. It's almost like a litmus test. Although instead of a piece of paper that turns red or blue, you have a bunch of vampires that turn gray and dusty.

It's fascinating.

But the magic loses a little of its fascination when Spike is about to put our strength to the test. The prize is acknowledged dominion over the city's clans -- the Cup provides indisputable proof of which clan is truly the most powerful in the blood. However, the cost to all but one of the delegates is so high that clans don't undertake this ritual lightly.

Angel certainly wasn't eager for us to send out the call.

The fact that he did is another indication of how devastating he thinks a clan war would be for the human population of Los Angeles. This has got to be hard on Angel. He's distanced himself from vampire society for so long -- it's kind of hard to mingle with the same demons he kills as a champion for the Powers That Be. Slight conflict of interest there.

So I'm sure he's wondering how he'll juggle serving the Powers and ruling the clans when we win.

Not if, when.

You know....I wonder if I should have said something to Angel. He seems so nervous. Angry, too, but that I can understand. We all agreed last night that Angel would be the delegate from our clan, but Spike must have delivered a different message to Andrew Murdoch. This is a serious ritual, focused on establishing a clear hierarchy, which means that *all* aspects of status -- including sire-childe relations -- are more strictly observed. Angel is definitely not happy with Spike right now.

But why is he so worried? I mean, we're the strongest clan. It's not as if Angel really fears for Spike's survival...

Oh no...

Oh, I *should* have said something. I thought they knew! I thought it would have been obvious. Did they really think I spent two years with Anubis and Sahu without ever...without once...??

Oh, this is awful! Angel and Spike don't know. They really think Spike is at risk. He isn't. Even if one of the clans represented here had fifty members all over a hundred...which, by the way, none of them does.

None of them has the blood of two four-thousand-year-old vampires running through their veins. Oh, the actual blood cycled through my body long ago -- but the strength it imparted is still with me, and through me, it's with Angel and Spike.

How could they not have understood that?

Arrgh! I know why...and when we get home after this, those two are *so* going to get a piece of my mind.

They still see me as the junior partner, as theirs to protect. Oh, I know they don't think of me as the nearly helpless minion I started out as. But it doesn't seem to occur to them that *I* could be the one carrying us this time.

There isn't much use in brooding over that right now, though. Angel has the concession tied up. He and I are standing behind Spike, just outside the circle of delegates, in a palatial hall. It looks straight out of Tudor/Stuart England -- right down to the solid wood paneling, the tapestries on the wall, and heavy, iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The only thing that gives away the contemporary time are the portraits of university professors.

You have to laugh at the irony. A reception hall in the alumni center at a small *Jesuit* college serving as the site for a vampire ritual.

Although I suppose with the number of candles that were lit for the ritual, it almost looks like a chapel. I wonder if that was intentional. They're mostly for show, since they don't seem to be arranged in any of the usual configurations for channeling natural magic -- no circle, no pyramid, not even a basic pentacle. Just...lots of candles.

For better or for worse, it looks like things are starting. It's strange to see Andrew Murdoch prepare the ritual. Nadia and a few of his minions already collected blood from each of the clans under the watchful eyes of all present, and he's transmuting it with the prescribed ingredients and an incantation. He's not doing a bad job of it -- although his Latin is pretty shaky -- but I guess I'm just more used to seeing him in an office than at an altar.

He's also going a little heavy on the mandrake. I would have added less. Not that it will affect the transmutation of the blood, but Spike will probably be a little drunk when this is all over.

The first round is pretty uneventful. So tame, in fact, that my beloved monster is about to test the limits. I can tell -- I've seen that look in his eye before. This isn't interesting enough for him.

Yup, there he goes. It's all I can do to keep from giggling. What a show-off! "I'm the Big Bad, so I'll bloody well take three gulps, ya sods!"

Uh-oh...okay, maybe it's not as funny as I thought. I keep forgetting, Angel is honestly worried about Spike. He's letting everyone else in the room know, too. I'll just give him a little squeeze to remind him to keep it down. I certainly don't want to deal with a sulky Spike if he thinks Angel ruined his big moment.

That's better.

Although I think I'll keep holding his hand. Angel has such nice, strong hands...

Oh, thank goodness! Now we can get this over with and go home. Murdoch is making the rounds with our blood and, sure enough, every delegate that has tasted it so far is now turning the carpet a dull shade of gray. Funny...I never noticed how much vampire remains look like kitty litter...

And that is probably the most bliss I've seen on Spike's face in a long time. Even if the blood of one's own clan can be an aphrodisiac, I *still* think it's the mandrake. Murdoch used at least two pinches too much.

Wait a second...hold it, this doesn't make any sense. Why is that one still standing? He's the one from Inglewood, I think -- and none of the clans in that part of the city even comes close to having a tenth of our strength. This isn't good.

In fact, this is so not good that it's really, really bad.

I can feel Spike through our bond. It's a toss-up as to which emotion is stronger, his shock or his anger. Whoa...okay, that last wave was definitely anger. And poor Angel! Ow...ow ow ow, actually, my poor hand. I think Angel has forgotten he's holding it...or, rather, crushing it.

This shouldn't be happening. Their blood *can't* be stronger than ours...unless...are there really other four-thousand-year-old vampires hiding out somewhere in L.A.? But I still would have felt something distinctive about this one -- I would have recognized the aura of extreme age. Unless...what if magic is involved? The ritual forbids it, but when have rules ever stopped a really determined vampire?

There's only one way to find out, I just hope nobody notices my--

Oops, too late. If he *was* using magic, it wasn't very effective.

Eww, that's gross. Blood in itself doesn't usually hold an "ick" factor for vampires, but there's blood and then there's...ick! It's tainted...foul...

...and gone, now. Nothing left but dust.

Wow.

It's over. So that's the Cup of Death.

Huh.

A lot of ceremony for such a short ritual.

That was a little more tense than I'd expected it to be. And this nagging suspicion just got worse, mostly because a minion from the Inglewood clan keeps shooting nervous glances my way. Something is fishy. It's almost like he's worried that I know something; he's clearly concerned about *me*, and not just anyone. The one thing I can think of that sets me apart from all the others here is my connection to magic.

This adds a new twist to our plans.

I only hope that Angel doesn't spend so much time dealing with Spike that we don't have time to talk.

Dear Spike, you *did* enjoy this, didn't you?

He looks so pleased with himself, I can't resist. We both know he's in for it when we get home, but he played this so well that I can't help smiling. Just a quick wink to let him know that I, at least, appreciated it.

For all his bravado, his cool nonchalance, Spike tries *so* hard...

I'd say "it's in his blood", but now isn't really the time for sly wit; gotta keep the look of dominance on the face. It's what's expected, and Spike reveled in this so much that I don't want to ruin his final moment of glory for the evening. Angel will bring him down from his high soon enough.

So I fall in step alongside him as we sweep out of the room.

Elvis, eat your heart out. Angel, Spike and Willow have left the building.    

1. The Son    

My head hasn't hurt this much since before Red zapped the chip outta my skull.

Peaches has a bloody nasty right hoo--Ngk!

His left's none too shabby.

His shoes look a tad scruffy, though. Easy to notice when I'm doubled over on the floor, cuppin' my hand under my nose to catch the blood--

Oof!

Shit. Scruffy they may be, but they're still on feet that deliver the most vicious kicks to the gut I've ever felt.

"What part of 'I'll represent our clan' didn't you understand, Spike?"

I'll answer...any minute...just as soon as the ringin' stops and I can focus long enough to tell which one of the three of him I see standin' there I'm s'posed to answer.

"Can't...remember that...far back..." I manage to choke.

Like the Poof expected a straight answer.

Ungh!

Right now, all he bloody well expects is for me to imitate a bloody piñata.

At least Red'll leave me some dignity. She's headed for her room; not a damned thing she can do to prevent this, but she'll spare me the humiliation of watchin' my sire beat me from here to Hell's gates.

"Stay, Willow."

Fuck. So much for dignity. Peaches must really be pissed.

Not much I can do as he drags me back to his room. Well, this is new. Usually when he's set on beatin' the crap outta me, it means a trip down to the basement. Keeps all the spilled blood in one place. Real neat freak, the Poof is. Wonder if this time he means to paint the walls red usin' my blood. 'Course, the wanker could be plannin' to make me write "I will not disobey my sire" one hundred times with the bloody stump of my own finger after 'e rips it off.

He's done worse.

Somewhere through the haze I hear him tell Willow to join us for the show.

In short order, he's got me stripped and shackled to the bed. Sod. It's always got to be mind games with my sire. It's never been in the bed before -- always the basement. Didn't even shackle me proper. I'm just restin' against the headboard, like I'm waitin' for breakfast in bed. 'bout the only thing he did was chain my arms up. Just another way to throw me off balance, get me all worked up, but y'know what? I can't be arsed. Whatever he's got planned, I'll feel it soon enough.

His hands set about unbuttoning the black dress shirt he wore to give the clans an air of Angelus. Crikey, he *can't* be thinkin' of buggerin' me in front of Willow. That's not a punishment, it's bloody foreplay!

"Spike, a full transfusion of every drop of blood in your body with holy water wouldn't even begin to repay you for the stunt you pulled tonight. You know better than that."

The blow I'm expecting doesn't come.

"I thought I'd lost you. I should kill you for making me go through that."

Oh...*God*...ohbloodyfuckinghellmotherof...God! So good, so *damned* good...the feel of my sire's fangs in my neck still reaches straight down to the fledge in me, even a hundred and fifty years after he made me. Tongue on blood skin against skin... Please, sire, don't stop ...don't care any more...drain me dry. Just. Don't. Stop.

What.

The.

Hell...!

He's beaten me unconscious, that's what it is. This is a bloody hallucination. That is *not* what it looks like. My sire is *not* slashin' his chest directly over the heart. There's only two times vamps cut open that vulnerable spot: when they make a childe (and even then, they don't always use heart's blood) and when they take a Mate.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore..."

If this is a hallucination, it's starin' me down, waitin' for me to answer. But how the hell do I answer?!? We've been sire and childe, we've been enemies, we've even been 'mates' in the sense of two sods drinkin' and shaggin' and generally terrorizin' the world together.

But never Mates.

Angelus never even considered it. Forget the 'favored childe' bollocks. He may've shown more pride in me than in any of his other creations, but he made damned sure I knew my place. At his side, sure -- but always a half-step back.

There's no half-step back with Mates. That's the whole point. Vamps don't need to be Mated to shag; only reason to bother with it at all is to put the two on equal footing.

What the hell is Angel up to?

Oh, hell...

No.

No, that prick!

Just one look at my Red, and I realize exactly what he's up to.

Red's as confused as I am, I can feel her through our bond. Worse, I feel a hollow sorrow and it all begins to make sense. If *this* is my punishment -- bein' forced to choose between Red and my sire -- then Angel has bloody well crossed the line.

How dare he?

Even Angelus wasn't this cruel.

"You bastard!" My voice is cold and I can barely stand to look at him. I steal a glance at my stoic little witch instead.

My sweet Red, who's doin' her best to stifle the pain, but I know.

When the Poof follows my gaze and takes a good look at Red, he crumbles. Now I'm *really* confused.

"Oh, Willow -- no. I didn't mean to...I mean..."

Red and I stare at each other, then at the Poof. At this point, he's makin' about as much sense as Dru in one of her bad spells.

"Willow, come here. I think I should start over."

He's lookin' at Red, his arm stretched out in invitation, and for some reason she trusts him. Always has. My sire and I are already stripped down, so Red bares that glorious body before joinin' us.

Now if we could only get the Poof to snap back to reality, but he's turned in on that thick skull of his. Me bein' all chained up and nowhere to go, I wait.

And wait.

"Tonight was just the beginning. I don't know how long I'll be able to handle ruling the clans. I need you, both of you, now more than ever."

I'm not usually the one for revelations; that was always Dru's lot. But one hits me now, and I realize what my sire's proposing.

A Mated triad.

It's been done, but not often.

For a minute, my mouth won't work. Hell, my whole damned body is as stiff as a proper corpse. I finally manage to look 'im straight in the eye, and there ain't a bloody ounce of doubt in those resolute depths. I've yet to discover a force of nature that could match my sire when he's this determined. He means to Mate us both.

"You're serious."

So I just stated the obvious. Best I can do, under the circumstances. I'd still wager I'm hallucinating.

He nods. "I thought I'd lost you tonight. My first impulse was to pound you to dust. But if I give into the urge when it's just you, what's going to happen when it's every clan in the city? The cycle has to stop, and it has to stop *now*. But it's more than that. If I had lost you...or, Willow, if it had been you...I would have lost *myself*. Neither of us would have walked away from that circle."

Flesh dies, but instincts stay. My chest tightens at my sire's speech even though my heart'd long since given up beating.

Red's cryin' -- sod that, she's bloody well shakin' like she'll never stop. A split-second later all three of us are kissin' and gropin' -- well, alright, so I can't much grope either of 'em, bein' chained up and all. But I do my bit.

Peaches finally pulls back, his shoulders squared and a solemn look in his eyes. With just one look, my sire can set the mood for a ritual a damned sight better than the bleedin' mess of candles and hocus pocus Murdoch paraded out this evenin'.

The shackles come off. He leans in for one more kiss, and in just that one kiss I can feel the change. His tongue teases and invites, rather than possessing. We'll never stop bein' sire and childe, but this is something different. Don't quite know if it's good or bad either -- not many blokes've had their Maker kneel beside 'em and say "I'm no higher than you".

I've spent so long fighting him, trying to prove myself. For close to a century after the curse I tried *anything* to get him to stop ignoring me, stop acting like he was *sorry* he'd made me. Just my luck, it's finally *worked* and I'm at a complete loss for words.

But good or bad, I want this. I want *him*. I want Red. I want the three of us until the sun burns out and this world finally goes to hell.

Sad thing is, it took a Slayer to bring me to the point where I'd be ready for this. I hated sharin' Dru with Angelus...hated sharin' my sire with Dru just as much. Meg was the only one who was ever truly *mine*, and mine alone.

Thought I'd finally found someone I didn't have to share, someone who couldn't be taken from me by my sire.

I lost her anyway.

Made me realize it wasn't Angelus who took Dru from me, or Dru who took my sire from me; it's just the nature of the game. Can't hold anything for long. Nothing comes with a bloody guarantee.

Except this. This is the best shot a vamp ever gets. And now, I'm ready for it.

Angel re-opens the gash over his heart. This time, he starts with Red.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

The sight of 'em reachin' for each other, all gentle, like they think they'll break, would take my breath away if Angelus hadn't made sure of that already. It's hard to watch Red close that deadly mouth over my sire's chest and not touch either of 'em.

When Red lifts her face, Angel's blood coats her lips, rich and dark like nectar. What I wouldn't give to lick her mouth clean, but it's not my turn yet. Red drags a nail across her chest and offers herself to Angel as the shallow furrow wells with blood.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

Angel wraps one arm around her waist and she arches back as he laps at the wound. I want to touch her, want to scream at him to touch her while I watch -- and then he does. His free hand closes over a breast and he rolls the nipple between his fingers. I'm mesmerized by the rise and fall of my sire's head as it rests between those perfect peaks.

They part at last, and my sire turns to me with Red's blood smeared on his chin. It's more than I can take, and I grab him by the hips and lean in to clean it off with my tongue.

Lust. Ain't it grand?

When I'm through, I can't resist a final nip on the jaw, which earns me a deep growl. My sire pulls away, and I see it in his eyes, too. Lust.

Time to wrap this up, so we can get on with the shagging.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

I dip my head and suck, tuggin' lightly at Angel's flesh and runnin' my tongue along the cut -- just how he likes it. Earns me another growl, and I feel his grip on my hips tighten. Cor, there's nothin' to compare to his taste. Forget the dainty, poncy verses about 'love sweet as wine'; this is pure heroin.

And just as addictive.

It's hard to quit. But I do, and a slash and a few ritual words later, I'm drownin' in the sensation of my sire -- now my Mate -- drinkin' from me. He knows just how I like it, too. Nice and hard. He saws at the wound with his teeth, just enough to bring a new flow of blood to the surface, and I don't even bother tryin' to hold back. I howl.

At this point, he's worked me into such a frenzy that when it comes time to swap blood with Red, I can barely keep from attackin' her.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

Someone says the words; can't be sure who. All I know, all I feel, is the blood of both my Mates screamin' through my veins and cool, soft flesh thrusting willingly into my hands. Her blood is wet and slick against my lips and I want to bury myself in the feel of 'er. She's everywhere, there's only her, and I feel other lips, deep in the shelter of her thighs, wet and slick against the tip of my cock.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

Words...blood...it's a blur and Red's mouth is on me and oh HELL!

Vaguely, I can feel Angel steady me. My head clears and I look at my Mates. All three of us are shakin', more than ready to fuck each other senseless. But the Poof's a stickler for formalities, so we'll do it proper.

Together, we take one of the few vows vamps ever pledge to each other.

"You and no others."

And then it's done with.

Demons aren't known for fidelity; not really the nature of the beast. So when we do bother to go to the trouble, it's all the more serious.

This is forever.

That's just a bit of poetic license for humans; to vampires, it actually means something.

Though it doesn't mean exactly what a human might imagine. I once told Meg that vamps don't march up to the altar and promise to be faithful until death do us part. There's the obvious problem -- we're already dead. Not to mention we're predators -- sexual predators as well as the top of the food chain. Some instincts can't be tamed by a ritual. No, this is eternal, but not in the nauseatingly fluffy sense of "soulmates" 'til the end of time. Y'need soddin' souls for that.

Just means we've closed ranks. Forays out to sample a few carnal delights won't be forbidden, but they'll be temporary. When all's said and done, it'll still be just the three of us. We can dally outside the inner circle if something catches our fancy, but nobody else gets *in*.

We alone are equals. We are matched. We are worthy; all others are unworthy.

This is about power, not sex.

Although love, too, comes into play.

Then it all snaps; thought drains away and all that matters is what the blood commands. If I had it in me to think straight, I'd reel at how much's changed in one night.

My Mates and I rule this town.

Plenty of time to crow over that later; right now, there are more pressing matters. We three all feel the pull, like an urgent hunger, but we start slow, leaving plenty of room for the fire to build. Red rubs her brow against my temple, soft and gentle, while Angel nibbles along--FUCK!--yeah, *that* spot, right under the jaw. S'one of the things I love about bein' a vamp: we don't fixate on just those few bits of anatomy that humans do. Sure, most mortals know enough about foreplay to give eachother a passable once-over, but it's damn pathetic by our standards.

Angel's driven me near out of my mind, held me right on the edge by spending hours just sucking and biting my ankle. Red nuzzles like a big cat. She loves to creep up behind me, bury her face against my shoulder and purr.

Don't even get me started about the neck.

I feel 'em everywhere. Skin brushes against skin. I know his touch from hers, but at this point I can't be buggered to sort one from the other. Doesn't matter. The bit of flesh I've got between my teeth twitches deliciously; a bit of my flesh is bein' sucked on, hard enough to give me a rush; everywhere I run my hands, my palms slide over familiar curves and planes, all of it my Mates'. Mine. Ours.

Blood's rushin' in my ears, every inch of me is tense, wired. Angel knows what I need, but it still shocks me when he offers. If I still needed a clue that we've moved past sire and childe, this bloody well seals it. Crouched on the bed, he's lookin' at me over his shoulder, waitin' for me to take 'im up on it. And I've never been one to resist temptation.

Although damn it if the fledge in me doesn't freeze up at the look in his eyes. It's like he's lettin' me go, and for a split second I panic. I tell myself it can't be a good-bye fuck -- we just bloody well Mated! I squint harder, and finally I see it, glimmering beneath the reflective, faraway stare. A steady gleam of pride. And I realize I was wrong, it *is* a good-bye fuck...just not the kind I thought it was.

Good-bye, sire. Hello, Mate.

I drape myself over him and lick his spine, from the neck clear down to the hips -- figure I'll return the favor, since I love it when he does it to me. Then I slide in, and I stop, eyes closed, tryin' to steady myself. It's a few moments before I can pull back again; soon, we're in a rhythm that drowns out everything else. I think Red's beneath him now...hear sucking...

I'm long past coherence, and my head's so addled with lust and my Mates that I don't even notice when the blackness creeps up and overtakes me. Too busy feelin' one thing, one thing over and over, to care whether I pass out.

This is Heaven, or as close as I'll ever get.

*****

2. The Unholy Spirit    

I think I've narrowed the cause of the mystery down to two things: one suspected fortification spell, to enable that candidate to survive the Cup of Death, and if so, one cloaking spell to hide the truth. What a night for amateur spell-casters. At least I've got something to go on. I'll have to see what Lacouture says about the side-effects of a failed fortification spell during a blood ritual. Although...I didn't lend my copy of Lacouture to Wesley, did I? Gosh, I hope not. We only have two nights to figure out exactly what we're dealing with. Maybe I could go back and try to read the--

"Stay, Willow."

Umm...

Okay...Angel looks like he's not quite done polishing his shoes on Spike's gut -- but does he want the old bunny rabbit trick already? Usually it's a good hour or so of assault and battery before he sends for me. So what's the deal?

I thought I'd have some time to do a little research on the Inglewood clan. Figure out what sneaky, no-good trickery they're up to.

"Willow, come with us. This involves the three of us."

I know that voice. Twenty years, and I haven't forgotten Angel's "do-as-I-say-and-do-it-NOW" voice.

So I guess I have to stick around for the show.

Poor Spike. He'd rather I didn't see him like this.

Oh.

Uh...

Well...okay, actually he doesn't mind me seeing him like *this*, all naked and chained to a bed. What on earth does Angel have in mind? Is this some new kind of punishment he came up with while I was away?

One of those punishments that I'm obviously not familiar with where Angel has to get naked?

Erm...

"Spike, a full transfusion of every drop of blood in your body with holy water wouldn't even begin to repay you for the stunt you pulled tonight. You know better than that."

See, that's the kind of disciplinary action I'd be expecting Angel to take right now, but somehow I don't think this full-body blood transfusion is going to happen with Angel's fangs in Spike's neck.

Punishment or seduction?

It really is such a fine line, especially with Angel and Spike. I can't remember a time when they haven't been like this. Spike plowing through every limit like a drunken bull, Angel putting him in his place, and it always ends the same way. With a lot of "bloody good shagging", as Spike would say.

Well, okay, I used to think they were enemies back when I was human. But I was *human*, for pete's sake. There were a lot of things I didn't know about vampires.

I suppose since I've had to learn about sire-childe relations second-hand, they've been as good a model as I could have asked for.

Although I'm still not sure why I get a front row seat tonight. I wonder if Angel would take it the wrong way if I went and made myself some popcorn.

Okay...self-defense mechanisms are functioning properly. Attempt at witty humor in inner monologue? Check. Feeling uncomfortably like a third wheel? Check. Come on, Willow, you've been a vampire for thirty years. Long enough to lose that tag-along feeling.

Get a grip. Demon, remember? Grr...arrgh...

Except that doesn't work so well, since I put so much effort into salvaging the remnant of my human personality. It comes complete with bonus features like, say, residual insecurities, a dose of adolescent alienation, all that good stuff...Here I am, ready to play the part of the Unholy Spirit, the terror of L.A.'s vampires, member of the ruling Trinity, and I still have anxieties about being neglected by Angel and Spike, which can probably be traced back to some kind of transferrance from the distant relationship I had with my own, absentee parents and boy did that thought ever make it obvious that when I was human, I was the child of a psychologist...

It's just that seeing them like this is...well...

It fits.

They fit. And not just in the insert-tab-A-into-slot-B sense of the word, either.

They've both told me the story of the night Angelus turned Spike, but watching them now, it's like their attraction is *palpable*. I don't think it was just the blood ritual that made Angel want to drink from Spike--

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore..."

--or...oh...umm...

Or, say, initiate a Mating bond.

I'm...

...it's....

Okay, I can't help feeling a little jealous. Wait, let's change that to a whole LOT jealous. But this is good...it's right for them. I mean, they got closer while I was away, and now that Angel's soul is safe he can have more with Spike than just the ties of blood between sire and childe and WHO AM I KIDDING?!? I spent all that time looking for a spell not just for Angel, but for *me*. I wanted to stabilize Angel's soul for *me*. So I'll be jealous if I want to! I'm a demon! And right now, I'm feeling darn selfish.

Stop it, stop it, stop it. I am not going to cry.

Turning Angel into a grotesque, corpulent orangutan is mighty tempting, though, for making me watch this.

No. I won't do that.

My whole problem is, I love them.

Dammit, it makes it really hard to pull off a good bout of bitter, dejected, self-absorbed jealousy. Why do I have to care enough about Angel and Spike to see that this is right for them? Spike needs a reason to grow up -- finally -- and Angel needs to be able to stop feeling responsible for everything. But I wish I didn't love them enough to listen to reason. I'd really, really enjoy letting myself go with my demon for awhile -- right now, some extended fuming and sulking sounds appealing.

Oh, Spike, don't do that.

Don't look at me like that.

Can't you see I'm trying to keep up my brave, I-won't-cry-until-I'm-alone-later face? It's really hard when you look at me like that.

"You bastard!"

He can't be.

Spike isn't going to reject Angel for me, is he? I don't believe I'm asking that, considering I was jealous enough to want to turn Angel into an orangutan just a moment ago, and I'm not the only one who's confused, am I? Angel is blinking at Spike like Spike just told him he's been thinking of joining a monastery.

"Oh, Willow -- no. I didn't mean to...I mean..."

Wow. Did Angel just babble? That's *my* line.

At least we're all even now. Yesiree, one big ball of confusion. You know, with all the time I spent on a Hellmouth, not to mention some of the places I've been in the last decade, you'd think I'd stop expecting things to make sense.

But it sure would be nice for a change.

And from the look on his face, I'm guessing Spike is thinking the same thing right now.

Angel isn't always good with words. I figured that out even before I was turned. He's always had this Cordelia strain in him. Not Cordy Vision-Girl Cordelia, but King Lear's Cordelia. Angel can't really heave his heart into his mouth. He makes up for it with actions, though.

Like now. His hand is reaching out to me, and suddenly I'm back in the lobby, thirty years ago, after one of the loneliest nights of my entire existence. Right back at the moment he took me in.

"Willow, come here. I think I should start over."

Just like that, Angel can make everything feel okay. I don't know how he does it, but just with a look and one simple gesture, he quells my demon.

And all those anxieties about being left out? Poof, all gone.

Just have to get out of these slacks...and now the stockings...and I can join them so Angel will finally explain what's going on.

"Tonight was just the beginning. I don't know how long I'll be able to handle ruling the clans. I need you, both of you, now more than ever."

Both of us.

He needs both of us.

"You're serious."

I'm glad Spike can manage to speak. That makes one of us. It's kind of hard for me right now -- I think I broke something. Or severely sprained, at least. That happens when you come to a jarring halt out of a tailspin. I got so caught up in my own fears that I missed the connection. And I'd even guessed it earlier! I barely need to listen as Angel explains how difficult it's going to be for him to rule the clans without slipping into old habits.

Of course it will. Difficult is hardly the word. It will tear him straight down the middle. And he's doing it because I asked him to, so that Cyrene, Hannah, Willow and Loïc would be safe.

He needs the same kind of support from me that my coven offered me years ago -- the same understanding that I couldn't do everything on my own. If we want to be sure that ruling the clans won't consume Angel entirely, it will take more than just Spike and me standing with him as his appointed marshals. We can't bow to vampire conventions of power; we need an alternate path, one less wrapped up in domination.

We need the way of Wicca, and I'm the one who can offer it to Angel.

I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner! I was so confident that our blood was richer in power than any other clan's that I forgot there is a difference between having power and wielding it. Why did I just assume Angel would be okay, that he could take care of himself?

Maybe because I'm not used to the idea of being as strong as he is. I guess it felt reassuring to believe that Angel would always be the one in charge, the strong one...the one who would handle all the responsibility for our clan...

Oh my gosh, I've been taking him for granted! He really *needs* us.

Both of us.

And he wants...*both* of us.

I'm not even going to try to stop crying. I'm...I can't...I don't know how many times I dreamed of this out in the desert. It was just something to keep my hopes up when sleeping beneath all that sand got to be a bit oppressive. But now that it's actually happening...

We're pulled to each other like magnets. One second, I'm sobbing because Angel has offered me the one thing I never really had -- a true blood bond. Before I know what's hit me, we're practically devouring each other -- real, world-class lip-lock. Our mouths move over each other eagerly, blindly, and I'm so caught up in this delirious sensation of being loved that I don't even think about moving things forward.

Eventually, Angel manages to pull away, and with just a slight shift in his stance and a steady, intense gaze, he creates a mood that's almost sacred. He is so reverent about this, about offering himself to us and asking us to join with him, that the contrast with our frenzied lust barely a minute ago is almost dizzying.

I have to wonder if it's a habit he developed in his quest for redemption, or if it's just in Angel's nature to show compassion for others even when he's asking for help. Either that, or I'm no good at covering up my feelings, and it was pathetically obvious that I felt left out.

This time, when he re-opens the wound above his heart, he turns to me first.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

When my tongue catches the first drop, I feel it in my soul. My *soul* -- this thing that sprang up in me, quiet and unnoticed, like grass and vines crawling over stone ruins. I still don't understand how my soul works; I don't know why it clings to me when the only thing that gives it form is my connection to everyone I care about. But I feel that same connection in the taste of Angel's blood.

At last I have blood ties. I have kin.

I barely knew my sire's touch, but I'll feel Angel and Spike with me forever now.

I just want to close my eyes and let Angel flow through me. His blood trickles down my throat, but it's so much more than blood. It's loyalty...pride...pure joy...

Since it would defeat the whole purpose if I drained him, though, I manage to pull back and offer my blood in return. No more than a shallow cut over the heart -- the most vulnerable part of a vampire's body, and one that we don't puncture or slash carelessly.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

The feeling of connection gets stronger as Angel drinks. Is this what it was supposed to feel like when my sire turned me? What it would have felt like if he hadn't been a minion? I guess there's no way I can ever know, but part of me likes the idea that this is a second chance, that at last I get a glimpse of what being turned *should* be. Our blood hums in my ears, floods me with him, and knits us so closely together that I can't tell if his hands really are touching me, or if I'm dreaming us both.

The bond consumes me so fully that I don't realize how tightly wound I am until Angel releases me, my blood still dripping from his lips. As intoxicating as sheer bliss is, I guess demons aren't made to handle paradise. My head sways a little from the rush, and suddenly I'm relieved that I can recover on the sidelines for a few moments while Angel and Spike take each other to Mate.

And I thought caffeine wreaked havoc with my system. Whew!

Seeing Angel offer his heart's blood to Spike may have made me jealous when I thought I'd be shut out, but now all I can think of is how erotic they are together. Spike doesn't suckle -- he wolfs Angel's blood down, savagely, like he wants to possess Angel by swallowing him whole. And the look on Angel's face...with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, as if the universe begins and ends at the point where Spike feeds from his chest...

I'm so entranced by the beauty of the act -- by the sight of their solid, powerful bodies embracing, of their mouths bathed in each other's blood -- that I feel like I'm being snapped out of a trance when Spike turns to me to complete our Mating.

Actually, it feels more like somebody flipped a switch and energy is crackling through every point in my body. Spike has a way of seducing me that's like being hunted. It's how I first knew him: as a predator. I don't know what it is that draws us to each other like this. Even after I'd been turned, his first response to me was to stalk, to move in for the kill.

There are traces of that primal relationship -- hunter and prey -- as I slash my chest and offer my blood to him. Even after we've embraced each other as Mates, as equals, I doubt it will disappear completely. As Spike laps greedily at my wound, and I feel him hard and urgent between my legs, I realize that I don't want it to disappear.

There's something to be said for being hunted and claimed, and for having someone who'd like to play it out every night for the rest of eternity.

I blink, and realize that somewhere in there I drank from him and the triadic bond was sealed. I can feel them both, really *feel* them, and it's a hundred times more vivid than the link I created with Spike through my seal on his wrist.

Angel steadies Spike, and we speak the final words of the ritual. They're simple, but as I've learned from my experience with magic, simple words often hold the most power.

"You and no others."

The words are more than a promise. They describe what's in my heart now. Angel, Spike and no one else. Well, Giles, too. And Xander and Tara and Cyrene and Hannah. We wouldn't be caught up in this mess with the clans if they weren't as much a part of me as the blood in my veins. But, it's different with Angel and Spike.

It's not like I wouldn't be me without them -- I was still me for the whole fifteen years we were apart. I just can't see me wanting to be me without them. Together, we're more than just us alone.

Kind of like sex. It's so much better with partners.

And speaking of that, now we get to the fun, snuggly part. Hannah always used to tease me about putting "vampire" and "snuggly" together in the same sentence -- she insisted that it was just my distorted view of things. I can see where she might think that, since her only other experience was with Spike, and he loves to flaunt his sexy-dangerous image.

Which means that Angel and I are among the few who know how much he likes to be cradled in a lover's arms -- just held and caressed. I know that plenty of our kind get off on pain, and Spike is no exception. But just as much, he loves it when I lose myself in tracing my fingertips across his skin, sometimes for hours at a time.

Somewhere inside him, beneath the fierce demon, is the spirit of the poet he was in life. Not the man who struggled to find words which always came out as awkward, pretentious verse -- but the dreamer. The one who wanted to be part of something sublime and beautiful, and always found it just out of his reach. Although Spike likes to act as though this man never existed, from everything Angel has told me, not only was it this spirit which captivated Angelus when he encountered William, but he never lost it, not even when the demon claimed his body.

So I lean against him, rub my forehead gently against his, and let him know he's loved.

Angel must have the same idea, because he draws up alongside me and starts licking and biting Spike's jaw. Spike lets out a low moan, and I feel his fingers tighten slightly at my hip. After awhile, the three of us are clutching each other more urgently.

When Angel drops to his hands and knees and invites Spike to take him, I wait off to the side for a few minutes. This is something they need to do; they have to come to terms with being Mates instead of sire and childe. Even now, I can see in the awed expression on Spike's face that it frightens him a little to cross into this territory. But it passes quickly, and soon he's draped over Angel's broad back, running his hands along Angel's sides and licking his way down Angel's spine as if he wanted to worship his Maker's flesh one last time.

Then Spike straightens up, his hands cupped on Angel's ass, and eases his hips forward. Looking at Angel's face, at his eyes closed tight with desperation, at his passion-parted lips, I can almost imagine I'm feeling everything Angel feels. My imagination has gotten *extremely* vivid in the last thirty years, and in no time the warm tingling between my legs swells to a throbbing ache.

Spectator season is over -- time for some audience participation.

Angel's eyes snap open, dazed with passion, when I kiss him. One brief, gentle kiss becomes many, and soon he coaxes me beneath him. He treats me with the same reverence I saw Spike show him, and I wonder how he has the self-control to be so tender with me when he and Spike are thrusting furiously against each other.

Then I feel his tongue tease my clit, and I don't wonder about anything. There's nothing at all, except his mouth, his teeth, his incredible, insistent tongue, and I can't move against him fast enough. Oh God...please...so tense, so tight...his tongue is stroking faster, it feels so good...yes...ohgodI'mgoingto....I'm...

When the pleasure hits me, it's so intense my entire body shudders. And still, Angel doesn't let go. His mouth is clamped down on me as if he'll slip away into oblivion if he loosens his grip. He's trembling himself, and I can tell that Spike just pushed him over the edge. I close my eyes and simply enjoy the tingly sparks that wash over me.

It's only when I hear Angel murmur Spike's name that I return to the here and now. Angel's weight shifts, and I feel Spike collapse on the bed beside us.

Spike is blissfully unconscious.

All I can do is shake my head at my beloved, slumbering Fury.

"I *knew* they used too much mandrake," I chuckle.

An old saying about the month of March pops into my head. I wonder if Angel would agree that Spike came in like a lion?

"Mandrake?" Angel asks.

"It enhances the potency of any ingredients in a spell -- in this case, our blood. Spike basically--"

"--got drunk on us," he finishes my thought with a laugh, and it really is so funny that I can't resist joining him.

Of course, it's not long before laughing gives way to sweet, endearing kisses and love bites; then to gentle caresses that deepen to intimate explorations; then to fangs and slow, heated plundering of flesh. The night slips away as our bodies seek union. It's nearly dawn before either of us is willing to slow down.

"That was intense," I sigh, amazed that I was able to keep my voice from trembling.

Angel doesn't say anything, just rests beside me quietly. I know he's not brooding; he looks as peaceful as I've ever seen him. But something about that calm serenity reaches down to the depths of my being, and I want to know what he's thinking.

"Why did you do it?"

He's slow to answer, but this isn't a simple question to answer. It wasn't a simple step to take.

At last, Angel murmurs, "It's been on my mind for awhile. When you were gone, I couldn't stop thinking about how much you had become a part of me. 'Mate' was the only thing that came close to describing how much you meant to me."

"Angel, I know that. I know this is where we were heading. It's just that this was a little sudden, I guess."

We stroke each other gently through another lengthy pause, and I'm reminded once again that Angel isn't really a speech-making kind of guy. This becomes even clearer as he struggles to explain about making choices, about his duty as a Champion for The Powers That Be, and the frighteningly shadowy line between right and wrong. As he goes on, it strikes me that for someone who isn't much for flowery words, he's struggling to deal with some of the most profound questions there are.

It's humbling, because I realize that there *aren't* any eloquent phrases that could address these issues as honestly as his plain words. I wish I could reassure him that we're doing the right thing, but I can't. We don't know that for sure, and it's scary.

Angel speaks from the heart, and captures every uncertainty I have about taking on the leadership of the clans.

"...I can't be in control that completely without becoming... controlling. I'm uneasy about taking it upon ourselves to decide what would be best for the people of L.A."

How many times have we had to go through this? Always faced with choices that could make us responsible for doing greater harm than good. I remember how horrified I was when I got my first clue, after our vengeance on the Watchers Council, that this is just how things work. Looking back, I guess I was pretty naïve to think that winning a battle would solve everything -- that a battle could lead to anything except another battle.

The truth is, the battles aren't about winning or losing or a final triumph; they're about us. Who we are, and who we become after each choice.

Angel understands this. I'm pretty sure it's why he's so worried. I don't want him to think he's alone.

"Wiccans know that any spell will return to the caster; it's the way of things. We may have had the Powers' blessing for what we did to the Watchers Council, but I guess some rules still hold. We destroyed the conspirators, but now we're faced with the same decisions they were -- and we're just as convinced that we know what's right for others."

When Angel's gaze locks with mine, I know I've zeroed in on exactly what's bothering him.

"There were times in the past when I was hunted. I'd find myself running through sewers, or deserted streets, pretty sure that any direction I picked would end in a trap," Angel begins, his brow furrowing as he describes his memories to me. "This is worse. We've considered *every* option I can think of, and I *know* they all lead to one trap or another. And we can't not choose."

He doesn't add: and we'll have to deal with the fact that no matter how we choose, we might be responsible for making things even worse. He doesn't have to. The shared memory of Megan, unprotected and unknown because the Watchers Council was recovering from turmoil *we* had helped create, hangs in the air between us.

"I can help you, if you'll let me."

Angel grins at my offer.

"Where have I heard that before?"

I can't help smiling when Angel reminds me of what he said to me that first morning when I came crawling to him for shelter. Teasing him, I point out, "All things come full circle."

But as much as I wish we could lie here, cuddling and teasing each other indefinitely, there's one more serious matter we have to discuss. Especially since we have to meet with the clans in two nights, and this particular matter could cause problems.

"Speaking of helping you, Angel -- actually, helping all of us -- I think the Inglewood clan tried to sneak a fortifying spell past everyone to rig the outcome tonight."

Everything about Angel's body looks weary at that revelation, and I hate that I'm the cause. It would take a trained eye to see the slight tensing in his shoulders, as if he were bracing himself for impact -- but mine is a thoroughly trained eye. I learned to pick out the leader in any demon clutch by scanning for the same signs I see in Angel now.

Grim determination, hidden so well it could be mistaken for indifference; masked not by deception, but too much experience shouldering whatever burdens Fate sees fit to send along.

"We may have to adjust our plans slightly, then," Angel acknowledges.

I can't help smiling, although it's a sad smile. Angel and his sense of duty -- rarely are the two parted.

Just as I'm about to pull him close and try my darnedest to help him forget duty and the clans for a few hours more, Spike mumbles in his sleep.

"But mother...don't *want* a Latin tutor...going to write poetry like Lord Byron..."

For one split second, neither Angel nor I respond.

Then a beautiful, eye-crinkling smile spreads across Angel's face and he half-kisses, half-chuckles into my mouth.

"Remind me later to tell you about some of William's early poetry dreams," Angel purrs against my chin.

Hmm...now there's an intriguing idea...

Mmmm.....later....much later....        

3. The Father    

It unfolds like a script.

Drive back to the hotel. Haul Spike out of the car.

Deck him.

Hit.

Hit hard.

Kick.

"What part of 'I'll represent our clan' didn't you understand, Spike?"

I've played this part before, so many times that the lines, the cues are automatic. It's called instinct.

"Can't...remember that...far back..."

Spike knows the script, too.

His insolent remark is a Pavlovian trigger. The words are barely out of his mouth when I deliver yet another kick to his gut, leaving my childe shuddering and dribbling blood from his nose. We both play our roles: defiant childe, punishing sire.

Even Willow recognizes the performance. She's headed for the stairs, probably out of sympathy for Spike. She knows he'd rather not have an audience.

Not that Spike minds an audience. He loved being on stage tonight during the Cup of Death.

That's the whole problem.

All the world's a stage -- especially in vampire society. I knew taking an active role among the clans would be tough, but the fact that I've slipped into the same old pattern with Spike makes it pretty clear that I'm not even close to being ready to handle the challenge.

Not alone, at any rate.

"Stay, Willow."

I'm as surprised to hear myself voice the command as she is. I think I've just had a flash of inspiration...although not all of me has figured it out yet. The words are still hanging in the air, and while I'm not completely sure of what I'm doing, it's beginning to make sense.

I won't be able to keep up the act, to rule the clans, without losing myself in Angelus. My soul may be permanent, but I spent well over a century as Angelus, and he's the one who knows how to tread the dance of power. I can't trust myself to act like him without *thinking* like him, and if I start thinking like him, I might never stop. Not without help. I need Willow and Spike.

On one level, I already knew this. It wasn't my reputation alone that made the clans agree to the Cup of Death. It was all three of us. They're afraid of the Trinity, not me. But I can't have Spike distracting me, giving me reasons to play the tyrant.

If anyone could ever bring out my darker side, it was Spike. I can't afford that, not now.

He needs a reason to stop playing the part of rebellious childe.

He's needed one for over a century.

I could have given it to him. It was in my power to stop this, but I didn't. I chose not to yield, not to stop wielding power over him. So the cycle continued: each provocation met with swift, brutal punishment...which led to more defiant provocations...and more retaliation...and so on, and so on. Yet another reminder that I'm alot more comfortable with my demon than I'd care to admit.

"Willow, come with us. This involves the three of us."

I can see the confusion on Willow's face, but she follows me as I drag Spike back to my room. He's too groggy to put up much of a fight when I strip him and chain him to the bed.

I have his full attention, however, when I take off my shirt. His eyes are alert and wary. No doubt he's confused about my intentions; usually, when I discipline him, it's in the basement. I've stepped outside the script he expects.

His confusion grows when I strip down completely.

He's not the only one. Somewhere in my mind, I know that this is right, but my demon clamors for me to hit, to punish, to give into the rage my childe triggered when he defied my authority. It's not completely clear which side is in control of my actions, either. My hands twitch with the impulse to strike.

But I don't.

Another urge wins out.

"Spike, a full transfusion of every drop of blood in your body with holy water wouldn't even begin to repay you for the stunt you pulled tonight. You know better than that."

This, Spike expects. I've actually run holy water through his veins once or twice before. But he doesn't expect me to whisper in his ear like a lover.

"I thought I'd lost you. I should kill you for making me go through that."

Then I bite down and taste the blood that wells up around my fangs. I've been waiting to taste it all night, and it's even better than I imagined. Spike has always tasted of passion and fire, even as a human. It was one of the things that drove me to turn him instead of simply draining him. Spiced with ritual magic and the intermingled essences of Willow's blood and my own, it's almost too potent to bear.

So potent, so demanding it chases away any earlier confusion. It takes some effort to wrench my mouth away from his neck -- I could drink blood like that forever -- but I pull back and slice into my chest, directly over the heart.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore..."

If I weren't in the middle of making one of the most solemn vows a vampire can ever take, I'd laugh at the face Spike is making right now. Yes, boy...wait, not my *boy* anymore. Yes, my intended Mate, this is exactly what it looks like. You're not dreaming.

Wh--

Hold it...

He's...scowling?

He doesn't want--?

"You bastard!"

That's not quite the reaction I'd been hoping for.

In fact, it leaves me completely floored. There was a time when Spike hated me, but I thought we'd gotten past--

Oh, no!

Spike's expression is anguished as he gazes intently at Willow; I feel like an idiot. The look on her face is devastating. It's a combination of abandonment and stoic resignation, and it cuts straight through me. Mentally, I replay my actions as they might have looked to her, and I cringe. It probably looks pretty bad, since Willow can't read my mind to know my true intentions.

I can hear Cordelia's voice chiding me: 'Duh!'

"Oh, Willow -- no. I didn't mean to...I mean..."

Willow and Spike look at each other, then back to me and their eyes leave no doubt that I've left them behind at the last station.

God, this is embarassing.

I've avoided vampire culture for so long, I've gotten rusty.

"Willow, come here. I think I should start over."

I reach out with my hand, and remember the first time I beckoned to her, as she stood, quaking with fear and self-doubt in the lobby. If I had known then...No matter how many times I think about everything that has happened since Willow found her way to my doorstep, it's still too much to fathom.

I had a hard time coming to grips with the Shanshu prophecy. Learning about a possible future is never easy. It's why most so-called psychics tell their clients only the easy, comforting crap they want to hear, rather than the truth. But if anyone had told me back when I first moved to L.A. that someday I'd rule the city's clans with my two Mates, I would have called Wolfram & Hart up to say, "Nice try, guys, but I'm not that stupid."

Yet here we are.

Willow has stripped and joined us on the bed. She and Spike are waiting, still confused, but something about Willow's poise, her demeanor, says that she trusts me. Her trust is just one of many gifts she's given me over the years.

"Tonight was just the beginning. I don't know how long I'll be able to handle ruling the clans. I need you, both of you, now more than ever."

I wish vampires could be photographed. The look on Spike's face -- awe mixed with utter disbelief -- should be preserved for posterity. Or, at least, blackmail. My b-- no, my *Mate* -- has always been beautifully expressive. I could never hope to capture the moment of realization as clearly as it is revealed in his eyes, in his parted lips, right now.

He knows.

"You're serious."

Nodding, I try to help them understand.

"I thought I'd lost you tonight. My first impulse was to pound you to dust. But if I give into the urge when it's just you, what's going to happen when it's every clan in the city? The cycle has to stop, and it has to stop now. But it's more than that. If I had lost you...or, Willow, if it had been you...I would have lost *myself*. Neither of us would have walked away from that circle."

The scent of salt drifts through the air; Willow is crying. She, too, has realized what I'm offering. What I'm asking.

I can't hold her tightly enough; no matter how fully I wrap her in my arms, it's not close enough. Her mouth tastes of acceptance and sweet memories, seasoned with quiet tears. No tears from Spike, but when I reach for him he meets me without hesitation -- with the same swift force he had the night I turned him.

And he's charged ahead at every turning point since then. More than once, hasty decisions have gotten him in trouble. But once he's committed, he hangs on like a pit bull. Angelus saw this lurking beneath the surface of the sentimental poet, and I need it now. Once we set ourselves up to rule the clans, I know there will be decisions I won't be able make.

Spike will.

And he'll enforce them without flinching.

After a hundred and sixty years, I can admit that he is my equal.

I release him from the shackles, perhaps for the last time. After tonight, he won't be mine to discipline.

Cross this last barrier with me, William.

I seduced him with a kiss that first night; I invite him with a kiss again, tonight. He trembles at the gentleness, his tremor a final, parting gesture to his *sire*. One last moment of awe before his Maker.

Then it's time.

This time, I start with Willow. I don't want any doubts in her mind that she is included, that she is loved for her own sake. As strong as she has become, deep down Willow has never fully gotten over starting out as an outcast.

I slash my chest, careful not to cut too deep.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

I feel calm as her tongue touches the wound.

At peace.

I close my eyes at the sensation of power uncoiling and expanding throughout me as our connection grows. This is the strength we will gain as three united.

Willow pulls back gently and draws a nail through the flesh over her heart.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

This is grace, something no one could ever earn. Certainly with my history, I don't deserve it. Not even close. Yet, for whatever reason, this will be not the first, but the second time I've known grace. For all the evil upon my head, the Powers still saw fit to give me the chance to be with Buffy one last time, to share the lovers' farewell that her murderers had stolen from us.

Now, Willow offers herself wholly to me: body, blood, demon, soul. The look in her eyes, reverent and loving, is one I've seen from only two others -- Buffy and Spike.

Her blood is rich and smoky with magic. As I drink I can almost feel the power spreading through every vein, seeping right out through my pores. I still don't know everything about her travels, but she must have had some interesting experiences for her blood to taste like it does. It's almost hypnotic...soothing...more than anything, it's the blood that guides me as I run my hand over her breast, starved for the feel of her.

I'm dizzy.

I don't really want to let Willow go, but I do, and turn to Spike. He's even more affected by this than I am. I've barely had the chance to release Willow before he grabs me and leans in to lick her blood from my chin.

Spike truly has the most urgent tongue I've ever--GOD!...he knows just how to use his teeth, too.

Enough playing.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

The brush of his lips against my chest and the sharp tug of his teeth at the wound are enough to take me back through a hundred nights we shared, all flashing like a single, instantaneous memory. That first night, though, stands out. The night I made my boy. I'd sired dozens of others by then, but none fought like he did. It wasn't his life he was fighting for, either. William fought me for control. He was greedy for my blood, as if he wanted to force my hand. At the time, I thought I'd created my masterpiece in William.

I was partly right; it's closer to the truth to say he and I have been creating each other ever since.

His mouth is just as greedy for my blood now. But he won't wrest control from me; not this time. I offer it freely.

Then.

My turn.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

A taste that has been with me for over half my existence hits my tongue. His blood is as cold as mine, but somehow it manages to warm me as much as the true stuff of life. More than any other, this taste reminds me of my own darkness, provokes every one of the demon's instincts: claim, rend, drink, possess, rule. I bite hard to draw out Spike's blood as if I were killing him again, and can't help feeling gratified by his howl.

"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."

Willow and Spike complete the ritual, closing our circle with their exchange of blood. Spike must be feeling some after-effects from the Cup of Death; he's so lost in the blood he seems dazed. He's given himself entirely over to the Mating; I'm not even sure he's aware of his surroundings, or anything other than our blood.

To tell the truth, I'm not far behind him. The power of our blood, the connection we've forged, burns through me, but there's still one step left. I rest my hands on Spike's shoulders, anchoring him until I'm sure he's passably coherent, and then we take the final vow.

"You and no others."

We don't bother with a reverent pause to mark this solemn occasion. Once the words are said, we close in on each other like the predators we are. Single-minded stalking with the intent to devour. Willow and I surround Spike; while she nuzzles him gently, I begin a calculated assault on his jaw, biting every spot that from experience I know will make him twitch.

Watching Spike twitch in ecstasy gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'dead sexy'.

For a long time, the three of us enjoy just touching each other. It's not that I feel the need to rush. We had to do without this for so many years, and it feels good just to touch, to feel their smooth skin. But tonight needs to be more than just sex. We need to be clear about the fact that our positions have changed. So after one, last, hard kiss, I drop down on my hands and knees and invite him to take me.

I can sense his hesitation, even though it's fleeting. But it's there, and I know Spike has to figure this out on his own. I have to remind myself that I'm not just offering myself to him. In doing so, I'm taking away something that has defined him for over a century: the unyielding, untouchable sire.

For the first few decades after I'd turned him, I was my boy's ideal of the powerful, remorseless demon -- the Supreme Being who had chosen him, and thus proven the error and folly of every society acquaintance who had ever ridiculed him. I was the mentor who taught him how to prolong their agony for a sweeter vengeance than could be bought by just killing them. As he once said, I was his Yoda.

My strength became his; my slaughter of a continent, his glory.

Now, I'm asking him to embrace a different idea of strength.

I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think he was ready.

Not that I can take credit for it. He took care of himself, and Drusilla, for a hundred years. In that time, he figured out that there's a subtlety to power, that yielding can be the key to strength.

And that there is no formula for being an ideal vampire.

I'll be the first to admit that I have Willow -- and Megan -- to thank for teaching him that.

His grip on my hips, firm yet gentle, brings me back to the present. He drapes himself over my back, and I feel his tongue sweep slowly down my back. Pure seduction. Then a slow, steady fullness as he inches his way in, pauses for a moment once we're joined, and then thrusts with all his might.

My eyes are squeezed shut -- Spike knows how to make it feel so good that they'd probably pop right out of the sockets if I didn't have my face clenched up tight. I'm so focused on the rhythm he's set that it startles me when Willow's lips brush against mine.

I stare at her, feeling the pull of our blood, and for one, jagged splinter of time everything...

...stops...

So much because of her.

I have my soul.

I have Spike again.

I'm part of a family. More than that, I now have Mates.

All because of...

Memories flash through my mind.

<"Angel?...Please...I need a place to stay...I'm in trouble and I don't have anywhere else to go.">

Shaking with something deeper than passion, I cup my palm against Willow's cheek, drunk with the taste of her mouth.

All because of...

<"We make a good team. I'm just the one who decided to act like it tonight.">

Willow's tongue entwines with mine as she matches my desperation. The hunger uncoils within me, and I want to devour everything she has to offer. All of her.

All because of...

<"Final?...Do you not want me here any more?">

Her groan kindles a primal satisfaction within me. That's right, my beloved, moan for me. As I will for you.

All because of...

<"You were with me, no matter where I went...">

Balancing on one arm as Spike continues his frenzied onslaught, I manage to coax Willow beneath me until I can drape one of her knees over my shoulder and bow my head to feast at the crux of her thighs. Her fingers thread through my hair, massaging my scalp to the rhythm of her need as I savor the salty essence that pools on my tongue.

There was a time -- a dark, lonely time -- when I thought I would never be free to drown in her like this. When I believed I would always be a pariah, a misguided drifter on the fringes of human and vampire society, vainly hoping for a redemption that would never come.

I still can't predict the future where my redemption is concerned.

But when it happens, if it happens, I have to believe it will feel something like this.

<"...you are my home, Angel. You are my heart, and my soul.">

Willow is my redemption.

And Spike, at this rate, will be the death of me. I think my bones are actually rattling, he's going at it so furiously. But, so help me, it's good. Better than good; I can't even think straight -- for the moment, everything I am has fled the conscious reaches of my brain and rushed straight to my groin. I'm...

...close...so damn close...

With one, last, violent jerk, Spike spills everything he's got, growling something halfway between my name and a curse. A few seconds later, I join him as a wave of bliss sweeps through me, pouring out like fire. Desperate for something to hold onto, I grip Willow's thighs and squeeze, only remotely aware that I'm sucking on her furiously enough to make her scream. However, her cries don't trigger any alarms in my head -- the liquor of her desire, which drenches my lips in a rush, persuades me that her cries are those of pleasure, not pain.

I rest my cheek against Willow's hip, exhausted from the intensity of the Mating we just consecrated. I feel her tremble beneath me, and know that she's been just as deeply affected.

After a few minutes, I notice something odd about Spike's weight.

It's still on my back.

He's not moving.

"Spike," I mumble.

Nothing.

Not that I mind being sandwiched between Spike and Willow, but I'd rather curl up with them in a more comfortable position.

"Spike," I repeat a little louder.

Still no response. I push up from Willow slightly and shrug the weight of Spike's body off my back.

When I turn to look down at Spike, it's all I can do to keep from laughing. I manage to shake my head. He's out cold.

He'll never live this down. His own Mating, and he barely lasted an hour.

"I *knew* they used too much mandrake," Willow sighs, also shaking her head.

"Mandrake?"

"It enhances the potency of any ingredients in a spell -- in this case, our blood. Spike basically--"

"--got drunk on us," I can't help chuckling. I wonder if mystical intoxications come with hangovers.

Willow grins. Then her eyes rove wickedly over me, and we stop talking.

It's a good four hours later before I roll onto my side, pulling Willow close. We're both sated -- for the moment -- and I enjoy the simple feel of her body pressed against mine.

"That was intense," she says, her eyes twinkling.

I feel too good to talk, so I don't answer. I just want to lie here and--

"Why did you do it?"

Guess I'm not off the hook after all.

This isn't exactly how I wanted to have this conversation; I hate discussing business in bed, even if this isn't strictly business. It's just that I can still count the number of times I've been able to make love and then relax with my lover, feeling happy. I learned the hard way with Buffy; I still can't remember what happened when I changed that night -- the images are vague -- but my memory of making love with Buffy will always be tainted by the fact that we didn't have the chance to hold each other, to bask in the afterglow, nearly as long as I wish we could have.

I'm still getting used to the experience. I want to glut myself on it.

But Willow does need to know.

"It's been on my mind for awhile. When you were gone, I couldn't stop thinking about how much you had become a part of me. 'Mate' was the only thing that came close to describing how much you meant to me."

"Angel, I know that," Willow smiles at me. "I know this is where we were heading. It's just that this was a little sudden, I guess."

All I can do is nod in agreement. The words don't come right away, since I'm still figuring it out myself. It's not like I'm afraid of examining my emotions; I've had centuries for self-reflection. I just tend to be more comfortable with action.

Finally, I find my voice. I wish it sounded more certain.

"Have you ever just...known...that you had to make a choice?"

Willow rolls her eyes and snorts. "More often than I cared to."

"I tried to fight fire with fire, once. Not too long before you were turned, actually -- it was the Darla situation I told you about. I spiraled down pretty far."

"And you're worried that the same thing will happen again," Willow concludes, sparing me from having to spell it out.

One more reason I love her. She understands me well.

Although 'worried' is an understatement.

"Willow," I begin slowly, grateful when she takes my hand in both of hers and squeezes gently. I need the support. "Ruling the clans is going to test me in ways...I don't even want to think about it right now. There are going to be times when we'll have to resolve conflicts over which clan has legitimate claim to hunt in a certain section of the city -- to *kill* *people* in a certain section of the city. I'm a Champion for The Powers That Be. I'm supposed to prevent that kind of killing."

"And you will. Angel, I know this will be hard, but you've never been able to stop every kill, and by preventing a clan war you're saving hundreds of lives."

I can hear the demon laughing in my mind.

<Think of all the *good* you could do, all the lives you could save...>

An uneasy shiver runs down my spine.

"Maybe in the short term. But who's to say I'm not just delivering those lives to a later death? There aren't any clean choices -- it isn't even a question of right and wrong any more. And that's what scares me."

Willow drops a light kiss on the back of my hand, and looks at me with such intense empathy, I can almost feel it. Actually, I *can* feel it, through the alchemy of our new status as Mates.

At least in this, I made the right choice. I'll have to wait and see whether I made the right call on the clans.

"Angel, you didn't create this cycle of violence -- you're just stuck working within it. Hopefully, the three of us will be able to break that cycle. Remember? The whole reason we agreed to do this was long-term change. We won't be able to save every life; yes, some humans will die because of us; but ultimately, we might be able to force the clans to adjust to a different way of existing."

"I know. That's exactly why I asked you and Spike to Mate me tonight. I need to be able to rely on you both, as my equals. If this is going to work, I have to step back. I can't be in control that completely without becoming...controlling. I'm uneasy about taking it upon ourselves to decide what would be best for the people of L.A."

It reminds me too much of the Watchers Council, and their self-righteous attitude about being the authorities on what was *right* that let them believe they were justified in killing Buffy.

As if reading my mind, Willow's expression sobers.

"Wiccans know that any spell will return to the caster; it's the way of things. We may have had the Powers' blessing for what we did to the Watchers Council, but I guess some rules still hold. We destroyed the conspirators, but now we're faced with the same decisions they were -- and we're just as convinced that we know what's right for others."

Nothing is ever simple. I've had more than enough time to learn this, and way too much experience with the cold truth that "good" and "evil" aren't anyone's birthright. I've saved lives, but I murdered even more. I've been the hunter, and the hunted. And it was all me -- I can't pretend that it's all dead and buried, or that I have a monopoly on 'right' now that I serve The Powers That Be. For all my efforts at atonement, my sins are just as black as those of anyone I've ever brought to justice.

"There were times in the past when I was hunted. I'd find myself running through sewers, or deserted streets, pretty sure that any direction I picked would end in a trap," I explain to Willow, almost wishing that my problems were still as simple as finding a way to escape a mob of enraged vampire-hunters. "This is worse. We've considered *every* option I can think of, and I *know* they all lead to one trap or another. And we can't not choose."

For as long as I've known her, loyalty has been Willow's strong suit. So it doesn't surprise me when she says, "I can help you, if you'll let me."

Some of my memories are better than others. This is one that makes me grin.

"Where have I heard that before?"

A free, open smile spreads across Willow's face; it could be the smile, or it could be an effect of our bond as Mates, but any worries I had vanish for a moment.

"All things come full circle," Willow muses.

I can't help staring at her.

But her smile fades, and it snaps me out of my daze.

"Speaking of helping you, Angel -- actually, helping all of us -- I think the Inglewood clan tried to sneak a fortifying spell past everyone to rig the outcome tonight."

The weight that returns to my shoulders is all too familiar. Duty. I'm not sure why I even notice it any more.

"We may have to adjust our plans slightly, then," I agree.

Already, my mind is working through strategies and gambits I perfected during my years as Angelus. We'll need to start strong, with a lesson that won't need to be repeated. But how to assemble all of them without drawing suspicion before--

--or maybe I'll think about this later...oh, God...Willow feels good.

Just when I'm ready to ease into her arms and let her offer me the comfort I know she thinks I need (and she's probably right), Spike mumbles through his Mandrake-induced sleep.

"But mother...don't *want* a Latin tutor...going to write poetry like Lord Byron..."

Oh...he *isn't*!

Not *that* one!

Was it the Mating that brought this dream on, or the Mandrake? Before I can stop it, a chuckle rumbles up from my throat as Willow brushes a soft kiss against my mouth.

I wonder if Spike ever shared this particular quirk of his early days as a vampire with her?

"Remind me later to tell you about some of William's early poetry dreams."

Willow leans into me with an urgency that shuts any further thoughts out of my brain. Through our bond I sense pure, unrestrained desire.

Poetry can wait until later.

Much later.    

1. The Unholy Spirit    

...so glad he came back. I can't believe I said those things...I wouldn't be surprised if Spike still hates me. I am *so* glad he came back, so glad...even if he came back just for Angel. I don't know why he came back, but he did.

How could I have been so stupid, so mean?

I just had to go and do it. Great job, Willow. Go ahead, get so wrapped up in proving a point that you tear Spike's heart out and dance the Mexican hat dance all over it and then sprinkle it with a little holy water from a baby's christening, why don't you? And *I* was the one talking about consequences and the cycle of violence. Because of how far *I* pushed him, he probably went out and killed a dozen people.

Why didn't I listen? Why did I have to be right?

I wouldn't have blamed him if he didn't come back...but I'm so glad he did. Angel and I couldn't pull this off without him.

Oh, God, Spike, I'm so sorry...I hope he'll let me make it up to him.

And on top of all that, this is really pathetically trivial, but what's getting to me right now is...

This lace is itchy. I really hate this.

But what can you do when you've got the leading vamps in the city waiting in a conference room, all of them hoping for a sign of weakness? A large part of evil is pulling off the act.

Actually, evil is a tight, black-lace dress that ITCHES like hell!

Arrgh!

The only thing that makes this even remotely bearable is that I know Angel really hates having to wear that belt. Angelus may have liked the huge, garish buckle, but Angel says it just pokes him in the gut.

But we have to make an impression.

A nice, sharp, pointy impression just over the sternum.

Yup, this is going to be a night to remember. I may have missed out on the making of the Alexei legend, but tonight will be the beginning of the Inglewood legend.

I only wish I felt more confident.

But after that fight with Spike...

I'm just glad that he came back. But I think we all finally realized how hard this is going to be.

The elevator doors slide open to the kind of polished, Wall Street elegance I remember from my first visit to Murdoch's office, decades ago. Nadia is waiting there for us with a few minions. Her sire must be in the conference room with all the clan representatives. It takes some effort not to let out a quick laugh -- and I'm *positive* that Spike is just dying to smirk -- at Nadia's appearance. The wire thingamajig in her ear and microphone on her lapel make her look so Secret Service.

As we approach, Nadia does what any vamp would do when involved in a power play, and addresses Angel. After all, to the rest of the world, he's still head of the clan.

"Welcome, Angelus. The delegates are waiting in our board room, as you instructed."

Time to get this show on the road. She's about to gesture for us to follow her, like a hostess seating people in a restaurant, when I speak up.

"And the other arrangements?"

Nadia's good enough that all I catch is a quick blink, but it's still clear that she wasn't expecting me to speak for our clan. She'd better be ready for it to get even weirder.

"Everything is set. Should I call down?"

"Not yet. We'll let you know," Spike answers without looking at her.

Thank you, Spike...I wish I could squeeze his hand in gratitude. After the things we all said...well, the things *I* said...I worry about him. Wait, who am I kidding? I'm worried about *me*, I need to touch him for *me*...because I'm afraid I hurt him so badly, he'll never let me touch him again. Me and my big mouth!

But the three of us won't touch each other -- part of the act.

This time when I glance at Nadia, I catch more than just a blink. She's as sharp as Murdoch, and he's trained her to study power. She knows the usual rules; she knows we're messing with protocol; by now, she's speculating about what it means.

"Show us in," Angel instructs evenly.

Nadia's eyes narrow ever so slightly for just a moment before she leads us down the hall. Two of the minions open a set of doors and advance before us into the board room like a couple of heralds. The chiefs of the leading clans of the city are all sitting around an enormous conference table, like delegates waiting to negotiate a treaty. Except that everyone knows there won't be any negotiating.

They'll take what we give them.

Angel, Spike and I enter at precisely the same time. Yay us -- we got even more blinks and raised eyebrows, but even better, now we've got a few lightbulbs going off -- of the "I-finally-get-it" kind.

Murdoch gets it.

I see Nadia stare at him for a second, then back to us.

Ping.

Nadia gets it.

But most of the others don't.

Right on time, a flicker of unease plays across Murdoch's face. Not morbid unease -- more like the embarrassment a waiter gets when he comes back from the kitchen with the news that they're all out of the dish you ordered. All because of the seating arrangement.

That big, insert-important-guy-here executive chair at the head of the table that he's just realized Angel won't be using. He's probably kicking himself for having miscalculated, although you can't really blame him. The set-up is dead-on perfect according to all conventions of vampire politics.

Murdoch is probably reminding himself that Angel, Spike and I aren't exactly conventional vampires.

Sigh.

Even if Spike wishes we were.

Okay, don't go there, Willow. This isn't the time...

And Spike *did* come back, so he's worked through the worst of it.

There's only been one time I've ever seen Murdoch *not* completely cool and composed, so it doesn't surprise me that he recovers before any of the other vamps notice. Although he knows it's pointless, he gestures to the head of the conference table and offers the VIP seat to Angel.

"Welcome, Angelus, Order of Aurelius. The clans are at your command. As you can see, the disputed territory is on the table; its partition awaits your decision."

Time for round two. Murdoch has indeed spread a vast map of L.A. out on the conference table, with the Ramirez clan's former territory outlined in red, but by now I think he suspects that plans have changed.

I'll say they have.

The three of us fan out. Angel doesn't go far, stopping behind a few vamps from one of the lesser clans, seated at the foot of the table. Spike marches up to the VIP seat -- I have to believe he's using this as an outlet for some of his frustration -- while I pause somewhere at the table's mid-point.

Spike doesn't bother to sit down, just says in that smooth, cool voice he does so well, "Not everything is on the table yet."

The murmurs go up around the room and I can't help it -- my demon shivers in delight at their anxiety. Spike is right; it feels *good* to toy with them, to measure my strength in their fear.

Murdoch doesn't miss a beat, though. By now, he's realized that the game has changed, and knows enough to play along.

He addresses all of us, not bothering to single Angel out by name.

"My apologies. I was unaware of the change in plans. Your instructions?"

"Bring the others in."

After spending more time than I cared to among the Tikal demons, I can pull a "cross-me-and-you'll-regret-it" voice to rival Spike's.

Actually, I think I'm scarier, but it's not like I'm going to tell him that.

We wait, and you can cut the tension with the good ol' proverbial knife.

It looks like Murdoch has decided to play along with us. I can't believe that he kept the others waiting too far away, but it's still a good fifteen minutes before his minions open the conference room doors and usher in the entire Inglewood clan. He must have thought we'd appreciate it if everyone had to sweat it out.

Well, figuratively--oh, whatever.

At this point, the ugly truth has dawned on the leader of the Inglewood clan. We're way past the point of lightbulbs. He's got a Las Vegas marquee flashing "if-I-could-kill-you-I-would" over his head, although he's managed to keep his scowl pretty discreet by vampire standards.

But, it's time to get down to business.

"Magic is forbidden during the Cup of Death," I begin.

You know, there's nothing like stating the obvious to confuse your opponents.

"And while we don't mind cheaters, *bad* cheaters are a bleedin' bore," Spike continues. "First rule of foul play: Don't. Get. Caught."

"So where's the evidence that anybody used magic?" a vamp from Santa Monica speaks up. So...he probably knows, and probably thought to advance his own fortunes by backing the Inglewood clan.

Stupid.

"Evidence isn't necessary. Suspicions are enough."

It's the first time Angel has spoken since we entered the conference room, and his voice is deceptively light, as if he were making small talk.

The head of the Inglewood clan doesn't bother with denials. He proceeds straight to curses and threats.

"You'd do well not to be so fucking arrogant! We've got connections you can't even--"

Vampires do have more acute senses than any other predators on this planet. Vision, hearing, smell -- it's all sharpened and honed beyond what mortals can comprehend. But even with that, he never saw it coming.

You know, when I levitated my first pencil, back when I was a human pawn in the Mayor's bid for power, I had no idea how handy that trick would come in.

As the dust settles on the chair that Mr. Loudmouth *had* been sitting in, and I pull two dozen pencils out of my cloak, I can see a newly discovered fear of writing implements in the eyes of every member of the Inglewood clan.

Angel looks over at the dusty seat and cocks an eyebrow.

"Does the maintenance staff come in before the office opens in the morning?"

"Early shift at 5:00 a.m.," Murdoch confirms easily. "Don't worry, the upholstery is stain-resistant."

"How convenient," I remark as I scan the Inglewood clan, taking the time to stare each one of them in the eye, just for an instant. "Now I want everyone to listen very carefully."

Pause for effect.

"Where magic is concerned," I continue, "Don't. Mess. With. Me...Ever."

When I think of the spells I've done -- teleportation, soul restoration, soul fixing, essence transfer, rune inversion, you name it -- a simple pencil-levitation doesn't seem very impressive.

I look down at the remains of twenty-two ex-vampires.

Don't do it, Willow. Don't think it--

I guess I got the point across.

Oooh, damn! I couldn't resist, but now I'm smirking. Maybe it comes off as an evil, scary smirk instead of an "I-just-amused-myself" smirk.

Before the other clan leaders in the room even have a chance to react to the fact that the entire Inglewood clan has just been wiped out, Spike turns to Murdoch.

"Got a pen?"

I have to give Murdoch some credit. He's a little rattled, but that doesn't stop him from pulling a red pen out of his breast pocket. He knows exactly where this is going.

"You'll want to add the Inglewood neighborhood to the territory under consideration," Angel observes.

Murdoch nods at Nadia, who walks over, takes the pen from him and traces the perimeter of the former Inglewood clan's range on the map.

"Harper, Cabrini, Tappert, Jones, Darien and Monk -- you're granted two square miles beyond your existing borders. The remainder of Ramirez's turf goes to Murdoch," Spike announces.

That seems to satisfy the larger clans represented here. A few of the delegates from the smaller clans are frowning, but the conspicuous absence of the vamps from Inglewood is enough to keep them quiet.

"South Inglewood is divided between Ortega, Branson, Forsythe, Funamori, King, Tasch, and Ellington," Angel adds.

"We leave North Inglewood to Andrew Murdoch, for services rendered," I finish, trying not to smirk *again* when I see the gleam in Murdoch's eye. He's made out like a bandit and he's just so pleased with himself.

Spike and I move back toward Angel, ready to make our exit as planned. But not before we drop the final bombshell. Angel and I agreed that we would be the ones to impose the new terms -- we know that Spike still isn't too happy with this part of the plan.

"From now on, no killing human children or teenagers."

Angel's firm command provokes a low rumbling of disbelief throughout the room. That's my cue.

I nod my head toward the dust-covered empty seats at the table.

"Not unless you want to end up like them."

Instant silence.

Since I've got their full attention, I continue.

"No killing entire families. No herding, except for renewable resources, and then *only* voluntary donors, and those only over eighteen. Mass hunts only on Solstice."

Spike and I turn toward the door as Angel delivers our final instruction.

"Andrew Murdoch is our agent for all clan business; contact us through him. Purely social calls are at your own risk."

And it's over.

We did it.

Sure, this is just the beginning, and with those conditions we just slapped down on the city's vampires, it won't be easy. But so far, so good.

And I can FINALLY get out of this damn itchy dress!

Not to mention try another round of reasoning with Spike.

Okay, I just used "reasoning" in the same sentence as Spike. I must really be tired.

Actually, I shouldn't kid myself. It will be groveling, big time, and I'll be the one groveling.

I just don't want things to go sour between us. Not when the three of us just embraced as Mates. I want Spike to be happy, and the last thing I want is for him to feel trapped in an arrangement where he's the odd one out.

I reach out and stroke my hand against his cheek; he gives me a sidelong glance and an arched eyebrow.

"Spike...thank you. I know this isn't going to be as satisfying as you'd like--"

"You both know we can't run the clans through Murdoch forever," Spike interrupts, not angrily, but in a tone of voice that says he won't back down. "If you're serious about changin' the way vamps work, this rulin' from on high's the first thing that's got to go. Gonna have to work *with* 'em, and get your hands a little dirty."

His resolve face could put mine to shame right now. It's tempting to imagine that Spike's eyes, hard and determined, are the source of every human legend about vampires having the power to hypnotize with their gaze.

But the truth is, he has a point.

"I know," I acknowledge, staring right back at him. "You're right."

Spike looks coolly at me for a few seconds, then nods. "Damn right I'm right."

Then he shifts his attention to the panel by the elevator doors, ticking off each floor as we descend. Okay, I deserve that. It's a first-class cold shoulder, but I really hurt him earlier.

I have to make this right.

"Spike, about earlier...I'm sorry. I don't have all the answers, and I should have been more willing to hear your side. And I *never* should have said those things about Megan. I just...well, thank you for coming back even if you don't--"

With a finger on my lips and a slow smile, Spike turns and interrupts me.

"Red...Willow, just stop."

I stop. Every impulse in my body is screaming to hold him, to pull him close, but I know I have to keep quiet and let him talk. It was my need to have the final say, to prove I was right, that created this whole mess. I still think I'm right, and I hope Angel and I will eventually be able to persuade Spike that we have to find a different way to rule the clans. But Spike deserved to be heard.

"I wanted to kill you for what you said, for makin' me go through that all over again. Wanted to kill *myself* when I found Meg lyin' on the ground, 'cos I'd failed her. And yes, as you so *kindly* pointed out, because I realized I was no better than the vamps who killed her. But I worked through it. Angel helped...so did tearin' apart the sods who did it...But I was wrong about one thing..."

A tickle of moisture in my eyes warns me that I'm about to start crying, and if we were back at our lair, I'd just go ahead and cry. But we still have to make it through the lobby of Murdoch's office building and out to Angel's car without revealing any weaknesses to other vampires who might be about.

"Rage isn't the only thing I've got left," Spike murmurs, turning to me with a look in his eye that I would have been happy to beg him for: forgiveness. "I've got you, and Angel. As maddening as you are...you're still mine. So I can't stay away. Love you too much."

I guess he's not as mad as I'd thought. That was definitely worth the wait, all right. So is the kiss he brushes across my lips and did I say brush? Maybe smothers would be a better oh way too much thought...this is...mmm...gosh, vampires aren't normally supposed to get warm, but my toes are definitely feeling toasty--

"Get a room, you two."

"Aw, feelin' left out, Peaches? No need to mope, ya Poof, you'll get your turn."

Wait, come back. No talking, I'm not done with your mouth yet.

"I wasn't moping."

"Give it up, I know moping when I hear it."

"Which just proves you're going deaf in your old age."

"Who the sod y'callin' old, you senile old git?!"

Okay, I know this is really, really going to ruin our menacing image when the elevator opens on the ground floor, but I can't stop laughing.

And crying.

Spike came back. He's really back. We might not agree on everything, we might say or do things to hurt each other, but he's not willing to turn his back on either of us.

We're Mates.        

2. The Father    

<*Fucking hell, Red...I was out *hunting* that night.*>

I can't stop hearing Spike's voice in my head.

I'd suspected, but he never wanted to talk about it.

And Willow, for all her good intentions, gouged right into Spike's depths and forced it to the surface.

The elevator passes floor by floor, and it takes every ounce of self-discipline I can spare to stop thinking of Spike's face when he lashed out at Willow. The pain was as raw as the night I found him where Megan had died.

Thank God he came back.

But I can't dwell on this right now. We have work to do first, and I have to focus.

If Spike can do it, so can I.

He's grown.

There was a time when he might have disappeared for weeks at a time when he was upset.

Like his rogue killing binge in London in 1888 after Darla humiliated him in front of the minions. Lucky for us, the police blamed it on an unknown human murderer.

Of course, Spike sulked when this anonymous human turned out to be even more vicious than he was. His efficient (if numerous) kills were soon forgotten amid the public furor over Jack the Ripper. Darla was furious, though. Not that she felt anything so *human* as compassion, but it irked her that such an artless, mortal brute was preying upon women in her former calling.

Darla ate him before the police had a chance to track him down.

I never thought I'd say this, but Spike has matured since then. I don't know what happened, but he managed to work through the hurt on his own -- and in barely twenty-four hours.

It's strange.

When we first planned this, Willow, Spike and I wanted to go over all the details, leave nothing to chance. But now we're about to go before the clans, Willow and I have no idea where Spike has been for the past day, we have no guarantee that he's still with us on all of this...and this is the first time I've felt confident that we're going to pull it off.

Good timing, since the elevator doors are sliding open, and we have a tough audience to impress.

It's really up to Willow and Spike to carry this, and from the minute that Nadia addresses me according to traditional protocol, they don't disappoint.

Both of them field most of the questions. As agreed, I hang back. As expected, this rattles a few cages. The set-up is just how I would have pictured it. Huge chair at the head of the table. Master of each clan seated, with his eldest childe standing behind him.

So little has changed since the eighteenth century. I could sleepwalk through this, if we simply wanted to go the traditional route.

Which is exactly why tonight's lesson in power will have such an impact. Spike is right to think that we have to deal in terms the clans understand. And we will. We're about to give them a wake-up call they won't forget.

I may not want to think like Angelus, but I can.

I don't just know the rules of the game, I invented some of them.

Willow and Spike handle the preliminaries with minimal discussion. They work well together. Willow is still agitated over their argument; I can feel her. And Spike....Spike is actually *brooding*. But despite the tension below the surface, their teamwork is flawless. They command this room, and the others know it.

The beauty of it is that Willow and Spike are maneuvering the clans exactly where we want them.

All but three vampires in this room assume that the purpose of this meeting is to divide the territory that once belonged to a clan unfortunate enough to have crossed Spike.

Willow, Spike and I came here tonight with one purpose, and one purpose only.

De-stabilize the power structure.

Tonight, every instinct vampires have about the trappings of power is going to be used against the Masters in this room.

I not only invented some of the rules of the game -- I know how to re-write them.

We've violated customary protocols about hierarchy, but the result won't be chaos. If anything, they'll cling even more tightly to their instincts, and scramble to fill the power vacuum with the most readily available source. Namely, us.

True, it's exactly the situation we'd be in if we opted to govern according to custom. With one crucial difference.

The rules will be whatever *we* make them. After tonight, we'll have them trained not to expect any conventional rules to apply. Because they'll still assume that there *have* to be rules, they'll hang on our every command.

Not too different from siring a childe, although even as Angelus, I never tried to break more than one at a time.

An entire city's vampire population is going to be a challenge.

Which is where Willow comes in. Spike and I can break them easily enough. It will be up to her to retrain them to adhere to a new code.

So far, she's off to a good start. Her skills with magic are known to every Master in this room, and with just a single remark, she's got the Inglewood clan scared. Already, the denials are flying.

It's time for a well-placed death sentence. I've kept quiet long enough to achieve the desired effect.

"Evidence isn't necessary. Suspicions are enough."

The head of the Inglewood clan launches into a tirade that only serves to reveal his stupidity. It inspires disgust, as reflexes I developed over decades in command of vampires far more worthy of the name than this one kick in.

An opponent who'd give himself away because he can't control his temper is such a waste of time.

"You'd do well not to be so fucking arrogant! We've got connections you can't even--"

His remains crumble to his seat before he has a chance to finish his threat.

For all her determination to find a new way to rule the clans, Willow still understands that the old ways have their uses. With her pencil trick, she's just reminded the rest of the Masters here that swift action beats a loud threat, every time.

"Does the maintenance staff come in before the office opens in the morning?" I ask, shading my voice with boredom.

"Early shift at 5:00 a.m.," Murdoch answers. "Don't worry, the upholstery is stain-resistant."

"How convenient," Willow adds, sounding almost amused. "Now I want everyone to listen very carefully."

I watch as she scans the face of every Master in the room, and am even more convinced that I can trust her to carry our plans as far as they can go. Her confidence floods through our bond, and mixed with the dread rippling off the other vampires in waves, it's almost intoxicating.

I'd better put a lid on that, or I'll be the one who blacks out and sleeptalks about poetry tonight.

"Where magic is concerned," Willow continues, "Don't. Mess. With. Me...Ever."

Of course, it's difficult to block out the fear cocktail when it magnifies exponentially after Willow dusts every vampire in the Inglewood clan.

We're able to move things along without a hitch. Murdoch seems to have adjusted and is taking our approach in stride. Most likely, he's guessed that falling in line behind us is his ticket to power. And he's right.

He's part of our plan.

Territory is redistributed almost as a matter of routine, and I can feel the other Masters calming down, as business starts to follow a pattern they expect.

Time to throw them off again.

"From now on, no killing human children or teenagers," I deliver the first shock.

A few rebellious growls go up in reaction to the bombshell I've just dropped, but Willow silences them with a quick nod at empty seats and a curt warning.

"Not unless you want to end up like them."

Instant silence.

"No killing entire families," she continues. "No herding, except for renewable resources, and then *only* voluntary donors, and those only over eighteen. Mass hunts only on Solstice."

Willow and Spike turn their backs on the room, leaving me to do the one thing we'll have done according to custom all night.

I have the last word.

"Andrew Murdoch is our agent for all clan business; contact us through him. Purely social calls are at your own risk."

Without a backward glance, I follow my Mates out to the elevator. Our business is done here, and the confusion I can sense all the way down the hall from the clan leaders suggests that our first move was successful.

That hurdle is over, at least.

However...healing the rift between the three of us will take a little more attention. And Willow never could sit still if there was a difficult situation to be resolved.

Case in point: my soul.

"Spike...thank you. I know this isn't going to be as satisfying as you'd like--"

"You both know we can't run the clans through Murdoch forever," Spike snaps. "If you're serious about changin' the way vamps work, this rulin' from on high's the first thing that has to go. Gonna have to work *with* 'em, and get your hands a little dirty."

He's right. Ruling through Murdoch will only buy us time, it isn't a permanent solution.

Echoing my thoughts, Willow murmurs, "I know. You're right."

Spike nods. "Damn right I'm right."

The silence in the elevator is almost painful, but by now I've accepted the fact that I'm a spectator. The worst of what was said earlier was said between Willow and Spike, and they need to work through it on their own. I have to remind myself that it's not just where the clans are concerned that I have to step back.

We three may be Mates, but we still relate to each other in our own ways.

"Spike, about earlier...I'm sorry. I don't have all the answers, and I should have been more willing to hear your side. And I *never* should have said those things about Megan. I just...well, thank you for coming back even if you don't--"

"Red...Willow, just stop."

I choke back a smile at his tone of voice. I have years of experience with Spike that tell me forgiveness is at hand.

And if I'm not mistaken, that particular inflection also means that reconciliation is going to involve some pretty incredible sex.

"I wanted to kill you for what you said, for makin' me go through that all over again. Wanted to kill *myself* when I found Meg lyin' on the ground, 'cos I'd failed her. And yes, as you so *kindly* pointed out, because I realized I was no better than the vamps who killed her. But I worked through it. Angel helped...so did tearin' apart the sods who did it...But I was wrong about one thing... Rage isn't the only thing I've got left. I've got you, and Angel. As maddening as you are...you're still mine. So I can't stay away. Love you too much." "

That's my sweet William. The woman who'd rejected him right before I found him was a fool. And not just because she ended up dead a few nights later, as my beautiful, new childe's first kill. No, she was a fool to pass up a man with the heart of a poet, and one of the most fiercely dedicated lovers anyone could ever wish for. She discarded him, delivering him into the hands of a murderous demon who could never, ever deserve such a gift.

I still don't believe I deserve either of them, but I won't ever let them go.

The scent of Willow's tears threatens to start me crying, too -- God, I'm *this* close. But we can't, not here. I have to lighten the mood.

"Get a room, you two," I mutter.

"Aw, feelin' left out, Peaches? No need to mope, ya Poof, you'll get your turn," Spike taunts. For someone as devastated as he was last night, he sounds almost jovial.

"I wasn't moping," I protest.

"Give it up, I know moping when I hear it."

"Which just proves you're going deaf in your old age."

"Who the sod y'callin' old, you senile old git?!"

Okay, now *that* calls for retaliation.

Senile old git? SENILE?!

That's it, when we get back to the hotel, I'm telling Willow about his poetry dream.        

3. The Son    

I've been blindsided, that's what it is.

It's getting so a bloke can't get a fair shake any more. Bad enough Murdoch's pathetic, rank amateur go at presiding over a ritual short-changed me on what should've been the best bloody night of my unlife.

Damned mandrake!

What's worse, though, is the honeymoon hasn't even *begun*, and my Mates're already gangin' up on me. It's enough to make me scream.

Actually, don't mind if I do.

"ARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH! For the last time, you TWITS, they're demons. Real, Grade A, bona fide demons. Regardless of how you see things, if we're going to do what you wanted -- IF we're going to keep your precious humans safe -- we've got to operate on terms they bloody well understand! They don't give a crap about your kinder, gentler, alternate approach to power!!!"

"Twits?!"

Red arches her eyebrows at me in that infuriating way she has of showing how unmoved, unconvinced, and unimpressed she is. Damn the wench, she's been pulling that look on me since she was a minion.

I put all that effort into a decent rant, and all she cares about are the semantics.

"Oh, pardon *me* -- my dear, beloved, Mated TWITS."

"Spike, we've been over this. Ruling with an iron fist isn't the answer. I wouldn't be able to pull it off for long enough to do any good. Don't ask me to."

Well isn't this sweet? Angel the Ever-Reasonable. And he's daft enough to think I'll be persuaded to show a little empathy just 'cos his soul is squeamish? Hardly.

Tosser.

"Stifle it, Angel." Yeah, I know how to get him to listen up good. Give him a curt snarl and you'll get his attention right quick. And I mean *His* attention -- I know Angelus is in there, and he knows how things are done. "So you haven't got the stomach for it. Leave things to Red and me. That's why you Mated us, isn't it?"

"I Mated you because I love you--"

That remark earns a roll of the eyes, but before I can tell him exactly what to do with his poncey sentiments, Angel's voice takes on a little of the Angelus edge I know so well.

"--not because I'm in the habit of passing off my responsibilities to a headstrong whelp who throws a little temper tantrum."

Sorry, Mate -- not gonna bait me that easily.

"See, there you are. Was that so hard?" I ask, knowing exactly where Angel's limits are and just how hard to push. "Still got a bit of the old man left in you. If you can do it with me, you can pull it off with the clans, I'd wager."

Angel turns away, and suddenly my guard is up. He's never been one to let on what he's feelin', no matter how many hits he takes.

"Knock it off, Spike," Red warns. Looks like I've definitely struck a nerve.

"Doesn't work that way, luv. We're Mates now -- equal partners. Daddy doesn't have the final say any more, which means I'll say what I damn well please."

"Fine, talk all you want, but don't waste our time," she spits out, just a hint of the demon flashin' in her eyes. "We all agreed--"

Oh NO you don't, little minion! Don't start.

"We agreed to step in and divide the spoils between the clans so things'd quiet down and the humans'd be safe -- as safe as they ever are with vamps on the prowl. I'll even grant you we talked about sharin' the responsibility so Angel can step back when he needs to. But I never agreed to rule like I'm anything other than what I am -- a demon."

"Oh, I get it -- nobody tells Spike what to do," Red snaps back, not missing a beat. "Ruling the clans is all about you and what you want, is that it? You'll 'do as you bloody well please', even if Angel suffers for it!"

Persuasive she's not. Red may be a sight to see when she's angry, but she's still wrong. They've both got it all wrong.

"He's not gonna suffer. I *told* you, you can both leave all the dirty work to me -- 's what I'm good at."

"Spike..." Angel sighs.

I cringe. Sod, *not* the sigh. 'Cos it never fails. Right after the sigh comes--

"If we follow the same old rules with the clans, we might as well renounce our authority as soon as we've finished dividing up the territory. I won't stop fighting for The Powers, and eventually this will put me at odds with the clans. Then, even you won't be able to keep them in line, not if the only means at your disposal is force. We'll have an open rebellion on our hands, another clan war, and the only thing we'll have done is postponed the bloodletting."

--the lecture. Lucky me. Crikey, I don't believe this.

"Alright, show of hands -- how many of us in this room are vampires?"

I'm not surprised when mine is the only hand that goes up, while Red and Angel stare back at me, arms folded across their chests.

"Let me share a secret with you. Little spot of bloodletting? Doesn't bother a vamp. This is your damned angst over killing again, little minion, and look where that ridiculous episode got you. You still kill, and you're a fair sight more soft-hearted than the rest of the vamps in this town. You try to turn 'em into good little housepets, and they'll turn on you for sure."

"So vamps can never change their spots, is that it, Spike?"

Don't much trust that tone in Red's voice. If she thinks she's gonna toy with me--

"I guess that explains why you still have a sketch of a Slayer up on your wall, right? Because we all know how much your average vamp loves Slayers."

The pain feels like daggers carvin' me up from the inside out. I have't felt anything this searing since I got rid of the damned chip.

If it were *anyone* other than Red, that remark would have ended in a painful death.

"Don't you dare bring her into this."

"Why not? It was your need to slaughter Megan's killers that set off this whole clan war. But they were just doing what vamps do, weren't they? A little spot of bloodletting shouldn't bother a vamp, should it, Spike?"

"Willow, that's enough," I hear Angel warn her in a low voice, but through the rage it sounds like he's miles away.

Bloody hell, I can't move. Can't even make my mouth work.

All I can do is stare at Red while the blood in my veins turns to ice. Somewhere in the background, Angel's tryin' to do damage control.

"Spike, any of us would have reacted exactly the way you did." Angel pauses and shoots one of 'is trademarked stern looks at Red. "All of us *did* react that way when Buffy was murdered. We *are* demons, and our kind has been ruled by blood lust for millennia. That's not going to change any time soon."

"Angel--"

"Willow, let me finish. Just because we want to change things doesn't mean we'll be able to overcome thousands of years of violence by imposing a new set of rules. Most likely, we're going to fail at this. The most we can do is plant seeds, and recognize that success might not come until long after we're dust. But we still have to try. I've learned that in the scheme of things, we can't solve everything with a single, grand triumph. All we can hope to do is take each challenge as it comes."

"But Angel, you were the one who wanted--"

"You bitch..."

A whisper's all I can manage, but it's enough. Red forgets whatever tirade she had in store for Angel and gapes at me like she forgot I was even here. And that hurts all the worse.

"How dare you try to use Meg against me? You weren't there! You've no right to say anything about it! You can go to hell with your sanctimonious speeches about movin' beyond vengeance and demons changin' their spots. If I move beyond it, if I let go of the rage, then she's really gone. Vengeance was the only thing I had left of her!"

Well, well...so Red's got a few feelings for poor Spike after all. Those big green eyes, so full of compassion -- and I'll be damned, a little spot of regret, too. Too bad she bloody well crossed the line.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I was out of line--"

Don't even bother to hide my opinion of her overdue apology, but Red ignores my scowl and rambles on.

"I know the rage, the lust for blood and pain. It never goes away. And I would *never* question how much you loved her. But is the best way to honor Megan really to be just as ruthless as the ones who killed her? To outdo them on the same scale of violence that brought her down? Do you think it would have comforted her to know that your method of dealing with grief was to become even bloodier than her killers?"

No.

No, I won't feel this again.

Pain wrenches my gut, cold and hollow. Even the feel of skin tearin' away from my knuckles when I put my fist through the wall doesn't make it go away, although the smell of blood sharpens my mind. Damn Red for makin' me go through this all over!!! Every memory from that night is still sharp as a knife, and cuts right through me.

"You think I haven't thought about that? Don't you think I've hated myself for being no better than the bastards who drained her and tossed her aside, every single night since it happened?"

My Mates're frozen in place, horrified. Join the bloody club -- I went through hell that night. I can't...stand...still...have to get out... have to do something. God, no, don't make me think about this again... I should've been there, I should've FUCKING. BEEN. THERE.

No, dammit! Not gonna cry...not gonna cry...I'm gonna *kill*.

I don't want to say the words, but I still hear them slip from my mouth in a hoarse whisper.

"Fucking hell, Red...I was out *hunting* that night."

I can't stand to be here anymore. But I don't miss Red's soft gasp as I slam the door to Angel's suite and head out through the lobby.

The first one barely slows me down.

Neither does the second.

Drain 'em. Drop 'em. Move onto the next.

By the third, I can actually feel *something*, as all that hot blood pours down my throat. Goes straight to my core. I'm a *vampire*. This is what I do, what I am.

's what I was made for.

Air's cold. Pavement's cold. I'm colder. I'm Death to all these idiots who don't have enough sense to stay in at night. Fools're fair game. Now there's a law of nature for you.

I kill them because I *can*.

Damn Red and her damned mouth and her damned higher purpose! Who the fuck does she think she is?!? Like she's the only one who's ever cared for somebody! Like *she* didn't help kill seven humans in cold blood when Buffy died! And now the rest of us are s'posed to play by a new set of rules, just 'cos she decides the old ones aren't workin'. Sod that!

No! Not gonna feel this pain again, I won't....Somebody else can fucking feel the pain!

Like that bloke steppin' off the bus over there, with his nose so deep in a book he's just as likely to walk into a wall as he is to find his way home. As I said, fools're fair game. I follow him for a few blocks and he doesn't even hear me until I've got him up against a dumpster, all wide-eyed behind his wire-rimmed glasses and trembling at the sight of the big, bad monster. Oh, yeah, mate, I'm big and bad, and I *do* bite. He yelps into my palm, like they always do, as I sink my fangs in, nice and deep. I could've just snapped his neck, but I want him to feel it -- I want him to know what dying feels like. Want someone else to know what it is to have everything drain away...all the feeling... your last hope...everything that gives you a reason to keep moving...

...all of it gone, torn away and bleeding because she's lyin' there at your feet and you can't bring her back...

The final tremor shakes through the nancy bookworm. I let go and he drops in a heap beside my Docs. His book fell a few paces away. It's ragged and worn. Either he's one of those used bookstore types, or it was one of his favorites -- or maybe both.

Hmm. Thomas Mann. 'Death in Venice'.

Fitting.

Looks like he was a page-marker, too. One's been folded down so many times that the corner finally breaks off and drifts down to the street like a leaf from the tree.

"...It was an urge to escape, he admitted it to himself, this longing for the distant and new, this desire for liberation, for unburdening and oblivion..."

Oh, brother. Quite the little philosopher he was, it seems.

You're better off this way, mate.

Dawn's close. The air's pickin' up that energy, like embers bein' stirred in a fire. Didn't realize how long I'd been walkin'...

Don't much want to go back just yet.

Can't even bring myself to feel a good rage anymore, either. What's the world coming to when a decent killing spree can't even lift the spirits?

I put my back up against a wall, but it doesn't hold me up. Guess there's nothing to hold me up at all. Fine, I don't care... Been a long time since I've seen a sunrise... Wonder if it'd be worth it...

Oh, bugger! No, I don't think so.

I'm not that far gone. Even *I* have enough self-respect left not to let my final resting spot be a sidewalk in front of a Starbucks.

Bloody yuppie watering-hole.

Wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.

Well...maybe some of 'em...

Doesn't take much to pry up the manhole cover and drop down into the sewer just as the sky's turnin' pink.

She never did like pink, not even as a girl. I remember when she threatened to paint the--

--oh, hell! Not again...not...dammit, get a grip, mate, don't start the waterworks again. Damn Red and Angel for makin' me feel this!

...damn them for...for...

...for being right.

Oh, fuck.

After the hell I went through, I shouldn't have to deal with this. Those bastards took somethin' from me that can't ever be replaced. I died all over again that night, and killin' every last one of those sods didn't even begin to make up for it. But I had a right to it, dammit! It was something! Damn Red for thinkin' she can put everything in perspective when she wasn't even there!

Damn her and her damned perspective for makin' me think about this...

...and for makin' me see she's right.

Meg gave me a reason to be different.

And she never made me feel any less the vamp for it.

Rage isn't the only thing I've got left of her. What she gave me was a reason to be something other than a killer. To be exactly what Red and Angel are askin' me to be now...

Who the hell schedules these damned epiphanies, anyway? Who did I piss off, that mine had to hit me when I'm cryin', ankle-deep in a soddin' soggy sewer, and rats scurryin' around my feet?

Guess it's just as well. Won't have to kill any of the little vermin for seein' me like this...unless those are actually vamps who crossed Red the wrong way...

How did she work her way into my gut like she has?

Infuriating little minion. Been convinced she knows what's what since day one, didn't even know well enough to back down against a brassed-off Master vampire who had a year's worth of grudges eatin' away at him. Cor, she can really get to me. Tears right through me without even battin' an eyelash.

And I still love her.

And him. God, what he's done for me.

Mates.

Can't quite believe it yet. He was my sire, and that was...everything. Just bloody *everything*.

But this...I didn't have to be everything for him, it's different for the sire. Offering himself as my Mate, though -- that's about as powerful a declaration as there is. He *wanted* me to be everything -- me and Red.

Guess this means I can't very well let rulin' the clans eat away at him. Bloody hell, another reason they're right.

I'm not in the habit of usin' the sewers as much as Angel, since I sleep during the day like a *normal* vamp, so it's well near dark above ground before I make it back to the lair. Damn tunnels all look alike. Must've spent a good hour goin' 'round in circles at the--

Hold on.

I don't believe it. Well, fuck me sideways...that bastard!

Bet he knew this'd happen.

Before I can haul open the door that leads into one of the hotel's serviceways to the basement, the truth hits me and damned if I can't stop laughing. Not just a chuckle, but a good, hard, whoop-'til-I-cry laugh. I make such a ruckus, I'm surprised when my Mates don't come runnin'.

Must be a two-for-one deal on epiphanies in a sewer today.

Here I am, headin' back after barely twenty-four hours 'cos I don't wanna let my Mates down on our big night with the clans. Used to be a time when I'd just say sod 'em and drop out for a few weeks. But now, I can't. We're...connected. I'd rather fry in the sun than see 'em hurt--

Bloody hell.

That pillock!

Angel went and fixed it so I'd be...dammit, it's already done.

I'm *responsible*.

From William the Bloody to William the Bloody Upstanding, Reliable, Pulls-His-Weight....arrrgh!

You know, I've half a mind to just take off for a nice spot of drunken slaughter to prove it's never gonna happpen.

Problem is, it's already too late. I soddin' well *care* about 'em enough to...hell, I can't even believe I'm thinkin' this....enough to take on the responsibilities of leadership.

Somebody stake me.

Eventually, I make my way up through the serviceway to the lobby. Red comes rushin' over like she's ready to tackle me, and I can see the streaks on 'er face that tell me she had the decency to cry over me while I was gone. Good. She's not forgiven just yet. On her way there, maybe, but not quite off the hook. I shrug her off, but don't protest when Angel invites me back to his suite for a quick shower before we head out for the big event.

By the time I've scrubbed off the dank stink of the sewers and suited up, I'm in the mood to play. I may have come 'round to seein' things from Red's and Angel's point of view, but it doesn't mean I can't still have a little fun at the other vamps' expense.

We don't talk much during the ride over. Just enough to square away a few last-minute details, and make sure we're all playin' for the same team. The mood isn't necessarily grim, just down-to-business. We're all of us ready -- I can feel it. Lost count of the rows I've gotten into, but every single time, there's a moment before the action starts when all the edginess sharpens to a single point, when something clicks and I know I'm ready to take whatever I'm up against. Gets me stiff as all hell, too.

I feel it now, and what's better, I can feel it from my two Mates.

No better time for it, either, 'cos we're steppin' out of the elevator into Murdoch's high-priced, polished executive suites and Nadia's there to greet us.

She looks like one of those damn Men in Black, all toffed up in a suit that's too prim by vampire standards, with some kind of wire snakin' into her ear. Bet Red is tryin' hard not to laugh.

"Welcome, Angelus. The delegates are waiting in our board room, as you instructed."

Right on schedule, Red pipes up, givin' her the first clue that the game has changed.

"And the other arrangements?"

Nadia had nerves of steel even before Murdoch got his fangs into her, and hearin' Red speak instead of the supposed head of our clan doesn't rattle her a bit.

"Everything is set. Should I call down?"

"Not yet. We'll let you know." I can feel Red's relief when I throw myself into the game. Good. I'd say she owes me some raw nerves.

Everything unfolds according to the same old routine, and I'd wager Angel is as bored with this as I am. Angelus presided over his fair share of privy councils in our day, and he at least had a little flair to his style.

Like Edinburgh, 1892. Now *that* was a show. Some of the local clans called him in as a neutral Master to resolve a grudge between 'em, and damned if he didn't pull it off so well, they forgot how it'd all started. Got himself and the clan leaders invited to some big, human social affair -- wedding, I think -- and told 'em he'd rule in favor of whichever one offered the best toast at the banquet. Everyone was laughin' like mad, vamps and mortals alike, and when it was through, Angelus invited the other Masters to slaughter the entire guest list.

I think I ate the bride...maybe a bridesmaid, don't remember that bit too clearly.

One of the best parties I've ever been to.

That was Angelus. Nobody knew how to manage power like he did. Always made the scales tip in our favor, too, and it was fun as hell. Like an artist, he was.

Not like these vamps who've gotten all their ideas about power from corporate America.

No sense of drama whatsoever.

"Welcome, Angelus, Order of Aurelius. The clans are at your command. As you can see, the disputed territory is on the table; its partition awaits your decision," Murdoch announces.

See, what'd I say?

Sterile board room, gray suits, flat delivery. Pathetic.

Time to show these buggers how it's done.

Oh, yeah, that got their attention. I've claimed the place of precedence at the head of the table, right next to that mammoth seat everyone expected Angel to take. The confusion in the room is downright...tasty.

My Mates'n I'll give 'em a show that'd make Angelus proud.

"Not everything is on the table yet," I snap at Murdoch, lettin him know he'd better be ready to take orders.

No worry there, really, but gotta keep everyone on the edge of their seats. They are, alright, and it gets even better when Murdoch's minions usher the entire Inglewood clan into the room. The Master of the clan has figured out by now he's at his own execution, and he's churnin' out fear and anger like a bloody furnace.

"Magic is forbidden during the Cup of Death," Willow observes, in that innocent, off-handed way she does so well.

"And while we don't mind cheaters, *bad* cheaters are a bleedin' bore," I add. "First rule of foul play: Don't. Get. Caught."

"So where's the evidence that anybody used magic?"

You sorry, stupid sod. Wrong question.

"Evidence isn't necessary. Suspicions are enough."

Now *that's* a voice I remember well. Cor, this takes me back! Angel's none too happy about takin' on the clans, but there's still none that can lace a remark with a deadly threat quite like Himself.

"You'd do well not to be so fucking arrogant! We've got connections you can't even--"

'Course, Red *does* have her own flair for delivery. That's one of 'em down. The rest've probably just realized how much trouble they're in.

From here on out, it seems like coasting. We've just made it clear that only a fool with a death wish dares try to get anything past us. The rest of it is a formality. Angel and Red handle the real shockers -- the restrictions on hunting and killing. 's not that I'm not behind them on this, but they have to be the ones to say it.

None of these vamps'd believe it coming from me. Can I help it if it's no secret I like a good hunt -- the bloodier, the better?

No matter. It's done with, and my Mates and I can head home now without the slightest doubt that we've got the clans eatin' out of our hands. Don't know how long it'll last, but for now we've got 'em petrified.

It doesn't surprise me when Red wants to jump immediately to the kiss-and-make-up part of the evening. Soft-hearted little witch, never could resist tryin' to fix things.

"Spike...thank you. I know this isn't going to be as satisfying as you'd like--"

"You both know we can't run the clans through Murdoch forever," I cut her off, wantin' to see her squirm just a bit longer. I may love my Mates, but I'm still a demon -- can't let this go without savoring just a bit more agony. "If you're serious about changin' the way vamps work, this rulin' from on high's the first thing that has to go. Gonna have to work *with* 'em, and get your hands a little dirty."

Ahhh...Red wears her agony so well. Never known a demon who could actually look *forlorn*. Well, aside from the Poof, but His Broodness is in a class by 'imself.

"I know," she murmurs, sounding properly contrite. "You're right."

"Damn right I'm right," I nod, tryin' to keep from grinnin'. Gotta hold out just a little longer...can't spoil the fun just yet...

"Spike, about earlier...I'm sorry. I don't have all the answers, and I should have been more willing to hear your side. And I *never* should have said those things about Megan. I just...well, thank you for coming back even if you don't--"

She's got me. I'm a Master vampire with a good 130 years on her, and this little mix of contradictions can undo my resolve with a look. As much as I'd like to keep toying with her, a smile slips out and I press a finger to those sweet, trembling lips to hush her.

"Red...Willow, just stop."

She does, and looks at me like she'd tap dance in a church if I'd just forgive her.

I'll settle for a good shag.

"I wanted to kill you for what you said, for makin' me go through that all over again. Wanted to kill *myself* when I found Meg lyin' on the ground, 'cos I'd failed her. And yes, as you so *kindly* pointed out, because I realized I was no better than the vamps who killed her," I explain. "But I worked through it. Angel helped...so did tearin' apart the sods who did it...But I was wrong about one thing...Rage isn't the only thing I've got left."

She's close to tears. I'm not far behind.

"I've got you, and Angel. As maddening as you are...you're still mine. So I can't stay away. Love you too much."

As furious as she had me at everything she said about Meg, it all melts away when I taste her mouth. Just a hint of salt and regret, but when she responds...God, a bloke could get addicted to this much passion.

Come to think of it, I already am.

"Get a room, you two," Angel mutters.

"Aw, feelin' left out, Peaches? No need to mope, ya Poof, you'll get your turn."

"I wasn't moping."

"Give it up, I know moping when I hear it."

"Which just proves you're going deaf in your old age."

"Who the sod y'callin' old, you senile old git?!"

Red's laughin' at Angel's attempt at comic relief, and it'd take a far stronger vamp than me to keep from smirking. Sorry, Mate, but a century as the King of Brood is poor training for witty banter. Although I don't like that wicked gleam he's got in his eye right now.

Damn him for knowin' me so well.

He knows I'm through the worst of it. And I've got a sneakin' suspicion that it's open season on Spike again.

Bloody hell...I hope I didn't talk in my sleep the other night.    

*****

THE END

TO BE CONTINUED in Masters and Minions 8: Warp and Weft