Coming Of AgeBy Medea
Chapter Eight
2029
Willow silently berated herself for not having done a better job at concealing herself as she studied the ruins near Tikal, Guatemala, where a demon community resided. There was something to be said for keeping a low profile. Only Willow might never get the chance to say it.
Willow had found the Harvesters.
After two years of patient tutoring by Anubis and Sahu, followed by several more spent doggedly pursuing leads in Asia and South America, Willow's search had proven successful. She only wished that Hypnoi hadn't used their archaic name -- if he had just mentioned Tikal, she would have known which demon community he meant right away.
As she looked down at the deadly wooden spears pointing up from the pit over which the Harvesters had suspended her, she wondered if maybe this was a bad thing.
The leader of the Tikal demon community, the last remnant of an ancient brotherhood of soul harvesters, stared impassively at her. Around its gray, scaly neck it wore an amulet. Set in the center of the amulet was a faroe stone, which allowed the demon to block Willow from casting a spell to free herself.
"You seek to join us. Few are worthy to partake of the harvest. Why shouldn't we harvest *you*, and be done with?"
"That would be a pretty slim harvest," Willow retorted coolly. "There's nothing to harvest. I'm a vampire, or hadn't you noticed?"
Cruel laughter circulated among the motley assortment of demons who surrounded her. Some were Fyarl, some Lamia, there was even a Howler.
"We'd noticed, vampire. And I ask again, why shouldn't we harvest you?"
Willow was poised to make a retort when his cryptic allusions to harvesting her began to make a dreadful, chilling kind of sense.
They thought she had a soul!
Her mind raced. Could she use this to her advantage, or should she just disabuse them of their erroneous notion?
Before she could think of how to handle this, a tall, slender, blue-skinned demon with a cat-like face stepped forward and observed, "The process of harvesting might be difficult. The seat is hard to locate -- it seems to originate externally."
The leader considered this, then motioned for Willow to be pulled away from the pit and released. But something in his calculating expression told her that this was a case of "out of the frying pan, into the fire".
"We will keep you for now, vampire. You are a curiosity, and we would know more about you. Unless you prefer...?" He gestured toward the pit.
"No. I'll come with you."
It wasn't really much of a choice. Die now or die later. She understood that they would keep her only until they had figured out what made her tick. Something gave them the impression that she had a soul, but as long as her nature remained a mystery to them, they would refrain from subjecting her to the harvest ritual.
Willow hoped she could remain a creature of mystery long enough to learn the ancient language Hypnoi had said she needed to know, and then find some way to escape.
This wasn't how she wanted to meet her end.
*****
2030
In every generation, there is a Chosen One.
She alone will fight the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.
She is the Slayer...
*****
<That smells like...blood....Oh, God...can't hear a heartbeat.... No...No no no no no no no no...Not her please not oh God oh baby no God I'm so sorry what they did to you NO! No no no not my girl not like this drained her they drained her baby please don't be...no no no no no no no no no no no bastards I'm going to KILL THEM ALL they'll pay fuck them all to hell tear them apart feed them their own hearts piss on their ashes if I could damn them all they'll beg me to die KILL EVERY LAST SODDIN' ONE OF THEM...oh God, baby...>
<...please...>
<...don't leave me...>
*****
In a park near the UC-Sunnydale campus, Spike huddled on the ground and clung to Megan's cold, still form. Her skin was eerily pale, void of blood. A vicious gash darkened her right temple. Her throat was marred by a multitude of bite marks. Her wrists had been snapped, and several fingers broken. Half a dozen stakes lay scattered around the perimeter.
She hadn't gone down without a fight.
For a few moments, Spike simply rocked her and sobbed quietly. Then, suddenly, he threw his head back and roared so forcefully it made his throat bleed. Tremors ran through him; he doubled over and coughed into his hands, staining them scarlet.
The fierce demon who prided himself on having killed two Slayers now felt his unbeating heart break at the death of this one. His mind was gripped by a single, fevered thought: kill the ones who had committed this sacrilege. He leaned close to the bite marks and emblazoned the foul, residual scent of Megan's killers on his memory.
Megan MacKenzie, the Slayer, had fallen at age twenty-eight, after having served seventeen years in the fight against the forces of darkness.
*****
Angel was working out in his dojo when a cold shudder ran through him. He stopped mid-jab and steadied himself against the punching bag. The sensation grew, enveloping him in a shroud of despair.
Without hesitation, the dark vampire abandoned his work-out and strode up the stairs from the basement. He grabbed his black trench coat from his suite and tossed it on over the sweatpants and tee shirt he'd worn during his practice. Angel was on his way out the door when he paused, reminded himself that others were at risk, and that he did owe them at least a warning.
Crossing the lobby to the office area, he picked up the phone and called Giles. When the former Watcher answered, Angel launched into a terse set of commands.
"Rupert, listen closely. Megan is dead...Stop, just listen. I don't have time to explain. It's a guess, but I'm not wrong. Stay inside tonight. Call Xander and Anya. Tell them to stay off the streets and keep the kids in. Advise Megan's Watcher to do the same. I have to go."
Without waiting for the explosion of questions from Giles, Angel disconnected and headed for the door, intent on reaching Sunnydale as soon as possible.
He only remembered feeling this sensation once before: the first time Spike had encountered him after he'd been cursed with his soul.
Angel remembered how Spike's sense of utter betrayal and loss had hit him through the bond they shared. He could think of only one thing that would make his childe feel that way now. Something had defeated the Slayer and robbed Spike of his beloved. Which meant that Sunnydale's streets wouldn't be safe tonight. His childe would be out for vengeance, out to kill the ones who had ended Megan's life. With the bloodlust on him, he would slake his thirst on anyone who crossed his path.
Angel hoped that Giles would follow his advice, and ask questions later.
*****
When Angel found Spike, a few hours before dawn, his childe's clothing, hair and face were covered by a thin layer of ash. He had indeed been on a rampage.
Spike was kneeling in a small clearing in a park. Angel could smell traces of blood on the ground. Although Megan's body was nowhere to be seen, the familiar scent of the blood led Angel to deduce that this was where Spike had found her. This was where she had made her last stand as the Slayer.
At Angel's approach, Spike declared in a low voice, "Don't try to rein me in."
Angel paused, knowing how raw the pain must be. "I didn't come to rein you in. I came to see if you wanted any help."
Spike whipped around with sudden violence and glared at Angel through demon-yellow eyes. "They're *mine*!"
"They're yours," Angel agreed, not challenging his childe's right to vengeance. "But I'm your sire, and I'll stand with you if you need me. Do you know who they are?"
Spike's face contorted with cold, cruel malice. "Killed the eight who did it already. One of 'em was wearing a clan ring I've seen on a few vamps in L.A. They're *all* mine. Their sires, their childer, every minion in their clan...every vamp in every lair that gives them sanctuary when I come for them. They all die."
Angel didn't doubt Spike would make good on that vow. The rage was upon him and would linger for days, weeks even. He was lethal to anyone and anything -- even his own sire was at risk. A vampire in the throes of grief over the loss of a mate could be unpredictable, and far stronger than normal.
Yet despite the risk, Angel once again moved toward Spike. His childe needed him.
He dropped down before Spike and placed his hands on the younger vampire's shoulders, a gesture of support and consolation. Spike raised his head to look Angel squarely in the eyes, and something inside finally gave out.
"Sire," Spike whispered, trembling with anguish. He flung himself at Angel and the dark vampire enfolded him in strong, sheltering arms.
"They drained her, Sire," Spike sobbed. "They took my girl's blood... every drop...and they left her..."
"And you have my blessing on your vengeance, childe," Angel soothed him, kissing his brow. "She loved you, boy...No matter what, remember that she loved you."
Angel continued to rock his devastated childe and together they mourned the loss of the young girl, the young woman, who had held some of the world's most formidable vampires under her spell during her brief life.