Warp & Weft

By Medea

Chapter Five

With the descent of darkness, vampires emerged throughout the city to prowl and hunt. In well-populated districts, where mortals caroused late into the night at bars and clubs, the undead mingled with their prey: flirting with them, toying with them, leading them on before leading them to their deaths.

But in the leaner districts, where the sinister impact of the black market made residents afraid to venture out, a different drama played out.

Illicit raids turned ugly. Deadly.

A dark-haired, female minion, barely a week old, stood watch at the entrance to an alley. Her sire and another vampire from her clan fed on a large, muscular man whose struggles had waned a few minutes earlier. He was a true prize, robust and brimming with vital essence. The minion desperately hoped she'd be allowed at least a few gulps.

It had been two days since she'd fed.

Since the night she'd been turned, she hadn't known a moment without hunger.

Suddenly, her senses were alerted to the approach, albeit distant, of others of her kind.

As instructed by her sire earlier, she warned in a low voice, "Sire, other vampires are coming."

Her sire acknowledged the warning by lifting his eyes briefly to hers, although neither he nor the other vampire stopped feeding. The sickening, hollow pit in her gut ached as the minion realized it was unlikely that anything would be left for her. Once again, she would go hungry.

Driven to recklessness by her maddening need for blood, the minion slowly moved toward the feeding frenzy and grasped the dying human's wrist. Tentatively, she raised it to her mouth.

The last sight she ever beheld was her sire's enraged glare, his eyes flashing dangerously and his lips smeared with blood. Before she had a chance to react, he released his kill, seized her by the shoulders, sank his fangs into her neck, and drained her.

Indifferently, he glanced down as the ashes of his own creation drifted to his feet.

He grunted to his remaining companion, "Let's go."

The other vampire released the corpse, letting it drop to the ground. It landed with a dull thud, stirring up a faint cloud of ash, which went unnoticed by either vampire.

They were already gone.

*****

For all its chaotic eclecticism, there was something Willow found familiar and welcoming about Caritas. True, there had been a number of changes while she was away on her travels. Lorne had redecorated and expanded. The karaoke stage remained, but the holiday-hued demon had added a dance floor, while in a far corner he'd put in a big screen t.v., apparently bowing to the obsession some of his clientele had for World Cup soccer. But something about it preserved the mood of earlier, more carefree days.

"A round of O-positive, lightly warmed," Lorne announced as he set five stemmed glasses on the table before Willow, Angel, Spike, Murdoch, and Nadia. "Only the best for my favorite members of the Fanged Set."

Willow saluted him with her glass. "You spoil us, Lorne."

"Oh, you're easy," Lorne demurred with a wave of his hand. "You should try catering to a Kytonen. Their bodies can house over thirty distinct psychic entities, so they're always changing what they want. Every host's nightmare."

He winked as he departed, eliciting a smirk from the bemused redhead. Her smirk faltered ever so slightly, however, when she sipped her drink and the first taste of the blood hit her tongue.

It was fresh, not the standard, weeks-old bagged variety. Which meant that more than likely, the Red Cross hadn't been the ones to remove it from the unknown donor's veins.

Willow masked her concern and listened as Murdoch and Angel discussed business.

"Have there been any new developments among the clans?" Angel asked, reclining easily in his seat and making a subtle show of savoring the dark red contents of his glass.

Soft and reassuring as a candle's glow, Willow felt an emotional nudge from Angel and knew that he must have picked up on her discomfort. At the risk that Murdoch might also zero in on her anxiety, she forced herself to relax.

The vampire entrepreneur pursed his lips thoughtfully and answered, "Little worthy of note, apart from a few border skirmishes in districts where the black market has made the hunt difficult. That, and some isolated grumbling."

" 'Bout what?" Spike prompted, seemingly mesmerized by Willow's hand as he traced random patterns across her pale skin with his fingertips. Yet though he feigned disinterest, Willow knew he was listening intently for any news of dissension.

"There were a few who questioned the protected status you conferred upon certain humans when easy prey have become scarce in certain territories," Nadia explained.

Spike's eyes snapped from Willow's hand to Nadia, silently demanding further explanation.

"We took the liberty of reminding them that your word is not to be questioned lightly," Nadia added, her tone deceptively even.

To the outside observer, she might have been describing an innocuous memo on company policy. With her spiky, gray-flecked, dark hair gelled in clean, professional lines, and her smoky blue Armani suit, Nadia easily looked the part of an executive attending to routine business matters. However, the brief flash of malevolent delight in her eyes left little doubt that the 'reminder' had been swift, brutal, and very likely fatal in some cases.

It was true to the old ways.

But not, however, in keeping with how Willow and her Mates were trying to revise the clans' conception of power.

Spike caught Willow's eye. In the barest instant, he read her as only an intimate confidant could, and in the next, he raised her hand to his lips and murmured, "Fancy a dance, luv?" Glancing toward their other companions, he said, "Got all night for business. Don't have too much fun without us, children."

With a cocky swagger, the blond vampire led Willow out to the dance floor. Ever the nostalgia buff, Lorne preferred to play swing and jazz standards, so the floor was hardly crowded. Spike drew his red goddess against him and the two began to sway to the music.

Slowly dipping his head to place soft kisses along her neck and jawline, Spike whispered, "Alright, Red, spill. Something's bothering you."

Willow shivered as Spike nibbled at a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear, but managed to reply, "It's our hold over the clans, and the methods Nadia and Murdoch are using to enforce it. It's not really *our* hold if they rely on the same old tactics, is it?" At the feel of her Mate's hands fondling the soft curves of her ass, Willow added, "And was this supposed to be a serious conversation or just an excuse for gropage?"

"Both?" Spike chuckled with a squeeze. Hearing Willow's satisfied purr, he said, "If we *must* be serious, got any ideas about how you'd like to shake things up?"

"I think it's time to hold court at the Hyperion," Willow proposed, nuzzling Spike's cheek. "But first we play up their loyalties by tossing them a bone: declare open season on all humans involved in this black market ring."

"And get the city's vamps to do a little work for us while they're at it," Spike concluded, his voice rumbling with approval.

"How better to curb the influence of predators than to unleash another breed of predators on the environment?"

Willow slipped her hands beneath Spike's black tee shirt and raked her fingernails over the small of his back. Spike shivered in response, fixed her with a heated gaze, and murmured, "My wicked little temptress...I am going to catch Angel's eye and get him over here. Then, you are going to clue him into your plan so we can have Murdoch and his chit make the arrangements. Then, my dear, you, Angel, and I are going someplace where we can *play*."

"Oooh, play rough?" Willow teased impishly.

"Play *dirty*."

True to his word, Spike discreetly summoned Angel to join them. Within a few minutes, the dark vampire excused himself from the table and cut in on Spike. Spike stepped aside with a nod and let his Mate take Willow into his arms. Smirking, the blond sauntered over to the table to keep Murdoch and Nadia company.

Even with her eyes closed and without the power of the bond, Willow could have recognized the difference between her two Mates. Where Spike's embrace had been possessive and lustful, Angel tenderly held her close, as if he cherished her above all else in the world. Willow molded herself to Angel's powerful frame, buried her face in the crook of his neck and savored his scent.

"What is it, Willow?" Angel murmured, sweeping his hands along the small of her back.

"I missed this," Willow confessed dreamily.

"What, when we were over at the table?" came the teasing reply.

Willow's lips curled into a sheepish grin. "No. When I was away. I love the feeling of being surrounded by you."

A deep chuckle vibrated against Willow's cheek. "Is that why Spike called me over? So you could tell me that?"

"Mmm...not quite," Willow admitted. Still smiling playfully, as though she were doing no more than flirting with her lover, she shared the concerns she'd voiced to Spike. Angel readily agreed with her plan, although he grew quiet at the prospect of declaring humans -- even an organization that seemed as vile and bloodthirsty as any demons he'd ever fought -- fair game.

When Willow asked if he were sure he could go along with this, he rested his brow atop her head, reflected silently for several moments, then confessed, "For a long time after I turned my back and let Darla and Drusilla slaughter a room full of lawyers, I felt guilty at the idea that I'd played God and decided their fate. It's true, I could have helped them. But their own actions determined their fate. Given the choices they'd made, sooner or later, they would have met with a similar end. I just influenced the timing." He paused, then added, "I serve the Powers to protect the innocent. Human doesn't necessarily equal innocent."

"It's hard to find one absolute rule that works," Willow acknowledged. "And things have gotten so different since I was away."

Angel pulled back slightly, cupped her face in his palms, gazed searchingly into her eyes and observed, "Something upset you at the table....the blood?"

Willow nodded uneasily. "Lorne has always kept his bar as human-friendly as possible. He's never dealt with some of the shadier suppliers. But what he served us was fresh. Too fresh." Wrinkling her brow in frustration, she admitted, "I don't know, maybe I'm just paranoid after learning about these black market operations."

"You're not paranoid," Angel assured her. "I tasted it, too. But I trust Lorne. I'm sure he has a good explanation. We can ask him when our business is finished tonight."

"Come on, then," said Willow, tugging him toward their table. "Spike wants to get out of here so we can...play..."

They rejoined their companions and spent ten or fifteen minutes in idle conversation before Willow instructed Murdoch to call a meeting of the city's most prominent clan leaders, to be held at the Hyperion two nights hence. Neither she nor her Mates were surprised at Murdoch's ready acquiescence. However, when Spike mentioned that all vampires would be given free rein over any humans discovered working for the black market, the vampire entrepreneur offered some unexpected insights based on his corporate perspective.

"As is often the case with shadow operations, this one has ties to more legitimate segments of the business world -- its public mask, if you will," he explained smoothly. "This is a world-wide enterprise, and one we can't dismantle from Los Angeles. Too many vested interests. But if you want to chase them from your domain, at least, and let them become someone else's problem, there are ways to capitalize on their weaknesses."

"What do you suggest?" Angel prompted him to elaborate.

Murdoch leaned forward, rested his forearms on the table and clasped his hands together, having shifted into negotiating mode. "Set the humans against each other. Poison the organization's relationship with its clientele, and you'll hit them where they're most sensitive: their profits." After a pause, he added cryptically, "And let the humans see themselves as they really are."

"How's that again?" Spike snapped impatiently.

Coyly, Murdoch circled the rim of his glass with his index finger before dipping it into the blood. He withdrew his finger, slick with red ambrosia, admired it and explained, "Mortals are always willing to see evil in the obvious guises. It throws them into a panic to discover how far it reaches into that which they hold sacred. Their vision is delightfully *selective* when it comes to the evils that sustain their own, comfortable way of life. And business, my friends, is the holiest of holies in this age."

Pausing once more to let that remark sink in, Murdoch concluded, "Expose the connection between the dealings of this black market and so-called 'reputable' business practices."

Having spoken his peace, Murdoch relaxed back against his seat, lifted his glass and took a long, unhurried sip.

"Stir up a little crisis of faith, eh?" Spike mused with fiendish glee. "Sounds wicked. What's in it for you, though? You've got your hands thick in the middle of the holiest of holies. Why rock the boat?"

Murdoch smirked at him.

"You mean aside from the sheer pleasure of violating the naive illusions of security that the fools cling to?"

"Touché," Spike chuckled and saluted Murdoch with his glass.

Murdoch inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. Then, his expression hardening, he continued gravely, "There are greater forces driving this black market than just a few wealthy mortals seeking untainted blood and organs. The system has grown, shall we say, intrusive? The records that companies are expected to keep on their employees have ventured into the physically intimate, which makes it difficult for those of us without any...vital signs...to record in the insurance documents." Smoothing the lapel of his charcoal suit (like Nadia's, Armani), the well-manicured vampire confessed, "The human corporate world serves me well. I like my business. I like the power it affords me. I have no interest in being squeezed out and forced to live in a crypt as our predecessors did."

Nodding slowly, Willow deduced, "What better way to get the heat off your own affairs than to discredit the practices that are making things difficult for you. I take it you already have some ideas?"

Murdoch's teeth gleamed white in his broad, feral grin. "There are a few dirty little secrets about some human executives at rival companies that I'm ready to leak to the press. The news would be more effective, however, if it coincided with breaking reports on the black market."

"When you tell the clans they're free to hunt black market personnel, mention that any vampire or clan that can extract useful information about the organization will be handsomely rewarded for it," Willow advised.

"But of course," Murdoch agreed, with a conspiratorial tilt of his head. "Torture is the best appetizer."

With the key details of the plan settled, conversation returned to civil chit-chat and pleasantries until Willow, Angel, and Spike sent subtle yet unmistakable signals dismissing their companions. Satisfied with the arrangements and eager to spread the word among the clans, Nadia and Murdoch rose and bid their rulers a good evening.

A few moments later, Lorne approached, ostensibly to clear away the empty glasses, but clearly offering himself as a sounding board should his friends need to discuss anything.

Unable to stifle her concerns any longer, Willow ventured into the awkward subject of his suppliers for blood, although it felt strange to do so immediately after she had just given her approval for a city-wide blood-letting. However, Lorne seemed unsurprised by her question, and his easy-going demeanor reassured her.

"Can't slip anything past you, can I?" Lorne observed amiably. The green-skinned demon regarded Willow with sympathy, picking up on her muted distress. Rising from the table, he gestured for the three of them to follow and said, "This is something you should know about. They started coming to me a few days ago."

After exchanging puzzled looks, the vampires followed Lorne through a maze of candle-lit tables, across the ample space where assorted demons mingled between the cabaret seating and the bar, and finally behind the well-stocked bar itself. Lorne led them through the entry to the stock room, where a myriad of colorful bottles, jars, and pots -- some of them squirming -- lined the shelves. Further back was a door that opened into a short corridor, at the end of which was another, nondescript door. However, for the vampires, it held a measure of intrigue.

Behind it, they smelled blood. Fresh, human blood.

And there were two distinct heartbeats.

Willow and Angel exchanged worried glances as Lorne ushered them inside. Spike followed, nonplussed.

What they found wasn't nearly as distressing as Angel or Willow had feared. Two teenage girls sat on a spacious, leather couch, watching television. Juice boxes and plates of cookies lay scattered on the coffee table before them. They looked up as the others entered the room, but Willow didn't meet their gazes. Her eyes were drawn to the gauze bandages in the crooks of their arms.

"They look a little young to be donors," Angel muttered to Lorne.

"No argument there," the Host agreed sotto voce, before clearing his throat and declaring more loudly, "Sarah, Alison, these are a few friends who were a teeny bit worried about our arrangement here. I thought if you were willing, it would be better for them to hear about it from you."

One of the girls, a tan, blonde waif whose clothes hung from her loosely, asked suspiciously, "They won't rat us out, will they?"

Lorne shook his head. "Trust me, Sarah, these are the good guys. They're more concerned to know that you're okay than they are with reporting you to anyone."

"Do your parents know you're here? Or any of your friends?" Willow ventured gently. At the same time, she cringed to realize that she sounded exactly like some of the concerned-but-clueless adults who had treated her like a child back in Sunnydale.

"Actually, we thought you were them. They're due to pick us up any minute," replied Alison, a petite brunette with freckles and a faded jeans jacket covered with ink pen scribbles. Much to Willow's astonishment, the answer was completely free of sarcasm. They really were expecting their parents.

"Mom and dad bring them here about once every six weeks," Lorne explained.

"Why?" Angel wondered with an incredulous frown.

Lorne remained silent, but looked sympathetically at the two girls. After an extended pause, he urged, "Go on...it's okay..."

Sarah and Alison glanced uncertainly at each other, then at Angel, Willow, and Spike. Finally, Sarah began a soft, halting explanation, her eyes frequently darting away self-consciously.

"It's kinda complicated. We, me and Alison, ran away a year ago. Things weren't so good at home back then, and we just had to get out." Hazel eyes widened anxiously, and she added, "But it's a lot better now."

"We're not from any welfare agency," Angel promised in an effort to allay their fears.

"Least, not any you'd recognize," Spike muttered ironically. Willow silenced him with an elbow to the ribs.

"Anyway, I got sick, but my parents have managed care. So, because it happened when I wasn't living at home, their insurance won't cover the treatment." A short, awkward pause. Then, in a low, bitter voice. "Not that there's a cure for what I've got."

Seeing her friend's discomfort, Alison spoke up. "Lorne pays really well, okay? This way, we can buy the meds with our own money. Our parents are trying a lot harder now that we worked everything out. Living at home isn't so bad any more. But neither of our families is real rich."

"So...you sell your blood to get medications?" Willow repeated slowly, doing her best to mask her shock.

Instantly, she regretted saying anything at all. Sarah's expression hardened, tightening the skin over her cheekbones and starkly revealing the reason that her clothes fit so loosely: she was dangerously emaciated.

Alison glared at the vampires, then turned her attention to her friend. "It's okay, Sarah," she murmured, resting a hand on the blonde's arm.

"No, it's not," Sarah protested vehemently. Her eyes were watering and her entire frame shook. It pained Willow to see such a young girl look like she could waste away at any moment. Glaring at Lorne, Sarah declared, "We'll wait for our parents outside. I'm not cool with this."

Even as Lorne protested that it was too dangerous for the girls to stand alone, outside, at this time of night, Willow could taste the panic rolling off Sarah in waves. They had obviously struck a nerve.

"Stay," Willow insisted. "You were here first. We're the ones who disturbed you. We'll go."

Lorne flashed her a half-apologetic, half-grateful look as she turned back to the corridor and led her Mates toward the bar. Once they had returned to the main area, Willow was poised to ask Lorne for an explanation, but Spike beat her to it.

"So...that's how you manage to stock human," the blond vampire observed as he searched his pockets for a pack of cigarettes.

"It's been hard for the past few years," Lorne acknowledged. "With the constant shortages, the Red Cross isn't really selling to bar owners with horns. And, present company excluded," he looked at Angel and Willow, "my blood-drinking customers tend not to care for livestock."

"But if blood is in such short supply, why couldn't those girls or their parents just donate at the Red Cross?" Willow asked, still troubled by the arrangement.

There was a brief, awkward silence, whereupon Angel noted quietly, "Sarah said she was sick. Does she have VAA?"

Lorne nodded soberly, his vermilion eyes clouding with regret. "She's dying."

"What's VAA?" Willow pressed, frowning as she glanced back-and-forth between Angel and Lorne.

"Viral anaplastic astrocytoma," Lorne explained. "It's a cancer that attacks the brain and the virus that causes it can be transmitted through the blood. Cases started popping up around 2022 or 2023 and, before long, we had an epidemic on our hands. It's just one of a host of reasons that pure blood can be so hard to come by, and why Sarah has to come to me."

"Viruses don't affect the taste of the blood," Spike deduced as he lit his cigarette and took a long, deep drag. Exhaling a stream of smoke, he added, "So you can scratch her back, and she scratches yours."

"Sarah is one of too many people who have fallen through the cracks," Lorne answered. Willow couldn't remember ever having seen him so sad. "There's no cure for VAA yet, although they've been working on one for years. The drugs that can manage the pain and maybe add a year or two onto someone's life are expensive, so insurance companies are always looking for reasons not to cover it. Besides," Lorne's expression darkened, "Sarah and Alison were about to seek out some of the shadier, vampire dens when a Good Samaritan suggested it would be safer to come to me. Then word got out, and there were others."

"Others?" Angel echoed with a frown. "How many others?"

"About two dozen. They all have different stories, but for one reason or another, they have nowhere else to turn. I know this isn't an ideal solution, but it's the best way I know how to help them."

"So, what's the other chit's story?" Spike asked, cocking his head in the direction of the back room.

To Willow's surprise, Lorne's expression softened. A broad, genuine smile lit his face. "Alison doesn't really have a 'story', in the sense of a hard-luck story. She's fine...and if I get my wish, the kid will live to a ripe old age. But Sarah is her best friend. At first, Alison just came along to hold her hand. Then, when she realized Sarah could get twice the medication if she had twice the money, she said she wanted to sign up, too."

A lump formed in Willow's throat as she thought back to her early struggles in adjusting to her vampire existence, and how selflessly her coven sisters had offered their own blood to help her. It suddenly hit her how much she had needed a reminder that human friendships could be strong and compassionate, especially after everything she had learned about the black market organization. She hadn't realized how deeply all this had shaken her.

The reassuring weight of Angel's arm around her shoulders signaled that her Mates, on the other hand, *had* sensed her inner turmoil. Gratefully, she smiled up at Angel, then at Spike, who flashed her a grin in return and stroked her cheek with his knuckle.

Abruptly, Willow fixed her gaze on Lorne and asked, "Do you know who this 'Good Samaritan' is -- the one who sent Sarah and Alison here?"

Lorne cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in an awkward effort to stall. "Well, yes, actually...she's Wiccan, and from what I can tell, fairly respected among the local covens." Seeing Willow's eyes narrow curiously, Lorne added, "Before you ask, yes, you know her. But she's asked me to keep her involvement confidential. If you'd like, I'll ask her if she'd be willing to tell you more, but she'll have to be the one to approach you."

Willow nodded, already having a couple of guesses as to who it was. "Please do."

With that, feeling somewhat reassured about Lorne's scruples, Willow, Angel, and Spike left Caritas for the evening. As she walked with her Mates toward Angel's vintage convertible, Willow caught herself brooding over a thought she'd never imagined she'd have.

For a few, surreal seconds...she was actually grateful that she'd been turned.

*****

Subject: File received
Date: 7 June 2034
From: Willow Rosenberg <redwillow@aurora.net>
To: Rupert Giles <gilesr@preservation.society.co.uk>

Hi Giles,

Thanks to both you and Wesley for all the information you sent about the black market. Cordy got Wesley's file and started going through the reports. I haven't had a chance to look at it, yet.

This is going to sound like a strange question, but I've been doing some thinking.

Are you happy? I mean, with the world, with life in general, and how everything has turned out? Do you ever wish things were different?

love,

Willow

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