Title: Penance
Author: Michael K. Donovan
Email: mike@vmp-canada.com
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, the WB and Mutant Enemy, Inc.

LONDON 1860


The young woman stirred in her sleep and twisted the bedsheets in her fists, her dark hair spilled across the pillow and her face tightened with distress as she slept. A soft, fearful moan escaped her slightly parted lips and her eyelids fluttered. Suddenly, she awoke, starting violently and sitting up straight in panic.

Breathing raggedly, Drusilla gathered a knitted blanket close around herself. The nightmare was over, thank the Heavens, already fading from her memory as quickly and completely as the night retreated from the dawn. It was over. For now.

The house was starting to warm, crawling out from under the cool grip of night. Someone had recently stoked the coal oven, and the sun was just beginning to peek its glowing edge over the horizon.

Slipping out of bed, she touched her delicate feet to the chill floorboards. On the other side of the small room, her younger brother, Joshua, slept fitfully, shivering under a thick quilt.

He had just turned fifteen this past winter and was already well into manhood, supplementing the family's income by helping out some of the local fishermen. He was as sweet and gentle a young man as she had ever known. Drusilla smiled when she looked at him, as she often did, bolstered by a strong surge of familial love. She took the blanket from her bed and carefully laid it over him, tucking it close around his neck. Instantly, his shivering stilled and the tension left his face.

Still smiling to herself, she paused for a moment, watching him in the gloom. He was growing into a handsome man, she realized, his dark hair and deep crystal-blue eyes a lure for any young lady. It wouldn't be long before he would have a family of his own to care for. As much as she loved her brother, Drusilla couldn't help but hope that that day would be far off. He was such a sweet boy, she just couldn't imagine him being ready to go out into the world on his own.

Opening the door quietly, she tiptoed into the main room of the family's modest living quarters. Bright orange light shone in through the murky glass windows, casting a ruddy glow about the small room. A worn box made of wood sitting against the wall was half full with raw coal.

Shivering and blowing on her hands to warm them, she reached for a pair of black metal tongs and froze with her hand half outstretched. A small, black spider had spun a web for itself in a corner of the coal box, directly over the tongs, and she feared touching it.

She hated spiders. So ugly, the eight-legged creatures couldn't possibly have been a creation of God's.

With a distasteful face, she flicked a piece of coal into the web, sweeping it away. Still worried about the harmless arachnid, she darted her hand in and grabbed the tongs. Using them, she picked up a rough-edged lump of coal and lifted the cover of a squat iron heating stove, dropping the fuel into its flaming maw. Setting the tongs back into the coal box, she closed the top of the stove and latched it securely shut.

"You're awake rather early, aren't you, Kitten?" A deep voice rumbled from the other end of the room.

Drusilla jumped nervously and whipped around. A tall, swarthy man with a well trimmed beard and deep, dark eyes sat sideways in a sturdy, armless chair at the kitchen table.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed in pleased excitement, skipping across the room to him, "What are you still doing at home? Shouldn't you be opening up the store?"

Ever since he had gained full ownership of the modest furniture store, her father had always been sure to be there with the doors open at the crack of dawn. Drusilla couldn't fathom why he would still be here with the shop unattended. Something must have been wrong.

Her father pulled her into his lap and hugged her comfortingly. She could feel the tension bristling in him.

"There was an accident at the mine this morning, Kitten." He sighed, shaking his head, "I knew something bad was brewin'. Canaries were dropping like stones all day yesterday. When the first men went down the hole today, there was an explosion and a cave-in. Two of them were killed."

"Dear Heavens." Drusilla gasped softly, touching her hand to her mouth in horror.

She had had a dream of a cave-in at the mine yesterday, one so real that she had wept with fear for the lives of the miners, and now it seemed that her vision had come true. At the time, her mother had told her to ignore the dreams, that to claim knowledge of the future was blasphemy, and that she must try her best to ignore them.

Drusilla had agreed, convincing herself that it was nothing, but the disaster at the mine had shaken her resolve and caused her to doubt. Perhaps the dreams were real?

"I'm closing the store for the day." He informed her, standing up and easing her off his lap and onto her feet, "They'll need help with retrieving the bodies. Joshua has taken sick again so he won't be going out on the boats with the other boys today. I need you to check in on him while your Mum is busy this morning."

Drusilla frowned. Joshua was ill? She hadn't noticed anything strange about him when she had awoken this morning. She hoped he was all right.

"Yes, Daddy." She promised quietly, her mind still partly occupied with thoughts of the cave-in, "Just as soon as I return from the abbey."

The man nodded sternly and went to the door.

"Good girl, you make your peace with the Lord." He smiled proudly at her, "After this morning's disaster, we could all do with a bit of extra prayer."

He exiting without a word, marching down the cobbled walkway as his daughter watched through the window.

Drusilla heard soft footsteps behind her and turned to find Joshua standing in the doorway to the room she shared with him, wrapped in his quilt.

"You're upset." He whispered softly, staring at her with wide, delicate blue eyes.

"It's nothing, Joshua." She assured him with a weak smile, "Just a little fright from a dream I had, that's all. Daddy says you're feeling sick again? What's wrong?"

Joshua swallowed uneasily and pulled the quilt tighter around his shoulders.

"I can see darkness, Dru. All around the house." He muttered fearfully, "On Mum and Da, even you. Especially you. It's making my head sick."

"What are you talking about? That's foolishness." she feigned a laugh to cover the nervousness twisting inside her. Darkness? Her dreams had been filled with darkness of late, a dark predatory thing that followed her wherever she went.

"You know about the mine, don't you Dru?" he asked, continuing to watch her, "It happened just like in the dream you had yesterday. You can see things, can't you? That's why Mum's making you go to the abbey today."

Drusilla smiled nervously and went to put another lump of coal in the stove. It was well into spring, but for some reason she felt unusually cold this morning.

"Don't be daft, Joshua." She scoffed prettily, "I've had enough of you trying to bedevil me with your foolish words. I'm going to confession to cleanse my soul, not because of any dreams. You would do good to do the same once you get better."

"Listen to me, Dru." He pleaded softly, "Please don't go to the abbey today. I'm afraid something terrible is going to happen."

His voice sounded so fragile, like he was about to cry. Joshua was not like the other boys his age. He had always been sensitive, perhaps too sensitive. His eyes possessed extraordinary vision, an ability which allowed him to perceive things that were invisible to others. As a consequence, however, he often felt more deeply than most and was susceptible to strong emotions.

She knew he had learned to keep much of what he saw quiet. More often than not, his wild claims only caused him trouble. Dru was surprised that he had so readily revealed the source of his fears to her. Joshua was well aware that she, like their mother, rejected all such ungodly occurrences.

"I have no choice, Joshua." She shook her head sadly and sighed, "Mum will tan my hide if I have another dream. I have to make my peace with God so they'll go away."

He clutched her arm desperately, fearfully.

"You don't know what could happen." He warned in a tight whisper, "The dark and the cold are waiting for you."

She was startled by his vehemence and had no immediate response. Drawing him into a gentle hug, she stroked her fingers comfortingly along the side of his head.

"I know, Joshua," she soothed, "I know, but if I don't get there soon, I'll have to wait until after the morning service for Father Mcmannus to meet me in the confessional."

She released him and grabbed up her coat, slipping her arms through the sleeves and buttoning it tightly. In the pocket, she had a hand-sized bible and a wooden rosary, still there from her last confession only two days ago. She wrapped a thin, gauze-like scarf about her head and neck, adjusting it so that it framed her face like a kerchief. Giving Joshua another quick squeeze, she went for the door.

"Tell Mummy I'll be back soon." She smiled at him as she opened the door, "I'll stop by the market and buy you some cakes on the way back, okay?"

He stood quiet and still, watching her with those big, blue eyes, so filled with fear.

"Be careful." He pleaded, his voice weak and barely audible.

She felt so guilty leaving him alone and ignoring his warning like this, but she had no choice but to go to confession again. Mummy simply would not have her only daughter beset by blasphemous images of the future.

"I will." She assured him, pulling open the door, "Promise."

Regretfully, she closed the door behind her and headed down the cobbled walkway. The sky was lightening now as dawn arrived, turning the horizon a pale blue ranging up to a deeper azure higher up without a trace of cloud. It promised to be a fine day and the morning chill would no doubt burn off by noontime.

Skipping along a worn pathway toward the edge of town, she turned down a shaded alleyway and skidded abruptly to a stop, her heart jumping into her throat. A young man dressed in black finery stood shrouded in shadow with his hands buried in the pockets of a long topcoat. His long, sandy brown hair was tied back into a stubby ponytail at the top of his collar. He was tall and dark complected, with deep, intense eyes, like bottomless pools of the darkest, starless night.

"Hello." He smiled kindly, displaying an array of straight white teeth, "I didn't startle you, did I?"

"Um, n-no." She replied, recomposing herself. In truth, for a fleeting moment, she had thought it was the Prince of Darkness himself waiting for her, but now she realized he was just a man.

"What's your name?" he took a step toward her and instinctively she stepped back, somewhat nervous around young men.

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" he smiled again. Something about him was not right, she knew. She detected a distinct Irish accent to his voice. Her father had always told her to never trust the Irish, perhaps that was it.

"I must be going." She attempted to walk around him and he stepped into her path.

"Wait." He looked at her with those endlessly deep eyes, "What's your name?"

"I-it's Drusilla. Drusilla Abbott. Please, I must go to the market." She dropped her gaze to the ground. The lie filled her with guilt, but she was starting to feel uncomfortable and a bit afraid of this man. She didn't feel right telling him where she was truly going.

"Drusilla." He breathed the name slowly as if tasting its shape on his lips, "That's a very pretty name. I'm Angel."

"Angel?" she echoed, surprised, "Are you a missionary?"

"A m-? Yes, yes, I am here to do the Lord's work, I am." He held himself up proudly and casually brushed off the lapels of his coat.

Drusilla sighed and relaxed instantly. She felt very foolish suddenly, embarrassed by her rash appraisal of him. All her fear had been for nothing. She was standing before a man of God, not some servant of evil.

"You are young to be one of His messengers." She noted conversationally, warming to make up for acting so suspiciously earlier, "Have you been spreading the Lord's message for long?"

"Not long at all." He smirked wryly, looking her over with interest.

Drusilla's eyes met his and she broke into a shy smile, dropping her gaze and shifting from foot to foot. She could feel warmth burning in her cheeks and along her neck. Although she was nearing her eighteenth year, she had lived a sheltered life and was not accustomed to such earnest attention from a man. Waving shortly, she eased past him to the open end of the alley.

"Well, good morn to you, Missionary." She smiled, forcing herself to look him in the face so as not to seem impolite, "I must be off."

Turning quickly, she hurried off, her feet a blur of tiny, lady-like steps.

"Yes." He answered softly with his dark eyes fixed unerringly on her as she left, "Good Mourn."

After passing through the alleyway. Drusilla made a detour and stopped by the marketplace. The missionary's dark, intense eyes still haunted her and she needed a few moments to clear her head, to cleanse away any traces of impure thoughts that might still linger. Besides, this way, the lie she had told him would not be a lie at all. A loophole perhaps, but it did much to assuage her guilt.

As she entered the market, she drew in a deep breath, enjoying the wonderful mix of exciting smells. The market had always been one of her favorite places, ever since she had been a child. It had something to do with the mystery of the place combined with the safety of being familiar with many of the people there.

All around her, the shopkeepers of the district were opening up their doors and setting out their wares on homemade wooden stalls, everything from salted fish to quilts and clothing made by their wives and daughters. Drusilla paused to inspect a fine looking sweater through one of the shop windows when a familiar voice called out to her.

She lifted her head and spotted a pretty young girl with silken blonde hair and bright, hazel eyes, rushing across the square toward her. She wore a long dark blue dress with a fetching pink scarf knotted at her throat and hard-soled shoes on her small feet. Anne was a few years younger than Drusilla, she had just turned sixteen a month ago, but it had never been a problem. Of all the girls Drusilla knew, Anne was her closest friend.

"Dru!" the girl shouted, waving wildly as she came with a wide grin on her face, "Dru, I'm so glad you're here!"

The girl bounced giddily on the spot, almost breathless with excitement, her face flushed and glowing.

"What?" Dru smiled, caught up in her friend's energetic mood, "Anne, what is it? You look like you're about to burst!"

"Oh, I think I am, Dru!" Anne giggled gleefully, "I've met the most wonderful man!"

Drusilla smiled to herself. Poor Anne imagined herself to be in love every second week. All it took was a decent looking man and a casual smile in her direction. Sometimes not even that. Anne's imagination often supplied to her what real life could not.

"Oh, he's tall and handsome." Anne sighed dreamily, "He's an Irishman, too. I so love the sound of his voice!"

"An Irishman?" Drusilla frowned suspiciously, "I met an Irishman this morning. He's a missionary."

"My Irishman is certainly no missionary." Anne grinned devilishly, "A musician, perhaps. He does such incredible things with his hands." Her gaze went distant and the flush in her cheeks deepened as she toyed with the scarf around her throat.

Drusilla's eyes flew wide with shocked excitement and she clutched her friend's sleeve tightly.

"Anne, you dreadful creature, you DIDN'T!" she gasped, her mouth hanging open, "You'll have yourself set for the eternal fire from such trysting!"

Anne giggled, "Let the Devil have my soul. My heart belongs to my dark Irishman. And what about your heart Drusilla? Rumor has it that the good blacksmith's son, John Coleman has been asking about you. Methinks I see a courtship in your future."

Despite the flattering news, Drusilla's smile fell and her breath caught in her throat. The future . . .The memory of her dream yesterday came flitting disturbingly back through her mind.

"Don't be silly." She forced a laugh to cover her uneasiness, "No one can see the future! I-it's blasphemy."

Anne rolled her eyes in exasperation and chuckled softly, "Dru, sometimes I wonder if you shouldn't live in that monastery with all the time you spend with your mind on the heavens."

Drusilla gasped softly and touched her hand to her mouth. In all the excitement, she had almost forgotten the abbey. Mass would be starting soon.

"I'm on my way to the abbey. I must be off now," Dru shook her head with bemused tolerance. It wasn't Anne's fault that she had been raised in a Godless household.

Drusilla reached into her pocket and twined her fingers through the loop of rosary beads, taking comfort in the hard edges of the tiny cross as she turned in the direction of the abbey. "I'll be sure to send up a prayer for your wicked soul while I am in the confessional."

Anne waved goodbye with a friendly smile.

"You can't avoid men forever, Luv!" she shouted, "You'll end up being a hundred year old spinster!"

Drusilla hurried up the steps to the abbey. It had taken her longer than she had expected to make the trek up to the hills and she worried whether she had arrived in time to catch the Father at a free moment. The abbey was a huge place, with a high curved ceiling and intricately made stained-glass windows placed at regular intervals around the circumference of the dome. The building was eerily quiet and her footsteps echoed loudly off the walls. The service hadn't started yet, at least, she had made it in time.

She quelled a nervous shiver as she approached the confessional booth. The near silence was beginning to make her tense. As a child, she had often imagined ghosts living in the rafters of the old building, waiting to swoop down and carry her off. She was a regular churchgoer and visited the abbey often, but she had never been able to shake that feeling.

She knelt behind the rearmost pew and faced the altar, tracing the sign of the cross quickly over her chest. She then rose and stepped through the curtain of one of the confessional booths. She knelt on a raised and padded piece of the floor and unwrapped her scarf from her face, ducking her head and folding her hands in prayer.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been two days since my last confession." she began and then paused when she heard a dull thump from the other side of the screen, "Father?"

"That's not very long." the father answered after a moment.

Drusilla felt a creeping chill pass over her briefly. The voice was not one she recognized. She had expected to receive confession from either Father Mcmannus or Father Oake. Frowning slightly, she shook her head to clear it. It did not matter, she reminded herself, all priests held the Lord's ear with equal importance.

"Oh, Father, I'm so afraid." she said, her voice unintentionally trembling.

The priest paused again for an instant before answering.

"The Lord is very forgiving." he told her kindly, "Tell me your sins."

Drusilla inhaled deeply and fought the panic that threatened to overtake her. Just thinking about the terrible visions was enough to upset her.

"I had...I've been seeing again, Father. Yesterday, the men were going to work in the mine. I had... a terrible fright." she paused and drew in a shuddering breath, "My stomach's all tied up, and I saw this horrible... crash. My mummy said to keep my peace, it didn't mean nothing. But this morning...they had a cave-in. Two men died."

She waited tensely for some indication that the priest had heard her and was not about to cast her out of the church in shame and disgrace.

"Go on." he intoned calmly.

"Me mum says... I'm cursed." she breathed, "My seeing things is an affront to the Lord, that only He's supposed to see anything before it happens. But I don't mean to, Father, I swear! I swear!" panic gripped her now that the story was started and the floodgates of her memory had opened and she began to weep fearfully, "I try to be pure in his sight. I don't want to be an evil thing."

"Oh, hush, child." the priest's voice sounded almost like a chideful snicker, "The Lord has a plan for all creatures. Even a Devil child like you."

"A Devil?" she gasped, touching her hand to her mouth in surprise. A frightening chill crept down her spine.

"Yes! You're a spawn of Satan." the priest remarked matter-of-factly, "All the Hail Marys in the world aren't going to help. The Lord will use you and smite you down. He's like that."

"What can I do?" she whimpered, her dark eyes wide with terror.

The priest sighed casually, "Fulfill his plan, child. Be evil. Just give in."

"No!" Drusilla cried desperately, sobbing, "I want to be good. I want to be pure."

"We all do, at first." the outline of the priest's head shook sadly, "The world doesn't work that way.

"Father... I beg you..." she leaned into the screen and pressed her fingertips against it, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Please... Please, help me."

There was a pause as the father shifted in his seat and seemed to be considering her fate. Her stomach twisted in agitation, awaiting his judgement.

"Very well." he relented at last, "Ten Our Fathers and an Act of Contrition. Does that sound good?"

Drusilla sank back, relieved. Such penance was nothing compared to the punishment she had been expecting.

"Yes." she exhaled deeply, releasing her pent-up worry, "Yes, Father. Thank you."

"The pleasure was mine." he answered as she rose from the kneeling platform, "And my child...?"

"Yes?" she paused, swallowing nervously.

"God is watching you." he reminded her ominously.

Smiling uneasily, Drusilla exited the confessional booth and briskly genuflected toward the altar before making a hasty retreat for the main doors. Around the corner of the confessional, a dark clad figure stepped out of the priest's booth and allowed the body of Father Oake to slump lifelessly to the floor. Angelus smiled cunningly and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes locked on Drusilla's form as she hurried outside.




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