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.

Drusilla set a bowl of warm soup in front of her mother and gently slid it across the table toward her. News of Joshua's death had arrived soon after the fact and it had rocked the broken remains of their household to the foundation. They had told her that he had lost his way in the dark and stumbled over the edge of a ravine, but other voices, ones she had not been meant to hear, said other things. They whispered about Joshua's secret discourse with the Devil, about how he had brought evil down upon himself and his family. And that he had paid the price for his dark dealings. But Drusilla knew the real reason behind the harm that had befallen them during the past week. The Father had told her in the confessional.

"Come now, Mum," she urged, "You have to eat."

Her mother weakly pushed the bowl away, her eyes distant and red-rimmed.

"I don't want it." She complained, "Where's Joshua?"

Drusilla inhaled a sorrowful breath. He had been gone for three days now and she was still unable to accept reality. Three days. The Lord had risen after three days. But Joshua's body hadn't even been found, lost somewhere at the bottom of the gorge. And something told her that God had few blessed miracles planned for her future.

"It's all that seein' that did him in." her mother muttered to herself, staring blankly at the tabletop.

"Mum?" Dru placed her hand on her mother's arm and leaned forward in concern.

The woman pulled away, flinching skittishly from the contact, turning her gaze toward the window.

"He had the Devil in his eyes, he did." She whispered, her voice tight and reedy, "I always knew it. And the Lord punished him for it."

Drusilla's dark, soulful eyes filled with sympathy and she reached out to her mother but draw up short.

"No, Mum," she said, her voice strained and on the edge of tears, "that's not true."

The woman turned around, her eyes looking empty and red-rimmed.

"Then who, Drusilla?" she demanded, shaking her fist angrily, her bottom lip trembling with raw emotion, "Who is He punishin'?"

Drusilla fell silent and dropped her gaze to the floor. She had an answer, but not one she wanted to share. It was she who had been afflicted with blasphemous visions. The father had told her that she was a Devil-child and that she was meant to walk the path of evil. But how could that be? Was it not every mortal's duty to strive to be more like God? Was the Lord punishing her for rejecting the path He had set out for her?

"He deserves to burn for harborin' such evil visions." Her mother spat, disdainfully.

Drusilla eyes went wide and her jaw dropped in shock. How could Mummy say such a thing? Joshua had been the most sensitive, caring young man in the world, not some Godless sinner. She was making it sound like he had asked to be afflicted with the Second Sight. Angrily, Drusilla jumped to her feet.

"How can you turn your back on him?!" she shrieked, holding her arms rigidly by her sides and tears springing from her eyes, "Joshua loved you more than he loved his own life! He loved all of us!"

Her mother flinched and turned her profile to her daughter.

"He was evil." She steadfastly maintained, her voice low but resolute, "He got what he deserved."

Drusilla's eyes darkened with betrayal and gut-wrenching understanding.

"You See sometimes too, don't you?" she whispered venomously, "That's how you knew Anne had been to see her sweetheart. And that's why you hate it so much. You hate the visions because you have them too."

Drusilla's mother leaped to her feet and cracked an open palm across her daughter's face.

"Don't you ever say that again!" she screamed, her entire body trembling, "The visions are blasphemy, an affront to all that is good and holy. Joshua was struck down for his audacity and you'll be next if you don't change your ways."

She turned her back to her daughter and clutched her hands together, the fingers working fitfully in agitation.

"But I'm going to save you." She murmured, twisting her hands together in an attempt to still them.

"What?"

"It's the only way to break this curse that's befallen us. You have to go away, Drusilla." The older woman's eyes were wild and her fingers trembled, "To the abbey."

Dru's heart felt like it just stopped in her chest. The abbey. Of all the fears that had taken up residence inside her, that one had almost been lost in the maelstrom. Now it resurfaced with a vengeance.

"What?" she gasped fearfully, "Mum, you can't-!"

"It's the only way, Drusilla." Her mother barked desperately, "Give your life to God and hope that it's enough to save your wretched soul. To save all of us."

Drusilla swallowed nervously, not wanting to point out that with her father and Joshua gone, her mother was the only one left other than Drusilla herself.

An old woman dressed in a pristine nun's habit met Drusilla at the door to the abbey. Her skin was wrinkled and her body seemed frighteningly thin, almost frail. But there was an intangible strength about her that defied the physical, as if her body was made of sterner stuff than the average person. Even the expression on her face reflected this sternness, being constantly turned down in a hard scowl.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" John asked her, holding a pack full of her clothes in his hand like it weighed nothing. Perhaps to him, it did.

He had volunteered to carry her few belongings up to the abbey for her as soon as he had heard the news of her departure. Her mother had told people that she was being sent away to study, but she was sure that most would know the difference. Three gruesome, mysterious deaths in the span of a week told their own tale, one that they were more likely to believe.

"I have no choice." She shook her head sadly, "Me Mum says this is the only way for me to get better."

He abruptly took her tiny hand in his and looked down at her with serious eyes.

"You don't need to get better." He told her earnestly, "There's nothing wrong with you."

She smiled slightly, the strongest emotional reaction she could muster through the dread that weighed on her, and ducked her head. John was such a nice man, but he just didn't understand. Joining the convent was the only way to save her soul from eternal torment. It was the only way that God would forgive her.

"I must go now, John." She patted her hand gently against his thick arm, "The sisters are waiting for me."

In truth, she didn't want to go at all and John's presence only made the decision more difficult for her. While she loved the Lord with all her heart and soul, the abbey had always frightened her, ever since she had been a child. Her mother used to tell her that there were spirits residing within the place, messengers from on high. Drusilla was afraid of what evil those spirits might see in her.

She took the pack with her belongings and approached the stern sister, leaving John behind.

"Come now, girl." The old woman prompted insistently, "The day's already wasting and you have a lot to learn."

As the woman's withered, talon-like hand closed around her shoulder, she cast one last, regretful look over her shoulder to John. He stood exactly where she had left him, looking sad and sympathetic under a bright, warm sun, watching her disappear into the abbey. Drusilla had only a moment to commit the image to memory as the heavy, doubled doors swung closed with an echoing thud, plunging the inside of the building into utter, sheltered gloom.

Angelus prowled outside Drusilla's bedroom window, staring through the pane into the darkness inside. His undead eyes could see through the blackness as easily as if it were bathed in full daylight. And he did not like what they showed him.

The room was bare, stripped of all personal belongings, down to the bed dressings. She was gone. His chaste little delight of purity had escaped him during the daylight hours.

Growling in frustration, he ground his teeth and clenched his fists. They'd had no right to take her away from him! Drusilla belonged to him, as much a part of him as the blood in his veins. Her destiny was inalterably twined with his own, he had been sure of it since the moment he had first laid eyes on her. Such beauty, such purity, just begging to be brought into the darkness.

The bedroom door opened and he hastily ducked down behind a thick shrub, peering cautiously through the branches. A haggard looking woman stepped into the room, looking far older than she should have. Angelus could smell the suffering on her and realized who she must be. Here was the one who had taken his Drusilla from him. A dark, murderous fire ignited in the depths of his eyes and the yellow faded into deep brown as he allowed his demonic face to melt away.

Straightening his coat, he marched around the small house and up to the front door. Only a single oil lamp burned inside, throwing guttering orange light about the main room. Smoothing back his hair, he looked down at himself and brushed a few stray bits of twig and dust from his coat, then, satisfied that he was properly presentable, he rapped politely on the wood.

Three more raps and almost a full minute passed before Drusilla's bedraggled mother emerged from the side room and came to answer the door. Pulling it open, she looked up at him without recognition, holding a worn, stitched doll hanging from one hand.

"Good evenin', Madam." He greeted with his most ingratiating smile.

The woman eyed him warily, her bloodshot eyes narrowed and surrounded by dark circles.

"Who are ye?" she demanded, "I'm not for taking visitors at this late hour."

She looked ready to slam the door in his face, so he moved quickly to allay her suspicion.

"Just a missionary, Madam." He assured her with raised, open hands, "Here to check in on you and yer family after all the trouble that's been happenin' of late. Might I step inside for a moment?"

He stepped closer, but stopped short of the threshold. Without invitation, he wouldn't be able to set a single foot inside.

Drusilla's mother held steadfastly to the door, but looked at him with less mistrust now.

"It's just you here, isn't it?" he asked innocently, "And yer daughter, of course?"

The woman shook her head sharply, clearly upset, and clasped the doll tightly in her hands.

"Dru's gone." She affirmed, "I sent her away. It was the only way to make things right in her head. Sick in her faith, she was."

Outrage flared within Angelus and he had to fight to keep it from showing on his face. This worn old hag had dared to interfere with his game. But all was not yet lost and he prudently restrained himself.

"I see." He nodded with interest, "You sent her to the abbey, then?"

Watching her, he wanted nothing more than to lash out and rip her throat apart, but he needed to know for certain where his fair Drusilla had gone first.

"Yes." The woman confirmed, "I sent her this morning. What does it matter to you?"

Eyeing him shrewdly, she reached reflexively for the carved wooden crucifix around her throat.

"You're one o' them, aren't ya?" she accused, seeming to draw strength from the icon, "A creature of evil, come to tempt away my daughter's soul."

Angelus scowled, wondering what had given his ruse away.

"Why, no, madam." he attempted to placate her, "I'm just a lowly missionary, lookin' ta do the Lord's work."

"Ye're not the Lord's servant." she sneered, standing confidently just on the edge of the threshold, "If you were, you wouldn't need me to invite ya in!"

Angelus' lip curled and his face unintentionally tensed into a demonic visage. The woman was not frightened, however. In fact, it appeared that she was only emboldened by the confirmation of his nature.

"Like alla Satan's minions, you cannot cross the threshold into the home of a true believer!" she taunted him, "You can't hurt me. God is protecting me."

She wavered dangerously close to the edge of the doorway, her smugness redoubling the Angelus' rage. She was right. As long as she stayed within the borders of her home, he could not enter without invitation. But, as he had learned, there was more than one way to skin a cat.

Standing perfectly still for a moment, he burst forward with a sharp roar, his face and hands slamming up against the impenetrable invisible barrier in her doorway. The woman started, losing her hold on Drusilla's doll. The toy fell at her feet and bounced to lay limply just outside the door. Instinctively she crouched and reached for it, stretching her arm across the barrier.

Angelus' large hand clamped painfully around the limb and she froze, her eyes wide with pain and shock. He grinned cruelly at her and twisted the limb slowly in his fist.

"Where is your God now, madam?" he leered, jerking savagely on her arm and dragging the petrified woman out into the street.




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