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 held a small, struggling fly pinned between the nails of her thumb and forefinger and crouched before the web of the spider on her windowsill. Flicking the insect into the web, she watched with delight as the spider rushed over and swiftly bound its prey in a cocoon of silk.

"Yes, little one, eat it all up." She cooed encouragingly, "If you clean your plate, then Mummy might take you for a walk after."

Rising swiftly to her feet, Drusilla swooned, taking an unsteady step and pressing her hands to the wall to steady herself. She was always so tired lately. And confused. She had been having trouble sleeping. Horrible nightmares plagued her where she would be running from something, desperate to escape, only to find herself to be chasing someone else. In her most recent dreams, she had been fast enough to catch that someone, leaping on them like they were frightened, squealing pigs. Sometimes it was Sister Genevieve she hunted, sometimes her own mother, but in the end she always killed them, cutting their throats and gorging on the explosive blood flow.

The only nights that the dreams did not hound her were the ones when Angel came to visit her. She flushed deeply with guilt when she thought of what he had been making her do, deeper still when she recalled how she had come to count the seconds until his return. Always, after their terrible sinning together, she would sleep the deep and dreamless sleep of the dead.

Rubbing unconsciously at the pinprick holes on the upper inside of her thighs with one hand, she approached a small, rectangular mirror and picked up her hairbrush.

She began pulling the brush through her dark locks, counting the strokes while admiring her reflection. Her skin had become so wonderfully pale lately, even her lips had lost pigment, and her eyes were so much prettier now, all pink and wet and shiny.

Fifty strokes on one side and then another fifty on the other. She imagined she could hear a song from the brush, whisking effortlessly through her hair, and she began to sing along with it, her voice low and discordant.

Suddenly, her head snapped up and she put the brush down. Earlier in the day, she had accepted her vows, dedicated her life to God. This afternoon would be her first prayer session as a fully inducted nun. It would be time soon, she would have to hurry if she was going to make it to the chapel before Mother Constance and the others. She so wanted them to be proud of her. Perhaps with her devotion to God cemented, she would finally be free of the evil inside her.

Hastily, she smoothed down her simple dress and grabbed up her prayer book, the same one her father had given her after her first communion when she was a little girl.

The chapel was only a short walk away and she found it still and empty. It reminded her of a tomb.

Beams of warm, colored sunlight spilled in through the stained glass windows at the tops of the walls, creating blurred images on the floor. She hated those windows, the faces that always seemed to follow her with accusing eyes and judgmental expressions. Instinctively, she walked around the patterns of illumination on floor, avoiding direct contact with her small feet. She imagined that the light would burn her, punish her like the fires of Hell if it touched her skin.

"You're a spawn of Satan." the voice of the priest reminded her 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."

"Father?" she whispered, staring around, wide-eyed and lost.

But the chapel was empty. Drusilla cowered fearfully, pulling both arms up and pressing her wrists against her mouth, and stepped around another light picture on the floor, this one depicting one of the four major archangels. The figure stood atop an outcropping of stone, brandishing a golden trumpet, his pale wings spread wide and his robes and long, auburn hair flowing in the wind.

It was the archangel Gabriel, the Messenger, spreading the glorious word of God. Lifting her head and squinting at the bright panes of glass, she wondered what message the good archangel would bring for her.

"Fulfill his plan, child." A ghostly voice told her, "Be evil. Just give in."

She gasped in surprise and backed away as the light on the floor wafted up and took on the vague outline of a winged man with a trumpet. Like wisps of luminescent, colored smoke, the light held together and the archangel raised its arms and bore down on her, ready to dispense the Lord's justice.

"The Lord has a plan for all creatures." The heavenly messenger declared, its eyes glowing like blinding yellow sunbursts and its wispy auburn hair flowing away from its face on the currents of a phantom breeze, "Even a Devil child like you."

Drusilla stumbled back and fell into one of the sturdy, oak pews, raising her arms and covering her head in terror.

"I don't want to be evil." She whispered, her voice trembling, "Please, I don't want to."

A hand touched her arm and she started violently. Sister Genevieve jumped back in surprise, watching Drusilla with worry in her brown eyes.

"Sister, are you all right?" she asked carefully.

Drusilla forced herself to relax and lower her arms. Sister Genevieve stood squarely in the center of the light shining on the floor from the Messenger's stained glass image and the apparition of the archangel was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm fine. Thank you, Sister." Dru answered, rising to her feet again and peering around, still nervous.

"I understand your worry, Sister." Genevieve nodded, thinking she knew the source of Drusilla's odd behavior of late, "But the ceremony was the hardest part, you'll see."

Drusilla nodded absently, swallowing and shooting a quick glance toward the glass archangel. The image appeared as it had every other day she had seen it, completely harmless, but she didn't trust it.

"Come then." Genevieve indicated one of the front pews, closest to the altar, "We can wait in prayer until Mother Constance arrives."

Drusilla obeyed willingly, taking a place next to the other girl and kneeling pietiously. She ducked her head and folded her hands together in an effort to pray, but the words would not come to her. Prayers that had been ingrained into her mind since the first moment she could talk were beyond her, lost in the fog that had been filling her mind lately.

What good was it that she had accepted her vows if she could not even recall the Lord's prayer? Would she be punished further for this new affront?

Cracking an eyelid, she looked sidelong at Sister Genevieve whose lips worked furiously as she recited endlessly under her breath.

"What do you know of evil, Sister?" Drusilla asked her quietly.

Genevieve's prayer was cut off in mid breath and she opened her eyes, turning to face her.

"Evil?" she repeated confusedly, "I suppose that I know what everyone knows. Evil is wrong."

Drusilla sighed softly, keeping her hands folded before her.

"Why do you think the Lord allows it to exist then?" she pressed, "Do you think that perhaps evil has a purpose in His divine plan?"

"Of course not!" Genevieve scoffed, uncertainty showing in her eyes, "It is man's purpose on this earth to destroy evil, the Bible says so."

Drusilla looked directly into the other girl's eyes, her gaze becoming intense and piercing.

"And what if God chooses to tolerate evil?" she posed, her voice low and level, "Or what if He doesn't even care?"

Sister Genevieve gasped and her mouth hung in shock as she stared at Dru.

A man cleared his throat as a way of announcing himself, near the entrance of the chapel. Drusilla turned backward and recognized him immediately.

"Drusilla," John whispered to her in the solemnity of the chapel, "Can I speak with you?"

He looked sick and pale, his face drawn and tired as he crouched in the doorway holding his hat politely in his hands. A pinkish burn marked one side of his face and small blisters speckled the skin.

Ignoring Sister Genevieve's disapproving scowl, Drusilla rose and scurried to the entrance.

"John," she smiled, guiding him quickly outside the doors and closing them, "You've come to wish me well with my induction. Is Mummy here?"

She craned her neck and looked around him, back and forth, finding nothing. She continued to look, forgetting about her mother altogether and simply enjoying the odd feeling of swinging her head around until John took hold of her arms and held her still.

"Yer Mum's not with me, Dru." He informed her sorrowfully, "They think she took your dowry and made away to Ireland with it. I thought you already knew. Your house has been empty for weeks."

Drusilla backed away from him with tears brimming in her eyes, pressing her hands to her mouth in disbelief.

"Empty?" she echoed absently.

"There's more." He swallowed uneasily, his throat suddenly dry, "Anne Guthrie has been roaming the forest, killin' and drainin' the blood from the woodland beasts. Last night, I found her and finally laid her to rest for good. She was possessed by the Devil, Dru."

Drusilla continued to stare at him in blank horror.

"The Lord has a plan for all creatures." One of the many voices which had taken up residence in her head recently echoed, "Even a Devil child like you."

She started to laugh, an almost inaudible tittering that sounded like the ringing of high-pitched discordant bells. Looking back, it was all so funny to her now. So Anne had been a Devil-child, too. And all she had done to deserve her fate was tryst in the woods with a young man who fancied her. What indescribable torment awaited Drusilla after all the sin that she had committed?

John took her gently in his giant's hands and held her, his eyes filled with concern.

"Dru, please," he begged her to look at him, "I didn't come here today to congratulate you on taking your vows."

Her fit of giggling abruptly ceased and she immediately sobered, staring confusedly at him. Kneeling before her on one knee, he took both of her hands in his.

"Dru, I want you to marry me." He whispered, his voice tight and intense, "Come away with me and leave this cursed place and all the trouble it's brought you."

Drusilla pulled away from him, her eyes filled with tears and both her hands pressed tightly against her mouth. He didn't know that she had already taken her vows before God.

"Nooooo." She whimpered fearfully, choking on soft, wracking sobs, "Please John, don't ask me that, not now."

John swiftly rose and reached to take her hand again, but she flinched and hid her face from him, burying it in her sleeve.

"I know you are to take your vows today." He allowed respectfully, "But that's why I had to come, before it was too late. I love you, Drusilla."

She stared up at him and the way he looked at her, adoringly, as if she were the most beautiful girl in the world. Poor, sweet, innocent John Coleman, if only he knew how wrong he was. Even if she hadn't already taken her vows, marrying him would have been impossible.

"I-I can't do that, John." She began to pace back and forth agitatedly, weeping quietly with her arms tangled together in front of her, her voice trembling with strain, "Oh, how I would truly love to marry you, but I can't. You deserve far better than evil, terrible Dru. The townfolk were right about me, you know?"

"I don't care about any of that, Dru." John declared earnestly, moving to touch her again, but stopping as she waved him off, "I want to make you my wife."

Drusilla shook her head, slowly then with increasing violence until it seemed she wanted to shake it from her shoulders.

"No, John, you don't want me." She moaned piteously, reaching down to rub at the raw spots at the tops of her thighs, "I'm dirty. Tainted. The Devil has put His fluid in me and taken my fluid into Himself in turn."

She turned swiftly, fixing him with wild, red-rimmed eyes and a fierce expression.

"I have to atone, John. For my evil." She whispered tightly, staring through him rather than at him, "The Lord is testing me and His angels are watching, always watching."

She flinched and looked fearfully overhead, worried that one might be looking over her at that very moment.

"Please, Dru." John took her hand, worry deep in his eyes, "You need to get away from all this. Let me take you with me."

She stared dumbly at his hand for a long moment, but did not pull away. John was such a good man, she couldn't bear to break his heart. Of all the evil she had committed, that was one deed she could not do.

A dark, shadowy shape flitted across the periphery of her vision and a faint, sibilant voice hissed in her ear.

"Get away from him!" the voice insisted, "You belong to us now!"

More shapes danced before her eyes, too quick and ghostly for her to identify clearly. The voice in her ear was the same as that of the archangel image that had confronted her in the chapel and the shapes resembled the saints whose visages were depicted in the stained glass windows.

"Dru?" John asked in concern, "What's wrong?"

She warded him off with her hands and took a step back. Why couldn't he see them? Why couldn't he hear the voices?

"You are evil! Evil, Drusilla Abbott!" they shrieked in her ears, "All who touch you are doomed!"

The spectral visions whirled around her like a storm, almost completely blocking John from sight. They would go after him next, she knew, weigh down his kind-hearted soul until it was as black and despoiled as her own. She had to get him to leave, convince him to find safety somehow.

"John, you have to go." She grabbed his arm tightly and turned him around, pushing futilely against his large frame.

"But Dru, wait-" he protested, frowning in confusion, "You haven't answered me."

"You belong to us!" the voices roared, drowning out John entirely.

They crawled all over her, slithering across her body, leering and snarling evilly. She swept her arms sharply through the air to chase them away, but her hands passed through their intangible forms without effect.

Her hands slapped John's arm and he jerked back, thinking it was him she had intended to strike.

"Please, John," she begged him quietly, her eyes tightly closed, "It's best if you go."

He reached out to touch her, but stopped, slowly withdrawing his hands. She could feel him standing over her, protective as always. She backed away, shrinking behind the chapel doors. John was the only thing that was left of the safe, secure world she had grown up in. But she was not part of his world anymore. Like the spectral voices had said, she belonged to them now.

The flitting visions had faded away as quickly as they had manifested, but she knew they weren't far off. They would be watching and waiting.

Leaving him standing stunned and confused outside, she pressed the palms of her hands flat against the wooden doors and pushed them closed.

Drusilla went directly to her room after leaving the chapel. Closing the door behind her, she leaned forward against it, pressing her forehead against the wood. She felt weak, drained from the near-constant assault on her senses by the ghostly visions, but she accepted it as a measure of proper punishment for her evil ways. The encounter with John had disturbed her, reminded her of a time when her life had been so much simpler. She wanted so desperately to return to that time now.

Her world had been careening wildly from mundane into the surreal for months, ever since she had first set eyes on the devilishly handsome Angel. A slight shiver ran through her body as she thought of him, partly from fear, partly from desire.

"I been waitin' for you." His voice sounded softly from behind her.

She didn't turn around. A dozen different voices had been following her every moment of the day for weeks now and she was hardly surprised to hear another. She supposed it wouldn't be long before she would start taking the lot of them entirely for granted.

A lukewarm body towered over her suddenly from behind, casting a candle-born shadow onto her from frighteningly close, and a pair of strong arms wrapped around her. Well-formed hands pressed her fingers around a warm metal cup filled with dark liquid.

"Drink." Angel urged, pulling her hands and the cup up to her lips.

Drusilla did not resist. She was too tired and sick to argue anymore. Besides, she wasn't even sure she was ready to believe that this Angel was even real. Resting the rim of the cup against her bottom teeth, she tilted it back and allowed its contents to pour into her mouth. The drink was thick and viscous with slick, congealed globs near the bottom which she gulped back. A tiny rivulet dripped down her chin and left a crimson blotch on the front of her dress.

She set the empty cup down and regarded the stain blankly.

"This is blood." She noted tonelessly.

"Yes it is, my love." Angel replied, turning her around to face him fully, "And it is all you will drink from this moment on."

Scowling in annoyance, she shook free of his hold and stepped back, away from him.

"No, I'm going with John." She declared, "He's going to marry me."

Angel smirked cruelly, "No one's gonna marry you, Drusilla. Yer half-mad. You belong ta me now."

He reached out for her again and she resisted, slapping his hand away with a child-like whine.

"Oh, come now, don't be actin' like that." He chided, strolling over to her bed, "What would your mother think?"

Unnoticed until now, her mother's still form reclined across the edge of the bed, pale and unmoving. Angel sat down next to the woman and beckoned invitingly to Dru.

"Come, sit with us." He suggested, lifting the woman's limp arm and squeezing her wrist against the edge of the cup, "Have another drink."

Drusilla stared at the woman's face, still living but only barely, as Angel filled the cup with her blood. Pain knotted in her stomach as she realized distantly that she had already tasted the cup's gruesome contents.

"I'm going to find John." She moaned, reaching for the door.

In the blink of an eye, Angel leapt from the bed and clamped his arms tightly around her.

"No." He commanded, pressing his face against her cheek as she struggled ineffectually against his formidable strength, "You can't go. I have to have you, Drusilla. There can be no other way."

Tears sprang to Drusilla's eyes and rolled slowly down her flawless cheeks.

"No." She protested with a sniff, her entire body trembling with fear, "The Lord will punish me."

Angel leaned closer, enfolding her more tightly.

"All this suffering. All the pain you been feelin'. Wouldn't it be easier to just let it all go?" he breathed suggestively into her ear, increasing the pressure with his arms and slowly squeezing the air out of her lungs, "Stop fightin' it and surrender."

As his teeth brushed her throat, Dru's mind reached a point of perfect clarity. All the confusion and madness that had accumulated over the past few months was washed away by the realization of what it truly was that held her. All the evil that tainted her, the darkness that Joshua had warned her of, she had foolishly invited it in. Turning her tear-streaked face toward the roof, she prayed silently for forgiveness.

John slowed and stopped on the trail that led back to the road. He couldn't stop thinking about Dru or the shadow that had fallen over her and her family. The men of her family were dead, her mother was gone, she had no one now. He couldn't leave her. Turning on his heel, he marched back up the hill, directly for the abbey.

Balling his huge hand into a fist, he pounded on the door. As he pulled back his arm to knock again, the door opened and a chubby-faced girl stared up at him with wide eyes. He recognized her as the girl he had briefly seen at the chapel with Drusilla.

"Where is she?" he asked quickly.

The girl swallowed nervously and moistened her lips.

"W-Who?" she stammered.

"Drusilla Abbott." He replied, feeling an unexplained sense of urgency.

He pushed the door in and started swiftly down the hallway toward the back.

"Wait, you can't go back there!" the young nun protested, hauling ineffectually on his arm, "Sister Drusilla is in bed, taken ill."

John ignored her and continued to where he knew the nuns were quartered.

"Which room is hers?"

The nun released his arm and hung back, unable to stop him from proceeding.

"The last one on the left." She directed uncertainly, "But you still can't go in there."

As he heedlessly placed his hand on the door to Drusilla's room, she turned and hurried away in distress, "I'm going to get Mother Constance."

John let her go, unconcerned. His mind was occupied with other things. Shoving open Drusilla's door, he froze just outside it in shock, aghast at the scene that greeted him.

The corpse of Drusilla's mother lay slumped on the floor against the corner of the bed, evidence of many days of torture obviously showing. In the center of the room, a tall, male figure attired in black clutched Drusilla's weakened form. She slumped against him, her face buried in his chest and her arms dangling slack at her sides. The man's features were distorted and feral, his eyes flaring vibrantly yellow as he drew greedily from a wound in Drusilla's throat with his mouth.

He recognized the mark of evil on him, the same one that he had seen on Anne Guthrie. Here was the heart of the darkness that had infected Drusilla's life. The Devil Himself.

Fighting off stunning astonishment, John reached into his coat and withdrew the metal crucifix that had become a permanent part of his attire recently. Leaping forward, he pressed it against her attacker's cheek.

The creature roared in pain, dropping Drusilla's limp body to the floor and retreating to the far wall.

John quickly closed the distance between himself and the creature, brandishing the cross at arm's length.

"Leave her be, monster!" he roared, pinning the vampire against the wall with the force of his faith.

The fiend glared at him with hatred seething in his eyes, but remained trapped. As long as John kept behind his cross, he would be safe.

He remembered how Anne had died when a spear of wood had pierced her heart. Drawing a length of sharpened wood from his belt, John hoped her master would perish similarly. Raising his arm high, he aimed for the left side of the vampire's chest, stabbing down with all his strength.

A small hand caught his arm, mid-stroke, in a crushing grip and squeezed until he dropped the wooden weapon with a cry of pain. Turning fear-filled eyes toward his new assailant, he gasped in horror.

Her face distorted by evil, Drusilla watched him with wild yellow eyes and grinned with pointed teeth.

"It's so sweet you came to save me, John." she smiled admiringly, "Let me give you a kiss."

Long days pounding steel at the forge had corded John's body with solid muscle, but his strength was no match for the unearthly power now coursing through Drusilla's slender frame. He could only stare, wide-eyed, as his throat was exposed and his body drawn inexorably into her.

Her teeth cut into his flesh and he choked in horror as he heard her sucking greedily. She started to spin slowly, carrying him effortlessly along with her in a gradual, haphazard dance. Slowly, the strength left his body and he felt very tired, lolling in her embrace. Lifting her mouth from his bleeding throat, she brushed her lips intimately close to his ear.

"He really is an angel, you know." she confided in a whisper, "He's come to take my soul away."

Releasing him, she let his body thud lifelessly to the floor, his long limbs sprawling. His eyes rolled uncontrollably up inside his skull, he could barely see her standing over him as she stepped into the other creature's embrace. He knew it would only be moments before death took him.

"I'll miss you, John." she whispered affectionately, "But we must be going now, Angel's taking me with him. Just as soon as we say goodbye to Mother Constance and the other nuns."

The last thing John Coleman saw as death took him was the face of the woman he loved corrupted by a heart of purest evil.