The silence grew increasingly oppressive as the two vampires entered the opera house through the rooftop door. Angelus stalked ahead, jaw clenched and deliberately ignoring the youngster following along behind. It wasn’t hard, if he could just disregard the incessant dragging of feet and repetitive sighing as Spike rubbed sullenly at his bruised face and ribs.
"Shut. Up!" The admonishment escaped Angelus’ lips before he’d even realised it was coming.
"'M not saying anything." Sullen, petulant, churlish. Angelus felt certain his teeth would crack under the strain. The narrow staircase groaned under their feet and for a few glorious moments it was the only sound to be heard. Then … "Sigh"
Angelus spun, grabbed Spike by the throat and shoved him up against the wall. The tendons under his fingers strained and the urge to simply squeeze until that foolish head popped off was almost overwhelming. Glaring at the wall above Spike’s head, he fought it and hissed, "You do realise that the only reason you’re still walking is that you claim to know the way through these god forsaken passages."
A brief flare of worry passed over Spike’s face rapidly replaced with his usual cocky smirk. "That and you like having me around."
With a final twitch of his fingers Angelus let go and stepped back. Spike shrank by a couple of inches and cricked his neck. "Finished?" he asked facetiously, "'Cos much as I enjoy standing here chatting there’s a baby needs finding."
**
Angelus gestured for Spike to take the lead when they reached the concealed doorway and as one they switched automatically to demon face, allowing their enhanced senses to taste and analyse the air.
"Someone else here," said Spike, stating the blatantly obvious. "Can smell them."
"We could probably hear them as well, if certain people would stop talking."
Spike sank back into his sullen silence and kicked aimlessly at the floor until Angelus clipped him round the head. The scents were jumbled and it was taking some level of concentration to sort them out. Several humans, a vampire and something else. Something enticing and feminine. Close to human but subtly different.
Beside him, Spike noticed the focus on Angelus’ face and realised what he was doing. Taking a deep breath himself, Spike tasted the air. Human - unfamiliar, vampire - familiar, and… "Slayer," he breathed.
"What?"
"That scent," he answered unthinkingly. "Slayer." About to explain where he had smelled it before, Spike suddenly remembered that the whole stealing the baby from the Watcher’s house was supposed to be a secret. "Umm…" he vacillated. "Female, sorta human. Gotta be a slayer, yeah?"
Thankfully Angelus seemed to buy his rationale and when the older vampire looked away, Spike scrubbed his hands over his face. That had been a close call. He really needed to learn to think before he opened his mouth.
"This way." Taking the lead, Angelus strode off down the right hand passageway and Spike tagged along behind him.
***
"She’s good." Renan said, shifting his haversack to ease the strain on his shoulders.
Grainger glanced over at the policeman and then back towards Sondra who was ranging ahead of them, pausing and checking at every intersection. Every movement she made was elegant and contained, those of a hunter tracking her prey. "She’s the best I’ve ever seen. I have high hopes that this one may survive for several years."
The older man’s fondness for his charge bled into his words and Renan found himself hoping that the Watcher was right. Sondra seemed like a very personable young woman. "I’m sure she will," he said reassuringly.
"I think we should keep heading down," the Slayer called to them. "There are signs that someone has used that passageway often in recent weeks."
"Do what you think fit, my dear," Grainger called back and then, after Sondra had vanished from view around the corner, continued in a quieter, wistful tone, "She turns eighteen next month, maybe then will we know."
***
The moment they’d got clear of the Slayer’s stench Angelus recognised the scent of the vampire they were hunting. Parboiled vampire wasn’t easy to forget; though he hadn’t been expecting to smell it ever again. That vampire should be dust, destroyed by the first touch of daylight on London’s streets and his sudden reappearance made Angelus nervous.
Spike stumbled and a hand hit Angelus between the shoulder blades. "Keep your eyes open," he commented dryly, not breaking stride.
I am. Not that there’s any sodding point."
"It was a figure of speech, Will. Use your other senses."
"What? I’m supposed to smell the floor?"
Angelus paused and waited for Spike to catch up. When he was just beyond arm’s reach Angelus stepped back and asked, "How far away from you am I?"
"Dunno. Four, five feet maybe?"
"Maybe? You should be able to do better than that."
"How?" The note of frustration in Spike’s voice was obvious. "I can’t bloody see you and your scent’s all over the place, so I’m guessing from your voice…"
"Don’t guess," Angelus corrected. "Feel."
Feel? What the hell did Angelus mean? "I don’t think…"
"Don’t think. Feel."
Spike shook his head; the old man was going dotty. There was nothing to feel except… When he stopped thinking about it and really concentrated on the world around him. Didn’t let himself get distracted by the emotional seesaw in his head then…
It wasn’t like his skin suddenly developed eyes; that was too literal for what he was feeling. It was more an awareness, as though the walls and floor were somehow radiating their inherent presence. Although the floor was uneven here, quite suddenly Spike knew that when he walked forward he would be able to place his feet firmly and safely. Angelus was standing five feet away, precisely, and he ‘felt’ different, not alive but not inanimate like the geography either. Sort of…
"Well?"
The question shattered his concentration and the sensation slipped though his fingers leaving him blind and marooned in blackness. "I had it," he said, amazement colouring his voice. "For a second I felt it."
Angelus gave a satisfied grunt. "It’s something you should practice. Light is often a luxury in the places demons travel."
"I will." There was a significant pause, then, "Thank you."
With a nod, Angelus turned on his heel and strode away. "Said I’d teach you, boy," came back to Spike through the darkness.
***
The velvet spilled like living midnight over his fingers, gold purfling a shimmering constellation in the candlelight. Carefully, Erik laid the robe aside and picked up the mask that lay on the chaise longue beside it. One gnarled misshapen nail traced the diamond-encrusted wings sweeping from nosepiece to brows, their rainbow reflections the only hint of colour on the otherwise blank white face. It was appropriate, this disguise. Such beauty concealing his devastated features.
"No, it’s definitely candles. I think we’ve found it!"
Excited voices echoed around his nest and Erik sniffed the rank air, his whole body stiffening with shock. The Slayer. Despite all his efforts to bring her to Paris, somehow he’d never believed she would come. And now she was here, and Angelus wasn’t.
"For god’s sake, Angelus. I said I can’t remember."
Or maybe he was.
Erik glanced between the two tunnels, their entrances hidden in the shadows across the huge cavern. Both led back through the maze into the opera house and now, by happy coincidence, they both contained his mortal enemies. The trap was baited and set.
**
"No, it’s definitely candles." Renan enthused as he pushed past both Slayer and Watcher. "I think we’ve found it."
"Stay back, man." Grainger caught his arm before he could barge into the dimly lit lair. "In cases like these we always let the ladies go first."
Sondra grinned appreciatively at him, slinging her knapsack off her shoulder and taking out a crossbow and wooden quarrels that she handed over to her Watcher. Her skirt she hitched up, tying it to ribbons that decorated the waistline of her dress and revealing the close fitting trousers she wore underneath.
"Ready?" Grainger asked, handing the bow back and pulling his weapon out. She nodded and headed off.
"Trousers?" the policeman whispered before she was out of earshot. Sondra ducked her head at his words, her smile breaking out again as she listened to her Watcher’s indignant reply.
"Don’t look so scandalised, man. She can hardly be expected to fight vampires with skirts tangling around her legs."
**
"For god’s sake, Angelus. I said I can’t remember."
"So you lied."
"Didn’t lie! Just said I’d been down here." Spike stopped arguing when he heard the other vampire walking away. "Not a sodding map, y’know," he finished under his breath. Angelus ignored him and continued down the tunnel.
Spike remained where he was, torn between not wanting to be left alone and running after Angelus like an abandoned puppy. His mentor’s footsteps became fainter, subsumed by the silence that closed in from all directions.
**
"This is a vampire’s lair?" Renan gazed around the cave, wide-eyed in surprise. "For some reason I expected something… smaller."
Grainger was staring as well, though he was doing a much better job at concealing his shock. "Well," he said, "Precisely. Customarily such a place would be home to an entire Order rather than one or two demons." It really was huge, cavernous even, and before them lay the shore of an underground lake, its edges lost in shadow but appearing to stretch into an endless night.
Revolving slowly on the spot and still unable to believe his eyes, Renan said, "I’d heard rumours that this place was built over a lake but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine anything like this."
The Watcher left him and went to find Sondra who was in the lair proper, her attention taken by the littering of belongings strewn over a collection of ancient furniture.
"They are from home," she said as he came up beside her and then asked, "What is this, do you suppose?" holding up what appeared to be an old cassock.
"Part of an old costume perhaps?" Grainger said, examining the tarnished metal thread that adorned the moth eaten velveteen robe. "Ah," he added, reaching for the item that lay beside it. "This is more interesting. A mask in the Venetian tradition if I’m not mistaken. Though sadly not a good example." He fingered the tatty feathers and glass beads before placing it back down on the chaise longue.
"I think these vampires have been stealing more than costumes," Renan suggested, standing between a life size model of a white horse and a dilapidated organ.
"Not an uncommon phenomena," the Watcher commented. "Demons accumulate human artefacts to decorate their nests, although," he added, lifting his lantern to get a better view of an enormous statue of a pharaoh, "I must admit, that is a might extravagant."
Sondra’s hand landed on his arm. Her gentle squeeze attracting Grainger’s immediate - silent - attention. Taking one look at her dark excited eyes the Watcher knew exactly what she was saying, though Renan, not privy to their unspoken communication, opened his mouth to ask another question. He closed it quickly when Grainger shook his head and mouthed "Vampire."
Indicating they should stay put, the Slayer moved away from them into the shadows, disappearing from view at an alarming pace. The second she’d vanished Grainger slung an arm around Renan’s shoulders and slurred in a very loud voice, "Y’see, boy. Told you I’d find us somewhere private."
The policeman stared at him, round eyed, wondering what type of creature had possessed his comrade in arms. Grainger waggled his eyebrows and gave a wolfish grin that was probably supposed to be reassuring but under the circumstances made Renan feel distinctly uncomfortable.
"Hold up!" A loud voice emanated from the other side of the cave and Grainger’s expression became grim. Renan stared over the Watcher’s shoulder towards the noise and realised that what he had thought was a patch of deep shadow was slowly resolving into the figure of a tall man. From the darkness behind the newcomer another man emerged, shorter and with lighter hair, and went to dart past the first. Faster than the policeman could track, the second stranger was caught, hauled backwards and tugged against the first man’s chest.
Without turning, Grainger spoke again. "No need to play hard to get. No one will find us here." He leaned in to Renan’s neck, lips a whisper away from his ear and pressed his body tight against the policeman’s until they touched from hip to shoulder. Between them Renan could feel something hard pressing into him and his body automatically pulled away slightly. Grainger’s grip on his shoulder tightened and Renan was jabbed again. This time he realised that the Watcher was trying to give him something and his fingers closed round a smooth wooden shaft. A stake? Did that mean the men watching them were vampires? They looked completely normal in the dim light of candle and lantern.
Belatedly catching on to the game Grainger was playing, Renan buried his head in the Watcher’s neck surreptitiously observing the vampires from the corner of his eye. As still as the statue that loomed over them, they stood watching and Renan saw as the taller leaned down to whisper in the smaller vampire’s ear. They parted without a backward glance, splitting like sheep dogs or wolves, circling around until the policeman lost sight of them. Against his cheek, Grainger gasped and Renan assumed he had caught sight of their hunters and, perhaps, recognised them. Cold fear clenched in his gut as, for the first time, the policeman truly understood that what they were facing were not human.
**
Perched atop the statue, Sondra waited, watching as the vampires circled their prey. A brief stab of approval raced through her as Grainger kept and held their attention. This was a ploy they had used with some success before; apparently vampires found couples in cinches very attractive.
"Where’s the Slayer, human. I know she’s here. Her stench thickens the air with power."
However that was completely unexpected.
Grainger lifted his head and made much of peering into the darkness. "Is there someone there?" he asked, his voice falsely tremulous.
The dark-haired vampire spoke again, the words echoing around the cavern. "Don’t lie to me, Watcher. I know what you are and I know why you are here." Grainger released the policeman and the two men turned, back to back, facing the demons.
"Smell good, Angelus," the second vampire said, tongue running wetly over his lips. "Gonna taste better though."
So this was Angelus. Sondra’s mind automatically brought up all the information she’d collected over her years in training. Vicious, deadly, clever. Avoided confrontation where possible, however when cornered would turn like the beast he was. To her knowledge this would be the first confrontation he’d ever had with a Slayer and that, hopefully, would buy her the advantage she needed. Silently, the Slayer lifted the crossbow up to her chest and took aim. If luck was with her she could pierce Angelus’ heart from here leaving only the single vampire for the three of them to destroy.
A sudden blow to her back knocked her sprawling from the statue, weapon flying from her hand as she landed with an airless thump on the soft muddy ground.
"Looks like she decided to drop in after all."
Sondra opened her eyes groggily and found herself staring at a pair of dirty leather boots, their laces wrapped round the ankles and tied in intricate knots. Above them, dark corduroy trousers marked with slime from the walls, and then a workman’s coat over a collarless white shirt. The vampire squatted down, his face coming into view as he bent towards her. "Thought you said Slayers were tough? Don’t look so tough now, does she?"
"Tougher than you think," Sondra muttered, launching herself up and forwards, catching the demon off guard and throwing him backwards onto the ground. She straddled him, and the stake was halfway to his heart when her hand was grabbed from behind, clawed nails digging into her wrist and her head was yanked painfully sideways by a handful of hair.
"No, y’see that’s not how we do things." The demon behind her leered round his fangs and Sondra felt hands sliding up her thighs to her crotch. She tensed her legs, knowing that it would flag her intentions to the vampire beneath her but having no choice.
Rolling backwards she tucked her shoulders, freed her hand and brought her legs up, catching Angelus solidly in the midriff and sending him flying into the organ nearby. It collapsed with a heave of wood, bellows and discordant notes and the Slayer scrambled to her feet to follow, spotting Grainger and Renan move in for the kill on the vampire she’d abandoned.
Then there was no time for considering others as she found herself fighting for her life. Any advantage she may have had rapidly vanished as Slayer and vampire engaged, and Sondra discovered that Angelus’ reputation was well earned. Furious punches landed home on both sides and within seconds both the adversaries sported bloody noses and cuts above their eyes. Ducking and weaving Sondra sought out a gap in the vampire’s defence but he blocked her every move. Only by leaving herself open was she able to land a blow and in the long term it was a strategy that would fail.
Instead, she ran, sensing a momentary hesitation from her enemy before he pursued her. But a moment was all she needed. As he closed in on her, the Slayer stopped in her tracks, spun and kicked as hard as she could. Angelus’ head snapped back as her boot connected with his jaw and he staggered, losing balance and momentum. Now was the moment she’d been waiting for and Sondra opened up with a barrage of punches to face and torso that kept the vampire off balance and on the defensive. One more blow to his nose that would have smashed a human’s skull and Angelus went down shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears, blood pouring down his face. Sondra’s foot followed it and the vampire landed on his back, arms akimbo and in the perfect position for staking.
But he was too fast, capturing her arm as it descended for the killing strike and then they were face to face. Muscle straining against muscle, breath rushing in each other’s faces, grunts expelled along with curses. Sondra ground her teeth, feeling the blood filling her throat and spat a mouthful into Angelus’ face. He laughed up at her, licking the scarlet fluid from his lips and growling in appreciation at the taste. It was a standoff. Neither could move more than a millimetre in any direction.
**
As the Slayer took off after Angelus, Spike found himself facing odds of two to one. That they were human was neatly counteracted by the fact that both were armed, crossbow and stake, and Spike wasn’t. They circled round him and he backed away, struck for a moment by the sudden reversal of roles. A couple of minutes ago he was the hunter, yet Spike was getting the prickly feeling that he was now firmly cast in the role of prey.
"Not so flippant now, are we demon," the older man said, lining up his bow. Spike tensed, keeping his gaze on the Watcher’s trigger finger whilst tracking the other human’s heartbeat. The steady rhythm suddenly speeded up and Spike dodged to one side, narrowly missing the stake that had been aimed at his back. The human staggered past him, and Spike grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him backwards, fangs hovering over his neck as he used the policeman’s body as a shield.
Grainger straightened up; eyes flinty in the dim light, his body primed for violence the second Spike let his guard drop. Spike flicked his tongue up the human’s neck and grinned at the shudder that ran through the warm body in his arms. The scent of fear was intoxicating, filling his head with bloodlust that demanded he sink his fangs into that flesh and feed, feed, feed. Breathing heavily, he raised his head, to put some distance between his teeth and temptation and sneered at the Watcher. "What’s up? Don’t fancy nancyboy here getting shot by mistake?"
"No." The flint hardened to diamond and the Watcher raised his bow a fraction of an inch. "Actually I was wondering if an arrow in the eye would blind you permanently."
**
Two stand offs and hardly a drop of blood spilled. Not what Erik wanted at all. Angelus was supposed to suffer before he died, that was why Erik had risked all by bringing the Slayer to Paris. She was the only one strong enough to bring him down, to bring him pain, to make him suffer as Erik had suffered.
The plaster statue crumbled under his clenching fists and Erik forced himself to relax. All was not lost, though it would mean revealing his presence to the combatants, something he had not planned to do. Moving silently, he slipped to the ground behind the statue and searched along the wall until he found what he was looking for. The lever pivoted easily under his hand and he paused just long enough to hear the grating of metal against metal as the gears shifted before taking off across the cavern without a backward glance.
**
Five heads turned as a darkly clad figure sped across the lair grabbed the clothing from the chaise longue and disappeared into the shadows. Five figures were distracted from the fight but it was too late to change a thing.
The water hit without warning. Cascading from a side tunnel it swept all before it, tossing aside furniture, statuary and bodies, creating a weapon laden maelstrom lethal to humans and vampires alike. Angelus swore as the Slayer’s stake stabbed into his shoulder before she was ripped from his grasp by the cataract. He scrabbled one-handed as he was thrown against the wall and managed to snag a protruding piece of rock. Tendons straining under the pressure, he pulled himself forwards against the current, holding fast as the waves buffeted past him. One second. Two seconds. The worst was over and Angelus allowed himself to relax. It was then the backwash hit him from the other direction, his overtaxed fingers lost their grip and he was gone.
Spike fared better. Initially anyway. The wave hit him first, with enough power to fling him bodily into the air. Thrown against the head of the statue, he slid unceremoniously down its arm, clutching at anything that may slow his descent until he ended up dangling precariously from its fingers. The candles and lanterns were gone, extinguished by the water he could hear swirling several feet below, black sucking whirlpools around the legs of the pharaoh and the entire structure started to shudder.
Not waiting to find out what had happened to Angelus, Spike swung his legs up and over the statue’s hand and inched his way back up its arm. The water climbed behind him, rising quickly, now beating against the pharaoh’s plaster hips, and the shudder became a definite sway. Regaining the shoulder, he pulled himself to his feet, clinging to the statue’s ear and staring blankly into the darkness, desperate for a means of escape.
It was pointless. He couldn’t see further than his hand in front of his face. Fighting back the panic, he tried the trick Angelus had shown him in the tunnels, focusing not on seeing the way out, but feeling it. The world opened up around him; walls thirty feet away, too far to be any use and too sheer even if he risked jumping. The ceiling high above him, too far to sense clearly. There was nothing, nothing.
The statue lurched and Spike clutched at his perilous perch, his feet slipping out from under him. "Bloody hell," he bellowed, punching at the crumbling plaster in frustration. He would not go down like this. The thunderous water swallowed his frustrated words and with a final defiant yell, Spike launched himself off the edge and into the rapids below.
.
***
Christine found herself on the Rue Scribe as the opera closed for the night. Around her the streets buzzed with activity. Voices called out in excitement, laughter rose and fell, punctuated by the crack of whips and creaking of wood as sumptuous coaches queued to collect their peacock fashioned passengers.
Shifting the laundry basket from one arm to the other, Christine remained in the shadows waiting for the crowds to clear. She needed to get out of Paris and the only person who may be willing to help her was Madame Zanella. Maybe if she spun a tale about an unfortunate love affair, the chef de ballet would lend her the money to get home.
Behind her a grating stirred, clanking open and Christine shrank further back into the darkness, heart pounding, fearful of what may emerge. Whoever it was, was muttering under their breath, a rambling monologue that sounded frighteningly familiar. As the figure turned Christine clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream and backed out onto the street. It was the angel of music; the one she now knew was a vampire. Her foot caught on the curb and she stumbled. The vampire’s head snapped up and for a second their eyes met and Christine felt herself disappearing again. With a strangled cry, she wrenched her eyes away and ran blindly into the night.
People pressed in from all sides and angry words were cast spitefully into her face as she barged through the crowds, the laundry basket colliding and bouncing from person to person. Panic seized her lungs, making them ache and her eyes blurred with tears. He was following. She knew he was. Following her and when he caught her, she would die.
She tried to stay in the light, stay in the crowds, relying on the herd instinct of safety in numbers. But he cut her out, coming between her and the opera house. A dark figure, hooded and cloaked like death. And then the crowds were gone. Melting away as she was driven up a side street, away from any hope of survival.
She turned, back pressed against the wall. A mother at bay, protecting her young from the predator before her. He remained in the shadows, lurking just beyond the reach of her night vision. Only the occasional flip of cloth indicating that there was anyone there.
"Little bird. Come to me, little bird."
The voice crept across the cobbles and crawled up Christine’s spine. She shuddered and fought their hypnotic power.
"Come to me, Christine."
Yellow eyes burned in the night and her feet slid forward of their own volition, arms dropping limply to her sides, the laundry basket slipping with a forgotten thump to the ground. She was his. There was nothing else but him. Her angel of music. Song filled her mind and she felt her awareness tumbling, tumbling…
A screech like fingernails on glass pierced the thrall before Christine had taken five steps and she came back to herself surrounded by movement. Bright lights filled the alley, swirling blue like gas lights, and figures emerged from them, growing slowly clearer and closer as though travelling across long distances.
The first two were male; small, lean and almost nude. They ran past her and Christine heard the sounds of a scuffle behind her. She tried to turn but found her feet stuck as though by glue to the pavement.
The second set of figures were women. One ancient beyond description, walking slowly and supported on the arm of another, young and simple faced. They halted before her and Christine found herself looking into colourless eyes set into a deeply lined Asiatic face.
"So you are the heroic little bird," the old woman said. Her voice resonated strongly belying the frailty of her appearance. "Quite the Da-Xia aren’t you, my dear."
"I… I… Who are you?" Christine stuttered, not trusting that anyone who appeared from the centre of a flame could be there to help her.
"They call me Li Hua, but that is by the by." The old woman released the girl next to her who ran to the laundry basket and brought it to her mistress, pulling back the makeshift cover to reveal the child asleep inside, figurine firmly clenched in her fist. "Ah, now look at this. Hidden from prying eyes under the most mundane of feminine attire."
"You cannot have her! She is mine. My baby. I’m not what I look like." Christine snatched the cap from her head, showing her awkwardly shorn locks. "I’m a woman. The child’s mother."
"Of course you are, dear." The woman patted her arm reassuringly but Christine remained unconvinced.
"There are people waiting for us. People expecting us. If we don’t arrive they will come looking."
"Like the vampire?"
Christine suddenly found her feet free and she spun round. The vampire was lying unconscious on the ground, his cloak and hood pulled away from his face and she suppressed a gasp as for the first time she saw his ruined features without the benefit of thrall. One of the men knelt beside him and appeared to be painting something on the vampire’s face. The other walked towards them, holding a bundle that he offered to Li Hua for her inspection. As the cloth was pulled aside Christine saw it was the child Spike had used to replace the little girl from the Watcher’s house.
Li Hua took a quick glance and then sniffed and waved him away, turning back to the babe asleep in the laundry basket. "This is the one, I am certain of it." She jabbed a finger at the green statuette and the diamond in its stomach flickered with power. "Why else would the Mahatara, the great mother, feed and protect her as she sleeps. Yes, she is the pure child spoken of in the prophecy."
"Prophecy? Spike said something about a journey…"
"William stole the child?" Li Hua seemed genuinely surprised for a moment, and then her face cracked open into an enormous grin that stripped years from her countenance. "That is probably more appropriate than you could ever imagine. There is hope for the foolish boy yet."
Again she gestured to the girl who covered the baby, slung the basket on her arm and offered the other to her mistress. "No, thank you, Zhen," she took Christine’s hand and continued, "Da-Xia here will be my guide."
"But what about…?" Christine indicated the fallen vampire and the baby lying on his unmoving chest.
Li Hua dismissed them. "He will remember nothing." She paused, glancing at Christine’s horrified expression and cocked her head curiously. "You worry for the baby?"
"Of course. He is a vampire. When he wakes up…"
"He will not drink from her, be assured of that. The child is safe. Erik will remember only one thing and that is his mission. Though he does not know it, his suffering is not for naught and his reward will come in his next life."
"But…?"
"We are all pawns of the Powers, Da-Xia. You would do well to remember that yourself. Now come, the mother has spoken and it is time for us to be gone from this place."
Christine grasped Li Hua’s hand and together the six of them passed back through the flames.
***
Spike waded through the water and hauled the body up by its hair. The Watcher, his body battered, the water around it coloured pink from his injuries. Still it should contain enough blood to heal the ones Spike sported himself. He buried his fangs in the corpse’s neck and drew deeply on the cooling liquid, not completely disgusting though it didn’t contain the power of living blood.
Dropping the drained body, he continued onwards stretching his new-found senses to the utmost as he picked his way amongst the detritus of the flood. The darkness was still absolute and the stench of stagnant water and sewers overpowered everything. Over an hour he’d been searching blindly and there was still no sign of Angelus. A lump formed in Spike’s throat at the thought that his hunt might be pointless, that his mentor was already dust, flushed away down Paris’ drains. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. And until someone proved otherwise he would continue to look.
Up ahead, fallen brick and timber blocked the tunnel and the roof sagged dangerously in places. It could have been like that for a while but Spike decided to investigate; at this point he wasn’t prepared to let any possibility pass him by. He ran his hands over the rubble. It was wet and loosely packed and thus probably recent, a result of the water flooding through the tunnels. The slightest of breezes brushed over his face and with it came a very familiar scent.
"Angelus!"
Spike threw himself at the gap in the rubble sniffing excitedly and tearing away loose bricks and wood. From the other side of the rock fall he heard an incoherent moan and then smelled blood, Angelus’ blood. Careless of the potential danger, Spike continued to dig, pulling at the pile until he could see through the gap.
And interestingly, he could see. Faint starlight illuminated the space beyond and he could just make out a still figure lying half buried in rubble.
"Hang on, mate," he called, squashing the tremors of fear than ran through him. "Have you out of there in a jiffy."
The hole was hardly large enough to squeeze through but Spike managed, scraping generous portions of skin off his shoulders and back as he forced his way in. Angelus lay pale and still, so pale and still that Spike slid down the slope next to him cautiously, worried for an irrational moment that his mentor would fall to dust if he touched him.
"Angelus?" he whispered, squatting down next to the injured vampire. "You still with us?"
Angelus’ eyes flickered beneath their lids but he made no other movement. Rubble covered the lower half of his torso and legs, and Spike started to clear it carefully away, lifting the bricks one at a time so as to do no more damage. His hand fastened around a thick piece of metal and he tugged at it. Angelus stirred restlessly.
"Attached is it? Let’s have a quick look shall we?"
When a few more of the bricks were gone, Spike discovered the exact source of the problem. At one time it must have been a gate but now it was a twisted mass of metal poles, four of which had impaled Angelus’ body pinning him to the ground. Blood oozed slowly from the wounds but the earth around him was saturated with blood that covered Spike’s hands when he leaned down to examine the injuries more closely. The rest of the poles vanished into the pile of rubble and Spike started digging yet again, feeling more like a Saint Bernard than a vampire.
Eventually he tracked them back to solid stone and stared helplessly at the huge bolt that fastened the metal to the wall. He gave it an experimental tug and the roof groaned ominously, loose bricks tumbling around them.
Spike sat back on his heels and gave the problem serious consideration. If he could get the metal free and the ceiling collapsed they would both be trapped. He glanced up, examining the roof to see where the ambient light was coming from. A small hole that appeared to lead to a shaft, perhaps a drain or sewer entrance. With a little work it would provide a way out if it became necessary.
Gritting his teeth, Spike settled with his full weight braced against the metal, tightened his grip and then yanked with all his strength. The bolt held for a second and then failed, and he fell backwards, just as the pile of rubble shifted and started to fall. With a startled yelp, Spike threw himself on top of Angelus, protecting the older vampire from the worst of the bricks that cascaded down as another four feet of the ceiling collapsed on top of them.
For a few minutes silence ruled in the tunnel, only broken by an occasional tumble of loose masonry and spurt of mortar as the latest fall settled. And then the pile of rubble stirred. A grey hand emerged, followed by another and between them a mud-coloured head spewing curses that would have made a sailor blush. More bricks tumbled and Spike finally managed to get to his knees, still holding his body over Angelus’.
"Next time I have a good idea, tell me not to bother," he muttered as he tossed enough rubble aside to make moving Angelus feasible.
Hands looped together under Angelus’ arms and around his chest, Spike eased the older vampire slowly away from danger. Angelus groaned as the metal through his body dragged on the fallen masonry but Spike persevered, reckoning that any extra injury he caused could be fixed soon enough when they got topside. They ended up leaning against the far wall; Angelus cradled between Spike’s legs with the remains of the gate trailing from him like clockwork entrails.
Removing them turned out to be remarkably like evisceration as well. Careful as he tried to be, Spike couldn’t help but cause further damage as he tugged the twisted metal free of Angelus’ body. Blood no longer oozed from the wounds and the pallid unhealthy appearance of the torn flesh convinced Spike that he needed to get Angelus to feed as soon as possible.
To that end, he left Angelus leaning against the wall and set to work on the narrow gap he had noticed earlier. A grappling hook manufactured from the remains of the gate made the task easier and within minutes there was an opening large enough for Spike to squeeze through.
He clambered up, pausing to kick away more bricks around the entrance, leaving sufficient ceiling intact to provide shelter from the sun and then started to climb. The shaft turned out to be longer than he’d first thought, approximately fifty feet from bottom to top. Slime on the walls made it slow going and he slipped several times, sliding out of control until he could dig his fingers into the rotten mortar. His internal clock and the stars above him agreed that it was an hour and a half until dawn, enough time to get them both to safety.
Or it would have been if there weren’t a grating over the entrance to the shaft. Spike clung to the wall; boots resting on ledges that were scarcely there and pushed up against the grate with one hand. It was solid, as solid as the gate had been, and stuck fifty feet up in the air with nothing to brace against made shifting it a tricky proposition. He leaned back, but the far wall was too far away to provide any support. He tried hanging from the grate, straddling the tunnel from side to side, so he could push upwards but his boots slid on the wet slimy brick. Getting desperate, he tugged them off, letting them drop down the shaft, banging and thumping all the way to the ground. Now in bare feet, he punched the wall creating shallow divots and used those to brace against, thighs straining as he pushed up on the grating pressing into his shoulders.
"Fuck!" he bellowed, his rage and frustration powering one final massive heave. All to no avail. The grating stayed stubbornly in place, set deep into new bricks and mortar, and reinforced with concrete. It would take a vampire wielding a sledgehammer to get the bloody thing to shift.
Or possibly the strength of two vampires together.
"Idiot," Spike berated himself as he slipped and slid his way back down to the cave. "Trying to do everything alone when Angelus just needs some blood to be all fixed up."
Angelus was exactly where Spike had left him and he settled them back into the position they were in before, Angelus cradled between his legs. Then, with a slight wince, Spike bit into his wrist, pried open Angelus’ mouth and pressed the bleeding limb to his bloodless lips. "Come on. Drink, you stupid sod," he muttered when the viscous liquid began to dribble from the corner of his mentor’s unresponsive mouth.
The insult had the required effect and Angelus swallowed. His fangs dropped, re-piercing the healing vein, and he began to suckle, at first feebly and then with more force as his strength increased. Spike held him close as he fed, running his fingers through tangled dirty brown locks that stuck to Angelus face. Eyes fluttering slowly closed, Spike allowed himself to relax, comforted by the familiar draw on his veins and the knowledge that Angelus was going to be fine.
It couldn’t go on forever and sooner than he might have wished, Spike began feeling light-headed. He tugged Angelus’ mouth away, commiserating with his elder at having to stop before his appetite was assuaged. "Be more later. Promise. But only if we get out of here."
Brown eyes flickered open and Angelus stared up at him, confusion and agony displayed in equal amounts. "Where are we?" he asked hoarsely.
"Still in the tunnels, mate."
Angelus frowned and tried to sit up, groaning in pain as the movement pulled on his tattered flesh. He gave up and sank back, face contorting with thought and discomfort. "Under the opera house?"
"Yeah. Got caught in the flood. Same as me." Spike grinned down at Angelus’ upturned face, pleased as the flush of borrowed blood lent colour to his pallid skin. "Mind you, reckon I got off lightly by comparison. You might want to give some thought to taking swimming lessons."
His grin was returned though with less enthusiasm and Angelus plucked at his shirt, sopping wet and filthy and clinging like a second skin. "Clean water next time."
"Can’t say I disagree." Considering vampires couldn’t feel the cold, Spike was starting to chill. Or rather, the constant adhesion of wet clothes was leaching away his energy.
Angelus struggled to rise again, this time with more success. After peering around their small prison, he said, "I can smell the way out. Where is it?"
"Up there," Spike indicated the space above them with his thumb and Angelus looked up.
"High," he commented tiredly and Spike sighed.
"That’s not the worst of it. Sodding grating up there and it won’t bloody budge."
"Both of us?" Angelus asked.
"Maybe. Hope so, otherwise you and me are stuck down here till hunger or daylight does us in. Personally I’m voting for the sun ‘cos the idea of spending my last days on earth as a vegetable doesn’t appeal."
With silent resignation Angelus rolled to his feet and stood shakily, leaning against the wall. Then, with surprising grace he leapt up into the shaft, disappearing rapidly into the gloom as his bulk blocked out the stars. Spike waited for him to get clear and then followed at a slower pace. By the time he reached the top, Angelus was braced across the shaft, a foot wedged firmly into the wall on either side, thumping violently on the grating with the heel of his hand.
"Any luck?" Spike asked, peering round Angelus to get a better view. A grunt was his only answer. He clung to the wall for a while, listening to the rhythmic pounding of flesh on metal and concrete and then said, "Shift over and we’ll give it a go together."
Angelus obliged and they concentrated on the same spot, fist following fist, following fist, in a never-ending assault. For a good half an hour they kept it up, hands bruising with effort, all with no apparent effect on the grating. It stood firm, oblivious to the full strength of two preternatural creatures being thrown against it.
Eventually the fresh flow of blood from Angelus’ abdomen became too much for Spike to ignore. He stopped pounding on the metal and leaned back against the wall, shaking his hand. "Look," he said when Angelus raised a quizzical eyebrow. "It’s not gonna move. Not tonight anyway. What say you, we go and rest up, stay out of the sun and try again at dusk." He indicated the dark wet stain on Angelus’ already blood-caked trousers. "Give that a chance to heal before I end up having to stuff bits and bobs back into you."
It was testimony to Angelus’ weakened condition that he didn’t even try to argue and instead nodded tersely and started back down. He’d descended less than six feet when his foot slipped on the slimy brick sending him pitching sideways, cracking his head violently on the tunnel wall hard enough to daze. Spike lunged, but too slowly and his fingertips could only brush the cotton of Angelus’ shirt before the older vampire plummeted straight down the shaft, the impact of his body destroying what little remained of the cavern’s protective ceiling.
Spike plunged down after him, nails leaving gouges in the green algae as he fought to keep his descent under control and he landed heavily, the freshly fallen masonry cutting into his bare feet.
"You all right?" he asked, patting Angelus’ shoulder. The older vampire stirred and rolled over, staring back up the shaft to the patch of purple sky above. Spike followed his gaze and stood up. "Guess we’re taking the sun over starvation, then," he said bluntly and glanced around the tiny space, now open to the sun. "Come midday I don’t think there’s gonna be much choice."
**
Several hours later and the grate stood out starkly against a brilliant blue sky. Periodically a shadow would fall over it as something passed by and the sounds of the street above were becoming increasingly loud. The sun, creeping slowly down the tunnel wall, had effectively put an end to any further escape attempts and the two vampires now lay together on the rubble. Spike slept, his head resting on Angelus' chest, whilst Angelus watched what remained of his life float past on fluffy white clouds.
An ignominious way to go, he reflected. Burned up by the sun at the bottom of a Paris sewer. Spike shifted and muttered something about toasted muffins before yawning widely and opening his eyes.
"Still not dead yet?" he asked, sitting up and scrubbing at his hair.
"Another hour," Angelus answered nodding at the sunlight pouring into the shaft. "Give or take ten minutes."
"Hunh." Spike acknowledged, yawning again and stretching with bone cracking enthusiasm. For a moment there was silence and then Spike’s stomach rumbled loudly.
"Hungry?"
"Starving. Not that there’s anyone to eat." He paused and Angelus wondered what to say to his protégé. What did one say under such circumstances? For once words eluded him but he needn’t have worried. Spike filled the silence. "Anyway, the screaming and burning up will soon take my mind off it."
He lay back down, arms folded behind his head, and the pair stared at the sky. Eventually Angelus said, "Poetry."
"The expression of elevated thought in metrical or rhythmical form."
Angelus blinked and decided to ignore the comment. "You said you wrote it."
"What of it?"
"Recite some for me."
"Sod off!"
"William!"
"No. I’m just about to die ‘cos your great fat arse fell through the ceiling and you want me to spend my final few minutes reciting mawkish rubbish. Like I said. Sod. Off!"
"Please?" That wasn’t something Angelus would normally resort to but there wasn’t time to beat co-operation into the boy.
"What?"
"I said, please."
"I’ve never heard you say please."
"And now you have." Patience. There was an art to it, but any conversation with Spike, even a short one, had a tendency to make him forget that completely.
"Say it again." There was a smirk behind those words; Angelus could hear it.
"William."
Spike seriously considered ignoring him despite the implicit threat and then relented. Sort of, anyway. "Oh, bloody hell. Here. ‘There was an Old Man in a tree, who was horribly bored by a bee. When they said, "Does it buzz?" He replied, "Yes, it does! It’s a regular brute of a bee!’"
"You wrote that?"
"No, Edward Lear did." Angelus was treated to one of Spike’s patent ‘idiot’ looks. "Don’t you read anything published after eighteen fifty?"
"I wanted to hear something you wrote."
"Why?"
Why, indeed. Angelus thought about it before he answered, watching the sunlight crawl down the wall. They had maybe three-quarters of an hour before they burned. "Because we’re about to be destroyed and this is the last chance I’ll get to hear it." True as it was, the words were also unbearably sentimental and Angelus felt the need to qualify them. "And if you don’t I’ll make your last half hour on earth a living hell."
"Sounds like fun." Spike quipped and a devilish grin spread across his face. "Actually it sounds like normal but… Oof" Angelus’ fist planted in his solar plexus drove the air from his lungs, rendering him mute for a couple of seconds. When he got his breath back he grumbled, "Fine. Poetry. But it’s gonna cost you."
"What?"
There was silence for a second and then Spike mumbled something. Angelus rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow, gazing down at the younger vampire next to him. "What was that?"
"I said," Spike reiterated, his gaze anywhere but on Angelus’ face. "A kiss."
"You want me to kiss you?"
Immediately on the defensive, Spike sat up and turned his back. "Doesn’t matter. Not like you give a damn."
It was at times like this that Angelus found himself completely lost. What was Spike asking for? Sex? That would be understandable. And a pleasant way of spending the time. But that wasn’t what he requested. "Why?"
The expression in Spike’s back was as eloquent as his face and when he answered Angelus wasn’t surprised to hear anger over hurt in the words. "Because you never do, all right. You fuck me. I suck you off. But, since London, you’ve never kissed me. We share everything, but not that and I want to. I want to kiss you and I want you to kiss me but each time I try you turn away."
"If I kiss you, will you recite some of your poetry?"
Spike glanced round searching Angelus’ face for any hint of mockery. Finding none, his shoulders relaxed and a small smile twitched at his lips. "Yeah. If you want."
"Come here, then."
The kiss was gentle. Angelus let Spike take the lead, remaining passive in the other man’s arms. Spike moved slowly, skimming their lips together, his hand coming up to tangle in Angelus’ hair and pulling him closer. A tongue ran enquiringly along Angelus’ lower lip and he obliged it, welcoming Spike in with a quiet purr of approval. It was a strange sensation, this almost chaste exchange with another man. Without passion pumping in his skull, it became considered, like a quadrille. Formal, but exquisite for all that.
Strong fingers massaged his neck and Angelus opened further, returning the favour with his own hand on Spike’s shoulder, rubbing slow circles on solid muscle with his thumb. Spike growled and pressed forward, pushing Angelus to the ground, moving over him, their lips still locked. Tongues now dancing more fiercely, discovering places that had remained unexplored. It felt like surrender and for a second Angelus was tempted to let it all go, to let his boy do and take what he would. And then he felt the smile against his lips. Harsh reality intruded and he came back to himself with a crash.
Tightening his grip on Spike’s shoulder, he reversed their positions until the younger vampire was on his back and plunged his tongue viciously into Spike’s mouth, fucking it relentlessly. There was a moment’s resistance and then Spike went pliant in his arms, accepting whatever Angelus had to offer. Hips grinding together left neither in any doubt about their rising desire and when Spike reached between them to release fastenings and free erections, Angelus moaned with delighted relief.
It was fast and urgent, in the way only those about to die can achieve. There was barely time to savour the sensations of flesh tugging against flesh, of nails scraping over sensitive glans, of clever fingers gripping and working. Angelus found himself ending the kiss, needing to breathe as the sensations curled around his spine. Hips thrusting, he buried his head in Spike’s shoulder and fucked, letting the need for more override everything else. Control deserted him, passion replaced it, and, as his climax thundered through him, words like "Mine," and "Need," tumbled automatically from his lips. Spike sobbed against his neck and sought out his mouth once more, coming when their lips met, his fingers tightening around their slick cocks and in Angelus’ hair.
The trip down was gentle and soothing. Angelus allowing the kiss to continue until Spike ended it with a throaty chuckle. "Wasn’t exactly what I had in mind," he said when Angelus released him. "But I’m not complaining." He brought his come covered fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean; his gaze firmly fixed on Angelus’ face.
Angelus blinked, staring at Spike’s tongue and then cleared his throat and rolled over so he was staring at the far less seductive ceiling. "You promised me poetry," he declared once he had rebuttoned his trousers and decided that his voice would sound something akin to normal.
"I did." Spike gave up his seduction routine and rubbed his hands clean on his wet trousers. "What do you want to hear? A sonnet? A ballad?"
"Something that rhymes."
Angelus’ comment was greeted with a long, loaded, silence. Finally Spike asked, "Did you actually go to school or did your parents throw you in a ditch to absorb what crap you could?"
"I went to school," Angelus insisted.
"Where?"
"A convent."
"A convent?" Spike gasped out in disbelief. "Oh, that’s bloody brilliant. The great Angelus, world-renowned diner on the cloistered, used to get leathered by ‘em." He rocked with laughter and wagged his finger, "You, mate, have real problems."
"A poem," Angelus snarled feeling remarkably annoyed at bearing the brunt of Spike’s humour. "I don’t care what it is, or if it rhymes, just as long as you wrote it. And you’d better make it quick because in about ten minutes you’ll be in too much pain to do anything but scream."
Shooting a nervous glance at the sunlight that had reached the roof of the cave Spike swallowed his laughter. "Yeah, right. Poem. How about this." It was something that had been buzzing in his head for a while, though he hadn’t put pen to paper. That seemed too nancified now he was dead.
Taking a deep breath, he began to recite.
"Night kissed her skin,
And ebon locks dance astray
For all her sin
Night kissed her skin
And let me win
Her heart away
Night kissed her skin
And ebon locks dance astray."
The silence fell again and Spike shifted nervously. He hadn’t shared his poetry with anyone since the night he died and he didn’t relish the idea of Angelus laughing at him. "It’s about Dru," he qualified. "The ‘ebon locks’ and so forth."
"Again," Angelus replied, his face an unreadable mask.
"Not sure there’s time."
"Again."
Spike closed his eyes, deciding that he didn’t want to watch as the sun finally invaded their space. He started to recite and when the poem was finished he continued, extemporising as best he could around the theme of his dark princess. As the minutes passed, a deep-seated terror built inside him and he sought out Angelus' hand with his own. It was met with a firm grasp and he fought to stop his voice cracking. It seemed fit, to go out this way. Head and heart full of the woman he loved. Eventually he could force the words out no longer and a dreadful silence fell over them.
"Why, William, Drusilla was right. You are quite the poet."
Two pairs of eyes flew open and found the lethal sunlight gone, blocked by a carriage and Darla smiling smugly at them through the grating.