Erik raced silently up the stairs to the roof, furious with himself for having lost Christine. He’d only left her alone for a few minutes to orchestrate and monitor the discovery of the dancer’s body and the secret passageways, and when he returned she had gone from her dressing room. He tracked her scent to the door but paused before he burst through, brought up short by the sound of two voices deep in conversation.
The woman’s was certainly Christine’s; he would recognise it anywhere, speaking or singing. The other was male and vaguely familiar.
Cautiously Erik cracked open the door and peered out onto the roof. Christine was sitting at the base of a statue talking, though the position of her body prevented him from seeing to whom. His feet made no sound as he stepped onto the zinc and lead, taking the circuitous route around the central dome in order to discover the identity of Christine’s new champion. And when he saw who it was he was extremely glad he had.
Far from the human suitor he expected to find, the person sitting next to Christine and holding her hand was the young fledgling of Angelus’. The one he had lured deep into the bowels of the opera house and then abandoned to starve; the one that, unlike him, had been rescued from the pot and, given the renewed perfection of his appearance, gifted blood to heal.
Erik ran his skeletal fingers through the few strands of hair still clinging to his skull and down his face, tracing the edges of bone that would now never be covered in flesh, the remains of his nose, nothing more than a lappet of empty skin. His mind flashed back to those first few agonising days after he’d been turned out of Joshua’s lair at Angelus’ order and left to dust, or not, on the streets. The luck in finding a dead cat, which had given him the strength to get out of the sun. And the taste of rats and pigeons which had fed him in the long days that followed, never enough to replace the meat that had been boiled from his bones.
It had taken weeks before he was ready to pursue Angelus, first to Jersey and now to Paris and hours of thought had gone into his plans for revenge. It was a work of genius, a grand opera in and of itself, simple, yet beautiful, a harmony of thought and motion like all the greatest works were.
Act one: the hero woos the heroine and she comes willing to his side.
Act two: the villain falls in love with the heroine and attempts to spirit her away.
Act three: the hero recruits help from an unlikely quarter to win back her love.
Act four: the villain is defeated during a bloody battle, the hero is grievously injured but saved from certain death by the selfless sacrifice of the champion who aids him.
Act five: Finale. The hero and heroine fall into each others arms.
To those of a less artistic bent that meant enthralling Christine and using her to seduce Angelus into the opera house where he could be trapped in the labyrinth of tunnels. It meant getting the Slayer to Paris by way of murder and threatening letters, and entrapping her in that same set of passageways. And, in a final twist, entering the battlefield himself to bring the two antagonists together, thus ensuring their mutual destruction.
And now his pivotal piece was being seduced away by his nemesis’ get, a creature that should rightly be dust.
Totally unacceptable.
But there was nothing Erik could do. One glance showed that the other vampire was in the peak of condition, whereas Erik still carried extensive damage that had never healed. A fight would only have one winner and, even with superior speed, it wouldn’t be him.
With mounting desperation he crept closer to the couple, staying low and snake-quiet against the roof.
"Help me, monsieur. Please, you must help me!" Christine was sobbing.
And then he heard the magic words. The ones Erik knew would give him eyes inside Angelus’ lair and allow him to direct the Slayer straight to his door.
"I will my sweet. Come with me and the Comte and I will make everything better."
***
Christine huddled into the leather-padded side of the carriage, too distraught to take anything but a perfunctory interest in her surroundings. The Vicomte had insisted she come with him immediately, not even stopping to pick up her few belongings from her room, rightly stating that the ghost could come for her at any moment and remaining in the opera house any longer than absolutely necessary was foolish in the extreme. So here she was. Alone with a man she hardly knew, travelling across Paris to his house and his brother…
"We are here, my dear."
The hand patting her knee gently brought Christine back to herself and she looked around blearily. The speed of their arrival surprised her. If pressed she would have said that the Comte probably kept a small chateau on the outskirts of the city but they seemed to be somewhere in central Paris, possibly the Rue de Rivoli.
Tiredly she allowed the Vicomte to help her down and walked silently behind him as he lead the way into a modest but well-appointed apartment.
"Angelus!" Her escort called, his voice echoing harshly against the hallway’s high ceiling. "You home? I’ve got…"
"The master and mistress are out. They left a message for you."
A maid appeared suddenly on the stairs, her dark skirts visible while her upper body remained shadowed by the wall, and the Vicomte immediately hurried up to her. Christine watched their interaction disinterestedly, her arms tugging her cloak tightly around her. The apartment was cold and dark, the air smelled musty and damp, it felt dead. She shook her head, it must be her imagination and it made more sense to concern herself with how soon she would be fed and shown a place to sleep than intangibles like décor and atmosphere.
"I’m so sorry, my dear." The Vicomte returned to her side and started to guide her towards the door. "Angelus… My brother… has business elsewhere at the moment and needs me to run an errand for him."
Christine hesitated. He wanted her to go with him? "I could stay here," she suggested hopefully. "The maid would keep me company and I wouldn’t mind."
An eerie laugh came from the stairs and the Vicomte glanced towards it, a trick of the light turning his eyes golden for a moment. "No. I don’t think that would be a good idea." Then he turned back to her, his expression conciliatory and tone persuasive. "I realise you are tired and hungry but really I have to do this. Please, I will ensure that anything you require is provided."
The maid’s laughter sent fear zinging to Christine’s stomach and she allowed herself to be talked around, wanting nothing more than to leave this place with its shadows and unspoken secrets.
As the landau containing Spike and Christine pulled away, a brougham with its curtains drawn tightly appeared at the head of the street. Erik dismissed it, readying himself to follow the fledgling, until it stopped outside the same apartment block and Angelus got out, followed quickly by two other figures. The second had to be Darla, the descriptions Erik had heard over the years left no room for doubt. The other he did not recognise. It was swathed in cloth from head to toe and moved oddly, tottering as though its legs were too weak to take its weight.
Now what, Erik mused. Should he follow the singer or remain at the lair and spy on Angelus? He should go after Christine; she was, after all, his means of subduing Angelus and bringing him to heel. There was precious little point in knowing where his enemy was hiding if he still couldn’t destroy him.
That decided Erik raced across the rooftops in the direction the carriage had been heading, only to find the streets empty of his quarry. Frustrated he continued to hunt, losing further precious minutes backtracking in case they had stopped somewhere close by. All to no avail, it was as though the landau had vanished off the face of the earth.
Downcast by his failure to find her, Erik had no choice but to return to Angelus’ lair. All he could do was hope that Christine returned at some point in the future.
***
"Dru, love. Open the bloody door." Spike kicked it disconsolately, trying not to jar the woman he carried in his arms. Christine had fallen asleep in the carriage and rather than wake her and answer the awkward questions that were bound to follow, he’d decided to let her sleep.
The scullery door cracked open and Drusilla peered out, her mouth curling into a big smile when she saw whom it was. "My Spike! You brought me dinner." Or possibly what he was carrying.
"No Dru, not dinner. A prezzie for Angelus," Spike replied and then frowned at her mouth. "Is that blood?" he asked worriedly. "Tell me you haven’t eaten the butler!" If she had there would be no one left to invite him in and this whole farce would be over before it began.
"Only tasted," she said wistfully, "of wine and truffles. My little truffle pig."
Spike blinked in confusion and then shook his head. "Get him to invite me in then, pet."
Dru stared at him for a moment and then smiled brightly. "All right."
The door closed in his face and he dropped his head forward and banged it gently on the wood. He loved her, he really did, but god, sometimes he could bloody kill her.
The minutes passed and still there was nothing.
Spike tried again. "Dru," he called, keeping his voice low enough not to disturb the neighbours. "Dru, love, I’m still here."
It opened again. "I know you are, silly, and I’m in here."
That was it. The time for playing nice was over. "Get the fucking butler Drusilla. I want to come in."
"This butler," she asked stepping back so Spike could see past her into the kitchen. There, tied to a chair, face pale and neck covered in blood, was a human, his greying head lolled to one side.
"Christ almighty! I told you not to kill him!"
Dru looked panicked for a moment. "He’s not. Honest. I never killed him. But I got bored and he tasted so sweet and…"
It was then that Spike realised the bloke’s trousers were undone and the air was heavy with the scent of sex. "You shagged him?!" he interjected, voice rising to a shout.
Christine stirred in his arms and opened her eyes, starting awake when she realised her unseemly position. "Oh… I…" she mumbled, squirming until she was placed on the ground. Once safely on her own two feet again she looked around herself curiously, taking in the dark haired woman at the door and the man tied to the chair. How very odd. "Is everything all right?"
"Umm… I wonder if you could do something for me," the Vicomte started. "There has been a small difficulty and this gentleman has been hurt. Could you possibly help him? It is rather important I’m afraid."
"Yes, come in dearie and help me make the nice piggy feel better," the woman said, her voice carrying an even stranger accent than the Vicomte’s.
"Dru. I’m warning you, leave her alone." Christine flinched at the tone in the Vicomte’s voice, never had he sounded so cold and threatening. She glanced from one to the other and then ducked inside, not wanting to get involved in whatever business there was between them.
The man, a butler by his dress, or what remained of it, was unconscious but still alive. Hurriedly, Christine searched the kitchen soon locating a bottle of smelling salts, which she waved under the man’s nose.
He came to with a cough, his gaze snapping to hers, eyes desperate and clear. "Thank - thank god," he cried. "I’ve been saved."
"Invite me in, mate, and I’ll try to make that permanent."
The lazy drawl from the doorway made Christine spin on her heel and her scream rang through the house. Gone were the guileless blue eyes, defined cheekbones and soft mouth that had kept her sane this evening and in their place skulked wolf’s amber, harsh ridged flesh, and jagged fangs. It was a familiar face, the face of her tormentor, the face of the ghost.
Another scream tore from her throat and she passed out.
***
"Is there anything else you require, grandmother?" Darla asked, kneeling to carefully hand the ancient sorcerer a porcelain bowl of steaming green tea. She kept her eyes lowered allowing her to glimpse the tiny white-socked feet peeping out from under the hem of a midnight blue cheong-sam. When her offer was declined, she bowed respectfully and remained knelt at her visitor’s feet, forcing herself to ignore Angelus who was lounging in his chair, his legs draped in mute insolence over the arm. It was all pretence and bravado and Darla understood that well; Angelus was as nervous about having Li Hua in their lair as she was.
"Sit with me granddaughter." A wizened hand caressed Darla’s hair and she raised her head to meet pale colourless eyes buried by tissue fine wrinkled skin. Li Hua smiled, revealing blackened teeth ground down to nubs from years of grinding magical herbs, and continued mischievously, "In these modern times we have no need to stand on such ceremony."
Angelus guffawed loudly and slapped his leg, leaning forward in his chair to comment, "Well said, old woman. It’s about time someone told my girl the truth."
Rising to her feet Darla shot daggers at him and ground her teeth at his smug expression.
A moment later it was wiped from his face when the sorcerer spoke again, "And you, my young tiger, should learn some respect for your elders or perhaps I should teach you." She waved her hand, muttering a few words under her breath and Angelus suddenly found himself on the carpet kow-towing before her, his forehead knocking repetitively on the floor.
It was Darla’s turn to smirk and she did, with great enthusiasm at her lover’s discomfort, before retiring to the couch. The two women sat together watching in silence for a while until the sorcerer nodded her head in satisfaction and with a single gesture released Angelus from her spell. He immediately clambered to his feet, demon face to the fore, enraged at having been placed in such a subordinate position.
Li Hua met his gaze unperturbed by the rage she saw there and before the vampire had a chance to attack pointed out quietly, "You saw how easily I was able to control you. Do you really wish to challenge me again?"
The question hung between them like the sword of Damocles threatening to bring the world down around their ears. Finally, and with a low unhappy growl, Angelus ducked his head and stepped back conceding defeat.
Li Hua nodded again and said, "That is better. Now let us turn to the matter in hand. You have a problem that requires my assistance, I presume of the magical nature."
Darla shifted uncomfortably in her seat and then turned to the sorcerer an appealing expression on her face. "Not so much magical as political. We need to gain possession of something and it is vital my sire hears nothing about it."
From outside the window Erik eavesdropped with stunned incredulity as the story unfolded within. This was Darla, forever the Master’s favourite, and Angelus, the one held up as an example of what a vampire should truly be, and they were plotting against the Order. It was unthinkable. If the Master found out they would be disowned, pursued to the ends of the earth and then dragged back to stand in chains before him. It was… It was… So much better than any revenge he could have plotted for himself.
Determined to hear more Erik pressed closer. The sorcerer was saying, "And you are certain that this is the child?"
"Its ancestry definitely fits the description of the one mentioned in the prophecy and, grandmother, it is not as if I wish the Master harm through my actions. It is simply that he could never understand how hard it would be for me to give up my life above ground."
"Oh my goodness, I completely understand your reasons and do not seek to judge you, I simply wished to clarify the situation. As you know much of my work involves prophecies and they have a habit of coming true however hard people work to avoid them. Sometimes in the strangest of ways. Tell me, did your sire ever recite the prophecy in its totality?"
Darla shook her head. "No. But I do know that it is contained in a codex to the Writings of Aurelius that were missing for centuries."
"The Pharnos Codex?"
"The Master didn’t see fit to tell me."
"The babe you seek, was it the offspring of the death flower and the corrupted prince?"
"That is what he called them, yes."
"Then it was the Pharnos Codex. And that, my children, could prove to be a problem."
For the first time since their declared truce, Angelus spoke his voice cold and confident. "I haven’t met a problem yet that didn’t respond to the right ‘persuasion’."
"Which is why you need my help. It has long been held that the Pharnos Codex was removed from the Writings of Aurelius because they contained knowledge that came directly from the fates and challenging them is simply courting disaster. Your sire appears to be trying to do this and will bring tragedy to himself and all of his kindred in doing so."
"Much as I appreciate the lecture, what the hell does that mean?" Angelus was on his feet now, the long hours of frustrated inactivity since discovering the Slayer finally taking their toll. "Do we try for the brat or not? Will we end up being caught in the backlash if we do? If we don’t?"
Li Hua waited for him to run out of steam and then said quietly, "What it means is that, yes, I am willing to help you. Though not for the reasons you think. If this were merely a matter of Darla’s preferences I would have to say no, but with the Master trying to manipulate the prophecy it is permitted for us to try also. However I cannot promise you that there will be no price, there is always a price to be paid when one indulges in magics."
"Is there anything you need us to do, grandmother?"
"Allow me to stay in your lair until I have word the child is born, and then I will ensure it is brought safely into your hands. Apart from that, for the moment, nothing."
***
God, he’d missed her. In the whirlwind of fucking that was Angelus and Darla, making love to Dru like this was the eye of the hurricane, that moment of peace surrounded by tumultuous potentialities. She made him feel alive, made him feel like the man he could have been if that ponce William had had the courage to grasp his life and live it instead of simpering pathetically in the corner.
Her mouth blossomed under gentle pressure opening to let him in, giving all that was her up to him to taste and savour. Her tongue caressed without battling, hands stroked without bruising, body gave without taking. She was his goddess.
"My Spike!"
Kaleidoscope eyes, whirling rainbow dreams staring up at him and she gasped out his name as he thrust into her, long and slow. Limpet legs curling around his waist, their pelvises rocking the cradle. Dru turned her head, unruly hair spreading dark tendrils across the white sheet, exposing her neck for him to worship with open-mouthed kisses that became torturous nips of desire.
Supporting his weight on one arm Spike dipped down to capture her breast, licking and sucking until the aureole scrunched tight with arousal and traced nonsense syllables on the soft pillow-like skin with his fingers. He kept the pace languid, teasing her with the depth and anticipated rhythm of his penetration as her sweet cunny gripped and grasped at his cock, tugging his sensitive flesh and making him whisper her name over and over.
"Christ, Dru. Missed you so much, love. My princess, my bounteous midnight queen."
Her heels dug into his back, urging him on and he complied, rotating his hips as he thrust and rubbing against her clit. She arched against him, her fingers winding into his hair pressing him unmercifully tighter to her breast, grinding her pelvis down and down, her body inhaling him until both were pulled to stretched tautness. Then, like the metaphorical breaking wave, she spilled over, catching and tossing him in her wake, dragging him drowning in her undertow. Helplessly he plundered her trembling body, plunging artlessly and unseeing, driven to mute exhalations by her breathless screams of pleasure. And, as he quaked through his own release, Dru held him firm, wordlessly accepting his absurd invocations of love and adoration, not even blinking when he chanted ‘sire, sire’ against her neck.
**
The sun going down sent lovely prickles through her body and Dru opened her eyes, gazing around passively as the last vestiges of sleep fell away. Spike was curled up next to her, one hand resting possessively on her breast; the other curled under his cheek, his thumb resting on his lip. She pinched it and pulled it away singing quietly, "Suck-a-thumb, suck-a-thumb, snip snap snip, the tailor will come."
He sighed and muttered, "Just five more minutes, mother," before turning over and slipping back into a deep sleep. Giggling to herself, Dru rose from the bed and set about getting dressed, she was starting to feel hungry and if she went out now she could be back before Spike woke up.
"Are you going to kill me?"
The tremulous question came from the corner where Christine was wedged between the cupboard and the wall, her hands loosely bound behind her. Dru cocked her head and wandered over, squatting on the floor by her legs. "I can if you want me to. Do you want me to?" she asked.
"N-no. Than-thank you," the girl stuttered her eyes large and luminous in the darkening room.
"Oh." Dru’s face fell for a moment and then brightened. "I’m going out for dinner. You want to come with me?"
Gaze flickering between the monster in the bed and the mad woman swaying in front of her, Christine calculated her odds of escaping from either one of them and swallowed heavily. "Yes, please. I’m a little hungry myself."
**
Spike awoke with the terrible awareness that he was alone. Completely alone. There was no one in the bed next to him and no heartbeat from the corner where Christine should be.
He listened again. No, he was lying. Not completely alone.
From somewhere downstairs he could just make out the sound of a heartbeat and it had bloody well better be Christine or he was stringing Drusilla up by her fingers and proving it wasn’t only Angelus who knew how to wield a whip.
The next thing that hit him was the time - well past sunset - and that realisation had him leaping from the bed and yanking on his trousers, cursing as he went.
"Bugger, bugger, bugger. Supposed to be watching the fucking house not shagging Dru and then falling asleep."
Still pulling on his shirt, Spike barrelled down the stairs.
"Dru! Dru!"
No answer.
He tracked the heartbeat into the kitchen and up to the pantry door. Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, he sniffed suspiciously. Blood and sex, with a hint of fresh night air. It was the sodding butler.
"I swear, Dru love, if you’ve eaten her, I’ll bloody…" he muttered, jiggling the handle. The lock gave and the door swung open just as the human inside managed to get his head and shoulders through the small window. Spike sighed, capturing an ankle and hauling the butler back into the house. "Who am I kidding. Not like I’ll do anything. Just tell Angelus it’s my fault and take whatever he dishes out."
Glaring at the man now suspended by the collar from his fist, Spike asked sincerely, "What do you reckon, mate? Girl like that, a fella’d be mad not to do anything she wanted, right?"
"She-she’s insane." The butler answered, thus proving that Drusilla was not the only one in the place with mental health problems, and sealing his own fate into the bargain.
His neck snapped with a crack and Spike stared down at the twitching corpse at his feet, shaking his head. "Now, ya’see, that was just rude. Talking about a lady like that. And to her beau and all."
A wild thumping on the back door heralded the return of his errant lover and Spike strode over to it, full of righteous indignation and ready to at least give Dru a dressing down. He was not expecting what he found.
Dru huddled over, her face etched in pain, blood streaming from the wounds on her belly where she had torn through her dress and skin. And standing beside the vampire, holding her up to the best of her abilities was Christine, pale with worry, shaking and looking on the edge of passing out herself.
"We were shopping when she collapsed and I… I didn’t know what else to do."
Spike ignored Christine and swung Dru up into his arms, automatically restraining her hands when they went for her stomach again. This he had seen before, once or twice, and Angelus had shown him exactly what to do. He needed to get her to the bedroom, right now.
**
"Is there anything I can do?"
Spike glanced up at the singer loitering nervously in the doorway and then back at Dru straining beneath him on the bed, desperately trying to escape the hold he had on her. Currently he had her arms pinned to her sides with his knees but that state of affairs couldn’t last for long, she was too strong at the best of times and in the throes of a vision had been known to throw her sire across the room. The only blessing was that she was silent, although it was eerie seeing her mouth twisting in a scream and no sound coming out.
"Get water. And a cloth," he asked, wanting the human gone for the next part.
When Christine had left, Spike took a deep steadying breath, muttered, "Sorry about this, sweetheart," and belted Dru hard in the face. The force of the blow split her lip and stunned her for long enough to allow him to grab stockings from a drawer and securely bind her hands and feet. That, in turn, gave him time to start ripping sheeting into strips, strong linen being the best substitute for chains in a pinch.
"Will she be all right?" asked Christine as she reappeared in the doorway, carrying a bowl and a towel draped over her arm.
"Huh? Yeah." Spike gestured at Dru, "She has visions. Sees the future, you know? Sometimes it’s not so bad. Makes her ramble. But when she goes like this," he held up the sheeting, "hafta do something a bit more drastic."
"You are going to tie her to the bed."
The singer didn’t seem shocked at the suggestion and Spike studied her face, frowning. "That doesn’t bother you?"
Christine turned away, dipping the towel into the water and said, "My mother. She had fits and on occasion had to be restrained in that way."
On the bed, Dru started to stir and Spike knew he had to work fast. "Good," he stated, matter of factly, "then you won’t mind giving me a hand here."
Between the two of them, they managed to get Drusilla bound and then Christine bathed the wounds on her stomach while Spike held her head and offered what comfort he could. The attention seemed to calm her and she started to talk, filling the room with her agonised babbling.
"Hurts. Hurts. Take it away. Make it stop. I don’t want it." Her eyes fixed on Spike but he had the strangest feeling it wasn’t him Dru was seeing. "Bastard," she hissed. "You did this. You did this to me. I hate you. Hate you." Then something snapped inside of her and she screamed, her head pressing into the pillow and her body contorting as it arched against the restraints.
"Do something!" Christine yelled, putting her hands over her ears as the scream went on and on, louder than any human could have managed without shredding their vocal chords.
"Like what!" Spike bellowed back, at a complete loss as to what to do for the best. A wad of linen was thrust into his hand and he looked back and forth between it, the singer and the hysterical vampire on the bed in mute confusion before realising what Christine intended him to do with it.
Taking his unlife in both hands, he leapt on to the bed and straddled Drusilla’s chest, using his weight to steady her down. She morphed immediately into her demon form, snapping at his fingers when they came close to her face.
"Bloody hell, Dru!" Spike growled, rage and frustration overcoming his more tender feelings towards her. He grabbed her hair, his own demon coming forwards in response. "Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you."
"Ger’off! Ger’off me!" She shrieked, bucking up and lunging at his arms.
"Damnation woman! It’s for your own… Ow! Fuck!" Dru’s fang caught his hand tearing the skin from the backs of his fingers. "That’s it. You’re going…"
Faces full of bloodied cold water shocked both vampires into silence.
Spike, recovering quicker than Dru, shoved the cloth into her mouth and then clambered off the bed, his hair damp and plastered to his forehead, pink droplets running down his face. Turning on the thrower he said in a glacial voice, "You know I’ve killed people for a lot less then that."
Christine blanched and backed away, her hands clasping and unclasping at her sides. She was obviously terrified but still had the guts to point out, "You’re hurt."
He glanced down at his hand, noticing the blood dripping from his fingertips onto the carpet. Somehow the sight calmed him and he grinned ruefully, "Yeah. Guess I am. Probably would have been again if you hadn’t thrown water over us like a couple of humping dogs."
The corners of the singer’s lips twitched and they both laughed, the tension of the situation resolving itself in a time-honoured fashion.
***
"Do you trust her?"
Darla paused, the brush in her hand poised to continue its obligatory one hundred strokes. "In general no, for this, yes. Or at least enough to admit we have no choice in the matter."
She turned on her stool to face Angelus and smiled proudly. Her lover was sitting propped on the pillows, deep in thought, his mane of hair restrained by a black ribbon, a white silk shirt open to the waist revealing his smooth chest and defined musculature. One leg out straight, the other bent at the knee, the soft cloth of his dark russet trousers moulded to his crotch by a large hand resting on his thigh.
There were never enough moments like this, Darla thought, her eyes lingering appreciatively. When she could take the time to remember exactly why she chosen Angelus above all others to be her companion. He was beautiful.
"Still, it’s a risk."
And far from stupid. Her childe had come a long way from the impetuous fledgling that had baited the Master and nearly died at the hands of Holtz.
"It is," she answered. "Though a calculated one on both our parts. Li Hua follows her own agenda and will not spill our secrets to my sire for political reasons."
Angelus looked up, his eyes troubled. "She may for other reasons and with the same result, disaster for our family. The Order’s purse is deep and the name of Aurelius eases the way when money will not. You have lived on the Master’s gratuity since you were turned, are you willing to walk away from that?"
He was concerned about losing access to Aurelian funds? That was all he could see as the problem here? A little irately Darla replied, "No. No more than you are. I am not the only one who prefers a room with a view, Angelus."
"True. But I am more than capable of paying my own way. If the cards do not fall favourably on the night, their purses can be taken at my leisure from the winner’s body. What skills do you bring to the table?"
It was all Darla could do not to lash out. She knew exactly what he was alluding to and his words cut deeper than any whip. This was why she had never taught him to read the blood, armed with the truth Angelus would conspire to be crueller than he was already. Instead she laughed him off, saying, "I’d wager I could earn more in a night than you and without leaving a trail of bodies a blind man could follow. You forget, Angelus, I have been a whore longer than any other on this benighted earth and many men, fools that they are, will pay willingly with their souls for a taste of heaven."
He smiled wryly, acknowledging her hit. "Touché, my lamb. So what are your plans regarding the old witch?"
Abandoning her toilet, Darla crawled up on the bed next to him, sliding into his embrace and smiling smugly. "Li Hua trusts us no more than we trust her but she believes that the respect I pay renders her safe in our lair. That, in the end, may prove fatal."
Angelus planted a firm kiss on her head and pulled her tightly against his chest. "Now that’s the girl I know," he cooed.
***
The cellar was dark, Christine mused. So dark that she could hardly see the man - thing - man sitting by the window watching the house across the street and chatting happily away about how good the hunting was in Paris.
Or maybe the darkness was inside her head?
In her hand she held a hunk of fresh bread, the only thing Drusilla had got for her before she collapsed screaming in the street bringing people running from all quarters. In her other hand, warm and soft, a piece of cheese she had cut from what remained in the pantry.
Don’t think about the pantry! Eat the food and don’t think about the pantry!
Too late.
Carelessly dumped. Necks didn’t bend that way. Dead eyes gazing at the ceiling. Fingernails bloodied. Face rictus.
Christine closed her eyes, shutting down her brain to banish the corpse of the man she had revived last night.
Was it only last night? It felt like a lifetime ago. Someone else’s life.
The girl who came to the big city hoping her voice would be her ticket to fame and fortune was dead and left in her place this hollow shell that couldn’t think beyond the next moment of survival. Pathetically grateful for every word of kindness and consideration tossed her way. Helping out where she was needed, because that’s what good girls do.
She bit into the bread, tasting nothing as she mechanically bit - chewed - swallowed.
"So, pet," the Vicomte addressed her directly pulling Christine up out of her thoughts and back on parade. "What brings a pretty girl like you to the big city?"
She stared at him, a silhouette against the dimly lit street, yellow eyes the only point of reference on his face - all the better to see you with my dear - and tried to find words to reply. There were none because if she started to think then she wouldn’t be able to stop.
A case in point. By everything that was right in the world she should have run when Drusilla collapsed but, in that split second, she had found herself torn. Her rational mind telling her to flee, that nothing good would come of staying in the company of monsters. Her heart, on the other hand, had sung a different tune, asking where she could run to that the ghost would not find her? And that even though staying meant almost certain death, at least Drusilla and the Vicomte, if that was really what he was, had been kind to her.
"Christine? You all right?"
He hovered next to her, this man that was no man.
His hands on her shoulders were shaking her, this creature she had witnessed making love with heartbreaking tenderness last night.
Voice in her ear, concerned for her. He killed the butler and left his body in the pantry.
Cold hands, dead hands. He had offered to help her, keep her safe.
Can’t, mustn’t, think. He talked about hunting humans like a human would discuss trapping quail.
Breath rising in her throat; drowning - drowning - drowning. Yellow eyed devils wrestling on the bed.
Red painted nails digging so deeply into skin they revealed naked pulsating muscle.
Hysteria that had spent weeks brewing finally bubbled over. Christine opened her mouth and a scream to challenge Drusilla’s came tumbling out.
"Bloody hell, woman!" Spike staggered back as the banshee wail assaulted his ears. What was it about the women around here that made them determined to deafen him?
Shaking her had absolutely no effect, so he fell back on the patented method of calming a hysterical woman, pulling back his arm and slapping her resoundingly around the face. Christine’s head snapped violently backwards and an ominous silence fell over the room.
Bugger.
Two small soft thumps attested to the bread and cheese dropping from the singer’s suddenly lax hands.
Shit. Spike fought a losing battle not to panic, his head spinning. She couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t have killed her. Angelus would rip him limb from limb if he’d killed her.
"Christine? Christine!" Back to shaking her shoulders and smacking her face - this time a sight more gently. Feel for a pulse and then… Bollocks! Could he be any more stupid?! There was her heartbeat. Slow and steady like the pulse in her neck, the blood still flowing round her body. And now he looked Spike could see the woman’s chest rising and falling.
"Thank god!" His knees went and he sank to the floor wondering how the hell it was possible for him to feel light-headed without a circulation. She was fine. She was alive.
"Spike?"
Leaning heavily on the doorjamb at the top of the stairs and looking paler than usual was Drusilla. Spike wasn’t altogether surprised to see her; she had an uncanny ability to get out of any set of restraints given long enough and suitable inspiration.
"Dru? What are you doing up, love?" On his feet in a flash, the recent near disaster forgotten, Spike hurried up the stairs, grabbed Drusilla’s arm and tried to lead her back into the kitchen and a chair. She resisted and he noticed that in her arms she carried a small bundle.
"What’s that then?" he asked, poking at what appeared to be the sheeting he had used to tie her hands and feet.
"No touching," she snapped, spinning away from him and leaning over the bundle to coo nonsense at it.
Thinking she was going off on one of her ‘Miss Edith is my baby’ moments - sans doll as it was back at the apartment - Spike lunged for the bundle only to find himself attacked by a spitting scratching Drusilla howling, "Leave my baby alone! She’s not yours. Leave her alone."
"Dru. Princess," he started, backing away as she came at him fangs bared and claws ready to rip into him, "It’s not a sodding baby. It’s a bundle of rags."
She stopped, stood up straight and stared at him, her head cocked to one side as though she was listening to someone, which in all likelihood she was. Her eyes cleared suddenly, she glanced down at the bundle and then opened her arms letting it drop to the floor. "So where’s the baby?" she asked.
"What baby?"
"Lily’s baby."
"Lily’s baby?"
Dru glared at him and then stamped her foot. "Stop being an echo. It’s not helping. The others are trying to tell me where the baby is and all I can hear is you going on and on and on and…"
"Fine." Spike held his hands up in defeat, ready to walk away. "Just… Let me know if you need help, all right?"
"Help? Of course I need help. You promised, remember?" When he just looked confused, Dru added in a parody of his deeper voice, "How about you and me make sure the sprat does what it’s told, eh? Bundle it up nice and tight and send it on its way."
"Huh?" If possible Spike was even more confused than before.
Dru sighed. "The baby has to go on a journey, remember? I told you? And you said you’d help me make sure it did."
There was the loud sound of the penny dropping in Spike’s head and the whole conversation on the beach in Jersey came flooding back to him. "Oh, that baby," he said and then asked, "So, where is it?"
"Argh!!" Grabbing two handfuls of hair, Dru progressed from stamping to jumping up and down on the spot. "I said!" she shrieked, "I’m tryin’ to listen."
"Oh, right then. I’ll just…" Spike looked around nervously for something to do or somewhere to go that would get him out of the line of fire. "Sit down over here, " he gestured to a chair a safe distance away. "Just until you’re ready for me, like."
For the next twenty minutes or so he sat in dutiful silence while Drusilla wandered up and down the kitchen muttering to herself. Most of it seemed to be total rubbish but the occasional word slipped through like, "Lily," and "Watchers," and "Slayer." Not that they made any more sense but at least they were words.
Finally she seemed to come to a decision or possibly whatever it was she was talking to got bored and wandered off. God knew, Spike thought, he nearly had.
"Lily’s baby’s over there," Drusilla announced pointing through to the front of the house.
"In the parlour?" Spike asked tentatively.
"No, silly boy. In the other house. The watched Watcher’s house."
Maybe the sound of the last penny dropping hadn’t been that loud, at all. This one certainly was. Suddenly a whole hell of a lot of things made a horrible kind of sense. From Darla’s obsession with Lily Langtree in London, to Angelus’ message that he join Dru and keep an eye out for odd comings and goings. Being a masochist, Spike had to check.
"This baby. Dru, the mum’s name isn’t Lily Langtree is it?"
"Yeah, that’s right and grandmother wants the baby but she can’t have her. She has to go away for a while."
"The baby."
"Yes. Until she’s ready and then we’ll find her again."
"And what happens if Darla gets her hands on the kid?"
Dru’s reaction was instant. "Nooo!" she moaned, swaying and agitated. "Hunger. And little girls getting torn up like pink paper."
The hunger bit wasn’t good but the girls getting torn up didn’t sound all that bad to Spike.
"And we’d all be gone. Sucked up into the monster’s mouth or the belly of the beast."
That, on the other hand, didn’t sound like fun at all. "Right then," Spike said, standing up and rubbing his hands together ready for immediate action. "We’d better run over, grab this kid and send it packing."
"How will you get in?" Christine asked from the doorway to the cellar. "You needed an invitation to enter this house. Will that one be any different?"
"Bollocks, no it won’t. Dru, love, any ideas?"
She shrugged. "You could eat all the Watchers but that would make the Slayer cross."
Not the most helpful comment Spike had ever heard. He glanced at Christine to see if she had any insights to offer. Unfortunately she didn’t. There was only one thing for it.
"What’s a Watcher, pet?" he asked Drusilla carefully. "And for that matter, a Slayer?"