"Dawn," Buffy yelled at the top of her life. The younger sister stopped half way down the stairs, her foot sticking out about to take the next step, and turned to look at Buffy.
"Is that my sweater?" Buffy asked.
"Well,..." Dawn trailed of. Unable to answer the question since the answer was yes. She looked down at the soft white fabric and absent-mindedly rubbed it.
"Answer me Dawn," Buffy demanded.
"Yes," Dawn whispered. "But I had to borrow it. All mine are in the wash and since you're to lazy to do the washing I have to borrow your stupid sweaters!" Dawn looked up at Buffy, determination written all over her face.
"Why didn't you ask?" Buffy questioned.
"You wouldn't have said yes!" Dawn replied.
"How do you know, you didn't ask!"
Dawn shifted uncomfortably and Buffy kept staring at her. Finally Dawn pulled the sweater of and threw it moodily at her older sister.
"Just keep the damn thing! I'll freeze to death!"
"I don't want you to freeze," Buffy said slowly. "I just want you to respect my property. If you had just asked I would have lent you a sweater!"
"Yeah right, you never do anything for me! You don't even care!" Dawn was yelling now. Buffy looked about as frustrated as Dawn. She didn't understand why Dawn didn't get it! She loved her and it was only a stupid sweater. She could have it if it meant that dawn much.
Buffy was about to say that but Dawn was already moving again, running down the stairs and out the door. Buffy stood there for a moment, holding the sweater, and then she sagged onto the top step. Why was everything a fight at the moment?
~*~*~*~
The dirt street was crowded with people. At either side it was lined with houses, each with an open front displaying a stall selling fresh fruit or veg or blacksmiths hard at work. The sun was beating down on the crowds, children running back and forth in a seemingly endless game of tag, woman stood around in small groups, sharing the latest news, or at the stalls picking up food for the dinner. Men were scarce as there were mostly of in the fields, plowing and planting seeds to feet the village over the coming winter.
The few men around were working the stalls. A round man with a red face at the meat stall, hollering his wares. The grocer, a stocky, dark skinned man, selling his fruits and vegetables to the crowded ladies. The Blacksmith, a giant of a man. Bulky and tall he bent over, hard at work.
The Blacksmiths apprentice sat quietly in the corner of the blacksmiths shop, watching. The man was tall, freakishly tall. His long black hair fell in rattails around his gaunt face. He attracted glances for a few passers by but mostly they left him alone. He didn't notice the shockingly beautiful woman at the other side of the market.
She had noticed him though. She stood in the shade of a house, gazing at him.
She stood there all day, not a soul seemed to notice her. As night closed in and most of the village settled down in there houses she remained. The apprentice was still sweeping out the shop. He looked quite pitiful with his sullen face and stooped shoulders. The local tavern was full to busting of rowdy men, glad to have a brink after a hard day in the fields. Just as the apprentice was closing up the shop a particularly rowdy group of men stumbled out into the street.
They started walking towards the apprentice, singing at the top of their voices, when one of them spotted the girl in the alley. He stumbled over to her, removing his hat then almost falling on his face in an attempt to bow.
"Hello there. I be Barnulf. I haven't seen you in there 'ere parts before! You must be here new from some other town. So little lady, come you here with husband?" The girl seemed to sink back from the lumbering man but he just came closer, breathing his alcohol-laden breath on her.
"I... I'm a little los'," she mumbled. "I jus' wok' up and I don' know where I is!" Bernulf grinned and took another step up to the young lady, pressing her against the wall. He slammed his hands on either side of her so she couldn't escape.
"You seem lik' a nice g'rl! I tell ya what. You take a step back behind these here hooses with me for a lille while and I'll see ye get fed and wattered and that me wife takes care of yee." The girl nodded her consent and Bernulf grabbed hold of her arm and began to drag her roughly behind the houses.
"I... I don't think thas a good idea," a timid voice came from behind Bernulf. By now his friends were long gone, stumbling home to there wives and kids. Bernulf turned and stared at the young man.
"You’ll do well to mind y'r own buisnuess!" Bernulf growled, clutching the young girls arm, possessively.
"I... I... I jus' wouldn't want your wife to find out is all," the taller man stuttered. Bernulf growled and punched the man, throwing him to the ground.
"Don't y' threaten my lad! You're nothing!" As Bernulf spat the last words out of his mouth like a bad taste the doors of one of the houses flew open.
"BERNULF," a shrill voice cried out. The stocky man winced and turned and began to stumble towards the house, his young prey forgotten for the moment. The girl gazed up in wonder at the giant man towering over her. She winced under his piercing gaze.
"I'm Richert," he said. "Who are you?"
"Elizibeth," the girl whispered. Richert smiled at her, a kind of lopsided smile.
"Well, 'izibeth, I'll take ya home to me ma and she'll give ya something ta eat and a werm bed for ta night," as he spoke he gestured for her to follow and started to move of down the street. Izibeth reached out and grabbed his arm.
"Their mus' be a way I can repay ya," she said. "If ya will jus' step behind this 'ere house with me for a sec I'll show you haw happy I am." She pulled on his arm but he stood firm.
"It's quite all right 'izibeth, I wouldn't want to do anything a good man shouldn't do."
"Oh please," 'izibeth pleaded, clinging to his arm. "If you do not let me kiss you I shall be very upset. Just a little kiss will be ok."
"No mame," Richert said, shaking his head. "I am a hones' man an I will n' kiss a girl who I am not close to."
"Just a little kiss," she pleaded. "How about if I kiss your neck, that should be fine."
Richert considered for a moment then nodded. 'Izibeth laughed and pulled him behind the houses. The next thing he knew he was clawing his way out of his grave, a new monster!
~*~*~*~
The last rays of the sunlight disappeared through the tiny crack at the bottom of the curtain. A set of piercing eyes watched it from the bed. Richert watched as shadows filled the last tiny strip of light. He had lain awake for the best part of the day, watching the slit grow and grow and then shrink and shrink. It was all he did most days now. 'Izibeth was lying next to him on the bed; her lips still caked with blood. Between them quaked a small child, bound so it couldn't escape. It lay in 'izibeths breast where she had let it fall when she was done eating. He looked at it with disdain then stood up. He dressed quickly as 'Izibeth stirred on the bed. He watched as she stretched the miserably child tumbling of her and onto the floor.
"Hello my love," she purred. He didn't respond, just finished pulling on his clothes. This life was starting to annoy him, this life of comparative luxury that 'izibeth preferred. They would find a nice isolated house with lots of kids and take it over. First they would kill the adults and gorge themselves then they would lock the kids up and eat them slowly, enjoying living in the comfortable houses while they still had the food supply.
"No life for a vampire," he muttered to himself. He finished dressing and turned to look at 'Izibeth. "Don't ya think it's about time we moved on love?" he asked. It disgusted him to see her like that. So lazy. He swore she was getting fat.
"Why would we want to do that?" she asked. "There are three children left. We could stay here for a week or so if we pace ourselves. And if anyone shows up, well then we can stay for even longer."
Richert sighed and went over and pulled open the curtains to stare out across the vegetable patch. It wasn't exactly an inspiring view and it only served to frustrate him more that he was sat here looking out at a veg patch instead of fighting and killing like he should be.
"It's not that love," he told her, infuriated. "I'm just burning for a bit of violence and unless I get some soon I think I'll go mad."
"But why my dear?" she asked, trying to understand. She had always sought to live as comfortably as possible. While she was alive things had always been hard for her and now they were so easy, she didn't see why he couldn't just be happy.
"Were vampires! Were meant to cause havoc and mayhem, to kill and maim, to strike fear in the hearts. Look at you love. It hurts me to see you like this. You're so damn lazy. Sometimes I think you've forgotten what it means to be a vampire!"
'Izibeth looked at him, her little nose wrinkling in confusion. Richert sighed and turned his back on her. He reached into his bag and pulled out a stake. 'Izibeth began to speak behind him.
"You know I didn't want to be a vampire Richert. I would have died if you hadn't found me that first night Richert. You always take care of me Richert. You HAVE to take care of me Richert!" She wined. On her last word Richert spun around and buried his stake in her heart. She looked up at him in total shock then quickly turned to dust. With a satisfied sigh Richert turned and grabbed his backpack. He made is way out the door and onto a new life.
~*~*~*~
Giles sighed and handed the customer her change, barely managing to keep his eyes open. He was so damn tired. He always seemed to be at the moment. He wanted nothing more then to go home and fall into bed.
Of course the dreams could have something to do with it. Lately he had been having some strange dreams, dreams of a beautiful woman in his room at night. He hadn't had such erotic dreams since Jenny had died. When he woke up he felt like he had actually been having sex.
It was, of course, impossible. His feelings were as unreal as the woman in his dreams. Sometimes he just wished that is was all real. This life bored him sometimes. It was so monotonous. He lived in a place he didn't particularly like, ran a shop he didn't care for and his only friends were teenagers who didn't care about anything he did, if he could even call them friends.
He knew he shouldn't complain. He was quite happy. He had Buffy back. She was like a daughter to him and he was so relieved about it but he still wished for something more. Someone who would accept him for him, slightly boring Englishman that he was. He sighed and looked up at the bunch of giggling teens that had just come through the door. No rest for the wicked.
~*~*~*~
The market was crowded. It often was on a Saturday. The market was crowded with people loudly shouting their wares. Tea from India, Pottery from China. The item causing the most fuss though was in the centre of the square. The trade in flesh had become a commonplace thing in recent years and often the centred market houses a young slave girl waiting to be bought.
Today it was Mr. Jonathan Edgar who had appeared very early, with the hopes of selling his daughter as a maid and getting a little money for her. His daughter was called Thelma. She was very tall and extraordinarily bright. When she was a girl her mother had asked an elder to educate her but when she passed all the boys he was educating he called her a devil and refused to teach her anymore. Her mother had tried hard to make her into a respectable wife, teaching her to knit and sew and cook, the deal was Thelma learnt all the ‘boring things’ if she got to go to school. Mrs. Edgar tried, she really did, but with her height and the way she would come out with blasphemous questions at mass such as ‘it is very well to say you should not steel but what if you were starving.” it soon became clear she would never be a wife.
That was how she came to be sat in the middle of the market square with her head on her knees watching the men stare at her. They all seemed glad to stare and laugh but none of them would do more then that to her which made her very mad. She deserved more. She was meant for something more she knew it.
“I’ll take her,” a voice came through the crowds. She looked up to see Chester Norten, one of the towns more influential businessmen standing over her. He was smirking.
“Of course Mr. Norten,” her father uttered, showing the man over to the side as they began to haggle. She lay her head on her shoulder; it was horrid that her father was selling her life as they spoke. As she glared she noticed a shadow move. Her forehead wrinkled as she concentrated on the shadow. IT moved again.
She watched as a figure wearing all black stepped out of the shadows just enough for her to see him. He was handsome in a strange way. He had a gaunt, pail face and messy hair. She watched him as he tipped his head to her then moved back into the shadow.
“It’s a deal then,” Norten shouted. A cheer went up from the men around, not the least of which came from her father. “There is just one thing,” Norten proclaimed. “That pesky wiggling tongue must come out!”
A loud cheer came up from around the yard. Two burly men grabbed her by the arms and dragged her over to where the blacksmith was warming his tongues. He grinned and put a knife in the fire instead. She began to scream as people around her yelled out things such as ‘That will stop your blasphemy’ and ‘About bloody time’.
The crowd threw her down at the smith’s feet and she tried to scramble away but she didn't make it. The smith lifted the knife from the fire and held it up to the light, a dangerous glint in his eye.
“HHHHHHEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPP,” she screamed. She moved her body, trying to throw the men of but it was no good.
“STOP,” A booming voice commanded quite suddenly from the side of the marketplace. Everyone looked and the handsome stranger had emerged again, half out of the shadows. “Leave her be.”
“It is none of your concern,” Norten told him, storming over to the stranger. “I bought her so I say what happens to her.”
“I will pay you twice what this man has,” the stranger proclaimed. The people around the square began to whisper. Edgar stepped forward eagerly but Norteon beat him to it.
“ I do not know who you think you are,” he exclaimed, “But I am the richest man in this town. I highly doubt you can outbid me.”
“I can outbid anyone,” the stranger replied. “I will give you this,” he lifted a fat purse, bulging with money, “for her.”
“Sold,” the father cried, leaping forward and taking the purse into his hands. He grinned and held the purse to his heart, crying out in joy. The people of the village released her and began to move away, there would be no action here.
The strange gestured to Thelma and she followed him into the darkness. He walked through the back streets of the town, always in shadow, until he reached the inn. He led her in then upstairs to his room.
“I have heard many things of you, I have heard you question god”
Thelma stuttered. She wished he had not heard of her. She wished he did not know of her nature, as he would surely kill her to rid the world of her evil. “Relax,” he whispered. “If does not offend me. I have been driven from every place I have laid my head for the same offence.”
She looked at him. He had removed his cloak but his hat was still pulled down over his face and he was facing away from her. Slowly she rose and crept up behind him. “Show me your face,” she demanded. He laughed and turned to her. His face was normal. Why should she have expected anything else? But for some strange reason she did.
“We are two of a kind though, you and I. We will be perfect together. “You see, my dear. Neither of us our normal. I have been seeking for a long time a woman with a mind who will be mine, now I have found her.”
Thelma’s brow crinkled again. He smiled then took her hand.
“Don't let it worry you,” he said. She reached out and lay her hand on his chest. She gasped and drew back she realised there was no heartbeat.
She looked up to his face and it was a daemon. She gasped and fell back onto the floor. He moved over her, straddling her.
“Don't worry,” he whispered. She watched as he opened his shirt and made a quick cut across his chest.
“Drink it,” he whispered. She looked up at him with her big, innocent eyes. “Drink.”
She lowered her lips to his chest and began to lap up the life giving blood. She moaned as the hot red liquid trickled down her throat, then he dug his fangs into her neck...
~*~*~*~
“Can't we just go home?” Spike moaned, traipsing after Buffy.
“No,” she told him. “I want to make sure Giles is in bed. He hasn't been sleeping.”
“Well, you don't need me for that,” Spike insisted, rounding the corner to Giles' house. They both froze at the head poking out of his bedroom window. They stood there in perfect silence as a woman emerged. Slowly, giant wings grew out of her back, and then she took flight and was gone.
“I think we have another problem,” Spike whispered.
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