Shared Legacies
By Soledad Cartwright
Disclamer: Most of the characters in this story belong to their respective creators. Only Sister Grace is mine.
Author's notes:
1. This is basically an Angel story, but in strong connection to Kindred: The Embraced and Poltergeist - The Legacy. There are also slight hints to other series, vampiric or not.
2. In the Angel/Buffy timeline this story is happening during season 2 in ''Angel'', near its end, where Joss and I went out different ways. In *my* universe, the whole Pylea storyline hasn't happened, and after 'Reunion' Spike became a frequent visitor in L.A., reconciliating with his Sire. He's started an afair with Willow after she'd broken up with Tara after ''Family''. Needless to say that the whole ''in-love-with-the-Slayer'' abnormity only happened in Buffy's narrow little mind.
3. Oz has switched from Sunnydale University to UCLA and is currently living in Doyle's old apartment.
4. The Primogens of the L.A. Kindred society - the ones who survived Cyrus' reign of terror, that is - have contacted Angel a short time ago and accepted him as inofficial Prince of the City. Angel works for Wesley now, but basically, he's more concerned with reconstructing normal Kindred social structure in his City.
5. Julian Luna, the Ventrue Prince of San Francisco, has sent his Childe, Sonny Toussaint, to Angel, in order to talk him about a possible alliance against the threatening Sabbat infestation in both cities. Luna still doesn't knowe that Angel, in fact, is his old friend, Liam Brennan.
6. Angel, in order to continue the treaty talks, has sent Spike to San Francisco. He also has to learn the Kindred ways and to search for Drusilla. Spike's living in the Luna Mansion as the Prince's guest.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Shared Legacies
By Soledad
Ian Cameron, Brujah primogen of San Francisco, was tingling, he was so livid. On the outside, the city was calm, but there was an underlying tension, and that was bad for business. No one really liked to invest in a city that was under threat of the Sabbat. His chief nemesis, the Prince had managed to keep their common enemies out of town, but the situation remained serious. Serious enough for the proud and haughty Julian Luna to consider a treaty with the Anarch leader of Los Angeles. The same Anarch leader, by the way, who'd killed the Brujah Prince of L.A., Cyrus, less than two years ago.
Cameron had never particularly cared for Cyrus. The Brujah Prince was greedy, brutal and ruthless - and had a pact with the Sabbat himself. Besides, he belonged to a different bloodline, being the Sire of Cameron's predecessor, one notorious Eddie Fiori, whose legacy of shadowy business and untrustworthy clansmen still haunted Cameron. Nevertheless, his untimely death weakened the Brujah position in the whole of California, and left Cameron without a single ally, no matter how untrustworthy.
Like everyone else in the city, Cameron had heard about the arrival of Angelus' ambassador. The Prince's own niece, Sasha, belonged to Clan Brujah, after all, and she had told her clansmen about all the trouble the irrepressible visitor caused in the usually well-oiled Luna household. Cameron enjoyed these stories. Everything that caused trouble the Prince, was a welcome asset to him.
So he was headed to the Haven tonight, since it was well known that, since he had arrived, the Anarch emissary had spent most of his time in Lillie's establishment. It was rumored that he wasn't able to Hunt on his own, due to some high-tech gizmo that had been put into his cranium by a secret government lab, so he had to get his blood bottled. Cameron could only guess what this had to mean for an Anarch, for an almost 130-years-old Master Vampire... and became increasingly curious of the visitor. Not wanting to wait for a formal introduction, he decided to 'accidentally' run into him at the Haven.
Arriving at the night club, he went straight to his usual booth with two of his most trusted bodyguards in tow. There was an unusually big crowd at the Raven tonight; Toreador mostly, but he also counted at least a dozen of his own clan and the usual Gangrel tables were occupied, too, all of them. There was even a scattering of Ventrue in the crowd. The mortal customers were clearly in minority. Everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of their possible ally, even more so because it was unusual for a Prince, especially one so conservative as Julian Luna, to make such a strange alliance.
''Can you see him?'' Cameron asked his youngest, most devoted whelp, a big, blond guy called Nicky. The fledgling looked around, then nodded. ''Yeah, he's sitting across the room with the Prince's Gangrel lapdog.'' Cameron looked in the said direction and detected, in fact, Luna's chief bodyguard and Gangrel Primogen - a short, muscular, brown-haired gypsy named Cash. The Gangrel seemed ill at ease with his companion. There weren't many people who managed to make Cash nervous. Intrigued, Cameron turned slightly to get a good look at the Anarch - and could hardly keep himself from gasping.
On the other side of Cash's table sat a medium-height, slender man, seemingly in his late twenties. He was dressed like a punk singer from the eightes: skin-tight black leather pants, laced boots, a blood-red silk skirt and a knee-long black leather duster. This outfit, such an obvious contrast with his aristocratically chiseled, beautiful features (with an emphasis on the killer cheekbones and the vibrant, ice-blue eyes) revealed that his lithe body was all slender bones and whipcord muscles. His bleached blond, almost white hair was short and slicked back, but his scarred eyebrows and long lashes were dark. A glowing cigarette hung from his lips and the nails of the long, elegant fingers that held the glass of blood wine, were painted black.
Cameron knew he was staring but he couldn't stop. As could be expected, the Anarch noticed his stare after a (rather short) while and looked over to him. Cameron saw him ask Cash a question and the Gangerel's angry grimace... then the Anarch rose gracefully and came over to him.
''I think we haven't met yet, mate'', he said in a deep, pleasant baritone and with an even more pleasant British accent. ''I'm called Spike.''
''Ian Cameron'', the Brujah primogen accepted the handshake and noticed absent-mindedly that the other's body temperature was considerably lower than his own... either it was a personal attribute or he needed to feed, and soon. ''I'm the Brujah primogen here.''
''So I heard'', the other nodded. ''Your important buddies don't seem to like you very much, you know.''
''The feeling is mutual'', Cameron growled. ''What do you want?''
''Well'', Spike grinned, making himself comfortable, without having been invited, ''anyone who manages to irritate those pompous asses I've been sent to, has already gathered some points by me.''
Cameron looked at him in surprise. Well, he should have thought that the conservative customs of the Luna household couldn't be very appealing for a clanless Anarch, but this guy... He sniffed discretely. The scent of his visitor was hard to analyze, due to his mixed heritage, but there definitely was a lot of Brujah in him. A great deal of Toreador, too, of course, and some faint remainder of his Tremere and Nosferatu ancestors as well, but above all a very strong Brujah presence. ''You're almost one of us'', he said in awe. Spike smiled. ''One third, actually, as far as I know. Is that a problem for you?'' ''Why should it be? I'm only surprised it isn't a problem for the *Prince*'', Cameron remarked smugly. Spike shrugged. ''I think my *heritage* isn't the real problem for him. It's my *person* he couldn't really accept. But I'm sure he's gonna getting along wonderfully with my big wanker of a Sire. They'll be able to sit together with worried faces and feel important all the time.''
For the first time in years - in fact, for the first time since the massacre in Manzanita - Cameron burst out in true, light-hearted laughter. The utter disrespect of this Anarch toward Luna's stiff customs was absolutely liberating. He had to make himself more familiar with this man.
''You definitely are the best thing that's happened to this city in decades'', he said, still chuckling. ''We're in desperate need of a fresh perspective, after having been bowing and kissing Luna's hand far so long. Maybe *this* city could benefit a lot from some Anarch influence as well.''
''I don't believe you would like to live in an open city like Los Angeles'', Spike replied, suddenly very serious. ''It's hard and brutal. Cyrus had extinguished half the undead population, including his own clansmen... the underbelly of the city is full of Sabbat packs and malevolent, man-eating demons... we're fighting for our lives on a daily basis, man. And I'm not even staying there permanently.''
''Where do you live, then?''
''Sunnydale. It belongs to Angelus' Domain... a small town, some two hours away, built on the Hellmouth itself.''
Cameron shivered. Of course, he'd heard about the Hellmouth (everyone had), and he also knew that Sunnydale was the Slayer's territory. Although the Slayer only knew about the Anarchs and the Sabbat, no Kindred Would ever have been safe from her if the Masquerade hadn't been protecting them.
''What are you doing there?'' he asked.
''Watching the Hellmouth for Angelus... and the Slayer'', Spike answered. ''We need her to keep the Sabbat under control... no one else has the abilities to fight them successfully. But we have to keep her away from the members of the Camarilla. She would never see the difference. Partly because she's been made to fight our kind for so long... and she's not too bright, either.''
''How come she's never tried to stake you?'' Cameron asked. ''I mean, you must be rather *visible* to able to do your duty.''
''Oh we've met'', Spike grimaced. ''We even fought a few times, when I still could fight humans. But I'm not a threat anymore'', he added bitterly. ''I'm a toothless vampire, lviing in an abandoned crypt. I'm not even able to *hurt* humans. It's her favourite pastime to pop up in my crypt and beat me up to bloody pulp every time and again.''
''And you let her?'' Cameron wondered. ''Why don't you just leave?''
Spike shook his head. ''I can't. Angelus wants me there, since he can't leave L.A. He's just accepted me again as his Childe, after having been apart for almost a century. I can't risk losing this again. It's all I have. Besides, I have a mortal lover in Sunnyhell. The Slayer would stake me if she knew, since the little witch is her best friend... but we've learnt how to keep out of her sight.''
''You could Embrace her"", Cameron suggested.
''No'', Spike said with a sad little smile. ''No, I can't. First, I've never made a Childe of my own in 130 years; I won't try my luck with her. Second, even if I did manage to bring her over, it wouldn't be *her* anymore. Our bloodline creates monsters: vicious, bloodthirsty monsters. The Beast, as you call it, is almost a separate entity in us. We call it our demon... I don't want a monster. I want the sweet, innocent girl I fell in love with.''
''It won't last long'', Cameron reminded him gently. ''Even if you don't consider the Masquerade... she'll want a normal life some day... a family... children...''
''I know'', Spike said. ''I don't demand any sort of commitment from her. It's beautiful as long as it lasts. After that, I'll be alone again.''
* * * * * * * * * * *
They were quiet for a few minutes, each of them contemplating lost loves in their lives. Spike's had to be a much longer list, Cameron thought, the Anarch was almost three times his age.
''I would never have thought for an Anarch to be in love with a mortal girl'', he said finally.
Spike shrugged. ''Maybe I'm getting sentimental at my old age. Sometimes, she reminds me of my mortal days... all the research work and academic activities... unhappy romantic affairs... the usual stuff... But I feel young again with her.''
''You were an academic?'' Cameron intrigued.
Spike nodded. ''Made my degree in Cambridge in 1818. Wrote my thesis on the culture and history of Ancient Carthage. Could have become a college professor, but, of course, I decided to become a poet instead... a very bad one. Do you know why they called me William the Bloody? Because of my bloody awful poetry. It didn't have to do anything with vampirism... not at that time, anyway.''
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Cameron glared at him in shock, his mind reeling. Unlike most of modern-time Brujah, he was one of the few who'd gotten the whole classic education... as a mortal and after his Embrace as well. ''Sweet Caine'', he whispered, ''is it possible? Could you possibly be?William Blake? *The* William Blake who'd practically rediscovered and reconstructed the culture of Ancient Carthage? The same one who wrote Cold Fire, The Fearful Summoning and the whole epic saga of Nine Suns?''
Spike glared back at him, equally shocked. ''How can you possibly know that? No one has ever read my real work. I wrote it in secret, aside from my bad salon poetry... most of it *after* I was turned. And I left it all in London, it was lost in the fire...''
''No it wasn't'', Cameron shook his head. ''It was rescued from the flames and kept and treasured by our Clan for more than a century. It's the only literary work considering our origins and we hold it in the Highest regard... well, the ones who still remember that our Clan used to be one of artists and philosophers before we became petty criminals, anyway. You're the most honoured historian?the most celebrated poet to our Elders. I never dreamed that you still existed, even less that I'd ever have the chance to meet you face to face...''
''Well'', Spike grinned uncomfortably, the admiration being a little too much for him,'' I hope you're not terribly disappointed. The man who wrote all those things has been gone for a long time. And I'd prefer if you kept this to yourself. Nobody knows about it, not even Angelus... in fact, I don't want him to learn about it.''
Cameron nodded. ''As you wish. But... should you wish to see your work again, I have a copy of it. Well, actually I have the original manuscripts, although I hardly ever touch them. Copies are just as good for studying and I wouldn't want to damage the originals.''
Spike lifted a scarred eyebrow. ''May I ask how you got your hands on them?'' ''I discovered them dusting in some obscure library in London and stole them'', Cameron answered honestly. ''The mortals had no idea what they neglected, and they didn't have any use for it, either. But for our Clan, it's the only part of our cultural heritage that still exists. I couldn't leave it there. Of course, I never risked entering that particular library again'', he added, grinning.
''What good does it do for you?'' Spike asked. ''You told me yourself, how low your Clan has sunk.''
''Oh, but I intend to crawl out of the valley some time, soon'', Cameron responded. ''Reclaiming our true identity is part of it. Nicky here, my youngest Childe, is the first one of the new Brood I intend to make. I made him read your work regularly; now he even does it without being beaten up first.''
They laughed. Nicky, actually a college student (history major), aside from being his Sire's bodyguard, added: ''The thesis is not so hard, despite the old-fashioned style, I'm used to that kind of stuff, after all. But the poetry... man, it's no wonder the mortals haven't been able to understand it. One really needs some Brujah blood to get the clues. Even so, it took me half a year to get connected. But that was worst of it.'' He looked down at the table, embarrassed. Being a scholar wasn't easily accepted in modern-day Brujah society.
Cameron stroked the blond locks of his whelp gently and kissed him on the cheek. ''You're doing well, Nicky. Don't let the others tease you. Now, I believe it's time to go Hunting.'' He looked at Spike. ''I feel the Thirst in you very strong. Would you honour us and share in our prey?''
In an instant, Spike had changed into his game face. ''I don't need charity'', he growled.
''And I don't offer any'', Cameron replied, a bit shocked to see him in his true form. ''I offer hospitality, since you're a guest in this city. Besides, we don't kill or damage our prey... surely you'll be able to feed on your own, once we've done the actual biting.''
Spike's expression softened, his face melted back to his usual, beautiful boy-disguise. ''Well, as tempting as the offer is... I would rather not. No offense intended.''
''None taken'', Cameron nodded in understanding. ''You don't want to become dependent on us. I respect that. You're almost one of us, after all. Don't think your mixed blood is what makes you violent. It's our Blood in you. Brujah are born in hatred, live in chaos, die in rage,'' he sighed. ''We cannot change our nature. Once we were the rebels, the free-thinkers, the risk-takers of the Kindred world. But - at least here on the West Coast - we seem to have become thugs and petty criminals, feeding the rage in our hearts like our lives depended on it. But I'm not ready to leave it that way. One day we'll find our lost greatness again. We have all the time to work for it.''
The End