Buffy

When I met Angel after Heaven, it was by the ocean.

I drove down to a beach south of LA, about an hour's drive from Sunnydale. My hands shook the entire way, and I kept wondering what we would say to each other. I hadn't seen him since the night on my mother's grave, when we prayed that the sun wouldn't bare its ugly yellow teeth, and I asked him for a forever he couldn't give. It seemed so long ago, and I didn't know if I still loved him.

But I was sure he had been in Heaven with me. I remember the peace and contentment of knowing I would be loved – always – and there was only one person who had ever given me that feeling before. I wondered if I should feel guilty for not knowing if I could love him – always – but decided that knowing I would belong to him for the rest of my life, was enough.

I could taste salt on my lips as I stepped out of the car and stared up at the stars. They shone bright as diamonds, and hung low, over a swollen moon. Its reflection made it look as if it was drowning beneath the waves. He wasn't there yet, and I kicked off my shoes, wandering down onto the sand. It was grainy and slightly soft, tickling my toes as I picked up a piece of seaweed and inhaled the scent of the ocean's outcast. The water was cold and I imagined weighting down my pants with rocks and, walking out, out, out, into an unforgiving blue.

“Buffy.”

So simple, just my name. Nothing, really. But I felt tears sting the back of my throat and cursed him for moving me with one word. I didn't turn at first, and felt his hands touch my shoulders. They were shaking, and cool, but they grasped my coat, as if he didn't believe I was real and needed tangible proof.

“Is it you?” he asked wonderingly, and I turned, knowing the glitter of the moon was playing over the sunshine of my hair, and that my skin was glistening with salt. I saw the fire in his eyes, and he tugged me towards him, kissing me with more passion than he'd allowed himself to feel since before the rain bred Angelus. His hands shaped my back, and I pressed closer, whimpering as his teeth bit my lip, and we both tasted blood. He kept kissing me, hot, open-mouthed kisses that stole my breath and made me gasp. His tongue felt sweet against my teeth, and I groaned as his palms stole under my shirt, their weight against my nipples heavy and welcome.

“God, no. No. No…I won't do this to you again. God, you're so beautiful.” It was all said in a rush. He pulled back, and pressed his forehead to mine. I leaned into him, spent and panting.

“I'm guessing…” I paused, and touched his cheek, “it was hard for you? Me being dead and all.”

He laughed hoarsely, against my mouth. His hands shook me, and he laughed more, his teeth so sharp against his soft mouth. “I could have killed myself,” he told me, trembling. “I could have killed you, for leaving me.”

“Now you know how I felt,” I whispered, and he flinched.

“That was cruel.”

“Maybe,” I agreed quietly. “But it's true.”

“Why can't I stop loving you?” he asked me huskily, and his knuckles passed over my eyelashes, down to my lower lip. “Can you tell me that?”

“Have you tried to?” my voice broke slightly, and I hated the weakness. Spinning around, I took a few steps into the sea and enjoyed the harshness of the waves on my ankles. They bit into my flesh and felt like Angel's words. “When I died? Did you think you could just forget me?”

His voice was blank. “Cordelia hoped I would.”

“I bet she missed me,” I returned sarcastically.

“She did, actually. She helped me get through it.”

“Bull shit,” I responded. “Cordy couldn't care less about me when I was alive, why would she care if I died?”

“Stop it,” he said coolly, but I continued.

“Why? Do her feelings mean more to you?”

There was silence for a moment and then he replied, “I don't know.”

“What?” For a moment I thought that I had lost my breath, and that I was going to choke. My chest caved in on itself, and I knelt down, the white foam of the water spilling onto my lips. So crazy, so crazy. And him caring for her was just.wrong. “What are you saying? Actually, wait, don't tell me. I don't want to know.”

His fingers came down, and he hauled me up, out of the spray.

“I'm not sure what I'm saying,” he shook his head. “But I still love you. Nothing's changed.”

“Everything's changed,” I felt sick, and stepped back. “Why can't you love me and be with me?”

“It's not that easy, Buffy.”

“Explain it to me,” I said. “I never asked you to when you left. I let you off without even a tantrum. I want to know. What in the fuck makes you think we could never work? That we couldn't be… *something* to each other?”

“We already are,” he reminded me, and I laughed.

“Right. It's so meaningful that I bet you didn't even feel it when I died.”

He winced, and I felt powerful all of a sudden. I knew him. Better than he knew me.

“Am I right?”

“No.”

“I'm not? Don't lie to me.”

He looked at me. “I didn't feel it.”

My eyes felt swollen. “I didn't think so.”

His hands touched mine. “What do you want, Buffy? Just tell me… what I can do.”

The waves were so dark. They lapped over my feet like black ink, and I stepped closer, flirting with the edge. I wondered suddenly if he cared at all. Or if he just wanted me to fill up my lungs with water so he could go back to Cordelia and their shiny happy life. I wondered if maybe he had hoped I would stay dead. “Would it have been easier if I hadn't come back?”

I heard his intake of unnecessary breath, even as I felt it, against my back. He moved up behind me and pulled me into him, as hard as he could. It felt good, and I moaned a little at the pain. His lips were cool fire on my neck. “I've burned for you for years, Buffy. And sometimes I wish you could go to Hell… just so you'd know what that feels like.”

“I am in Hell,” I whispered, and arched back against his chest. His hands moved down my belly, dipped between my thighs. “Oh God. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

His tongue slid over my pulse. “What do you want? Angelus to come back and rip you apart?”

“No.” The idea was tempting, but not like the idea of having him deep inside me. “I want *you* to rip me apart.”

“Are you asking me to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“Buffy—“

Tears filled my eyes, like little flames. Gasping a little, I turned around, pressing myself against him, until I could feel the leather biting into my skin. “I want it to be you. It has to be you.”

“No…” he tried to struggle away from me, but I held fast.

“Finish what you started before you left.”

“Stop it.”

“I can't,” I moaned. “Don't you see that about me? I can't stop wanting to die. I can't stop hating Willow for bringing me back. I can't stop looking at Dawn and wishing she had never come into my life. I can't stop wanting you. I just can't.”

His lips moved over mine and he uttered a defeated sigh. “I know what we can do.”

“What?”

He seemed to think for a moment, and then nodded, as if resigned. “We'll leave.”

I didn't understand, and shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

“We'll leave. In a few months. We'll get our business sorted out, and then we'll just… leave, Buffy.”

“Where would we go?” I asked wonderingly.

“Somewhere you can heal. Somewhere I can help people. Somewhere we can be together without… without the others breathing down our necks.”

“We can't have that here?” I inquired, already knowing the answer.

Angel looked down at me and smiled wryly. “Don't be stupid. We live our lives for them. They love us. But they don't know what we really want.”

“What do you really want?” I asked, not sure if I knew the answer to this question.

He stared in the direction of LA and then at me. His eyes didn't hold my reflection, and it was slightly disconcerting, even if I was used to it. “Just you. It's always been you.”

I stayed until Angel's coat began to smoke, and then he slid into his blacked out car, his hands faintly scorched. He kissed me, tasting of wood smoke and salt, and then he drove off into the dawn.

I didn't pray that he wouldn't back out on his promises.

I knew he wouldn't.

The afternoon passed before I drove for home, picking up chicken on the way. It didn't surprise me when dinner had already begun at my house. The others asked, but didn't want to know except to satisfy a morbid curiosity. Xander inquired later if they should be expecting Angelus anytime soon.

It made me laugh – he said it so flippantly – and didn't know that if Angel had been any less of a man, Angelus would have been having Xander for dinner that night.

I said I was all right, and fucked Spike in dirty alleys, and saved my friends time and time again, like I wanted to – like it was purpose.

I lived a lie for a year, and didn't feel guilty at all.

+ + +

“I look like a slut.”

Draco glances at me, as I bite my lip and edge to the side of the mirror, watching the way my body moves under the tight leather clothes and fishnet stockings.

His brow arches and he shrugs. “Shouldn't be much of a stretch for you.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter; tugging at the ends of the tight bodice, it's laces twining around my fingers. “Besides, it's like you're one to talk.”

“And that's supposed to mean what?” he asks me, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black pants, the fabric stretching taut over lean thighs.

“Nothing,” I pause and the corner of my mouth tilts upwards in a grin. “Just that I hear from certain people you're claiming the prize for the biggest man whore of the year.”

His eyes glint for a moment. “Jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous?”

“Isn't it obvious? You're stuck in a boring, sex-less relationship.” Running his fingers over a silk shirt hung over the back of the dressing room chair, he finally leans against the cream coloured wall, his eyebrows lifting. “Must be… frustrating.”

“How do you know we're not having sex?” I snap, turning around to glare at him.

“You're wound tighter than a spring,” he observes mockingly. “Whichever way I look at it, I can't help coming to the conclusion that you're not getting shagged regularly.”

“Shagged?” I repeat, in disbelief. “Have I wandered into an Austin Powers movie?”

His slightly pointy teeth show as he grins slowly. “You're not answering my question.”

“I didn't know there was one,” I deflect, unlacing the back of the corseted bodice. “But if it's about my sex-life, no comment.”

“No comment because it's non-existent?” he inquires, taking a step closer and brushing my fingers aside. His palms press briefly against the warm flesh of my upper back as he begins to deftly unlace me from the restrictive top. “I get it.”

“You get what?” I mutter, a little dizzy at the feel of his hands. Hot and stinging, they trail over my elbows before falling once more by his sides. “Because I don't remember telling you that there wasn't a sex life, in my… uh, life.”

“Sure Buffy,” he soothes condescendingly. “Denial's a wonderful place. Send me a postcard, would you? Preferably one with palm trees and naked women.”

“Get out, get out, get out,” I snarl, turning him around and pushing him through the curtain to the waiting area, a smirk playing on my red lips. “I swear I don't know why I take your shit.”

His voice is muffled. “Because I'm so terribly gorgeous?”

“Somehow I don't think that's it,” I reply scathingly and peel of the leather garments. “So, what's going on with Ginny?”

There's silence for a moment, and then he answers blankly, “What d'you mean?”

“I *mean*, what's going on with her? I sort of thought there was something between you two.”

“No,” he says shortly. “There isn't.”

“There isn't- or there isn't anymore?”

Draco makes an exasperated sound deep in his throat and I can almost hear him shrug. “Who gets love, anyway? I don't need it. Like or hate- or just plain indifference… those are emotions I can understand. Love's messy.”

“I can agree with that.”

“Oh, you and Angel, huh?”

“Not just us,” I sigh and laugh a little. “Well, yes… mostly us. It's been pretty--- intense.”

“Yeah, you two died for each other and stuff?” Draco sums it up casually.

I walk out of the dressing room, facing him squarely. “And who in the *fuck* told you that?”

“Hermione,” he answers calmly and arches a platinum brow. “Nice bra. I like purple.”

“Oh fuck off,” I growl. “What happened between Angel and I is none of your business. I don't know what Hermione was thinking… telling you.”

“She was probably thinking that it's not sacred.”

“Did I say it was?”

“No, but your incredibly snotty tone of voice did,” he responds and regards me without rancour. “Christ, you really take it all seriously, don't you?”

“Take *what* seriously?” I answer stiffly, and he chuckles low, taking a step towards me.

“Life. Yourself. Everything.” Hesitating a moment, he runs a finger down my arm, to where the veins disappear in the fold of my elbow. I shiver and our eyes lock. “You shouldn't. It's too short.”

“Life? That's a huge amount of cliché in a little sentence.”

“Doesn't make it any less true, does it?”

“Draco…” I trail off helplessly and shake my head. “I better get dressed.”

“Don't on my account,” he slants me a grin and reaches inside the dressing room for the leather clothes. “I'll go pay. Shall we charge it to the Council?”

“Oooh… we get a charge account?”

He rolls his eyes heavenward and taps my nose. “Should've known that'd get you excited. Guess what Angel can't do, free clothes can, huh?”

“I depend more on slaying for that, actually,” I reply without thinking and he smirks.

“For *what*?”

“Draco… I want you to stop being a perverted freak and go pay for our skanky clothes, got it?”

“Got it.”

~

The candle flame flickers underneath my fingertips and the stars burn like cold fire in the bowl of night above Angel and me. Wrapping myself more securely in the wool blanket I brought up to the roof, I watch him stretch as he lies back on one of the loungers we keep up here. The flex of his muscles is beautiful underneath the thick black of his sweater, and my breath hitches slightly.

“What did you do today?” I ask him, and he shrugs.

“Went shopping for weapons with Harry and Spike. Probably not as exciting as anything you did.”

“I went shopping to. For some slutty clothes.”

His mouth quirks as if he's going to smile. “Did you find any?”

I nod perkily. “Lots of leather. You'll like.”

“I always like you,” he responds huskily. “Who went with you? Hermione?”

“You know Draco tagged along. Why the question?”

“I don't like him,” he answers, without inflection. “But I think you do.”

“He's all right. If you like ice queens.”

“Buffy.”

“What?” I ask, irritated. “Can we not have this conversation? Draco's not even an issue with me. I'd like it if he weren't with you, either.”

“Who said he was?”

“Subtle,” I mock gently. “You think after six years I can't see the tell-tale signs of jealousy? I don't even like Draco. He's annoying. And *way* too into his looks for my taste.”

“You think I can't see the tell-tell signs of a lady who's protesting too much?” he counters wryly, and I sigh, flopping onto my back and staring up at the stars. The night air rushes against my face, cool and sweet, and I shiver, snuggling deeper into my blankets.

“Would it work if I just told you to 'fuck off'?” I inquire finally, the corner of my mouth twisting.

He glances at me. “Has it ever worked?”

Giggling, I wriggle my feet and pull at the hem of my pajama pants. “Hardly ever. God, I'm starving.”

“Want me to get you some food?”

“In a bit,” I whisper. “Stay with me awhile.”

“Always,” he replies softly, and sits back again, his eyes shifting to the night sky.

“Where's Dawnie gonna sleep tonight? Or more importantly, where's Spike going to park his ass? I don't want him within ten feet of her.”

“Well I don't want him within ten feet of *you*, so that works. I thought Dawn could sleep with you. I'll bunk out on the couch. Spike can take the floor.”

“Are you trying to escape?”

“From what?”

“Me. Angel, we never sleep apart.”

“Don't, Buffy.”

“Why not? Are we going to talk about it?”

“I don't want to.”

“So that means we just forget about it? Since when are you the boss of this relationship?”

“We're not *in* a relationship, Buffy,” he says coolly, and my belly twists as if he's punched me in the solar plexus.

Suddenly the wool blankets are too hot and itchy and I push the weight of them off me, sitting up and staring at him. “How can you say that to me?”

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, not looking at me. “But it's true. This isn't a relationship.”

“Oh what is it then?” I shout angrily. “A 'freak-show'? Is this High-School all over again? What are you going to do, leave? Head for LA? Run away because you're so scared of what's between us?”

“Shut up, Buffy,” he intones harshly, and stands, walking to the edge of the roof and staring out at the glitter of the City. “You don't know the first thing about what I was feeling then. Nor did you ever try and find out.”

“Fuck you!” I cry, and he whirls around, catching me off guard.

“That would fix everything wouldn't it? If we could just…” his voice trails off, and his eyes roam hungrily over me.

“If we could just what, Angel? Fuck?”

“Yes,” he answers flatly, and shakes his head. “Want me to deny it? Say that I don't want to push up your skirt and fuck you so hard that you scream?” His voice gets softer and he takes a step toward me. “Do you want me to pretend that I don't wish I could make love to you every morning when you're warm and flushed from sleep? That you don't look so beautiful right now that I could kill you for making me feel this way?”

I'm shaking and I sit down, trying to ignore the hot wetness I can feel on my inner thighs. “Stop it.”

“I can smell you,” Angel whispers and my stomach clenches. “You don't want me to stop.”

“Maybe not,” I answer tightly. “But a visit from Angelus isn't exactly on my wish list, either.”

“I'm sorry,” he says so softly I can barely hear him. “It just gets so— you tear me apart, Buffy.”

Shaken, I step closer. “I'm sorry too. I won't push anymore.”

His mouth twists in a glimmer of a smile. “That's what you do.”

“I guess it is,” I reply. “But it can't be easy to live with.”

“Oh I don't know,” he counters. “It can be very entertaining.”

I grin. “I should be insulted. My quirks are not supposed to be fodder for public entertainment.”

“Only my own, love,” he answers. “Besides, what would I do if I didn't have you to make me laugh?”

“Oh I think you'd be fine,” I say, sitting down on his lounger beside him. He curls an arm around me and I lean close, my head falling onto his shoulder. “You do more for me than I could ever do for you.”

“That's not true,” he softly denies.

“It is true,” I counter just as quietly. “You took me away from Sunnydale when I thought I was going to go crazy. You looked after Dawn with me for almost five years. You love me Angel. Unconditionally. That's something I've never been able to find anywhere else.”

He presses a kiss to my brow. “And you'll never have to.”

I smile. “I know. I know you.”

He smiles too, briefly. “You're the only one who does.”

“What about—“ I pause for a painful moment and then speak, “what about Cordelia? And Gunn, Wesley—Connor?”

“What about them?” he asks; a blank tone to his voice.

“We never talk about it. But they're still there. Every day—and I know you think about them.”

“Of course I do,” he chides gently. “They were my family.”

“And what happened?”

“You needed me.” His hand strokes up and down my arm, lightly tickling the hairs by the fold of my elbow. “You needed me and I took you away. That's what happened.”

“Can I help it if I feel guilty, sometimes?” I inquire. “For being the one who needed you? Who took you from your family—because Angel—“

He cuts me off. “You and Dawn are my family now. You're the only ones who matter, Buffy.”

“Don't say that… when I know it's not true,” I correct him without rancour. “You – I think sometimes that you might have loved Cordelia and I just wish I hadn't taken you away from that. From a second chance at happiness.”

He sighs. “Buffy—“

“And I know you say that Dawn and I are your family, but how can that be enough… when you had so much more in LA?”

“So much *more*?” he replies with a hint of incredulity. “Buffy… I didn't have you. How could I have a life—any real kind of life, without you? I don't think you've ever understood how much I love you.”

“I know, you're big with the Buffy love, but—“

“No.” He lays a gentle finger over my lips, stilling their movement and my flippant words. “No. I can't let you make what I feel for you into a joke. There's never been anyone else for me. You think you took me from a happy life in LA. You think you ruined something that might have been happening with Cordy--- but Buffy…” he looks helpless for a moment and then cups my cheeks with his palms, “I would walk through fire to get to you. Never doubt that.”

Tears sting my eyes. “I don't.” A thought occurs to me. “But you know you'd be eviscerated, right?”

He looks at me wryly. “The general feeling of 'I'd die for you' didn't come through in that speech, huh?”

I laugh through my sniffles. “Sorry, sorry. It did.”

Tenderly, he kisses me and it's heavy and sweet. We sit out long into the night, watching the stars fall.

+

Hermione sits quietly on my bed as I lace up my black leather boots. Her hands knot together as she glances vaguely to her left, towards the falling rain outside.

“What's the matter?” I finally ask her bluntly.

Startled, her gaze shoots up to me. “What ever makes you ask that?”

“Oh, I don't know,” I drawl, tugging on a sheer, black lacy top over my bra. “Maybe the fact that you're so tense it looks like you're ready to bolt at a moment's notice?”

She relaxes ruefully. “It's that noticeable?”

“Couldn't be more,” I respond succinctly. “So what's the what? Boy troubles?”

She laughs shortly. “If only it were still that. Do you ever… well, do you ever get the feeling that someone has already left your life—but you're just too daft to realize it?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Are we talking about Harry here?”

“Its so bloody stupid,” she says witheringly. “We… we're having problems, you see. Now he's… well, he's gone somewhere. I'm not sure if he's coming back.”

“Where'd he go?” I ask absently, slicking red lipstick on my mouth. “Ron's?”

Her lips twist. “That's the hitch in the normal fight, Buffy. I have no idea where he went.”

Spinning around, I gape at her. “*You* don't know where Harry is? That's like… that's like me not knowing—“

“Where Angel is, I know,” she agrees. “I'm a little scared, I admit. It seems as if he—well, as if he's set on it.”

“Set on what?” I question softly.

“Set on being anywhere that isn't with me,” she answers, clearing her throat. “Enough about that. Look at you. Very trampy.”

“Well at least that's going to plan,” I say brightly. “I'm supposed to look like a whore.”

“And you do. A very expensive one, at that,” a voice says from the doorway.

“Bugger off, Malfoy,” Hermione replies automatically.

“So touchy, Granger,” Draco smirks. “While we're not on the subject at all, where's the lapdog today?”

“Get gone, Draco,” I growl at him. “Or I swear to God I will rip out your intestines and make you eat them. Is that clear?”

“Christ, I was just trying to have a little fun,” he sneers. “Or is that a dirty word around here?”

“With Buffy it is,” Dawn laughs, walking in the room. “When I was younger she'd never let me have any fun. 'Oooh you might get eaten by a vampire!' was the usual excuse for keeping me inside.”

“I see how that's not a valid reason for keeping you near me,” I mutter wryly. “You're looking nice and slutty. Purple lipstick?”

“Check.” Pulling it out of her pocket, she begins to apply it carefully, its violet tone matching the indigo smudges underneath her eyes. “So what's going on in here? Group meeting before the big showdown with the Judge? Where's Angel?”

“Getting weapons,” I answer. “We're just talking. Speaking of, I need to pow-wow with Dawn in private. Could you guys motor and leave us alone for a bit?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione stands, smoothing her navy blue skirt with one, shaking hand. “I should perfect the spell one more time, just to make sure.”

“Would this be the *thousandth time you've gone over it, Granger, or the hundredth thousandth?” Draco begins to banter with her as she ushers him out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“I think they actually like each other,” Dawn muses. “You know, if you take away all the mind-numbing hatred, I think there's affection buried somewhere.”

I smile at her tenderly. “If it is, it's buried deep.”

“Six feet under,” she concurs. “So what's the dire? You have serious face.”

“I just want to make sure you're ready for this.”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“It's a big job. I don't know how long we'll be there—what we'll see. And Spike…”

“What about Spike?” she snaps defensively.

Taken aback, I stare at her for a moment. “Dawnie… do you have feelings for him?”

“Would it be a problem if I did?” she asks, her eyes glued to the floor where her toes are making nervous circles in the cream coloured rug.

I tell myself that it's not as if she remembers the cold tiles of the bathroom floor biting into her back. It's not as if she can recall the sting of his fingers clawing at her breasts or the sharp heat of his mouth on hers. All she can see is the soul.

“I wouldn't be one to talk,” I respond carefully. “But Spike… it's not the same situation as with Angel and Angelus. I mean… I don't think there's the same difference between them.”

“How do you know?” she replies, her tone prickly.

“I feel it.”

“This is about you and Spike, isn't it?” Dawn asks, her teeth showing as she bites her bottom lip. “This is about you being jealous!”

“Jealous?” I splutter. “I can't even begin to tell you how much that's *not* it.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and our eyes lock. “Isn't it? You just can't stand not having all the guys in love with you!”

“You haven't changed at all, have you?” I inquire wearily. “If you had, you would see that what Angel and I have, what we've always had…it just doesn't leave room for other people—“

“Exactly!” she cries. “It has *never* left room for anyone else! Not Spike and certainly not me! I want something of my own now. Something that's mine.”

“Dawnie…” I whisper. “You can't be serious. I brought you with us. I looked after you-- *Angel* looked after you. For years. And you can say that I don't care about you?” My voice breaks. “That I don't love you… with everything that's in me?”

Her eyes shimmer with tears. “I'm… never mind. We have to go.”

“Dawn—“

“We have to go,” she snarls, pushing my arm away. “I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“My God,” I mutter, exasperated. I watch as she leaves, her sweet perfume hanging in the air long after her absence.

+

We stand by the entrance to the mansion, between two stone columns, an odd group by anyone's standards. Draco and Ginny beside each other, but not speaking or touching. I watch Spike and Dawn covertly out of the corner of my eye and stand beside Angel, the velvet of his raven black shirt heavy underneath my worrying fingers.

“Love the leather,” I whisper absently.

He looks down at me, a half smile playing on his lips. “Angelus always wears leather.”

“He's such a girly boy. Is it leather imported from Italy?” I reply teasingly.

“Only the best,” he remarks in a mocking tone.

“Why are we making with the funny?” I ask him quietly. “You know if they don't like us… that's it.”

“We're fair game,” he consents. “But our pedigree is pretty impressive by vampire standards, Buffy. You have to remember… Angelus was very famous. So was William the Bloody.”

“And now that you have a turned Slayer and her sister, not to mention a few vamped wizards on your hands…”

“Right. Piece of cake.”

My stomach rumbles. “Cake…”

“Think of that when you're drinking the blood,” he advises. “Pretend it tastes like… chocolate. Or ice cream.”

“Or peanut butter and chocolate,” I comment dreamily. “Great, I'm starving, and all they have here is McPlasmas.”

“They serve food as well,” he grins down at me. “Some of their servants are human.”

“And they let them live?”

He shakes his head. “I don't get it either. But apparently Perdita enjoys keeping humans around. Maybe because it keeps everyone hungry?”

I shudder. “Yuck. Scary mental image. I wonder… I wonder what Perdita's like. Sounds like a freaky bitch.”

“She is,” Spike mentions from beside us, obviously eavesdropping. “Bloody scary, that one—“

The main door opens and a woman steps out. Vampire, I immediately smell.

“We have kept you waiting,” she states without inflection, her tones cool. “And you are still here. That is a welcome change from the last group who attempted to join the Camarilla.”

“We're extremely dedicated to the cause,” Spike leers at her. “But then, you knew that, didn't you, luv?”

She lifts one rail thin hand and trails it down his cheek. “William the Bloody?”

“My reputation precedes me?!” Spike cackles.

Her hand suddenly snaps down on his neck and she yanks him a foot off the ground, ignoring his jerking legs and dangling feet. “You will *never* address me in that manner again. I am Perdita, Matriarch of the Clan… and I will be treated as befits my station. Is this perfectly clear to you, William?”

“Spike,” he gurgles. “It's Spike.”

“William?” she asks again, her eyes glowing red for a quick moment.

“We apologize for him,” Angel sneers, his face suddenly transformed. I feel my stomach lurch sickly. Little flashes of a past I thought I had put away forever. “Doesn't know when to shut his mouth, do you William?”

“Never did,” I put in, keeping my voice smooth.

Without releasing her hold on Spike, Perdita turns to us. “Ah, Angelus,” she greets him with something close to respect. “We were surprised, of course, at your return. We had heard rumours of a soul?”

“Rumours *are* nasty things,” Angel whispers, as if he's telling her a naughty secret. “I would've thought they'd be beneath *your* notice, Perdita. After all… lowly creature such as myself—high Priestess like you—“

“Do not flatter me, Angelus. It does not suit you,” she cuts him off briskly. “Is this your lover? The turned Slayer?”

“Rude of me,” Angel grins. “This *is* my most prized possession, Buffy. Turned her myself. Buffy, this is Perdita. I told you about her, right? We go *way* back.”

“Not that far back,” Perdita says sharply. “It is an honour to have you here, Buffy. A turned Slayer is a most powerful creature. Hopefully you can be a key in helping us to attain our goals.”

“Wouldn't think of doing anything less,” I remark easily. “I've always been a team player.”

Glancing at me strangely, she nods, finally setting Spike on his feet. Looking a little ashen, he sways a bit, rubbing his sore throat. Without greeting the other three members of our party, she commands; “Come, then. It is time.”

“Time for what?” Ginny asks nervously.

Perdita smiles and I recoil immediately.

“It is time for you to go before Summer.”

To be Continued...

Next Chapter: The gang go through the trials to enter the Camarilla. Dawn meets Alessandro and overhears a telling conversation between Draco and Ginny. Dawn and Spike fall into an uneasy relationship.