CoF - Zahir - From Childhood's Hour

Despite her best efforts, Lilah was nearly late for work. She loathed accidental lateness, and even almost being so irritated. Yet for some reason waking up this morning had been...difficult. Why she had no idea. True, once the coffee had worn off she'd felt comlete exhaustion. And the hotel room arranged by the firm had proven quite comfortable. Yet still, she felt tired. Out of sorts.

Maybe because she knew her dreams had been good ones, but could remember not one detail?

Whatever the reason, she headed for her office without hesitation. Gavin Park, unfortunately, shared the elevator with her.

"Because seeing your hair turn white wouldn't be fun enough to be worth filling out the paperwork."

Not her best jibe, but far from her worst. At least he didn't have anything to say in reply. One problem with working in the Special Projects Division--the snakes whose heads she routinely had to put underfoot. Good practice? Almost certainly. But a pain.

Weirdly, she had the sense that Park had somehow been in last night's dream. Details remained vague, all but invisible, but that one at least bubbled up. So much for having a pleasant dream.

Yet it still seemed pleasant. Even...fun. Maybe she got to kill him? Slowly? With lots and lots of pain involved? That sounded far more likely.

Voice mail held a message from Holland Manners, complimenting her on finding the first real clues to recovering Billy Blim. And reminding her she was slated for the welcoming committee tonight. Right, the Vocah was arriving. The way she felt, that meant coffee. Lilah rang for it, then dug into the reports from her "IN" basket. Routine stuff, mostly--lawsuits to instigate, funds to siphon off, loved ones to bribe and/or harrass into forgetting all about that family disappearing soon after growing eyes in the back of their heads. Same old, same old. No, wait--a list of witnesses against a former priest. Lilah recalled having heard about him, something concerning children under his care and a black mass. These must be the children, all grown up. What did this have to do with her? Unless it had been a genuine black mass? Re-reading the memo, she looked for the telltale (to her) clues which would justify bringing Special Projects in. Mysterious disappearances at the time? No. Animal mutilations? Once again, no. Was the priest in question on the firm's list of "atypical specialists" (code for demon or magic user)? Not even close.

Oh, right. The witnesses--there were four of them. Perfect. She initialled her copy and sent it back, noting the timetable. Yes, they'd all be in Drusilla's clutches with plenty of time to spare. The Vocah wouldn't have that at least to complain about.

Whether Drusilla would do as asked was another question. On the face of it, there was no sane reason for her to refuse. Wolfram and Hart had provided her with an extraordinarily secure lair, hidden evidence of her excesses, aided her in a dozen little ways--the full reasons why Lilah didn't know but this particular task was simple beyond words. No rational reason for her to refuse.

He was driving as fast as he could, which in the streets of Los Angeles was a lot slower than he'd've preferred. Fortunately, rush hour was over. Hence the movement of traffic resembled actual movement.

"He managed to hurt Faith. I pretty sure her ankle is broken, now. So that one-eyed girl--she is a vampire too, isn't she?" Anne's look from the passenger seat was frankly curious, on several levels.

"Huh." That single syllable held several dozen questions at least, but she didn't ask them. For now. "Tara left Willow with me and went to help. I didn't see the entire fight, but it evidently didn't go too well. When we got there, James was standing on top of her, sword in hand and getting ready to cut off her head. Faith was against the wall, barely moving."

Anne paused. "Willow said something. Latin, I think. Anyway, she shot lightning out of her hands. Green lightning." More questions unasked.

"Oh yeah. He screamed. Loud. Then he fell over. Of course, then he got up again, but not too fast and after another blast he got up even slower. Until finally...he just turned to ashes."

"So I noticed." Wesley remembered that Anne had encountered vampires back in Sunnydale, or so Faith had said. So she didn't need much adjustment to the existence of the supernatural. Fortunate. "I'm afraid our progress wasn't very fast because of Faith's and Willow's injuries. Besides, we did need to stay underground."

"Just remembered seeing it," she answered with a shrug. "I hope it was alright leaving them there alone?"

Wesley paused for a moment. How much to tell, after all? On the other hand, this young woman had already done so much, risked so much. Rules from the Council on the other side of the world still held sway over him. They emphasized secrecy, sharing lores and knowledges only after rigorous criteria had been met. Yet the designers of those rules weren't here, now. "Vampires," he found himself saying, "are a species of demon. As predators, they have the instincts of hunters, and human beings are their natural prey. Given that the process of creating a vampire also casts out the soul of the human so transformed, the resulting creature is...well..."

"As I said, an unusual case." He paused, finding just the right words. "You said it yourself," he began, "when you mentioned serial killers--humans, every one. With souls. Most people aren't psychopaths, though. Those who are can be termed anamolies, rare exceptions to the rule."

"Statistically, they are, actually. When you consider that there are over five billion human beings on earth, then even a million Jack the Rippers running around come out to less than a tenth of one percent. I find that rather heartening, actually. Or at least I try to."

"Ah." Damn. "Well. Hmm. Just as the vast majority of humans are not monsters, so the vast majority of...monsters...are not humane. Some, however..."

Wesley made a gesture halfway between a sigh and a shrug. "Because. They. Are. Rare."

Anne thought about that for a good long moment. Then nodded. She said nothing for a long time, then out of the blue as it were, asked "Did you know Faith has a death wish?"

Faith watched Tara through half-open eyes. It helped get through the shrieking pain in her ankle. Besides, the vampire was nice enough to look at. Wasn't she?

"I'm going to do a quick survey of the hotel," she said, kneeling so as to be eye-to-eye with both Red and Faith herself. They were fimly planted on the circular sofa in the lobby of the abandoned hotel. Dust was everywhere and getting the two injured ones to the sofa had stirred up plenty of small clouds. They hadn't quite settled yet.

"Good idea," Red agreed. Well, she always did, didn't she? With Bee, now with Tara. Okay, its not like that wasn't a good idea and all but how either of them could stand it was beyong Faith.

Stand. Bad idea to think about standing. To stand you used legs and thinking of legs...HURT. Against her will, Faith let out a groan, and it echoed in the empty lobby. She stifled the sound, barely. Coolness--Tara's hand--touched hers. Good. Good--another focus away from the pain.

"Anne will bring Wesley." Tara's voice--a welcome distraction from the pain. "He'll bring medicine, and take you to a doctor."

"Yeah," even to herself Faith's voice sounded worn, gasping, "well, don't you be getting any ideas." She took a gulp of air. "Slayer healing, remember? No free meal here."

With a brief kiss for Red, Tara stood up and started doing her sweep. Faith watched her head up the staircase. Soon, she was out of sight.

"Your girlfriend--she's alright." Why she bothered saying that Faith didn't know. But Red smiled--and goddamn but that hurt to see.

Blessed--or cursed--silence for a few more moments. The pain in her leg throbbed, like a great big pulsing hammer on her nerves. No. Not a hammer. The pain was much more like a buzzsaw, what with the constant shredding of the nerve ends, so fast and so close together Faith could barely tell there was more than a single pain. But there was--an endless stream of tiny piercing pains, adding up to a gigantic screaming agony. Not that Faith would let herself scream.

The Thing didn't have a name. Its kind never did. For a time It had never thought to measure (but vaguely knew that it consisted of many human lifetimes), the Thing had slid between the textures and shapes of this place. Its place. Claimed because It had come here, had fed here, then fed again.

In time the Humans (the Thing liked Humans very much--their minds were so juicy and rich) had put something here. They called it a hotel. A marvelous thing, this hotel. More and more Humans kept coming to the hotel. A variety, spicy and rich with the all the flavors of different fears, different hatreds. Plus the paranoias--that was best of all. The Thing reached its tendrils into their souls, feeding on the private little terrors that made them weep. Most were tired. All the better. Most, too, has come from somewhere else, somewhere familiar. Which meant the hotel was unfamiliar. Delicious how uncertainty added to the flavor!

More and more people went in and out of the hotel. It whispered to them, repeating the fears and hatreds already sprouting in their souls. Words nurtured them, made them grow. Eventually, it was harvest time.

But there were always more humans. Certainly their numbers sometimes drifted down for awhile, but more always showed up eventually. Like now--these three. A fourth had left, but It believed that one would return. Meanwhile, these three looked yummy. One was rather like the Thing--similar enough that the Thing recognized seeing its kind before. To It, this type of demon could not hide her nature.

Dripping from the other two was juicy pain. The Thing lapped at that pain, drinking it. Good, soooo good! A bit strong for a steady diet, but a very nice treat now and again. More, these two had plenty of other luscious things inside them. Both were in mourning. Yummy. Both had deep-seated insecurities, fears about their own worth, doubts about love and their futures. The Thing wrapped its tendrils around their souls, began happily suckling at the fears It found. Humans! Just about the best food you could find!

Willow found herself thinking about vampires. Not odd in and of itself--she'd been fighting vampires since high school and now was in love with one. Okay, that was odd. More than odd, in fact. Most people would likely think it bizarre.

Even though Tara had helped how many times? Had even saved the world? Yet that had really only ever gotten her tolerance from Willow's friends.

Faith opened her eyes. She looked like she was recovering from the worst hangover in history. Pale. Dark circles under eyes that showed too much white. "What did you say, Red?" She said it so low Willow could barely hear.

The glare she got was pretty low-power as glares go. Still, Willow had no trouble recognizing it as a glare. "I didn't say jack."

Willow fell silent. Faith had said something, she was sure of it. Something not nice. About Tara. Willow supposed that was pretty much inevitable since Faith was a Slayer. Killing vampires was what she did, after all. And to be honest, that was almost always a good thing. Like that time Spike had kidnapped Willow to get her to cast a spell on Drusilla. It was a massively good thing that Faith had found and staked the Billy Idol wannabe even if he was a lot older than Billy Idol so it really should be the rock star who was a Spike Wannabe. But the point was--Faith had killed him. And a good thing, too!

Even if that had meant hours and hours before anyone found Willow. Which in turn meant the whole vibe between her and Xander--also a captive--reached the point where there was kissage at exactly the wrong time. That led to the whole Anya-granting-wishes followed by the Vamp version of Willow herself showing up and all the trouble that came from that.

Should she? No! Certainly not! Well, probably not. But that just goes to show that even when killing evil bad vampires there can be unexpected consequences, bad consequences. So she really shouldn't be thinking all stakey-like about Tara!

"I dunno, Red." Faith still hadn't opened her eyes. "Could you just be quiet right now? I'm...not up to talk."

"Okay." But she started it. Willow almost said as much, but thought better at the last moment. Instead, she sat there thinking. About things. About vampires, and how Tara was different from the others. But also how she was like them, too. She still lived on blood, for one thing. Willow herself bore several tiny scars to show that fact. Of course, Tara didn't feed from Willow often. Usually she simply drank animal blood the way Angel had before he...well, before. At least Willow assumed she drank animal blood. In fact, she coudn't recall seeing Tara do so--although in the heat of battle she'd certainly seen her lover sink fangs into enemies who happened to be human. Yet even before she and Tara had become...close...the blonde vampire had mentioned how she didn't kill her donors, as she called them.

Usually. She certainly killed Harmony. It still bothered Willow to think she'd shared a girlfriend with Harmony of all people. And later, she'd also killed Michelle. Plus Tara had mentioned a first kill, not going into any details save how wonderfull it had been. Oh. This was an icky line of thought.

That Tara was good! Okay, maybe she did some not-so-good stuff in the past but she doesn't do that anymore, hasn't for a long time, and she only helped save the world! That counted for something, didn't it?

Lilah found Drusilla's lair curiously reassuring for this visit. True, a part of her was screaming all sorts of warnings, mostly about how visiting lunatic demons who drink blood couldn't really be a good idea. Lilah didn't listen to that part of herself too often, though. If she did, she certainly wouldn't have this job, or a salary like the one she did, or anything like the power she now wielded.

Today, Drusilla was having a tea party. Over a dozen dolls (blindfolded for some reason) sat around a table, mismatched tea cups before them. Drusilla, naturally, played hostess. She insisted Lilah take a seat as well, but her teapot turned out to be empty. Lilah was grateful. Not that this detail stopped Drusilla from pouring...something...into everyone's cup and insisting they drink while it was still fresh.

Maybe familiarity led to lack of fear. Or the reverse. At any rate, Lilah wasn't nearly as unnerved any more by the raven-tressed madwoman. Just sensibly frightened and cautious.

"Well, this is supposed to be a mutually beneficial relationship. I trust the accomodations are to your liking?"

The look Drusilla gave her in return was sly, followed by the trace of a giggle. "Is that what we have, then?"

For some reason this seemed to amuse her. At least she laughed in a low, sly way. Lilah had the weirdest sensation for a moment that Drusilla's eyes were doing something to Lilah's skin--that to be seen by the insane vampiress changed her forever. Heat and cold almost, but not quite, danced on her skin. But the moment passed, and Drusilla stood up.

She insisted on taking Lilah's hand before heading down to the lower level. The nightclub where Drusilla amused herself had once upon a time been called The Alcove. Its gothic decor, even somewhat decayed as it was now, evidently suited her. Wolfram and Hart had acquired it while helping probate the last will and testament of its owner--a businessman foolish enough to take out loans from someone less than human. But then, his lawyers had introduced them, even recommended the deal. Was it their fault he'd defaulted on the loan, his sweet meats ending up on the grill at what might be called a family barbeque? Probably, yes. Not that that hadn't been the plan. Just like siphoning off three quarters of his estate away from his wife and children was pretty much standard operating procedure.

Lilah wondered briefly in Drusilla sensed anything of this history of this place. If so, did it please her?

Downstairs, the four witnesses against Father Ashcroft were tied up and gagged. With typical efficiency, the law firm's minions had removed their shirts. Very thoughtful, when you considered it. Each of them were bound securely to a metal pole, which in turn was sunk into a base on concrete. Small forklifts had been used to transport them inside, here, to what had once been a receiving dock. Now the outer doors were closed, shutting out the sunlight.

She shrugged in reply. Whatever the client wanted, after all. One move savagely pulled the tapes from his mouth, bringing out a loud yell from him.

In response, Drusilla smiled, for a fleeting moment resembling a child who'd just been given a pony. She kept that same smile as her features shifted--brow furrowing, eyes turning a feral gold, fangs sprouting from her lips.

The witness took this change in by dropping his jaw and widening his eyes. "Oh my god," he began to mutter, "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" His words desolved into a strangled scream as the vampire dove into his throat and the slurping noises began.

Lilah watched, having a fairly close up view. Drusilla hadn't let go of her hand. As she fed, a tremor passed through her arm and into Lilah's. Not really squeamish at all, Lilah still initially wanted to look away. But the expression on his face as Drusilla drank him dry was interesting--as if the pain had somehow become the same as pleasure. She had no idea where that image came from. It seemed to fit, though. Pleasure so intense it hurt. Pain deep enough to be orgasmic.

With a cocked eyebrow, she noted the other three trussed up victims-to-be. Of course. Now they were struggling. As if any of them had a chance to break through chains.

In moments, Drusilla pulled back with a sigh. The first witness was still breathing, but only barely. She grinned at Lilah, reminding her of some college friends who used to do lines of cocaine. Was that what blood was to a vampire? Then, the dark-haired vampire nicked one of her own fingers and pushed it into the witness's mouth. "Drink," she coo'd.

Chapter 6

Willow tried to be grateful. Okay, her ankle still hurt, sure but it wasn't like she had a compound fracture. And--note to self--it really was fair all things considered that the person hurt the most happened to have super healing powers. Faith sat--or stretched--across her sofa, nearly growling every time Wesley came near with another cup of tea or coffee or a freshly baked pastry. He was nice enough to share, too, so in the treats department Willow should actually have been enjoying herself. Faith herself was hurting enough she didn't even seem very grumpy. Plus her t.v. was okay--and they'd actually bonded a little marvelling how a former classmate now had her very own hit sitcom. Recuperation had commenced, and was progressing very nicely thank you.

All in all, she really should be grateful. That's what she kept telling herself.

"I've explained before," Wesley said, with only a little impatience (give the man credit--being Faith's Watcher really had taken the edges off him), "the fact that someone stole the Prophecies of Aubergion from my apartment portends dire things for you and Tara. A fact we dare not ignore."

"My point is--we can't delay learning what we can as soon as feasible. With you two incapacitated--at least for now--that leaves Tara. Besides which, she's really a far better choice for scoping the local demon community for gossip than either of you."

"I don't know," said Faith, "little bit of Slayer-type persuasion can go a long way."

"No doubt. But so can listening first and beating things to a bloody smear second. Or maybe not at all."

And got a very intense stare from Wesley as a response. "Spells can go wrong. Extremely wrong."

"Gotcha there, Wes." "True enough. And if finding out what was going on was as straightforward as hurling bursts of energy around, I myself would aid your incatations to the best of my ability." He even bowed slightly as he said it. "But.."

"However..." Wesley resumed, "this is a matter of divining intentions. A far more subtle matter, one disrupted far more easily. You do remember what happened to your friend Amy?"

Now that was so unfair! "I wasn't gonna do any transmutations! Especially on myself!" Faith snorted again, but Willow decided to ignore it. "Just some scrying maybe. Invoking an oracle or two if nothing turns up. That's not dangerous..."

"Amy is a witch. A powerful one." Wesley was interrupting again, doing his very best impression of an incensed English teacher whose student hadn't read the assignment. Not a position Willow had found herself in since the second grade. She didn't like it. "Amy is also the daughter of another powerful witch. Suddenly the entire city where Amy lives starts living out musical numbers--some citizens even dancing themselves to death. After a few days it all stops. Just as suddenly as it began. Oh, and among the missing is said powerful witch."

"It could be coincidence." Willow managed not to wilt under the look he gave her. "Could."

"Frankly, I thought better of your good sense." And with that he was headed back into Faith's kitchen. No doubt to make more really good food for all three of them to enjoy in his constant successful efforts to make things better. The cheater.

"Oh yeah?" Faith had a knowing expression on her face. Willow made her own features rigid. "Gonna tell me you two don't try stuff with those fangs of hers?"

Faith shrugged. "Fair enough. But that's what's bothering you. I'd bet money." And with that she shoved another handfull of popcorn in her mouth, leaning back to watch another episode of 'Cordy.'

Lieutenant Commander Lilah Morgan strode into the USO with a natural air of command. Little wonder, her submarine, the U.S.S.Kraken, had had an extremely successful patrol. The Navy Cross now decorated her dress whites, testimony to the many Japanese ships she'd sent to the bottom.

Now, the dim light of the club reminded her of that patrol. She wove her way through the dancing couples, unnoticed because that was her choice. For now. The band played on. Above her, a mirror ball shot tiny reflections of light throughout the room, creating an effect much like stars. Lilah was again reminded of those nights on patrol, with an ocean like black glass before her and limitless stars above--both tools of her trade. Hunting.

Eyes. Over there. By the bar. Liquid dark eyes blazing from a pale face crowned with black curls. A form slender, sheathed in gray, showing just enough curve. Oh yes.

No hesitation for Lilah. She walked up to the raven-haired beauty, up close enough to force her to stare up into Lilah's face. For a few moments no words were spoken, but then none were needed. Then, she took her hand, leading her onto the dance floor. One of the very best things about slow dancing--you were supposed to hold your partner close. No one could possibly object to Lilah slipping her arm around this woman's waist when it was part of a dance--not even her.

She didn't object. Instead, she leaned in. "Ullo sailor," she purred mildly. From the accent, English.

"Hello." Neither of them needed to speak loudly at this distance. Less than an inch between their mouths.

"Like lilacs." Almost Drusilla seemed ready to laugh at this. But instead, her right hand found its way to the ribbon on Lilah's breast. Two fingers traced the pattern of the medal there. "This one's new."

Drusilla smiled at that, a smile that promised abandon. "Have you celebrated yet?"

"Once the world applauds, you get the trinkets you want. All the little treasures you deserve, the toys you've wanting to play with." Drusilla took Lilah's right hand in her own. "You like to play." Began pulling it down. Down. "But you know those prezzies are nothing but toys. Just distractions in between the times when you get to be what you really are." Not blinking, Drusilla had lowered her voice into a sing-song huskiness. Without once letting her eyes stray from Lilah's, she now drew the taller woman's hand to part the side of her skirt.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

With drowsy indignation, Lilah forced her eyes open. The knocking on her office door continued, until at last she called out. "I'm coming!"

"Mr. Manners left instructions you were to be reminded about the reception you're to attend."

Right. The Vocah. Well, warriors of darkness were supposed to do evil things. Like prompt overblown office children into snapping Lilah out of dreams about...

For the life of her, Lilah could not recall what her dream had been. Curiouser and curiouser. She had the vague recollection of pleasure, of a fierce triumph that had somehow been hers. But what had it been? Damn. Finally, to get some really great dreams but not remember a one.

"You've done the right thing. I'll be ready in a few minutes." She checked her watch. Drowsiness still blurred things, but it was clearly within an hour of the target time. "Get me some coffee."

Forcing herself to stand, Lilah realized something rather odd almost at once. She was used to doing a quick check of her appearance. That was a skill--a sometimes surprisingly effective one--she'd picked up from her mother. One of the few such to come from that quarter. What the accident of genetics had given her by way of feature and form was never simply presumed upon. Like a superior sports car, Lilah knew her looks required cultivation and care. Like her clothes. She was proud of her wardrobe--elegant, tasteful, yet ferociously competent. By now it was hard for her not to be aware of her clothes, as an athlete remains aware of his muscles.

As bleeder clubs went, this place was better than most. No garbage lying on the floor (litter, yes--actual trash and garbage, no). Most of the light bulbs were covered and were in real light fixtures. Candles were in candle holders. The big pillows that were everywhere actually didn't reek.

Of course the clientele had a lot to do with that. It had been that way the last time Tara had been here, over a year before. Bored rich kids with a fetish, the occaisional masochist or submissive with a taste for the exotic. There were even a handful of Anne Rice fans so awestruck by the presence of real vampires they tried to make this place a home-away-from home.

Then there were the idiots like the one whose wooden stake was hitting the floor right now. Oh she was struggling alright, doing her best no doubt. But even one vampire was enough to take on any normal human. Three had fastened their fanged mouths to this young black woman, and were draining her dry. She was barely even kicking any more.

Patrons barely glanced in the direction of the noise. Tara wondered if would-be slayers were really that common here? Or was everybody simply too wrapped up in their own worlds to care much? Maybe both? Had Tara realized what the young woman had come here for, she'd have tried and warned her away. Yes, I am changed, Tara thought to herself. And here's one more thing not to mention to anyone back at Faith's place. Odds were against their understanding.

Now the body hit the floor, lifeless and a lot drier than it had been. A burly figure in an army jacket--overweight, with greasy long hair to match his beard--began dragging her to the back. The alpha of this particular pack--a tall woman with a shaved head and dragon tattoo--slinked away, minions in tow. As she passed, she almost winked.

"Tara!" Oh. My. God. That voice. Of all the vampires she could have run into..." Is that you?"

Tara turned around only because she lacked the power of invisibility. Well, she did need to find out stuff. And the blonde vampire approaching was, among other things, a gossip.

"Wow, I had no idea you were in LA!" Even in matching black leather pants and vest, handcuffs hanging from her belt, Harmony still exuded the air of a high school cheerleader hoping to get asked to the prom. That, and her teenage looks, no doubt helped her get by. She was leading a man (twenty five maybe) around by a dog leash. Underweight, with sparse hair, his shirtless condition revealed at least six sets of fang marks on his arms. A regular, then. What most vampires called "a born cow."

Three guesses who Harmony thought Tara was looking for. "Maybe," Tara said, needing information and feeling just a little disgusted with herself. She forced a smile.

Harmony didn't quite jump up and down, but the meagre wattage in her eyes did become just a little brighter. It was...flattering. Kinda. "Alfonso," she said to the sickly looking man in the dog collar, "why don't you go bring my friend here a fresh cow...er, donor? A girl. 'Kay?" With a nod no doubt meant to be dignified (but actually as pretentious as the name), Alfonso slunk into the shadows. "I can't wait to tell you all the news!" Harmony gushed. She pulled the a chain from around her neck, dangling a ruby pendant in a tear-drop setting. "Isn't it cool!" Tara blinked. That was a bloodstone--a sigil given by elder vampires to one of their own.

"You wouldn't believe what a big splash I made around here," Harmony gushed. "And its all because of you!"

"Yep! There's a small handful of us, and we have the run of the town. Well, this part of town, anyway. And you're one of us." Harmony was beaming like a girl who'd just been elected prom queen. Tara had no idea what she was talking about.

"The Order of Aurelius, silly!" Somewhere in her mind, Tara felt a key slip into a lock. Pretty soon it would begin to turn. "I don't understand all the details, 'cause you know civics never was my subject in school--I was more of a history person." This from someone who thought John F. Kennedy was the first man on the moon. "Anyway, all the locals really think a lot of anybody who can claim membership of the Order of Aurelius. Turns out the head of it was some really big poo-bah way back when."

"You could say that." Odds are no one knew the truth. The Master, head of the Order of Aurelius for centuries, had died at the hands of a Slayer. Then had come back, supremely dedicated to the destruction of all he'd once served faithfully. "Sooooo..." there were many, many things Tara could say now but what was the point? Besides, a genuine question came to mind. "Wait a minute. How did they know you're a member of the Order? I mean, if you didn't know?"

"Well..." she hadn't thought of this before. Of course. "They said something about an oracle telling them, gathering the members of the family, blah blah blah." Harmony's shrug showed her attention span was used up. Along with both brain cells.

"Some big cheese. I've never met her. But she did tell everybody I was on the Elite!" Harmony's grin was full of delight.

Okay, this was news. And damn disturbing news it was, too. Vampires with psychic powers were very rare, and extremely powerful. That one showed up in LA, gathering the bloodline of Tara's Sire just as the Prophecies of Aubergion were stolen might--emphasis on might--be a coincidence. She doubted it, though. Besides, when you combine genuine prophecies with actual psychics, there wasn't much room left for things like coincidence.

"Tell you what, Harmony," she said after less than a second of consideration, "why don't we pull up a seat and catch up?"

Alfonso returned at this point. The middle-aged woman with him was another of the too-skinny ones. What had been nice enough looks had been wasted by too little sleep and unhealthy habits. "As you commanded, my lady" Alfonso tried to intone. It came out as a squeak. The woman stepped forward, her throat not quite offered up.

"Good boy" said Harmony. She looked at Tara, wobbling her head in a way that was almost rakish. "Buy you a drink?"

Tara spun the donor around. Her neck was better exposed that way. Besides, Tara had decided preferences. Face to face had by now become associated with feeding from only one person, and that only rarely. One hand on the donor's head, the other on her shoulder. A grip neither too hard nor soft. She barely slid her fangs into the woman's flesh, yet the shudder that followed was extreme. Probably some kind of masochist. But the blood was good. Enough for a good swallow, then another. Tara pulled back with the self control of long practice.

Harmony had her game face on. She grabbed the same donor, placing her own mouth on the wound Tara had made. Golden eyes met Tara's own as she fed, but--even thought the woman did whimper in pain--she clearly didn't take much. Probably well fed.

When she pulled away, Harmony handed (or nearly tossed) her meal to Alfonso. He caught the woman, who groaned a little. "Take care of her, will you Alfonse?"

In the crypt, robed figures intoned words, led one who wore a metal mask. Dead center was a box, to which were chained five freshly-made vampires. The day before they'd been witnesses against one of Wolfram and Hart's clients. But tonight, they were sacrifices in a ritual that had been prophesied for centuries.

Lilah, off to the side with her boss, realized she should be more interested in the goings on. But she was tired. Unusually tired. She had been getting plenty of sleep, so exactly why keeping her eyes open was proving such a task remained a mystery. Maybe it was those dreams. The ones she could only barely recall. Vague memories of pleasure, success...and something else. No, someone else.

Quietly, she snorted. Reading up on Tara and Willow was getting to her. Love beyond time. Fated to be together. One was the other's soul. Give me a break.

The Vocah spoke, its voice distinct but also unhuman: "As it was written, they shall prepare the way, and the very gates of hell shall open. That which is above shall tremble, for that which is below shall arise. And the world shall know the beast, and the beast shall know the world."

All five vampires were pulling at their chains. Too bad. It did occur to Lilah that among the unusual sights she was getting to witness was watching the same five people die twice.

Now the Vocah stopped, staring at the box to which the five were chained. As if sensing their time was near, the vampires were struggling even harder.

Reading from the scroll--the Prophecies of Aubergion--the Vocah's voice rang out: "ET ILLI QUINQUE SACRIFICIUM EST. ET ILLE QUI MORTUUS VIVET."

Power crackled in the air. Lilah smelt ozone. A wind began to gust through the enclosed crypt.

"SURGE!' The Vocah sounded as if he--it--was reshaping reality through pure will. As Lilah understood it, thats precisely what was happening. "SURGE! SURGE! SURGE!"

A thundercrack nearly made Lilah's ears pop. The five former witnesses now became former vampires as they were reduced to dust--dust sucked into the box! Then--a blinding flash of light for just a fraction of a second lit up the crypt--from inside the box.

"It is done!" The Vocah said this as if nothing else needed to be heard. Probably from its point of view, that was pretty much the case. It swept out of the crypt, followed by the robed priests.

For the longest several seconds, none of the attorneys said or did anything. This wasn't something any of them had ever taken part in before, after all. Not even Holland. So Lilah saw her opportunity to make some points. She carefully approached the box, not too quickly but without really hesitating either. The box had slotted holes. Inside, something moved.

"Hello," said Lilah after a moment. "I know this is confusing for you." Another step. Careful. Who knew precisely what the condition of someone resurrected like this might be? "But we're all very glad to have you here. Let me assure you, we're all very willing and able to help you through this difficult time."

Then--a voice came from the box. Bright eyes peared out from behind the bars. Pitiless eyes. Dangerous eyes. And the voice matched.

Chapter 7

The Thing was pleased. Both of the meals it had followed continued to feed it, fairly dripping with luscious pain and yummy fear, plus lots of spicy self-loathing. What's more, their companion (a male of the species--a concept the Thing understood even though Its kind did not use gender as a form of reproduction) was a feast in and of himself. Oh, It had been right to follow these beings, even if it meant leaving the comfy nest of the human "hotel" for a time. No matter. It would bring them back there. Eventually. The Slayer was in many ways the best meal of the three. She was not only the one most physically hurt, but had other wounds, deeper ones that had only rarely been even admitted to, much less healed. It had been around humans a long, long time and recognized a grown-up child who'd known no support and little love. Scars left by that kind of nurturing (or lack) never really closed, but dripped succulent fear for the Thing's eager mouth. That she had loved without recieving love added spice. Now her growing feelings for another she could not have, plus the temptations this presented, made a nicely simmering stew. And the Witch was just as good! Hers had been a childhood with rules, with expectations. What it had not had was any real care with which to spoil the meal. Fortunately, even the friendships and yes, loves, she'd known later hadn't done much to ruin the taste of her. No friendship without betrayal, after all. Good! No love without some pain. Hard to get better than that! Unless it was a forbidden love. One she was unsure of. Simply because she was so unsure of everything. Lip-smacking good! Of course the Thing didn't usually have lips, but the idea was simple enough. Plus the Watcher! What a nummy meal he was going to be! All that disappointment he'd learned to expect might as well be wine. That he so totally denied it behind a facade of expertise made him another fine feast waiting to happen. Still, best to be subtle. He was the kind most likely to have heard of the Thing's people, and to know how to defend himself. Given a chance, he would. Fine. After all these centuries, the Thing would have to be very stupid not to have learned patience. Meanwhile, time to whisper, to reflect back upon them all the darkness their own lives had created. Stir the pot. Let the minds and souls simmer. Whisper, and make the meal better. Tastier. Yes. Deeply the Thing sank its tendrils into the ones called Faith. And Willow. And Wesley. It fed. And was happy feeding. * * * Willow felt rather than saw Faith's eyes on her. Of course when she turned around, the Slayer pretended all innocence, seeming to read her paper or watch her t.v. show. The times when her real feelings showed were few, but they did happen. Like when she asked about what Tara had learned on her nightly sojourns among Los Angeles' infernal population. As if she couldn't have asked Tara herself--but no, Faith deliberately avoided her company. It took little imagination to see why. Tara--Vampire. Faith--Vampire Slayer. So Willow had spent the last week of convalescence very fruitfully. Very wisely. She knew some kind of big show down was coming, and she poured over every scrap of magical lore she had. More, she eagerly helped Wesley in his researches, as he tried with increasing fervor to cross-reference obscure texts and second-hand reports. "You see," he was saying for at least the ninth time in five days, "if I can reproduce the gist of what the Prophecies of Aubergion contained--or even gain a hint, really--then I'm that much closer to learning the reason it was stolen." "I can see that." "More, it might give some indication of precisely what role not only Tara--as the Vampire With A Soul--but also this mysterious undead oracle she's uncovered." Distantly, Willow realized that Wesley looked awful. He hadn't slept or shaved in days. Over and over he took off his glasses to rub his eyes, then bent again over his books, lips moving in concentration. Although she felt sorry the research was taking such a hard toll on the Watcher, she was also glad he was distracted enough not to notice what she was up to--which books she was reading, which sections she was committing to memory. "Willow?" Tara. Looking almost too beautiful for words. She was wearing what was kinda the uniform for vampires--a long black duster over black leather pants and a black t-shirt. "Hey, love." She rose and went into Tara's cool embrace, simply enjoying the raw joy of those arms around her. "Wish you didn't have to go," she whispered in her lover's ear. "Me, too." "Tara!" Wesley. Impeccable timing, as usual. "Ah, and what' s the game plan for tonight? More visits to the bleeder clubs?" Without letting go of Willow, Tara returned Wesley's look. "Pretty much. Although I frankly thought a visit to Caritas would also be a good idea." Nodding, Wesley poured himself another cup of coffee. "Good, good. Best be about it, then." "Yeah." Tara said it quietly enough, but Willow recognized the combination of regret, sardonic humor, and reluctant agreement she managed to fill into that single word. Don't worry, my love. I'll protect you. From anything and anyone. Over Tara's shoulder, she caught Faith sneaking a peak at them. Even against you, Miss Five-By-Five, Willow promised. That the Slayer barely had a limp anymore only made that promise more fierce. Never doubt it, Faith. I will protect her. "Good luck out there." "Thanks, Faith. But Caritas is about as safe a spot as exists. All kinds of magic surrounds the place, preventing any demon from even trying to hurt anyone there." "Yeah, I remember." Then her attention was back on the t.v. Right. Willow snuggled against her love. "Miss you already." Hands--cool, loving hands with the strength of steel--held her close. "Just think," Tara whispered back, "how much fun we'll have when I get back." Despite all her worries, Willow felt a grin nearly reach both ears. She hung on even tighter, but the image of Tara doing this with someone else--even play-acting to learn things--intruded. "Hey." Tara noticed. Probably a shift in weight or something. "What's wrong?" "Nothing," Willow lied. "My ankle's still sore. And--and I wish you weren't going out tonight." Lips touching hers. "Me, too." Not a long kiss, nor a deep one, nor a kiss that beckons someone into bed this one. Just a touch, open mouth to open mouth, tongues reaching out to simply graze each other. A sip, not a drink. "And don't forget," said Willow's love, "I will be back." "Good!" Faith turned up the volume on the t.v. * * * "Of course we're happy with the work you've been doing. Exemplary in every way. Really--the senior partners themselves are pleased. What about your debt?. I would say that yes, you have indeed worked off a portion of what you owed us this past year. Specific numbers would be hard to say. Of course I could send it down to bookkeeping and they can crunch numbers. That's really the way to do it. An estimate? Sure--from what I've seen, your efforts this past year have been so valuable, so extremely above what we expected, the senior partners might be persuaded to reduced your debt by as much as five percent! Congratulations! We'll arrange another briefing once you get out of the hospital. Bye!" With a satisfying click, she hung up on the archeologist before putting the receiver down. Timing. An important part of individual style. Lilah yawned. She couldn't help it. What with the Blimm project, coupled with this Vampire With A Soul business, on top of acting as a liason with Drusilla--it added up. If it weren't for coffee odds are she'd be curled up in a ball by now. As it was, she stared at the small hill of paperwork on her desk with eyes increasingly bleary. Still, there was progress. Both artefacts needed to retrieve the Congressman's nephew had been identified and located, as had the peculiar rules of their use. This last presented a problem, since only an individual playing for the Opposition could enter this particular realm and stand a chance of leaving. Still, that was hardly insurmountable. Especially now. Plans were being drawn up, contingencies taken into account. The Summoning had gone without much of a hitch. Okay, one security guard had been a little indiscrete and gotten his throat torn out for his troubles--but that was what hazard pay was all about, right? The point is--matters on that front were actually going smoother than anticipated. Well, as long as you weren't a security guard with wandering eyes. If only the matter weren't so top secret, they could let his family know he was dead. Even let them have that pension. And, fortunately, Drusilla seemed content enough to remain in the shadows, letting the other vampires of Los Angeles come to her, revere her, treat her as some kind of Dark Shrine of Delphi. Handy, that. Of course coming up with new things to "amuse" her took some energy, but Lilah believed she pretty much understood what the madwoman liked. Which was itself a little disturbing. The windows showed darkness. What time was it? She looked at her watch. Of course. Nearly eight o'clock and with plenty of work still to do. Damn. It. Almost before she started to consider options, Lilah found herself headed for the sofa. That fact made her stop for a moment. She was becoming the mistress of cat naps. Curious, that. It represented a change in her personal rhythms, one of several. Ever since college, Lilah had been able to get by with four or five hours of sleep a night--and when she did sleep, it was like onto the dead. Short, solid blocks of sleep and not many was the rule. Or it had been. Standing before the sofa, Lilah could almost feel a gravitational pull from its cushions. It was a voluptuous thought, sinking into that softness and stealing sweet dream-filled sleep. That kind of temptation was exactly the kind she usually avoided. Her party-going in high school and then college had been rare. Lilah hadn't been drunk since age nineteen, been high precisely once, and her sexual exploits had been purely diversional. Always. She even likened them to wine-tasting. Here was the dry bouquet of a sophisticated older man. There was the fruity exhurberance of a virgin from Kansas. Nothing long term, no threat to her own plans. Such was the discipline that had taken her this far, and would make possible even greater heights. Yet what harm in an occaisional nap? Lilah felt she should know the answer to this. The harm was in the habit of self-indulgence. Such things taught weakness, nurtured it, made excuses for it. Weakness was something one exulted in upon finding in others. In oneself it should--must--be cut out at the first chance. Like the cancer it undoubtadely was. But still Lilah locked the door and lay down. Doing her job poorly out of fatigue was a far more visible weakness than catching up on some dreams. No doubt, she thought as she lay down, a competent doctor could explain her interrupted rhythms of slumber and tell her what to do. If he didn't, she could always have his family devoured by hell hounds. Perks of working for this particular law firm. Made threatening someone with an audit seem so...tame. With that thought bringing a smile to her lips, Lilah fell asleep almost instantly. It was exactly like that--falling. Or diving. Into warm, wet darkness where she could recharge her weary soul. A welcome thing. Definitely. She slept. Deeply. Hungrily. The mildest snore began minutes later. Advanced electronics could have picked up the sound from the next room. None did, however--though with catlike stealth someone did turn the lock on the door and enter. She wore blue tonight--midnight blue diaphanous enough to seem a cloud. Making not a single sound, she crossed Lilah's office and knelt beside the sleeping attorney. She didn't say anything. Didn't even breathe. With seemingly infinite patience she took out a jar and slowly opened it. An almost-glimmering powder lay within--powder that easily clung to a finger she touched to it. Then--with a gentle grace nearly impossible for anything human to match--she drew a circle upon Lilah's forehead. Upon her flesh, the powder shimmered. "Your very own castle..." she whispered "...surrounded by a garden maze...no one knows the way in but you. Isn't that right, my pretty? An ivory tower...like one big fang...and its all yours... You've got servants there, don't you? Of course you do...geldings. Like that bastard Lindsay. Holland, too, no doubt. Maybe...you've had their tongues and eyes put out...would you like that? Would you like me to do it for you...? Yes? Then you'll have to let me in...won't you...won't you? Let me in, my precious...just let me in..." Flushing, Lilah moaned just a little in her sleep. She moved as well, allowing the woman's other hand to slip under her skirt, between her legs. "Just...let...me...in..." cooed Drusilla. * * * "Oh come on, honey," the horned green man in a tangerine tux urged Tara, "just one song." He lifted martini in a toast. "I'll even promise you a caraffe of o-poz for a month. Tempted?" Tara smiled almost in spite of herself. The Host, as he was known, had mastered charm as very nearly a magical power. "Actually, I need information." "Sing, and I'll tell you all I can learn from that." With a sigh, Tara looked around her. Caritas in most ways resembled any other karaoke bar, albeit a little more upscale than most. Its patrons were what set this establishment as someplace different. One table, for example, held a party of six or seven beings who were so dark blue as to be nearly black. Instead of hair they had a mass of quills flowing back from the top of their heads. Burning green eyes were visible in the shadows--three each. Now were these the most outrageous figures here. Right now, a scaled man with tusks was singing on stage. "Oh tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree! Its been three long years--Do you still want me?" "He's good," she noted. And he was, with a pleasing tenor and plenty of stage presence. "Kuur-Ok? Yeah. The fact is, there's an extra pleasure in listening to him sing because he went and got all his issues worked out long ago. See that skull he's swinging for emphasis? His twin brother, Koor-Uk.. They spent the better part of three centuries trying to gut each other without ever once admitting it. I tell you, he used to come in here, do a little Al Jolsen and give me a migraine for a week. Boy had some issues. Last fall they finally had it out. Kuur-Ok won, gnawed the flesh off his brother's bones, been a thousand percent better ever since." "Thats kinda a sweet story in a way." "Isn't it? Now, what are you going to sing, doll?" Giving up, Tara grabbed the song menu and started to examine the available songs. Quite a selection. Up on stage, Kuur-Ok was finishing his set with a flourish, earning a round of applause as he stepped down. He was followed almost immediately by a quartet of Lei Achs. All four had donned suits for the occaision, stained now from the dripping of the superating sores on their faces. Singing, their oversized (and forked) tongues couldn't help but create a snaky-sound that didn't really go too well with "Its A Sin (To Tell A Lie)." At least in Tara's opinion. One look let her guess the Host agreed. "Poor guys," he muttered, "I don't think they're gonna be happy here." "With voices like that, I don't think they'll be getting too much applause." "True, but I was thinking of Los Angeles. Rest of the clan got booted out of your old stalking grounds early last year when someone hired the lot to try and take out the Slayer." He shook his head. "These guys are all that's left." "I thought they looked familiar." "Oh, were you part of that gig?" "Not exactly. Heard some rumors. Caught sight of some folks running from the magic shop. These guys--don't they suck bone marrow?" "Indeed they do. Probably should find a nice nesting spot in cattle country." "Good idea." The Host settled in to listen, with a pained expression, while Tara perused the song menu. She contemplated what she'd learned during the past week. From Harmony as well as a pretty vampire named Sandy plus a several others she knew now that someone was definitely identifying all in the bloodline of Aurelius. James and Elizabeth of unlamented memory had been among those treated as royalty by the local undead population, but only a few had actually seen this Oracle with their own eyes. She--and at least that was consistent, the oracle was a she--rarely contacted anyone. From what hints had been dropped, the local vampires were mighty impressed with her power. Not a good sign. Yet they also felt frustrated by her lack of action. Most nosferatu had little by way of patience, and tried to pull away from any alpha who insisted on same. Dissension in the ranks would be a good thing. Right? Which brought up an interesting, albeit disturbing, thought. Exactly what was Tara doing, blithely helping out the Slayer like this? On the one hand, she didn't feel any particular loyalty to others of her kind. She enjoyed the company of a few fellow vampires. Not many, but some. Sandy showed some remnants of personality. Had things been different, Tara might well have sought her out. If it weren't for Willow. There. That was why she was helping Faith. Because Faith was Willow's friend. Not a good friend, or a bosom pal the way Buffy had been. Yet friends. Willow's friend was in a bad way, and so her Watcher had asked for help. With hardly a pause, they'd come. Hence Tara's finding herself here, scouting for information about her fellows in an effort to help destroy them. Part of Tara had all the instincts of a predator. And a part of that was the instinct of hunting in packs, with one leader. She'd already tasted what it was like to lead--as the Mayor's Lieutenant she had given orders nightly to many other vampires, who obeyed (eventually) without question. It had been...pleasant. So now a part of her wanted to round up a cadre of fellows, to lead them in ways that made sense. In a city this size, it wouldn't be too hard. The prestige accorded her as one of the Aurelius bloodline would make it that much easier. And without doubt Tara knew she'd make a formidable pack leader. With the mildest amount of luck she could look forward to centuries of rule. For that matter, why go elsewhere for minions? The heart of a truly superior pack lay close enough to touch. Wesley for one. And Faith herself--how awesome a vampire would she make? And Willow. Wonderous Willow. Beautiful Willow. She for whom Tara would do...well, anything. For as long as she lived. And how long might that be? Assuming she was lucky and didn't end up slaughtered by one of the many demons she insisted upon hunting? Five, six decades? Maybe seven. Unless she, like Tara, were immortal. Then could not their love last for centuries or more? In just the few years since meeting Willow, Tara had noticed a few tiny signs of aging. Tara herself still resembled an eighteen-year old, while her lover looked twenty. Another ten years and Willow would be thirty. One more and she'd be forty, middle-aged. Yet Willow herself would refuse to be so changed, that much seemed certain. Nor could Tara forget how prophecies spoke of her--of how she and Willow together had some vital part to play in events. She had had that confirmed by the very being who now sat to her side, watching and listening with a pained expression while four demons tried--badly--to sing four part harmony. A lesson there, Tara thought. The universe needed to fit together. It really did. And all the parts needed to act as they should. What part, though, is mine? A few minutes later, Tara had made her choice. She stepped onto stage, let the spotlight strike her head on, then lifted the microphone to her lips. This song is precisely right, she thought. It matched the feelings of her unbeating heart. "Come to my window Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon Come to my window I'll be home soon" Willow, thought the vampire named Tara. "I would dial the numbers Just to listen to your breath I would stand inside my hell And hold the hand of death You don't know how far I'd go To ease this precious ache You don't know how much I'd give Or how much I can take" "Just to reach you Just to reach you Just to reach you"

Chapter 8

She was over halfway through series of exercises Wesley had taught her. He said they toned muscle as well as built endurance. The first time Faith had done them her language had actually made her Watcher blush. By the time they were done she nearly expected the paint to peel off the walls. Over time she had come to appreciate them, realizing that Wesley had--in this case, anyway--been right. She could feel herself grow stronger and more limbre over time. Now, in the last stages of recuperation, Faith had found them a useful way to spend her time.

"Just a tick," Wesley was saying in the next room. He sounded intrigued or upset or maybe both. "Willow, what is that you're reading?" Uh-oh. Red's gonna get sent to bed without supper.

"Well," Willow began with a breath (which meant she was guilty--of what god knew) "with some kind of evil-ness up and around and stuff, I thought we should be prepared just in case. You know, for whatever they might be planning."

"That's all very well and good." Go for it, Wes. Sick'er. "However," here it comes "without some specific reason, it is at risky at best--at worse spiritually dangerous in the extreme--to delve into those particular areas of knowldege."

"These could be powers...that whoever stole it...might use..." Red was such a lousy liar. Followed by the sound of a book snapping shut (by guess who?) and a semi-outraged huff. Then silence. An icy silence, which did the one thing Faith really, really didn't want right now. It left her along, with her thoughts.

One girl. She remembered the passionate vampire James, the one who chose death rather than life without his beloved. Then dared to mention...

That hurt a lot more than her leg. Oh, not physically. That she could take easily enough, but loss. Reminder of loss. Salt just shovelled into a wound she really wished would heal. Words that the vampire had tossed--no, bellowed--at her kept echoing inside her head. Just where covering her ears or running somewhere would do no good. Shut up, damn you. Oh yeah, you already are. Well, rot in hell, then. But with that thought came another--namely, that James was now with his Elizabeth. Could vampires really love? Evidently. Or close enough to make no difference. Look at them. Or that loser Spike, kidnapping Red for a love potion.

Faith did a series of kicks and spins, punching the air with abandon. She imagined it was James she pummelled, almost feeling the crack of bone under her fists. The words she swore he still whispered to her continued, until at last she nearly fell over. Unsteadily, she stopped. Deep breaths. Her fists shook, and the room spun. Not very much, but some.

Thankfully, silence from the memories of what James had said. She sat on the sofa. What now? In the silence she hadn't wanted--no longer filled with memories, anyway. Thank what-ever-is-up-there for that anyway.

Unbidden, Faith's eyes watered. Gods, she simply did not want to think about hearing those words. No, she longed to hear them. Or did she? Maybe she just wanted to say them? Both? And if so, why not indulge a little here and now, alone in her own mind?

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the sofa, deliberately unbending each tight muscle in her shoulders and neck. The sofa's material felt cool. Yeah, that felt good. She imagined for a moment the sofa was fingers, kneading her muscles gently. Pushing her lips together stiffled a tiny sob. If only. She pretended a cool hand pushed the hair from her forehead.

Lilah woke with a start. She wasn't alone. Above her, with his nearly patented kindly expression, stood Holland. With a self-possession she distantly found somewhat impressive, Lilah did not sit up with a jerk or jump up as if at attention. Rather, blinking several times, she nonchalantly yawned and sat up at a straightforward pace.

Holland nodded, still with hardly a shadow of any hint of a frown. Instead, he smiled gently and pulled up a chair. Sitting, he assumed a position neither threatening nor indulgent. Very, very neutral. This could be good or bad. Very. Or anything in between.

"Lilah, I don't want you to think I'm blaming you for grabbing the occaisional forty winks. Especially now, after regular hours and conflicting with nothing. Even more to the point, your work is not suffering. Quite the opposite. I've been authorized to tell you the senior partners themselves are quite satisfied with your performance."

"So," now he leaned back "your responsibilities are even going to be increased. At present the firm has several projects ongoing which involve the city's undead community. Several--well, in fact most of those projects are already part of your workload. Its been decided you will be our liason to the vampires. And with this new responsibility comes a fairly nice bonus." He didn't quite grin at her. That wasn't his style. But the corners of his lips did turn up. There was even crinkling around the eyes.

"You're more than welcome. The fact is, Lilah, this is quite a chance for you. " Oh god. He was almost winking. Lilah knew this was too good to be true. She smiled back, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He nodded in approval. "Which is one reason among many for this virtual promotion. Many congratulations." Now he stood. "Our new guest of course becomes your responsibility."

"Good girl. She shouldn't be too difficult after learning to navigate the shoals of Drusilla."

"Hopefully not." In fact she suspected it would prove harder. Drusilla, while unpredictable, had a side that could almost be called sentimental. Lilah, to her, could be something akin to a favorite doll. Their guest, on the other hand, came across as pure shark. Any human was purely and simply food, worthy of playing with sometimes but only as a prelude to a meal (as one security guard had already learned). Odds are she'd need the older, more powerful vampire to act as a protector eventually, but that brought another factor into the equation, one utterly unpredictable.

"I'm thinking" Holland continued, "the prestige Drusilla seems to enjoy might be turned to our advantage. Not too flagrantly, of course, but with the right nudges here and there." An eloquent shrug. Yes, that was easy enough to see. Never know when a small army of undead could come in handy. "Something for you to consider." Holland was headed for the door. Lilah watched him. She was eager--in her way--to get back at the paperwork waiting for her. She felt...not exactly refreshed, but better after the nap. Maybe a little sore in places. As Holland opened her office door (hadn't that been locked?) she was nearly back at her desk. But Holland stopped. Looked back. "You are going to need some help, of course. Not a lot, but some. Don't want you spread too thin. We'll just assign another associate to help with the Blimm business. Under your supervision." The smile again, and an exit.

Oh great. Another associate as in another rival, another lawyer doing his best to push her out of the picture, grabbing as much credit and contacts as he could with a Congressman. She knew the type. Hell, she was the type. Which meant--pleasing thought--she knew what she'd be up against. Not quite smirking (Lilah knew the expressions on her own face very well), she sat behind her desk to ready for the upcoming battle. She'd show them. Oh yes. Let them think her a frail little girl. What they'd discover was a queen, in an impenetrable castle of her own design.

Willow paced. She tried doing it quietly, but that was really hard after building up some steam and lets face some facts here that is what she'd been building for a while now. A whole mess of vaporized water, doing contruction-type stuff.

Not that it helped when both Faith and Wesley kept sneaking little peaks at her.

Did she feel guilty? No! Not really. She could tell they were planning something. Oh sure all this talk about someone stealing the Prophecies was real enough. Probably. But the two of them were just using this an excuse, that much was clear as...well, not crystal because actually lots of crystals were milky...but as a glass of water. That was clear right? Right. So it was decided, then. Faith and her Watcher had plans, plans they were keeping from her. And why would that be? Only one reason she could see.

"Willow," said Wesley as he hurried into the room. He must have realized she knew he was watching and decided to cover himself. "I may have found what I was looking for!" The books in his hands Willow recognized as diaries of several occult researchers. "There have been a small number of scholars who've actually seen the Prophecies of Aubergion over the years. However...scholars may be the wrong word. Adventurer might be more accurate. So, for that matter, might be Dangerous Renegade In Search of Forbidden Knowledge. But that is beside the point..."

As he put his books on the table, Faith came back in the room. Her limp was nearly gone. Not a good sign. "So Watcher-man. Whadya find?"

His hands were waving over the books, as if he couldn't decide which to touch. Slipping his glasses, he stood up. Willow thought he looked awful. Probably all that tension of making plans under her and Tara's noses, while he had to wait for his Slayer to heal. Now that she was nearly at full form, he had to throw up this smokescreen to keep Willow especially distracted. By now he had to have some sense of what she'd been studying on her own. He was nervous. And he was right to be.

"These three men," Wes was saying, "each saw--more precisely read--the Prophecies of Aubergion. Eleazar of Guttenberg, Sir Orson de Manderville, and Angelo Vizzini in the 18th century. They read the Prophecies. Portions of them, anyway. Even more to the point, these three also saw another document--one that according to them echoed the very sayings within the Prophecies!" He looked at them fever-eyed, expectation lighting up his face.

"Dont you see what this means?" His eyes were bulging at them. A little smile cracked his lips. "Don't you?"

"But...but it is so obvious!" Wesley grabbed his books and turned them around, so they faced Faith. His head swung between Faith and Willow as he talked. "All three of these accounts mention a corresponding document, a complementary text if you will, to the Prophecies of Aubergion! That means by tracking down this other work we can double-check and perhaps learn for what reason the Prophecies were stolen! Rather that waste our time trying learn who might have the Prophecies now..."

"Two years ago," answered Faith, "me and Tara stole the damn thing from Wolfram and Hart. I just figured they stole it back."

"Ye-es," Wesley not only stretched out that one word he managed to turn a simply nod into a drawn-out jerky movement, "that remains a viable theory. However--and this is my central point--instead of trying to recover the Prophecies, we might focus instead upon this!" His finger hit a page, drumming away. "The Nyazian Scrolls," he proclaimed.

"You want us to go find some Nazi something-or-other?" Faith's expression was such Willow couldn't quite decide whether she was acting or really had misheard what Wesley said. Not that it mattered.

"Ny-a-zi-an" Wesley intoned. His glasses came off. There was a knock at the front door. Heading for that door, he put his glasses back on. "The Nyazians were a sub-cult of mystics in Cappadocia."

"Faith..." Whatever he was going to say next vanished as the door swung open. From where she was, Willow could see the detective who'd given Tara a hard time--Kate. She had someone with her. A man. He looked familiar. Middle-aged. Ascetic. Thin lips and very short hair. Where had she seen him before? She had feeling this was important since obviously Kate was here at Wesley and Faith's behest. They must have realized just how powerful the magicks she'd been studying really were, and called her in for backup. So who was the man? Willow knew she'd seen him before. Somewhere.

"Ah Detective Lockley," Wesley did an excellent job of pretending surprise, even annoyance at his accomplice's arrival. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Not pleasure." Kate Lockley's voice was clipped. "Purely business. As it happens, police business." She turned and indicated the man beside her.

Tara mulled over the Host's words as she headed back to Faith's apartment. She had a lot to think about. Certain facts increasingly gnawed at her, making her worried and tense. Although a vampire--and although she had been alone even as a mere human--she found the thought of endless years alone unbearable now. In theory she was immortal. Unaging and with nothing to fear from any disease. Yet without Willow, the thought of centuries ahead were not exciting for her, but terrifying.

"Well, that's only increased of late. In fact, what's really weird is how simply huge amounts of fate and karma as well as all kinds of top-knotch destiny stuff keep gathering around you. I kid you not, hon--it was like choirs of angels were singing up there with you. Now, you're good. Real good. But not that good."

Destiny. What did that mean, anyway? She had studied the occult and philosophies most of her life, and by now had had first-hand experience fighting the forces of hell. Too bad that didn't really give her any answers about fundamental questions.

"Almost. What everybody has is a place, in the chorus mostly. Destiny means your particular part in the song is a solo. And you do have the lungs for it."

"Fine." It was nice to be appreciated, after all. "Don't suppose you have any idea about the tune?"

He'd looked at her, long and hard. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Its a duet. You and that red-haired witchling. A love song unless I'm very much mistaken, but its part of something a lot bigger. We're talking like major opera about big issues. Richard Wagner territory--maybe even Andrew Lloyd Webber. But as a rule, those stories don't have easy rides for the lead characters."

"Fair enough. How about this--you're about to meet a tall dark not-so-stranger who's going to challenge you and everybody you like. But what happens at the end--how this show turns out--all depends on you. On what you want."

Great. And just what Tara wanted to hear, something to contemplate as she made her way back. She forced herself instead to dwell on what she'd learned from the demons she'd been chatting with. More of the same, pretty much. A mysterious female oracle among the vampires, encouraging all the bloodline of The Master (later, The Apostate) to gather. Why? Best guess was something mystical about rising up and smiting their enemies. The usual. For some reason Tara doubted that was it, though. It felt more nebulous than that. And there was also the interesting fact that, other than Harmony, none had tried to contact Tara herself.

As Tara approached the apartment, heading up the stairs, she caught snippets of conversation. Or maybe argument. No, definitely argument. Wesley and Faith and Willow all had raised voices, along with another woman's voice. It sounded familiar. For a few moments Tara listened, then realized it must be that cop from when they arrived. The one who know what she was. She recalled what Wesley had said--that her father had been killed by vampires and how she blamed Faith. What was she doing here? Now?

"Its not like you have any official business..." Wesley's voice, fairly stressed. As usual, lately.

Rather than wait, Tara simply opened the door and walked in. Sure enough, the blonde she remembered was there--facing a half-circle of Wesley, Faith and Willow. Interestingly, she wasn't alone. A tall man with close-cropped hair was at the detective's side. He looked a little familiar.

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Zahir - zahir@brainlink.com

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

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