“Al,” she said, trying to sound patient through gritted teeth. “I’ll say this again. That’s my mother. I will be back here to see her at dawn. If any harm should come to her, then I. Will. Come. To. You.”
Without waiting for a response, Buffy spun and headed for the stairs. Angel followed instantly. Buffy was expecting her mother to call out, to try to talk her out of going. Instead, she heard one of the other security guards — not Al Scott, for sure — ordering her not to leave.
Then Joyce did speak. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” the Slayer’s mother said dangerously. “I’d just move out of her way.”
I love you, Mom, Buffy thought. I’ll be back.
Chapter Fifteen
Cordelia was terrified. For hours upon hours, she had kept up the façade of bravery, expecting Buffy and Giles and the others to show up and rescue her and Xander. But Buffy hadn’t shown up.
And the vampires were hungry.
Konstantin and his bizarro girlfriend had moved them out of their cell and into a room with the most disgusting things Cordelia had ever seen. She didn’t know why they’d been relocated, but neither one of them thought it was a good sign. Considering their life goals amounted to escaping or being rescued in the nick of time, it was definitely a move in the wrong direction.
Wherever in the condemned police station the rest of the human captives were, they were still screaming. Which was good, because that meant they were alive.
But so were the revolting monsters in the big bone pile, chomping and slithering and staring hard with their unnerving red eyes at Cordelia and Xander. They were disgusting things, scaly and taloned, with bits of pink stuff — don’t let it be pieces of people — stuck to to their faces and legs.
Almost worse than the sight and sound of the creatures was their overpowering stench. The entire room reeked, the stink of death so thick that when Cordelia inhaled, it coated the inside of her mouth and throat and it was all she could do to keep herself from throwing up.
Meanwhile, the two vampires left to guard them had been semi-arguing, semi-commiserating together about their hunger for more than an hour. The problem for Cordelia was that she, the veteran of many, many, many diets, empathized with their plight — until she reminded herself that she was the object of their temptation.
“Hey, Cor,” Xander whispered, trying his best to comfort her. “We’ll be all right. Really.”
She stared at him, frowning. “Please. Even you’re not stupid enough to believe that. Don’t insult me, all right? Cavalry? Not coming. We’ve got to figure something out before those two decide cocktail hour is more important than Veronique ripping their heads off.”
Xander looked crestfallen. “You think they’re gonna lose it, huh?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed, glancing down. “They’re starving. But it’s like when Harmony and I used to diet together. If they both stay strong, we’ll be okay. But if one gives in, the other will. Even though Veronique would be pretty peeved.”
“That’s a comfort,” Xander murmured.
She looked at him and nodded. “It is, Xander. They’re terrified of her. If they weren’t, we would already be dead.”
He gave her a look. “Which brings us back to the notion of yay life.”
“Okay, all right. “ She ran her hands through her hair and dropped them in her lap. Her back to the vampires, she was sitting Indian-style, and her legs were starting to go to sleep. “You win. Whatever. I don’t care. I just want to live to a ripe old age.” And so much for my thoughts on dying young and beautiful, she thought.
“Ripe old age of what?” Xander jibed. “Twenty-four?”
“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” she said, but the truth was, she was a little wigged because he had practically read her thoughts.
“Actually, I don’t,” he admitted. He looked scared, but he smiled at her crookedly. “You’ve reminded me so often that I’m a cretin that, well, frankly, Cor, I think I might have started to believe it. Thus, I have rejected all my escape plans, and I’m sitting here like a dead duck.”
She was taken aback. “Oh.”
He sighed. “Also, facing death, I just don’t have it in me to engage in cheap, meaningless banter any longer.”
Cordelia was alarmed. “Xander, don’t freak out on me.” He said nothing. “Xander!” She smacked his arm.
He smiled. “Ow?”
“Don’t give up,” she said angrily. “We’ll get out of this. We always do.”
But even as she said it, Cordelia knew how hollow it sounded. They’d been lucky up until now. But eventually, their luck was bound to run out.
Xander’s face drained of color. He murmured, “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?” she echoed shrilly, then dropped her voice as she looked over her shoulder. “Why?”
The two vampires were staring straight at them, and they were morphing. As the two vamps attacked, Xander grabbed Cordelia’s hands and yanked her to her feet. The female caught Cordelia by the hair and threw her halfway across the room onto her back. Pain rattled through her like a cold, harsh wind.
As Cordelia tried to crawl away, the male caught Xander in a headlock and forced him to his knees.
“I can’t stand it,” Konstantin bellowed. “I am starving. The Triumvirate will have an entire world of souls to feast upon when it rises. These two won’t be missed.”
“Don’t,” Cordelia blurted at Catherine as the vampire kicked her. “Veronique will rip you guys to shreds.”
With a wicked, scary growl, the female lowered her fangs toward Cordelia’s neck. Cordelia’s ribs ached as she gasped in terror. Her entire body was bruised and swollen.
“Shut up,” Konstantin said in a hoarse rasp. “Just shut up. You are only food.”
“The blue plate special,” Xander moaned. His head was bent forward as if Konstantin were going to shoot him in the back of the head. “What’d I tell you, Cor?”
“Oh, my God!” Cordelia cried. “Xander, we’re going to die!”
“The good news is,” Xander grunted, “we can finally stop worrying about it.” Then, as Konstantin yanked his head back, he cried out, “Ow! Hey, ow!”
Oh, my God. Cordelia shut her eyes. Catherine’s fangs pricked her skin. This is it. This is finally it.
Then it was as if the entire room exploded. There was a horrible banging and footfalls and screams. Catherine was torn away from Cordelia, taking with her a good chunk of skin.
Cordelia sat up and shouted, “Buffy!”
But it wasn’t Buffy. It was Veronique, in her latest incarnation, all slick black hair, leather, and funky tattoos. But it doesn’t make her look like a biker chick, Cordelia thought. It makes her look like a killer.
“Idiots!” Veronique snarled at Konstantin and Catherine, who cowered, backing away. “I have spent centuries preparing for this night. Much of that time was wasted because I did not have the correct rituals, did not understand how to bring my master to Earth. When, finally, I corrected that error and found the way, one of those damned Slayers destroyed the vessel before the hatchlings could be born.
“Now, finally, the time has come! Despite the presence of this modern Slayer, the girl, Buffy, I have done it. Thirteen vampires from my bloodline, ready to perform the ritual. Ephialtes sacrificed himself to bring the hatchlings to this world, and they have been fed and have grown. The stars are in alignment, the portents are right! The Triumvirate will be reunited and will consume the souls of mankind, consigning them to a Hell even the biblical scholars never imagined.”
Veronique strode across the room and peered into the nest of bones and garbage. The creatures within quieted as they looked out at her, almost adoringly. She lowered her gaze and shook her head.
“The hatchlings have been weaned on rotten human flesh, yes. But when they are rejoined and the Triumvirate walks the Earth, it will be incapable of taking such food. Its only sustenance will be the powerful, thriving souls of living human beings.”
Sh
e rounded on Catherine and Konstantin, eyes blazing yellow, fangs protruding. Her hands were curled into claws, ready to attack.
“And you want to destroy the very humans that are to be the first offering?” she roared.
The two starving vampires could do nothing but cower and whimper. Veronique crouched down beside Konstantin, who would not meet her gaze.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” he whispered.
“The gift of true immortality they have given me is ephemeral,” Veronique told him in clipped tones. “They can take it away at any time, trapping me in one flimsy shell of flesh and cold blood. I would be like the rest of you, then. But if I succeed . . . the shadow of the Three-Who-Are-One will fall across the land, leaving humans without mind or motivation, wandering, helpless, ready for us to feast.
“Would you take that dark and beautiful destiny away from your brothers and sisters? Away from me?” she demanded.
Then, disgusted, she spun and walked over to lift Cordelia roughly from the ground. “Are you still human?” Veronique snarled, examining her neck.
“Yes,” Cordelia stammered. “I — I think so.” She tried to touch her neck. “Did I get vampirized? Am I a vampire now?”
Veronique smiled evilly. “I think that would be a good idea. As two of my followers are about to die.” She turned her head and glared at Konstantin and the female, now surrounded by the rest of Veronique’s followers, who had entered while their mistress raged on. Konstantin’s head was lowered, as if in shame, but Catherine glared at Veronique.
“You can’t kill us. You don’t have time. Even if you did, you don’t know what you’ll get,” the female said defiantly. “The new ones could be sentient, or they could be like that ravening maniac these humans staked in the tomb.”
“Yeah,” Xander chimed in. “You go, girl.”
The female looked in Xander’s direction and hissed. He made a face and hissed back, and a few of the other vampires chuckled.
“He has spirit,” Veronique commented. She put Cordy in the care of a couple of vamp henchmen and sauntered over to Xander. She cupped his chin. “Would you like to live forever, boy?”
“I’d be happy to make it through today,” Xander suggested hopefully, his eyes wide and frightened. “A trip to Acapulco would also be just peachy.”
“Or perhaps you shall be my consort, after this is over,” she mulled, trailing her nails down the side of his neck.
“What is it with you and monster chicks?” Cordelia demanded, as she struggled in the vampires’ clutches. “I so do not get it.”
“Veronique,” Catherine interrupted angrily. Then her tone became more respectful. “Harbinger. We were starving beyond reason. It was cruel of you to leave us here with warm, living blood, when we two were the ones who warned you of the danger.”
For a long moment, Veronique stared at the female. Then she whispered, “Catherine.” There was no missing the finality in her tone: Catherine was dead meat.
So to speak.
Catherine’s eyes widened. She swallowed, hard, looking for all the world as if her bluff had been called. “I’m young among our kind,” she said. Her voice quavered. “You have had centuries of life to prepare you for trials such as this. Mistress, please. Haven’t I pleased you before?”
Veronique smiled cruelly. “I brought you to my chambers, girl. Don’t presume that means very much. Ask Konstantin, before you start to believe that intimacy with me gives you some privilege. It does not.
“I can no longer trust you. At least Konstantin shows remorse. You can only argue with your mistress.”
She advanced on Catherine. Cordelia’s pulse pounded in her forehead. If Veronique kills Catherine, she’s going to need another vampire. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to know why. And I don’t want it to be me.
Cordelia cleared her throat. “I really hate to interrupt,” she said, “but, gee, if I were you . . .” She trailed off as Veronique morphed into vamp face and narrowed her golden eyes at her. The vampire’s fangs glistened. “Which I am not,” she finished nervously. “Sorry.”
Veronique surveyed the group of vampires. Catherine had begun to tremble. The two vampires holding Cordelia’s arms watched Veronique’s every move.
The rest of the room was silent, except for the clacking and a strange whining and growling from the three monsters in the pile of bones.
The noise evidently meant something to Veronique, for she said, “We’re almost out of time.” She glared at Catherine. “Against my better judgment, I spare you. But make no assumptions.”
“No, I won’t. Thank you, Harbinger,” Catherine said in a rush. As Veronique moved away, Catherine’s knees buckled, and she held on to one of the guards to steady herself. “I won’t disappoint you again, I swear.”
Then Cordelia allowed her gaze to wander over to the bone pile. The grotesque creatures were watching everything with their reptilian, glowing eyes, and their snouts were covered with gore and a lot of weird, squiggling white things. Maggots.
And the monsters have gotten bigger, Cordelia realized as her stomach did a flip. They’ve grown since the last time I looked at them.
Veronique must have read Cordelia’s expression. She grunted and looked over her shoulder. Her face became radiant.
“Gather up everything we need,” Veronique ordered. “We shall leave for the unification site in half an hour. The ritual must be conducted by midnight.”
Manhattan, 1944
The alley would never be clean. There was always more garbage, more discarded junk. But at least it was clear, and sometimes even orderly. Angel tried to keep it that way for Leah.
He didn’t see her every night, and he hid away in the basement of a nearby tenement during the day. But when he did see her . . . it was just the tiniest bit of pleasure and hope.
She had invited him back into the shelter time and again. Sometimes he would go and share in the soup that was offered. Other times, when there were a lot of people inside, he preferred the few minutes he could speak to her in the alley.
Leah had stopped asking personal questions after the first week. She knew he wouldn’t answer. But Angel never tired of hearing about her life, her past, even her love for Roger Giradot, her fiancé, who was abroad fighting the war in the Pacific.
He cared for her, as much as he was able. But that part of him had been crippled so long he thought it dead.
Still, he cared enough that when the door to the alley burst open that night and Leah emerged, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to catch her breath for the tears that streamed down her face, he went to her in alarm.
“Leah?”
She turned, then, the beautiful girl he had admired from afar and for whom he had dared to thaw the ice in his heart, to hope for something other than the life he led.
“Oh, Angel,” she sobbed, and she threw her arms around his neck and fell into his embrace, crying horribly. “I just . . . they sent a telegram. He’s dead, Angel. My Roger is dead.”
He held her awkwardly. It had been so very long, and longer still since he had held a woman without hurting her. Drinking of her.
But he cared for Leah.
And now he hurt for her.
Her pain was clear and terrible to behold. She sobbed into the filthy fabric of his jacket, and Angel stiffened. This is wrong, he thought. This . . . this isn’t meant for me. These feelings . . .
He wanted to tear himself away. Wanted to spurn her, to leave the alley and never see her again. He wasn’t human, and this . . . this humanity was beyond him now, forever. He knew himself to be the worst of monsters, the cruelest of evils. He did not deserve even a single moment free of the guilt that haunted him.
Holding Leah tightly, Angel closed his eyes, wracked with self-loathing, horror, and guilt. You don’t even have the courage to destroy yourself, he thought. But at least you can do this. Leave this girl alone. Don’t interfere with her life. You’ll only end up . . .
His eyes snapped open. Leah’s crying had be
gun to subside. She was thanking him, apologizing in embarrassment, and at the same time mourning again for her lost love.
Angel barely heard her. He was staring at the soft white length of her neck, and the veins that pulsed there, just under the surface. It had been nothing but rats for so long.
He could almost taste her.
Holding her, he felt his face change. His fangs elongated, and his eyes became yellow and fierce. She felt him tense and tried to pull back to look at him. Angel held her close.
“Angel?” Leah asked, sounding a little frightened.
It took all the power of his will to rein in the vampire within him. But even then, he didn’t let her go. He didn’t ever want to look into Leah Coleman’s eyes again.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.”
Then he released her and turned, and walked from the alley, a prisoner of the death he had wrought and the death that still lurked inside him, waiting to strike.
Buffy looked at Angel, concerned by the expression of dismay on his face. “Hey,” she said, “what’s on your mind?”
Angel blinked, as though he’d been drifting. “I’m okay,” he said. “Just a little frustrated with all this. We’ve got to find Tergazzi.”
Buffy seriously doubted that was what Angel had been thinking about, but she didn’t want to pry. With all that was happening, they had both had a lot to think about lately.
“Okay, my thinking on Tergazzi?” she said. “Either he’s hiding in the forest with Queenie, or he’s at Willy’s scrambling for the knowledge.”
“Or he’s blown town,” Angel added darkly, “with a grand in his pocket.”
“That would be your fault.”
He shrugged.
“Plus you talk too much, Angel. It just totally drives me crazy.”
Shrugged again.
She gave him a small smile. “Well, at least the Summers family had a little bit of good news before the grand finale. If there’s going to be one. Which I doubt.” Her smile faded. “But I guess there’s always a first time. Or a last. And don’t mind me. I always chatter after a good battle. Or the attendant double latte. Or to fill an awkward silence.”
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