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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.
"Penny for your thoughts," he said too-cheerfully.
"You'd pay more to forget them."
"Why not let me decide?"
"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.
Of course, with Drusilla, that meant nothing at all.
***
"What," asked Wesley, "has happened? Precisely?"
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.
"The vampire--James, I think..."
"Yes."
"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.
"She is, yes. A very special case, as it turns out."
"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."
"And then?"
Anne paused. "Willow said something. Latin, I think. Anyway, she shot lightning out of her hands. Green lightning." More questions unasked.
"I take it that...worked?"
"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."
"They do that, vampires."
"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."
"I understand. How did you know to go to the Hyperion?"
"Just remembered seeing it," she answered with a shrug. "I hope it was alright leaving them there alone?"
"Hopefully," he agreed, "but then, they're not really alone."
"That's what I meant."
Wesley felt her eyes on him. Ah. Time for explanations. "Tara."
"A vampire."
"Yes."
"I thought Faith was a Slayer, as in Vampire Slayer."
"She is. However, Tara is a very special case."
"You said that. I'm listening."
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..."
"Kinda like a serial killer. An immortal, superstrong serial killer."
"Quite."
"So--Tara?"
"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."
"I didn't think they were that rare."
"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."
"I see."
"Do you?"
"Not at all."
"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..."
"Are."
"In a nutshell."
"How come we don't here more about these humane monsters, then?"
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."
Tara smiled. "Not till you've stopped breathing for a full minute. Promise."
"Ow...don't make me laugh...hurts..."
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.
"I know."
"Don't mention it."
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.
"I don't know any healing spells," Red piped in, apologetically.
"Kinda figured that."
"But if I did...well, you know I would. Right?"
"Sure. Whatever"
***
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!
Oh, yes--the Thing liked this hotel.
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.
The humans didn't always survive that.
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!
It began to whisper, milking more delicious fear and hatred from the pair.
***
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.
No, not most people. Pretty much all of them.
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.
"Barely that."
"What?"
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.
"I was asking what you said. Just now?"
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."
"Yes, you did. I heard you!"
"Nope." Faith closed her eyes again.
"But...but...but..."
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.
But she shouldn't blame Faith for 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!
"Vampire"
"I know that!"
Without opening her eyes, Faith nearly groaned "what?" in exhaustion.
"I know Tara's a vampire!"
Pause. Then--"Good. We were kinda wondering when you'd notice."
"What kind of thing is that to say?"
"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.
But true, wasn't it?
Yeah, but only beside the point!
What was the point?
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?
Didn't it?
Willow was glad when Wesley showed up for lots of reasons.
***
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.
Even if it could be dangerous. Like now.
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.
"You've been a very nice to me," cooed Drusilla, cup in hand.
"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?"
"Excuse me?"
"A relationship?" She said each syllable distinctly.
"We...hope...that you and the firm do have a relationship, yes."
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.
"Lets go see what you brought for me!"
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.
And Drusilla approached the first one, who watched warily from behind his gag.
Drusilla turned to Lilah. "I wanted to hear their lovely screams."
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.
"Happy?"
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.
And he did. Ten seconds later, he died.
One down, three to go.
TO BE CONTINUED