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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."
"Yeah, I know."
"Girl's missing her lovin' is all, Wes," chimed in Faith.
"Thank you I believe that was already quite, quite clear."
"Don't mention it."
"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."
"Party pooper."
Willow almost said under her breath "I could do a spell."
And got a very intense stare from Wesley as a response. "Spells can go wrong. Extremely wrong."
"Hey! I'm the one who stopped that James the thwarted vampire lover guy. I am!"
"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.."
Faith snorted. "Knew that was coming."
"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..."
"Actually, I was referring to what Amy was up to before she disappeared."
"Huh? But Xander didn't say Amy had..."
"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."
The silence that followed was kinda squirm-worthy.
"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.
"Hey, Red."
"What?"
"Don't sweat it. Tara's not cheating on you or anything."
"That's not it!"
"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?"
"That's...! Well--it isn't...I don't think that's any of your business."
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.
Tonight, she was hunting a different prey. For a more private kind of pleasure.
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.
"I'm Drusilla."
"My name's Lilah."
"That's a pretty name."
"Thanks."
"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."
Lilah nodded. "Brand spanking."
Drusilla smiled at that, a smile that promised abandon. "Have you celebrated yet?"
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
"Not yet. At least not the real celebration."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
She nodded.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
"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.
Lilah smiled. She had expected to feel the teasing texture of cloth. Not so.
"You seem ready for me."
"I've always been ready...for someone like you."
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!"
"Miss Morgan?" One of the associates. Eager little fools.
"Yes?"
"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...
What?
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.
"Miss Morgan?" Oh, yeah. The law scout.
"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."
"At once, Miss Morgan!"
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.
So how did her blouse come to be unbottoned?
***
Tara leaned against the wal and thought about where she was.
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.
Much better than most.
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.
"Hello Harmony."
"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."
"I'm just visiting, actually."
"Really?" The cock of her head brought back memories. Oh no.
"Were you...looking for someone?"
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.
What the hell?
"You wouldn't believe what a big splash I made around here," Harmony gushed. "And its all because of you!"
Uh. "Really?"
"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.
"One of...who?"
"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."
"I know. He was my sire."
"Oh is that who they're talking about? That ugly guy?"
"Um. Yeah. He headed the Order."
"Wow. They say he was killed. Is it true?"
"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.
"This oracle..."
"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.
"The oracle is a vampire, right?"
Another shrug. "Guess so."
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?"
"Really? That'd be so swell!"
"Swell--yeah."
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?"
"Yes, mistress."
Then Harmony, still befanged, grinned at Tara. "You wanted to talk?"
***
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.
Something to write home about.
Well, kinda.
The Vocah spoke: "Five are without breath."
And his robed cohorts answered "Yet they live!
"Five are without time."
"Yet they live!"
"Five are without soul!"
"Yet they live!"
"Five are without sun!"
"Yet they live!"
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."
Silence.
Then--a voice came from the box. Bright eyes peared out from behind the bars. Pitiless eyes. Dangerous eyes. And the voice matched.
"Bored now," said the vampire before ripping a hole open in the box.
TO BE CONTINUED