FROM CHILDHOOD'S HOUR Part 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"
TO BE CONTINUED
