|
|
"Lilah," he nodded to her, with not-quite-a-smile.
She almost snorted. It came out as barely a sound.
"You want me to get you some coffee?" he asked. "No offense, but you look exhausted."
"What a coincidence, you look like someone trying to stab a colleague in the back--with a spoon."
"Ouch," he murmured, "that almost hurt."
"Really? And I wasn't even trying."
"Could have fooled me."
"Could. Should. Have."
He had no reply to that, which suited Lilah just fine. The fact is, she'd managed to get home last night and her sleep had been long and uninterrupted. For a change. No restlessness when she got up, no half-remembered dreams to distract her. Good things, all. Trouble was, it had been going on long enough to feel almost normal--or at least usual. If it wasn't one thing it was another. Sleep cycles get screwed up, then get unscrewed enough they feel wrong. On top of that she got extra duties but had to share her old ones with a waste of skin like Lindsay MacDonald. No way on earth, though, she was going to get caught complaining. Even a little of that would end up blown up by gossip to major-league whining, a subtle but damning black mark on the unofficial record. Lilah was wiser than that. Much wiser.
Still, as the elevator opened and they headed into the conference room, Lilah did grab a mug of coffee from the table to the side. In this, she was identical to half the attorneys in the room. Most would, she was privately sure, go into delirium tremens without at least one large caffeine dose per day. It was an amusing image. But first, before getting any coffee, she placed her files next to place in the seating arrangement. It was so often the little things, and so many of those depended on preparation.
When Holland entered the room, everyone made for the seats, but none sat. Not yet.
"Good afternoon, everybody!" His words were answered with a chorus of pretty-much meaningless well-wishes. Lilah herself merely smiled and carefully timed her own approach. She managed to sit as if the precise moment of it only happened to coincide with Holland's identical movement. Others couldn't quite avoid the appearance of hurry, of scampering to keep up. Lilah, on the other hand, seemed naturally in tune with her superior--a bit of work that only succeeded because it looked like no work at all.
Yes, it was the little things wasn't it.
"Lilah, you've got the most on your plate," Holland said after settling in, "why not give an overview?"
She nodded. "The recovery of Congressman Blimm's nephew looks even more workable now that our Special Guest" as good a euphemism as any, and besides not everyone here had any notion what the term meant (try as they might to hide it) "has agreed to help out. Our friend has helped that way, and of course it helps that the disorientation involved proved much much less than we'd been led to expect."
"Different premises," Holland noted. "As originally envisioned, the ritual would have resulted in a different guest under very different circumstances."
"We've lucked out, then, because the timetable on this project can now be advanced. The first fruits of such should come to the attention of the LAPD within hours."
"Should we," asked some flunky at the other end of the table, "do anything to alert them?" He obviously had no clue about what the project was, simply trying to find a way in on something important. Score points with the boss. Pretty standard, except that if he really had what it takes he'd have snuck around and learned things before mouthing off.
"Unnecessary," said Holland with a smile, "and no reason to reveal our hand until we have to." It was said in such a genial way. The fact the flunky blanched so completely was a nice reminder of just how powerful Holland was--and how close Lilah was to his inner circle. After all, Holland was the only person in the room known to have actually met--as in stood in the presence of--the Senior Partners. That, plus his own status as still breathing, registered with nearly everyone. Hence the flunky's barely-concealed panic.
"As things stand now," said Lindsay, "we'll be able to report positive movement on recovering Billy Blimm within forty-eight hours."
Lilah didn't snarl, though she wanted to. Linsay was many things, but flunky wasn't one of them. Exactly how he'd managed to learn--then spout--her own prediction about status of the project proved that. She didn't have to like it, though. Nor did she.
Holland turned to her. "Is that right?" A trap. Agree with Lindsay, and he gets some of the credit. Disagree, and come across as disloyal plus look the fool when matter proceed as he predicted.
"Depends on what you mean by positive movement, but measurable progress definitely." Don't let them see you're fazed even a little. She paused for just a moment, and glanced at Lindsay. Just the right touch of tolerance in her smile, then "Of course I would like" emphasize the verb, create the impression you want "to say we'll have Billy back even sooner," a lift of an eyebrow to convey who suggested that idea (even if he didn't, as if that were the point) "but forty-eight hours will see movement. No doubt about that." Out of the corner of her eye, Lilah saw Lindsay's tight smile. Yes, he got what she had done. Didn't like it, but wasn't surprised and knew better than to object.
Too bad. She'd rather he wasn't such a competent pain in the ass.
"Excellent!" Holland beamed. Most of those at the table relaxed. Lilah knew better. "Of course, Lilah, I'll need you to stay on top of matters."
"Of course, sir."
"And that will include seeing to the special requirements of our guest."
"Taken care of, already, sir."
"Really?" Just a hint of warning. Damn. Had she forgotten something? Only one way to be sure.
"In fact," she added "my plans are to debrief her later this evening."
"Be careful. The firm can ill afford to lose you, Lilah."
"I understand." Because I can afford to lose me even less.
"Good." Holland now shifted his gaze to a notepad. The odds anything written there had the slightest to do with Wolfram & Hart business was vanishingly small, but Holland was a master at using minutiea for maximum effect. Putting on his reading glasses, he checked something, then looked up again. "Lindsay?"
"Sir?"
"Fill me in on our plans for Miss Anne Steele."
* * *
Willow felt her hands turn into fists as Wesley spoke "We're not accusing you of anything."
Tara sighed. "Yet."
He paused, even looked a little guilty.
"Yeah, whatever," said Faith. She had been pacing for what seemed like forever. Now she stopped, right in front of the sofa where Willow and Tara were curled up together. "Tara--did you kill this Justine chick's sister or not?"
"No! Of course she didn't!" Willow nearly stumbled answering for her girlfriend. "Tara isn't like that!"
"Yes I did." Tara didn't hesitate. Willow turned around and stared at her. In return, Wesley took off his glasses and looked away.
"Shit." muttered Faith, who resumed pacing.
Nobody said anything for several very long seconds, during which Willow couldn't help but stare. It was a shock, one she didn't like and really wished hadn't happened at all. But the words were out. Tara had said them. Now...
What now?
"I don't suppose," said Wesley quietly, "it was self defense?"
"Not even slightly."
"Ah." He put his glasses back on. "Her sister evidently being a formidable fighter, I thought perhaps..." His voice trailed off.
"Thanks."
"Um...for what?"
But Tara didn't answer him. Instead, she shifted her weight on the sofa so that she was facing both Willow and Wesley. Then she fixed her gaze on Faith. After a few moments, the slayer stopped pacing, sat down and evidently listened.
"Julia was a regular at the bleeder club I used to go to when I was in LA," Tara began. "Does everyone here know what a bleeder club is?"
"Got an idea. But let's hear it from the vampire's mouth."
"Yes, I agree," said Wesley.
"Me, too," said Willow. She felt terribly confused. "Or--me three, maybe. Sorta."
"Some humans get off on being bled. Vampires feed on them, but don't kill. In fact, some humans even pay for the privelege. There's probably not a major city that doesn't have at least one--which is one reason there aren't as many vampires--or vampire deaths--as you'd expect. Julia was a regular. And she liked me." This last was said directly to Willow, who really didn't want to hear it. All kinds of images immediately came to mind, very familiar images but with one of the faces changed. Hers. Unbidden, the thought came to mind that Justine was a redhead. So, presumably, had been her sister. Her twin sister.
"And what happened?" Wesley's question seemed to come from very far away. Too far. "Given the avowed purpose of such a place, I presume killed the clientele is frowned upon."
"Generally," Tara replied, "but not as much as you might think. The fact is, most vampires don't really have that much in the way of personality, or thinking ahead."
"Or thinking period," agreed Faith. She actually did a take. Not much of one, but a take. "Present company doesn't count."
"Thanks," said Tara. Then she leaned back, looking at Wesley but keeping her face totally visible to Willow--a fact she noticed. Was that a cause of hope? Or, as a voice seemed to whisper in her ear, one more proof of how cunningly deceitful a vampire can be? "In fact, more than anything else it was an accident. That night--well, it was the night before I saw you two" she gazed at Faith and Willow "at Caritas. I was hungry. She looked pale, kinda weak. Had I been careful, or in less of a hurry I probably would have fed from someone else that night."
"You fed from a lot of people?" Willow's words sounded tiny, even to her.
"I'm a vampire," Tara said simply. "Human blood tastes lots better than the stuff you get at a butcher's. I don't drink too much of it the same reason you don't drink too much eggnog. Or, at least the same reason you shouldn't." A ghost of a smile from her. Willow almost smiled back, but she realized this was actually something of a criticism. Or was it? Couldn't that be considered teasing? The kind between loved ones? Couldn't it? "Anyway," Tara said after another moment, turning again to Wesley, "I fed on her but she had a heart attack after only a few swallows. The fact is, she was kinda gamey. I don't think she was well, anyway."
"Was calling a paramedic even an option?"
Tara looked at Welsey as if he'd just suggested Willow go to confession. "I was surrounded by vampires, Wes, and people paying for the chance to get chomped on. No, no one was going to call a doctor."
"So you simply let her die?" Wesley's voice managed to convey worlds of judgement by simply not varying the tone even a little. It was creepy.
"I'm not a doctor," Tara shrugged. "I don't know CPR. Besides, once the heart attack started it was pretty clear she was a goner. Blood pressure went to just zero--like getting a nut stuck in your straw when you're having a milkshake. Like that."
"Tee?" Faith's eyes were big. It took Willow a moment to realize she'd just given Tara a new nickname. Well, it beat Patch.
"What?"
"Do you know just how gross what you just said was?"
"Probably not. Vampire, remember?"
"Oh yeah." Faith looked away.
"Her blood was pretty thin, too, now that I think about it. She probably had been letting us feed on her too much. That could easily have helped kill her."
"That doesn't sound very sanitary," Willow offered. "I mean, if more than one of you...you know."
"Red?" Faith was looking at her now. "They're vampires. What're they gonna do, get sick?"
Willow squirmed a little. "Still..." she said, but didn't finish her thought.
"I did think about turning her for a second, but considering my track record in that regard that didn't seem like a good idea. Besides, she was pretty messed up. You kinda have to be to end up going to a bleeder club."
Faith nodded. "Yeah, I can see that."
"Unfortunately," Wesley said, "that leaves us with a very real dilmena. Justine now realizes, or at least suspects, your connection to her sister's death. She isn't a slayer, but from what Miss Steele told Faith she has managed to achieve a not-unimpressive number of victories in hunting the undead. Quite simply, Tara, you are in danger."
Those words brought Willow's confusion back into focus. All this meant was that Tara had yet another possible foe--no, make that definite enemy against whom Willow would need all the power she could muster. For days now, her studies had been going less swift than she'd have liked. Wesley had noticed she wasn't researching prophecies, but rather obscure and powerful magicks. True, there was some overlap, which was why she'd been able to get away with it so long (well, that and Wesley's obsessiveness which nicely blinded him to some details). As a result, Willow had only memorized about a dozen really powerful spells--the kind that could be of use even against a slayer.
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
"I don't pretend that what you did," Wesley was saying, "or what you failed to do, isn't without disturbing moral implications. But its also true that you're our ally, and have proven your worth on...well, more than a few occaisions."
A smoke screen, that's what this was. It was so obvious! Lull Tara and Willow into a false sense of security. Get them to lower their guard. After finding out about Willow's studies, no doubt Wesley felt he had to be extra careful.
"Yet the fact is also, we're likely to need you. Soon. This whole business with the Prophecies being stolen, plus this mysterious vampiric oracle you've reported--I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn they're linked, somehow."
Willow deliberately nodded, as if in agreement. Best to let them think she was taken in.
"Jesus, Wes--they've gotta hide!"
"Not necessarily, Faith. By deliberately remaining in harms way we retain at least some semblence of control over the situation..."
The doorbell rang. No one said anything, but just looked at each other for a moment--long enough for the bell to ring again.
"Anybody expecting guests?" Faith asked.
"Its your place," replied Tara.
"Good point." With that, Faith got up and headed for the door. Alert and ready, Willow watched her, listened as the front door opened.
"What the hell...?" Faith's voice from the front hallway as more than a bit annoyed. In fact, she sounded pissed off! "What the hell are you doing back?"
It took all of three seconds for the three of them to get up, cross over and get into the front hallway with Faith. Willow was both surprised and not to see Detective Lockley in the doorway, looking very business-like, as well as slightly triumphant. Flanking her were no less than three large police officers in uniform. All had hands near their guns.
"Look Lockley, whatever it is you think you're up to, you can just turn your ass around and..."
But the Detective paid no attention. She fixed her gaze past Faith, into the apartment...
...but not at Tara.
"Willow Rosenberg," she barked, "you are under arrest for the murder of Mr. Orrin Mclay."
TO BE CONTINUED