Canada had actually
fallen first, followed swiftly by Mexico, Central and South America, and finally
the United States. It wasn’t like any of the countries actually had a chance
of surviving, but that didn’t stop them from trying; land of the free, home of
the brave and all that.
He looked around the
shattered city.
While it was true
that this particular place hadn’t burned like New York, didn’t mean that
Atlanta hadn’t suffered the same fate as its northern brethren. Everything had
fallen apart and it was amazing to the man, as he wandered the darkened streets,
that the government hadn’t done more about it.
The United States
government sent wave after wave against Angelus and Buffy all to no avail. By
the time anyone of importance realized that revealing the dirty little secret
that everyone knew but no one uttered, it was too late. Those in charge of the
Initiative suddenly had places of power in the quest – and race – to stop
the uprising demons. They failed and were replaced. Those replacements were
replaced; again and again and again the cycle continued.
Still the U.S. refused to concede defeat. Old prejudices crumpled to be replaced by new ones, to be replaced by fear and loathing and paranoia.
The President had
launched one nuclear bomb at the location everyone knew Angelus and Buffy were
currently at; it wasn’t like they tried to conceal their presence, in fact
flaunted it because they knew they could. The bomb launched from someplace in
Montana…and it turned not towards New Orleans where the couple was enjoying a
quiet morning together, but towards the White House, crashing through the domed
ceiling and killing everyone within.
Willow was firmly in
control of the missile and she wasn’t about to let ‘a two bit politician
ruin a world they had spent so much time taking over.’ The fallout, Willow
insisted was enough to contaminate the atmosphere for years to come and that was
simply unacceptable. Plus it seriously set back their clean environment plans.
The nuclear device
exploded as it was designed to. Willow, however, with several dark shamans that
had joined their cause had erected a forcefield around the building, keeping the
fallout contained.
She, along with Giles
and Drusilla, had then set dozens of magickal stones around the crater formerly
known as the most important building in the United States thus ensuring the
continuation of said forcefield; the chances of the fallout escaping the barrier
were slim and no one was stupid enough to remove a stone to break the barrier.
Even if they were,
there were spells in place to prevent that, something that Connor had suggested,
or so he had heard. Connor, the son of Angelus, the childe of Buffy, the last of
The Family. He was the human warrior – now a vampire – who voluntarily
joined their world conquest.
That was when the government had ‘officially’ fallen but he knew in actual fact that Buffy and Angelus were in control long before the United States capitulated. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine, hell even the National Guard and the Merchant Marines were called against the invading demons.
Too bad they were
mostly human and had less chance against the demons then the Army of Light. Even
less of a chance now that two strong and vicious former warriors for the light
were in charge of the darkness.
Humans flocked out of
the Western Hemisphere faster then they had procreated there in the first place.
Europe was no safer in the hands of Rupert Giles so thousands of refugees made
their tedious way to Asia and Africa. Some tried to find Pacific Islands to hide
in, but those were tiny and overcrowded as it was. Refugees were turned away by
guns, hatred, and those few magick users who knew it was finally their time to
step forward and be recognized.
Tuvalu, population
11,000, was already under threat of sinking into the ocean from which it was
born and refused to allow another being to set foot on their island for fear
that physical weight would somehow expediate the process. Too bad too, he
thought as he turned a corner, still sticking to the shadows that covered most
of the city now. The group of nine islands was absolutely beautiful and he
wouldn’t mind staying there indefinitely.
The wind whipped
through the deserted streets and he flipped his jacket collar up, trying to
shield his ears from the blast of cold. Where was that stifling heat Atlanta was
famous for? Now wasn’t the time, in his opinion, to change perfectly good
stereotypes.
Too much was already
changing, had already changed.
Demons roamed freely
now, unconcerned with whatever had been holding them back before. Now they ruled
the lands, now they were no longer reduced to skulking in the shadows, hiding
from the populace.
He laughed at that
and wondered how demons had ever been ignored, how they had ever been reduced to
hiding in the shadows but decided that now was definitely not the time for a
mythological, historical, or philosophical discussion. He had other things to
do. Other places to be.
Quickening his pace,
it was barely midnight but he detested being out in the night any more. Too much
had changed, even for him, and he was uncomfortable in the very environment he
had once reveled in. It didn’t do much for his mood.
Angelus was feared
throughout the demon community, as was Buffy. Together they made a formidable
team that none dared defy; those who did were quickly brought to their knees
made an example of in the worst possible manner. Humans were treated the same
way. Almost a quarter of the population of the Americas’ was decimated, the
rest having been subjugated under their rule.
LA became the new
capital of the Americas; Angelus rumored to be reluctant to leave a city he
renamed after himself. Of course there were several rumors flying around, but he
didn’t believe any of them any more than the first. The Family was much too
practical for the whimsical stories to be true.
Such as the one which
claimed Angelus had a harem to rival the ancient sultans and it was too hard to
move so many women. Right, like Buffy, who was rumored to keep Angelus chained
to a wall in a private room a whip him daily (which he could believe on a purely
sexual basis), would tolerate that for even a second.
Or the rumor that
those in charge of the Hellmouth were actually planning to open it, thus
spreading Hell on Earth.
Look around, he
wanted to shout, it’s already Hell on Earth! Besides, Willow had fought with
the slayer for far too many years to do something as stupid as that now. Vamps
wouldn’t necessarily be at the top of the food chain and human food would be
scarcer then a Dodo bird.
Oh, many still lived, most still worked, there were industries to be run after all and food to keep on the table for said humans to live. They needed to be strong enough for those demons who fed off such creatures, after all. And what was the world without food?
But things changed
and so did those still living. There was still entertainment, must amuse the
masses after all, for both demons and humans. Buffy, it seemed, enjoyed the
opera; 90% of the singers still lived and preformed on a daily basis; it was a
great honor to do so. Movies, television shows, the theater, all remained
opened. But it was up to you to take that risk; nighttime wasn’t the best time
to venture outdoors.
Still some did: those
who refused to see what was plainly all around them, or those who thought they
were above such things, or those who simply wanted out of the confines of their
houses. Oh, there was a curfew, but exceptions were often made if one produced
proof of a specific destination.
And, as always, there
were those humans who had joined some kind of demon cult, became vampire whores,
had serious death wishes, or were part of the underground…they ventured out at
night.
Except him, he
laughed to himself, careful to dodge roving demon bands, wondering when he had
become so damn stupid.
A human ran into him
and muttered a fearful “Sorry,” before scurrying away.
Slave, he thought
with a grimace of distance. Human slaves were becoming quite the thing now. It
wasn’t the magickally enhanced and unbreakable collar that identified them so
much as the fact that they were out at night and wore that scared, resigned look
about them. Bringing messages for their master’s or running errands.
Oh, there was also a
thriving prostitute business, but that was an entirely different kettle. And one
that had been going on since the dawn of time; it wasn’t called the oldest
profession for nothing, he reasoned as his destination came into sight.
The burnt out
warehouse looked much like any other warehouse in any other city he had ever
been in and he wasn’t too surprised to find that even here magickal barriers
were in full force. Magick was easily traced, especially nowadays, but so much
of it was in use now that most times it was ignored. All around easier that way
for both those in charge and those who only wished to survive another night.
He knocked on the
door, waiting huddled in his jacket for the sentry to check him out and clear
him. The fact that he could easily – semi-easily – take down their pathetic
barrier meant little to the man who currently stood on the opposite side of the
protective circle. Opening the door the man waited silently for him to enter,
gun pointed at his head in warning.
“Do you have it?”
A woman asked as she stepped out from the shadows
“Yes,” he
replied, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. Absently he noted that
families were living here and wondered if that made the building a house and
thus safe from vampires at least. Too bad there were hundreds of other threats
to them still roaming the streets.
“Are we agreed on
the deal?” She asked, hoping that it was still so for there was nothing else
left with which to barter.
“Passage to Africa,
food and supplies for a three week trek and the best of luck in my endeavor.
Yes, I believe that’s a fair bargain.” At this point he’d take whatever he
could get so long as it got him out of America.
“Good. Where are they?”
“The supplies you
seek are in the high school, downtown, the library,” he replied, laughing at
the irony only he got.
“Food, clothes, magickal supplies to last a good long while so long as used sparingly, and ammo. Here’s the code to enter the building and a spell that will lower the protective barrier for 30 minutes. Give or take, so make it snappy. The guard schedule is here as well, but I wouldn’t go by that; no matter how scared they might be of Angelus and Buffy and company, they’re Tur’rral’s and while big and mean, lack in the brains and consistent timing area. So you might want to double check their little schedule before hand just to see where they might be at any given moment.”
“And the
information?”
“Europe is almost a
total wash, the Watcher’s there have been routed and what’s left of them are
seeking the Army of Light. Who aren’t doing too well themselves.”
“What about opening
the Hellmouth to stop this siege?” She asked, running out of options at this
point. She didn’t want to be in this job, didn’t want this responsibility,
but hadn’t a choice when the wars had begun…or when the good guys had fallen
to the darkness.
“Kate, Kate, Kate,
that’s pretty funny,” he said to the blonde and laughed for the first time
in a while. “Lord, but that might be the funniest thing I’ve heard in
ages!”
Sobering, he added,
“That is possibly the stupidest plan you could have ever come up with, Ms.
Lockley. Don’t.” He said again in that flat voice that brooked no
argument. “First, too heavily guarded, no one’s getting in and when you’re
caught, you aren’t getting out, either. And second? You really don’t want to
do that. You think it’s bad now? It can
get worse.”
Nodding the woman
signaled to someone in the shadows he couldn’t see and the sentry who had
first let him in handed him a small package. “Tickets, papers, a fake history,
all as you requested. The ship sails at dawn from Savannah, there’s a car
waiting for you out back.”
Kate Lockely studied the man before her, noting both the recklessness in his eyes and the seeming ancient wisdom that brought a glint of hardness to him. “Why are you doing this?”
“I have my reasons,
but let’s just say that even this is too much chaos for me. I prefer to be the
instigator of such things rather than the recipient of them.”
Nodding to the woman,
he turned to leave, intent on getting as far from this city – this continent
– as quickly as he could. Her sharp voice stopped him. “If I find out you
lied to me, Ethan, The Family will be the least of your concerns.”
Ethan Rayne turned
and shot the woman a cheeky grin. “Lady, you have no idea what you’re
talking about; you may think you do, but trust me, you don’t. I know the
Family so much better than you and that was when they were on the other side of
the coin. I know exactly what they were capable of and what they are now scares
me to death. And believe me when I say that’s something. If I were you I’d
take whatever supplies I could steal, scourge, buy or kill for and hightail it
on out of this continent as quickly as I could.”
He shot her a look
Kate couldn’t interrupt and couldn’t help but add, “And hope that wherever
you end up they don’t find you.”
Thus saying he turned
back to the exit and prepared to leave for his own trip. The irony of the
situation was not lost on him; Ethan Rayne, trying to help save the world. Maybe
Ripper could find him first and kill him, ridding him of all these ‘I want to
help’ emotions.
They were foreign to Ethan and he was
sure a rash was developing.
~~~~~~~~~~
Ethan stepped onto the boat and looked around as inconspicuously as possible.
Sure, it was
daylight. That didn’t appease him in the least. He, better than most,
understood that evil didn’t necessarily travel only at night. He was on a ship
that was heading straight for Morocco with other…beings having been granted
passage out of Family held territory. Territory that was expanding daily.
He calculated
their chances of making it to the Mid-Atlantic Ocean Ridge at one in five.
Huddled deep
in his winter coat and again wondering why it was so damn cold in the American
South in July –or maybe it was just him and a bone deep frost that wouldn’t
go away – Ethan Rayne made his silent way to his single cabin. It was small
but at this point, he wasn’t going to argue. The room was private and he could
place protective wards around it if he wished to – which he did wish and would
do just as soon as he unpacked his meager belongings.
Heaving a
long-suffering sigh at the dismal state of his possessions, Ethan threw what
clothing he owned into the top drawer, leaving the other two pathetically empty.
Reaching carefully into the bottom of his bag, the former chaos worshipper and
current white hat – though he’d laugh in the face of anyone who dared call
him that and then possibly place some kind of hex on them – pulled out a thick
leather bound volume.
With
something approaching reverence, Ethan caressed the cover before settling on the
twin bed, pulling a pen out as he did so. The bed – nothing more than a cot
really – groaned under his weight but Ethan ignored it. Opening to the ribbon
held place he dated the next entry:
The third year of rule:
As I’ve stated before,
time has little meaning any more, at least in the sense of tracking the days and
years. I suppose I could calculate the year simply by counting from the last
time I remembered it. Still what would be the point? The year would have no
value, especially if the day or month were not known, and it would have little
meaning to any other than me. Or anyone who should find this book, should it
survive, that is.
Aren’t
I melancholy? It’s downright pitiable, if you ask me, this newfound, I don’t
know what to call it, conscious? I liked it better when I was the one to wreck
havoc, not trying to save others from it.
Anyway,
I know that this is the middle of the third year of Angelus and Buffy’s rule
because there was a rather large celebration held in that honor several months
ago.
Kansas will never be the same. Of course, the populace was given a
week’s warning to evacuate the region, but I hear less than half listened.
Stupid humans. When the demonic ruler of the hemisphere you’re living in tells
you that your state is about to become the locale of his party you leave.
Those that didn’t listen were used for sport by the demons celebrating.
I hear it was…messy. No one – no human that is – lived to tell the tale.
I am currently on the ship bound for Africa, and am positive Angelus and
Buffy know, if not of me specifically, then of this transport. The fact that
they’ve allowed this to continue means that they have something planned, I’m
sure of it.
It scares me that there isn’t a whisper of what that something is.
Then again, this isn’t like the typical ‘government,’ or
dictatorship for that matter. There have always been spies, traitors who do what
they do for fame or money or freedom or – and this has always been a source of
contempt from me – because it’s the right thing to do.
Not the case this time.
No, this time leaks are nonexistent and, from what I’ve heard, only the
nine of them know what happens next. Apparently, even their army is summoned at
the last minute, despite the fact that I hear it’s a standing army, ready at
all times. Little things are let out, like the fact that Buffy enjoys the opera
therefore, so long as you do nothing to piss her off, most operatic singers and
ballet dancers retain their jobs.
Other things, like where they’re living next, are kept so secret I’ve
heard that even their servants don’t know when they’re moving.
All of which leads me to think – know – that whatever the resistance
fighters assume about their ignorance, Angelus and Buffy know exactly what
everyone under their rule is up to.
It
scares me – worries me? bothers me? pisses me off? – that I hope Kate and
her merry band of men are okay.
Honestly though, if I really thought that I’d have stayed and helped
them. Notice me on the ship outta here.
What I’ll do one we dock in Morocco I haven’t a clue, but I do know
it’ll probably be something about running for my life. Ripper is sure to want
me dead. Why I’m not I still don’t know but am not one to look the gift fate
in the mouth.
Last I heard Ripper had conquered half of Europe, sweeping his way south
and east in a not very vain attempt to wipe out the Watcher’s Council.
I hear Quintin Travers is being kept alive solely for Ripper’s
pleasure. Even if the poor bloke knows nothing anymore of where he is or why
he’s being tortured. Probably better that way.
We’re moving now; I can hear the horns and whatnots of the ship as we
leave port, the sun still blazing overhead. Nightfall is still several hours
off, true night even later. Still, I’m sure something would have happened
already if they really wanted to stop us.
***
Third
year of rule, ninth day at sea:
How incredibly bored am I?
This is ridiculous and crazy and…annoying. Can’t even get a decent hand of
poker going everyone’s being quite the hermit. Not that I blame them, believe
me, I stayed in my cabin as well the first seven days. But now? Now I just
can’t deal.
Oh, and my paranoia hasn’t lessened.
So I think we’re being followed, so what? So I think that Ripper is
waiting for me in Morocco. If he’s not there, he’ll be someplace else. So I
think I should have stayed in the states, at least there I wasn’t trapped in
the middle of some damn ocean with no place to run.
Tell me again why I decided to become a good guy?
***
…We dock in four days. I cannot wait to get off this boat. It smells
and rocks and the constant movement makes me sick half the time. It’s annoying
and the food sucks. The company is horrible when anyone bothers to come out of
their own self-imposed isolation.
I
need off!
Africa,
or so I’ve heard, is the last stronghold against the darkness, the last
continent. Humans, for the moment, are safe there.
As
I count down the days, and now hours, I hope that remains true.
I’m
sure it will now.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy tried not to fidget as the seamstress pinned the hem of her gown.
Really,
she didn’t mind the fact that a dozen women waited to be called to see to her
every clothing need, in fact, she loved it and insisted upon it. But sometimes
it was just too much. She had been standing still, in the same spot, for two
hours straight while the only seamstress she respected straightened the hem on
her blue silk gown.
“Mistress,”
Gigi said her southern accent soft and lilting, “If you do not stop fidgeting,
this will be crooked.”
“Then
hurry up,” Buffy snapped, straightening once more as she wondered at the fact
that the human seamstress was the one she trusted most, “I’m tired of
standing here.”
“Ten
minutes more, Mistress, and we will be finished.” Gigi promised and quickly
jabbed another pin through the material wondering if her life was in danger.
Again.
Angelus
chose that moment to saunter into the room. He glanced at the human and just as
quickly dismissed her, his attention solely on his golden mate. Raking his eyes
over her body, he smiled in approval and passion. “Beautiful, my love, as
always. Is that the gown for the ball next Tuesday?”
“Yes,”
Buffy smiled, smoothing a hand over the soft fabric covering her hip. “Paul
said the Council agreed to attend and agreed to meet with us privately. I
didn’t want to,” she paused her smile turning sly as she finished,
“Disappoint them.”
Laughing,
a sound that sent shivers of fear up Gigi’s spine; he waited another minute
until the seamstress finished and quickly stepped away from the couple before
stepping up to the rounded step Buffy stood upon. Taking her hand, he kissed the
palm, eyes locked with hers. She smiled and was about to step closer to kiss
him, when Gigi made a choking sound.
”Mistress,
please!” She begged, wondering if she were taking her life into her own hands
with this. Ah, what the hell, she was already a human working for the most
powerful demon in the world, why not push her luck? What was the worst they
could do kill her? She lived with that threat every minute. Protection or not,
Gigi was terrified.
“Please
remove the gown, CAREFULLY, mistress, first.” She all but begged. Her work was
a source of pride to the woman, and something that gave her time to forget that
her life wasn’t exactly as she envisioned it. The fact that if something
didn’t look right Buffy’d withdrawal her protection from her and her family
was a very close second.
Angelus
scowled at the intrusion, his eyes flashing gold as he turned his head to the
human seamstress, intent on killing her on the spot. But when Buffy tugged on
his hand to regain his attention, he once more ignored the woman and helped his
lover undo the fastenings and step out of the dress. Gigi gathered the material
protectively to her breast and moved quickly out of the room.
At the door,
she said, trying her best not to squeak, “I’ll need to have one more fitting
Monday, mistress, shall I schedule it with your secretary?”
Buffy nodded
once, not bothering to voice her acceptance and waited for Gigi to scurry out of
the room. Gigi sighed once she was in the hall and quickly made her way away
from the two vampires. They, more than anyone except their son, unnerved her the
most.
She
had been a poor single mother working for a chain bridal boutique when they
began taking over the hemisphere and had accidentally stumbled upon them one
night, as she was about to enter her building. She had pleaded with them to
spare her life so she may take care of her children; that really hadn’t been
the right move because they wanted her children as well.
With
no choice and no real memory of doing it, Gigi suddenly found herself leading
the couple to her apartment. It had been Buffy who asked her, holding one of her
children close to her breast, human face inches away from the boy’s neck, why
there were yards of material over every available space and two sewing machines
in the corner. Still seeing little choice in the matter, Gigi had told her, fear
choking her and tears streaming down her cheeks, her other son, Colin, clutched
to her side.
“You’re
a seamstress?” Buffy had asked, not releasing the boy but suddenly interested
in the answer. She had only seemed interested in Gigi’s family as her meal and
Angelus before the human uttered those words and now she wished she hadn’t.
“Yes,”
Gigi had stuttered, wondering at the bizarre change of topic. “This is what I
do on the side.”
An
odd gleam had appeared in the green eyes of the most powerful woman in the world
then and Gigi knew she wasn’t going to like it. “I have a proposition for
you then, my dear,” Buffy said as she released Sandy into Angelus’ waiting
clutches and walked to the Gigi, running her cool hand over Colin’s head.
“You may
answer no, but I can guarantee that’ll be the worst way to go. I find myself
in need of a seamstress; one that knows the value of…family.” She had looked
over her shoulder at Angelus then and Gigi had a feeling the vampiress was about
to make, as the saying went, an offer she couldn’t refuse.
She
was right and now, Gigi thought as she went to the sewing room she had all to
herself, she was employed by the rulers of most of the world. Her children were
taken care of, educated by the best scholars and given almost anything they
desires, not to mentioned protected against any threat; she lived in the lap of
luxury and wanted for nothing.
Except her
freedom. But was that freedom worth the price of her life? Yes, yes it was. But
not her children’s lives, never that.
And
Buffy and Angelus knew this and played on Gigi’s fear for her family. She was
allowed to see whomever she wished, come and go whenever she found the time, but
the threat had been made once and only once and Gigi believed it wholeheartedly:
Secrets about the building, the family, when they hunted, what they did during
the daylight hours, all this and so much more was strictly forbidden as topics
of conversation.
Gigi
adhered to that, not wanting to take even the slightest chance with her
children’s lives. She looked at the couple watching her one last time before
bearing right towards her workroom. She may hate her life, but she wasn’t
strong enough to change her circumstances.
“Why
do you keep the human around?” Angelus asked, the scowl not leaving his face
as he turned back to his mate, dismissing the woman who had just left the room.
“She’s
the best and the only one I trust to do it right the first time.” Buffy said,
shrugging. “Besides, we have her unwavering loyalty and her children. Now,”
she continued, looping her bare arms about his neck, as he pulled her closer.
With the step and in the heels she planned on wearing next week she was the
perfect height to him. “Why did you really come in here?”
Capturing
her lips with his, Angelus plundered her moist depths for a moment before
pulling back, smirking once more. His hands ran across her smooth belly and down
the curve of hips and buttocks. “I heard the most intriguing rumor.” At her
expectant look he continued, “Ethan Rayne is not only alive, but has decided
to become a good guy. He’s helping Kate out in Atlanta.”
“Kate?
As in Kate the cop who had a thing for you, before she learned you’re a vamp?
The one you won’t let me kill just yet, because you want that whole spark of
hope to be shattered? That Kate?” At his nod, Buffy pouted. “Is she still
helping those would-be rebels and homeless people?”
“Apparently,
yes. Giving hope to the hopeless and food to the needy,” Angelus said with a
smile. “She’s become a type of savior to the people there, a cross between
Mother Teresa and FDR. Helping the needy and organizing a rebellion, rallying
the troops and such.”
But, the
aggravation of dealing with a Vampire Council that refused to simply capitulate
to his and Buffy’s rule and the little nuances that plagued their everyday
reign had taken their toll on him. Maybe another vacation was in order.
Laying her on the couch, Angelus closed the double doors and flicked the lock. It wouldn’t really keep any of the house’s inhabitants out, not physically at least, but it would deter them from entering. Of course, he thought as he joined her on the couch, settling her smaller body over his, he could always kill any intruders.
“Now,”
Angelus continued, as he ran his large cool hands through her silky hair, “It
seems that Ethan gave her the codes and magickal spells to the warehouse in
Atlanta where we’re storing the medical supplies and extra food.” Shrugging
he added, “Ethan’s on his way to Africa where the rest of the Army is
gathering.”
“Is
he going to make it there?” Buffy asked, leaning up a little to see his face.
He was tired but she doubted any but her could see that weariness in the
handsome lines and planes of his face. Slowly she traced the planes of his face,
smoothing the tension from him as she waited his answer.
Smiling
at the glint in her eyes and the fact that her hands had moved to massage his
shoulders, Angelus couldn’t help but kiss her again. “Of course he’ll make
it there, love. But I’m thinking Giles will want to pay his respects to an old
friend, what do you think?”
“I
think I love your mind, baby, almost as much as your body,” Buffy said,
leaning down to kiss him again.
~~~~~~~~~~
Connor
read through several large stacks of papers before him wondering why he never
suspected ruling the world involved so damn much paperwork.
He
had heard a saying once and hadn’t really understood it. It still didn’t
make sense to him, but he understood what the man was trying to say. ‘But
in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.’
Death wasn’t exactly certain; it could be used by any who had to power to control it. A being could rise from the dead in more ways than one and Connor could name, without even really trying, three people who had, in one way or another, come back from the dead. His ‘mother,’ Darla, after being staked by his father was resurrected by Wolfram & Hart. His father who rose from the dead a demon and Buffy who was resurrected by her friends.
So no, death
wasn’t a certainty, not in his world, at least.
Paperwork,
on the other hand, was definitely a certainty. Why, he wondered as he skimmed
through the quarterly reports of their various holdings, would anyone want so
much power they couldn’t enjoy it? To be bogged down in paperwork wasn’t
exactly wielding power. Not the way Connor understood it at least.
Taxes,
on the other hand, were always fun. Sighing as he thought about the line, spoken
by some man who died while his father had been terrorizing Europe, Connor looked
over at the neatly piled stack of papers to his right. Everyone else still paid
taxes and it was a beautiful, beautiful thing.
Connor
was amazed that the various countries of the world – before their takeover at
least – had whole organizations that did nothing but process citizen’s
taxes. Of course one similar organization still did that, but it was much more
streamlined. No one refused to pay taxes; you just didn’t say no to a Fyral
Demon.
Shaking
his head and turning back to the papers before him, Connor continued to read. It
was part of his daily ‘homework.’ To understand what most of the companies
they owned were doing. Financially, yes, but in all parts of the company, also.
Of course, he had a free hand when it came to embezzlers, workers who didn’t
pull their own weight and anyone else who refused to work for demons, and that
didn’t suck.
He
looked up as Spike entered the room.
“Where’s
Angelus, mate?” The older vampire asked rolls of maps under his arm, an unlit
cigarette between his lips. Connor smirked at that but said nothing; Buffy hated
cigarette smoke and refused to let Spike indulge in his habit.
“With
Buffy,” he shrugged as if that should be obvious, “Where else?”
Rolling
his eyes, Spike snorted. “Naturally. Okay, where’s the slayer?”
“Why
do you still call her that?” Connor asked and gratefully set aside his papers.
Running the world was straining on the eyes.
Spike
shrugged and snorted again. “Because that’s what she is, no matter what she
is now. She’s the slayer and she
always will be especially now that
she’s the only vampire-slayer-vampire.” He shifted the maps and asked again,
“So where is she?”
“Don’t
know, but I think she was getting fitted for her gown for next week’s ball.”
“Ball,
ball, which one?” Spike tried to think of what next week was and was suddenly
grateful for the three minions they had keeping track of the social calendar.
“Wait, the Council one?”
“Yeah,
I think so,” Connor agreed.
Heaving
another sigh, Spike turned and walked out of the room, leaving Connor to his
reading.
The room was
empty, the doors opened wide.
Buffy
wasn’t being fitted, which meant Angelus wasn’t there either. Spike dreaded
going to their room, though that was the most likely place they’d be, because
Angelus already threatened him over the last interruption. And that was ages and
ages ago when Spike agreed to follow the couple.
He
found them, eventually, after checking the main floor twice because he dreaded
interrupting them in their rooms and refused to go there. They were in their
office – where Spike was positive they weren’t before. He had checked.
Eyeing them suspiciously because they were fully clothed, if one could call
Buffy’s slip of an outfit clothing, Spike just shrugged; they were still
wrapped around each other and that was normal.
They were
going over supply routes from what he could tell.
“Ah,
there you are. Been lookin’ for you, Angelus,” Spike said as he entered the
room. He made no move to place the charts and drawings down, however, waiting
like a good childe for his Sire’s permission. Somehow, it didn’t grate on
him as it used to, this waiting for permission. Spike wondered at that but
dismissed it for another time.
Angelus
looked at his grandchilde, one hand still caressing Buffy’s belly. His eyes
lighting on Spike’s packages, the elder vampire smiled. “You have them,
then, I see. Excellent.”
Buffy
looked between the two and asked, confused, “What does he have?”
With
one final caress, Angelus lifted Buffy off his lap and placed her on the desk
top, making sure she was covered from any eyes not his own, before moving to
take the papers from Spike. “Is this all of them?”
“All
the ones that met your specifications, yes; I have a shitload more if you want
to see,” Spike answered with a grin. He loved this part of his job. Displacing
humans was almost as much fun as hunting them later.
Angelus
unfurled the first roll, motioning for Spike to hold down one end so they could
look over the pictures and blueprints. “Everything is in working order? The
fountains run, the gardens are pristine, the tiles and walls freshly painted and
restored?”
“Aye,
everything’s cleaned and ready to go; even if Asia isn’t totally ours, the
name still carries enough fear to get what we want.”
“Excellent.”
Buffy
frowned as she tried to make heads or tails out of the drawings. Of course, the
blueprints were upside down to her and that didn’t help. Then Angelus flipped
to the next one, a picture and she smiled.
“The
Taj Mahal, baby?”
Looking
up, her lover smiled. “Did you expect something else? We rule the world, my
love, everything is ours, including the grandest palaces.” He and Spike
unrolled the rest of them and showed her, “The Forbidden City in China, the
Alhambra in Spain, Buckingham and Windsor Palaces of England, Versailles in
France, Peterhoff in St. Petersburg, Humayun's Tomb, and the Taj Mahal in India.
They’re all ours.”
Buffy
smiled, her eyes alight with amusement. “Ours, eh?” At Angelus nod and
Spike’s verbal ‘yeah,’ she leaned over and whispered to Angelus, “When
do we move in?”
He caught her
lips with his in a fierce kiss, “Whenever you want, love.”
Spike rolled
his eyes at the two of them and wondered if eternity with them was truly going
to be like the past years had been, like this. He hoped not; he doubted his
ability to take it. They broke apart and Angelus turned to the younger vampire.
“Bring
Connor in,” he said before moving his attention back to the desk – and
Buffy.
Spike nodded
and went back to find the kid. Meanwhile, Angelus flipped though the papers
until he found the Taj Mahal again. “Do you know,” he asked, walking around
the desk to stand once more behind Buffy so they could both see the pictures
before them. “That Shah Jehan built the Taj for his beloved wife, Mumtaz Mahal?”
Buffy traced
one of the symmetrical walkways with a nail an idea forming, “Did he?”
“Yes,” he
leaned over her back, placing an absentminded kiss on her shoulder. “Theirs
was a love match in an era of arranged marriages; she followed him everywhere,
through all his military campaigns, bearing him fourteen children along the way.
When she died in childbirth, he was overwhelmed with grief and built a monument
to their eternal love.”
Buffy looked
from the desk to her lover. “And what,” she asked in a husky whisper, “Are
you going to build to me?”
Angelus
laughed, “To our eternal love you mean, lover?” At her nod, he caught her
head in his hands, threading his long fingers through the silky strands of her
hair and kissed her. “Anything you want, my love anything at all.”
“A palace
in Ireland,” Buffy answered immediately. “I want the place you were born to
be home to our greatest building. I want to demolish every single castle that
dots the countryside and build one that eclipses them all.”
“It’s
yours,” her lover answered.
Connor
cleared his throat and looked at the couple before him. Man, they were always
together. He wondered what would happen if they, for some reason, were ever
separated for any length of time. He doubted it would be a pleasant experience.
For anyone.
“Connor,
good,” His father said, motioning him into the room. “I have a new project
for you to start on.”
Connor
nodded, looking through the rolls of papers on the desk. “Where are these
places?” He asked, wondering how it was possible for him to have lived in this
dimension for years and never knew of such grand palaces. “Wait, this is in
Russia,” he amended, pointing to Peterhoff. “Fred, Wesley, and Cordelia
ooh-ed and ahh-ed over it when we first went there.”
Angelus
nodded. “And now it’s ours. But what I want from you, son,” he continued,
“Is to begin construction in Ireland.”
He turned to
Buffy. “Well, love, what do you want? It’s yours, so you can design it.”
Buffy smiled
and laughed, kissing Angelus once more. “Come on, Connor, let’s get
started.”
And Connor, no less confused now than he was when he entered the room, simply
followed.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I think we
need a flag.”
Buffy looked
up from the book on Irish castle designs and asked, “What? A flag for what?”
“Everyone always has a flag,” Connor pointed out, “A flag for their country, a flag for their family. We are the supreme rulers of this miserable world, we need a flag.”
“Okay,”
Buffy agreed slowly, “What exactly would be on this flag?”
Connor shrugged, “I have no idea,” he admitted, “But it sounds good.”
Laughing,
Buffy stood and stretched. She and Connor had been working on construction ideas
for days now. She had, admittedly, allowed herself to be caught up in a project
that would likely take years to complete when there were so many other, more
pressing, matters.
The ball with
the Vampire Council was tomorrow night, Ethan Rayne’s ship was scheduled to
dock within days, Willow still hadn’t perfected the spell for opening the
portal and Paul was concerned for her mental health; apparently it took more out
of her than any of them originally thought. And Giles and Saffir had stopped
their search for the rest of the Watcher’s Council and the remaining Army of
Light – and were not at al happy about that.
But they were
flying in later today for the ball, Paul and Willow were already here, and Spike
and Drusilla were scheduled back tonight. Dru wanted to go to Quebec City for
the weekend, Buffy wasn’t sure why.
“You think
on that, Connor, and let me know. A flag sounds good, but we’ll need a
design.”
The youngest
vampire of their family nodded, going back to his financial papers. Just because
they owned damn near everything and used mostly slave labor for their work,
didn’t mean that cost wasn’t a problem. Buffy was designing the palace in
Ireland, but it was up to him to make sure the finances were there to pay for
whatever they actually needed to pay for.
Running a
hand over Connor’s long hair as she left, something he had yet to complain
about, Buffy went in search of her mate. Angelus had been in a strange mood
since she suggested building the castle and she wanted to know why.
“Baby?”
Buffy asked, spotting him in front of the large windows that looked out to the
gardens and pool. When he merely cocked his head but didn’t turn around, Buffy
walked up to him. She traced his tattoo through the thin material of his shirt
before wrapping her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his back
“If you
don’t want our palace to be in Ireland, it doesn’t have to be.”
“It’s not
that, love.”
“Then what
is it?”
“I
haven’t been back since Darla turned me and I killed my family. There was
never any reason; Ireland in the mid-1700s was hardly the place to be and I
vowed, once we were off the island, that I’d never step foot there again.”
“We don’t
have to,” Buffy began.
“It’s not
that, love,” Angelus said, finally turning to lean against the tempered glass,
folding his arms across his broad chest. “It’s just that…actually, I’m
not sure what it is.”
“It’s
hard to go home again, no matter how much time has passed.” Buffy said,
knowing just how true that saying was.
>Nodding,
Angelus pulled her closer. “Perhaps, my love, perhaps.”
“I’ll
never leave you, love,” she said suddenly, her hands resting on the arms
holding her. “Wherever you are I’ll always be and even if we build the
citadel in Ireland, we never have to go there. It’ll be a symbol of things we
can and will do.”
Smirking,
Angelus said, “You want to go there, don’t you?”
“Yes,”
she answered honestly, knowing he’d be able to tell otherwise.
“Then we
shall; just as soon as the rest of the world is ours.”
Smiling,
Buffy leaned up and kissed him. “I love you.”
~~~~~~~~~~
The werewolf looked
around, scenting the night air cautiously.
He couldn’t believe
how out of touch he had become with the world, focusing only on himself, his own
wants and needs. Granted, those needs were pretty damn important, but to become
so lost to the world that he missed…this?
Unacceptable.
And now he was going
to make up for that.
There was only one
problem.
He was too late.
Everyone he had ever
known was now either dead…or worse. Tibet was isolated, the monetary he had
been in even more so. There were no radios or televisions, newspapers were local
at best. Word from outside the country was mainly from the surrounding areas and
usually traveled word of mouth. He had known the battles between Light and Dark
were coming, had known since he became involved all those years ago with Buffy
in Sunnydale.
He hadn’t realized
he’d be the one to stay locked away in a mountain retreat trying to purge
himself from the beast.
Even when the tide
had turned and the battles no longer went the way of the Light, he hadn’t
heard.
And for that Oz would
never forgive himself.
Now he searched.
Searched for any remnants of the once great army, searched for any who might
recognize him, or, failing that, for any who needed his help. Oz was no longer
controlled by the werewolf; he could control the beast at will.
Now, as he wandered
through lower Asia, through Pakistan and India, deserts and tropical rain
forests, heading for Africa where he heard the army was regrouping and hiding
from the demons that were no longer afraid of the daylight, he hoped that he
could find someone. Someone, anyone who remembered him, anyone who fought the
darkness.
He was terrified he
was the last of those willing to fight the demons.
His former friends.
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