“Mmm?” Spike inquired quietly, trying to hint for her to keep it down. Buffy had fallen asleep without comment as soon as she’d been shown the bed. Spike didn’t want to wake her. To tell the truth, he was more than a little worried about her.

Dru caught his drift, and her voice dropped to a sibilant hiss. “Thanos says we’ll share rule. I become his mate, and sit around like a little doll while he rules everything.”

Spike growled in response, pulling her against him. “Mine!” he insisted vehemently.

Dru’s expression softened at that, almost as if she hadn’t realized before what a threat he’d see in that ‘offer’. “My sweet William,” she cooed, fingers stroking through his dark hair. “Mommy would never abandon you.”

He nuzzled her throat, finding his mark and nibbling at it possessively.

“I spat on the fool’s offer,” Dru promised him, “but in a such a way that he didn’t even know whether to take offense.” She giggled in memory of the nearly perpetual confusion on Thanos’ face as he’d tried to deal with her.

“That’s my girl,” Spike announced proudly. “You’re second to none.”

She sighed and gave him a mysterious little smile. “But you’ve been naughty in my absence,” she clucked disapprovingly. “I can smell it all around you. I wasn’t the only one propositioned today…” Dark eyes alighted on the nearly-healed scars across his cheekbone, and she trailed over them lightly with her thumb.

“Your good pal ‘Cassandra’,” Spike rolled his eyes, “figured her help had earned her a taste of the goods.”

Drusilla’s eyes flashed. “Silly pretender shouldn’t touch what’s not hers,” she sing-songed.

“Exactly what I told her,” he agreed. “Only…er…”

“A bad ending.” Drusilla sighed. “Is my ally lost to me then?” Off of his stricken look, she quickly amended. “My black knight is more precious than all the allies in the world. Still…” Her lips twisted into a rueful smile, and her tone turned sober. “We need her.”

“I know. ‘m sorry, luv.”

She waved his apology off. “We’ll find a way to work things out yet,” she insisted. “The clouds of darkness circle, but because I called them.” She giggled, leapt up off his lap, and spun around the room.

“This is serious, Dru,” he said wearily, sitting back against the headboard, his fingers playing lightly with Buffy’s auburn locks. “You refuse this deal, and you’ll hafta fight him. I still stay the best bet is to leave these wankers to their own little struggles and get as far away from this place as possible.” He shivered. “Makes me edgy, cooped up with this many vamps.”

“My dearest pet,” she sighed. “Mommy cannot leave now. They know the prize is within my grasp, and…” Her hand made a snatching motion inches from the tip of his nose.

He didn’t even flinch. “Whatever you say,” he agreed. “As always.”

The weight on his shoulders increased every time she refused to leave. Oh, her poor boy, trapped in such a predicament by his love for her… “If you left without me,” she began hesitantly.

“Never.” The answer she expected.

“Oh, what a contorted web we weave…” She curled up against his side, savoring his nearness. It belatedly occurred to her that if she won this battle, she might never hold him like this again. No wonder he despaired…

“You said it,” he sighed, resting his chin on the top of her head. They sat together quietly for a few seconds before a third voice interrupted their musing.

“It’s true, then?” Buffy stirred beside Spike, propping herself up on one elbow to look at her sires. “You’re seeking rulership of the Order?”

“I take the honor our line has held since Aurelius first passed from this world,” Drusilla agreed.

Buffy nodded slowly. “It might be…nice,” she commented, “to live here, safe from the suffering of the outside world…”

Spike tensed at the grief in her voice. Dru’s eyes turned soft. “Oh, my sweet, sweet childe,” she cooed, pulling Buffy up into her arms. She placed a soft kiss on the former-slayer’s forehead, before slowly trailing her way down her cheek and to her lips.

Eagerly, Buffy accepted her kiss, wrapping her limbs around the elder vampiress. She felt Drusilla’s strong presence all around her, and she tried to drown herself in it as she had done as a fledgling. But she failed. Dru wasn’t enough to consume her being, bury her pain, any longer…

She was only vaguely aware of Spike’s presence before then, a steady weight and hardness at her back. But then he was kissing her throat where he’d made her, and a new flood of sensations overwhelmed her, and she reached back with one hand to pull him tighter against her. Pulled them both closer, and sandwiched herself between their bodies. And, slowly, the pleasure of their touches overcame her, and she found the oblivion she sought.

Drusilla’s lips on hers, her hands palming Buffy’s breasts, stimulating her, arousing her. Spike’s cock rubbing against the back of her skirt, lifting it up, finding bare flesh. Pushing deep inside her pussy until it felt like he was consuming her from within.

For a moment, she thought to protest. Parker had once been inside her like this, and she didn’t want his scent gone. But multiple lovers had already erased his scent, and all that was left to go were her vivid memories of the feel of him inside her. Spike had no difficulty making those fade to naught but vague flashes.

The protest died on her throat, and she lay limp between them. Spike thrusting fast; Drusilla twisting wildly at her clit. She felt fangs, tasted her blood on their tongues almost as if she were drinking it herself. It was oblivion and pleasure.

But it was not so wonderful as she had remembered…

Peace.

She’d once known that as she lay between her sires. She could remember vividly the days when they’d teased and tussled and fought for center position. Days when she hadn’t had a care in the world, and every new experience had seemed a wonder to be cherished.

She wondered now that one simple death had changed her so much. Just why was she acting so differently? She’d only known him for weeks, after all. And she wondered if, maybe, it was because she’d dealt with so little loss during her unlife. She’d seen horrors, made foolish mistakes, and come close to losing her own life, true, but nothing really bad had ever happened to her before. Strange to think of it but, with Spike and Dru, she’d led a rather sheltered life.

She lay there quietly for a few moments, and slowly Spike began to stir. His nostrils flared against her throat, and she shivered at the feel of his cool breath against her.

“Evenin’ already?” he asked lazily.

“Five,” she answered absentmindedly, checking the clock.

“Big hoopla’s at quarter of six.”

“We should probably wake Dru.”

A poignant pause.

“You do it,” they said in perfect unison.

He gave her an amused little smile, and she managed a little smirk in return. He took that as an encouraging sign and leaned in and kissed her. “You’re closer,” he teased.

With a roll of her eyes, Buffy turned over and set upon her task. How do you wake a sleeping vampiress? Very carefully. Her foot nudged Dru’s ever so slightly. No movement.

Behind her, Spike chuckled.

A more persistent prod to the shoulder. A soft whisper of Dru’s name. Still nothing. Buffy leaned in closer, preparing to leap back the second she’d made her move.

And Dru, completely randomly, chose that moment to wake up. A strangled squeak escaped Buffy’s lips as her sire’s hand instantly found her throat and squeezed hard. Dru’s mind woke up a second later, and she saw who her ‘attacker’ was. She mouthed a little ‘oops’ and giggled, yawning lazily.

“Next time, it’s one of your turns.” Buffy pointed at both of them, massaging her throat. No real damage. Good.

“Time, time, time…” Drusilla muttered, looking at the clock.

“See what’s become of me…” Spike murmured under his breath.

Buffy and Dru both glared at him, and he shrugged.

“Almost time,” Drusilla clapped excitedly, turning back to the matter at hand. “We must pretty up our little girl.” She caught Buffy by the hands and practically yanked her out of bed.

“I don’t need to—” Buffy protested.

Dru cut her off with a fingertip to the lips. “You’ll shine before them all,” she promised. Her hands came to rest on Buffy’s shoulders, and she pushed down hard. 

Buffy went with the flow and landed in the seat in front of the empty vanity mirror. Behind them, she could hear Spike stirring, making his away around the room and gathering his clothes. 

“Master Buffy. Buffy Master,” Drusilla giggled absentmindedly as she ran a brush through the former Slayer’s dark dresses. “Should’ve picked another name while you had the chance. Known forever as Buffy…”

“What’s wrong with Buffy?”

Spike snorted.

Drusilla sighed. “Must cast aside the mask of life and embrace the identity of death.”

Buffy frowned. “I was the Slayer in life. I’ve only been Buffy since I died.”

Spike snorted again. The two women ignored him.

“Besides,” Buffy pointed out, “it’s not like you switched names.”

“Oh, didn’t I?” Dru sounded perfectly delighted by Buffy’s comment. This was the secret she loved better than all others. “Old Liam was Angelus, and William became Spike. But Drusilla… Who became Drusilla?”

Buffy blinked slowly. “I always thought that was your real name,” she commented in surprise.

“It is,” Dru agreed. “Now.” She leaned in close to whisper in Buffy’s ear. “That’s the secret of it, you know. One day you’re so old none of them remembers. None except the Order…” Her voice sounded awed at that last word.

“Yeah, real hard, that. Keepin’ written records and all.” Spike seemed to just be getting grumpier as the evening progressed.

Drusilla shook her head and turned back to her girl. Not a girl anymore, really, but still hers. “Have you heard about Drusilla?” she asked with barely contained delight.

Buffy shook her head, played along.

“They taught us all about her at the convent. Wicked, sinful woman. Oh, she was a Roman, dark and vile. The sister of an emperor. The worst of them all, Caligula.” She sighed. “His sister…and his lover.”

Buffy grinned. “The worst of both worlds.”

“A naughty, naughty woman,” Dru agreed. Her expression turned almost regretful. “I was never allowed to be naughty while I was alive. ‘Mind your manners, say your prayers.’” She drifted away through the years then, and Buffy wondered whether one day she’d drift so far that she never came back.

“What was your real name, then?” Buffy’s hand came to rest on hers. Suddenly she wanted her sire here again, close. “I mean, your human name?”

Drusilla shook off whatever reverie she’d fallen into. “Mommy will tell you some day.” She winked. “When you say the magic words…” With a final flourish of the brush, she deemed Buffy’s hair suitable. Her excitement caused her to twirl away from both her lovers as she dressed herself.

Buffy sat at the vanity and applied her make-up with a century’s blind practice. And, while she was at it, she pondered Dru’s riddle.

“Hurry up, kitten.” 

Spike’s voice cut in, and she realized she was dawdling. Hurriedly, she dressed, feeling inordinately nervous herself. An assembly. More vampires of her power – and greater – than she’d ever seen in all her unlife, all in one place. It was intimidating, distracting. It was what she needed.

Drusilla gestured for her to proceed them with a flourish, and she stepped out into the halls. One second of privacy for Dru to pull her mate to the side. “She’s changed, my love,” she commented knowingly.

“Inevitable,” he agreed.

“I do not like the sad songs the birds sing around her.” Dru bit her lip. “The gaiety is all gone now. Or perhaps just forgotten…”

“Then ‘s up to us to make her remember, right?” he pointed out.

She smiled. “My William is always right,” she agreed, patting him lightly on the cheek before following after her poor, lost childe.

The Grand Hall was a large circular room buried deep within the desert cliffs. It had taken almost five minutes of walking through dim, narrow corridors for them to finally emerge into the large open room. Buffy knew she wouldn’t have been able to find the place without Xander and Harmony as their line’s guides. She doubted Spike or Dru would’ve managed, either.

The room was set up arena-style. With rows of seats lining the round wall in rising tiers. Actually, Buffy thought, she could just as easily see it as a parliamentary room as an arena. Or, perhaps, some strange combination of both.

Xander tapped the back of her hand lightly, and she stopped her rather obvious gawking and followed his lead. She noticed only when the crowds had separated them that Harmony had led Spike and Dru in a separate direction.

“Where are we—?” she began in alarm.

“We’ll get back to them soon enough,” Xander promised. “First, the Council has to introduce you.”

Buffy wished, then, that she’d actually bothered to meet ‘the Council’ – whoever, or whatever, they were – the day before. It might have made her less nervous.

The place was packed full with vampires now, and her senses were going wild with warnings. Overloading. She had to block them all eventually, and then slowly peek them open again. Rather like walking into an impossibly bright room, shutting your eyes and then squinting your eyelids open ever so slightly. It gave her a rough feel of the age and power of those vampires nearest to her. For the moment, it was the best she could do.

She could watch, though. She was being led into the center of the arena. The sense of open vulnerability increased, but it also gave her a better perspective of the audience. There had to be hundreds of vampires here, and each time she squinted at them with her enhanced senses she received the same result. Master. Centuries old. Powerful. Dangerous.

She searched the assembly wildly for Spike and Dru, cursing Spike for picking a dark hair-color this decade. She never would’ve had difficulty spotting him with the platinum-white locks he’d worn when she first knew him. Or with the shocking red tips he’d dyed into his hair only eleven years ago. But quite a majority of the vamps had dark hair…

To the left. Sinister, you know. It means left… Dru’s voice sounded in her ear, and Buffy started. Looked to the left.

There they were, front row. Drusilla with a little smile on her face. Buffy managed one, too. It was so rare that Dru used her mental powers on her family that Buffy often forgot of her sire’s gifts. They were more games to play with prey than tools to be used. She was grateful for them now, though.

Xander walked up the steps of a small podium at the head of the arena. Buffy took a deep breath and followed, Dru’s comforting presence brushing against her mind. Buffy looked up, saw the Council…

“Dalton?” She blinked in surprise.

The bookish vampire managed a little smile of recognition. The other eleven vampires that sat at the two long wooden tables on each side of the majestic, empty throne looked at her curiously. 

Buffy was surprised that none of them felt much stronger than Dalton. Or Xander for that matter. It was almost a relief, given the thrumming power all around them. An entire Council and none of them Masters, despite some very old ages. Weak, lesser vampires, never trained to their full potential, slow in their development. One day they’d hit their peak, but they’d delayed the pursuit of power. Buffy knew that in Dalton’s case he’d done so in the pursuit of knowledge. She could only guess that the others had had similar ambitions.

The empty throne took on more poignant meaning, then. The Council, despite its age and learning, wasn’t powerful enough to protect the Order from its enemies. They needed a champion, a warrior. Buffy looked at that throne, and she could see how it called to Drusilla. The ultimate expression of victory over life and death…

Or maybe Dru was still whispering in her ear. She couldn’t tell.

Xander stood to one side, and the Council rose. Buffy just stood there, trying not to look awkward and uncomfortable, as she had no idea what was expected of her. One of the Council members – the oldest, by Buffy’s guess – held up a large chalice of white gold before him.

It was a simple cup, with a wide base and a shape not unlike an oversized wineglass. Xander nodded for Buffy to step forward, and she did so cautiously, rising up the last few steps.

“I am Alger,” the vampire with the cup announced, “eldest of the Council of Elders. With the Golden King dust, I stand in his stead.”

“Uh…hiya?” Buffy ventured.

Alger frowned at her informal and rather undignified response. Like sire, like childe. Mocking our ways… “I stand before this assembly of the Order of Aurelius and welcome Buffy into our cabal. Join our blood and become one with the Order, childe-no-longer.”

Xander produced a thin white-gold blade of a similar simple design to the chalice.

Buffy sighed. All that fanfare for a ritual this obvious? Spike was right; the whole Order were a bunch of old-fashioned, overly-dramatic sods. She took the knife, however.

“Two drops are you allowed into the Sacred Chalice,” Alger instructed her.

“Right, right.” Buffy was having enough difficulty cutting herself on the edge. Gold just wasn’t that hard, and vampire flesh was hard to pierce. That, and the blade probably hadn’t been sharpened since some really bored vampire had forged it ten-thousand years ago. There was probably some silly rule about how it could only be carried about on acolytes’ butts or some similar nonsense.

She finally managed to cut her palm, held her hand over the cup, and squeezed her fist until two shinning red drops fell forth. Something about the lighting in this place made the red shine brilliantly, brighter than even the room’s dim illumination. And she had no doubt in that moment that every vampire in that hall could see those two drops of blood more clearly than anything else. Magic. It was the only explanation.

She felt it pulse through her when the two drops struck the black pool already within the chalice, felt thousands of demons before her pulse in her veins for one moment. She staggered with their power and age, her own demon screaming as it was crushed by their might.

But then the moment faded, and she was herself again, kneeling before Alger and shaking slightly. She looked up at him with angry golden eyes. “You could’ve warned me.”

He managed a tight-lipped smile. “The Order has accepted its newest sister. Rise, Buffy, childe of Spike, and take your place among us.”

Xander gestured for Buffy to follow him off the platform and back to where Dru and Spike were seated. She followed eagerly, away from the arena floor. Her sire’s hand brushed her wounded one the instant she sat beside him, and she pressed her forehead against his.

“Wankers,” they said in almost perfect unison, smiling as they did so…