Introduction to the Devil
Buffy giggled, twisted and twirled around, indifferent to the fact that her constant motion was making it difficult for the two vampiress’ at her feet to properly fix the hem of her new party dress.
Today was the little girl’s seventh birthday, and in only a few short minutes, the grand party that her father had planned for her would begin. Already, she could hear the soft, enticing music of the orchestra playing, and the subtle movements made by the demonic guests that were filing into the hall, the soft rub of their clothing and the low rumble of their voices. Her hearing was exceptional, her senses acute by both birth and practice.
“Mistress, please,” one of the minions at her feet pleaded. Looking down, Buffy scrunched up her nose, and nodded reluctantly as she calmed her movements. However, being still was a lot to ask of the now seven year old girl, so in less than a minute she was already squirming, unhappy to stay in one position for so long, and anxious to join the party.
Buffy looked up and smiled, as Drusilla waltzed into the room; her body moved in a fluid motion, one Buffy tried hard to emulate, and her eyes looked delightfully mad. As she got closer and closer to the little girl, she began to hiss slowly and move her body to and fro; dancing to music that was not what floated from below, but that only she could hear.
When she was finally right in front of her little sister, she leaned in and whispered into her ear. “The stars spoke to me tonight, little one.”
Buffy lowered her voice as if they were having some forbidden conversation, and fiddled with Drusilla’s dark curly locks. “Did they tell you what Daddy got me?” She had been hoping for a pony, but knew her father had a strong distaste for animals; she just didn’t know why.
Drusilla didn’t answer. She began to sway, as if she were in some trance, and moved slowly away from Buffy. Suddenly she stopped and glared at the minions who were finishing Buffy’s gown. When she spoke again, her voice held power and authority in the single command, “Go.”
The two quickly ran out of the room, scared of inducing Drusilla’s notorious wrath. Once they were gone, Drusilla turned back to Buffy and began to play with the child’s hair, running her manicured nails through the beautiful golden tresses.
“Grand-mummy is mad because our Angel has come back…not for her,” Dru condemned in anger, “Never for her, not anymore, evil Grand-mummy tried to hurt my sweet Angel…but you. The family’s going to be together again, my pretty, but Darla doesn’t want us together.”
Hissing sharply, she let go of Buffy’s hair, and cradled her hand worryingly, as if touching such purity had burned her. Looking deep into Buffy’s eyes, she whispered darkly. “Grand-mummy’s hair is golden like yours. Except yours is silky, soft, bright as spun gold; Grand-mummy is rough, harsh, mean.”
Then she smiled, and began to dance again as she had when she first entered the room. This time, Buffy got down from her stool, went to Drusilla, and began to dance with her. She always enjoyed Dru’s visions, her predictions as it were; they often had something to do with her, Buffy, and she did enjoy listening to the vampiress go on about what she saw.
When they stopped dancing, Buffy looked up at Drusilla, her eyes trusting and loving. The vampiress was her friend, her protector, and Buffy trusted the dark haired woman with her life and her secrets. Dru was the best friend – often the only one – Buffy had and the girl loved her.
If Drusilla said that Darla was mean, Buffy certainly wasn’t going to contradict her – Buffy hated the blonde vampriess; Darla was mean and pinched her, and sometimes she tried to make her cry.
“But Dru,” Buffy asked exasperated, all thoughts of Darla
and Dru’s vision banished. “Did the stars tell you what Daddy got me?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Darla stood, hidden deep in the shadows, and watched Angelus dancing and
laughing with that disgusting human child.
It was simply repulsive to see such magnificent and powerful creatures as Nest and Angelus bend to the will of a human, and worse, a human child. To laugh with her, to treat her with respect and – the horror – kindness; the way the two of them catered to her ever whim, treating her like she truly was a princess, and not food.
But Buffy had not only wrapped Nest and Angelus around her finger, it seemed as if the whole court, save for Darla’s truest followers, lay enthralled with the child. If Darla tried anything against Buffy, she would surely make dozens of enemies…and very quickly. She’d be lucky to escape with her life. Darla wasn’t stupid, impulsive but not stupid. She’d be dead within the week if she tried anything.
There were four lesser master vampires attending Buffy’s seventh birthday celebration, invited by Nest to see his daughter, his greatest prize, and Darla knew that none of them would ever go against Nest now; not when he was at his strongest. Not when he commanded the loyalty of several Orders, that disgusting bitch, Doroteya included; Darla was convinced that Doroteya poisoned Nest against his favorite with her filthy lies, and obvious charms.
However, all was not lost. Darla had heard rumors that the goddess ‘Glorificus’ would be attending court for the next year. Apparently, the hell-god had been banished from her own hell dimension, and was trying to get back. To do that she needed help. She wanted Nest’s help.
If Darla could make an ally of Glorificus, then she was sure that she could overthrow Nest, or at least force him to give up the human child, and regain her rightful place by his side. Unfortunately for Darla, Glorificus was nowhere to be found as of yet, and Darla had the unsettling suspicion that Nest was going to send her, his once favorite, to Europe. He often talked of their holdings there with a speculative look in his eyes.
She, favored childe to the strongest master in the world, sent on a pathetic errand like an errant fledging. Dealing with a cult that was supposedly spreading its influence over Paris, London, Rome, and most of the major European cities was not what she would call having ‘favored’ status. It was degrading was what it was.
Well, maybe the violence and power there would appease the ignobility that being ostensibly banished would cause, but it was doubtful. There was reason to believe, Darla knew, that his ulterior motive was to get her away from his precious new daughter for a while.
“We’ll see about that,” Darla snarled, as Buffy’s merry
laugh echoed around the caverns. She wasn’t about to give up any more of her
status without a fight.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy sat on the throne that her daddy had made especially for her.
It was draped in gold and silver, and deep red velvet. It was the perfect complement her beautiful gown, which was a soft and billowy dark green, that brought out sparks of gold in her green eyes.
For someone who had just turned seven, she looked stunningly regal sitting on her throne, simply watching the festivities with a rogue little smile adorning her adorable face. As the vampires and other demons dances and drank, she watched the way they interacted with each other; the way certain groups shunned others, the way everyone wanted to speak with Angelus.
And the way they all watched her, as if waiting for the day she did something wrong, and they could finally eat her. Buffy wasn’t about to allow that, even if her daddy and Angelus would kill whomever threatened her first. She was young, but she wasn’t stupid; Buffy was well aware of the dynamics that went on before her.
She was so deep in thought about the beings before her: their individual lives, their thoughts, their reasons for being here, and their intentions towards her, that she didn’t notice when her father sat down in his own throne to her right. Nor was she aware of the calculating gaze he trained on her, until he placed her small hand into his larger, claw-like one.
“You are not pleased, little one?” He asked gently, no longer amazed at the compassion he bestowed upon her. It had been four years to the day since Darla had first brought Buffy to him, and in that year she had truly become his daughter. He couldn’t love her, of course, he was sure of that. But he held a great affection for the child and her lovely innocence.
Innocence he was more than happy to corrupt. Buffy was the perfect human, sweet, innocent, yet possessing a great capacity for evil. Molding her to his own wants was perfect and going very smoothly; already she held other humans in contempt, preferring to spend her time with the vampires of his court, rather than even go to the surface. She did once; Drusilla and Luke, Nest’s trusted childe, had volunteered to be Buffy’s guards for the evening, took her to a fair once the sun set.
His little princess hadn’t liked it. The other children wouldn’t play with her because they didn’t know her. Their parents looked at her as if she were some spoiled, repugnant creature because of her confidence in herself, because of the way she acted, and how she spoke not what others wanted to hear from a child, but what she wanted to say. What she knew to be true.
His Buffy was nothing like those little children, clinging to their parents in fright, too sheltered to know differently; or running off despite their parent’s shouts to return, looking for trouble in a town that drew it like a moth to flame. She did as she was told, that wasn’t a question; if she didn’t like it, they argued, but she never outright disobeyed him.
She stayed at the fair until closing, but her fun was limited, even when Luke won her a stuffed pig at one of the games.
As far as Nest knew, Buffy still had that pig; it was a treasured possession that rivaled the beautiful things he showered her with. He offered to let her attend another one, but she refused. At first, he thought it was because she was hurt by the human’s reactions to her, and vowed to kill them all for the slight made to his daughter. Buffy quickly disabused him of that; they were weak, she said, not allowing their children to know what really happened, scared of things that they knew nothing of, and yet boasting that they were the most educated of creatures
“I want nothing to do with that weakness,” she had assured Nest, her large eyes telling him that she spoke the truth. She never lied to him, though Nest knew she did so with others she considered her inferiors. “I don’t like them, they’re blind and overconfident. I like it much better here, at our court, daddy.”
Oh, yes, Buffy liked learning, and she liked knowing she was the princess; his little girl liked people bowing before her and offering her gifts and praise and allegiance. She liked that power, and Nest thought his dead heart would burst when she, his precious child, told him that.
Ah, she made him proud, Buffy did, and he knew that his work in making her one of them was progressing nicely. He couldn’t ask for a better daughter, a more loyal one, a stronger or smarter one. She was perfect.
Now, Buffy turned to him, and smiled before nodding. “Mmm, I like it, I do, but…” her voice wavered and her lip trembled, but she fought the tears away. Darla laughed and teased her when she cried, saying mean things to her, and hurting her, so Buffy fought hard never to do so. She hated that weakness in herself – no one else here cried. Drusilla told her that it was sometimes a natural reaction of a child.
Laying her head on his shoulder, Buffy sighed. “Dru said that I was gonna meet Spike, and I don’t know where Spike is, or where Dru is. And Dru told me that Darla was mad at me because Angel came for me and not for her, and that Darla didn’t want us to be a family.”
Nest’s eyes narrowed for a moment: family, huh? What, he wondered, did Angelus’ crazy childe see? More importantly, what did she see that could help him, Nest, further his vague plan concerning a mating alliance between Buffy and Angelus? Maybe it was time to speak to the vampiress.
Suddenly remembering something, she brightened, smiling up at him. “Oh, but Dru said my hair was nicer than Darla’s because my hair’s silky and Darla’s is rough!” This made Buffy giggle helplessly for some unknown reason, and Nest couldn’t help but smile at his daughter as she lay her head back against his arm.
Nest just sighed overdramatically at Buffy’s revelations.
Drusilla, for all her madness, was probably right. Though what hair had to do with anything Nest didn’t know. Unless it was simply her way of saying that Buffy was bright and pure, though he intended to see that was erased soon enough, where Darla was worn, mean, catty. It was a shame that his once favorite had lost her vicious edge to jealously and unproductive anger; he once so adored that meanness about her.
He would most likely have to send Darla away, possibly to Europe to deal with that upstart cult so intent on disrupting his interests, and he could only hope that something there would catch her attention. It would be such a shame to have to kill Darla; she had so much potential and had been with him for such a long time.
Even now, he held a soft place for her in his dead heart.
He truly had had such high hopes for her, but now that Angelus was slowly coming back into the fold, did he really have need for her anymore? Angelus would by far make up for the loss of Darla. By far.
As would his precious daughter…
Yes, wouldn’t that be a fine match, he mused, his mouth twisting into a shrewd smile; the strongest of his line with his human – possible slayer – child? He could tell Angelus felt something for her, Nest was sure the younger vampire wasn’t in court for the pleasure of anyone’s company other than Buffy’s, but was unsure what that something was. Buffy was so young; young by human standards, but especially so by vampire standards.
What did Angelus see in her that had him attending court? Was it that innocence that had first drawn Nest to Buffy? Or was it something deeper?
No matter. They would make a fine match, indeed.
When she looked up, wondering what had her father so silent, Buffy saw a man smiling at her from a corner. He was staring at her in a way that reminded her of her first months in court, with that hungry intrigued look. Making her hands into claws, as she’d seen other vampiress do, Buffy growled playfully at him.
Turning his attention back to Buffy, Nest found her clawing at air and playfully growling at something. Following her gaze his mood lightened considerably. Waving his hand, he called forward Buffy’s playmate.
“Spike, how delightful to see you again, childe. I’m sure Drusilla will be pleased at your return. How—” But Nest was interrupted by Buffy, who refused to finish her game.
Climbing down from her throne she walked toward Spike, ‘claws’ in the air, and still growling under her breath. When she reached the bleached blonde vampire she prepared herself to pounce onto him, the word “gotcha” on the tip of her tongue.
Spike had a different idea.
As she jumped up, he grabbed her around her waist and twirled her in the air, which caused her to giggle and scream merrily. Having heard the child’s scream the room grew silent and tense. All eyes turned towards the throne area, ready to rush to the human child’s rescue. Seeing the cause of her shouts, they paused, waiting to see what Nest would do when they realized what was happening.
Spike had not asked permission to touch their – and his – mistress.
Angelus had automatically taken several menacing steps forward at Buffy’s scream, but stopped when he saw the reason. And that Nest was anything but pleased. He still held no love for the older vampire, but it was his daughter and as such, his right to punish those who would cause her harm, unintentional or not.
Nest’s smile turned colder and, if possible, seemed more daunting. The room, as a general whole, cowered. Angelus smirked. “Put her down.”
Spike only held on tighter to the giggling birthday girl, and grinned unrepentantly at Nest. “Now, now can’t a bloke play with his little sister?”
By now Buffy had quieted down, sensing that her father was not in a good mood. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on Angelus’ – looking both angered and worried, though there was a mean smile on his face – and realized what had happened. Young though she may be, there were certain rules she had learned early on; one was that no one touched her unless they received permission to do so. Not many did.
Leaning into Spike, she whispered something into his ear, and Spike nodded, setting her down in front of her father’s throne.
“Daddy, are we gonna have cake now?” She asked sweetly, as she rocked back and forth, playing with her hands behind her back. Her look was pure innocence as she looked up at her father, her intent clear in her eyes: how could someone resist such innocence?
Nest turned his harsh stare from Spike to regard Buffy with a softer glint in his eye. “Spike, I’ll disregard your insolence for now, but only because it is my daughter’s birthday; and because, apparently, she wants her birthday cake. Do not,” he added, returning that ruthless glare to the much younger vampire, deadly promise clear in his voice, “Presume to do so again. I shall not be in so forgiving a mood.”
Clapping his hands, he signaled the orchestra to begin playing once more. And the party resumed.
“Daddy’s still a little bit mad at you.” She told Spike, after she sat down on her throne, and Nest’s attention was partly away from them. Buffy knew that he always had an eye on her whenever she was in his presence, and she wasn’t about to do anything to anger him further. Not tonight at least.
Spike smirked, and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I figure Daddy’s always gonna be a little bit mad at me, pet.”
Getting serious again, she scanned the room. Angelus was deliberately making his way through the crowd towards her, and Buffy couldn’t help but smile at him. “I don’t know where Dru went, but I guess you should go find her now,” she told him with a sigh.
Spike nodded and was about to leave, but he stopped himself when he realized that maybe the little bit was lonely. Rooms and rooms full of demons, and she was the only human – did she realize that? Or was her place in court the reason for her isolation from playmates?
“You want me to stay here with you, pet?” He asked as he lit a cigarette. She looked into his eyes and he shuddered a bit; for a second he could feel the power that she would one day hold. And the power she already had. It was a daunting feeling.
“No,” she said shaking her head, laughing softly when her curls bounced and tickled her cheeks. “You go find Dru. I’ll get Angelus to play with me.”
Spike looked up quickly, wondering how he hadn’t known that. He’d been gone a long while, true, but so long as to not know that his grandsire was here? The old bastard gave off power comparable to Buffy’s, it wasn’t like Spike couldn’t have known. What could Angelus possibly be doing here?
“Angelus is here, pet?”
Buffy’s eyes lit up, though she was admittedly surprised that Spike hadn’t yet spotted him in the crowd. “Yup, he came yesterday, and this time he brought presents! He danced with me earlier. Will you dance with me later Spike?”
“Yeah pet, we’ll dance around the world later.” Spike said,
as he flicked her nose affectionately, and went to find Drusilla.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Thought you hated Nest, Angelus,” Spike said later that evening, as the elder
vampire watched the ballroom from the shadows. They stood on a small balcony
above the cavern, and Spike’s gaze was drawn to Buffy as she tried not to squeal
at her presents. Quite the dignified child she was.
“I do,” came the succinct reply.
Angelus watched the girl open another present, an exquisite necklace of opals and pearls, light and dark, from one of the lesser orders of their Clan. His own gift was waiting for her in her rooms; a portrait of her as he’d seen her a year ago, sketched by himself and painted by the best the world had to offer. The painter, Anton something, had done such a good job in transferring Buffy’s vitality to the canvass from Angelus’ drawing, the vampire let him live. Never knew when one might need an artist in the future.
“But not the little princess?” Spike had seen the way his GrandSire had watched Buffy, how he had laughed with her and danced with her. And how he had growled whenever he perceived the slightest threat to her. It was…interesting. More than a little disconcerting, but interesting.
“What do you want, Spike?”
“Just came to see Drusilla, mate; haven’t been here in years, and wanted to meet the little one.” He said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “No need to get your knickers in a twist.”
“I have to leave for Egypt in a week’s time, I want you to
stay here, and keep an eye on Buffy.” Angelus said, turning finally to face
Spike. His voice was hard, the glint in his eyes conveying his meaning clearly.
Nothing was to happen to the child while Spike was there. “Darla is up to
something, and I want to know what it is.”
Nodding as he crushed the cigarette out, Spike scanned the room for both Buffy
and Darla. He hated the vampiress almost as much as Angelus did, and for that
alone would follow whatever plan the elder vamp had. “Dru said something to me
about it, about Darla. She’s watching out for Buffy as well.”
“Good,” Angelus nodded, his eyes again drawn to the tiny human child. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his as if she had been waiting for him to look at her again. “That’s good.”
Next Part: A Meeting of Minds, Magicks, and Clothes
Previous Part: Daughter of Mine
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