Faith hung back and surveyed the situation. Assessment wasn’t her strong point, and, in fact, this was all new to her. She vividly remembered how it was when she first became the slayer. Attack first, never question.
Vampire = dead. Demon = dead. Human =
That was stickier. And thanks to her stellar upbringing, she'd realized the shades of gray even before. But now she was sworn to protect humans, even the ones from her block in Boston who raped and murdered their way up the dubious ranks of the gang-bangers.
What would her life have been if she’d killed them, too? They deserved it, more so than some of the demons she now knew. Well, one demon.
Doyle. He was next to Tara, several feet from where she stood. They both held swords in front of them, as if they had any idea how to use them without cutting off their own arms.
It was nice to see their support. More than she got from the company she worked for.
Which was why she hung back. Which was why she wasn’t fighting. Which was why she knew Angelus was calmly walking through the chaos to find her, completely unscathed, and seething with rage.
“This was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had,” she mumbled.
“Stupider than pissing off Travers?” Doyle asked.
“Yes,” she sighed.
Angelus was grinning, and she didn’t like that one damn bit. But he seemed to be taking his time, as if waiting for something. Perfect. Just what she freakin’ needed. He glanced up at her, but it was so fast she’d have missed it if she hadn’t been staring at him so intently.
He was in no rush. That worried her.
“Stupider than crossing the former USA to find England?” Tara wondered.
“Way stupider,” she agreed.
“You’re probably right,” Tara nodded somberly. “And if we survive this, I’ll make sure to note in on the calendar. Today is Stupid Day.”
Faith laughed – it was the faintest of breaths, but she appreciated the effort. It was impossibly hard to laugh when she was about to die. Didn’t seem like a laughing matter.
“I had a dream about this,” Tara said abruptly. “Dawn was here, and she somehow ended the fighting – closed the portal and made all the demons go away.”
“I’m sorry,” Faith whispered. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Angelus, and though she wanted to look at her friend, couldn’t.
Duty hung heavily around her, and she felt as if she’d collapse from the weight of it. (We who are about to die salute you. One girl in every generation to stand before… Weight of the world clung to her as her crude clothes did.)
“Buffy,” she whispered.
It was barely a breath of sound, yet somehow Angelus heard it. His head jerked up, and he watched her stare down at him for long, long moments. The fighting was a mass of bodies, moving in a graceful arc across the marbled floor of Council Headquarters.
They were losing.
Faith wasn’t surprised, nor was she overly saddened.
If they were dead, is she were dead, there’d be another to take her place. Someone else to carry the burden, someone else to fight.
Plus she really, really hoped to be able to watch Quinton die bloodily at the hands of…well, pretty much anyone. She wasn’t picky.
Angelus’ expression changed. No longer did it hold the faint boredom, the distant joy as he surveyed the fight. No longer did he seem apart from what he’d wrought, what he commanded. Suddenly everything shifted, and instead of edging around him, it engulfed him. As if he was the center, the one thing holding it all together.
Bodies littered the floor. One or two stalwarts continued to fight, finally taking down the large demon. Faith wasn’t sure if it was actually dead or just downed. It didn’t seem to matter.
Still, Angelus continued to watch her.
Finally she nodded. Yes, you’re right. It’s time. She thought the words but wasn’t sure he couldn’t hear them.
Creepy.
Slowly – not reluctantly but with as much pride and dignity as she could – Faith descended the stairs. The balcony wasn’t going to separate her from the fighting anymore, not that it had much to begin with.
Scanning the area, she noted the distinct absence of Quinton, Maggie, the army people, the higher members of the Council and their branches, and Angelus.
Perfect. The one time she took her eyes off him, he disappeared. She had no doubt he wasn’t gone.
“Coward,” she snarled. Not to Angelus, to Quinton. “This is your fault!” she said louder. “Travers, these deaths are on your head – I take no responsibility for them!”
“Bravo.”
The voice was smooth, a dark sound of sin and sex. Of death. Faith shivered, fear, arousal, resignation all in that one movement.
This was what the grim reaper sounded like. The seductive pull of release.
“So this is the new slayer.”
And there he was, tall, darkly pale in a way she couldn’t describe and probably wouldn’t live to think about again. He circled her in long fluid motions, watching her. Faith stared straight ahead, waiting.
“Hmm,” he said, and stopped before her. “Not nearly as smart as you think.”
“Smart enough,” she snapped back, ignoring the previous conversation about stupidity. Where were Doyle and Tara, anyway? Was Julie dead? What about the others? Faces she could picture but names that escaped her just now. Were they all dead?
“I’m wondering what I should do with you.” And the bastard really seemed to contemplate that. Wonderful. Just what she needed.
“Let us go so we can join the traveling circus?”
She swore he chuckled. Blinking, she tried to make sense of that with the murderer who stood before her. God, she was terrified.
“Daddy,” a lovely, tall, seemingly crazy woman swayed – Faith blinked again, but no. She actually swayed – up to them.
“You promised not to eat the good apples.” And now she pouted.
Oh, boy.
Angelus cast a questioning glance to the woman – vampire – and frowned. Not that Faith could blame him. After all, there were clearly no apples to be seen.
He looked back at her, then over her shoulder to Doyle and Tara. Without warning, a loud pop echoed throughout the room and Travers was there.
Wow. Cool.
She couldn’t help herself, really couldn’t. “Did you do that?”
Angelus smiled. He didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Despite herself, she was impressed. (We who are about to die are impressed.)
She was losing it.
“Slayer – do your duty!”
Faith stared at Travers, and almost laughed. “I guess you missed that admonishment. This isn’t on me, buddy. This is on you.”
Travers struggled against invisible bonds, snarling. It didn’t look good on him. “Slayer, you are a disgrace to your calling. You do not deserve the title!”
He said more, but she ignored him. She didn’t need him blathering on about things she already agreed with. She didn’t deserve the title. Didn’t deserve any of this responsibility. She didn’t earn it and had done nothing but fuck it all up.
She couldn’t believe she missed her old life.
Angelus snorted. Even that scared her. But only in some odd detached way – she was going to die, had resigned herself to that. Nothing more really mattered.
“Daddy,” the beautiful vampire with the strangely compelling grace whined, “you promised.”
“What did I promise, Dru? And no – you can’t have Travers here.”
Faith almost asked if she could kill him. The words danced on the edge of her tongue, the desire there, strong and vicious. She wanted to kill Travers. Couldn’t. She couldn’t. Not only was it part of her sworn duty – not that she’d taken an oath or anything – but it went against her limited moral code.
She could change that code, couldn’t she? Yeah, she really could.
Limit it a little more. Faith glanced at Travers again. Oh, yeah. She could moralize herself right into killing him.
“The apples,” this Dru was saying. “You promised not to eat the good apples!”
Perfect. The murder and the madwoman. This was how her last day on earth was to be? Typical.
“I don’t mean to draw attention back to us,” Doyle said and was suddenly next to her. “But if Faith here is the good apple, then wouldn’t that make Travers the bad apple?”
“The seer,” Dru whispered.
She floated over to Doyle, who stood admirably still. He looked at her as intently as she did him, but without the whole graceful floaty thing. For someone clearly terrified out of his mind, he did a pretty good job stifling it. Faith was impressed.
“Ohh,” she breathed, hands outlining his face but not touching it, “you are powerful. Tell me, have the Powers abandoned you?”
“Ah, depends,” he replied after a moment when it seemed as if he really should answer the question. “If you mean powers as in my abilities, no. ‘Tis unfortunate, but the visions are still there and painful as ever.”
“But the Powers, they have.” It was a statement, not a question, and she didn’t let Doyle answer anyway.
Faith wondered what he’d have said. Had the Powers abandoned him? Them? She’d have said yes, but since she wasn’t on a first name basis with them, one just couldn’t tell.
“Does this mean she’s a good apple?” he asked.
Angelus growled, snapping them all back to reality and out of the foggy bubble the crazy-woman enveloped them in.
“Drusilla,” he drawled, and she immediately floated back to him. He looked like he wanted to say more, but jerked his head to the side and turned his attention to Travers.
“Quinton Travers.” His voice was like silk, softly seductive and alluring once again. “It’s not polite to run and leave your Slayer to fight your battles. That’s not what they were created for.”
“What do you know of the Slayer?” he demanded, spittle flying from his lips.
“Why couldn’t Angelus have just blown the place up?” she hissed to Tara, who shrugged.
“I-i-imagine th-th-the trouble he-he’d save,” she offered, shaking in fright.
Angelus heard, Faith was certain of that, but didn’t so much as glance their way. They were less than nothing to him, specks of dust on his otherwise impeccable suit. Not that he wore a suit but she was sidetracking herself.
“-Far more than you could conceive,” the vampire was saying. He was perfectly calm now, and Faith thought that she actually would be able to witness Travers’ death. She was pathetically thrilled by that.
She so needed therapy.
Too bad there were no therapists left.
Another tangent. Angelus was still prattling on, and she wondered if he really just liked to hear himself speak.
“Daddy,” Drusilla was purring, another enticing sound Faith tried hard to disregard. “This is it. This is the last of the cards to be dealt. With this hand you can win all the toys.”
Faith shook her head again, and wondered if Angelus understood the mixed metaphors or not. He didn’t look happy, but he also didn’t look confused.
“I have all the toys, Dru.” His eyes never left Travers, but Faith swore he saw every breath she gasped.
Great, now he was loopy, too!
“And I’m certain this is far from the end. End games aren’t this easily won.”
“No, no, not the end, the last of the cards. All the apples are yours, all the tasty treats yours.”
Angelus sighed, it was in frustration, Faith could tell. It was eerily similar to the emotions she had right now.
“So are you going to kill him?” she couldn’t believe that question just came out of her mouth. What was she thinking? What made her speak at all, let alone those words?
“Indeed I am, little Slayer. Would you like to watch?” His implacable gaze was back on her, hypnotizing in its intensity.
She very much wanted to say yes. Something kept her silent. A last vestige of humanity? She couldn’t tell.
Doyle nodded. “Yes, very much so.”
Angelus laughed, and this time there was true humor in it. Faith thought she was going to be sick. Not from Travers’ death. From the enjoyment she knew she’d get from it.
How was it possible to feel so much, such varying emotions, simultaneously?
It was over before she realized it. There was no taunting, no torture. Only a snap of the neck, a breath of release, and Travers dropped to the ground a lifeless heap of bones.
She stared at him for a long moment, and yes, there was that smug joy at his death. It was short-lived.
“Does that mean we’re next?” she wondered, voice detached as she raised her eyes back to his. “I ask only because we seem to be the only ones not from your attack group still alive.”
“There are one or two who decided to run,” he corrected. “But they’re easily enough found.”
“Yes, I’m sure of it. Why bother to come across the pond when all you had to do was snap your fingers?”
“I prefer to do things face-to-face when need be.” His shrug was indolent, nearly boneless in its grace. Were all vamps this elegant or was it just him? And his sidekick.
“And did you need to kill me face to face?”
“Hmmm,” he said noncommittally. And just what in this hell did he mean by that? Pain in her ass vamp. You’d think she’d get some straight answers now that she was about to die.
(When one dies, another is called…she felt sorry for that girl. No one deserved this fate.)
Drusilla remained silent, as if she knew when to spout incomprehensible bits of babble and when not to. But she hovered like she wanted to spout more. Her eyes, dark in a pale face, all but screamed her need to say something.
“Out.”
The command was instantly obeyed, and in seconds the room was empty. Or empty of the Angelus-group. They left the bodies. Living (semi-living, and just what were vamps anyway? And what was Angelus? Super Vamp?) –wise, there were three of them. Five total. Odds were definitely against her, especially when she calculated in Tara and Doyle. They couldn’t fight.
“Isn’t this cozy,” she said flippantly. “Will we be having wine with dinner?”
Didn’t even crack a smile, did he. It was the best she could do, given the circumstances.
He was before her in a flash. Faith swore she hadn’t even blinked. His hand, the long cool fingers wrapped around her neck, squeezing slightly. Not enough to hurt, not even enough to make her gasp for breath. Just enough to hint at the pain he could cause. At the life he could end.
“Daddy-”
Angelus’ head moved only a fraction but it was enough. Drusilla shut up. Faith inhaled a sigh of a prayer in thanks – for ending this, for finishing her life, for stopping all she couldn’t stop from racing around in her head until she thought she’d explode.
“You had nothing to do with the attack on my Goddess,” he said, eyes boring into hers.
She couldn’t look away anyway, but his compelling gaze enthralled her all the more.
“It’s of little consequence.”
Please just end it.
“You are the Slayer, you are part of this Council,” he spat the word. She thought it was evil, too. “You are more connected than you realize.”
This was it then. This was the end.
“Angelus.”
World Enough and Time index Christine's Page Home
