Part Three

They stepped out of the elevator, each with more than a trace of what lay buried in their nature evident in their stance and expression. Giles shrugged his jacket off his shoulders revealing smallish but lethal crossbow. Angel raised his arm and nodded in cold approval as a stake flicked out from up his sleeve. He reset the mechanism and gave Rupert a sidelong glance as the human did a one handed load of the crossbow.

"Here." Angel said in a low voice, offering a heavy hunting knife encased in a leather sheath. "You take this, you might need it."

Rupert rejected the offer. "Thank you, no. I already have a knife, strapped on my ankle." He paused, scanning the long, dimly lit hallway. "Something is not right. Things are much too easy."

"So? If we know it's a trap, then it's no longer a trap." Angel said dryly.

"I'm sure there is logic in that statement, somewhere." Giles muttered. "Just be on guard." He adjusted the sling which held his right arm immobile, tightening it closer to his body as he gave a slight nod down the hall. "Shall we?"

"Absolutely." Angel hissed as he morphed. The vampire began to track down the corridor, pausing at each unmarked door to feel for a sign that their quarry lay within. One by one he rejected each doorway until at the terminus of the hall, from behind double metal doors came a whiff of blood, a hint of death, an indication of the evil that was present here.

Angel's body tensed in anticipation of the fight. He bared his fangs, wrapped his hands around the doorknobs and slowly turned them. "It's not locked."

"That bodes ill." Rupert whispered darkly. "Fling it open, you veer to the right, I will go left. Keep one 'alive' for questioning, destroy the rest."

"Three... two... one." Angel counted down and then burst through the doors with such violence that one of the right hand hinges snapped. The momentum of their attack carried them halfway through the studio space before both came to a sliding stop at what lay before them.

The room was empty of both furnishings and inhabitants. In the corner a staggered trio of blood red pillar candles burned hours into their life. Before them a wooden box, behind them propped against the wall, a sketchpad. The adrenaline rush peaked and drained within Rupert leaving him feeling chilled. He stepped back toward the door and flicked the light switch back and forth. With a curse he glared upward at the lighting fixtures as if he could, through sheer will force them into illumination.

"Forget it, nobody's here." Angel growled. The vampire twisted his head and an open mouth grimace appeared on his face. "That box is bloody."

Rupert's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"Human heart, I smell the meat."

"Meat." In disgust, Rupert mouthed the choice of word. Hiding his disdain he crossed the studio and knelt down on one knee before the arrangement. He drew his knife and using the point hesitantly opened the box a few inches, just enough to confirm Angel's statement. "Mercy." He whispered in half prayer for the dead, half petition for the living. Taking a deep breath he steadied himself and flipped the lid back reveling both the atrocity and a blood soaked piece of paper rolled and tied with a black ribbon.

Giles knew he did not want to touch the note let alone see what mockery was written thereon, but he knew he had to. Tightlipped he reached in, pulled it out and unrolled it. Immediately he recognized Wesley's precise penmanship and his stone expression began to crack as he read.

"What is it?" Angel questioned. "Tell me.."

"Everyone's home address written in Wesley's hand. Buffy, Willow, Xander, Oz, Cordelia, you and I." Rupert answered through his teeth. He crumpled the note into a ball and sat it in the pool of wax atop the largest candle, watching as it ignited and burned to ashes. "So he wants to play this game, does he?"

"Looks like it." Angel agreed. "But why would we find his message here in Rita's lair?"

Rupert's jaw tightened in tandem with the knot in his stomach. "I believe we both know the answer to that... he was turned by her. Oh Lord. Between his training and the tutelage of an Old One this could become a very dire situation."

"We don't know that for sure." Angel said as he forced his features back to human guise and came up, arcing widely away from the box. Exchanging a tense glance with Rupert knelt down on the other side of the candles and laid the sketchpad down flat on the floor. "This is probably the other half of the message."

"Without a doubt." Rupert concurred, giving a motion for Angel to open the pad. His breath hissed through his teeth at the sight of the first sketch, a head and shoulders view of Wesley at the moment of his death. Sightless eyes locked upward in their sockets, lips stained with he siring blood, mouth frozen in his final cry, head pushed back into the gravel exposing the obscene insult to his throat as the rain made ersatz tears upon his cheeks.

Rupert let out a ragged moan and turned away. "She seems to be proud of her work... next page, I've seen enough."

"It's no better." Angel observed. "His rising, and his first kill. There's the same 'J' cut that was in the photo Kate showed me." He waited a moment for Rupert to respond but was met with stone silence. He turned the page and snorted. "Looks like the domination went well."

Rupert gave the erotic scene a cool assessment and voiced an even colder critique of Angel's comment. "I fail to see the humor."

"I wasn't trying to be funny. They fought for it and she took him." He tapped the picture. "I just wish she would show us her full face in one of these so we could identify her by sight."

"Neither here nor there. Let's see the.. next.. oh Dear God."

Both Rupert and Angel felt the hair rise on the back of their necks as the portrait danced under the flickering candlelight. They saw it immediately, for there drawn in shades of grey lay clear declaration of what Wesley had become.

Rupert felt a dryness well up in his throat as he gazed at the rendering. He bent forward and read the title which lay over Rita's flamboyant signature mark. "The Acolyte. Now we know, without reservation, that she has taken him."

A minute ticked by before Angel broke the spell by roughly slapping the pad shut. "Let's get out of here." He snarled. "They can't be far."

"Yes, of course." Rupert muttered. He blew out the candles and slowly arose to his feet. "Even though they will not appreciate my call, I should give the Council a warning of has happened."

Angel was already at the door. "If you want to. But I'm telling you, this ends tonight." He reached over and yanked the askew door from its remaining support. "Because tonight we 'will' find them both."

******

The rhythmic throb of the engines cut into Wesley's mind dragging him back out of his already restless sleep. He slowly opened his eyes and offered a quiet hiss to express his displeasure at being awakened. Focusing in on the sound he decided that the noise had become more powerful than the last time it had interrupted his rest. "We must be on our way."

"Yes." Rita answered from a small desk across the room. "We are at the edge of the harbor, being escorted by the tugboats. Soon we will be officially out to sea."

Wesley acknowledged this information with a non-committal "Mmmmm." Even though the accommodations were better than he expected he still did not care for the idea of leaving Los Angeles. But what Mistress wanted, Mistress seemed to get. This suite for was a perfect example. When she had said that they were taking a freighter to Europe he had expected to spend three weeks boxed up in a crate which had been tossed upside down in some rusty hold. But these were surprisingly spacious quarters in a surprisingly modern ship. It was one of two vessels owned by Westfall Distributing and its amenities had been freely given to them for this trip. Wesley allowed himself a smile as her offhand comment replayed in his mind: "Oh, and by the way. Most of the crew are demon or half-breeds and they have no qualms about our 'special buffet' that is chained below decks."

"And so we are on our way." He thought to himself. "Abroad for a season. Away from the annoyances of city life." Wesley's face morphed as he remembered his main annoyance. "Oh yes Rupert, I will be returning to deal with you." He muttered to himself as his anger swelled up within him.

His ire caused him to tense and shift his position without thinking of the consequence. Wesley bared his fangs as pain shot through his healing chest, shoulder and back while lightly veiled within his hissing growl the words "son of a bitch" came forward and hung in the air. With a measured pace Rita came across the sitting room and knelt at his side. She propped an elbow on the couch arm and rested her head within her cupped hand. With a small noise of empathy she reached over and drew his shirt back exposing the entry wound left by the crossbow bolt. "You're healing nicely."

"It's been ten damn hours, shouldn't it be completely knitted back together by now?" Wesley groused.

"No, it went all the way through and shattered your collarbone in the process." Rita said as her finger traced figure eights around the bloody scab, down and around his nipple and back up. Her eyes went to his and she bent over beginning a line of kisses which followed his jawline upward until her lips brushed his earlobes. "You are not feeding, there is no reason for you to look like that. Control... never reveal your pain, don't let your anger show." She whispered

Wesley rolled his head and morphed back into human, only to become full vampire again as Rita's fingernail dug deep into his wound. He arched upward on the couch, pulling away from her and snarled. "What in the hell do you think..."

"Never reveal you pain, never let your anger show." She repeated as she came up on the couch and slid face to face onto his lap. Again her finger began to outline the edges of his now bleeding injury. Wesley pushed her hand away and held it tightly to the side. "That's easy for you to say, you don't have a hole in you the size of a lemon!"

Rita's free hand came up and stroked his gnarled vampire features. "There is no reason for this now. Only show your demon when feeding or fighting."

"So torture does not count? Silly me, I thought it did."

With a soft hiss Rita reached over to the end table and picked up a heavy cut glass ashtray and without a word smashed it on the surface. With a unnerving smile she chose a long, razor sharp fragment and offered it to Wesley.

As soon as he took the shard she reached down and pulled her shirt off over her head. She tossed it to the floor and then reached behind herself and unclasped her bra letting it fall between them. She then bent backwards and presented herself to him. A flash of anger went through Wesley and with his fingernail he raised a red welt across her from armpit to armpit. "Mistress, I will call your bluff."

Her face became almost serene. "Call it, if you dare."

Wesley held the glass up and without a second thought slashed a deep cut across her from shoulder to shoulder.

Her only reaction was a tightening of her hold upon his legs. Wesley drew back and again cut her this time across top of her breasts. He raised the shard, gripping it so tightly that the edge cut deeply into his hand. With an enraged howl he threw the fragment to the side and shouted, "What in the hell are you trying to prove?!"

Rita drew her fingertips through her blood and marked Wesley's brow with an ancient sign. Then again she swirled her fingers in her blood and brought them forward to reddened Wesley's lips. "Taste the pain, taste the anger. Both bitter, both sweet."

Wesley bowed his head and struggled to regain his human face in the presence of so much blood and emotion.

"Did you taste it?" She whispered.

"Yes Mistress."

"With each hunt, with each kill, with each dry husk you leave in your wake your power will grow. Many exist for centuries, but become gnarled and twisted because they cannot control our demon."

Wesley raised his now reformed countenance. "How do we control it? Teach me, for I must know."

All hints of Rita's emotions disappeared as if suddenly hidden under a mask. "Accept the pain and the anger for what they are... not for what you remember them to be... for now pain is your breath, anger is your heartbeat. Use them as such or they will destroy you." She reached out and again drew blood from the raw hole in his chest

Wesley pressed himself back into the couch cushions as the pain of her probing touch shot through him, but he kept in control. Through half-lidded eyes he met her searching gaze. "I understand, Mistress."

"Good, because it's a hard lesson." Rita said approvingly as she glided her hand upward from his chest to his neck to his cheek drawing him close for a lingering kiss. She slid off his lap and stood before him appraising his understanding and finding it worthy of further instruction. Then taking one of his hands into hers she led him to his feet. "Now let's go rest.

"Yes Mistress." Wesley said not as a servant but as a willing neophyte to this dark teacher. A smile curled along his lips as he began to feel that he had finally found his station. Yes, this existence suited him well and a trip abroad in the company of Mistress Rita suddenly seemed to be the perfect plan.

****** Epilogue ******

"Good morning Mr. Giles. I think you're going to get wet."

"Good morning to you also, Mrs. Barton. And I think I can get this run in before it rains." Rupert answered with a wave as he tried to jog around his neighbor and her five barking poodles.

"I don't know about that. It's looking awful dark over in the West." She answered while parking her frame in the middle of the sidewalk. "I don't know why you do this to yourself. Running around getting all winded at your age."

"Pardon?" Rupert said in semi-mock affront. "Mrs. Barton, I'm not completely 'over' the proverbial hill just yet. Granted I can see the top ridge, but as for being over it..." He shook his head and ended his statement with a "cluck" sound."

"I don't know about that." She said with a wave of her finger. "Remember you broke your wrist last Spring doing that foolish skiing thing. How is your wrist anyway? Still bothering you?"

Rupert held up his right hand and twisted it around to show off its mobility. "For the first month or so after I got the cast off it would twinge now and then, but see... good as new. In matter of fact I helped a pair of friends move back home from college just last week and it did not give me a bit of trouble." He smiled at her. "I do thank you for asking, but I must be on my way if I want to stay dry."

With a wave and a nod Giles set out on his morning jog. Casting an eye at the thickening clouds he was thankful that it was Tuesday for that meant that he would be taking the shortest of his customary routes. Over to the nature reserve and back via a sparcely traveled side road.

Quickly he settled into his rhythm, pacing himself in a steady but not exhausting gait. Rounding a curve at the he caught sight of a car parked under a highway overpass. He slowed down a bit as he passed by it but saw not a soul.

"Ow! Ow! Darn it! Cripe!" A woman's angry voice accompanied by the clatter of metal hitting the ground brought Giles to a stop. He stopped and watched as she came into view, standing by the back bumper wrapping a tissue around her bleeding hand and doing a perfect rendition of the "ouchie dance". With a unintelligible oath she gave her car a kick and looked down at her hand.

"Excuse me. Do you need some assistance?" Rupert asked as he came across the road toward her.

The woman took a cautious step back then suddenly smiled in recognition. "Hey, you're the librarian from the high school, right?"

Rupert cocked his head to one side. "Ummm... yes, I was. and you are?"

"Oh, I'm Marie Pierce. I was a Senior the first year you were there. I kinda recognized your accent." She grimaced and held her hand a little tighter. "Do you know how to change a tire? I tried but I can't get that jack thing to work and I think I just cut myself bad enough to get stitches."

"Oh dear." Rupert said with concern. He knelt down beside the rear passenger tire and began to fiddle with the jack. "I'm a little rusty, but I think I can help." Marie came over and crouched down beside him. "Dad told me that I should learn how to do this but it just seemed like I never got around to it."

Rupert nodded in agreement. "It is sound advice. Everyone should know how to do this type of emergency repairs."

"Yeah, I know." She sighed. "Oh, man this hurts."

"This won't take long." Giles answered as he bent forward to concentrate on getting the jack into position. He had just picked up the lever rod to slide it into it's casing when he heard Marie let out a choked scream. Rupert jerked his head around and saw Marie frozen in terror at his side staring upward to at a figure who had appeared from around the front of the disabled car.

Wesley sauntered toward them in full game face. "Hello Mr. Giles. Beautiful day is it not? Cloudy, rain, a tad on the coolish side..."

Rupert's hand tighten around the metal rod. "Run dear, now... run for your life." He calmly ordered the young woman.

Wide eyed, she remained rooted at his side. Rupert chanced one more barked "RUN MARIE!" before he turned his back on the woman and started to scramble to his feet to meet the challenge. He was halfway up when Marie's hands clamped around his chest and yanked him off balance, pulling him back hard upon the ground.

"There is no Marie." Rita revealed as she leaned forward for the kill.

As he felt her fangs drive into the side of his neck Giles swung the metal rod backward with all his strength whipping it up against the side of Rita's head. Blindsided by the attack from the rear Rupert scrambled to beat the fury off his back before Wesley made his move.

But the move was made. In a blink of an eye Wesley covered the eight short feet between them and ripped the rod from his grasp. Rupert tried to kick Wesley's feet out from under him but the vampire sidestepped. The horrible realization that he only had seconds to break free shot through his mind. With one hand he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled while with the other he formed a fist and brought it into play, smashing it again and again into Rita's forehead. A glimmer of hope flickered as her grip lessened, but it was only a glimmer as her bloody hand came up and crammed between his lips.

Rupert tasted the siring blood and using both hands he wrenched her hand from his mouth. Wesley was now on him, straddling his legs forcing them into useless immobility. Only ten seconds had passed since the attack had begun but Rupert felt his life draining away from Rita's greedy feasting. Wesley curled his cold hands around Rupert's and forced them down. Leaning forward with a faint sneer he brought his face to within inches of Rupert's. "Now I shall watch you die, Mr. Giles."

Rita removed her battered face from Rupert's neck. "You may finish him if you like."

"Thank you Mistress, you are too kind. But you go on and finish for I'm sated for the moment. She was quite sweet and filling."

Giles heard as well as felt the fangs sink back into his throat.

Rupert's head swayed back and froth as his body tried to find the blood to keep him conscious. Wesley's words screamed through his mind.. "sated".. oh God.. "she"... she who? Wesley's sneer turned into a sarcastic smile as Rupert began to shiver beneath him. He reached forward and cupped his hand under Rupert's chin and held it stationary. "For your information, Mr. Giles.. Willow is laying at you elbow in the boot of this vehicle. Dead as hell, but that will change with the sunset."

Mercifully Rupert's dying mind no longer was no longer capable of hearing these foul words. It now flashed his life, blocking the evil face before him until the very end. Then he came back and with his last ounce of life focused on the malice that sat astride him... and he spit in its face.

Then the darkness came.