11 Then began the tempest to my soul

Chapter 11: Then began the tempest to my soul

Sunshine flowed along Wilshire Boulevard, fathomless power telescoped in invisible streams pouring across office windows, hotel entrances and car windscreens; the light running down the glass, exposing hidden grime, stains, and imperfections.

Lorne followed Illyria onto the sunny side of Wilshire Boulevard. He surveyed the highway and lowered his head at the sight of his reflection winking back at him from the freshly waxed bonnet of a car idling in the rush hour traffic. He peered at the ghostly image and grimaced.

“Can I be any more conspicuous? Because nothing says ‘look at me’ like a pair of crimson horns with this suit. Better get out of the spotlight before the audience starts throwing critical reviews at us.”

Illyria regarded him coldly. “You wish to blend, to be unobserved, to be what you are not. The white-haired one told me I should do the same to move among humans.” She threw her head back. “I will assume the form of the one whose soul you seek.”

“Over my dismembered green corpse.” Lorne gripped her arm. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on you to make sure we both get back.” He scanned the street. “But I find myself unable to perform a similar costume change being temporarily without a convenient telephone booth. Besides, there’s a less painful way, for both of us. Down here.” He pulled her towards the underground car park of the Best Western Hotel.

“You dare presume…” Illyria began.

“Stow it Prima Donna. And start learning some new songs.” Lorne gritted his teeth at the harshness of his words. ’Whatever happened to Caritas?’ He maintained his grasp of Illyria until they reached the cover of the concealing darkness in the sewers beneath the city.

“I would know more of this keeping of your eye,” Illyria shook Lorne’s hand from her arm. “The pledge you have made to another, to act as my jailer. From whence did the calumny originate? An insult so great cannot be disregarded.”

Lorne said nothing and plodded on through the shadows, head bowed.

“Your courage sits comfortably upon your shoulders,” Illyria observed. “Yet you tell me it came at too great a price. Much has changed since the days I first inhabited this shell, when you wore a clown’s mask to hide the terror you felt.”

Lorne paused at an intersection of interconnecting tunnels. He studied both paths for a few moments, then without a backward glance, he urged Illyria forward with a wave of his hand.

“Yes, much has changed. Yet things remain the same, ” Illyria said, following him into the dark.

---------------------------

Under the recessed illuminations at Wolfram and Hart, sunlight tresses caressed cool, pale skin, a fraudulent simulation of an innocence and warmth that no longer existed. Blue eyes stared out of the pallid face into dark eyes curtained by midnight tresses. Black eyes returned the blue-eyed stare with calculated concentration; manipulative malevolence and mercurial madness revealing nothing of the ruined purity once resident within.

Harmony shifted under Drusilla’s gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“Poor Goldilocks.” Drusilla reached out and fondled Harmony’s hair, letting it flow through her fingers like strands of silken thread. “No sleeping in Blondie Bear’s bed for you. She let Harmony’s hair fall and smiled at her. “You know what they say about natural blondes?”

“Now look here…” Harmony moved to Drusilla’s side of the desk and folded her arms.

“Do you know how to play Cat’s Cradle?” Drusilla asked her. “Your new lover does.”

“Lover? Oh, you mean Hamilton? He’s not my … Hey! How did you know we…?”

“I. See. Things.” Drusilla spoke as if explaining something to a dull child. “He’s got everyone’s strings all tangley. They’ll not make the church now.” She patted Harmony’s head. “Run along little girl. And be careful, that one’s not your special playmate any more. The beast has claws that catch and jaws that bite.” She mimicked a snapping mouth with her hand and turned her attention to Spike standing in front of the office door. “Something wicked this way comes,” she giggled, trotting over to his side.

Spike reached for the doorknob, then pulled back as the door opened and a tall figure came out into the reception area.

“Walk with me.” The new CEO - Marcus Hamilton’s animated corpse - brushed past him and strode towards the lifts.

Spike was still gaping when the dark whirlwind swept them into its black maw.

“You’re the dodgy preacher’s replacement?” he yelled above the roaring commotion of the gale.

“Hardly.” Hamilton’s measured tones, as cool as ever, possessed new harmonics, intimations of the multiple entities inhabiting his body. “A certain tenancy arrangement suits our purpose for the time being.”

Drusilla threw back her head and laughed, turning in the wind, her hair streaming, her long black coat flapping in time to the beat of the storm’s blasts.

“What’s with the tempest?” yelled Spike, holding the coat tails of his duster to stop it flying off into the maelstrom.

“Old habits die hard,” Hamilton’s impeccably manicured fingers straightened his tie before waving into the torrent of air swirling around them. “I never did understand the appeal of new technology. The cannon was a great improvement on the ballista, so they tell me, but I could never see it myself. A well directed lighting bolt doesn’t have the tendency to backfire on the one aiming it.”

The hurricane vanished, revealing Angel’s penthouse suite bathed in morning sunlight.

“But I haven’t brought you up here to talk business.” He paused. “That’s not strictly true, I have.” He held out a hand. “Wolfgang Hartram.”

Spike ignored the proffered hand and regarded him coldly, clenching and unclenching his fists, digging his nails into his palms. “Three in one, eh? Neat trick! Been done before of course,” he sneered.

Hartram lowered his arm and glanced at Drusilla who stood gazing out of the window, pressing her face to the glass and murmuring softly.

“It was sunny when Mummy played,” she said dreamily. “And the daisy-chains were jewelled crowns in my hair.” She turned her face towards Spike, her cheek caressing the pane, revelling in the glow. “Until Daddy brought the darkness.” A thunderous frown circled her brow. “And the screams.”

“Dru.” Spike held out his hands to her.

“No! The Angel beast must suffer as I did,” she raged. “Anne. My sweet little bird. Butchered her singing he did. Twisted the song. Made it bleed. All my playmates gone.”

Spike pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. “He can’t hurt you any more,” he soothed.

“But he can. He does. Every day he does. No more quiet. No more peace. No more stained light. He took that last. A demon dressed in an Angel’s robes stealing my precious secrets in a holy space. His place wasn’t there!” Drusilla raised her face to Spike’s and fixed her eyes on his. “You can make it better.”

Spike clenched his jaw. ‘Bloody bastard Angelus. Should have let you die.’ He shook his head. “I can’t. I could never... Not like that.”

Drusilla pushed herself out of his embrace. “Not that ,silly boy. You're not listening - nor seeing yet neither.” She wagged a finger at him and turned to the window. “Lovely view,” she said brightly. “I can see the whole world. And all the others.”

“Darla was all about the view, not me, Pet,” Spike reminded her.

“All those little ants down there; just waiting to be covered in honey,” Drusilla continued. She whirled to face him. “You can make me a new playmate.”

“Want me to turn someone for you? Spike tilted his head, frowning his concern. “Not sick again are you?”

“Course not.” Drusilla’s smile faded. “Want to play our little game. Taking Mummy’s chair, sleeping in Daddy’s bed.” She grinned. “Eating baby for porridge.”

“Can't see what you’re gettin’ at here, Dru.”

Hartram walked over to the window and looked out towards the mountains. “You can see for miles on a clear day. See everything as clear as day, rather, from up here.“

“L.A. days aren’t exactly noted for their clarity,” snorted Spike. “And I seem to recall your predecessor being blinded for a time by the murky light this view offered.”

Hartram turned slowly and looked at him, studying his face, noting the tension in his posture and suspicion in his eyes. “I don’t believe the vision was any clearer in that dingy basement flat of yours.”

“Visions!” scoffed Spike. “Depends who’s having ‘em and what he says he’s seen. Only ever met one bloke who told the real truth an' even then had a job winkling it out of him. So, no. I don’t believe in visions. Don’t hardly know what’s real any more, let alone trust fata morgana.”

“This is real.” Hartram swept a hand around the suite and gestured at Drusilla twisting her hair into knots and humming to herself. “Why choose the mission impossible when you can have …?”

“You think I aim too high?”

Hartram circled the room, pausing in front of the sofa. “In one sense, not high enough.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “I’m listenin’.”

“Everything you really want is within your reach?” Hartram gestured at the suite. “This apartment …”

“You already tried the ‘temptation on the mountain’ ploy with Angel. Not biting.”

“We were mistaken in him. He didn’t have what it takes. You and Drusilla are all that’s left of the once invincible Aurelius clan.” Hartram raised his eyes to the ceiling and placed a hand on his breast. ”That was after the Great War, of course. Before that you vampires were nothings. When demons ruled …”

“Oh put a sock in it, Frankie, you sound like the Blue Queen.” Spike sank onto the sofa and folded his arms behind his head. “Not talkin’ ‘bout Angel’s Ancestors any more. Back to me getting’ what I want.”

Drusilla drifted over from the window and lowered herself onto his lap. “I know what you want. Love. It’s what you’ve always wanted. No one loved you. Not until I found you. ”She wrapped a hank of her hair around her wrist and glanced suggestively towards the bedroom. “Nor since, neither, my Dark Prince.”

“Mother,” he stammered, pushing Drusilla onto the floor. “She loved me.”

“Didn’t she just!” First-Spike materialised at Drusilla’s side. “Hot demon Mama just gagging for it. And how did you repay her? Oh, that’s right, you killed her – again.”

“You already played out that hand,” Spike snarled. “Got a fresh deck now. No more ‘poor maidens’. Seems I’m missing that Love card.”

Drusilla stretched out her arm. “Ooh, Spike, what a pretty evil you make.” Her hand passed through the incorporeal form and she giggled. “Tingles.” She crawled back onto the seat and ran her fingers through Spike’s hair. “Remember how we used to tingle?” she whispered.

Spike stared at Drusilla. “My Black Beauty,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her hair. He swallowed and closed his eyes. “I remember.”

“Be nice to get physical with a woman again without that pesky conscience getting in the way, wouldn’t it?” Hartram moderated First-Spike’s line.

Spike looked wildly from Drusilla to Hartram to First-Spike who was now deep in shadow in the entrance to the bedroom. He gripped the edge of the sofa, flexing the muscles in his legs ready for flight.

Everything you ever wanted is here for the taking. “Drusilla’s – charms for want of a better word…” Hartram continued.

A shaft of sunlight blinded Spike for a second, pinning him in place. ‘No! Gotta stay. I know I do. What I need is here. Have to stay for a reason. Just can’t see it yet.’

“You can see for miles as clear as day from up here,” said First-Spike echoing Hartram’s earlier words. He swaggered across the room into the sunshine and studied the city streets. “Or look down on everything; everything and every one. You’d never be beneath anyone ever again.”

‘Another fine mess you’ve got me into William - you and that poet’s soul of yours.’

“I mean, honestly, where has all that moon and June stuff ever gotten you?” First-Spike leered. “Always chasing the wrong woman. Not one of them ever saw the real you.”

“Except me”. Drusilla rested her head against Spike’s, her hair falling across his face, obscuring his sight for a second, and filling his eyes with the image of another dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty.

‘And Fred’. The one woman he’d not set his cap at. She’d seen him all right. He could never fool her with any of the ploys he used on the others. She was the reason he was here, why he’d sacrificed his most precious memories without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Focus. Spike. Got a job to do here.’

“Yeah,” he drawled. “Not one of ‘em. ‘Specially the Ponce who used to run this joint. Thought he was King of the Castle. Thought he deserved…” he paused for effect, “everything more than I did.”

“He had it handed to him, didn’t he? Every. Time.” Hartram’s voice cut through the coagulated sticky mess that was Spike’s brain like citric acid. “Ever wonder what the price was this time?”

‘Now we’re getting’ to it.’ Spike leaned against the backrest and stared unwaveringly at a spot over Drusilla’s head. “I’m listening again,” he said evenly.

“Memories. That was the price. Thinks he’s better than you and yet he traded other people’s memories - of his son.” Hartram responded in equally moderated tone. “But of course you already knew that.”

Spike remained motionless. Whatever else he might have wanted of Angel’s, right now the ability to conceal his thoughts and feelings was something he wished he’d practised sooner.

“What you don’t know, and neither does he come to that, is that when he signed away the Shanshu for membership of the Circle of the Blackthorn…”

“It’s such a luscious secret. Can I tell?” Drusilla interrupted.

Hartram nodded his permission.

“It was Grandmother’s gift. She always did give lovely presents. All in such delicious wrapping.”

Ice coursed through Spike’s veins. Darla? What had she said to Angel in the lift?

Drusilla held a hand to her head. “I see it. Angel’s destiny all packaged up and damaged ever so sweetly. It’s bleeding now. She licked her fingers. A new playmate for me.” She touched Spike’s chest with her fingertips. “For you to give me. Make Daddy suffer as I do.”

“Angel’s humanity?” Spike’s voice cracked. “You see Connor?”

“Of course I see him.” Drusilla’s administered a sharp slap to Spike’s hand. “Pay attention to Mummy!” She pointed at the television screen across the room.

Spike followed the direction she’d indicated and recognised Connor’s beaten form lying bound and blindfolded on the small narrow bed of a sparsely furnished basement apartment. He lowered his eyes from the screen and shook his head.

Drusilla lifted his chin. “Don’t cry, my darling. It’ll only hurt him for a moment. Then he’ll be yours forever.”

“All Angel once had is yours for the taking.”

Hartram’s stately voice brought Spike back from the precipice. Choking down the bile that rose in his throat, he rose from his seat and forced himself to smile.

“That’s the plan then, is it? To hit Angel where it hurts him most.” He smirked. “I like it.”

“Drusilla, this suite, the cars, the power, his Shanshu. Yours and yours alone.”

“Cars? There’s cars as in plural? Lead on Macduff, I fancy a little test run.”

Hartram lead the way to the lifts. “We’ll take the elevator this time, if it makes you more comfortable.” He indicated the call button. “You can drive.”

---------------------------------

In the dimly lit backseat of the Bentley, Buffy struggled ineffectually against Angel, trying to shift his body, which was pinning her against the back of the driver’s seat.

“What the hell ….”

Angel covered her mouth with his hand. “Sshhh,” he whispered.

Buffy heard the ‘ping’ of the lift arriving, followed by the soft swoosh of its doors and a familiar voice echoing through the garage.

“You little beauties! All of you. All mine.”

“And mine. You won’t forget Princess when you’re King, will you?”

“Never, my sweet. You shall have your pick of the finest carriages and the flunkiest minions.”

“I think you’ll find some additions to the collection that will suit all your needs,” said Hartram. “They were selected specifically with you in mind.”

Spike chuckled. “Let’s have the tour then Jeeves. I fancy taking my time getting to know some of these ladies.”

“The limousine range is this way,” Hartram’s voice barely concealed his anger at being treated as a servant. “As for taking your time. The offer we made is for a limited period only. No sampling the goods until the contract is signed.”

“Thought it was my time now?” replied Spike. “You know the time, the window of opportunity you missed back in Sunnydale when you sent that amulet you meant for Angel to wear?”

Angel tensed and grabbed the door, growling softly and slipping into vamp face. Buffy grasped his hand and squeezed a warning, huddling down beneath the level of the side window and holding her breath as the sound of Spike’s boots came closer. Besides, there’s a less painful way, for both of us. Down here.”