Title: A Dangerous Mind
Author: Buffywatcher
Feedback: Constructive comments always
welcome: Deepkori@hotmail.com
Pairing: Primarily Angel(us)/Spike,
References to Penn/Spike (Non-con), Spike/Drusilla
Rating: R Possibly a bit of romantic
NC-17’ish circumstances.
Spoilers: Big ones for Destiny, Angel Season
Five occasional references to other episodes in season five but for the most
part this diverges to AU after the Destiny Episode.
Warnings: This story will contain instances
of extreme violence, sexuality, character deaths and references to rape,
stalking, and some torture.
Disclaimer: Just borrowing them for a bit of
harmless fun. All characters, recognisable likenesses are retained by their
owner and accredited license holders.
Writer’s
Notes: This story
takes place in an AU setting. The events concerning Penn never occurred. Spike
left LA after the Destiny episode but everything else you can consider has
happened according to canon as of the start of this story. For the Episode
Damage: just consider the bits with Spike as not having occurred, Dana was
found and Andrew assumed custody of her without finding out that Spike was
alive. Please excuse any minor discrepancies or artist license. As always
thanks are going out to GF, MarieC, Luba, and Mera my most excellent group of
Beta/Editors.
Distribution: If I’ve already been given
permission to archive my work please consider it yours if you want it. If I
haven’t and you would like to archive it please do, all I ask is that you email
me and tell me where it’s going so I can visit.
Summary: An ancient foe is unleashed and
Angel is forced to confront a painful episode from his past as his enemy seeks
to take from everything he’s ever loved.
*Denotes
thoughts*
*
Chapter
One
Archaeological Excavation on
“Professor Anatole! We’ve found something
Professore, Professore! We’ve found a chamber we think! Come see Professore!” An excited voice cries
out bringing archaeologists converging from all over the excavation. “It will
take us well into the night to clear away all the debris but I think we’ll be
able to punch through tonight! This could be the find of the decade
Professore!”
There is an explosion of frantic activity as a
dozen hands through themselves into their work.
As the sun rises the next day it illuminates a
horrific scene of carnage that drives the local police to their knees with
uncontrollable nausea. The white marble is stained in macabre shades of red and
brown as blood dries on nearly every surface. Body parts litter the excavation
like leaves cast upon the ground in autumn. It is a scene that even the
bloodiest slaughterhouse could not hope to eclipse.
It takes the better part of two days for the
coroners to reconstruct the bodies enough to realise that seven people have
been unaccounted for. On the third day of the investigation the body of one of
the missing archaeologists is located some distance from the site, bloodless
and mutilated. Nearly every bone shattered to powder, the eyes gouged out and
horrible, deep slashes leaving the only means of identification to dental
records. Not even
The terror continues as the bodies of the
missing archaeologists begin to show up on the Italian mainland. Each death
seems incredibly more vicious than the last; until finally most of the body of
the last missing archaeologist is found in
*
Los
Angelus Branch of Wolfram & Hart 2004
Harmony
grimaces as the elevator makes what seems like its hundredth stop on its
journey upward to the executive offices. She silently curses the veritably
inexhaustible tide of humanity that is flowing in and out of the elevator
making a simple trip down to the mail room an afternoon’s excursion. She
glances down at the plain brown paper wrapped package and wonders why Buffy
would be sending Angel anything. Last rumours she heard it was pretty clear
Buffy felt that they had all sold their souls to the devil. The Demon in her
laughs silently as in a way she guesses she has done just that.
When the
mail room called up to let her know they’d received a package from a sender on
their special flagged list, she decided to personally pick it up and deliver it
to Angel. She watched as the package was subjected to a thorough check to make
sure it didn’t contain anything as dangerous as a bomb or black magic then
began what is feeling like the hour long ride back to the top floors.
Finally the
elevator delivers her as the lone passenger to hallowed halls of the executive
floor and she hurries out of the steel box that has been holding her hostage.
She glances at the mousy brunette behind her desk and seeing no expression of
sheer terror assumes that her lunchtime replacement has things in hand, she
nods and walks straight to Angel’s office.
She knocks
and waits for the harried voice of her boss to either invite her in or tell her
where she can shove the package she’s carrying. She lets out a sigh of relief
as she hears the quiet reply to come in. “Good afternoon Boss. This was
delivered for you and thought you’d want to see it right away.” She says brightly
setting the box on the corner of his desk. “Have you had lunch, would you like
me to bring you something?” She’s been trying her hardest to be as professional
as possible since Angel was so understanding about
that little problem she had not long ago.
“I had some
blood a little while ago, Harmony. Could you check the messages please and
bring me anything urgent and prioritise the rest? I’ll go through them later.”
Angel says not bothering to lift his eyes from the report he’s reading.
“I’ll get
right on that.” Harmony replies and quietly leaves.
Angel slams
the cover of the report closed and rubs his eyes tiredly. He looks at the stack
of reports he needs to go through and sighs. He decides to put that off for the
time being and grabs the package Harmony dropped off and his brow furrows. The
return address indicates it’s from Buffy but after that rogue Slayer fiasco a
while back, he’s very surprised to hear from her much less receiving something
from her. He opens the box carefully, he knows it’s gone through the usual
thorough Wolfram & Hart bobby trap check but it never hurts to be cautious.
He lets out
the breath he’s been unconsciously holding as he rips open the flaps and
nothing happens. He sees two black velvet bags tied with fake silk rose ties, a
black rose on one of the bags and a white rose flecked with red edges on the
other. He sees a letter tucked in with the bags and picks that up first and
steeling himself he rips it open and removes a single flat card. The writing is
in a curiously old style that seems vaguely familiar as he puzzles over what
the meaning is.
“Two of
your prizes are no more and last is the sweetest I’ve told you before.” He
reads out loud.
He puzzles
over what Buffy could mean by that cryptic comment. He puts the card aside and
lifts the black velvet bag tied with the white rose and opens it, tilting it
into the light. He sees a wink of gold at the bottom and tips the bag over and
stares in horror at the blood encrusted crucifix smoking in his hand. After a
timeless few seconds he drops it with a hiss, rubbing his palm as he stares at
the cross he gave Buffy, lying in a tangle on his desk. He knows without a
doubt that the brownish stains smearing it, is her blood, his nose twitching at
the unmistakable scent of shed Slayer blood. He tries to tell himself that
there are many Slayers now and it doesn’t necessarily mean that Buffy is dead
but that wouldn’t explain the cross…
He swallows
heavily and forces himself to pick up the other bag and open it. He tilts it
into the light and he can’t see anything inside. He tips the bag over the box
and stares as dark ashes rain out in a seemingly never ending stream. He feels
a scream welling up in his throat as he realises what he is looking at.
He clenches
his throat around the primal roar of rage welling up in his chest and forces
himself to concentrate. He turns his mind inward and tries to force his ways
through years of regrets to touch the ties that bind him to his Childer. He’s
disgusted to realise that the bonds are too weak, having been neglected for too
long, for him to have any idea if his Childer are alright. He knows what he has
to do and the thought turns his stomach. His hand hovers over the box, shaking.
*He
honestly doesn’t know what he’s going to do if these few fragile ashes are all
that remains of…*
He pushes
that thought deep inside him and locks it there, forcing his fingertips into
the ashes until it coats them in a fine film. He pulls his hand back and
watches it shaking for several moments before he jerks it to his mouth and
forces his fingertips against his tongue.
*Drusilla.*
The roar of
rage finally rips and tears its way to freedom but he is too lost in his own
agony to see the panicked reaction it engenders. He is too numb by the time the
roar fades to see his friends running into his office, most armed to the teeth
but every one of them concerned for his welfare.
*It wasn’t
him, it wasn’t him…* is the only thought that keeps replaying in his head.
“Angel?
Angel, are you…what’s wrong?” Fred says inching closer, her hand hovering
uncertainly over his shoulder. She sees the open box but doesn’t understand the
significance of anything she sees but her concern finally breaks through to
Angel that he’s not alone.
“Drusilla’s
ashes and Buffy’s cross, the one I gave her, blood. Dead I think.” He says in a
rush.
His friends
look on in horror and sympathy and Wesley darts forward. “It could be a trick;
someone could be trying to playing some awful joke on you! Eve
maybe?!” Wesley says urgently. “Quick everyone we need to gather what
information we can. Buffy is too important to have just disappeared and have no
realise it. Let’s go, MOVE!” Gunn, Lorne, and Fred take off on the run for the
conference room and after a moment staring at the frozen Angel, Wesley follows
behind them yelling orders.
Angel
stares unseeingly his mind trying to grasp the fact that Drusilla and very
likely Buffy are both gone. Suddenly a phrase from the card pops back into his
mind.
*Last is
the sweetest I’ve told you before.* He remembers. *The last…the last…with
Drusilla gone, SPIKE is the last!* He’s out of his chair like a bullet from a
gun, charging after Wesley and the others. *Spike has to be found and brought
back to LA where he can protect him before whoever is hunting his family finds
him!*
*
Chapter
Two
Three days
later they’re no closer to finding out anything then they were when they
started and nerves are starting to fray. Angel has barely said more than two or
three sentences, preferring to growl and snarl for the most part. Everyone
looks like they’ve been to hell and back and keep going back to revisit
frequently.
“We must
know SOMETHING more by now damn it!” Angel snarls,
throwing aside a stack of useless reports that tell him nothing just like all
the others he’s read over the last three days.
“I’ve
contacted Giles; he says he hasn’t heard from Buffy since he called to let her
know that Dawn arrived safely in
“I had the
branch office in
“Lorne and
I have been going through all the news reports to see if we can pick up
anything from those sources that may explain Buffy’s disappearance.” Fred says
disheartened by the lack of solid information. “Lorne’s in his office right now
talking to some contacts he has in
“It’s a
pattern, the mutilation murders form an upside down cross.” She says it quietly
under her breath, barely forming the words out of meaningless sounds as her
fingertip traces the pattern.
“What did
you say?” Angel demands in a tone of voice that immediately brings her head up.
“There were
a series of unexplained murders. I marked this map with the location of each
body they found. I just noticed that they form a pattern, an upside down cross.
They thought that they had found the person responsible for them so I didn’t
think much of it.” Fred says.
Angel
almost leaps over the table to pull Fred out of her chair. “Where was the first
murder Fred?” *I hope to Hell that I’m wrong.*
Fred
scrambles over her notes. “There were five bodies found dismembered on
“I know
where it is.” Angel releases Fred and sits down heavily in the closest chair,
with his head in his hands and alarmed Fred is at his side in a moment rubbing
his back.
Wesley
looks perplexed for a moment then starts hurriedly looking through the
disorganised stacks of papers and books littering the conference table. “I seem
to recall reading in one of the Watcher’s Diaries about a Vampire that marked
his kills with an upside down cross.”
“
Wesley
looks up in surprise at Angel’s muffled groan. “Yes! That was the name!”
Angel isn’t
paying attention as he’s drawn back into the past and into the life of a very
different Angelus.
It was a cold blustery autumn evening when
Drusilla brings home her bedraggled new pet. Then again it seems that
“Bloody Childe did ye dig up a dead body then?”
he demands raggedly, his lip curling at the corpse mucking up the fine velvet
of the settee.
“He’s my pretty, pretty sparkling boy.” Dru
says in her childlike voice. “The stars told me what he wanted, yes, I know
what he wants. He’s going to be my knight, my bloody, awful Prince.”
“DAFT CHILDE, YE WERE TOLD TO NEVER DO THIS! YE
ARE NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO BE MAKIN’ CHILDER! YE WERE TOLD NO’ TO DRUSILLA AND YE
DEFIED ME! YE’VE BROUGHT THIS OFFAL TO OUR LAIR AND YE’LL PROBABLY END UP
STAKING THE POOR SOD WHEN ‘E RISES!” He roars, knocking Drusilla cruelly away
and kicking her harshly in her side. “GO TO YE ROOM NOW DRUSILLA, YE’RE TO BE
PUNISHED FOR YE
He is truly surprised to learn that not only
does Drusilla’s Childe safely make the transition but he rises within
twenty-four hours. A fledgling with enough strength to slaughter and drain the
minions caring for him is a not altogether unpleasant event. Curious about his
youngest Childe’s new toy; he decides to pay a visit to the newest member of
his family. His furious to see that contrary to his orders, that Drusilla has
arrived before him and is already claiming Sire’s rights to her newly fledged
Childe.
Almost against his will he finds their violent,
bloody coupling disturbingly erotic to witness and considers watching but his
will has been denied and that just will not do. He grabs dives onto the bed and
forcefully wrenches Drusilla off her Childe and physically throws her out of
the room, locking her out. He hears a quiet chuckle from the dark shadows of
the bed and shivers of awareness dance along his nerves.
“Was that really necessary, Mate? Or were you
just impatient to take her place?” A quiet and very clearly English voice asks
him from the shadows of the bed.
He whirls around with a roar from where he’s
knelt to start the fire going in the fireplace and freezes. *By all the blood
he’s BEAUTIFUL.* He thinks.
His skin is unmarked, almost luminous in the
firelight, like the finest china doll. His face is equally graceful as he half
sits and half reclines amongst the ruined bed clothes, as easy in his nudity as
any newborn. He is almost girlishly slender but his muscles clearly show
beneath his amazing skin, showing him to be anything but weakly made. Power
radiates from him in waves that can almost be felt, like ants dancing against
his skin. It is all he can do not to throw himself back into the bed and he
turns on his heel and strides out of the room and picks up his insane childe
from off the floor where she is weeping piteously. He can hear the wicked
chuckle again, even through the heavy wooden door as he locks it with one hand
while choking his Childe with the other.
“Ye will dress and present yeselves to me
directly.” He orders tossing Drusilla down the hallway towards the rooms she
has taken as her own before he strides down the hallway to the staircase and up
to his own suites.
Drusilla arrives in one of her many doll like
dresses; with her hair in ringlets and affecting her childlike smile that he
knows better than to believe. Her new pet looks for the entire world like a
rumpled Oxford student. The illusion is almost flawless but for the glimmer of
a deeper darkness, a wildness that glitters deep within those bluest of eyes.
It murmurs of knowledge beyond his tender years, it whispers of dark secrets
and carnal delights, of death, desire and power. He knows they haven’t seen him
yet so he stays lurking in the shadows.
“Oh. Such a hungry little kitty.” She gently
pushes against her Childe’s chest, moving him. “Meow.” She purrs as she walks
into the room. “You've been a starved one, haven't you, my sweet Willy?” She
says with all the delight of a kitten playing with a mouse.
“I've got you to feast on now, pet. Is this
your home?”
*Apparently this mouse has teeth.* He thinks.
He wonders if Drusilla truly knows she’s somehow managed to sire a Childe that
is almost as strong as she is, one who one day will eclipse her.
“Their home.” She gestures to a pair of
middle-aged corpses who have been arranged to look as if they’re sitting having
a lovely afternoon visit. “Ambassador to…something and his plump, lovely wife.
Till their spirits flew away on fairy wings.” She lowers her voice
conspiratorially. “Psst. When Angelus took them for dinner.” She giggles a bit
at the memory.
He does a fair impression of gawking at the
corpses as she no doubt expects but he can see the chuckle lurking in those
blue orbs.
“Angelus? Who the bloody hell's Ang-?” His eyes
flash to the shadows and meet the brown eyes looking back into his fathomless
blue ones.
*Oh clever boy, you knew I was here all along.*
He thinks as he steps out of the shadows.
“Look what I made. It's called Willy.” Drusilla
says almost bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.
“William.” He says simply.
“Where's Darla? I want Darla to see William.”
Drusilla says with a simpering smile.
“Darla and I had a little spat. Her precious
master sent for her. You know Darla. Master's pet.” He strides closer to the
pair, smiling as Drusilla backs up just a step but hides a bigger smile as
William does not.
“Oh. Poor Angelus.”
*Lovely boyo now she’s probably going to pester
you trying to comfort you now.* He thinks darkly.
“Ah, don't fret, Dru. We'll make up. Always
do.” He briefly brushes his forehead lingering on a bruise still marring his
skin. “Mmm. Ow. After a little tit for tat. Shouldn't let that spoil our fun
here.” He walks slowly closer to William, letting his eyes rest heavily, almost
tangibly on his slender form. “So, instead of just feeding off of this William…you
went and turned him into one of us. Another rooster in the henhouse.”
Drusilla affects one of her favourite pouting
expressions. “You're not cross with me, are you?”
“Cross?” He makes no hint of his intentions as
he grabs William’s arm and forces his hand into a stream of sunlight and holds
it there cruelly. “Do you have any idea what it's like having nothing but women
as travel companions, night in and night out?”
William snatches his smoking arm back with a
strength that surprises him. “Touch me again…” William lets his voice trail off
in a soft growl. The tone is angry but the look in his eyes is much more
compellingly complex.
He manages to hide his surprise beneath a
smirking expression. “Don't mistake me. I do love the ladies. It's just
lately…I've been wondering…” He slowly extends his arm and thrusts his own hand
into the stream of sunlight, hissing softly as it begins to smoulder. “…What
it'd be like…” He turns his hand over, admiring the smoke curling up off his
crisping flesh. “…To share the slaughter of innocents…with another man.” He
slowly pulls his hand out of the sunlight, waving it lightly beneath his nose
to enjoy the smoky, lightly charred scent. “Don't…don't think that makes me
some kind of a deviant, hmm?” He flicks his eyes to William. “Do you?”
*What are you going to do now I wonder
Changeling?* He quirks his head to the side. He tries to keep his expression
neutral as William extends his hand back into the sunlight willingly with his
eyes locked into his own. He sees the truth in the depths of those fiery
cerulean eyes. If he’s a deviant, than he is far from the only one in this room
right now.
“Au ah! I like this one! You and me, we're
gonna be the best of friends.” He slaps William’s shoulder subtly pulling it
from the sunlight and they laugh like old friends over a private joke.
*Yes Little One, we’re going to be very close
indeed.* He throws an arm around William’s shoulders and steers him from the
room, collecting Drusilla as they go.
In the following years he carefully enacts his
plans. He finds it ridiculously easy to convince Drusilla to let him take over
William’s training himself. On the rare occasions she tries to usurp his tie to
William it is shamelessly simple to distract her until she once more forgets
that she in fact sired him. Never in his existence had he the fortune to try
and break so untamed a spirit and if he was being honest he has to admit that
it is the very fact that he is unbreakable that holds such irresistible
fascination for him. There has been only one problem that is proving to be
increasingly worrisome.
Penn, his firstborn Childe has returned to the
fold, he heard the tales of their newest addition and curiosity brought him
swiftly home. He has shown an altogether unacceptable level of captivation with
his young nephew and he has faced his harshest punishments on several occasions
for overstepping himself. There has been many a night he has caught his oldest
lurking about the dark hallways and shadowy nooks spying on the youngest member
of their family. He has sensed him often skulking in some unseen spot as he is
losing himself in the pleasures to be found in William’s arms. Only the fact
that he has made it clear that William holds his favour has kept his oldest
from falling upon the boy but he knows that will not always be the way of
things, as he grows bolder with every passing day.
They are enjoying the warmth of a winter in
“Daddy! Daddy! He’s taking my Prince!”
Drusilla’s voice screams frantically from her room.
He’s up like a shot and barely takes the time
to through his trousers on. He finds Dru utterly frantic with tears as she
screams William’s name over and over. He’s forced to slap her several times to
get her coherent enough to tell him what she’s seeing.
“Penn’s been bad Daddy! He made my pretty,
pretty go to sleep and he’s taking him away to be his own Prince! Get my Willy
back Daddy! He’s stolen away my star, my shining light!”
“Where has he taken my boy Dru?! Where’s he
taken William?” Several violent shakes and slaps later she finally stammers out
the answer.
“Water…front…” She gasps between chattering
teeth.
“Drusilla I want you to focus on my lass, can
ye do that for Daddy?” He stops shaking her and cups her cheek forcing her to
stare into his eyes until the glint of madness fades somewhat.
“Yes my Angel.”
“That’s my pretty Princess. I need you to do
something for me Drusilla before I go and get our boy back. Penn must pay for
what he’s done and I’ll not be staking his arse. I want ‘im to suffer Dru. I
want you to work your spells lass, something nasty to make sure he suffers, can
you do that Princess?”
“Yes Daddy! I’ll make him pay for taking away
my Pretty Pretty Willy!” She swears.
“I’m going after William and Penn. You stay
here and get your dark magic ready to make him suffer, Lass.” He strides out of
the room and within minutes is out into the night with a dozen of their
strongest minions.
He barks orders at his minions and they scamper
to fulfil his wishes as quickly as they possibly can. “I want William found, if
ye have to tear this town to the ground and bathe it in blood, I want him found
ye worthless curs! MOVE!”
It doesn’t take him long to beat the location
of his wayward Childe and William from the lurkers at the docks. It takes less
time for the minions to drag his firstborn out of the hovel of a waterfront Inn
he’d taken refuge in. It costs him all but four of his strongest minions but he
would gladly have sacrificed them all to reclaim his boy. He orders the minions
to hogtie and gag his idiot Childe and guard him while he enters the slovenly
excuse for an establishment. He quietly ascends the staircase, easily able to
feel William’s presence and finds the room the minions drug Penn, kicking and
screaming out of. He scowls darkly to see the heavy collar and chain attached
to William’s throat and locked around the brass headboard with a heavy padlock.
He doesn’t stir at his approach, appearing to be in an unnaturally deep sleep.
He sits beside him and strokes his wavy mane of honey hair and scowls to see
that he is smudged with dirt and his perfect skin is marred with scratches and
bruises. He takes great pride in his boy’s features. While he is hardly
successful in fostering a regard for the fine clothing of the gentry in his
boy, he does fuss over his health. Every bruise and scratch lovingly tended to
assure that his perfection is preserved. Their nightly baths together is one of
his most special private times and he is grateful that Darla is spending most
of her time aboard with her Sire that he may enjoy that luxury.
“William? Time to awaken me Laddy.” He strokes
William’s cheek and glares darkly as he shows no sign of awakening. He growls
at the sight of the ugly collar chaffing his boy’s neck and slipping his
fingers beneath it he tugs, finally breaking the ugly bit of metal and tosses
it aside.
He stares disbelievingly at what he sees. His
roar shakes the
“We cannae be havin’ this can we me Laddy?
He caresses his boy’s hair a final time before
rising and crossing to the fireplace and holding the blade of the dagger to the
flames until it is almost too hot to hold. He pulls the dagger free and returns
to the bed and for the first time he is grateful that William is unaware of
what he is about to do.
“I am sorry my Laddy but I willnae have that
bastard’s mark remain on ye.” With that said he lays the smouldering blade to
his boy’s neck, cutting the foul mark out. He uses the flat of the blade to
cauterise the uneven edges together until no trace of Penn’s brutality remains.
He draws his palm across the edge of the blade until blood wells up in his palm
and he smears it over the burn to begin the healing. He knows of certain herbs
that when mixed into his blood will form a potent plaster that will heal the
injury and leave not a trace of a scar.
He carefully drags the tip of his tongue along
William’s neck to catch one of the rivulets of blood shed during the operation
to remove Penn’s mark. He tastes the taint and spit it out with a growl.
“The bastard’s fed you blood with the essence of
the poppy blossom, no wonder ye are so quiet my Laddy. Ye tried to come back to
me didn’t ye my Little One?” He strokes that beautiful mane of hair and ghosts
his hand over one of the many bruises marring his alabaster skin. “He’ll pay
dearly for this I promise ye my Laddy. With his dearest blood, he will pay most
dearly for this indeed.” He knows that his voice has taken on the arctic
coolness that has had many a minion begging to stake themselves before their
Master can do far worse to them.
He lifts his finger to his mouth and revealing
his Demon he savages it with his fangs until it is bone and ribbons of flesh.
He opens William’s mouth and slowly works his finger inside flexing it to keep
the blood flowing. He strokes his boy’s hair and whispers supportive and
nurturing nonsense, sighing as a weak suction finally begins to draw his blood.
He smiles as William murmurs, “Angelus…” worrying
his finger with his lips and tongue like a babe at the breast nursing from its
mother.
“Shhhh sleep my fine boyo and recover your
strength. I’ve got ye now and nothing can happen to ye with me here.”
*Ever the dutiful boy for me.* He thinks as
William does as ordered and falls back to sleep immediately as he pulls his now
healed finger free. Pressing a kiss to William’s temple he gathers him up
tenderly and stands. It’s time to take his precious burden home for a bath and
a warm, clean bed wrapped safe and sound against him where he belongs.
Then it will be time to deal with Penn.
He is standing beside his wildcat of a
Grand-Childe as Penn’s flayed and bloody form is dragged into the dusty stone
chamber. He has been drained to the point of being aware but in a coma like
state; that makes it impossible for him to struggle against what is happening
to him.
“Put him in,” he orders utterly devoid of any
emotion.
The minions hoist the dead weight and drop Penn
unceremoniously into the thick stone walls of the roughly carved sarcophagus.
“Drusilla, the gift ye have been saving for ye
brother if you will.” He pulls William tightly to his side and wraps an arm
around him, brushing his fingertips against the almost healed burn on his neck.
Drusilla draws her dagger and cackles madly as
she draws it across her own palm, calling up the blood magic needed to begin
the dark ritual.
He can feel Penn trying to scream out at him
through their shared blood but as he holds his William closer he turns a deaf
ear to his firstborn’s pleading. He is condemned to a living death for his
trespasses and it is a kinder fate than that he first thought to call upon
Penn’s head.
By the end of the ritual six minions are dead,
sacrificed for the blood magic that will sustain Penn in the living prison of
his mind.
“Seal it up. I want no sign of the chamber to
remain. If he should escape than let him starve to dust in his prison of
stone!” He orders, turning William away from the sight and heading back down
the path to the boat.
Drusilla follows still cackling evilly and
chanting in her singsong child’s voice. “Trapped within and bound by stone
without, never gonna get out, never gonna get out. Trapped like a fat little
rat in my clever trap. Poor little Penn will wither away for taking my prince.”
“Angel? I
say Angel?”
Angel is
snapped back to the present by Wesley’s incessant calling of his name.
“I asked if
you knew Penn?” He sounds more than a little annoyed so he must have been
trying to get his attention for a while.
“Yes.
I…Angelus sired him in 1786. I…Angelus had him entombed alive when he committed
an unforgivable crime against him.” He turns away to stare out the window.
“Great
Scott, what crime was deserving of such a fate?!”
“He stole
something very precious to Angelus at the time.”
“And what
did he take that had such a high value to Angelus?”
“Spike. He
tried to take Spike.” He says simply.
He can feel
the weight of their stares but he doesn’t care, that isn’t important. “I want
Spike found! I want him found and brought back here, if we have to run Wolfram
& Hart into the ground and shake down every demon resource we’ve got, I
want him found! Do I make myself clear?”
He hears
them run out of the conference office door behind him but he doesn’t bother to
turn around.
*Penn will
not get the last. He won’t be allowed to touch a hair on Spike’s head. This
time there will be no elaborate revenge, this time he dies.*