Part Two
Clarissa stood in the parking lot and watched Michael walk away from her. The hem of his black trenchcoat flapped around his long legs as he strode rapidly off. She could sense the anger bleeding from beneath his tightly controlled mask, and as much as she wanted to soothe him, now was not the time. Later, after they'd both fed - when he'd had time to calm down – she'd apologize to him, and explain why she was so fraught with tension. But not now.
She stuck her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, and, turning, picked a direction at random. The motel was close to the freeway, one of several businesses to cater to travelers of all types. Neon lights and bright signs competed with the dim stars to see who could better illuminate the night; not surprisingly, the manmade light was winning.
A few blocks from the motel, Clarissa found a packed bar. The place was cold, dirty, full of smoke; more importantly to her, it lacked the ambiance of a neighborhood hangout. Those frequenting the establishment were most likely out-of-towners, truckers passing the night in the nearby motels. Their disappearance would not be noticed right away, which would serve to keep word of her presence quiet.
She found a seat at the bar and ordered a beer for camoflage. She had to shout to be heard over the noisy country band playing their hearts out on the stage at the far end of the crowded room. The din was soothing in a way; the music of pain and heartache seemed familiar and put her at ease. Most of the people in the place were seated at tables, watching the band, but there were several men nursing drinks at the bar. Clarissa looked them over, selected one with a practiced eye. She stood up to approach him-
And promptly bumped into a body that had appeared behind her. She involuntarily sat back down on the stool - hard - and looked up at him.
He was tall, painfully thin, dressed all in black leather. His hair, the most unusual feature of him, was almost pure white, only a few shades paler than his skin; he wore it slicked back, close to his skull. Though his expression was neutral, a guarded look hooded striking brown eyes. Clarissa raised one eyebrow and gave him a patented Look. Most humans would have immediately apologized and moved under her scrutinizing gaze. He only smirked slightly.
"Oh, excuse me," she said, trying and failing to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. This time, when she stood, he stepped back to allow her room.
"You're new around here, aren't you? Why don't you let a native show you around?"
He was hardly a native to southern California, if his London accent was any indication. But his hand was already gripping her arm firmly; even if she'd wanted to resist, she wouldn't have been able to for fear of making a scene. She knew what he was now, if not who; his very touch was enough to send the message. For now, she thought it would be best to let him reveal his intentions.
"Sure," she nodded quickly. Without any more fuss, he half-led, half-dragged her outside and around the corner. Though the space between the bar and the adjacent convenient store was far from private, they were much less likely to be overheard here.
"So, are you going to tell me why you dragged me out here?" she asked after several moments passed in silence. The white-haired vampire crossed one arm over his chest and rested his other elbow on it, fingers stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Nice night, isn't it?" he commented abruptly. "I don't know if you've ever been out here before, but it's almost always this gorgeous."
Her hackles had gone up the moment she'd seen him, and Clarissa could feel her distaste for him growing by the second. "Look," she said, fighting the annoyance in her voice. "Inane chatter bores me. You want to tell me what's going on?"
"All right." His pleasant demeanor fell away like a sloughed-off-skin. "Does the name Spike mean anything to you?"
"William the Bloody," she breathed, recognizing the appellation all too well - and cursing herself for not having anticipated the possibility of his presence. And if he was here, that undoubtedly meant his paramour, Drusilla, was, too.
His eerie smile broadened as he watched the impact of the information register on her face. "Ah. Good. That'll make this much easier."
"Make what easier?" Instinctively, she found herself falling back on the role of helpless victim. Until she figured out what he wanted, it was easier for her to pretend she was weak, easy prey.
"Well," he said, and began to pace a slow half-circle around her. "I have a small problem that needs solving. I need a couple of unfamiliar faces - you and your sweetheart? Oh, yes, pet, I know about him, too," he added as Clarissa flinched. "And I'd suggest you pay attention, because you are in the presence of the next Master."
His pomposity made Clarissa want to laugh in his face, but she pushed the mirth down, keeping her fearful mask intact. "Wh-what do you want us to do? And what's in it for us?"
Spike laughed suddenly, a sound that made Clarissa's spine crawl. "Clever girl. You'll be rewarded with your lives, of course, and my eternal gratitude."
"That's a barter for a blind man."
He blinked at her, even as she gulped, wishing she could take back her sudden words - what on Earth had possessed her to spout Indigo Girls lyrics? - but then he shrugged. "We can work out compensation later. What I need for you to do is remove an irritant for me."
"Why can't you do it?"
Spike was beginning to look frustrated now; Clarissa permitted herself a mental grin, as he spoke as impatiently as an adult to a child using the newly-learned word 'why'. "Because," he said harshly, "I'm not in a position to."
"Oh," she nodded, as cheerfully as if that explained everything.
"Take care of him as you see fit, and I will reward you handsomely." His restless pacing brought him closer to her now, and she unconsciously took a step back. "If you don't... well. I trust I needn't draw you a picture."
"I... I need to think about it," she stuttered. "Talk it over."
"Of course." He reached out, his fingertips barely touching her chin. She fought back a shudder of revulsion and refused to meet his eyes. After a moment, he stepped away. The smirk was firmly in place again. "I'll find you two nights from now. And for your sake, your decision had best be in the positive."
Clarissa nodded shakily. Turning, she dropped the beer bottle and began to walk away. She could feel his gaze boring into her back, and quickened the pace, until she found herself at a dead run several blocks away from the bar.
She had to force herself to slow down, sternly ordering her legs to take a breather and her fists to unclench. Spike had spooked her but good. She was passing through a residential area now, and as a car drove by, she was suddenly reminded that she still hadn't eaten. There was a park up ahead; the sound of laughter drifted on the still night air, indicating a potential meal. Good; she'd be able to process the night's events better on a full stomach.
Michael tore off down the street at a furious pace, so quick that Buffy found herself hard pressed to keep up with him. He was headed for Weatherly Park, she realized. Part of her mind wondered if he was heading for backup or what, but she wasn't about ready to let him get away.
The lights that normally illuminated the park's entrance and walkways had been shut off some time ago, as the place was, technically, closed for the night. But fences and darkness were no match for vampire agility and vision. Michael vaulted the gate without a second thought; his duster billowed out behind him like a cape. As Buffy followed him, landing hard on the concrete just inside the gate, the sound of screaming reached her ears. Moments later, two teenagers - she guessed them to be college age - came running towards them from the center of the park. The pair looked scared witless; she didn't even get a chance to ask them what was going on, but the expressions on their faces said it all.
"All right, someone's going to give me some answers before I go totally postal," she muttered, heading into the park. The vampire was well ahead of her now, but his hair was still visible, like a beacon in the trees ahead.
Michael drew to a stop at the approach to the centerpiece of the park: a large, double-tiered fountain. Walkways spread out from it at the cardinal points, with heavy marble benches set on the grass between each axis. Lights imbedded in the base of the fountain illumined the splashing water, cast weird shadows over the two figures on the other side of the piece. Cautiously, he began to edge towards them.
Clarissa's voice rang out clearly over the low burbling of the water. "So, you're scaring meals away from your fellow vampires now, are you? This how you get your kicks these days?"
"Oh, Clarissa. I'm hurt." The other voice was unfamiliar to Michael, but as he drew slowly closer, he caught a glimpse of the person. Somehow he was unsurprised to see the face from the portrait. The man was smiling genially, though a dark, disturbing light danced in his eyes. "No kiss? Not even a hug for old times' sake? Is this how you show your filial devotion?"
Michael winced. He'd seen it coming, but he hurt nonetheless for Clarissa, who was more wild-eyed than he'd ever seen her. There was a sudden hiss of sharply-indrawn breath beside him, and he glanced negligently to his right. It came as no shock that the girl who'd attacked him before was crouched next to him now.
"Angel," she whispered in the faintest, most feeling of voices.
Michael blinked at her. "You know him?"
A cry from Clarissa interrupted them. The vampire - Angelus, Clarissa had said his name was - had leapt at her so swiftly that neither he nor the girl had any time to intercede.
It wasn't the sight of his vampire face that had so thoroughly wigged Clarissa, but rather that he had actually physically assaulted her. She froze to the spot, trying to duck an instant too late. His hand, coming around in a deadly arc, caught her shoulder, and she felt herself catch up against a stone bench with a thump.
"Good to see you too," she managed, trying and failing to push herself upright.
He was over her now, snarling in her face. "I ought to thank you. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be torturing and maiming again. But somehow I get the feeling you're not here to accept my gratitude, so I think I'd better get rid of you before you do something idiotic that involves curses."
"You know what, Angel? You think too much."
Buffy's voice was sarcastic, full of acid; her actions a moment later proved that she did not lack sting, as she ran forward, whirled and slammed a kick square in his side. He fell away from Clarissa, and Michael darted to her. The guitarist could feel his own face forming into sharp vampiric features, and the only sound that came from his throat was a raging snarl.
Angelus crouched where he'd fallen, clutching his side, glaring at the trio. The Slayer stood directly in between him and the other two; the numbers weren't on his side right now. Piss and hellfire.
"This isn't over," he promised darkly and made a break for it.
"Well, that's one thing you've got right," Buffy muttered. She watched to be sure that he'd disappeared before turning back to the two vampires that she'd suddenly found herself defending.
"So, what's the sitch?"
Michael continued to cradle Clarissa in his arms, reassuring himself that she was all right. When he looked back up at Buffy, his face had returned to normal, and he actually looked regretful. Clarissa laid a gentle hand over one of his. "I'm all right, love. Really. He didn't hit me hard."
She looked up at the Slayer then, with dark eyes that seemed oddly familiar. "You'll be the Slayer, I expect."
This earned her an eye-roll and a disgusted snort. "So there isn't anyone in the known universe who doesn't know who I am. I was beginning to wonder."
Clarissa ignored the phrasing. "My name is Clarissa. This is Michael. And I think we need to sit down with your Watcher and have a talk."
At almost midnight, the school library of Sunnydale High School was dark and quiet, but not quite deserted. Rupert Giles, the school's librarian, was still at work, though his activities at this time of night weren't exactly of the scholarly venue.
It might have been some kind of obsessive-compulsive behavior, he mused to himself as he removed a sword from the weapons case in the cage and began to wipe it down with a soft cloth, that compelled him to keep the variety of arms clean and in order. Or perhaps he was a soldier in a past life. Whatever the case, it gave him some sense of peace to disassemble the guns, clean them down, and reassemble them before replacing them neatly in the case.
Maybe I'm just trying to overcompensate, he sighed as he set back the sword and reached for a shorter dagger with a lethally scalloped blade. I don't want anyone else to die.
He couldn't help but chuckle to himself at that thought. Buffy would probably say, 'Overstate the obvious much?' And she'd be right...
"Giles?"
The librarian jumped and whirled, the unexpected voice giving him a jolt back to reality. He pointed the dagger at the throat of the Slayer for all of about two seconds before sheepishly lowering it. "You startled me, Buffy," he said with a slight scowl. "Why are you here?"
"Stuff's happened," she said succinctly, and gestured behind her with a quick, sharp nod. Peering over her shoulder into the dim foyer of the library, he saw two figures.
The man was tall, lanky and thin. A mane of richly golden hair cascaded in waves well past his shoulderblades, with one lock falling stubbornly over one eye. He had a long, well-shaped face, and he was dressed in a long black duster, jeans, and a rich violet shirt. One of his arms was draped rather protectively over the shoulders of the other person. She was shorter than him by almost a foot, Giles guessed, and her coal-black hair was straight and blunt-cut at the nape of her neck. There was something exotic about her face, something familiar to him in her dark, wide eyes and the fullness of her mouth, though her expression was neutral, not revealing a thing. She, too, wore jeans, as well as a black t-shirt and a leather jacket that was scuffed and dirty.
"I... see," Giles assessed. Replacing the dagger in the case and shutting it, he stepped out of the cage to greet the visitors. As he came closer to them, he could see an unusual lucidity in their eyes and paleness to their skin. His suspicion was confirmed when he offered the man a hand to shake.
"Rupert Giles," he offered.
"Michael Daughnessy," the man replied, returning the handshake with an icy cool grip. "And this is Clarissa. And yes, we're vampires."
"Ah," Giles stated. "Thank you for getting that out of the way."
"They know Angel," Buffy put in quickly. Giles' paternal eye noticed that she seemed tense; undoubtedly something to do with said 'angelic one'.
He glanced back at the pair. "Perhaps we should sit and discuss this?"
Clarissa nodded, promptly moving towards the center of the library and one of the round tables there. She was more relaxed now, having fed - the trio had stopped by Angel's former apartment on the way to the library; since he had abandoned it intact, there were still several packages of blood in the refrigerator that were good, if slightly stale - but being in the presence of the Slayer kept her from calming completely. Michael was close behind her. Giles and Buffy trailed more slowly; he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.
She just glanced at the vampires. "They'll explain it."
Giles took a seat opposite Clarissa, who leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. Michael, sitting next to her, kept his gaze on her, in apparent concern. Buffy, who still seemed to have some nervous energy to work out, walked around the center, circular area of the library, staying out of the conversation.
"Well, first of all I should start by saying that I have a long association with Angelus, though I haven't actually seen him in about eighty years," Clarissa began without preamble. "In point of fact, he's my Sire."
Giles opened his mouth to say something, but Clarissa shook her head.
"No, let me get through this." He nodded, and she continued. "I was a young Romany woman of the Kalderash clan--" She saw the name register on his face, and plowed on. "--training to be chovhani, as the elders had sensed great power in me. I was eighteen when he came to me one night. I recognized what he was immediately, and for some reason I thought I was clever and powerful enough to lead him on and then kill him. So I played dumb. Pretended to be stupid and innocent and sweet. My family paid for it, in their lives."
Michael was watching her with an immensely sympathetic look on his face; Buffy had turned to watch, leaning on a chair. One part of her brain idly noted that Clarissa had pronounced the word 'Romany' different than Angel had; the woman spoke it with the emphasis on the first syllable, rather than the second.
"He and his companion - I didn't know her then - slaughtered my parents, my brother and sister, cousins. They did it quickly. She took some of them, while I was alone with him; and then she held me and forced me to watch while he fed from my parents.
"It wasn't until then that I realized I wouldn't be able to contact anyone in time - for that was when I knew that he would make me a vampire as well. Unfortunately, the spells I had learned to that date were minor and ineffective against him."
She went silent for a time, her gaze focused on a stack of books Giles had left piled on the table. Buffy began walking again, her pace slower around the tables. Her arms were tucked around her stomach, as if she were trying to protect herself against the words she heard.
"He took me from his companion's grasp and told her to leave, in case they were found. She didn't want to go, but she did. He had nearly finished the process when... when we were found."
Clarissa's voice hitched and she took a dragging breath. Michael leaned over to cover one of her hands with his own. She gave him a grateful look before returning her attention to Giles. The librarian could see a glimmer of wetness in her eyes.
"It was the last time I would see my people again. They thought I was dead - understandably, for the wounds in my neck and the loss of blood did leave me more or less unconscious. They grabbed Angelus while he was still weak." Her voice was beginning to tremble slightly, a quaver that intensified as she continued. "Me, they began to prepare for final rites. None of my... my family were there to do the proper things. They just wanted to make sure my body was burned before anything strange happened to it. But... for whatever reason, maybe Angelus hadn't given me enough blood... I woke, ravenous. I fed on the first person I could get my hands on. She had been my teacher, my mentor... and she was my first kill."
Clarissa stood, then; apparently she had been sitting still for too long. Sticking her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she moved over by Michael, leaning on the arm of his chair. He obligingly put an arm around her waist, hand resting lightly on her hip. She glanced down at him with a fond, if somewhat melancholy, smile.
"After that," she continued, "I ran. For a long time I was like Angelus - soulless, evil. I can't remember when I began to change, when I realized that the demon could be beaten back. Perhaps it was one of my people, taking pity on me and casting some kind of spell to allow me sanity and reason within my lifeless prison."
"You're waxing poetic again," Michael murmured, and she laughed.
"Sorry. Anyway," she said, returning her gaze to Giles - and Buffy, who had ceased her pacing and was standing behind him, slightly to his left. "The reason we came out here is because I've been dreaming about him. I haven't seen him since that night, and never expected to again, so to have a week's worth of dreams all of a sudden was rather unsettling."
"What were the dreams about?" Giles asked quietly, his first words since the vampire had begun to unfold her tale.
"Nothing specific," she replied. "I saw him with the Slayer--"
"Buffy," he interjected, and Clarissa nodded.
"Buffy," she repeated. "I saw them together, and I saw him become cruel. I couldn't tell for sure what they meant, but I realized that it was a summoning of some kind. That's why we're here."
"You've seen him, then?" Giles's eyebrows went up. Buffy nodded now, moving around him to sit at the table.
"We ran into him tonight." Her tone was flat, emotionless. All three turned to look at her as she spilled forth the details of the evening's encounter. As she finished, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
Giles nodded briefly, as if in approval, and then turned back to the vampires. "He hasn't been like this," he stated. "When we first met him, he was..."
"A kinder, gentler vampire?" Clarissa chuckled. "I knew that the curse did that much. Why did he revert to form?"
Buffy's gaze tracked to the table before her. Giles cleared his throat studiously before replying. "Apparently, the curse was set so that if Angel experienced a moment of true happiness, the humanity he had been cursed with would promptly be lost again."
Clarissa's brow creased as she pondered that. "Odd. You'd think they'd have wanted to keep him from becoming a total killer again, to prevent the loss of life..."
Just like that, Giles' face suddenly shut down. Clarissa peered at him; the librarian stood suddenly, removing his glasses and striding away. Michael glanced at his paramour, and then both vampires turned to look at Buffy, who was gazing after her Watcher sympathetically. After a moment, Buffy glanced over at the pair.
Her eyes were dark, and her voice low as she explained. "Angelus killed Miss Calendar - his girlfriend. She was our computer science teacher..."
Clarissa bit her lip. "Oh, gods. I'm sorry, if I'd realized..."
The girl shook her head. A deep maturity had replaced the childish pout she'd been wearing earlier. "He really loved her."
A profound silence blanketed the library for several moments. Michael rubbed Clarissa's back gently, while she stared off in the direction that the Watcher had headed. Buffy reached for one of the books, opened it, set it back, then stood up. "I'm going to go see if he's all right," she murmured, sotto voce.
"No need, I'm quite well." His voice came out of nowhere so suddenly that Buffy jumped, then shot him an angry glare. Giles had come around from the other side of the library, a new stack of books in his arms. As he set them down, the girl returned to her seat, grumbling something about librarians that weren't supposed to sneak up on you. Clarissa stood, mouth open for an apology, but Giles just shook his head. "It's quite all right," he said. "We need to deal with the present right now, to figure out why you were summoned here. I've brought some of the Watcher diaries from the time period when you would have been brought across..."
Clarissa reached for one of the books, her eyes wide. "Where did you get this?"
"Here and there..." He watched her peruse the tome, which had been published in the late eighteenth century; reportedly a grimoire of witches' spells, he had never actually read it all the way through, in part due to the fact that large sections were in a language he had yet to learn.
The vampire appeared to be familiar with the language, however, for she sank back down into the chair she had abandoned before, her attention completely drawn to whatever she had found. Michael rolled his eyes at this.
Buffy, meanwhile, had moved over to Giles, who was sorting through the pile he'd set down on the table. "You okay?" she murmured.
He nodded without looking at her. "It just... it was unexpected. Took me a bit by surprise, that's all."
She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It'll be all right, Giles."
"I know," he said, even softer. "It gets a bit easier every day."
Michael finally got up from his seat and leaned over Clarissa's shoulder, inspecting an illustration of what appeared to be a fanged monster that vaguely resembled a human. The printing on the opposite page was crabbed and blurred, and even if he had been able to make it out, he still couldn't decipher the language.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"Something I never thought I'd see again," she replied in a small voice.
"What?"
"Giles, where did you say you got this?" she said, louder, closing the volume carefully. The librarian glanced up at the tome curiously, then shrugged.
"I think I got it along with several others at some point when I was still at Oxford. Why?"
Clarissa stood again, the book hugged to her chest. "It's why I came here."
The others glanced at each other with puzzled expressions before looking back to her.
"I know how we can stop Angelus now. Once and for all."
this page last updated on 18 january 2003