Angelus looked at her, eyebrow raised at her question. Nodding in dismissal to her two guards, he remained silent as Buffy fumed before him. He could feel her anger; the sheer force of it caressed him in pounding beats. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“I did not take him,” he finally said, though his own anger was tethered by a fine string. The only reason he didn’t lash out was because of the words of the now dead guard behind her. 

She paused, but her anger did not lesson. “Where is he? They said you took him, that you ‘requested his presence’,” she snarled, the contemptuous tone coming clear through. “He’s not down there. So where is he?” 

“I did not,” he repeated, that string holding his temper fraying quickly. “Do anything to the boy.” 

The ground shook, but neither moved. Wind kicked up around them, teasing the tips of her hair in the invisible force. And yet still, neither moved, even as the guards shifted nervously behind her. Power crackled off her, clashing with his – and then it did something odd: it melded and joined together, stroking the other in passion and dominance. 

Shaking herself, maybe realizing what happened, maybe it was something else, Buffy took a step closer. “Then where is he?” 

Again, Angelus said nothing, calming himself, he asked, “Did I not vow to you they would all be safe below? Even the insolent boy who does nothing but curse and disparage you? Did I not vow that I would not harm them, would not kill them?” 

He grabbed her arms, hauling her closer to him on the top step, eyes an eddy of blues and reds. “You doubt me now? You question my vow to you?” 

He was angry, more than actually, and yet, Buffy noted, he took the time to explain himself. Was that because he was guilty and wished to throw her off? Or was he not guilty, as he insisted, as he seemed to her as they stood on the poorly lit landing, her guards slowly walking back down the steps so as not to infringe upon this private conversation.  

For another moment, Buffy waged a fierce battle within herself. Did she believe him? If she did, and she saw no reason he’d lie to her at this late date, then she had either to accept his apology, and hope they could resume their former…intimacies…with no further groveling on her part. Or she had to placate him now. Her pride rebelled against that. She’d conceded enough to him already, one more seemed one too many.  

Tilting her head back, forcing herself to calm, she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Then where is he?”
~~~~~~~~~~
“There you are, my pretty,” Dru cooed, catching Xander by the arm as he frantically rushed past her. Swinging him around to face her, she immediately dragged him off towards the dungeons. He had, unwittingly or not, managed to flee himself in a circle and was headed for them, anyway.  

She was too late, he’d escaped; no, he’d left the dungeon, but maybe she could return him. Return him before more damage was done, before more lies were spread. Maybe she could return him before mummy found out, before his escape destroyed their happy home. Nooo, their home! It was teetering on the brink, shaking with the force of her anger and hurt, rocking the stone foundations with her power. 

“Ah!” he shouted, automatically tugging his arm. “Hey, let me go,” he snarled, fear adding to the meanness this whole strange ordeal brought out in him. “Let go of me, you crazy witch!” 

“Tsssk,” Dru hissed, growling at the boy. “Be nice, deary. Mummy wouldn’t like it if I hurt you. But daddy,” she smiled, “Would dance in your blood, and love her as you watched.” 

Yelping, Xander could do nothing but allow the mad vampiress to drag him back to the dungeons. No Buffy to his rescue. No hope of leaving this godforsaken place. No dream of being her white knight and rescuing the whore from her master. Of taking her away from this, and ‘fighting the good fight’ someplace not with Angelus. With her by his side. In his arms, and in his bed. 

“Ooooh,” Dru murmured, swaying against Xander. “Bad Black Knight,” she moaned. “Trying to take mummy away. No!” she pushed him against the wall, staring into his eyes. They were dark and deep, mesmerizing him in a way Xander didn’t realize, was unaware of, and was completely fascinated with. 

Beautiful.

“Look into my eyes,” she said in that melodic voice of hers, swaying to one side and the other, softly back and forth. “Look at me, deary; look at me and let me see what you see.” She’d released his arm, but Xander didn’t realize that. No, all he saw was her eyes as he moved back and forth in time with her. Her beautiful dark eyes that called to him in a way nothing else ever had.  

“What bad things are in your soul, my sweet?” she wondered. “What do you hide from mummy that haunts you so? What corrupts you, my pet? What eats away at your very being?” 

Side to side she swayed, and all he knew were her eyes. They called to him, made him want to reveal everything inside him. They pulled it out of him, and Xander said words he wasn’t aware of revealing, things he never wanted Buffy to know. Of him, of his actions, of his feelings. 

“Tell me what you did to mummy. What lies do you spout? What truths do you hide?” 

“Willow was recursing him.” he admitted in a hollow, empty voice. “She was going to recurse him, and I was supposed to tell Buffy to stall. To make sure the demon didn’t wake up and kill us all. I didn’t want Angel to live. I wanted Buffy to see him for the monster he was. If she killed him, if she sent him to hell where he belongs, she’d be free from his influence.” 

“Bad boy,” Drusilla growled, shifting into her vampire face. “Bad Black Knight, destroying my Bright Star’s heart, our happy home.” 

“She’s nothing but a whore, now,” Xander defended, only seeing Drusilla’s eyes, hearing her voice coax him to reveal his secrets. “She sleeps with the monster who did this. Fucks him as her friends suffer in the dungeons, this world rots around her. She doesn’t care for us, she’s given up fighting. She doesn’t care if we live or die. Her father is missing, and she doesn’t care.” 

“Xander,” Buffy sobbed, breaking the spell. Not by word or deed, but because Drusilla – and whatever power allowed the vampiress to do what she did – allowed it to be.  

Looking at her friend, at the boy who promised to trust her, at the boy who listened to her for over a year, who watched her back, who defended her, who comforted her, Buffy felt something deep within her break. Her eyes were clear hazel, pooled with tears at his eye-opening words.  

Shaking himself, as if coming off a particularly exotic high, Xander slowly turned his head to Buffy. “Buff?” he asked, and his voice was slow and heavy.  

But she didn’t answer. There were no words to describe what she was feeling, and yet all she knew was that her friends hadn’t abandoned her. Willow was trying to recurse Angel, trying to bring back the beloved soul for her. Because she wanted her best friend to be happy. Because she hadn’t wanted Buffy to kill the love of her life.  

“You lied to me,” she whispered. Her knees gave out, and she barely realized it when Angelus caught her about the waist, holding her tightly against him. There was still a shimmer of anger coming off him, but Buffy knew the direction of that anger was no longer at her, but at Xander. And whoever had allowed him to escape in the first place.  

But that was for later. When she could think clearly again. When betrayal wasn’t hanging heavy in the air, when her heart no longer hurt, and she no longer felt sick to her stomach. God, what had Xander done? 

“I promised Buffy,” Angelus said, still holding Buffy against him; she was limp in his arms, and he wanted to rip the boy apart with his bare hands a thousand times over for doing what he’d done. Not that Angelus wanted the soul back, that wasn’t the point. No, it was what Harris had done to his beloved that caused this rage to boil through him. Dru had latched onto Xander with her claw-like nails, and the boy was going nowhere.  

“I promised her that I wouldn’t kill you. And no matter what you say, no matter what you have or will do, I won’t. But that’s for her. Remember that, boy,” he snarled, eyes heated in their colorful and righteous rage. Red and blue and golden-brown with hatred and anger, with a fierce need to rend and tear and make his lover stop trembling at the betrayal the boy had so easily perpetrated.

“Punishment, however, must be meted out.” Buffy stiffened in his arms, but remained silent. She wasn’t looking at Xander, was only holding herself still, looking blankly at his chest as his hands held her close. 

Unsure what to say, how to plead for Xander’s life despite his words, Buffy said nothing. She wanted to beg Angelus to be lenient, but that was because she still harbored guilt over too many things. Her own resentment towards her friend, however, overrode all words of mercy. Xander needed to be punished. He needed to feel the pain she did over her situation, he needed to know what it was like to be a slave, a prisoner in a gilded cage.  

God, she wanted to hurt him. She wanted to rip into him and pound him into the floor. She wanted to make him bleed, to rip out his heart as hers felt now. A low growl escaped her, and the ground shifted once more with her emotions.  

(“Forgiveness, my child. It is the only way to live with yourself. There is the possibility for evil within us all, child. You know this, live with this everyday.” “But what if you cannot forgive? What if the sin was so big that you cannot forgive?” “There is no such thing as too big a sin. Forgiveness is possible; all you have to do is agree to it. Forgiveness is necessary. Not for them, my child, but for yourself.”) 

The (Slayer/Demon/Soul) inside of her cried out for justice. For vengeance and for retribution. She wanted to hurt Xander, and the side of her that called for mercy was drowned out in a tidal wave of hatred and heartbreak. 

“Drusilla, my dear,” he smirked, not taking his eyes off a now terrified – even more than before, and it was delicious – Xander. “No killing, remember. You promised Buffy. Not unless,” he amended with a wicked look at the bane of his existence, “He begs for it. Otherwise, you may do with him as you wish, Childe.” 

“Daddy,” Drusilla smiled, dragging a sputtering Xander with her as she embraced Angelus one armed. “Oh, daddy, thank you for my new playmate.” Turning to Buffy, she smiled and stroked the slayer’s cheek. “Mummy,” she whispered, “I promise to take such excellent care of the Black Knight. But his soul is nasty, all oily and black. May I clean it?” 

“Dru,” Angelus warned, unsure what his favored meant by ‘cleaning it’. It was an odd choice of words, and he wasn’t sure what she meant. Still, knowing his childe the way he did, Angelus was certain that cleansing Harris’ black soul was probably going to be something along the lines of turning him. Or very, very, close. 

“No, no daddy. No killing.” She nodded, eyes lucid and clear. “I remember. But the soul,” she shuddered. “Please, mummy? My bright star, please? I promise to take good care of him.” 

“Buffy,” Xander finally found his voice. “You’re going to let the crazy bitch have me? You’re going to let her kill me?” 

“She’s not going to kill you, Xander,” Buffy whispered, shock still coloring her voice. She turned to face him then, watching him with eyes that held nothing but a hollowness that sent shivers through Xander. “She promised.” 

“And you believe her?” He demanded, his voice high pitched with anger, fear, and disbelief.  

“I believed you,” she looked at him, but didn’t see him. “I believed you when you said you were my friend. I believed you when you promised to back me up, when you claimed to care about me. I even believed you when you came to help, that last day.” Fire finally sparked in her eyes, causing Xander to take a step away from the woman before him.  

“She won’t kill you, I know she won’t. Why do I know that? Because I know her word means something – she made a promise to me, and she won’t go back on it. Do you even know,” she added, almost as an after thought, “What I do for you? What I promised, and vowed? How I make sure you stay safe below, safe from the demons that now freely walk the planet?” 

She turned away from him then, burying her face in Angelus’ chest, felt his arms wrap around her, but refused to break down. Not here, now where they could see her. (Show no weakness.) 

“Buffy-” 

Drusilla cut off whatever Xander was about to say with a squeal of delight. Buffy turned to look at her, and Dru took the opportunity to kiss her goddess, surprising the slayer by the touch on her cheek. “Thank you, mummy. I promise, I won’t lose him.”

With that, she dragged a shocked-into-silence Xander through the maze of corridors and to her private rooms. 

“I’m sorry,” Buffy whispered, not moving from her spot against his body.  

“Someone wanted him missing,” Angelus said after a moment. His arms tightened around her, an unconscious reflex. “They wanted to take him, make you think it was me going back on our deal, and cause conflict between us.” 

“Who? No one knows of the deal between you and me,” Buffy mumbled, voice thick with unshed tears. Xander hadn’t wanted her to succeed. He’d wanted her to fail; wanted them all dead, wanted to…what? It didn’t make any sense, none of this did.  

“You didn’t lie.” It was whispered, but he heard clearly enough. “There’s a possibility for evil within all of us.” 

“I’ll find out who did this,” he told her, lifting her up so he could see clearly into her eyes. “I swear to you, this will not go unpunished.” 

“They want us separated, want to tear us apart.” 

“Yes,” he nodded. “But they won’t. Nothing will.” 

“No,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around him, she held him close. Her heart bled, and she couldn’t believe how much this hurt. Or how much she wanted Angelus to make it all better. 

“Guius and Donato,” Angelus called below, voice booming in the small space. “Return with your goddess to her rooms,” he instructed. To Buffy, he whispered, “Stay there, my love. Please, stay safe for now. I don’t want to worry about you more than I do.” 

Reluctantly nodding, Buffy kissed him once in agreement. She wanted to be there with him, wanted to know who did this, who planned this and why. She wanted to beat something up, wanted to release her anger and suffering. 

“Guius,” Angelus instructed as he set Buffy back on the ground. “Return to me when she’s safe.” 

He stood at the landing to the steps of the dungeon and waited. He would find out who did this, and they’d pay. Dearly. He already had a good idea who was behind this, and the lesson he had planned, would be one to remember.
~~~~~~~~~~
“My love.”  

The endearment whispered along her skin, soft and silky, and Buffy stirred awake. “Angelus?” it wasn’t a question, but she voiced it as such. Groggy with sleep, she looked into his eyes, dark brown, and smiled. Lifting her hand, she stroked his cheek as her eyes drifted closed once more. 

He was back, here in her bed, and she was safe again. 

“Beloved,” he said, “Wake up. I have news.” 

Slowly, her eyes opened again. “Yes?” 

“Sit up, love,” he fluffed the pillows behind her as she raised herself up. “The former mayor of Sunnydale,” he began, “Was behind it. He and the representatives from Wolfram & Hart.” 

Buffy flinched at the reminder of Lindsey and Lilah. She hadn’t seen either of the human lawyers since she begged Angelus to spare Lindsey’s life. If she never heard of either of them again, Buffy would be more than happy. 

“They believe that if they had Xander, you would leave me. And if you believed I had something to do with it, you would kill me. They underestimated you, my love. By taking Xander, and having it looked like I killed him, it would leave a void in the power structure.” 

It was more than that, Buffy suspected, but she didn’t know what. Whether Angelus was keeping something from her, or if it was simply a gut feeling, she didn’t know. Instead, she nodded for him to continue. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “What it is they’re specifically after. Power, yes. Control, of course. Those are generalities. What I don’t know is specifics. They’re playing their cards close to their vests, and not revealing their plan. But I’m not sure even they know what that plan is. These Senior Partners of theirs are the ones in charge.” 

“Can you get to these partners? Is it possible to just destroy them?”

For a long moment, Angelus looked at her. For hours, now, he waited while her guards tracked the now-dusted vampires who took Xander, and then who they were in contact with. Buffy had long since fallen asleep, and he could only assume that either she had great faith in his ability to root out those responsible, or she was still exhausted from her nightmares. 

He hoped it was the former, but suspected it was a combination of both possibilities. Still, as he’d checked on her while she dreamt, her dreams were calm and peaceful, her mind attuned to his. 

“What are you planning?”  

The smile he sent her was pure predator, and it sent shivers racing along her skin. Not necessarily of fear, either, she realized, eyes widening at that knowledge. “I’m going to give Wilkins what he wants.” 

“And that is…?” 

“Get dressed, my love,” he took her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. “We have a public tribunal to hold.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy sat in the high-backed chair, looking out at the masses who gathered in the large coliseum-like building. It was huge, as everything was in this palace, with thousands of bench seats available for everyone interested. Tickets, she understood from Donato, were going for close to five-thousand dollars. 

Why money, she had no idea; Buffy wasn’t even aware that money was still in use anymore. US currency, Mexican, Canadian…Angelus-ian? What was it backed with? Or was everyone so used to the currency system rather than a bartering one, that it was second nature? 

Her hand was clasped in his as they waited for everyone to arrive. There was a section of seats, protected by a canopy, immediately to the left of their private box; there, several Acathalans sat, Lord B’wanna among them, along with Lindsey MacDonald and Lilah Morgan. Lord B’wanna was probably guarding them, she smirked, and wondered if he knew what they’d done, or tried to do to his god and goddess. Buffy looked at them once, waited until they met her eyes, and instantly dismissed them. 

She wasn’t going to protest whatever Angelus had planned. Xander was not a part of this, though he was responsible for discovering this plot. No, she wasn’t going to say a word, was going to watch, and was going to let Angelus do whatever he wished. These people were responsible for Xander’s escape, for his being in Dru’s clutches, for Buffy even thinking Angelus would betray her like that… 

“Buffy,” Hank whispered from the seat – lower than hers, of course. “What’s going on?”  

“Angelus is teaching him a lesson,” she replied, turning to face her father. “It’s not complicated,” she laughed, but her voice was quiet. “Basically, Wilkins wanted me dead. Angelus didn’t like that. Wilkins is about to die.” 

Hank’s mouth dropped open at her words. Or was it her laugh at such a thing? “He’s going to just kill him?” 

“Maybe it is more complicated,” Buffy sighed. “Wilkins isn’t human. And Angelus…” how to explain to your father that your lover would kill anyone who hurt her? “He doesn’t like it when I’m in danger.” 

Angelus pulled her attention back to him, and the smile that blossomed on her face warmed something inside him. “Ready, my love?”  

She nodded, tightened her fingers around his. Standing, he commanded the attention of everyone in the arena. Her fingers slipped from his, reluctantly, but her eyes never wavered.  

Staring menacingly at Lindsey and Lilah, he nodded, giving nothing away. “As representatives of such a distinguished firm,” he began, emphasizing his words slightly, “You should have front row seats to this. After all, I wouldn’t want you to feel I am...neglecting you.” 

Nodding to the guards at the lone entrance, Angelus waited as they dragged Richard Wilkins into the open aired field. He was slightly bloodied, but that was from his initial capture, not any torture. No, that was to come.  

“Such a little man,” Angelus taunted, turning to Buffy and offering his hand to her. She placed hers in his, rising to stand next to him in a graceful show of skirts. She turned briefly to smile reassuringly at her father, before standing next to her lover. “So desperate,” Angelus continued, “To be a big one…your first mistake was messing with what is mine. Your second was getting caught. Detestable as he is, the little toady you were attempting to acquire…is mine.” 

He paused, waited for Wilkins to say something, but the man simply stood there, chains around his wrists, pulling his arms harshly back. He was barefooted, and Buffy hoped the hot ground burned him. She wasn’t sure what the plan was – not entirely at least – but she knew that it involved Wilkins becoming whatever it was he planned on becoming with his whole demon/immortality thing. 

At least now she didn’t have to fight him, she thought. Whatever he planned on changing into, now she didn’t have to worry about stopping him.  

“However,” he turned to Drusilla and stroked her cheek in paternal affection. Buffy wondered if she’d have been jealous of that before Hell, but immediately dismissed the thought. Drusilla wasn’t a threat to her – in fact, she was an ally. A friend, even, though Buffy suspected there was something more to her feelings than that. she just chose not to dwell on that particular aspect of Drusilla.  

“You’ve made my childe very happy today, Dick. So I’m not going to kill you. No,” he said, magnanimous in his mercy, “I’m going to give you what you desire the most.” 

Wilkins’ head jerked back, his body convulsing as sudden spasms rock his body. The scream he let loose cause the crowd to go wild at his pain. (Bread and circuses…give them food and cheap entertainment and they’ll love you forever. It was the Ancient Roman way, but Angelus had adapted it to suit his own needs.) 

The screams echoed around the coliseum, dying to strained gurgles as the guards, at first restraining him now held him up more than anything. Another twitch, another gurgle, and Angelus nodded to them. Releasing their hold on the man, they stepped back, dropping Wilkins to the hard, hot ground, and resuming their place in the line in front of the god and his queen.  

Angelus smirked down at Wilkins. “Hurts eh? Ah well,” he shrugged. “Birth often does, I’m told.” He motioned to some sort of creature, a mix of a Knaga Demon, which looked a lot like a hyena, Buffy thought, and some kind of gargoyle or phoenix or something similar and mythological in nature.  

“They’re fierce warriors,” he indicated as six of them circled Wilkins in a semi-large circle. “A trifle superstitious in my opinion, but…” he trailed off and shrugged, as if to ask ‘what can one do about such things?’ “The large one there,” Angelus pointed with his free hand to the leader, “Who looks like he wants you for a snack is Cahel. And while respecting Acathla, he refuses to swear allegiance to him, and thus to me. Now, normally, this would get him killed.” 

Another shrug, and Buffy knew he was enjoying this entirely too much. She couldn’t say she blamed him, but there was still a core of compassion within her that protested at such treatment. But she remained silent as Angelus continued with his object lesson, and knew, even with that compassionate core, that this was needed.  

The transformation was swift, painful, a birth indeed. Wilkins’ body was no longer human, or even human in shape, and his cries continued as he continued to transform. “But, until I found a pack member who was willing to and take his place, or until I run out of pack members, which ever comes first, I’m flexible. But thanks to you all that changed today. 

Angelus’ eyes glowed, and Buffy wondered if he was even aware of all the power he held. She could feel it, and knew it was more than the average body could contain, or suspected as much, but did Angelus truly know? Or was he just using what he could, what he knew when it was convenient for him?  

“Did you know, Dick,” he asked, contempt carrying clearly across to all his subjects as Wilkins’ legs melted together to form one long tail, arms dissolved to his sides as he formed into some kind of snake. “That once, long ago, they worshiped creatures such as you? Unfortunately, they’re extinct now.” 

Though he didn’t care about the answer, asked it more to amuse himself than anything, Angelus wondered, “What are you, exactly, anyway? Did you discover that when you were plotting and conniving to become a pure demon? No? Well, you look like a Keppmyr to me, but we can’t exactly say you’re a pureblood now, can we? No, you’re some sort of mutt; some sort of half-breed. Ah, well,” another negligent shrug. “No matter it’s close enough to what they had in the past, and they’re enormously pleased.”

Angelus was forcing the change, and it was painful and messy, and not exactly what Richard had in mind. He couldn’t move, and now, couldn’t even scream his pain, could do nothing but endure the change, and bide his time until it was complete, and he was more powerful than even the god before him. 

Smiling coldly, Angelus finished, “They’ll worship you. You will be deified; exactly what you hungered for.” His face elongated, nose and chin forming a long snout. His tongue grew, and the cry he wanted to utter strangled in his now really long throat. Angelus waited until he was completely reformed before gesturing toward Cahel, and he and his fellow demons surged forward to surround Wilkins. 

The change was complete. 

Wilkins tale lashed angrily, the only part that could move as Angelus held him hostage in his new form. Impotent rage thrummed through him, but he was helpless to act on it. Angelus was stronger than he suspected, and Wilkins had underestimated that.  

With a wave of his hand, Angelus released the paralysis on Wilkins, who instantly moved to attack those demons surrounding him.  

“Of course,” Angelus smirked, “They worshiped them into extinction. But those are minor things in light of the fact that you’ll be following in the footsteps of so many illustrious predecessors.” With an arrogant nod at Cahel, the demons leapt into action. 

With fierce, sharp swords and lethal long spears as weapons, in addition to their bodies, which themselves were weapons with sharp talons and beaks, they attacked. Slashing and hacking Wilkins to pieces, a loud battle cry issuing from their throats.   

And Angelus smiled through it all. Eventually, Cahel signaled his warriors to stop, which they immediately did.  

Lifting Buffy’s hand to his mouth, he let his lips linger on the back of her hand for a long moment, before leaping over the balcony and into the arena in one fluid movement. Walking to the head of Wilkins, still somehow alive but not for long, he stared down at him. Dying in blood and gore, twitching, heaving, shuddering under the enormity of his wounds. 

“Cheer up, Dick. You got what you wanted. Cahel got what he wanted. Your sacrifice will guarantee prosperity for their clan for the next millennium, and I got new loyal followers who will do anything I ask after gifting them with such an offering.” 

His eyes flashed, as he looked up from Wilkins to Lindsey and Lilah. He knew they were part of this, and wasn’t about to let them get away with it. But they had other uses for the moment, at least. They were linked to the Seniors Partners, and that was something he wanted to learn more about. Some niggling voice – Acathla’s most likely – warned him that they were trouble and that the Partners needed to be destroyed, but he didn’t know how. Or even if such a thing could be destroyed.

For the moment, he’d let them live. For now. 

With Buffy safe, with his lesson struck home for one and all to see, smell, and witness, she was safe for the time being. Until the next fool decided to test what was his, until the next fool wanted a taste of his woman. No one ever would. Ever. 

“No one, but no one, tries to take what is mine...”
~~~~~~~~~~
        ‘Let me get this straight,’ he asked, riveted to the story. ‘He wanted to be a really big snake?’
        ‘Yup.’
        ‘His big plan, his grand scheme, his sacrificing of humanity and love were all so he could turn into a…really big snake?’
        ‘Yup,’ his uncle said again, and again he stared in shock.
        ‘And what did he plan on doing after becoming this really big snake?’
        Shrugging, the uncle answered as best he could. No one really knew, but then that was the beauty of stories such as these. The endless possibilities. ‘Who knows? But his plan failed, and
        Angelus, to the cheers of the crowd, stuck Wilkins’ head on a pike and placed it for all to see in the center of town.’
        ‘The town he never entered?’
        ‘Yeah,’ he laughed, sipping his beverage, ‘That one. But it was effective, I’ll tell you that. Willy sold tickets to it for a bit, but the message spread to fast for the human to keep up, so he
        went back to the relative safety of bartending.’
        ‘And Hank? What became of him? And Xander, I mean that was just…’ he shook his head, his own anger over the boy’s callous treatment of a supposed friend bubbling to the surface.
        ‘We’re not there yet,’ he assured his nephew. ‘But let me tell you, the story is great.’

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