“Where’s the Watcher’s Council?” Drusilla asked in a quiet voice.
She’d taken him to the library, not for his safety or comfort, but for her star’s. This Watcher was the only one to know where the Council was located. And probably Daddy, but she needed more than the location from Rupert’s mind. And she didn’t want Daddy knowing about her talk with him. Not yet.
While many things had changed, Daddy was still a bit impulsive. Whatever forces pushed her to confront the Watcher required secrecy. She didn’t understand it, but obeyed it.
“And what happens now that the Line is split?”
“The Council?” he asked, shaking his head at her. “Why on earth is Angelus interested in them now?”
“They threatened Buffy,” she said quite seriously. Though she didn’t need to enter his mind, she looked him directly in the eyes, lest she miss something. “Sent assassins after her, tried to kill her. Want her dead and their own rule on this order.”
“Buf-” he stopped, swallowed, and she could see the real fear in his eyes, the genuine love. “Is she alright?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
Yes, fear. Love. Anger. So many delicious emotions, so many conflicting ones. Dru tilted her head to the side and breathed deeply. She wanted to feel those, but couldn’t. Could only taste them and savor them as a meal. Never feel them.
“Fine,” Dru nodded, and something in her wondered at the affection. “She’s fine. Nothing can hurt my star. Nothing physical on this world. Now where’s the Council?”
”Angelus is going after them.” He stated, nodded, sighed. The range of human emotion was fascinating, and Dru wished she could experience it as she used to.
“I’m certain he already knows, but it’s in Old London, in an almost hidden alley near the Bank of England.”
“And the Slayers,” Dru persisted. “Now that there are two?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, and she scented the truth in those words. “It’s nothing that’s ever happened before, or at least it's never been recorded.”
Suddenly he gripped her arm, urgent and desperate. “Don’t destroy the files,” he insisted. “Whatever Angelus does to them, he must keep their files intact. I need to look through them.”
“Will there be mention of the split?”
“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “But they might help Buffy in other ways.” He stopped and looked at her through narrowed eyes. “You didn't mesmerize me. Why?”
“I didn't need to. You don’t want anything happening to her any more than I do. You just don’t like Angelus.”
“If you were in my shoes, would you blame me?” he demanded. “Think about that, then think about what I’d do for her. Then maybe you’ll see.”
Dru frowned at him. She didn’t understand what he meant, and glanced at his shoes. They looked very uncomfortable and a good deal too big for her to wear. Then again, she did appreciate what he meant by what he’d do for Buffy.
It didn’t rhyme with what he’d done. The tally was off, and the tree crooked in its growth.
“Never mind. Just don’t destroy the files. They
might be the only way to understand what the Slayer Line truly is.”
~~~~~~~~~
She’d dreamed this.
Not this. The land hadn’t changed, not really at least, and swirled before her. Daddy’s powers were massive – they’d gone from home to here in a beat of a slowly dying heart, and she’d seen it all pass her by. The red of home, the green of places still alive, the brown of death, and the black of fear.
Now, standing in London, in the place she'd loved more than anything else in her former life, in her dreams, it all came full circle.
“The apples will never survive the late frost.”
“What was that, Dru?”
She turned to look at Angelus. He was bright and hot, and for the beat of a human’s heart, she thought he was her darling star. But no, and far from it. In the blink of an eye, he was her Daddy again and nothing more.
“A new circle,” she said. “We’ve begun a new circle, and the apples won’t survive it.”
He nodded but said nothing, and she knew he didn’t understand. He used to, before. Or sometimes before.
“The apples,” she whispered and turned in a circle, eyes on the ground. “They’re rotten, but not all of them. Some are sweet and fresh. How do you think they manage? Do you think the winters are softer here?”
“There are no more winters,” he said.
“Yes, Daddy,” she agreed. “And that’s why they can survive. It’s not the cold harshness that’ll kill them, you know. It’s what makes them grow. And by the time the planet aligns, it’ll be covered with apples.”
“Dru,” Angelus growled, but they’d stopped.
She took the time to look up and around, to breathe in the scents of a London she missed, the remembered times.
“There are no apples in England. They don’t grow here.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she nodded, and continued to turn.
Her eyes were closed and her face upturned. She could feel the sun beating on her skin. But of course she couldn’t. It was night, after all, and even during the day, even here, she wasn’t certain the sun would touch her.
“Is the sun still bad?” she asked.
“Sun?” Angelus looked up as if he, too, could feel the nonexistent rays. “Not any more, Dru. I wouldn’t let it hurt you.”
“I know, Daddy,” she nodded again. Then, opening her eyes, she smiled. “He never would, anyway. No matter which apple he ate.”
He gave her another look that said he didn’t understand one bit. No one ever really did, save Spike, and then only after the fact did he.
“Come on,” he said and nodded to the rest of their small group. “I want to get this party on the road.”
They walked through the streets, deserted of their wearers, cold without their clothes. No one lurked about, no one greeted them. Here and there she thought she saw a shadow, but it wasn’t.
“Daddy,” she whispered gleefully, “can we eat all the rotten apples?”
Streets, gray and ugly, the masses still living here as if nothing changed when everything had. They hid in doorways, cowered behind fences. They watched, the stink of their fear overpowering. Nauseating in that invigorating way.
“Of course, Dru,” he smiled down at her, that wicked gleam in his dark eyes. “But the Slayer’s for me.”
She pouted. “I want to eat them all up, to take them home for my Spike to enjoy. I want to toy with them and make them pets.”
“If you desire,” Angelus agreed. “But not the Slayer.”
“Pity, for I do so enjoy-”
Slayer. No, they couldn’t eat the Slayer!
Dru stopped and clutched her head as a blinding flash of light pierced her mind. She screamed, or thought she did, and then felt Daddy’s arms wrapped around her. They were strong and held her tight to him.
Dru could hear his voice, the low rumble of thunder roll across the land, and then nothing.
But she could see.
Consequences for the world. Consequences for him and her. Consequences for…but how? No sense, that didn’t work, and the tree was all gnarled and torn. The apples burst with rot.
Another path, through the grove. Here in the center was a beautiful tree full of bright red apples, heavy with juices, thick with taste.
Which was that one? It veered to the left, and she gingerly stepped onto it, but it was cold. So cold it froze her to the ground. Nothing left. There was nothing left here save death. Not even the good kind. Disaster, the kind she could not savor.
One last path, and wasn’t it odd that there were four paths. Three was the magick number, three the times to curse, three to save the fair maiden, three to right the wrongs.
Chaos. It was bright and dark, clashing with noise so loud she wanted to cover her ears, yet she was still frozen to the ground.
“Noooooo!” she screamed.
She tried to move, tried to close her eyes, cover her ears. Couldn’t move. Didn’t remember how, what to do.
Rain.
It needed to rain to cleanse the land. Now or later? Here or there? And how did Buffy fit into all this? Her role was murky, destiny uncertain.
“Drusilla!”
“Angelus?”
Slowly everything came back into focus. London, the street empty and broken, the black night-sky. Angelus. Concern was etched on his handsome features, and she swore there was very real fear in his dark eyes.
Weakly, she nodded at him, then glared at their small group surrounding them. “Leave!” she commanded.
They looked to Angelus who nodded. They moved several feet away, still in a loose circle to protect their god and his Childe.
“The rain’s pouring down, rolling across the land. It can’t come yet, we’re not ready.”
“I won’t let it rain yet, Dru,” he promised.
She missed this about him, the soft caring in his tone. Things were so different now that he’d evolved and risen and Become. The quiet support of the beautiful demon who’d made her. He wasn’t the same as then, the soul had transformed him into more whether he wanted to acknowledge that or not.
“When it rains, it’ll clean the rotten apples away. But we can’t kill the sweet fresh ones. Promise me, Daddy. Promise me we won’t eat the good apples.”
“Dru,” he started, then shook his head. “What’s gotten into you? What’d you see?”
She swallowed and stood. Her legs were still shaky, and her body felt off, half way between life and death. Taking a moment, she smoothed down her dress.
“There’s only one path we can take. One path that leads to the tree bursting with ripe, good apples. Without that path and tree, nothing lives.”
Dru watched as he stilled, listening to her words and hearing their meaning.
“We can’t kill the Slayer, Angleus.”
She expected rage. Actually, she expected him to tear into her with claws and fangs and destroy her. He narrowed his eyes, body stiller than she’d have thought any thing, living, dead, or any other way, could be.
“Why not?”
Instead of answering, Dru clasped his head in both hands and looked into his eyes. “I can see your soul,” she whispered.
“Dru,” he growled, “I don’t have a soul.”
“It’s hers,” she conceded, “but it belongs to you. Does she know? Does she know that about you? Have you told her?”
Angelus opened his mouth, but nothing emerged. With a snap, he closed it again. Glowering he demanded, “Why can’t I kill the Slayer?”
“She won’t let you.” She spun in a circle, laughing as if she played in the rain she so adored. “Can we eat all the rotten apples now?”
Scowling, Angelus nodded. “We can eat any apple you wish.”
“I want them all,” she giggled in a stage whisper. “I want them to burst with juice, the worms of their souls scurrying away in fear. And then,” her voice lowered and she shivered. “I want to make love in the juices. I want to feel them over me, sticky and sweet.”
“I’ll see to Spike then,” he drawled.
She could sense his own desire, the spark of need her words ignited in him, and laughed again. She wanted to feel his hard cock pound into her, as it had before. Wanted to taste him now that he was more.
Dru did not, however, have any desire to die and no wish to hurt her darling mummy like that. She’d wait for Spike, and take all her pleasure there.
“But not the good apples,” she warned. “Not the Slayer.”
Angelus ignored her for a moment then walked on. “They’re the juiciest apples of them all.”
It wasn’t far to the building, an old stone edifice that looked foreign and familiar. Had she passed this in her life? Was this something she’d seen before and had just never known? Then why hadn’t she had a vision of it?
Come to think of it, why hadn’t she had a vision of her own death? Had the Powers wanted her dead? Had they wanted this to happen?
Rubbing her forehead, Dru followed Angelus up the steps. He didn’t bother knocking, and with his new status as not undead and not anything else really definable, he walked right in.
Following him across the threshold, no invitation needed, she knew.
She had to tell mummy. But she promised daddy. She had to save the Slayer. She had to swallow the apples.
“Angelus,” she whispered as the first barrage of arrows whistled though the air. “This is it.”
It was the turning pointing, the plot that had sent them all scurrying for safety. It was the denouement. It was…
“It’s the beginning we’ve all waited for,” she said, absently catching an arrow before it punctured a hole in her dining dress.
Angelus was already whipping through this first defense. He didn’t need to fight, didn’t need to take the time to do this. He wanted to. It gave him immense satisfaction to kill with his hands once again; she could feel the thrill echoing off him.
It broke her heart when she realized that no matter how she wanted to gorge herself on the fruit before her, she couldn’t allow it.
“The world needs a balance,” she said quietly as the fighting raged around her. “It has to find its self again.”
She looked up at the flurry of black-clad figures leaping over the banister.
“Oh, well,” she shrugged and leapt forward. “Just a small snack beforehand.”
World Enough and Time index Christine's Page Home
