Carpe Diem pt 1
CARPE DIEM
Part 1
Chapters 1 - 5
by
Gaius Petronius
Spoilers and Synopsis: Season 2 BtVS
This is the orginal Jonathan Martel story from the Carpe Diem
Trilogy first posted to the SFA March 1998 in script format, available
for the first time in a new novelization.
It is roughly three months after Jenny Calendar's murder at
the hands of a now evil Angelus. Willow accidently reanimates
an eighteen year old stranger from the distant past, Jonathan
Martel. Condemned in the 1600's due to his astonishing telekinetic
powers, Jonathan is rumored to possess the knowledge of restoring
a vampire's soul. But when Buffy finds she is attracted to this
dashing, but troubled young stranger, she is forced to choose
between him and her still strong feelings for Angel. Is this new
love truly friend or foe, wizard or charlatan?
Unknown to Buffy, Drusilla, too, has her eyes on Jonathan and
will stop at nothing to destroy him and sieze his soul with its
incredible powers. Jonathan finally must prove to Buffy that he
can retrieve lost souls, . . . but only at a terrible cost.
Rating: PG-13 for some violence, language and a racy scene
or two.
DISCLAIMER:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on
the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, the WB, Fox
and Mutant Enemy, Inc. I only lay claim to the character of Johannes
Martel, but Mutant Enemy can have him anytime they want him. The
Ancient One is loosely derived from the Cthulhu Mythos stories
of the classic 20th century horror writer, H. P. Lovecraft. The
selected lyrics from "It's a Beautiful Life" are copyright
by Ace of Base and Arista Records.
A Note On the Text:
The plot for the original script version of Carpe Diem was drafted
in mid season two before Angel's age and the relationship with
Dru and Spike were fully developed. The dating in this story and
their backgrounds, as a result, are a departure from BtVS canon.
Chapter 1 - "Everyone Goes To Burton's"
Burton's London Bookseller's Shoppe was definitely the kind
of place Rupert Giles favored. It was dark and cramped with old
leather bound volumes stacked and tumbled in disorder everywhere.
Any requirement of a customer for tidiness and order had to be
left at the little creaking oak plank door with its dangling spring
mounted door bell.
Browsing through Burton's was more like launching a search
party through the realms of the mystical, the arcane and the just
plain bizarre. On this particular afternoon, the owner, Ralphe
Burton was busy packing two black notebook size volumes and a
curious flat slate-like stone in a shipping box and muttering
under his breath at the same time.
Scratching his balding head, he wondered aloud why, at his
age, he still took such risks for his old Cambridge fellow student.
He hadn't seen Giles since the Council summarily dispatched his
younger friend off to "the colonies" over a year ago
to watch over a particularly volatile young Slayer in southern
California.
Burton had already called long distance once regarding the
stone and it's companion volumes but he didn't dare discuss openly
over the telephone with Giles too much detail about what he was
sending. Not that he was concerned the lines were tapped or anything
else so "James Bondish" but he was definitely worried
by what he had come across and felt Giles was the proper person
to handle it. The sooner the troublesome pair of black calfskin
bound notebooks and the ominously carved stone were out of the
shop, so much the better.
Burton placed the thin stone, about two feet long by six inches
high and inscribed with a Celtic rune, into the box along with
the books and stuffed plastic packing peanuts around the contents
so they wouldn't shift in shipping. Nervously he looked over his
shoulder at the fading late afternoon light and rushed the work.
He dropped a sealed envelope in the bed of peanuts along with
the notebooks and the stone, then quickly finished taping up the
box.
At the same time, the old pull door bell for the shop rang,
and a brown uniformed parcel delivery man walked in pushing a
dolly and carrying a clipboard.
"Your parcel ready, sir?" he asked all business.
"All done," Burton sighed as he stared at the shipping
box and silently prayed he wouldn't see it's contents again any
time soon.
"Same place as last time?" the delivery man asked
as he checked several lines on his clipboard.
"Sunnydale, California, USA," Burton nodded.
"All set, then," the delivery man announced as he
looked up from the clipboard, "Contents just books again?"
"Uh, yes," Burton lied and then was distracted by
the advancing dusk in the street outside.
"Right. Sign here, line 11," the delivery man announced
as he slid the clipboard out for Burton's signature.
The shop owner quickly signed on the line indicated and let
out a deep breath as if relieved that the package was finally
leaving his shop. The delivery man loaded the package onto his
dolly and rolled it through the front door into the street.
"Careful, it's heavy," Burton called after as both
parcel and driver disappeared into the delivery truck and drove
off up the narrow roadway where the street lights were finally
beginning to come on.
Burton sat down on a small wooden chair, sighed again and became
lost in thought. He was afraid, not for himself he now realized,
but for the nightmare objects he had just sent off half way around
the world. He trembled for what they might be and what they could
do if they fell into the wrong hands. Through a wavy paned window
in the front of the shop, the last rays of dusk quickly faded
to night. In a few moments, the old pull rope door bell rang again.
Burton stirred in his chair.
"We're closing in a few minutes . . ." the shop keeper
said perfunctorily without looking up, "Can I help you with
something?"
There was no reply. Suddenly Burton saw shadows shift across
the stacks of leather bound volumes all around him and his eyes
filled with terror. He looked up, sat back abruptly in the chair
and tried to scream but the shriek froze in his throat, never
to emerge. Three dark robed figures moved swiftly and silently
towards him.
*****
Chapter 2 - A Package for Mr. Giles
The early morning sun beat down on the buses and students flocking
before the front entrance to Sunnydale High. Willow Rosenberg
wove her way among the milling crowds searching for a friendly
face. It was difficult enough for Willow after freshman year being
lumped in with the computer geeks, among the lowest of the low
on the Sunnydale High social pecking order. But with the arrival
of Buffy Ann Summers sophomore year and the two's rapidly developed
friendship, Willow found herself shunned for even more disturbing
reasons.
The whole student body now understood that "things"
always "happened" when Buffy was around. True, Buffy
was a hottie and from LA and for that reason, most of the Sunnydale
High male population were willing to give her the benefit of the
doubt. Even a few (not counting social reject Xander Harris who
was constantly at her side) would have been willing to try to
ask her out on a date. However, her recent relationship with a
tall, brooding older guy who came around only at night, wasn't
in college and definitely not a Sunnydale student, well that finished
it for Ms. Summers' social standing. And it didn't help matters
any when the relationship appeared to end quite badly several
weeks back. There was also her penchant for roaming in cemeteries
at night not to mention the severed head that turned up on stage
during the talent show and other incidents.
So this morning, Willow imagined she wasn't just dodging fellow
students flying by on skateboards or the usual cliques of hostile
female faces parroting Cordelia Chase's "Sears Girl"
insult just slightly within range of her hearing. Willow knew
she was officially a "weirdo," because of her friendship
with Buffy. She was one of those Sunnydale High lepers, the Scooby
Gang as they called themselves. The students didn't pick on them
in order to elevate their own fragile and insecure egos, but rather
avoided them outright largely through fear and an instinctive
herd-like sense of survival.
Willow shrugged her shoulders to herself in resignation. No
one really understood except maybe Xander but then the two of
them had grown up together and had a peculiar history that never
seemed to move beyond a brother sister relationship. She knew
he had always cared. He even used to put salamanders down her
shirt as a kid just to make her scream.
But Xander had a big heart and Willow was about the only one
who appreciated that. She remembered fondly how, when no one was
looking, he used to put the slimy amphibians back under the rocks
where they came from so they wouldn't be hurt. He also got his
first detention in kindergarten for beating up Jimmy Gulano who
teased her about her red hair and made her cry.
But then super loser Xander Harris, against all the laws of
the rational universe, somehow got involved with Cordelia Chase,
head cheerleader and campus super snot. What brought them together,
Willow still couldn't figure out except maybe Cordelia's empty
head, or maybe her male magnetic breasts, or maybe Xander's raging
hormones or maybe all of the above. Anyway, with those two on
the loose, no one dared open a broom closet anywhere in the Sunnydale
High building without knocking first. Which is how Willow got
left behind until she finally found Oz, her werewolf rock musician.
And here she was this morning, just like so many other mornings,
standing on the steps before home room searching not for Xander,
Oz or anyone else, but instead scanning the crowds for her friend,
Buffy, who in less than a week after her arrival sophomore year,
had got the whole "weirdo" ball rolling at Sunnydale.
"Go figure," Willow wondered silently at her choice
of friends and grinned ever so slightly.
As she climbed the stairs towards the front door, Willow finally
spotted Buffy sitting at the side of the steps, sunning her face
in the few minutes before classes. Willow quickly sidled in at
her side. Buffy's eyes were closed as she leaned back and let
the skin of her face drink in the melanoma enriched UV rays.
"Hey, Buffy," Willow smiled putting on her best early
morning perky.
"Hey," Buffy muttered back absentmindedly.
Willow paused. Ever since Buffy and Angel had finally done
"it" and Angel had lost his soul leaving behind the
evil Angelus, Willow knew instinctively to tread lightly when
beginning a conversation.
"You know, the sun like that isn't good for your skin."
"I don't care," Buffy announced, her voice laced
with a haunting emptiness that Willow could tell came from a great
damaged place near her friend's heart.
"It feels good," Buffy continued without opening
her eyes, "I'm so sick of the darkness."
She didn't really want to, but Willow knew she finally had
to broach "the topic." Buffy had been like this for
two weeks now and Willow could sense her friend's bouts of outward
depression were starting to settle in as permanent fixtures in
her character.
"I guess hunting didn't go so hot last night," she
asked gingerly.
"Nah, nothing," Buffy announced sarcastically as
she sat up and opened her eyes to the blazing sun and rush of
students all around her, "But that's the way it should be,
right? It's my job. After all, what else am I here for except
to keep everything safe on the Hellmouth."
Trying desperately to maintain the "cool" front,
Buffy stared at her friend and tossed her long blonde hair. At
the same time, Willow could see the effort crumbling before her
eyes.
"You gotta stop thinking about him," she answered
gently. "Angel's gone. It's only gonna hurt more. That's
what Angelus is trying to do, hurt you."
"No offense," Buffy answered coldly, looking away,
"But can you stop thinking about Oz?"
Well, no. . . " Willow withered, "I'm sorry, . .
. I'll go crawl in my hole now."
"No, don't go," Buffy said quickly, immediately regretting
her harsh words. She caught Willow by the arm as she went to rise
and held her back on the steps, "I know I must be a real
ton of fun to be with."
"That's okay," Willow beamed, drinking in her friends
acceptance, "You know we're all here for you, Buffy. Me,
Giles, Xander, Oz . . .well, when he isn't tied up."
Buffy smiled at the joke. True, it wasn't one of Xander's zingers,
all cutting, funny and at the same time, self defensive but rather
like Willow herself, gentle and from the heart.
"Even Cordelia when she's not being a total . . .uh,"
Willow floundered for the right word, "What do you call a
beautiful slutty cheerleader that steals your boyfriend?"
"A beautiful slutty cheerleader that steals your boyfriend,"
Buffy answered with a big grin.
"Oh yeah, right," Willow nodded in agreement at the
obvious, "Well you know what I mean. We all hate to see you
so bummed. You can lean on us a little if you need to. Shoulder's
always here." Willow patted her shoulder as she spoke.
"Thanks, Will" Buffy said sincerely, ". . .
just don't give up on me."
"Never," Willow smiled her trademark grin.
In a moment more, both joined the surging mass of adolescent
humanity pouring into the building for another day of state mandated
learning on the Sunnydale Hellmouth.
First period natural science was the usual boring lecture.
Mr. Tarbox, the science teacher struggled to raise the class enthusiasm
regarding the fundamentals of astronomy and the universe by using
an annoying imitation of Carl Sagan. The fact that he was originally
from the Bronx with a lingering accent didn't help foment the
impression of awe and wonder he struggled so hard to impart in
the students.
"And with the universe stretching beyond our ability to
count, thousands of galaxies are filled with millions and billions
of stars."
Buffy was barely able to pay attention, her thoughts as far
away as the stars Mr. Tarbox attempted to describe.
"Each star, a blazing celestial furnace generating one
million degrees Celsius," the teacher proclaimed waving his
arms in the air as if he were trying to stop a runaway bus that
had hopped the sidewalk directly in front of him.
"And yet in these nuclear fusion furnaces, for every two
hydrogen atoms fused together the result is always, one helium
atom and energy. No matter is actually destroyed, only converted
to matter in a different form and energy."
Mercifully the class bell rang. All the students slapped their
books shut and rushed in an irresistible wave for the door.
In the hallway, Xander caught up with Buffy as both walked
swiftly down the stairs to classes on the first floor.
"Yo, Buffy, what's up? You're kinda like not here today,"
he called out, trying to get her attention
"Shows that bad, huh," she answered over her shoulder.
"I'd do a scale of one to ten but I flunked negative numbers
in Algebra ," Xander said finally reaching her side as they
stopped momentarily together in the first floor student lounge
area at the foot of the stairs.
"Thanks for the show of support," Buffy snipped.
"I guess last night was a bust, huh. No Angel?" Xander
continued, trying to ignore the Slayer's clear signals to leave
her alone.
"First question, Yes," Buffy announced firmly, turning
to face Xander head on, "Second question, really none of
your business."
Buffy turned her back on Xander and stalked away to the Library.
From out of the crowd, Cordelia Chase suddenly loomed up beside
Xander as Buffy turned the hallway corner.
"So how is your precious Buffy?" she said, her voice
dripping knives, "Still giving you the royal brush off?"
"Cordelia," Xander explained trying to be patient
and at the same time not sarcastic, "There's healing time
that has to take place here."
"You're going to need some healing time after I'm finished
with you if you don't start paying attention to me!" the
head cheerleader snarled as the claws started to come out.
Xander ignored her. Instead he stared down the crowded hall
to see where Buffy went.
"Xander! What the hell have we been doing the last 3 months!?"
Cordelia almost screamed.
"I don't know. What? . . ." he answered distracted
as if her question were a particularly silly and annoying part
of a history exam, "Making out . . . whatever you want."
Cordelia stamped her foot in fury, swatted Xander across the
top of the head and stormed away.
"Ow! . . . Right . . .I'll catch up with you in history
. . . Cordy? . . . . Cordy?
Xander looked around, but Cordelia was gone.
Down the hall in the school library, librarian Rupert Giles
fought back valiantly against a mound of plastic packing peanuts
that spilled across the check out counter. Excited by the thought
of a package from his old Cambridge friend, Burton, Giles had
abandoned his normally meticulous approach to unwrapping and simply
torn the top off the heavy cardboard parcel. That action, plus
the static electricity built up on his wool tweed jacket, sent
peanuts flying everywhere.
Giles desperately tried to sweep up the mess with his hands
but the static charges, first attracting, now repelling, had the
little plastic particles sliding and sticking at random across
the checkout desk and off onto the floor. Several ended up his
sleeves and one or two stuck in his hair.
Willow looked up from her computer terminal set up on end of
the study table across the main floor of the library. Her eyes
howled with laughter but she knew she didn't dare grin for fear
of a verbal lashing in the King's English from the frustrated
librarian.
"Bloody Hell!" and Giles swatted at thin air.
Willow gasped in spite of herself.
Buffy burst in through the double library swinging doors and
stopped, staring at her Watcher, a light fluffy piece of peanut
plastic protruding from his curly thinning hair.
"Don't say anything!" he announced with the firmness
of the Rock of Gibralter. Buffy wanted to, oh how she wanted to
but the right words just wouldn't come. She immediately regretted
blowing off Xander a few minutes earlier.
"Buffy Summers punching in on the time clock," she
said, trying not to burst out laughing.
"Good morning, Buffy," Giles deadpanned her as he
picked the plastic peanut out of his hair.
Buffy hopped up on the desk and stared into the open package.
"Whatcha got? New toys or just the usual end of the world
prophecies?"
"Not sure actually," Giles continued, "This
just came from Burton, my rare book dealer in London. Don't know
what to make of it. He called early last week and said I should
let him know when it arrived."
Giles picked up the phone and started dialing. He listened
as the phone rang with no answer.
Thousands of miles away in Burton's London Booksellers Shoppe,
the front display room was dark. Amidst the shadows, it was clear
the shop had been ransacked with shelves torn down and tables
overturned. Behind a smashed display case a bloodied arm protruded
into clear view. Amidst the ruins the phone rang over and over.
Giles finally hung up and rubbed his chin in puzzlement. "Hmm,"
he mused, "Must have left early."
Buffy couldn't resist any longer and began poking around in
the box like it was Christmas morning.
"So what is this stuff?"Any new threat to the world
I should know about?"
Suddenly she stopped and lifted out the flat slate like stone.
She turned it around carefully studying it from different angles,
especially the celtic rune prominently carved into the face.
"This thing is creepy," the Slayer scowled,
"What is it?"
"Not sure. Burton didn't say, only to call him and he'd
explain."
"Save the long distance charges, Giles" Buffy said
shaking her head, "I can tell you now, this is not a good
thing."
Buffy slid the stone back down into the bed of peanuts in the
package and drew out one of the two large black books. She eyed
the soft leather cover, the spine and read outloud the single
name stamped in gold.
"Martel."
Buffy opened the cover and scowled again. The pages were empty.
"Uh, Giles, I hope you didn't pay cash for this,"
she said half sarcastically, "The pages are all blank."
"I know," Giles answered calmly as he pulled the
second volume out and studied the parchment, testing its thickness
and strength between his fingers.
"Now I get your love for smelly old books in dumb dead
languages nobody but you can read," Buffy went on as she
turned more pages, "But what good is one without any writing
in it?"
"There could be a lot of explanations, invisible ink,
a spell to conceal the text."
"How about the simplest one, there's nothing there,"
Buffy immediately regretted being snippy but it was really obvious.
"Burton thinks these are the notebooks of a Johannes Martel,
a seventeenth century European philosopher," Giles continued,
ignoring her Sunnydale flippancy.
"And this is interesting because . . .?"
Giles immediately slipped into his teaching mode. It was crucial
that his Slayer understand the importance of what had just been
dumped into their laps by pure chance.
"Buffy, in the 1600's the designation 'philosopher' could
mean an alchemist or even a wizard. I have Willow looking on the
Internet for more information. My references only mention him
in passing. Apparently the contemporary authorities were concerned
enough about his activities to have him condemned and his library
destroyed but not before some of its more important contents were
looted. No one knows what happened to Martel himself. Vanished
without a trace.
"And these two empty black books are some of that loot?"
Buffy asked, her interest rising just a shade.
"Quite possibly. The stone as well," Giles confirmed.
"Still doesn't do anything for me," Buffy said, her
attention quickly drifting away. She dropped the leather volume
back in the packing box with its companion stone, "Why should
we care about an old bearded wizard?"
"That's what's strange," Giles answered, looking
up from his copy and staring across the library at nothing in
particular as often did when confronted by a mystery, "Martel
was very young, only 18 when he disappeared."
"So he got a scholarship and graduated from Wiz Tech his
junior year," Buffy smirked.
"It's the charges against him. Martel was accused not
only of consorting with vampires, but of attempting to restore
them to human form rather than killing them," Giles said
as he stared directly at Buffy.
The Slayer's eyes popped open as the meaning of her Watcher's
words sank in.
"You're kidding," she said softly.
"Not at all. That's why I have Willow looking on the Internet."
Buffy immediately jumped from her perch on the desk, made a
bee line for Willow on the other side of the library and peered
over her shoulder at the computer screen."
"Whatcha got, Will?" Buffy asked trying not to sound
too anxious.
"Giles, listen to this!" Willow called out as a new
screen rolled into view, "The Wizard Martel was known to
move large objects from great distances without any physical aid.
He could throw invisible walls of force and bend beams of sunlight
with the wave of his hand.'"
"A telekinetic," Giles mused.
"A telly what?" Buffy asked, now barely able to contain
herself.
"Someone who can control matter and energy through, as
yet, unexplained mental powers," Giles expounded, "History
records many of them. Even today there are people who can move
pencils on a table with the wave of a hand."
"Bending sunlight, huh? Doesn't sound like this guy spent
his time spinning crayons for lunch money," Buffy said to
Willow, "I wouldn't want to have him mad at me."
"Probably not a cool idea," Willow agreed.
"Anything else about the vampires angle?" Buffy verbally
nudged Willow for more info as she struggled to read the tiny
print as her friend scrolled down the screen.
"No, just that he was accused of consorting with them
and . . ."
Willow stopped reading, puzzled by the contents of the text.
"And ? What, Will? What?" Buffy almost shouted.
Willow looked around and stared back up at her friend. She
was both excited and terrified of what she was about to tell Buffy.
"It says here," Willow hesitated, " '. . . and
trying to restore their souls.'"
Buffy's eyes widened with astonishment. For the first time
since her encounter with the Master, her legs felt weak and she
trembled a little as she dropped down into a folding chair.
" . . . Angel . . . " she said softly.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 3 - An Unexpected Visitor
Nothing could compare to the elegance of the dinner arrangements
assembled in the abandoned warehouse lair of Spike, Drusilla and
Angelus. True, the massive mahogany banquet table rescued from
the Sunnydale landfill had more than a few nicks and dings. The
base of one of the lion's foot legs was pretty well destroyed,
allowing the table to teeter precariously. When Drusilla accidentally
spilled a full goblet of child's blood ("nouveau" Spike
liked to call it) in her lap as the table shifted, that was the
last straw. Spike forced Angelus to scrounge up some shims (he
chose several leftover severed fingers from a recent victim) to
stabilize the ornate table and that immediately solved the problem.
Dru was happy, cooing over the semi-erotic carvings around
the table trim, Spike was happy because Dru was happy and Angelus,
well, Angelus still grumbled and muttered oaths regarding the
Slayer. But then, Angelus always grumbled now much to the annoyance
of Spike.
The two had been at loggerheads for the last several weeks
since Angel had lost his soul. Both vampires were vying for Drusilla's
affections but Angelus was handicapped by his constant infatuation
with Buffy. True, he wanted to pull the Slayer's arms out and
hang them as trophies in the north wall of the warehouse, but
Drusilla didn't appreciate Angelus' divided attentions. Why couldn't
Angelus torture her instead of constantly mooning over
the Slayer.
Her love, Spike, despite his confinement to a wheelchair since
their last disasterous encounter with the Slayer, still managed
to oblige with exquisitely and lovingly prepared torments and
other entertainments, but Drusilla was fascinated with her "Daddy"
and Spike knew it and deeply resented Angelus.
As the sun went down, the three sat around their banquet table
sampling glasses of what appeared to be red wine but was much
too thick and clinging to the glass to be of any French or California
vintage. Drusilla had carefully placed pure white napkins, each
with a single blood spot in the center, around at each place setting.
Two extra chairs held large dolls from Drusilla's collection,
their necks twisted at odd, indeed contorted positions. In the
shadows at the far end of the chamber a body hung unceremoniously
upside down from the rafters.
"Smooth on the palate, complex bouquet," Spike announced
with pleasure to Drusilla as he swirled the cloying red liquid
around his glass, "Much better than last night's. None of
that raw foxy flavor that's so offensive."
"No cheap New York Staties for my darlings," Drusilla
crooned as she leaned over and nibbled on Spike's ear.
"What is it with you two, always playing with your food,"
Angelus grumbled as he belted down a slug from his glass. Spike
shook his head in disgust at such uncouth behavior.
"Angelus, where's the enjoyment if you just gulp it down
without taking the time to savor it?"
"There's a lot to be said for quantity," Angelus smirked
back, "I could drink you under the table any night of the
week!"
"Do I hear a challenge?" Spike answered calmly but
fully ready to rise to the occasion.
Drusilla sat forward in her chair, gracefully raising her arms
up between the two vampires keeping them separate.
"Now, now, now love boys, we have work to do tonight,
and I need you both clear headed," she said to them both.
"The shipment came in?" Angelus asked, his interest
now piqued.
"Yes. Pity our sisters missed it in London, but no matter,"
Drusilla answered as she gazed off at the carcass hanging in the
shadows.
"Saved us on some bloody serious postage it did,"
Spike eyed Drusilla as he spoke, "We'll go break into the
school library and pick it up after midnight if you like, love."
"I'm bored, let's go now," Angelus complained. Spike
sensed another challenge. "Besides, I haven't seen Buffy
in a while."
"Why don't you just give it up, Angelus," Spike said
rolling his eyes to the ceiling, "That slayer's got you so
whipped."
"What? . . ." Angelus smirked, "Just 'cause
we broke up doesn't mean we can't still be friends!"
Drusilla laughed and started cooing again, closing her eyes
and lolling her head back and forth. Spike waited patiently for
his love to come back from wherever she went when her mind drifted
like this.
"Let's go get my Wizard's things right now!" she
hissed as her eyes opened, "Kill nasty slayer and stab little
people that keep what is ours."
"That's my girl," Angelus answered as he feigned
a smile of innocence.
"Whatever you want, love," Spike replied as he glowered
at Angelus.
* * * * * * * *
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