Wesley’s mind raced with the possibility that many of the things that they had taken for truths while working at Wolfram and Hart were anything but. They had the arrogance and audacity to believe that they had been one step ahead of the Senior Partners. He realized that they had been led down a certain path by none other than Angel. The same vampire that had sold all their memories up to the wizard he had been sent to kill, Vail. Signing his name on the dotted line of his contract has essentially been signing away his soul. At least his right to it. He knew how Wolfram and Hart worked. Lilah had been in their employ and he saw how well that had ended. Her soul eternally in their grasp. A pawn piece to do only God knows what. So what did that mean for Angel?
Then there had been that weird licking thing that Angel had done to Gunn. He had tried to do to him. If it hadn’t been for Illyria and Giles who knew what would have happened. He felt uneasy whenever he thought about that vampiric ability. It had probably saved Gunn’s life but it was so dangerous letting the demon out for a taste and trying to reign it back in. What had Angel been thinking to try a stunt like that? He made a mental note to talk it over with Giles in the morning.
He sat in the kitchen staring down at a glass of scotch that he had just poured for himself. Gunn was sitting opposite from him chowing down on some bread and honey.
“What is it about surviving an apocalyptic battle that make you so damned hungry?” He mused.
Illyria stood outlined by the roaring fire in the giant fireplace that was left over from ages past. Black metal hooks were still used to hang cauldrons over the fire. Wesley mused that there was something to the stereotype of the black cauldron and witches. Illyria had refused his offer to dress her wounds with a shake of her head, and had stood still as a statue in front of the fire for hours. At Gunn’s words her head cocked to the side and she found her voice, “Do you think that the witches have tacos?”
Both men were stunned. Wesley looked like she had given him a mortal blow. (Three mortal blows in one night was just one to many.) The hand that had been toying with his glass tightened around it. His knuckles straining and turning white.
Gunn carefully asked unable to stop himself, “Illyria how do you know about tacos?” Wesley winced but remained silent.
She looked down, her eyes reflective, as if consulting herself on how she should answer that. “The spark. It tells me many things.”
At those simple words both men exchanged glances, Gunn’s hopeful, and Wesley’s fearful that they had let Fred be trapped inside her own body with out realizing it. The fact that they had taken Knox’s word on the transformation was, in hindsight, ridiculous.
With a look of trepidation on his face, Wesley asked softly, “Illyria what else does the spark tell you?
Illyria turned around to face the fire. She was tired of this world. She needed to rest. It was time to let the spark take over. For a while. They were in no danger right now. She could feel herself fall back and the tiny, bright spark rushed to the fore... When she turned around again she was Fred. She ran to Wesley and threw herself in his arms. Crying. Sobbing. Wesley trembling returned the bone crushing embrace. Tears starting to form in his eyes.
“Wesley... Oh God, Wesley. I have missed you. I never thought I would be able to get back to you.” A huge sob tore through her tiny frame. “This thing... Illyria. It surrounded me.” She saw the look of horror on both of their faces. “It didn’t hurt. Well, just in the beginning when it first came to me.” Her voice became softer meant for Wesley. “When we thought I was dying. After that... After it became part of me it felt... strange.” She glanced around looking for the right words to describe it. “I was so strong and yet, I couldn’t control anything. I was there but couldn’t talk. Or move.”
There was a strangled noise from Gunn. Wesley stroked his hands down her back in a soothing manner. So grateful to have this time with her.
Fred continued on unable to stop herself from getting everything out. Her tears had all but stopped and her voice was much stronger. “When you guys diminished her power, I found that... Illyria became aware of me. It knew that I was there. Before... it was infinite. I was a mote inside of it. After it had been reduced by you guys I was what she called a spark. Maybe I was like a speck. Illyria began to listen to me. When my folks showed up I was able to coach her through every word that she said.” Wesley looked at her in surprise. She smiled tremulously.
“I think that it is tired. I guess that I am going to be let out what? Every six months or so?” She gave a small laugh. Both men looked at her with pained expressions. “Oh, I’m sorry. I am just so used to talking to myself. I have a history with that. This time I couldn’t even write on the walls...”
Wesley crushed her to him. The feeling of joy turning to one of dread. He didn’t know how long that he had with Fred but every moment wes precious.
Gunn sat there helpless. Unable to shake the terrible feeling of guilt. Having his heart ripped out day after day was still not enough justice for what he had done to her. To them. He stood quietly and snuck out the door trying to at least give them this time together. Without having to suffer his presence.
Wiping the blood from the lower part of his face Angel looked indifferently down at the tangled bodies of the slayers he had devoured. He had gorged himself tonight. Five. He had surpassed Spike’s tally. His skin was almost warm to the touch and it had a very faint tinge of pink to it. Slayer blood. There was no way he could ever go back to pig’s blood again. He was ruined for anything else. Hell, regular human blood paled against this stuff. Adding to the fact that killing these girls was like shooting fish in a barrel. His history with Buffy, and the child like awe they held him in, was making it a cake walk. They never suspected a thing. He was all soulful. He couldn’t hurt anyone because of that.
What a bunch of crap. These slayers were living in some fantasy world. All they had to do was look around them and they would see many examples of atrocities done by people who claimed that they were good. AND had souls. It didn’t stop them.
Why should it make a difference when you are a vampire? If anything he had constant urging to do evil things with no incentives to keep him in line. It wasn’t as if he would go to heaven or that he had to worry about any of that drivel. After signing the contract with Wolfram & Hart he had effectively bought Connor a new life. At the cost of his soul. The Circle of the Black Thorn had taken away his last hope of redemption when he had signed away the shanshu. Then add it to the fact that Cordelia was dead. And Buffy his one true, eternal love was being claimed in front of God and everyone by a vampire that he had always just tolerated. Barely. Now he hated him with all that he possessed. They were going to pay. The first part of his plan was in place. He had to move fast. Dawn would be in a couple hours.
He brought the bodies from where he stashed them taking care to avoid the patrolling slayers. He had to get this just right. The moon was obscured by clouds when he placed them in the circle of the sacred stones. He arranged the bodies in an intricate pentagram. Entwining limbs and weaving bindweed, nightshade and hemlock around the corpses to form a symbol of summoning. Placing five black candles at the points of the pentagram he enclosed the whole area with a thick ring of salt. Spreading sulphur over the dead slayers he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Everything was perfectly positioned. It was time to start. He lit the candles and started the incantation. There was no going back.
“Coorior, consurgio Cerebrus. Ferio meus carptum. Fidem praestare ad me. Accingo consumo abnocto. Coorior, consurgio Cerebrus”
As the last word left his lips the flames flickered and the burned brightly. He leaned over the perimeter of salt barrier and vomited blood all over the corpses. The smell of the sulphur and the rich blood mingling made Angel want to cover his mouth and nose. He watched expectantly as the earth shuddered and the candles tipped inward lighting the bodies on fire.
They burned brighter than a midsummer's eve bonfire. The magical flames consuming everything in its path. The smoke that swirled up solidified into snarling and snapping beast with two heads.
Margaret sat straight up in bed her mouth open in a silent scream. The wound in the earth that had hit her all of a sudden was enormous. She could hear the cries of rest of the Coven. She tried to get out of bed and fell to the floor weak and useless. She had felt so sick. The sacred stones. Something had happened. Something foul.
She opened her mouth to scream out a warning to her guests and a stream of black viscous blood shot forth. Terrified she tried to stop it. Gagging she crawled into the bathroom where she hastily lit a white candle of protection and held onto a large stone of hematite. Fighting back the onslaught of another round of nausea she tried to think what could have happened. There had been no attempt on the property walls. No attack. So it had to be from the inside.
Desperate to warn them she tried to move and was overcome with sickness. She retched up a thousand flies and they started to bite her wherever they landed. She huddled back under the meager protection of the candle and pulled down the shower curtain to wrap around herself. Fighting off another wave...
Willow bolted upright her eyes wide and staring. Her pupils dilated to shown nothing of the iris. Giles had been watching her sleep upon the pile of books in front of her and quickly reached down to steady her. He had felt it too. Whatever had happened had been big. Wolfram & Hart had finally made their move.
At the touch of Giles’ hand on her shoulder. A warm glow spread through her that counteracted the black coldness that had woken her from her sleep. Her eyes slowly lost that look. “Giles,” she said tentatively, “what happened?”
“It seem as if we are under attack. Hurry we must get ready to defend ourselves.”
Dawn had finally left the room and went to her room to go to bed. She planned on sleeping in tomorrow. All day.
Buffy looked at Spike with all the pent up passion in her eyes. He was so beautiful inside. She wanted to kiss him and found herself in his arms in the next second. “Don’t I have any control around you?”
“Let’s hope not...” Spike said laughing. Lowering his lips to hers. Savoring the moment just before his lips touched hers. He couldn’t believe that she was here in his arms. He was overcome by his need for her. He had to get her out of this room and into his. He tugged her towards the hallway. She melted into his arms. Smiling sweetly.
Screams filled the air. Spike whirled crouching into a battle stance. Buffy standing at the ready next to him. Slayers poured out of their rooms in various states of dress. While witches crawled out of their rooms trying to escape the pulsating pain that was lancing through them. Several of them were vomiting blood.
Spike was revolted by the stench. The blood shooting out of their mouth was foul. Bitter black blood. Dead and congealed. “What the bloody hell is going on here Buffy?”
“I don’t know...” She motioned to some of her girls. “Stay with the coven and try to help them as best you can. I’m going to go get Giles. He’ll know what is going on.”
One of the witches gasped out, “Find Margaret. She’ll know...” Her shoulders heaved as she was racked by another round of heaving.
Buffy nodded to the girls and grabbed Spikes hand. “Let’s go...”
A/N: Let me state that I am a complete ass for picking a full cast crossover story line for my first fic. This is taking forever. I just can’t skip over anything. Thank you for sticking in there and reviewing. I really appreciate it.
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