Family Reunion Part 3
Mar. 16th, 2007 07:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapinglightThe next part. For rating/setting/pairings etc see Part 1. This part contains some non-graphic gruesomeness. Vampires will be vampires.
Family Reunion Part 3
Annabelle had a secret hiding place. She couldn't use it often, what with being on duty all day every day – only when Connor was napping and the trains were running. If they weren't, there was no pressure of air in the abandoned station to blow her scent away from the vampires and keep her hidden. She was crouching in it now – an air-vent that could be accessed from the old switch room on the eastbound platform. If you came out of the kitchen and walked left towards the tunnel instead of right to the stairway, the room was first on the left-hand side with an empty room beyond it. That further room had been done up as a guest bedroom when Dracula had come visiting and from her hidey-hole Annabelle could look through into it.
She could still hardly believe that she'd seen Dracula with her very own eyes, though he hadn't looked anything like she'd imagined. He was a lot younger for one thing, with long black hair – a bit like Marilyn Manson.
Spike had laughed when she'd said that to him. "The old twat's just as much of a drama queen," he'd said.
Annabelle chewed a ragged fingernail and looked at her watch. She was supposed to be warming a cup of milk for Connor so she only had another five minutes at the most before someone came looking for her. It was good to be alone even for such a short time, cocooned in this small space with the illusion of a safe refuge. Sometimes, she imagined just staying in the vent. She imagined the vampires fanning out through the station to search for her and sometimes – if she imagined very well – they didn't find her and once the current was switched off at night, she somehow got through the locked door out onto the track and away into the tunnels, making it to Green Park before anybody caught her.
The first thing she'd do, she thought, would be to phone Harry at Sandhurst and tell him everything and then the army would come down into the Underground and flush the vampires out. She wouldn't care, she thought, not even about Spike and Erroll. It didn't matter if they were mostly kind to her.
She did sometimes wonder what would happen to Connor but couldn't raise much interest because he frightened her too much. He'd be taken into care, she supposed.
She thought of the children she'd looked after during her probationary period. They hadn't been particularly nice children – in fact, one of them had been a little horror. However, at least they were normal – at least they acted like children were supposed to act. Anyone trained at Norland College could deal with them, even someone like her who wasn't really cut out to be a nanny - who was just biding their time until something better came along.
Because something would have, she'd always known it. Right from when she'd been very young she'd had a feeling of being different – of being better somehow. The fact that she was bad at everything at school except games hadn't changed her mind either. After all, it wasn't as if she hadn't tried. She just couldn't remember things unless they were all written down and right in front of her. Not everyone could be good at exams.
Maybe she should have joined the army too, she'd often thought – straight from school like Harry. She didn't know why her parents hadn't let her because after all, it wasn't as if they wanted her around at home. One of her most lasting childhood memories was of sneaking downstairs after bedtime to fetch a forgotten toy, only to overhear her parents talking in the drawing room.
"Oh do buck up, Fiona," Daddy had said. "It's supposed to be an honour according to old Wyndam-Pryce."
"What does he know?" Mother had sounded like she was crying. "He hasn't got a daughter, has he?"
There'd been the clink of bottles and glasses and then Daddy went on, sarcastically, "Another gin'll make it all better, I suppose," and Mother's voice, "It certainly won't bloody hurt. Why can't you just leave me alone?"
They'd separated soon afterwards, Annabelle remembered, and somehow or other, she'd known it was all her fault – probably because they'd become so distant, as if they were afraid to care about her, though both of them spent loads of money on her – spoilt her rotten. She still didn't understand it.
Now she felt a vibration through the ground beneath her. A train was coming, which meant it was a good time to crawl out of her refuge before she got into trouble. Carefully, she twisted her body round in the enclosed space and exited the vent back into the switch room. The whole place was shaking now as the train tore through the abandoned station at full speed and she took the opportunity to slip out into the bricked up corridor that ran along the platform edge and make her way to the kitchen. Through the grilles in the wall, she could see the lights of the train passing and she thought of all the oblivious people on it, going home to friends and family. It wasn't fair! She hadn't asked for this.
She wiped the incipient tears from her eyes – because she'd long since learned not to show any unnecessary weakness – and opened the kitchen door.
"Well, well, what brings you here, Belle?" Spike was sitting with his chair tipped back on its hind legs and his feet up on the table, reading the evening paper.
"Connor wants some milk," she said, quickly. "I've just come to fetch it."
He glanced up at her through long lashes. "Yeah? Come to think of it, the rugrat did mention it when I last saw him – twenty minutes ago."
She went to the fridge and opened it. Her hand was shaking as she took out the carton of milk and poured some into Connor's special mug with the cartoon monsters on it.
"I needed some air," she said, knowing it sounded lame. "I just went for a walk along the corridor and back."
"Short bloody walk." He was staring at her now and unnervingly his eyes didn't blink at all.
"I watched the trains going by for a bit." Her heart was thumping nineteen-to-the-dozen and she knew enough about vampires now to know he could hear it. It took all her courage to turn her back on him and put the milk to warm in the microwave and when she looked up, he was standing right beside her and she screamed.
Instantly, his hand was over her mouth and nose, and at the same time another train went by. The floor shook, the cups rattled on the shelf, and that hard hand was smothering the life out of her. She struggled, but he caught both her hands in one of his and pinned her easily. She could feel her face going red and struggled harder and this time, he let go.
"Milk's ready," he said, as the sound of the train receded into the distance and the microwave pinged behind them.
She was panting and her legs were shaking. He'd never done anything like that to her before – hardly touched her up to now. His face – his beautiful face with the crown of white hair – was smiling cruelly.
"Don't piss me off just now, Belle," he said. "I've got a lot on my mind."
"I'm sorry." It was the only thing she could think of to say. He leaned in close to her, sniffing her all over, a predator with its prey, and one hand brushed down the length of her body, ghosting over a nipple in passing.
"Hard," he said, and he sounded amused. "Fucking typical – and the smell – that's something special, Belle, I'll tell you – should be a way to have it bottled."
Abruptly, he was gone again, across the room and out of the door with a sort of whoosh of displaced air. He gestured to the abandoned newspaper as he went and said, "No one's looking for you, Belle. You're stuck with us, you might as well get used to it."
The door closed behind him and her legs gave out at the same time. She sat down at the table and put her head in her hands and as she did so, she saw what he'd been reading. It was a tiny article on an inside page, with a blurry picture that she had trouble recognising as herself in her Norland College uniform.
Still no trace of missing nanny
Police say that all leads in the mysterious disappearance of Annabelle Gieves-Bowen have dried up. 19 year old Annabelle was in her probationary year as a nanny after graduating from the prestigious Norland College. She disappeared from her employer's home in Richmond six months ago and has not been seen since. Police believe that, after all this time, it is very unlikely that Miss Gieves-Bowen will be found alive.
Annabelle read the article through twice before she could make herself understand it fully. When she finally did, she took a deep breath and got to her feet. Her knees were shaking but she picked up the cup of milk and held it carefully. For a moment, she stared down into the white liquid with unseeing eyes but then she blinked the tears away and followed Spike from the room. It wasn't like it was real news, after all. She'd known for some time that she'd die down here and this just proved it.
*
Twenty minutes after the current was switched off, Erroll came strolling back through the tunnel from the direction of Piccadilly Circus. He had the unconscious body of a young man slung over his shoulders. The youth's long, ginger hair hung down over his face, concealing it.
Spike opened the door in the brick wall and let Erroll back in to the abandoned station. They stood listening for a moment but there was total silence in all directions. The air was hot and stagnant now there was no wind in the tunnels to move it around.
"Where'd you find him?" Spike pushed the young man's hair aside to get a better look at him and grimaced with distaste at his undernourished appearance – the sores around his mouth.
"King's Cross." Erroll grinned. King's Cross was a good hunting ground, like all the mainline stations. "Down from Glasgow, I think he said –couldn't make him out at all – should've taken an interpreter."
"Bloody foreigners, 'ey?" Spike laughed and Erroll joined him. "Druggie?"
"Looks like," Erroll agreed. "Not much meat on him for sure, so any dosh he had, he's not spendin' it on food."
They began walking in the direction of the meat locker, which was the furthest room along on the eastbound platform – once the old signalling equipment room, now kept cool with small portable refrigeration units.
"We're running low." Spike opened the door and took stock of the contents. They were down to a couple of almost-drained victims, barely alive, and now just this ginger freak. The room needed hosing down as well. Currently, it stank of urine.
"Hunting'll be better come summer." Erroll, as ever, was the optimist. He set about stripping the unconscious boy, revealing fish-pale flesh dusted with freckles. "Well, look at that," he said. "A natural red-head."
Spike snorted with amusement. It was true. He watched while Erroll strung the limp body up in chains. It was tempting to snatch a bite to eat there and then but it was always more fun to wait until they woke up and could appreciate it. Besides, the boy would taste better if they hung him for a while to let the drugs flush out of his system.
The two vampires contented themselves with finishing off one of the previous victims - some skinny little Gypsy tart – one of these so-called bogus asylum-seekers - though she was so far gone it wasn't a very satisfying meal. Spike was glad he'd had a snack earlier down at Piccadilly.
"Dunno how the Mistress can stomach a diet like this," Erroll said, when they were finished. "Maybe you should take her out, Spike – get her some untainted meat for a change?"
"It's not like I haven't offered." Spike scowled at Erroll and Erroll subsided. He'd wanted to take Darla above-ground ever since they'd come here but she wouldn't budge – said it wasn't safe for Connor to go with them and wasn't safe to leave him here, and Spike supposed she had a point.
"Fancy a drink, mate?" He waved Erroll in the direction of the kitchen, which was empty now except for them. Annabelle's scent still lingered in the room – the smell of fear, Spike thought, pleased – and the newspaper still lay open on the table. Erroll read the article and frowned.
"You really think they've given up lookin' for her?" he asked.
Spike shrugged. "Couldn't say. It doesn't seem likely, what with her being what she is. Was always a risk, mate, nabbing someone like that as the rugrat's nanny but the Mistress – well, she insisted on the best and that's what we got her. She's already lasted twice as long as any of the others. Stamina, see."
He unlocked the cupboard above the sink and brought out the bottle of Jack and two glasses. Erroll had been a teetotaller when he was alive – a regular churchgoer too – now he tossed back the alcohol with relish and wiped his hand across his mouth.
"Good," he said. "Okay, boss – about this Angelus bloke – that's what you wanna talk about, innit?"
"Yeah." Spike slumped a little in his chair. "He arrives at Heathrow in two days' time – tranked up to the eyeballs and flying cargo as per instructions, which'll hopefully knock the stuffing out of him."
Erroll nodded. His face had gone serious. "Ravi can borrow her uncle's van again and we'll transport him up top – closed coffin -bring him down the stairs after dark, like before with Dracula."
Spike lit a cigarette. "That sounds all right – and be bloody sure you do a full body cavity search while he's still out of it– wouldn't put it past the bastard to try to sneak a weapon in here in spite of his promises – in fact, I'd expect it." He tipped his chair onto its back legs again and put his boots on the table. "Ravi's uncle still hasn't twigged?"
Ravinder's uncle thought she'd run away from home to be with Erroll – a relationship that her parents would most definitely disapprove of – and he had no idea she was a vampire now. There was no accounting, Spike often thought, for the human ability to see what it wanted to see.
"He's all right." Erroll grinned, showing big white teeth. "He bought the story 'bout us hook, line an' sinker – doesn't like me but he promised not to say nothin' and so far, he's kept his word."
"Bet she can twist him round her little finger." Spike remembered his earlier thoughts about Ravinder. "Keep an eye on her," he said, to Erroll. "She may be my child – your sister – but she's asking for trouble if she crosses me again."
"She won't." Erroll spoke hastily. "She's learned her lesson, Spike – I'll keep her in line."
"You do that. She's bloody useful."
Spike took another drag on his cigarette and shut his eyes. He was tired, though that was a permanent state of affairs these days, what with living such unsocial hours and the endless noise of the passing trains. For a moment, he considered going to bed, burrowing down under the cool linen with Darla – maybe even waking her up and reminding her of just how pissed off he was. She'd probably love it, though – and that was the bloody problem.
He opened his eyes again to see Erroll watching him unblinkingly, waiting. Spike let his gaze drift over the broad dark face with its full mouth – the softly biteable lower lip. He stubbed out his cigarette and got to his feet. Then he walked round the table and sat down astride Erroll's lap. At once, two huge hands had grabbed his arse and were squeezing his buttocks together through the rough denim, and when Spike bent down to kiss him, Erroll's mouth was open and ready, tasting of JD and blood.
When Spike let go, the big man held him still, one hand undoing his belt and flies while the other gripped him tight at the hip.
"Poor little white boy," Erroll said, his voice thick with excitement. "Can see what you need."
"Gonna give it to me, then?" Spike pulled away a little, drawing Erroll to his feet and out the door in the direction of the so-called guest room. In the normal way of things, he didn't mind being caught in flagrante but the thought of that uppity bitch Ravinder seeing him grabbing his ankles for Erroll didn't exactly thrill him. She was too full of herself already.
The room was bare and smelt a little dank and the bed where Dracula had slept on his visit had been stripped down but not remade. They undressed quickly and then Spike let Erroll take him – fast, brutal, with only spit for lube. He let Erroll push his face into the pillow – hold him down and fuck him hard, until his skin tore – bite his shoulder and drink his blood. It reminded him of Angelus and of what a bastard he'd been– and that was the whole point of this encounter.
After all, it was one thing to be handled like a piece of meat and then afterwards to lie with the rough wire of Erroll's hair in his face, the musky scent in his nostrils, while he gave his child a luxurious blowjob and to know that afterwards Erroll would return the favour. It was quite another, though, when you ended up doing the sucking and the being fucked and got nothing back except a quick, rough fisting, which was how most of his nights with Angelus had gone, unless the tosser had some kind of special agenda.
God, he thought. What a selfish bastard the old man had been!
Spike stretched, arching his body to drive his cock further down Erroll's throat, his hands in the big man's hair, caressing and encouraging. He was close and getting closer, but something was distracting him – a familiar scent lingering somewhere it shouldn't be. Suddenly, he had it, and he smiled to himself. He kept his eyes fixed on the thick iron grille down at floor level that covered the air vent, imagining the girl still there watching, as finally, with a sigh of exhausted release, he came in Erroll's mouth.
*
"Is everything arranged?"
Darla was filing her nails, her back to the door, when Spike entered their bedroom. He glanced at the closed door beyond, where Connor slept with his nanny. The girl might actually be asleep by now if she'd got over her earlier shock, but Spike was as certain as he'd ever been of anything that Connor would be awake and listening.
The kid gave him the creeps – had done since he'd first set eyes on him.
"Yeah." He didn't bother being polite. He wasn't in the mood. Instead, he stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and got into bed, turning his back on Darla and staring at the wall. The plaster was crumbling a little down in one corner and there was dust on the floor. He'd have to get someone to come and clean up a bit.
"Don't sulk, William," Darla said. "It doesn't suit you."
"Not sulking." He knew that he was. "Just fucking tired, that's all."
He felt the mattress depress as she got into bed beside him. Then she leant over him, inhaling his scent. He hadn't bothered to wash.
"I observe you've been indulging your latest obsession." She laughed – the bitch! – and he rolled over and glared at her. "Yeah, well, sometimes a man needs to get his end away without losing his balls first – fucking cunt!"
She looked coolly amused by his outburst. "Dear me," she said. "You are still in a tear. I told you, Spike, I've no intention of taking Angel back as my lover. I don't want him, and I don't want Angelus either."
Her hand was on his shoulder, dainty and cold – and yet he'd seen that same hand rip out a man's entrails while he still lived.
"Don't want him coming between me and you, that's all," he muttered, trying to be gracious. "Don't want him coming between me and Connor."
At mention of the boy's name, her face grew serious. "That won't happen," she said, and he wondered how she could be so certain.
"Kid is human," he ventured, "or at least, sort of. Stands to reason he'll want to know his real dad."
"No it doesn't!" Her eyes had that wild look in them now that he recognised all too well. He'd seen it every day for a hundred years, though not in her face but in someone else's. "As far as I'm concerned, William, you are Connor's father. At least, you're all the father he needs. And after this, Angel will know that too."
"That won't make him give up." Maybe, he thought, it wasn't yet too late to make her see sense. "He wouldn't sodding care if the kid thought he was Satan Incarnate. He'd still take him if he got the chance."
"Let him try," she said, then, and she smiled – that icy smile that made her look like her sire and that sent shivers down his spine. He took her hand in his and kissed it, staring straight into eyes green as a stormy sea.
"Mistress," he said. "I am but your humble fucking servant," and he grinned when she clipped him round the ear for swearing then wrestled him down and began to work her magic. She was up to something, he'd realised – something he wasn't privy to. He ought to have remembered that capacity of hers to surprise him. After all, it wasn't as if it'd be the first time in the last five years, would it?
*
"Brought us dinner, have you?"
Spike didn't know how Darla had tracked them down – didn't know how she was even here on this earth at all– but he hid his surprise as well as he could. He'd learned years ago it didn't do to show weakness in front of her, so he blustered to his feet, naked as he was, and leered.
She stood in the open doorway, through which wafted the stink of the overflowing latrines along the passage and rotting fruit from the flyblown marketplace below. The white-wrapped bundle she held in her arms wriggled a little and feeble mewling sounds issued from it.
"Wanna toss a coin for first dibs?" Spike grinned, gesturing towards the infant, and was taken aback at her answer. Her face changed at once, becoming ridged and fanged and hideous –the family resemblance with her sire was unmistakeable - and she stepped into the room, slamming the rickety door behind her.
"I need your help," she said, "and if you lay a finger on my child, I'll kill you, William – but first of all – I'm warning you – I'll kill her."
Spike had realised then that Drusilla was awake in the bed behind him, sitting up and holding the greyish-coloured sheets up to her pointed chin. She opened her mouth as if to speak but no words came out. Instead her eyes were fixed, as his had been, on the baby Darla held in her arms.
"It's him!" she said then, her voice edged with hysteria, and with a cry of horror she pulled the sheet up over her face and began to scream and scream as if she would never stop.
"Dru!" Spike forgot about Darla and her crazy words immediately. He grabbed hold of Drusilla, pulled her into his arms and tried to soothe her. She'd been jumpy the last few days anyway, rejecting all his gifts and going out to kill on her own, recklessly and with no heed for her own safety. When Spike had remonstrated with her, she'd laughed at him and told him she wanted to play while she still could – while there was still time. He hadn't known what she meant of course, but that was nothing new.
"Shut her up, William."
Darla had moved further into the room. The child in her arms was crying louder now, as if in sympathy with Drusilla's screams.
"Dru!" Spike shook her again. He tore the sheet away from her and saw that she too had gone into vampire face, the delicate ridges of her true features distorted somehow, as if she were having some kind of fit. She was rigid in his arms, her whole body shaking, and still the terrible noise went on, as of an animal in its death-throes.
He glanced worriedly towards the door. The sound of a woman screaming might not raise much interest in this part of Juarez in the normal way of things but he couldn't take any chances. Nerving himself up, he drew his fist back and hit Drusilla as hard as he could, once, twice and then a third time. She went limp in his arms and he laid her down on the bed. After that, he had to wipe the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand.
"God, I'm so sorry, princess!" He straightened her twisted limbs as well as he was able and covered her with the sheet. Her face was human again, a massive purple bruise blooming on one cheek. She looked pale and wasted as a flower in January.
Spike turned back to Darla. She was rocking the baby in her arms impatiently while it continued to wail. It sounded hungry to Spike's unpractised ears and he wondered why she didn't just kill the brat and put it out of its misery.
"What the fuck is going on?" He glared at her while he pulled on his jeans and t-shirt. They smelt of sweat but then there'd been no water for the last two days so he couldn't do much about it.
"I need your help," she said again. "I need you to find us somewhere safe to hide. There are people – things – after me, and they won't stop looking until they find me."
"What things? And what's with the kid? Emergency rations, is it?"
"What? No!" She'd bristled up again and was managing to look quite formidable in spite of her lack of height and her dainty floral dress. "He's mine, William. My very own – that's why they're chasing me."
He shook his head. That was the last thing he needed, he thought – another crazy woman to take care of. But she seemed to be expecting that reaction because she went on at once: "I know you think I'm mad and maybe you're right but he is mine, and what's more Angel is his father."
He'd had to sit down then. His legs had suddenly gone all weak at the knees and he'd been seized by an uncontrollable urge to laugh. Soon, he was holding his aching sides and his face was awash with tears of laughter. Darla didn't try to hide the irritation she felt at his reaction but at the same time she put the squirming bundle down on the floor carefully – so very carefully. The next moment, she'd hiked up her dress and Spike found himself staring at her slightly rounded belly, across which, above the public region, a thin red line could be clearly seen. It was a precise, surgical cut – healing already but obviously deep when it had been inflicted.
"They cut me open," Darla said, and there was a note of wonder in her voice. "I'd tried to get rid of the baby so many times while I was carrying him and it never worked but when the right time came, suddenly they were able to do it."
She let her dress fall back into place and picked the baby up again. It was still crying feebly. "That's when I knew they were right. He is special, and nothing can be allowed to harm him."
Spike had stopped laughing. He was staring at her. Abruptly, he realised his mouth was hanging open and he shut it with a snap. Then he got up and advanced on her – carefully, he didn't want to spook her – and bent his head and sniffed at the baby and then at her.
"Fuck me," he said, finally. He'd known ever since he became a vampire that while sight and sound might deceive you, a scent once known was unmistakeable. She was telling the truth, no matter how impossible it sounded.
He was surprised at his first reaction, which was a bitter pang of jealousy flooding through his body like poison, at the knowledge that once again, Angelus had been able to do something that he, Spike – along with all the other vampires in the world – couldn't. Bastard!
"Fuck you?" Darla was saying. "It's not outside the bounds of possibility, William, but first my baby needs some milk."
He swallowed down his hunger, because he could smell the child's blood pumping just under its thin skin – evidence, if any were needed, of its startling humanity.
"You don't – " he said, then swallowed again, embarrassed. "You can't –"
"Of course I can't," she said, impatiently. "I'm a vampire, William – same as you. My body is clinically dead. It can't produce milk any more than it could give birth naturally. Besides, it's disgusting." She made a face.
"Right, right," he said, though he didn't think it was at all as obvious as she seemed to. "There's a drugstore a few blocks away. Should be able to get what you need, yeah?"
"Good." She sat down on the bed, nursing the baby in her arms and now it seemed she had eyes for nothing else. "Go get it then, William."
"Spike," he said. "It's Spike now – and if you want me to run errands for you, I'll thank you to remember it."
Her face was human again by this time and when he spoke, she raised her head with a startled expression and suddenly she seemed very vulnerable. God, she was beautiful, he thought – even more so than he remembered.
"I'm sorry," she said, and she at least managed to sound sincere, "Spike – that's what I meant."
He shrugged into his duster, giving Dru a worried look. What the hell had just happened to her? Then he set off, closing the door behind him. Out in the smelly passage, he suddenly remembered about the lack of water. You needed water to make up baby formula, he knew that much, and besides, how were they to boil it?
His hand was actually on the door handle to go back and tell her forget it, when he thought of something – the woman from across the way – the prostitute with the young baby. Why bother stealing all that baby-feeding paraphernalia when you could get the milk on tap? Of course, it'd be kidnapping and murder but then he was as good at covering his tracks as the next vampire when he wanted to be and something told him the fewer people who knew about this miraculous baby the better.
TBC
Notes:
Sandhurst: British army officers' training academy (like Westpoint, only a lot older)
Norland College: a rather posh nannny's training school in Bath (and the pupils really do wear the uniform, as later described).
King's Cross: one of London's many mainline stations where trains arrive from the north
Family Reunion Part 3
Annabelle had a secret hiding place. She couldn't use it often, what with being on duty all day every day – only when Connor was napping and the trains were running. If they weren't, there was no pressure of air in the abandoned station to blow her scent away from the vampires and keep her hidden. She was crouching in it now – an air-vent that could be accessed from the old switch room on the eastbound platform. If you came out of the kitchen and walked left towards the tunnel instead of right to the stairway, the room was first on the left-hand side with an empty room beyond it. That further room had been done up as a guest bedroom when Dracula had come visiting and from her hidey-hole Annabelle could look through into it.
She could still hardly believe that she'd seen Dracula with her very own eyes, though he hadn't looked anything like she'd imagined. He was a lot younger for one thing, with long black hair – a bit like Marilyn Manson.
Spike had laughed when she'd said that to him. "The old twat's just as much of a drama queen," he'd said.
Annabelle chewed a ragged fingernail and looked at her watch. She was supposed to be warming a cup of milk for Connor so she only had another five minutes at the most before someone came looking for her. It was good to be alone even for such a short time, cocooned in this small space with the illusion of a safe refuge. Sometimes, she imagined just staying in the vent. She imagined the vampires fanning out through the station to search for her and sometimes – if she imagined very well – they didn't find her and once the current was switched off at night, she somehow got through the locked door out onto the track and away into the tunnels, making it to Green Park before anybody caught her.
The first thing she'd do, she thought, would be to phone Harry at Sandhurst and tell him everything and then the army would come down into the Underground and flush the vampires out. She wouldn't care, she thought, not even about Spike and Erroll. It didn't matter if they were mostly kind to her.
She did sometimes wonder what would happen to Connor but couldn't raise much interest because he frightened her too much. He'd be taken into care, she supposed.
She thought of the children she'd looked after during her probationary period. They hadn't been particularly nice children – in fact, one of them had been a little horror. However, at least they were normal – at least they acted like children were supposed to act. Anyone trained at Norland College could deal with them, even someone like her who wasn't really cut out to be a nanny - who was just biding their time until something better came along.
Because something would have, she'd always known it. Right from when she'd been very young she'd had a feeling of being different – of being better somehow. The fact that she was bad at everything at school except games hadn't changed her mind either. After all, it wasn't as if she hadn't tried. She just couldn't remember things unless they were all written down and right in front of her. Not everyone could be good at exams.
Maybe she should have joined the army too, she'd often thought – straight from school like Harry. She didn't know why her parents hadn't let her because after all, it wasn't as if they wanted her around at home. One of her most lasting childhood memories was of sneaking downstairs after bedtime to fetch a forgotten toy, only to overhear her parents talking in the drawing room.
"Oh do buck up, Fiona," Daddy had said. "It's supposed to be an honour according to old Wyndam-Pryce."
"What does he know?" Mother had sounded like she was crying. "He hasn't got a daughter, has he?"
There'd been the clink of bottles and glasses and then Daddy went on, sarcastically, "Another gin'll make it all better, I suppose," and Mother's voice, "It certainly won't bloody hurt. Why can't you just leave me alone?"
They'd separated soon afterwards, Annabelle remembered, and somehow or other, she'd known it was all her fault – probably because they'd become so distant, as if they were afraid to care about her, though both of them spent loads of money on her – spoilt her rotten. She still didn't understand it.
Now she felt a vibration through the ground beneath her. A train was coming, which meant it was a good time to crawl out of her refuge before she got into trouble. Carefully, she twisted her body round in the enclosed space and exited the vent back into the switch room. The whole place was shaking now as the train tore through the abandoned station at full speed and she took the opportunity to slip out into the bricked up corridor that ran along the platform edge and make her way to the kitchen. Through the grilles in the wall, she could see the lights of the train passing and she thought of all the oblivious people on it, going home to friends and family. It wasn't fair! She hadn't asked for this.
She wiped the incipient tears from her eyes – because she'd long since learned not to show any unnecessary weakness – and opened the kitchen door.
"Well, well, what brings you here, Belle?" Spike was sitting with his chair tipped back on its hind legs and his feet up on the table, reading the evening paper.
"Connor wants some milk," she said, quickly. "I've just come to fetch it."
He glanced up at her through long lashes. "Yeah? Come to think of it, the rugrat did mention it when I last saw him – twenty minutes ago."
She went to the fridge and opened it. Her hand was shaking as she took out the carton of milk and poured some into Connor's special mug with the cartoon monsters on it.
"I needed some air," she said, knowing it sounded lame. "I just went for a walk along the corridor and back."
"Short bloody walk." He was staring at her now and unnervingly his eyes didn't blink at all.
"I watched the trains going by for a bit." Her heart was thumping nineteen-to-the-dozen and she knew enough about vampires now to know he could hear it. It took all her courage to turn her back on him and put the milk to warm in the microwave and when she looked up, he was standing right beside her and she screamed.
Instantly, his hand was over her mouth and nose, and at the same time another train went by. The floor shook, the cups rattled on the shelf, and that hard hand was smothering the life out of her. She struggled, but he caught both her hands in one of his and pinned her easily. She could feel her face going red and struggled harder and this time, he let go.
"Milk's ready," he said, as the sound of the train receded into the distance and the microwave pinged behind them.
She was panting and her legs were shaking. He'd never done anything like that to her before – hardly touched her up to now. His face – his beautiful face with the crown of white hair – was smiling cruelly.
"Don't piss me off just now, Belle," he said. "I've got a lot on my mind."
"I'm sorry." It was the only thing she could think of to say. He leaned in close to her, sniffing her all over, a predator with its prey, and one hand brushed down the length of her body, ghosting over a nipple in passing.
"Hard," he said, and he sounded amused. "Fucking typical – and the smell – that's something special, Belle, I'll tell you – should be a way to have it bottled."
Abruptly, he was gone again, across the room and out of the door with a sort of whoosh of displaced air. He gestured to the abandoned newspaper as he went and said, "No one's looking for you, Belle. You're stuck with us, you might as well get used to it."
The door closed behind him and her legs gave out at the same time. She sat down at the table and put her head in her hands and as she did so, she saw what he'd been reading. It was a tiny article on an inside page, with a blurry picture that she had trouble recognising as herself in her Norland College uniform.
Annabelle read the article through twice before she could make herself understand it fully. When she finally did, she took a deep breath and got to her feet. Her knees were shaking but she picked up the cup of milk and held it carefully. For a moment, she stared down into the white liquid with unseeing eyes but then she blinked the tears away and followed Spike from the room. It wasn't like it was real news, after all. She'd known for some time that she'd die down here and this just proved it.
Twenty minutes after the current was switched off, Erroll came strolling back through the tunnel from the direction of Piccadilly Circus. He had the unconscious body of a young man slung over his shoulders. The youth's long, ginger hair hung down over his face, concealing it.
Spike opened the door in the brick wall and let Erroll back in to the abandoned station. They stood listening for a moment but there was total silence in all directions. The air was hot and stagnant now there was no wind in the tunnels to move it around.
"Where'd you find him?" Spike pushed the young man's hair aside to get a better look at him and grimaced with distaste at his undernourished appearance – the sores around his mouth.
"King's Cross." Erroll grinned. King's Cross was a good hunting ground, like all the mainline stations. "Down from Glasgow, I think he said –couldn't make him out at all – should've taken an interpreter."
"Bloody foreigners, 'ey?" Spike laughed and Erroll joined him. "Druggie?"
"Looks like," Erroll agreed. "Not much meat on him for sure, so any dosh he had, he's not spendin' it on food."
They began walking in the direction of the meat locker, which was the furthest room along on the eastbound platform – once the old signalling equipment room, now kept cool with small portable refrigeration units.
"We're running low." Spike opened the door and took stock of the contents. They were down to a couple of almost-drained victims, barely alive, and now just this ginger freak. The room needed hosing down as well. Currently, it stank of urine.
"Hunting'll be better come summer." Erroll, as ever, was the optimist. He set about stripping the unconscious boy, revealing fish-pale flesh dusted with freckles. "Well, look at that," he said. "A natural red-head."
Spike snorted with amusement. It was true. He watched while Erroll strung the limp body up in chains. It was tempting to snatch a bite to eat there and then but it was always more fun to wait until they woke up and could appreciate it. Besides, the boy would taste better if they hung him for a while to let the drugs flush out of his system.
The two vampires contented themselves with finishing off one of the previous victims - some skinny little Gypsy tart – one of these so-called bogus asylum-seekers - though she was so far gone it wasn't a very satisfying meal. Spike was glad he'd had a snack earlier down at Piccadilly.
"Dunno how the Mistress can stomach a diet like this," Erroll said, when they were finished. "Maybe you should take her out, Spike – get her some untainted meat for a change?"
"It's not like I haven't offered." Spike scowled at Erroll and Erroll subsided. He'd wanted to take Darla above-ground ever since they'd come here but she wouldn't budge – said it wasn't safe for Connor to go with them and wasn't safe to leave him here, and Spike supposed she had a point.
"Fancy a drink, mate?" He waved Erroll in the direction of the kitchen, which was empty now except for them. Annabelle's scent still lingered in the room – the smell of fear, Spike thought, pleased – and the newspaper still lay open on the table. Erroll read the article and frowned.
"You really think they've given up lookin' for her?" he asked.
Spike shrugged. "Couldn't say. It doesn't seem likely, what with her being what she is. Was always a risk, mate, nabbing someone like that as the rugrat's nanny but the Mistress – well, she insisted on the best and that's what we got her. She's already lasted twice as long as any of the others. Stamina, see."
He unlocked the cupboard above the sink and brought out the bottle of Jack and two glasses. Erroll had been a teetotaller when he was alive – a regular churchgoer too – now he tossed back the alcohol with relish and wiped his hand across his mouth.
"Good," he said. "Okay, boss – about this Angelus bloke – that's what you wanna talk about, innit?"
"Yeah." Spike slumped a little in his chair. "He arrives at Heathrow in two days' time – tranked up to the eyeballs and flying cargo as per instructions, which'll hopefully knock the stuffing out of him."
Erroll nodded. His face had gone serious. "Ravi can borrow her uncle's van again and we'll transport him up top – closed coffin -bring him down the stairs after dark, like before with Dracula."
Spike lit a cigarette. "That sounds all right – and be bloody sure you do a full body cavity search while he's still out of it– wouldn't put it past the bastard to try to sneak a weapon in here in spite of his promises – in fact, I'd expect it." He tipped his chair onto its back legs again and put his boots on the table. "Ravi's uncle still hasn't twigged?"
Ravinder's uncle thought she'd run away from home to be with Erroll – a relationship that her parents would most definitely disapprove of – and he had no idea she was a vampire now. There was no accounting, Spike often thought, for the human ability to see what it wanted to see.
"He's all right." Erroll grinned, showing big white teeth. "He bought the story 'bout us hook, line an' sinker – doesn't like me but he promised not to say nothin' and so far, he's kept his word."
"Bet she can twist him round her little finger." Spike remembered his earlier thoughts about Ravinder. "Keep an eye on her," he said, to Erroll. "She may be my child – your sister – but she's asking for trouble if she crosses me again."
"She won't." Erroll spoke hastily. "She's learned her lesson, Spike – I'll keep her in line."
"You do that. She's bloody useful."
Spike took another drag on his cigarette and shut his eyes. He was tired, though that was a permanent state of affairs these days, what with living such unsocial hours and the endless noise of the passing trains. For a moment, he considered going to bed, burrowing down under the cool linen with Darla – maybe even waking her up and reminding her of just how pissed off he was. She'd probably love it, though – and that was the bloody problem.
He opened his eyes again to see Erroll watching him unblinkingly, waiting. Spike let his gaze drift over the broad dark face with its full mouth – the softly biteable lower lip. He stubbed out his cigarette and got to his feet. Then he walked round the table and sat down astride Erroll's lap. At once, two huge hands had grabbed his arse and were squeezing his buttocks together through the rough denim, and when Spike bent down to kiss him, Erroll's mouth was open and ready, tasting of JD and blood.
When Spike let go, the big man held him still, one hand undoing his belt and flies while the other gripped him tight at the hip.
"Poor little white boy," Erroll said, his voice thick with excitement. "Can see what you need."
"Gonna give it to me, then?" Spike pulled away a little, drawing Erroll to his feet and out the door in the direction of the so-called guest room. In the normal way of things, he didn't mind being caught in flagrante but the thought of that uppity bitch Ravinder seeing him grabbing his ankles for Erroll didn't exactly thrill him. She was too full of herself already.
The room was bare and smelt a little dank and the bed where Dracula had slept on his visit had been stripped down but not remade. They undressed quickly and then Spike let Erroll take him – fast, brutal, with only spit for lube. He let Erroll push his face into the pillow – hold him down and fuck him hard, until his skin tore – bite his shoulder and drink his blood. It reminded him of Angelus and of what a bastard he'd been– and that was the whole point of this encounter.
After all, it was one thing to be handled like a piece of meat and then afterwards to lie with the rough wire of Erroll's hair in his face, the musky scent in his nostrils, while he gave his child a luxurious blowjob and to know that afterwards Erroll would return the favour. It was quite another, though, when you ended up doing the sucking and the being fucked and got nothing back except a quick, rough fisting, which was how most of his nights with Angelus had gone, unless the tosser had some kind of special agenda.
God, he thought. What a selfish bastard the old man had been!
Spike stretched, arching his body to drive his cock further down Erroll's throat, his hands in the big man's hair, caressing and encouraging. He was close and getting closer, but something was distracting him – a familiar scent lingering somewhere it shouldn't be. Suddenly, he had it, and he smiled to himself. He kept his eyes fixed on the thick iron grille down at floor level that covered the air vent, imagining the girl still there watching, as finally, with a sigh of exhausted release, he came in Erroll's mouth.
"Is everything arranged?"
Darla was filing her nails, her back to the door, when Spike entered their bedroom. He glanced at the closed door beyond, where Connor slept with his nanny. The girl might actually be asleep by now if she'd got over her earlier shock, but Spike was as certain as he'd ever been of anything that Connor would be awake and listening.
The kid gave him the creeps – had done since he'd first set eyes on him.
"Yeah." He didn't bother being polite. He wasn't in the mood. Instead, he stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and got into bed, turning his back on Darla and staring at the wall. The plaster was crumbling a little down in one corner and there was dust on the floor. He'd have to get someone to come and clean up a bit.
"Don't sulk, William," Darla said. "It doesn't suit you."
"Not sulking." He knew that he was. "Just fucking tired, that's all."
He felt the mattress depress as she got into bed beside him. Then she leant over him, inhaling his scent. He hadn't bothered to wash.
"I observe you've been indulging your latest obsession." She laughed – the bitch! – and he rolled over and glared at her. "Yeah, well, sometimes a man needs to get his end away without losing his balls first – fucking cunt!"
She looked coolly amused by his outburst. "Dear me," she said. "You are still in a tear. I told you, Spike, I've no intention of taking Angel back as my lover. I don't want him, and I don't want Angelus either."
Her hand was on his shoulder, dainty and cold – and yet he'd seen that same hand rip out a man's entrails while he still lived.
"Don't want him coming between me and you, that's all," he muttered, trying to be gracious. "Don't want him coming between me and Connor."
At mention of the boy's name, her face grew serious. "That won't happen," she said, and he wondered how she could be so certain.
"Kid is human," he ventured, "or at least, sort of. Stands to reason he'll want to know his real dad."
"No it doesn't!" Her eyes had that wild look in them now that he recognised all too well. He'd seen it every day for a hundred years, though not in her face but in someone else's. "As far as I'm concerned, William, you are Connor's father. At least, you're all the father he needs. And after this, Angel will know that too."
"That won't make him give up." Maybe, he thought, it wasn't yet too late to make her see sense. "He wouldn't sodding care if the kid thought he was Satan Incarnate. He'd still take him if he got the chance."
"Let him try," she said, then, and she smiled – that icy smile that made her look like her sire and that sent shivers down his spine. He took her hand in his and kissed it, staring straight into eyes green as a stormy sea.
"Mistress," he said. "I am but your humble fucking servant," and he grinned when she clipped him round the ear for swearing then wrestled him down and began to work her magic. She was up to something, he'd realised – something he wasn't privy to. He ought to have remembered that capacity of hers to surprise him. After all, it wasn't as if it'd be the first time in the last five years, would it?
"Brought us dinner, have you?"
Spike didn't know how Darla had tracked them down – didn't know how she was even here on this earth at all– but he hid his surprise as well as he could. He'd learned years ago it didn't do to show weakness in front of her, so he blustered to his feet, naked as he was, and leered.
She stood in the open doorway, through which wafted the stink of the overflowing latrines along the passage and rotting fruit from the flyblown marketplace below. The white-wrapped bundle she held in her arms wriggled a little and feeble mewling sounds issued from it.
"Wanna toss a coin for first dibs?" Spike grinned, gesturing towards the infant, and was taken aback at her answer. Her face changed at once, becoming ridged and fanged and hideous –the family resemblance with her sire was unmistakeable - and she stepped into the room, slamming the rickety door behind her.
"I need your help," she said, "and if you lay a finger on my child, I'll kill you, William – but first of all – I'm warning you – I'll kill her."
Spike had realised then that Drusilla was awake in the bed behind him, sitting up and holding the greyish-coloured sheets up to her pointed chin. She opened her mouth as if to speak but no words came out. Instead her eyes were fixed, as his had been, on the baby Darla held in her arms.
"It's him!" she said then, her voice edged with hysteria, and with a cry of horror she pulled the sheet up over her face and began to scream and scream as if she would never stop.
"Dru!" Spike forgot about Darla and her crazy words immediately. He grabbed hold of Drusilla, pulled her into his arms and tried to soothe her. She'd been jumpy the last few days anyway, rejecting all his gifts and going out to kill on her own, recklessly and with no heed for her own safety. When Spike had remonstrated with her, she'd laughed at him and told him she wanted to play while she still could – while there was still time. He hadn't known what she meant of course, but that was nothing new.
"Shut her up, William."
Darla had moved further into the room. The child in her arms was crying louder now, as if in sympathy with Drusilla's screams.
"Dru!" Spike shook her again. He tore the sheet away from her and saw that she too had gone into vampire face, the delicate ridges of her true features distorted somehow, as if she were having some kind of fit. She was rigid in his arms, her whole body shaking, and still the terrible noise went on, as of an animal in its death-throes.
He glanced worriedly towards the door. The sound of a woman screaming might not raise much interest in this part of Juarez in the normal way of things but he couldn't take any chances. Nerving himself up, he drew his fist back and hit Drusilla as hard as he could, once, twice and then a third time. She went limp in his arms and he laid her down on the bed. After that, he had to wipe the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand.
"God, I'm so sorry, princess!" He straightened her twisted limbs as well as he was able and covered her with the sheet. Her face was human again, a massive purple bruise blooming on one cheek. She looked pale and wasted as a flower in January.
Spike turned back to Darla. She was rocking the baby in her arms impatiently while it continued to wail. It sounded hungry to Spike's unpractised ears and he wondered why she didn't just kill the brat and put it out of its misery.
"What the fuck is going on?" He glared at her while he pulled on his jeans and t-shirt. They smelt of sweat but then there'd been no water for the last two days so he couldn't do much about it.
"I need your help," she said again. "I need you to find us somewhere safe to hide. There are people – things – after me, and they won't stop looking until they find me."
"What things? And what's with the kid? Emergency rations, is it?"
"What? No!" She'd bristled up again and was managing to look quite formidable in spite of her lack of height and her dainty floral dress. "He's mine, William. My very own – that's why they're chasing me."
He shook his head. That was the last thing he needed, he thought – another crazy woman to take care of. But she seemed to be expecting that reaction because she went on at once: "I know you think I'm mad and maybe you're right but he is mine, and what's more Angel is his father."
He'd had to sit down then. His legs had suddenly gone all weak at the knees and he'd been seized by an uncontrollable urge to laugh. Soon, he was holding his aching sides and his face was awash with tears of laughter. Darla didn't try to hide the irritation she felt at his reaction but at the same time she put the squirming bundle down on the floor carefully – so very carefully. The next moment, she'd hiked up her dress and Spike found himself staring at her slightly rounded belly, across which, above the public region, a thin red line could be clearly seen. It was a precise, surgical cut – healing already but obviously deep when it had been inflicted.
"They cut me open," Darla said, and there was a note of wonder in her voice. "I'd tried to get rid of the baby so many times while I was carrying him and it never worked but when the right time came, suddenly they were able to do it."
She let her dress fall back into place and picked the baby up again. It was still crying feebly. "That's when I knew they were right. He is special, and nothing can be allowed to harm him."
Spike had stopped laughing. He was staring at her. Abruptly, he realised his mouth was hanging open and he shut it with a snap. Then he got up and advanced on her – carefully, he didn't want to spook her – and bent his head and sniffed at the baby and then at her.
"Fuck me," he said, finally. He'd known ever since he became a vampire that while sight and sound might deceive you, a scent once known was unmistakeable. She was telling the truth, no matter how impossible it sounded.
He was surprised at his first reaction, which was a bitter pang of jealousy flooding through his body like poison, at the knowledge that once again, Angelus had been able to do something that he, Spike – along with all the other vampires in the world – couldn't. Bastard!
"Fuck you?" Darla was saying. "It's not outside the bounds of possibility, William, but first my baby needs some milk."
He swallowed down his hunger, because he could smell the child's blood pumping just under its thin skin – evidence, if any were needed, of its startling humanity.
"You don't – " he said, then swallowed again, embarrassed. "You can't –"
"Of course I can't," she said, impatiently. "I'm a vampire, William – same as you. My body is clinically dead. It can't produce milk any more than it could give birth naturally. Besides, it's disgusting." She made a face.
"Right, right," he said, though he didn't think it was at all as obvious as she seemed to. "There's a drugstore a few blocks away. Should be able to get what you need, yeah?"
"Good." She sat down on the bed, nursing the baby in her arms and now it seemed she had eyes for nothing else. "Go get it then, William."
"Spike," he said. "It's Spike now – and if you want me to run errands for you, I'll thank you to remember it."
Her face was human again by this time and when he spoke, she raised her head with a startled expression and suddenly she seemed very vulnerable. God, she was beautiful, he thought – even more so than he remembered.
"I'm sorry," she said, and she at least managed to sound sincere, "Spike – that's what I meant."
He shrugged into his duster, giving Dru a worried look. What the hell had just happened to her? Then he set off, closing the door behind him. Out in the smelly passage, he suddenly remembered about the lack of water. You needed water to make up baby formula, he knew that much, and besides, how were they to boil it?
His hand was actually on the door handle to go back and tell her forget it, when he thought of something – the woman from across the way – the prostitute with the young baby. Why bother stealing all that baby-feeding paraphernalia when you could get the milk on tap? Of course, it'd be kidnapping and murder but then he was as good at covering his tracks as the next vampire when he wanted to be and something told him the fewer people who knew about this miraculous baby the better.
TBC
Notes:
Sandhurst: British army officers' training academy (like Westpoint, only a lot older)
Norland College: a rather posh nannny's training school in Bath (and the pupils really do wear the uniform, as later described).
King's Cross: one of London's many mainline stations where trains arrive from the north