Family Reunion Part 10
Mar. 25th, 2007 10:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapinglightAt the risk of sounding like a tedious broken record, I'm still feeling pretty blah! and headachey. Will try and answer comments from yesterday later today, though currently can't stand looking at the computer for long.
This is the last part of the story. I was going to split it up into two parts but I decided that wasn't really doing it any favours so here's all the rest of it. Thanks to all of you for reading and commenting.
For rating/pairings/setting etc see Part 1. Previous parts are here.
As I said at the beginning, this is a very dark story.
Family Reunion Part 10
By the time Annabelle had carried Connor through to the eastbound platform, her arms were aching. She'd had to put the little boy down twice, he felt so heavy. Both times, he'd stirred and half-woken. The second time he'd called for his mother but then gone back to sleep. It was very weird - as was the total silence everywhere. Annabelle had never seen the station so deserted.
When she came through the archway at the bottom of the stairs, she stopped again, her heart in her mouth, but the solitary guard was slumped on the ground at his post outside Angel's cell, as dead to the world as Darla. After a moment, the pain in her arms propelled Annabelle forward. She felt a little more confident now. How he'd done it, she had no idea, but Angel had made all the vampires fall asleep. She nudged the guard with her foot and he sagged and keeled over sideways, loose-limbed and heavy.
"Mr Angel?" Annabelle knocked on the door timidly. At once, she heard a flurry of movement from inside the room and then she heard Angel's voice.
"The guards are asleep, aren't they?" he said. "Search them for the key and let me out."
"Okay." It seemed Angel still thought there were two of them. As carefully as she could, Annabelle deposited Connor on the cold concrete floor of the bricked-in corridor and began to go through the unconscious guard's pockets. She knew his name – Anwar - another Asian, or maybe he was Turkish – but he didn't impinge on her much, part of the amorphous pack of minions from which only Erroll and Ravinder had really stood out.
"Got it?" Angel asked, just as Annabelle pulled a key from Anwar's jeans pocket.
"Yes." Fumbling a little, Annabelle put the key in the lock. "It's open," she called and she bent to pick Connor up again.
"Let me." Angel had opened the door. Now he took the child from her, gathering him into his arms and holding him close. After a moment, Annabelle realised he was trying hard not to cry. She felt a lump in her own throat.
Angel gave the child one more convulsive hug, then he looked at Annabelle. "Miss Gieves-Bowen? Nice to meet you," and he actually stuck out his hand.
Annabelle shook it, though it felt weird to be shaking hands with a vampire. "I'll just put him down for a moment." Angel motioned with his chin towards Connor. "It's a good thing he's a heavy sleeper."
Annabelle followed him into the room. The air smelt of cigarettes. Spike, she saw, was lying sprawled on the bed, as fast asleep as the other vampires. There was a livid bruise on his jaw and chin. Angel walked over to the bed, lifted a foot and tipped Spike's body unceremoniously onto the floor. Then he laid Connor down on the bed in Spike's place and covered him with the blanket.
"He's not normally a heavy sleeper," Annabelle said, into the eerie silence. It was so quiet she could hear the light bulbs fizzling in their sockets. "Usually, he wakes up two or three times in the night or goes and climbs in bed with Darla. But now he keeps sort of half-waking up and then nodding off again. It's weird."
She stopped, aware she was babbling and that Angel was looking at her oddly.
"You don't feel sleepy?" he asked to her surprise, and when she shook her head, he looked stricken.
"It's not supposed to work on humans."
"What isn't?" Annabelle flinched as Angel suddenly turned and pounded his fist into the wall. The plaster cracked around the impact. "Didn't that hurt?" she asked, before she could stop herself.
Angel's knuckles were bleeding but he hardly seemed to notice. "It's a spell," he said. "One of my friends prepared it weeks back – Wesley - he'll be coming soon along with gun – " or he must have said 'a gun', mustn't he, Annabelle thought – "but it only works on vampires. I had the antidote of course. I was to trigger the spell only as a last resort - if I couldn't talk Darla round or get near enough to her to kill her– if I decided there was no other way of getting you and Connor out of here."
He drew a long, shuddering breath. "She called time on me this evening and I couldn't risk the two of you getting hurt in a fight so I felt I had no choice."
"Guns don't kill vampires," Annabelle said, stupidly. Then she realised what was bothering Angel. She looked at Connor, who was defiantly asleep in spite of their talking, and then she looked back at Angel.
"I'm sorry." She didn't know what else to say.
"It doesn't matter." Angel was licking his torn hand, dainty as a cat. "He still doesn't belong here – and it doesn't change what I'm gonna do to them." And he suddenly kicked Spike hard in the ribs, the limp body curling in around the blow and then going still again.
"Are there any weapons here?" Angel asked. "Anything made of wood?"
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he went out the door and started down the corridor with Annabelle trailing behind him. She didn’t want to be left on her own with Connor and besides, what if Spike woke up?
Angel went right to the end of the bricked-in corridor and opened the door to the meat locker before Annabelle could stop him. She'd never been through it herself but she knew all too well what was in there.
"Jesus!" Angel took a step back. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the mingled smell of human waste and blood that made Annabelle gag as she caught a whiff of it. Then he slammed the door shut again.
"Bloody idiot can't even keep a decent larder." Angel moved back towards Annabelle, opening the door to the room where the minions slept. She caught up with him and peered over his shoulder, then watched as he went through all the minions' pockets, searching for something. She could hear the white-noise hiss of the television, which never seemed to get turned off, but apart from that there was total and utter silence.
"Five of them." Angel abandoned his search. "Plus the guard. Guess the other guy went off duty. You see him in here, Miss Gieves-Bowen, because I sure don't, or that big black guy. Where's the hell have they gotten to? Are they guarding Darla?"
Annabelle had been thinking she ought to tell him to call her by her first name but after what he'd said, it didn't seem important any more. Suddenly, she was frantic.
"No," she said. "They aren't. And there're more minions than that. Spike must've sent them away when he sent Erroll?"
"Who's Erroll?" But Angel wasn't really listening. Instead, he shut the door again and moved on down the corridor and suddenly, he was moving much faster. Annabelle could hardly believe he didn't know who Erroll was. It seemed the minions weren't even faces to him.
She ran after him and caught him up at the door to the kitchen. Angel had picked up one of the cheap plastic chairs and she had to get out of his way as he went back down the corridor and wedged it under the doorknob of the minions' room.
"It won't hold them for long," he said, "but maybe it won't need to." He didn't really seem to be speaking to Annabelle but only to himself.
Back in the kitchen he opened drawers and cupboards, coming up empty-handed in his search for anything made of wood. Even the mop and broom were plastic. At last, he took the largest kitchen knife he could find off the hook by the microwave, brushed past Annabelle for the second time and went back towards his cell, stopping only a moment to search Anwar's slumped body again, seemingly finding nothing. Annabelle ran after him, terrified to be alone.
"What are you doing?" Even as she called out the question to Angel, Annabelle knew the answer to it. He meant to kill Spike and probably Darla too. "We ought to leave now," she protested, overcome by a rising sense of urgency. The missing minions bothered her a lot. She thought of them out in the tunnels and their numbers seemed to multiply in her imagination, swarming like rats in the dark. "We have to get away – please, while there's still time."
Angel didn't look back at her and by the time she reached the door to the guest room, he was kneeling astride Spike's limp body, pinioning it to the floor, and the edge of the knife had already cut a thin red gash in the pale skin of Spike's throat.
"One good push should do it," Angel said, still as if he was talking to himself. "Much quicker than the evil little shit deserves."
"Wait –" Annabelle didn't know why she said it, except that Angel was wasting too much time. It wasn't as if Spike had always been nice to her – she remembered the feel of his hard hand over her mouth, suffocating her, while his eyes, watching her ineffectual struggles, were as blank and cold as chips of sky-blue glass. She thought, too, of the Gravids and how sure she'd been that Spike would never turn her.
But in spite of that, "Please," she said, again. "Don't do it –there's no time. Let's just go while we can."
Suddenly, as if she'd somehow summoned him, Connor sat bolt upright on the bed, opened his eyes wide, and screamed. "You leave my papa alone!" Then he flung himself at Angel, beating at him with his small, impotent fists, and Angel had to stop putting pressure on the knife blade to ward the small boy off.
"Wait." Annabelle tried again, as Angel struggled to control the child. Connor was making too much noise and she was desperate to make him be quiet and for Angel to stop what he was doing and get them out of here. "If you want him to live with you, maybe it's best if he doesn't see you kill the person he thinks of as his father – I mean, I know how I'd feel – besides –" and this was what mattered the most –" - there's no time. We have to go."
"Bastard!" Connor screamed even louder. "I want Mama! Take me back to Mama!"
At last, Angel had to drop the knife altogether and Annabelle couldn't quite repress a tiny sigh of relief as he rose to his feet, holding Connor in his arms. "Okay, okay," he said. "I won't hurt him, Connor, I promise. It's okay now, son. Calm down, daddy's got you."
"You're not my dad!" Connor wriggled in Angel's grip like a fish on a hook but very slowly, he grew calmer. After a moment, he put his head down on Angel's shoulder, arms tight round his neck, and fell asleep again and this time, Angel kept hold of him.
"I meant to kill both of them," he said, to Annabelle. "Separate them – turn them against each other if I could – take them down one on one. They've spent all these years trying to hide from me, I didn't want to be doing the same with them."
"There's no time." Annabelle said again. She was sure of it. Spike had to have sent Erroll and the others away for a reason. She remembered, too, the look Darla and Spike had exchanged between them and that she had no idea what Darla had been up to while she'd been shut in her room waiting for the trains to stop. Maybe she'd sent the missing guard to fetch Erroll. "They've been expecting something like this ever since you arrived. We have to get away now."
Angel went back out into the corridor. He peered through one of the grilles in the brickwork out onto the empty track. There was total silence in both directions – no sign of anyone human or otherwise.
"Are your friends coming that way?" Annabelle asked, and, at Angel's nod, "Can't you break the door down? We could go outside and wait for them."
"Here, take him." Angel passed her Connor's limp body, set his shoulder to the door and began a rhythmic pounding. The whole bricked-in corridor seemed to reverberate to the blows but the door stayed stubbornly shut.
Angel gave up. He rubbed his shoulder. "It's too strong. You got a hairpin or something? Maybe I can pick the lock?"
Hairpin? Annabelle shook her head. Connor was getting heavy again and her arms ached.
"Spike might have the key in his pocket," she offered, but Angel didn't even bother going to look.
"He may be stupid but he's not that stupid – and the minions don't have it. Where would he have left it?"
"I don't know. He might've given it to Erroll." Annabelle heard her voice rise into a wail. They were going to be caught again. She knew they were.
"Here." Gently, Angel prised Connor out of her grip and settled him on his shoulder. "It's okay. My friends will be here soon. It's the nature of the spell – I trigger it and they get an instant bead on where I am and come running."
Annabelle realised a tear was slipping down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Sorry to be such a baby."
Angel patted her gently on the shoulder and somehow, the next thing she knew, she was being held close to him. His body was hard and his hand on her arm was large and cool and comforting. He reminded her of Harry.
"It must've been hell for you," he said, "living here with them."
Annabelle didn't trust herself to speak for a moment. She swallowed hard then she nodded.
"Mostly, though Spike and Erroll were nice sometimes. They protected me from Darla. She didn't like me at all."
"I guess she wouldn't." Angel was still hugging her but his eyes were fixed on the empty track outside. "She never could stand other women, except for maybe Dru. Besides, no vampire would want someone like you around. You'd be confusing – prey and predator all mixed up together. It's a mystery why they chose you if they had the least idea what you are."
"What do you mean?" Annabelle leaned into him harder. "Spike said only someone like me could put up with living down here without going mad."
"I mean -" Angel sounded surprised, "- because you're a potential Slayer. You know that, right?"
"No," Annabelle said. "I'm a nanny." Then, "What's a Slayer?"
At the same time as she said it, something seemed to stir in the dim recesses of her memory. She thought of that special girl – the one they'd taught her about at her first school. "Is it a girl?"
"Yeah, that's right." Angel was staring into the eastbound tunnel. "In every generation there is a Chosen One. She will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer." He intoned the words, like he was praying in church. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Wesley's father – that's old Mr Wyndam-Pryce – he said you'd been to the Watchers' Council school."
"What's a Watchers' Council?" But Angel didn't answer. He'd tensed up, staring out into the darkness.
"They're coming," he said," and they're not alone."
Annabelle listened but she couldn't hear anything. "How are they going to get us out?" she asked, but when she looked up at Angel, he was still staring - not even blinking once – and his eyes shone in the gloom like a cat's. Annabelle shuddered. For a moment, she'd forgotten what he was.
After a moment, when she still couldn't hear anything, she tugged on his arm. "How long till your spell wears off?"
Angel didn't look at her. "Not long," he said, in a distant voice. "Magic doesn't work so well down here – and it doesn’t work that well on vampires anyway. We're the product of dark magic ourselves so it tends to be repelled by us."
"It's weird." Annabelle had often wondered about this. "Six months ago, I didn't know anything about vampires or magic or anything like that. Why don't people know about them? Why doesn't the government know?"
"How do you know they don't?" Angel put a finger to her lips and shushed her. "Listen."
Far off in the tunnel, in the direction of Piccadilly, Annabelle heard a faint popping noise, an absence of sound rather than sound itself.
"Gunfire." Angel shoved against the door again but it still held fast. "Things must be bad for Wes to risk firing a weapon down here. Damn it, where the hell is that key?"
He took a few steps back towards his prison cell then stopped again at the sound of distant shouting. Annabelle felt sick. Everything was going wrong.
"Erroll's going to kill me," she whispered. "I killed Ravinder and he'll know I did it."
She was so scared now that for a moment, she considered trying to snatch Connor back from Angel, running with him back to Darla's room and locking herself inside.
"Steady." Angel's hand was on her shoulder, as if he'd guessed her thoughts. "Here they come. Get ready to run for your life."
Annabelle could hear pounding footsteps now and as she watched, a man burst out of the eastbound tunnel – a black man wearing a pair of funny goggles. For a horrible moment, she thought it was Erroll but then she realised it was a stranger. Besides, he didn't even have any hair.
"Charles! Over here!" Angel called, and the man sprinted towards them, hauling himself up onto the tiny lip of platform. He was holding a thick crowbar.
"Wes is acting rearguard." He had an American accent too. "Quite a hornet's nest we've stirred up, Angel man. Seemed like they came out of nowhere, half-way between here and Piccadilly."
He'd pushed the goggles up onto his forehead and all the time he was talking, he was working at the door with the crowbar. Sweat stood out on his forehead from the effort. "No time for anything more hi-tech. Had to abandon the blowtorch back in the tunnel."
Annabelle's heart was pounding in her chest fit to burst. She felt sick. She wished she could go and hide in her secret hiding place until this was all over. From the tunnel now, she could hear the sound of more feet, then the popping noise again. A moment later a second man emerged from the darkness, a white man this time. He wore the funny goggles too. She supposed they must be some kind of night vision thing. There was blood streaming down his arm.
"Wes - hey, man, you okay?" The black man turned to help him, but the newcomer waved him back. With difficulty, he hoisted himself up onto the platform and combined his efforts with the black man's and finally the door gave way. But when Angel made to lead Annabelle through it, the white man – Wes – pushed them back.
"No time," he said. "They're right behind us – at least thirty of them. We'd never make it to Green Park before they caught us. Our only chance is to escape through the abandoned station."
"Thirty?" Angel looked stricken. "I never saw more than eight or nine – thought that was the sum total of this half-assed operation."
His mouth set in a grim line and he glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the guest room. "Guess he learned to guard his perimeter after all." Then, "Let's get out of here," he said, and he shepherded the two men through the door. "Annabelle Gieves-Bowen, this is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Charles Gunn."
"Call me Gunn," the black man said. He wasn't looking at Annabelle. Instead, he was busy bolting the door from the inside, though it was easy enough to open now it was so bent out of shape. Just at that moment, down the corridor, a thumping began on the inside of the minions' prison and they heard angry voices shouting.
"Here." Wesley reached into a satchel that was slung over his shoulder and fished out some pointed wooden stakes. "Shall I?" He gestured at Annabelle and Angel nodded.
"This goes belly-up, she needs to be able to defend herself."
Wesley passed Annabelle the stake, which felt smooth and comforting in her hand, though she was shaking so badly, she didn't think she'd be able to use it. In the meantime, Angel had paused at the entrance to his prison. Annabelle saw him look inside to where Spike still lay unconscious on the floor and for a moment, she thought he meant to go back and kill him in spite of Connor's outburst. Instead, though, with Connor still draped over his shoulder, he bent over and his arm went back and then down and Anwar exploded into a cloud of choking dust.
Angel waved his hand through it. "That's one," he said. Then, to Annabelle, "Show us the way out of here."
*
Annabelle led the way through the cross tunnel to the main part of the station, back past the area where the lair held its gatherings and onwards in the direction of the spiral staircase. Behind them, she could hear thumping and angry shouts as the vampires who'd been pursuing Angel's friends broke their way into the station.
"Oh, God, hurry!" She tried to run faster but Wesley laid a hand on her arm.
"Just don't panic," he said. "We'll be all right, you'll see."
He had a nice voice – cultured – more like some of Daddy's friends than Harry's, as if he were old before his time. But Annabelle knew he was just trying to make her feel better. He didn't really know they'd be all right.
As they ran up the stairs, the shouts behind them grew louder. Erroll must have let the other minions out and Annabelle was almost sure she heard Spike's voice. If she looked down into the stairwell, maybe she'd see Spike looking up at her, all fangs and yellow eyes.
They passed doors on their left, some closed, some open. Annabelle caught glimpses of the bathroom corridor - showers and baths – two washbasins – the backstairs down into the lair. She could hear voices coming from that direction too, chanting like in some ritual, as if they were working themselves up for the kill.
"We're not gonna make it," Gunn said. He was holding the crowbar like a club. "'Sides, that door up top's pretty solid. We tried it earlier. You go on, Angel. Take the girl and the kid and get out of here while you can."
"He's right, Angel." Wesley had stopped on the last tread of the spiral staircase. Above them, a short flight of concrete steps was all that lay between them and freedom. But suddenly, Annabelle heard a key turn in a lock, then the door opening and slamming shut again. There were voices up above– Erroll's was one of them. They were cut off from the exit.
"Shit!" Angel had been in the lead. Now he came back down the stairs in a hurry, Connor's head bouncing on his shoulder. "There's a dozen of them up there and they have the higher ground." He pushed past Annabelle and headed down again. "There must be a way of doubling back to the platforms."
Annabelle couldn't move. Her feet seemed rooted to the spot. But then Wesley grabbed her with his good arm. "Don't panic," he said. "Just breathe," and he hurried her after Angel while Gunn brought up the rear. As they passed the door to the bathroom corridor and the backstairs, it burst open and vampires – more than Annabelle had ever seen before - came crowding through it. They were dressed all alike in black – not like Spike dressed in black but more like some kind of uniform.
"It's those damn cultists! Keep going!" Gunn yelled and suddenly, Annabelle realised he was no longer behind her. She caught glimpses of an arm flailing, heard a horrible smashing impact, the sound of a vampire dusting. Gunn was holding them back for the moment.
They'd almost reached the bottom of the stairs again when Annabelle remembered. She couldn't think how she'd ever forgotten. She seized the handle of the last door on their right and tore it open, just as Spike rounded the corner a few steps below.
"I'm disappointed in you, Belle," he said, and he grinned wolfishly at her. Her blood seemed to run cold in her veins at the sight. She remembered his hands over her nose and mouth, suffocating her. If he'd been angry with her then-
"This way!" Annabelle plunged through the door with Angel after her and then the door slammed behind them. Angel stopped.
"Wes!" he shouted and he ran back but then he hesitated, while on the other side the gun was fired again.
"Please! I don't want to die!" Annabelle was crying. Tears streamed down her face and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. "They'll give me to the Gravids – please!"
Angel came then, Connor held tight in his arms. In moments, they found themselves on the rickety metal bridge over the huge old lift shaft, the wind from nowhere sighing through the concrete baffles below them. Unlike the rest of the lair, it was dark here – full of flickering shadows from the dim emergency lighting.
"What is this place?" Angel seemed bewildered suddenly – almost disorientated- and at the same moment, Connor woke up again and began to struggle.
"Put me down!" he screamed. "I want Mama, put me down."
"Mama's here, baby."
Annabelle stopped in the middle of the metal walkway. The way back down to the platforms was blocked. Darla stood in front of them with more of the strange black-uniformed minions behind her, her white negligee and blonde hair streaming out in the fetid wind from below.
The wind seemed to be getting stronger. Annabelle grabbed hold of the metal rail and tried not to look down. She felt dizzy. She remembered how she'd imagined something horrible climbing out of the depths towards her while she stood rooted to the spot in terror. Her knees threatened to give way under her.
"Give him back to me, Angel," Darla said. "He's not yours – he was never yours. Can't you feel his power? He belongs in the dark with me."
"Screw you, you crazy bitch." Angel was backing away towards where they'd come from but that way was blocked now too by Spike and Erroll and a crowd of minions behind them. There were so many, like cockroaches, Annabelle thought. Where had they all come from? Spike ran a hand over his jaw where the bruise was still livid. He grinned again and began to move forward.
Suddenly, Angel was balanced on the metal rail at the edge of the drop, poised like an acrobat on a rope.
"Stay back," he shouted.
"Or you'll do what?" Spike took another step forward and on the other side of the bridge, Darla did the same. "You won't risk the kid, mate – we all know that. Now hand the little tyke over, there's a good fellow."
Angel didn't move and after a moment, Spike clicked his tongue impatiently. "We all know you'll survive the drop but what about him? He's human – according to you anyway."
Then Annabelle felt his hand on her shoulder and icy fingers taking the stake from her grip.
"You've been a naughty girl," Spike said and he licked her ear with his cold tongue. Then he thrust her towards Erroll, who held her tight in his arms.
"Please don't hurt me – please!" Annabelle heard herself plead. She twisted round to look up at Erroll's savage face. "I didn't mean to kill Ravinder, I swear."
Erroll didn't answer. He just passed her to one of the other minions and wiped his hands on his jeans.
"Give him to me." There was a desperate cajoling note in Darla's voice now. "Give him back to me Angel - and maybe we'll spare your friends."
Angel looked up and down, searching for a way of escape. His dark gaze flicked from Spike to Darla and back again.
"They knew the risks," he said.
There was a moment's breathless silence and then from deep in the shaft came a moaning sound– an ascending wail of misery and longing. "Daddy! Da-ade-ee!" followed by eerie sobbing laughter that bounced off the walls amplified by the confining baffles. There was something down there – a dark shape spider-crawling its way up the rickety staircase. Annabelle caught a glimpse of long, tangled black hair, yellow eyes and claws – her worst imaginings come to life. She screamed and at the same time, Connor began to struggle again, his little foot catching Angel full in the ribs.
Taken by surprise, Angel wavered and began to fall, the child still clutched in his arms. But as he fell, Spike moved faster than Annabelle had thought it possible to move, diving headfirst under the rail and snatching Connor from Angel's flailing grip. In fact, Angel pushed the child at him – almost throwing him to safety - and Erroll was there to grab the tail of Spike's duster and haul him back from the brink.
From far below, there was a horrible, loose-sounding thump and then silence save for the wind in the baffles. As she was dragged away, Annabelle saw the black shape scuttling back the way it had come.
*
Spike rubbed his jaw. It still hurt where Angel had punched him. However, given the thin red line on his neck, which spoke of an attempt at decapitation, he was lucky to be alive to feel it. He wondered what had made the old man hesitate.
"Poor Spike, did he hurt you?" Darla's cool hand wafted across the skin at the nape of his neck and he shuddered.
"Not like last time."
He was sitting in a chair next to her, surrounded by the full complement of minions - cultists and all -as if he and she were suddenly equals. His reward, he supposed, for services rendered. Or maybe she'd decided she was done letting him kid himself he was still a free agent.
"You gave that up years ago, William," she whispered in his ear, as if she'd read his thoughts again. "You're not your own man any more – you're mine and you always will be."
"Yeah, great." Spike didn't dispute it, though. Too late for that – too late from the moment she'd thrown herself on his mercy and he'd let himself be flattered into helping her. He'd done it to himself – and what's more, he'd done it to Dru, who'd just saved the day for them.
He couldn't have closed the cage door properly, he supposed, and a good thing too as it had turned out. He'd have to take her a reward later.
After a moment's sour contemplation, he shrugged and turned his eyes back to the prisoners. His gaze flicked over Annabelle contemptuously. The girl was crying again, which made him want to hit her. When it came to the crunch, she'd folded without even striking a blow. She'd even admitted doing for Ravinder – pleaded self-defence. Some Slayer she'd make if it ever came to it. She'd hardly be worth the killing.
Angel's friends had taken a battering. The English bloke – Wesley – looked to be on his last legs. Blood – and very tasty it smelt too – was pouring from a wound in his shoulder while a claw-mark ripped a jagged line from cheek to jaw. The American – Gunn – looked in better shape. He stared back at Spike defiantly but Spike could smell his fear.
As for Angel himself, like his friends he was chained up pretty tightly but Spike had ordered his broken legs to be set – he'd listened to the pained groans with some satisfaction – and had him propped up in a chair. He was family after all.
"May I?" He turned to Darla and gestured with his head towards the four prisoners.
Darla had Connor on her knee. She held him close and for a moment, Spike wondered if she'd ever let him go again. "Of course, Spike," she said. "Whatever you think best, as always."
So it seemed they were back to the flattery now – now she'd used him to destroy the last threat to her precious brat that stood any chance of succeeding. Well, Spike thought, he had only himself to blame and seeing her looking at him that way–as if she hung on his every word - still gave him a rush.
He reached out and ruffled Connor's hair, ignoring the brat's scowl. "Watch and learn, kiddo." Then he got up and approached the captives.
Angel's face was grey with pain. He had internal injuries caused by rubble at the bottom of the lift-shaft. Spike hoped it hurt like hell. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at Angel.
"S'pose this ought to be where I say how brave you all were. You know – brave and bloody stupid – but I think I'll just stick with the stupid. Anyone else know you tossers're down here?"
All three men stared back at him defiantly silent, though the Wesley bloke had trouble keeping his head up.
"Thought that might be your answer." Spike moved closer. Then he snatched Annabelle from the arms of the minion who held her. He twisted one arm behind her back hard enough to make her yelp. Her skin was clammy and she stank of fear – worse than he'd ever smelt her. But under the fear there was still a hint of that unmistakable Slayer musk. A bloke could get high just sniffing it.
"See," Spike affected a casual tone. "I reckon you blokes're trained to withstand torture – name, rank and serial number - all that bollocks – but maybe it might be different if it's not you that's tortured but say, some innocent third party."
A horrible sort of whine came out of Annabelle's stretched throat. "Shush, love," Spike hissed in her ear, "at least you won't die a virgin." He slid a hand under her t-shirt and began to fondle her breast.
"Fuck you!" Gunn exclaimed at the same time as Wesley said, "You bastard," and Erroll said, "No, sire. Let me."
Spike grinned at him. "You'll get your turn, mate." He eased the pressure on Annabelle's arm a little but he didn't let go of her tit. He'd have her wet for him soon if Angelus didn't make up his sodding mind.
"Got no objections to performing in public myself," he said, to hurry the old man up, "but I don't think Belle here'll like it."
"The Watchers' Council know we're in the country," Angel said, suddenly. "They don't know exactly where. As far as they're concerned we're here to rescue her." He nodded his head in Annabelle's direction.
"So they don't know about –" Spike half-looked back over his shoulder at Darla and the kid. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Angel and after a moment, Angel nodded again very reluctantly. "Does anyone know about him, except for the three of you?"
Angel's eyes flickered oddly. "Cordy knew, but she's dead. She died two years ago."
"Oh, how sad!" Darla exclaimed, full of false sympathy. "And that other girl – the skinny one – what was her name? I've forgotten."
"Fred." Angel glanced aside at Wesley. "You won't find her. The Watchers' Council have her under their protection."
Spike looked at Erroll – the briefest of looks – and Erroll moved his head very slightly. Wesley must have seen the exchange, however, because he burst out, "Leave her out of this. She won't say anything."
The bloke was evidently sweet on this Fred girl, Spike thought. He grinned. "Not even if none of you come back? And you won't, mate, believe me."
"She knows what's at stake," Angel cut in. "We all do." He looked over Spike's shoulder at Darla. "There were people who wanted to dissect him if they could get hold of him. You didn't see the cages - one each for mother and child."
"I hope you killed them all," was Darla's response, but Angel had caught her attention now.
"Do what you like to me," he said, "but let them go. They were only following orders."
"No." Darla's voice was implacable. "They're here because they're your friends, not because you pay them. You really think I'd believe they'll give up if I let them go?" She laughed, her voice full of its usual tinkling sweetness. "They were willing to give their lives for your cause, Angelus. It'd be a shame to disappoint them. Spike – "
Spike gave Annabelle's nipple a final cruel twist that made her gasp with pain. Then he thrust her back at one of the minions. It was tempting to say to Erroll, "All yours, mate," but all that talk of the Watchers' Council had given him a better idea of what to do with the worthless bitch, and anyway, first thing's first.
He went up close to Gunn and Wesley, letting his vampire features emerge. The air around them tasted of fear and death and though he was happy to grant them more of both, a man had to be practical. He leaned in close to Wesley and ran an explorative tongue over the torn cheek. Droplets of blood exploded on his tastebuds – rich and heavy – the best he'd tasted in ages. In other circumstances, the bloke would've made a fine vampire – though, like Ravinder, he'd have needed a strong hand to keep him in check and stop him getting ideas above his station. As it was – he'd make a perfect present for a lady.
As for the other bloke – Gunn – he was afraid but not of being killed, and suddenly, Spike understood why.
"You hate vampires don't you?" He treated Gunn to a fang-filled smirk. "Killed your family, did they?"
Gunn stared back at him, raw loathing in his eyes. "My sister," he said, and the way he said it revealed the vamps in question had done more to her than just kill her.
Spike stood up again. He looked back at Connor over his shoulder and winked at the kid, who was leaning forward the better to see what was going on. Then he looked at Erroll.
"Get one of these lazy buggers to clean out the meat locker – Gravids'll be by shortly and they'll dispose of what's left. When it's done, you can hang this one up–" and he grabbed Wesley's injured shoulder, causing the man to cry out in pain – "and make sure no one but me touches him."
Spike licked the tasty blood from the palm of his hand with relish. It was tempting to help himself to more but he refrained. Dru would have her little treat – and this time it really would be just for her.
"And him?" Erroll was looking at Gunn. He'd vamped out too and his fangs gleamed in his dark face, dripping with saliva. Spike grinned at him. It was good to indulge the kids once in a while and he reckoned Erroll had earned it.
"He's yours. Play with him as long as you like then turn him. Reckon with the proper training, he'll make a good replacement for Ravinder."
"No!" Gunn's voice was little more than a whisper while Erroll's face clouded at the words but then brightened again. "Fuckin' brilliant," he said. "I always wanted to meet an American brother."
"Good man. As for him – " Spike got up in Angel's face a moment. He wondered what Angel thought of him now – whether he feared him yet. It was impossible to tell from the old man's expression. Then he turned to Darla. "If you want, I'll do it now – right here – in front of everyone."
"Oh no," she said, at once. "I'm surprised to hear you say such a thing. We don't kill family, Spike. You taught me that, remember?"
"Except when they have souls," Spike wanted to say, but Darla was leaning forward, chin on fist, staring at Angel. She was smiling and so was Connor, their expressions eerily alike.
"He wanted to see his son grow up," she said, "so he shall, in a manner of speaking -and one day – when the time comes – Connor can do what he wants with him."
Spike was about to protest, where would they put the tosser – because there was no way he was letting Angel get banged up with Dru – but he didn't say it, because what was the point? The Mistress had made her mind up and – as usual – he would have to live with it.
He reminded himself again that he'd gone into this with his eyes open. Hadn't he spent twenty years living with Angelus and Darla? He knew how Darla felt about the old man – that she'd never bring herself to kill him – but maybe she'd been right all those years ago? Maybe they didn't have to. He remembered what Dru had said about Darla wanting Angel in little pieces and suddenly he grinned again. Angel wouldn't need all four limbs to watch his son grow up, would he, and even if she wouldn't go for anything that extreme, the tosser certainly wouldn't be needing his sanity. In fact, he'd be better off without it.
This could even be fun and there'd been precious little of that around here lately.
He put out a hand to stop the minions who'd hauled Angel to his feet. Angel had come out of his pained stupor and was struggling wildly, calling his friends' names – "Wes! Charles!" -as they were hustled away. The corded veins in his neck stood out so much, they looked about ready to burst.
"Just one thing, Angelus." Spike had to raise his voice above the noise. "Before you go. How did your mates know where to find you?"
Angel stopped shouting. He turned and stared at Spike, his dark eyes still promising that final death he was impotent to give. He didn't answer.
Spike rubbed his chin. He frowned, pretending to be thoughtful. Then he said, "I'm guessing some sort of mystical transmitter and since we searched you thoroughly where, oh where could it be stashed away?"
Angel's lips tightened. He still didn't say anything. At last, Spike motioned to the minions to remove him. "Put him in the locker and chain him up properly. He can have a front row seat while we deal with his friends. Oh, and Angelus – if that transmitter's anywhere on you – say, subcutaneous – we'll find it."
It gave him some small amount of pleasure to see the way Angel's feet dragged as they took him away.
*
"Well, that was all most satisfactory." Darla leaned back in her chair, a smug expression on her face. But then she frowned, "Except that once again, we have no nanny."
Her gaze swung round to Annabelle, who was being held by one of the minions. The girl was still crying. At this rate she was going to drown them all, Spike thought. Definitely time to be rid of her.
Connor was looking at her too. He bounced slightly on his mother's knee.
"Is Papa going to kill her?" he asked. "Can I watch?"
Darla opened her mouth to answer but Spike cut in quickly. "No you bloody can't -even if I were going to– but I'm not. I'm gonna let her go."
"What?" Darla swung round in Spike's direction, predator-fast, and suddenly, she was all yellow eyes and fangs. "She knows where we are, Spike – she knows who we are."
"So fucking what?" Spike lit another cigarette. He ignored Darla's warning glare and inhaled deeply. "You heard the old man -Watchers' Council knows fuck all about the kid. All they want is their precious Potential back and we need to keep them off our backs. 'Sides, we can't stay here now, you know that."
He laughed but he couldn't say he wasn't pissed off to see all his hard work setting the lair up go to waste just because she'd come over all nostalgic. "We're leaving, Darla – what other choice do we have after this charming little family reunion? Planned it all, didn't you, right from the start. Bet you even told old Drac to write that begging letter to Angel in the first place."
"What is this?" Darla ignored his accusation. "Revenge because I wouldn't let you kill him? I have so few pleasures in life, Spike – why would you want to spoil this one for me?" Her eyes were on Annabelle again.
Spike laughed again. "If you fancy a spot of torture I can arrange that for you any time you like – or you can help me with Angel if you've got the stomach for it– see if I've remembered what he taught me. You can do that just as well in Paris or wherever as you can here. Besides, the Metro's a damn sight cleaner than the Underground."
"True," Darla agreed after a moment. She subsided back into her chair. "And now we've nothing to worry about maybe it's time we broadened Connor's horizons – showed him there's more to life than hiding in the dark. All right then, Spike, if you think it's best, release her."
With that, she pushed Connor off her knee and stood up. She took the child's hand in hers.
"Don't keep me waiting long," she said, to Spike, and she gave him a terrible fang-filled smile. Her yellow gaze swept over Annabelle, dismissing her, and then she was gone.
Annabelle's knees were shaking so much that when the minion let go of her, she would have fallen if Spike hadn't held her upright. Idly, he wondered how long it would take to get the silly bitch to trust him again after what he'd done to her. He'd never know unfortunately.
"Dunno why you're crying like that, Belle," he said. "You get to live. Show a little gratitude."
He took her arm and towed her after him back through the station and up the spiral stairs. There were bloodstains everywhere from where that Wesley bloke had made his last stand and Spike's boots kicked up dust as they passed – the vampire remnants of the fight.
He regretted Ravinder a little. The lair would miss her – not to mention her credulous uncle, who'd had been oh, so terribly convenient. Maybe Erroll could borrow that van a final time. Knowing the vehicle wouldn't be reported stolen would be a big help in moving all their stuff.
Spike sighed and shook his head. He had changed. Here he was, being the responsible family man – making plans for the future. He'd be taking out a sodding pension soon at this rate if he didn't watch it.
When they reached the top of the final flight of concrete stairs that led outside, Spike shoved Annabelle right up against the metal door and moulded his body to hers. She still smelt wonderful and, flush against her like this, he soon had a hard-on. He had no intention of wasting it on her but he indulged himself a little, kissing her hard – forcing his tongue into her warm mouth – tasting that glorious terror.
When he finally let her go she sagged against him and he had to support her again with a hand on her elbow while he fished the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Outside, it was still dark but there was a greyish look to the sky in the east that heralded the dawn. The air smelt of petrol fumes and rubbish. Spike drew in a deep lungful. He was going to miss London.
"Go on then," he said to Annabelle. "Get lost before I change my mind."
He let go of her but at first, she didn't move. Instead, she looked at him, her blue eyes wide and terrified.
"You're really letting me go?" she asked, as if she still didn't quite believe it.
Spike rolled his eyes. "What does it sodding look like? Yes, I'm letting you go –" and suddenly he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him –" and I just know you won't go blabbing to anyone about anything you've seen – anything you've learned – in the last six months. You're a sensible girl, Belle, yeah? That's why I chose you."
She kept on giving him that deer-caught-in-car-headlights expression, as if she hadn't really understood him, but in the end, she nodded.
"Good girl." Spike relaxed his grip a little. "Because if I had the least notion you'd spill the beans – well, don't forget, we know where you live and we know where your family lives. Understand me?"
Again she nodded and this time, he pushed her through the doorway and out onto the pavement. A chill wind blew up the length of Down Street and below him Spike heard the distant hum of transformers as the first train of the day approached the abandoned station.
Annabelle was hugging herself and as Spike watched, she slumped onto the ground, almost rolling into a ball, shaking with sobs.
"Oh, yeah," he said, "if you ever are the Slayer – who knows, maybe we'll meet again. Always wanted a third notch in my belt – that is, if Erroll doesn't get you first."
With a snort of disgust, Spike slammed the door on her and locked it.
*
Annabelle cried for what seemed like ages. By the time she pulled herself together enough to stand up, the cold from the pavement felt as if it had seeped into her bones. She couldn't stop shaking.
The street was deserted. Above the recessed metal door with its Keep Out sign, the ox-blood-coloured tiles of the station frontage seemed black in the dim light, looming over her. For a moment, she felt dizzy, afraid the whole building was going to collapse and bury her underneath it.
Next to the doorway, there was a small shop – a tobacconist's it looked like. A single light shone inside but when Annabelle went to peer through the windows, the place was empty. She looked at her watch. It was five o'clock in the morning. Soon, the city would be waking up around her. She should move, she thought – get well away in case Spike changed his mind.
She flinched away from thinking about him because then she'd have to remember his hand inside her t-shirt, his cold fingers pulling at her nipple, just like that strange vampire back in the tunnels, while around them, the assembled minions watched eagerly. He'd have raped her, she knew, right in front of them all, if Angel hadn't told him what he wanted to know. She couldn't believe she'd ever for one moment trusted him or Erroll or any of them. They were monsters – horrible – not human. Just for a moment, she hoped that one day she would become the Slayer – be strong enough to fight them – hurt them back. But deep inside her, something told her even if that did happen the very sight of Spike coming towards her would be enough to rob her of what little courage she had.
She didn't want either to think about Angel and his friends – about the fact that if she hurried it maybe wouldn't be too late to save them. Spike had warned her what would happen if she said anything, though, and she believed him. They'd tried to save her but she couldn't save them.
She couldn't save anything.
In fact, she was only alive because she hadn't let Angel kill Spike. But when she thought of that thin red gash in Spike's neck, already healing over – of Angel poised over the limp body, pressing the knife blade to the pale throat, she wished with everything in her that she'd kept her mouth shut.
Just then, a large, battered old car turned the corner at the end of the road. It came up the street and pulled to a stop at the kerb nearby. Annabelle saw a middle-aged Asian man inside the car, peering at her suspiciously. She tried to stand up straight, brushing her hair back from her face to make herself look presentable, but it was too hard and in a moment, she was wiping the tears away again.
The man got out of the car at last.
"Please miss," he said. "Are you one of them?" And he nodded his head towards the closed metal door between its brick pillars. "If you want anything, just take it. Mr Spike knows I won't make trouble."
"I'm not – " Annabelle had to force the words out. "I'm not a vampire," she managed at last. "Please – can you help me?"
The man regarded her for a moment. Then he locked the car door and came towards her. He peered into her face as if expecting it to turn all fanged and horrible and when it didn't, he seemed a little reassured.
"Come in the shop," he said. "You don't worry, miss. I have daughters your age."
He unlocked the shop door and ushered Annabelle inside, closing it behind them but not locking it, as if he thought he might need to get away in a hurry.
"Sit down please." He gestured towards an old kitchen chair standing behind the counter and Annabelle sat on it while he went around opening shutters and putting out stock. Various delivery vans pulled up outside – newspapers, milk – and still she sat there while the shock of what had happened settled like cancer deep into her bones.
At last, when it was fully daylight, she roused herself. She knew she couldn't stay here even though the world outside was terrifying, because come nightfall, the world belonged to them. Suddenly, she was crying again, tears sliding down her face while the shopkeeper stared at her helplessly. She wanted to lean against him – for him to comfort her – and after a while, with great reluctance, he put a hand on her shoulder and patted it.
"You don't worry miss," he said again. "They can't hurt you now. You're safe." He went on patting her shoulder while she cried. She knew she'd never feel safe again.
Eventually, it seemed she had no more tears left and he handed her a tissue. She wiped her face while he went to serve a customer. She felt wrung out – like there was nothing left of her – this was all there was – this shell of a girl. But then, like a pale ghost of hope, she thought of Harry and immediately felt a little better. When the customer had gone, she said as politely as she could, "Could I use the phone, Mr Asif? I need to call my brother."
*
Spike had returned to the bedroom to find Darla fast asleep on the bed with Connor tight in her arms. So much for telling him to hurry back, he thought.
He stood looking down at them – the mistress of his heart and her unnatural brat. Their faces were close together, both soft and innocent in sleep, their hair – blonde and brown – mingling on the pillow. He ran a gentle finger down Connor's cheek with the baby-bloom still on it. It would be so easy to kill him now – and what's more he'd be doing the world a favour. He bent down and sniffed the child's body, which smelt of his mother and Angel – of himself and Dru and family. He knew he wasn't going to do it.
Darla murmured in her sleep. Spike bent closer, trying to catch the name on her lips. He watched as her body went momentarily tense and then relaxed with a tiny sigh of pleasure. Was she dreaming of him, he wondered, or was she dreaming of Angelus? He set his hand to her cold breast, running his thumb over the nipple until it peaked through the thin stuff of her negligee. She made an animal sound deep in her throat but she didn't wake up and Connor's grip on her suddenly tightened.
Spike grimaced. For a moment, he considered picking the kid up and putting him back in his own bed – taking what he felt he'd earned – but then he shrugged and went out again, closing the door quietly behind him.
It would do for later. He had years until the brat grew up and the little bastard could wait his turn.
Instead, he went back to the old lift shaft and made his way down the rickety metal staircase – down, down into the depths, to where Angel had fallen like Satan from the heavens. Spike could smell his sire's blood in the air still and he inhaled deeply. He hoped to have that scent in his nostrils quite a bit in the near future. Angel was owed payback for – oh, so many things, the humiliations of the last few days not the least of them.
Dru was asleep or unconscious when Spike knelt down beside her cage. Tomorrow, he thought, he'd bring her that treat he'd promised her. Watching Dru playing with her food was always very instructive. But now, he just wanted to be alone with her, to remind himself of the time when he'd still been free – days long gone, like a dream he'd once had.
He could just reach to touch a curl of dark hair through the bars. He ran it through his fingers then brought it to his lips and kissed it.
"One day I'll take you out of here," he whispered. "One day soon Dru, I promise."
She didn't respond but from the depths of the lift shaft, the soughing of air sounded like mocking laughter.
THE END
Notes:
Green Park: the next station westbound on the Piccadilly Underground line after Piccadilly itself.
I took some small liberties with the layout of Down Street but essentially it's as described in the story. If you want to see it for yourself (virtually anyway) go here.
This is the last part of the story. I was going to split it up into two parts but I decided that wasn't really doing it any favours so here's all the rest of it. Thanks to all of you for reading and commenting.
For rating/pairings/setting etc see Part 1. Previous parts are here.
As I said at the beginning, this is a very dark story.
Family Reunion Part 10
By the time Annabelle had carried Connor through to the eastbound platform, her arms were aching. She'd had to put the little boy down twice, he felt so heavy. Both times, he'd stirred and half-woken. The second time he'd called for his mother but then gone back to sleep. It was very weird - as was the total silence everywhere. Annabelle had never seen the station so deserted.
When she came through the archway at the bottom of the stairs, she stopped again, her heart in her mouth, but the solitary guard was slumped on the ground at his post outside Angel's cell, as dead to the world as Darla. After a moment, the pain in her arms propelled Annabelle forward. She felt a little more confident now. How he'd done it, she had no idea, but Angel had made all the vampires fall asleep. She nudged the guard with her foot and he sagged and keeled over sideways, loose-limbed and heavy.
"Mr Angel?" Annabelle knocked on the door timidly. At once, she heard a flurry of movement from inside the room and then she heard Angel's voice.
"The guards are asleep, aren't they?" he said. "Search them for the key and let me out."
"Okay." It seemed Angel still thought there were two of them. As carefully as she could, Annabelle deposited Connor on the cold concrete floor of the bricked-in corridor and began to go through the unconscious guard's pockets. She knew his name – Anwar - another Asian, or maybe he was Turkish – but he didn't impinge on her much, part of the amorphous pack of minions from which only Erroll and Ravinder had really stood out.
"Got it?" Angel asked, just as Annabelle pulled a key from Anwar's jeans pocket.
"Yes." Fumbling a little, Annabelle put the key in the lock. "It's open," she called and she bent to pick Connor up again.
"Let me." Angel had opened the door. Now he took the child from her, gathering him into his arms and holding him close. After a moment, Annabelle realised he was trying hard not to cry. She felt a lump in her own throat.
Angel gave the child one more convulsive hug, then he looked at Annabelle. "Miss Gieves-Bowen? Nice to meet you," and he actually stuck out his hand.
Annabelle shook it, though it felt weird to be shaking hands with a vampire. "I'll just put him down for a moment." Angel motioned with his chin towards Connor. "It's a good thing he's a heavy sleeper."
Annabelle followed him into the room. The air smelt of cigarettes. Spike, she saw, was lying sprawled on the bed, as fast asleep as the other vampires. There was a livid bruise on his jaw and chin. Angel walked over to the bed, lifted a foot and tipped Spike's body unceremoniously onto the floor. Then he laid Connor down on the bed in Spike's place and covered him with the blanket.
"He's not normally a heavy sleeper," Annabelle said, into the eerie silence. It was so quiet she could hear the light bulbs fizzling in their sockets. "Usually, he wakes up two or three times in the night or goes and climbs in bed with Darla. But now he keeps sort of half-waking up and then nodding off again. It's weird."
She stopped, aware she was babbling and that Angel was looking at her oddly.
"You don't feel sleepy?" he asked to her surprise, and when she shook her head, he looked stricken.
"It's not supposed to work on humans."
"What isn't?" Annabelle flinched as Angel suddenly turned and pounded his fist into the wall. The plaster cracked around the impact. "Didn't that hurt?" she asked, before she could stop herself.
Angel's knuckles were bleeding but he hardly seemed to notice. "It's a spell," he said. "One of my friends prepared it weeks back – Wesley - he'll be coming soon along with gun – " or he must have said 'a gun', mustn't he, Annabelle thought – "but it only works on vampires. I had the antidote of course. I was to trigger the spell only as a last resort - if I couldn't talk Darla round or get near enough to her to kill her– if I decided there was no other way of getting you and Connor out of here."
He drew a long, shuddering breath. "She called time on me this evening and I couldn't risk the two of you getting hurt in a fight so I felt I had no choice."
"Guns don't kill vampires," Annabelle said, stupidly. Then she realised what was bothering Angel. She looked at Connor, who was defiantly asleep in spite of their talking, and then she looked back at Angel.
"I'm sorry." She didn't know what else to say.
"It doesn't matter." Angel was licking his torn hand, dainty as a cat. "He still doesn't belong here – and it doesn't change what I'm gonna do to them." And he suddenly kicked Spike hard in the ribs, the limp body curling in around the blow and then going still again.
"Are there any weapons here?" Angel asked. "Anything made of wood?"
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he went out the door and started down the corridor with Annabelle trailing behind him. She didn’t want to be left on her own with Connor and besides, what if Spike woke up?
Angel went right to the end of the bricked-in corridor and opened the door to the meat locker before Annabelle could stop him. She'd never been through it herself but she knew all too well what was in there.
"Jesus!" Angel took a step back. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the mingled smell of human waste and blood that made Annabelle gag as she caught a whiff of it. Then he slammed the door shut again.
"Bloody idiot can't even keep a decent larder." Angel moved back towards Annabelle, opening the door to the room where the minions slept. She caught up with him and peered over his shoulder, then watched as he went through all the minions' pockets, searching for something. She could hear the white-noise hiss of the television, which never seemed to get turned off, but apart from that there was total and utter silence.
"Five of them." Angel abandoned his search. "Plus the guard. Guess the other guy went off duty. You see him in here, Miss Gieves-Bowen, because I sure don't, or that big black guy. Where's the hell have they gotten to? Are they guarding Darla?"
Annabelle had been thinking she ought to tell him to call her by her first name but after what he'd said, it didn't seem important any more. Suddenly, she was frantic.
"No," she said. "They aren't. And there're more minions than that. Spike must've sent them away when he sent Erroll?"
"Who's Erroll?" But Angel wasn't really listening. Instead, he shut the door again and moved on down the corridor and suddenly, he was moving much faster. Annabelle could hardly believe he didn't know who Erroll was. It seemed the minions weren't even faces to him.
She ran after him and caught him up at the door to the kitchen. Angel had picked up one of the cheap plastic chairs and she had to get out of his way as he went back down the corridor and wedged it under the doorknob of the minions' room.
"It won't hold them for long," he said, "but maybe it won't need to." He didn't really seem to be speaking to Annabelle but only to himself.
Back in the kitchen he opened drawers and cupboards, coming up empty-handed in his search for anything made of wood. Even the mop and broom were plastic. At last, he took the largest kitchen knife he could find off the hook by the microwave, brushed past Annabelle for the second time and went back towards his cell, stopping only a moment to search Anwar's slumped body again, seemingly finding nothing. Annabelle ran after him, terrified to be alone.
"What are you doing?" Even as she called out the question to Angel, Annabelle knew the answer to it. He meant to kill Spike and probably Darla too. "We ought to leave now," she protested, overcome by a rising sense of urgency. The missing minions bothered her a lot. She thought of them out in the tunnels and their numbers seemed to multiply in her imagination, swarming like rats in the dark. "We have to get away – please, while there's still time."
Angel didn't look back at her and by the time she reached the door to the guest room, he was kneeling astride Spike's limp body, pinioning it to the floor, and the edge of the knife had already cut a thin red gash in the pale skin of Spike's throat.
"One good push should do it," Angel said, still as if he was talking to himself. "Much quicker than the evil little shit deserves."
"Wait –" Annabelle didn't know why she said it, except that Angel was wasting too much time. It wasn't as if Spike had always been nice to her – she remembered the feel of his hard hand over her mouth, suffocating her, while his eyes, watching her ineffectual struggles, were as blank and cold as chips of sky-blue glass. She thought, too, of the Gravids and how sure she'd been that Spike would never turn her.
But in spite of that, "Please," she said, again. "Don't do it –there's no time. Let's just go while we can."
Suddenly, as if she'd somehow summoned him, Connor sat bolt upright on the bed, opened his eyes wide, and screamed. "You leave my papa alone!" Then he flung himself at Angel, beating at him with his small, impotent fists, and Angel had to stop putting pressure on the knife blade to ward the small boy off.
"Wait." Annabelle tried again, as Angel struggled to control the child. Connor was making too much noise and she was desperate to make him be quiet and for Angel to stop what he was doing and get them out of here. "If you want him to live with you, maybe it's best if he doesn't see you kill the person he thinks of as his father – I mean, I know how I'd feel – besides –" and this was what mattered the most –" - there's no time. We have to go."
"Bastard!" Connor screamed even louder. "I want Mama! Take me back to Mama!"
At last, Angel had to drop the knife altogether and Annabelle couldn't quite repress a tiny sigh of relief as he rose to his feet, holding Connor in his arms. "Okay, okay," he said. "I won't hurt him, Connor, I promise. It's okay now, son. Calm down, daddy's got you."
"You're not my dad!" Connor wriggled in Angel's grip like a fish on a hook but very slowly, he grew calmer. After a moment, he put his head down on Angel's shoulder, arms tight round his neck, and fell asleep again and this time, Angel kept hold of him.
"I meant to kill both of them," he said, to Annabelle. "Separate them – turn them against each other if I could – take them down one on one. They've spent all these years trying to hide from me, I didn't want to be doing the same with them."
"There's no time." Annabelle said again. She was sure of it. Spike had to have sent Erroll and the others away for a reason. She remembered, too, the look Darla and Spike had exchanged between them and that she had no idea what Darla had been up to while she'd been shut in her room waiting for the trains to stop. Maybe she'd sent the missing guard to fetch Erroll. "They've been expecting something like this ever since you arrived. We have to get away now."
Angel went back out into the corridor. He peered through one of the grilles in the brickwork out onto the empty track. There was total silence in both directions – no sign of anyone human or otherwise.
"Are your friends coming that way?" Annabelle asked, and, at Angel's nod, "Can't you break the door down? We could go outside and wait for them."
"Here, take him." Angel passed her Connor's limp body, set his shoulder to the door and began a rhythmic pounding. The whole bricked-in corridor seemed to reverberate to the blows but the door stayed stubbornly shut.
Angel gave up. He rubbed his shoulder. "It's too strong. You got a hairpin or something? Maybe I can pick the lock?"
Hairpin? Annabelle shook her head. Connor was getting heavy again and her arms ached.
"Spike might have the key in his pocket," she offered, but Angel didn't even bother going to look.
"He may be stupid but he's not that stupid – and the minions don't have it. Where would he have left it?"
"I don't know. He might've given it to Erroll." Annabelle heard her voice rise into a wail. They were going to be caught again. She knew they were.
"Here." Gently, Angel prised Connor out of her grip and settled him on his shoulder. "It's okay. My friends will be here soon. It's the nature of the spell – I trigger it and they get an instant bead on where I am and come running."
Annabelle realised a tear was slipping down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Sorry to be such a baby."
Angel patted her gently on the shoulder and somehow, the next thing she knew, she was being held close to him. His body was hard and his hand on her arm was large and cool and comforting. He reminded her of Harry.
"It must've been hell for you," he said, "living here with them."
Annabelle didn't trust herself to speak for a moment. She swallowed hard then she nodded.
"Mostly, though Spike and Erroll were nice sometimes. They protected me from Darla. She didn't like me at all."
"I guess she wouldn't." Angel was still hugging her but his eyes were fixed on the empty track outside. "She never could stand other women, except for maybe Dru. Besides, no vampire would want someone like you around. You'd be confusing – prey and predator all mixed up together. It's a mystery why they chose you if they had the least idea what you are."
"What do you mean?" Annabelle leaned into him harder. "Spike said only someone like me could put up with living down here without going mad."
"I mean -" Angel sounded surprised, "- because you're a potential Slayer. You know that, right?"
"No," Annabelle said. "I'm a nanny." Then, "What's a Slayer?"
At the same time as she said it, something seemed to stir in the dim recesses of her memory. She thought of that special girl – the one they'd taught her about at her first school. "Is it a girl?"
"Yeah, that's right." Angel was staring into the eastbound tunnel. "In every generation there is a Chosen One. She will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer." He intoned the words, like he was praying in church. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Wesley's father – that's old Mr Wyndam-Pryce – he said you'd been to the Watchers' Council school."
"What's a Watchers' Council?" But Angel didn't answer. He'd tensed up, staring out into the darkness.
"They're coming," he said," and they're not alone."
Annabelle listened but she couldn't hear anything. "How are they going to get us out?" she asked, but when she looked up at Angel, he was still staring - not even blinking once – and his eyes shone in the gloom like a cat's. Annabelle shuddered. For a moment, she'd forgotten what he was.
After a moment, when she still couldn't hear anything, she tugged on his arm. "How long till your spell wears off?"
Angel didn't look at her. "Not long," he said, in a distant voice. "Magic doesn't work so well down here – and it doesn’t work that well on vampires anyway. We're the product of dark magic ourselves so it tends to be repelled by us."
"It's weird." Annabelle had often wondered about this. "Six months ago, I didn't know anything about vampires or magic or anything like that. Why don't people know about them? Why doesn't the government know?"
"How do you know they don't?" Angel put a finger to her lips and shushed her. "Listen."
Far off in the tunnel, in the direction of Piccadilly, Annabelle heard a faint popping noise, an absence of sound rather than sound itself.
"Gunfire." Angel shoved against the door again but it still held fast. "Things must be bad for Wes to risk firing a weapon down here. Damn it, where the hell is that key?"
He took a few steps back towards his prison cell then stopped again at the sound of distant shouting. Annabelle felt sick. Everything was going wrong.
"Erroll's going to kill me," she whispered. "I killed Ravinder and he'll know I did it."
She was so scared now that for a moment, she considered trying to snatch Connor back from Angel, running with him back to Darla's room and locking herself inside.
"Steady." Angel's hand was on her shoulder, as if he'd guessed her thoughts. "Here they come. Get ready to run for your life."
Annabelle could hear pounding footsteps now and as she watched, a man burst out of the eastbound tunnel – a black man wearing a pair of funny goggles. For a horrible moment, she thought it was Erroll but then she realised it was a stranger. Besides, he didn't even have any hair.
"Charles! Over here!" Angel called, and the man sprinted towards them, hauling himself up onto the tiny lip of platform. He was holding a thick crowbar.
"Wes is acting rearguard." He had an American accent too. "Quite a hornet's nest we've stirred up, Angel man. Seemed like they came out of nowhere, half-way between here and Piccadilly."
He'd pushed the goggles up onto his forehead and all the time he was talking, he was working at the door with the crowbar. Sweat stood out on his forehead from the effort. "No time for anything more hi-tech. Had to abandon the blowtorch back in the tunnel."
Annabelle's heart was pounding in her chest fit to burst. She felt sick. She wished she could go and hide in her secret hiding place until this was all over. From the tunnel now, she could hear the sound of more feet, then the popping noise again. A moment later a second man emerged from the darkness, a white man this time. He wore the funny goggles too. She supposed they must be some kind of night vision thing. There was blood streaming down his arm.
"Wes - hey, man, you okay?" The black man turned to help him, but the newcomer waved him back. With difficulty, he hoisted himself up onto the platform and combined his efforts with the black man's and finally the door gave way. But when Angel made to lead Annabelle through it, the white man – Wes – pushed them back.
"No time," he said. "They're right behind us – at least thirty of them. We'd never make it to Green Park before they caught us. Our only chance is to escape through the abandoned station."
"Thirty?" Angel looked stricken. "I never saw more than eight or nine – thought that was the sum total of this half-assed operation."
His mouth set in a grim line and he glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the guest room. "Guess he learned to guard his perimeter after all." Then, "Let's get out of here," he said, and he shepherded the two men through the door. "Annabelle Gieves-Bowen, this is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Charles Gunn."
"Call me Gunn," the black man said. He wasn't looking at Annabelle. Instead, he was busy bolting the door from the inside, though it was easy enough to open now it was so bent out of shape. Just at that moment, down the corridor, a thumping began on the inside of the minions' prison and they heard angry voices shouting.
"Here." Wesley reached into a satchel that was slung over his shoulder and fished out some pointed wooden stakes. "Shall I?" He gestured at Annabelle and Angel nodded.
"This goes belly-up, she needs to be able to defend herself."
Wesley passed Annabelle the stake, which felt smooth and comforting in her hand, though she was shaking so badly, she didn't think she'd be able to use it. In the meantime, Angel had paused at the entrance to his prison. Annabelle saw him look inside to where Spike still lay unconscious on the floor and for a moment, she thought he meant to go back and kill him in spite of Connor's outburst. Instead, though, with Connor still draped over his shoulder, he bent over and his arm went back and then down and Anwar exploded into a cloud of choking dust.
Angel waved his hand through it. "That's one," he said. Then, to Annabelle, "Show us the way out of here."
Annabelle led the way through the cross tunnel to the main part of the station, back past the area where the lair held its gatherings and onwards in the direction of the spiral staircase. Behind them, she could hear thumping and angry shouts as the vampires who'd been pursuing Angel's friends broke their way into the station.
"Oh, God, hurry!" She tried to run faster but Wesley laid a hand on her arm.
"Just don't panic," he said. "We'll be all right, you'll see."
He had a nice voice – cultured – more like some of Daddy's friends than Harry's, as if he were old before his time. But Annabelle knew he was just trying to make her feel better. He didn't really know they'd be all right.
As they ran up the stairs, the shouts behind them grew louder. Erroll must have let the other minions out and Annabelle was almost sure she heard Spike's voice. If she looked down into the stairwell, maybe she'd see Spike looking up at her, all fangs and yellow eyes.
They passed doors on their left, some closed, some open. Annabelle caught glimpses of the bathroom corridor - showers and baths – two washbasins – the backstairs down into the lair. She could hear voices coming from that direction too, chanting like in some ritual, as if they were working themselves up for the kill.
"We're not gonna make it," Gunn said. He was holding the crowbar like a club. "'Sides, that door up top's pretty solid. We tried it earlier. You go on, Angel. Take the girl and the kid and get out of here while you can."
"He's right, Angel." Wesley had stopped on the last tread of the spiral staircase. Above them, a short flight of concrete steps was all that lay between them and freedom. But suddenly, Annabelle heard a key turn in a lock, then the door opening and slamming shut again. There were voices up above– Erroll's was one of them. They were cut off from the exit.
"Shit!" Angel had been in the lead. Now he came back down the stairs in a hurry, Connor's head bouncing on his shoulder. "There's a dozen of them up there and they have the higher ground." He pushed past Annabelle and headed down again. "There must be a way of doubling back to the platforms."
Annabelle couldn't move. Her feet seemed rooted to the spot. But then Wesley grabbed her with his good arm. "Don't panic," he said. "Just breathe," and he hurried her after Angel while Gunn brought up the rear. As they passed the door to the bathroom corridor and the backstairs, it burst open and vampires – more than Annabelle had ever seen before - came crowding through it. They were dressed all alike in black – not like Spike dressed in black but more like some kind of uniform.
"It's those damn cultists! Keep going!" Gunn yelled and suddenly, Annabelle realised he was no longer behind her. She caught glimpses of an arm flailing, heard a horrible smashing impact, the sound of a vampire dusting. Gunn was holding them back for the moment.
They'd almost reached the bottom of the stairs again when Annabelle remembered. She couldn't think how she'd ever forgotten. She seized the handle of the last door on their right and tore it open, just as Spike rounded the corner a few steps below.
"I'm disappointed in you, Belle," he said, and he grinned wolfishly at her. Her blood seemed to run cold in her veins at the sight. She remembered his hands over her nose and mouth, suffocating her. If he'd been angry with her then-
"This way!" Annabelle plunged through the door with Angel after her and then the door slammed behind them. Angel stopped.
"Wes!" he shouted and he ran back but then he hesitated, while on the other side the gun was fired again.
"Please! I don't want to die!" Annabelle was crying. Tears streamed down her face and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. "They'll give me to the Gravids – please!"
Angel came then, Connor held tight in his arms. In moments, they found themselves on the rickety metal bridge over the huge old lift shaft, the wind from nowhere sighing through the concrete baffles below them. Unlike the rest of the lair, it was dark here – full of flickering shadows from the dim emergency lighting.
"What is this place?" Angel seemed bewildered suddenly – almost disorientated- and at the same moment, Connor woke up again and began to struggle.
"Put me down!" he screamed. "I want Mama, put me down."
"Mama's here, baby."
Annabelle stopped in the middle of the metal walkway. The way back down to the platforms was blocked. Darla stood in front of them with more of the strange black-uniformed minions behind her, her white negligee and blonde hair streaming out in the fetid wind from below.
The wind seemed to be getting stronger. Annabelle grabbed hold of the metal rail and tried not to look down. She felt dizzy. She remembered how she'd imagined something horrible climbing out of the depths towards her while she stood rooted to the spot in terror. Her knees threatened to give way under her.
"Give him back to me, Angel," Darla said. "He's not yours – he was never yours. Can't you feel his power? He belongs in the dark with me."
"Screw you, you crazy bitch." Angel was backing away towards where they'd come from but that way was blocked now too by Spike and Erroll and a crowd of minions behind them. There were so many, like cockroaches, Annabelle thought. Where had they all come from? Spike ran a hand over his jaw where the bruise was still livid. He grinned again and began to move forward.
Suddenly, Angel was balanced on the metal rail at the edge of the drop, poised like an acrobat on a rope.
"Stay back," he shouted.
"Or you'll do what?" Spike took another step forward and on the other side of the bridge, Darla did the same. "You won't risk the kid, mate – we all know that. Now hand the little tyke over, there's a good fellow."
Angel didn't move and after a moment, Spike clicked his tongue impatiently. "We all know you'll survive the drop but what about him? He's human – according to you anyway."
Then Annabelle felt his hand on her shoulder and icy fingers taking the stake from her grip.
"You've been a naughty girl," Spike said and he licked her ear with his cold tongue. Then he thrust her towards Erroll, who held her tight in his arms.
"Please don't hurt me – please!" Annabelle heard herself plead. She twisted round to look up at Erroll's savage face. "I didn't mean to kill Ravinder, I swear."
Erroll didn't answer. He just passed her to one of the other minions and wiped his hands on his jeans.
"Give him to me." There was a desperate cajoling note in Darla's voice now. "Give him back to me Angel - and maybe we'll spare your friends."
Angel looked up and down, searching for a way of escape. His dark gaze flicked from Spike to Darla and back again.
"They knew the risks," he said.
There was a moment's breathless silence and then from deep in the shaft came a moaning sound– an ascending wail of misery and longing. "Daddy! Da-ade-ee!" followed by eerie sobbing laughter that bounced off the walls amplified by the confining baffles. There was something down there – a dark shape spider-crawling its way up the rickety staircase. Annabelle caught a glimpse of long, tangled black hair, yellow eyes and claws – her worst imaginings come to life. She screamed and at the same time, Connor began to struggle again, his little foot catching Angel full in the ribs.
Taken by surprise, Angel wavered and began to fall, the child still clutched in his arms. But as he fell, Spike moved faster than Annabelle had thought it possible to move, diving headfirst under the rail and snatching Connor from Angel's flailing grip. In fact, Angel pushed the child at him – almost throwing him to safety - and Erroll was there to grab the tail of Spike's duster and haul him back from the brink.
From far below, there was a horrible, loose-sounding thump and then silence save for the wind in the baffles. As she was dragged away, Annabelle saw the black shape scuttling back the way it had come.
Spike rubbed his jaw. It still hurt where Angel had punched him. However, given the thin red line on his neck, which spoke of an attempt at decapitation, he was lucky to be alive to feel it. He wondered what had made the old man hesitate.
"Poor Spike, did he hurt you?" Darla's cool hand wafted across the skin at the nape of his neck and he shuddered.
"Not like last time."
He was sitting in a chair next to her, surrounded by the full complement of minions - cultists and all -as if he and she were suddenly equals. His reward, he supposed, for services rendered. Or maybe she'd decided she was done letting him kid himself he was still a free agent.
"You gave that up years ago, William," she whispered in his ear, as if she'd read his thoughts again. "You're not your own man any more – you're mine and you always will be."
"Yeah, great." Spike didn't dispute it, though. Too late for that – too late from the moment she'd thrown herself on his mercy and he'd let himself be flattered into helping her. He'd done it to himself – and what's more, he'd done it to Dru, who'd just saved the day for them.
He couldn't have closed the cage door properly, he supposed, and a good thing too as it had turned out. He'd have to take her a reward later.
After a moment's sour contemplation, he shrugged and turned his eyes back to the prisoners. His gaze flicked over Annabelle contemptuously. The girl was crying again, which made him want to hit her. When it came to the crunch, she'd folded without even striking a blow. She'd even admitted doing for Ravinder – pleaded self-defence. Some Slayer she'd make if it ever came to it. She'd hardly be worth the killing.
Angel's friends had taken a battering. The English bloke – Wesley – looked to be on his last legs. Blood – and very tasty it smelt too – was pouring from a wound in his shoulder while a claw-mark ripped a jagged line from cheek to jaw. The American – Gunn – looked in better shape. He stared back at Spike defiantly but Spike could smell his fear.
As for Angel himself, like his friends he was chained up pretty tightly but Spike had ordered his broken legs to be set – he'd listened to the pained groans with some satisfaction – and had him propped up in a chair. He was family after all.
"May I?" He turned to Darla and gestured with his head towards the four prisoners.
Darla had Connor on her knee. She held him close and for a moment, Spike wondered if she'd ever let him go again. "Of course, Spike," she said. "Whatever you think best, as always."
So it seemed they were back to the flattery now – now she'd used him to destroy the last threat to her precious brat that stood any chance of succeeding. Well, Spike thought, he had only himself to blame and seeing her looking at him that way–as if she hung on his every word - still gave him a rush.
He reached out and ruffled Connor's hair, ignoring the brat's scowl. "Watch and learn, kiddo." Then he got up and approached the captives.
Angel's face was grey with pain. He had internal injuries caused by rubble at the bottom of the lift-shaft. Spike hoped it hurt like hell. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at Angel.
"S'pose this ought to be where I say how brave you all were. You know – brave and bloody stupid – but I think I'll just stick with the stupid. Anyone else know you tossers're down here?"
All three men stared back at him defiantly silent, though the Wesley bloke had trouble keeping his head up.
"Thought that might be your answer." Spike moved closer. Then he snatched Annabelle from the arms of the minion who held her. He twisted one arm behind her back hard enough to make her yelp. Her skin was clammy and she stank of fear – worse than he'd ever smelt her. But under the fear there was still a hint of that unmistakable Slayer musk. A bloke could get high just sniffing it.
"See," Spike affected a casual tone. "I reckon you blokes're trained to withstand torture – name, rank and serial number - all that bollocks – but maybe it might be different if it's not you that's tortured but say, some innocent third party."
A horrible sort of whine came out of Annabelle's stretched throat. "Shush, love," Spike hissed in her ear, "at least you won't die a virgin." He slid a hand under her t-shirt and began to fondle her breast.
"Fuck you!" Gunn exclaimed at the same time as Wesley said, "You bastard," and Erroll said, "No, sire. Let me."
Spike grinned at him. "You'll get your turn, mate." He eased the pressure on Annabelle's arm a little but he didn't let go of her tit. He'd have her wet for him soon if Angelus didn't make up his sodding mind.
"Got no objections to performing in public myself," he said, to hurry the old man up, "but I don't think Belle here'll like it."
"The Watchers' Council know we're in the country," Angel said, suddenly. "They don't know exactly where. As far as they're concerned we're here to rescue her." He nodded his head in Annabelle's direction.
"So they don't know about –" Spike half-looked back over his shoulder at Darla and the kid. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Angel and after a moment, Angel nodded again very reluctantly. "Does anyone know about him, except for the three of you?"
Angel's eyes flickered oddly. "Cordy knew, but she's dead. She died two years ago."
"Oh, how sad!" Darla exclaimed, full of false sympathy. "And that other girl – the skinny one – what was her name? I've forgotten."
"Fred." Angel glanced aside at Wesley. "You won't find her. The Watchers' Council have her under their protection."
Spike looked at Erroll – the briefest of looks – and Erroll moved his head very slightly. Wesley must have seen the exchange, however, because he burst out, "Leave her out of this. She won't say anything."
The bloke was evidently sweet on this Fred girl, Spike thought. He grinned. "Not even if none of you come back? And you won't, mate, believe me."
"She knows what's at stake," Angel cut in. "We all do." He looked over Spike's shoulder at Darla. "There were people who wanted to dissect him if they could get hold of him. You didn't see the cages - one each for mother and child."
"I hope you killed them all," was Darla's response, but Angel had caught her attention now.
"Do what you like to me," he said, "but let them go. They were only following orders."
"No." Darla's voice was implacable. "They're here because they're your friends, not because you pay them. You really think I'd believe they'll give up if I let them go?" She laughed, her voice full of its usual tinkling sweetness. "They were willing to give their lives for your cause, Angelus. It'd be a shame to disappoint them. Spike – "
Spike gave Annabelle's nipple a final cruel twist that made her gasp with pain. Then he thrust her back at one of the minions. It was tempting to say to Erroll, "All yours, mate," but all that talk of the Watchers' Council had given him a better idea of what to do with the worthless bitch, and anyway, first thing's first.
He went up close to Gunn and Wesley, letting his vampire features emerge. The air around them tasted of fear and death and though he was happy to grant them more of both, a man had to be practical. He leaned in close to Wesley and ran an explorative tongue over the torn cheek. Droplets of blood exploded on his tastebuds – rich and heavy – the best he'd tasted in ages. In other circumstances, the bloke would've made a fine vampire – though, like Ravinder, he'd have needed a strong hand to keep him in check and stop him getting ideas above his station. As it was – he'd make a perfect present for a lady.
As for the other bloke – Gunn – he was afraid but not of being killed, and suddenly, Spike understood why.
"You hate vampires don't you?" He treated Gunn to a fang-filled smirk. "Killed your family, did they?"
Gunn stared back at him, raw loathing in his eyes. "My sister," he said, and the way he said it revealed the vamps in question had done more to her than just kill her.
Spike stood up again. He looked back at Connor over his shoulder and winked at the kid, who was leaning forward the better to see what was going on. Then he looked at Erroll.
"Get one of these lazy buggers to clean out the meat locker – Gravids'll be by shortly and they'll dispose of what's left. When it's done, you can hang this one up–" and he grabbed Wesley's injured shoulder, causing the man to cry out in pain – "and make sure no one but me touches him."
Spike licked the tasty blood from the palm of his hand with relish. It was tempting to help himself to more but he refrained. Dru would have her little treat – and this time it really would be just for her.
"And him?" Erroll was looking at Gunn. He'd vamped out too and his fangs gleamed in his dark face, dripping with saliva. Spike grinned at him. It was good to indulge the kids once in a while and he reckoned Erroll had earned it.
"He's yours. Play with him as long as you like then turn him. Reckon with the proper training, he'll make a good replacement for Ravinder."
"No!" Gunn's voice was little more than a whisper while Erroll's face clouded at the words but then brightened again. "Fuckin' brilliant," he said. "I always wanted to meet an American brother."
"Good man. As for him – " Spike got up in Angel's face a moment. He wondered what Angel thought of him now – whether he feared him yet. It was impossible to tell from the old man's expression. Then he turned to Darla. "If you want, I'll do it now – right here – in front of everyone."
"Oh no," she said, at once. "I'm surprised to hear you say such a thing. We don't kill family, Spike. You taught me that, remember?"
"Except when they have souls," Spike wanted to say, but Darla was leaning forward, chin on fist, staring at Angel. She was smiling and so was Connor, their expressions eerily alike.
"He wanted to see his son grow up," she said, "so he shall, in a manner of speaking -and one day – when the time comes – Connor can do what he wants with him."
Spike was about to protest, where would they put the tosser – because there was no way he was letting Angel get banged up with Dru – but he didn't say it, because what was the point? The Mistress had made her mind up and – as usual – he would have to live with it.
He reminded himself again that he'd gone into this with his eyes open. Hadn't he spent twenty years living with Angelus and Darla? He knew how Darla felt about the old man – that she'd never bring herself to kill him – but maybe she'd been right all those years ago? Maybe they didn't have to. He remembered what Dru had said about Darla wanting Angel in little pieces and suddenly he grinned again. Angel wouldn't need all four limbs to watch his son grow up, would he, and even if she wouldn't go for anything that extreme, the tosser certainly wouldn't be needing his sanity. In fact, he'd be better off without it.
This could even be fun and there'd been precious little of that around here lately.
He put out a hand to stop the minions who'd hauled Angel to his feet. Angel had come out of his pained stupor and was struggling wildly, calling his friends' names – "Wes! Charles!" -as they were hustled away. The corded veins in his neck stood out so much, they looked about ready to burst.
"Just one thing, Angelus." Spike had to raise his voice above the noise. "Before you go. How did your mates know where to find you?"
Angel stopped shouting. He turned and stared at Spike, his dark eyes still promising that final death he was impotent to give. He didn't answer.
Spike rubbed his chin. He frowned, pretending to be thoughtful. Then he said, "I'm guessing some sort of mystical transmitter and since we searched you thoroughly where, oh where could it be stashed away?"
Angel's lips tightened. He still didn't say anything. At last, Spike motioned to the minions to remove him. "Put him in the locker and chain him up properly. He can have a front row seat while we deal with his friends. Oh, and Angelus – if that transmitter's anywhere on you – say, subcutaneous – we'll find it."
It gave him some small amount of pleasure to see the way Angel's feet dragged as they took him away.
"Well, that was all most satisfactory." Darla leaned back in her chair, a smug expression on her face. But then she frowned, "Except that once again, we have no nanny."
Her gaze swung round to Annabelle, who was being held by one of the minions. The girl was still crying. At this rate she was going to drown them all, Spike thought. Definitely time to be rid of her.
Connor was looking at her too. He bounced slightly on his mother's knee.
"Is Papa going to kill her?" he asked. "Can I watch?"
Darla opened her mouth to answer but Spike cut in quickly. "No you bloody can't -even if I were going to– but I'm not. I'm gonna let her go."
"What?" Darla swung round in Spike's direction, predator-fast, and suddenly, she was all yellow eyes and fangs. "She knows where we are, Spike – she knows who we are."
"So fucking what?" Spike lit another cigarette. He ignored Darla's warning glare and inhaled deeply. "You heard the old man -Watchers' Council knows fuck all about the kid. All they want is their precious Potential back and we need to keep them off our backs. 'Sides, we can't stay here now, you know that."
He laughed but he couldn't say he wasn't pissed off to see all his hard work setting the lair up go to waste just because she'd come over all nostalgic. "We're leaving, Darla – what other choice do we have after this charming little family reunion? Planned it all, didn't you, right from the start. Bet you even told old Drac to write that begging letter to Angel in the first place."
"What is this?" Darla ignored his accusation. "Revenge because I wouldn't let you kill him? I have so few pleasures in life, Spike – why would you want to spoil this one for me?" Her eyes were on Annabelle again.
Spike laughed again. "If you fancy a spot of torture I can arrange that for you any time you like – or you can help me with Angel if you've got the stomach for it– see if I've remembered what he taught me. You can do that just as well in Paris or wherever as you can here. Besides, the Metro's a damn sight cleaner than the Underground."
"True," Darla agreed after a moment. She subsided back into her chair. "And now we've nothing to worry about maybe it's time we broadened Connor's horizons – showed him there's more to life than hiding in the dark. All right then, Spike, if you think it's best, release her."
With that, she pushed Connor off her knee and stood up. She took the child's hand in hers.
"Don't keep me waiting long," she said, to Spike, and she gave him a terrible fang-filled smile. Her yellow gaze swept over Annabelle, dismissing her, and then she was gone.
Annabelle's knees were shaking so much that when the minion let go of her, she would have fallen if Spike hadn't held her upright. Idly, he wondered how long it would take to get the silly bitch to trust him again after what he'd done to her. He'd never know unfortunately.
"Dunno why you're crying like that, Belle," he said. "You get to live. Show a little gratitude."
He took her arm and towed her after him back through the station and up the spiral stairs. There were bloodstains everywhere from where that Wesley bloke had made his last stand and Spike's boots kicked up dust as they passed – the vampire remnants of the fight.
He regretted Ravinder a little. The lair would miss her – not to mention her credulous uncle, who'd had been oh, so terribly convenient. Maybe Erroll could borrow that van a final time. Knowing the vehicle wouldn't be reported stolen would be a big help in moving all their stuff.
Spike sighed and shook his head. He had changed. Here he was, being the responsible family man – making plans for the future. He'd be taking out a sodding pension soon at this rate if he didn't watch it.
When they reached the top of the final flight of concrete stairs that led outside, Spike shoved Annabelle right up against the metal door and moulded his body to hers. She still smelt wonderful and, flush against her like this, he soon had a hard-on. He had no intention of wasting it on her but he indulged himself a little, kissing her hard – forcing his tongue into her warm mouth – tasting that glorious terror.
When he finally let her go she sagged against him and he had to support her again with a hand on her elbow while he fished the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Outside, it was still dark but there was a greyish look to the sky in the east that heralded the dawn. The air smelt of petrol fumes and rubbish. Spike drew in a deep lungful. He was going to miss London.
"Go on then," he said to Annabelle. "Get lost before I change my mind."
He let go of her but at first, she didn't move. Instead, she looked at him, her blue eyes wide and terrified.
"You're really letting me go?" she asked, as if she still didn't quite believe it.
Spike rolled his eyes. "What does it sodding look like? Yes, I'm letting you go –" and suddenly he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him –" and I just know you won't go blabbing to anyone about anything you've seen – anything you've learned – in the last six months. You're a sensible girl, Belle, yeah? That's why I chose you."
She kept on giving him that deer-caught-in-car-headlights expression, as if she hadn't really understood him, but in the end, she nodded.
"Good girl." Spike relaxed his grip a little. "Because if I had the least notion you'd spill the beans – well, don't forget, we know where you live and we know where your family lives. Understand me?"
Again she nodded and this time, he pushed her through the doorway and out onto the pavement. A chill wind blew up the length of Down Street and below him Spike heard the distant hum of transformers as the first train of the day approached the abandoned station.
Annabelle was hugging herself and as Spike watched, she slumped onto the ground, almost rolling into a ball, shaking with sobs.
"Oh, yeah," he said, "if you ever are the Slayer – who knows, maybe we'll meet again. Always wanted a third notch in my belt – that is, if Erroll doesn't get you first."
With a snort of disgust, Spike slammed the door on her and locked it.
Annabelle cried for what seemed like ages. By the time she pulled herself together enough to stand up, the cold from the pavement felt as if it had seeped into her bones. She couldn't stop shaking.
The street was deserted. Above the recessed metal door with its Keep Out sign, the ox-blood-coloured tiles of the station frontage seemed black in the dim light, looming over her. For a moment, she felt dizzy, afraid the whole building was going to collapse and bury her underneath it.
Next to the doorway, there was a small shop – a tobacconist's it looked like. A single light shone inside but when Annabelle went to peer through the windows, the place was empty. She looked at her watch. It was five o'clock in the morning. Soon, the city would be waking up around her. She should move, she thought – get well away in case Spike changed his mind.
She flinched away from thinking about him because then she'd have to remember his hand inside her t-shirt, his cold fingers pulling at her nipple, just like that strange vampire back in the tunnels, while around them, the assembled minions watched eagerly. He'd have raped her, she knew, right in front of them all, if Angel hadn't told him what he wanted to know. She couldn't believe she'd ever for one moment trusted him or Erroll or any of them. They were monsters – horrible – not human. Just for a moment, she hoped that one day she would become the Slayer – be strong enough to fight them – hurt them back. But deep inside her, something told her even if that did happen the very sight of Spike coming towards her would be enough to rob her of what little courage she had.
She didn't want either to think about Angel and his friends – about the fact that if she hurried it maybe wouldn't be too late to save them. Spike had warned her what would happen if she said anything, though, and she believed him. They'd tried to save her but she couldn't save them.
She couldn't save anything.
In fact, she was only alive because she hadn't let Angel kill Spike. But when she thought of that thin red gash in Spike's neck, already healing over – of Angel poised over the limp body, pressing the knife blade to the pale throat, she wished with everything in her that she'd kept her mouth shut.
Just then, a large, battered old car turned the corner at the end of the road. It came up the street and pulled to a stop at the kerb nearby. Annabelle saw a middle-aged Asian man inside the car, peering at her suspiciously. She tried to stand up straight, brushing her hair back from her face to make herself look presentable, but it was too hard and in a moment, she was wiping the tears away again.
The man got out of the car at last.
"Please miss," he said. "Are you one of them?" And he nodded his head towards the closed metal door between its brick pillars. "If you want anything, just take it. Mr Spike knows I won't make trouble."
"I'm not – " Annabelle had to force the words out. "I'm not a vampire," she managed at last. "Please – can you help me?"
The man regarded her for a moment. Then he locked the car door and came towards her. He peered into her face as if expecting it to turn all fanged and horrible and when it didn't, he seemed a little reassured.
"Come in the shop," he said. "You don't worry, miss. I have daughters your age."
He unlocked the shop door and ushered Annabelle inside, closing it behind them but not locking it, as if he thought he might need to get away in a hurry.
"Sit down please." He gestured towards an old kitchen chair standing behind the counter and Annabelle sat on it while he went around opening shutters and putting out stock. Various delivery vans pulled up outside – newspapers, milk – and still she sat there while the shock of what had happened settled like cancer deep into her bones.
At last, when it was fully daylight, she roused herself. She knew she couldn't stay here even though the world outside was terrifying, because come nightfall, the world belonged to them. Suddenly, she was crying again, tears sliding down her face while the shopkeeper stared at her helplessly. She wanted to lean against him – for him to comfort her – and after a while, with great reluctance, he put a hand on her shoulder and patted it.
"You don't worry miss," he said again. "They can't hurt you now. You're safe." He went on patting her shoulder while she cried. She knew she'd never feel safe again.
Eventually, it seemed she had no more tears left and he handed her a tissue. She wiped her face while he went to serve a customer. She felt wrung out – like there was nothing left of her – this was all there was – this shell of a girl. But then, like a pale ghost of hope, she thought of Harry and immediately felt a little better. When the customer had gone, she said as politely as she could, "Could I use the phone, Mr Asif? I need to call my brother."
Spike had returned to the bedroom to find Darla fast asleep on the bed with Connor tight in her arms. So much for telling him to hurry back, he thought.
He stood looking down at them – the mistress of his heart and her unnatural brat. Their faces were close together, both soft and innocent in sleep, their hair – blonde and brown – mingling on the pillow. He ran a gentle finger down Connor's cheek with the baby-bloom still on it. It would be so easy to kill him now – and what's more he'd be doing the world a favour. He bent down and sniffed the child's body, which smelt of his mother and Angel – of himself and Dru and family. He knew he wasn't going to do it.
Darla murmured in her sleep. Spike bent closer, trying to catch the name on her lips. He watched as her body went momentarily tense and then relaxed with a tiny sigh of pleasure. Was she dreaming of him, he wondered, or was she dreaming of Angelus? He set his hand to her cold breast, running his thumb over the nipple until it peaked through the thin stuff of her negligee. She made an animal sound deep in her throat but she didn't wake up and Connor's grip on her suddenly tightened.
Spike grimaced. For a moment, he considered picking the kid up and putting him back in his own bed – taking what he felt he'd earned – but then he shrugged and went out again, closing the door quietly behind him.
It would do for later. He had years until the brat grew up and the little bastard could wait his turn.
Instead, he went back to the old lift shaft and made his way down the rickety metal staircase – down, down into the depths, to where Angel had fallen like Satan from the heavens. Spike could smell his sire's blood in the air still and he inhaled deeply. He hoped to have that scent in his nostrils quite a bit in the near future. Angel was owed payback for – oh, so many things, the humiliations of the last few days not the least of them.
Dru was asleep or unconscious when Spike knelt down beside her cage. Tomorrow, he thought, he'd bring her that treat he'd promised her. Watching Dru playing with her food was always very instructive. But now, he just wanted to be alone with her, to remind himself of the time when he'd still been free – days long gone, like a dream he'd once had.
He could just reach to touch a curl of dark hair through the bars. He ran it through his fingers then brought it to his lips and kissed it.
"One day I'll take you out of here," he whispered. "One day soon Dru, I promise."
She didn't respond but from the depths of the lift shaft, the soughing of air sounded like mocking laughter.
THE END
Notes:
Green Park: the next station westbound on the Piccadilly Underground line after Piccadilly itself.
I took some small liberties with the layout of Down Street but essentially it's as described in the story. If you want to see it for yourself (virtually anyway) go here.