Family Reunion Part 6
Mar. 21st, 2007 07:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapinglightFor rating/pairings/setting etc see Part 1. Previous parts are here.
In this part, there's more (and slightly more graphic) unsoulled vampire nastiness.
Family Reunion Part 6
Spike didn't discover the three of them weren't the only vampires on board the container ship until a few days after the incident with Dru. He'd gone scavenging for fresh food for the wet nurse in the crew's quarters one night and on his way back, had discovered the corpse of the ship's cat, stuffed inelegantly behind a pile of old boxes in the hold. Once he'd frightened off the rats that had alerted him to the body, he'd examined it more closely - because beggars couldn't be choosers – and found that it hadn't been dead long and that its body was completely drained of blood.
He felt the hair on his arms rise as if in a chill wind, though the hold was stuffy and hot like all the below-decks areas. He shook his head, bringing fangs and ridges to the fore and scented the air delicately. Underneath the lingering smell of salt and mould, human sweat and animal death, he sensed one of his own kind not far away, and one not family either.
At once, he went into stalking mode, rising onto the balls of his feet as he prowled the empty corridors, panther-quiet, in quest of the elusive prey. He already had a feeling he knew who – or rather what – it would turn out to be since he'd already been chased by them half way across Mexico.
The strange vampire must have got wind of his approach at the last moment because it made a break from its hiding place near the entrance to the container deck. Spike caught a glimpse of shadow moving and took off in pursuit, getting a further sighting of a black-clad figure disappearing round a corner and the faint patter of what sounded like bare feet. He followed warily, sensing a trap and baiting it at the same time by allowing himself to be heard. If the stranger thought him overconfident, it might get cocky in its turn.
All well and good, but he only just avoided the stake that came flying out of the shadows, aimed at his heart. It struck his shoulder instead, causing him to hiss through his fangs in pain, but he caught an outstretched hand, and then a vulnerable jaw with his own fist, and then threw himself on the stranger punching and kicking, not giving him any chance to retaliate. When his assailant was safely battered into unconsciousness, Spike licked the blood from his knuckles, put the stake in his pocket and bent to examine his find. It was one of the cultists for sure – dressed in their trademark formfitting black and with that fanatical look about him even when his face was bruised into a shape wholly other than human.
He hefted the body over his shoulders and took it back to show to Darla. He strung the stranger up in the cold store, gagged him with his own ninja-style headscarf and left him to recover a little. Then he tidied himself up a bit and strolled back into their temporary home as if nothing at all had happened. The baby was crying and the wet nurse was trying to soothe it by changing its dirty nappy. Spike wrinkled his nose at the smell, though with a diet of nothing but breast-milk the odour wasn't too bad. It was more the evidence of the child's contrary humanity that disgusted him. How the hell could such a being even exist?
Darla was pacing again, up and down, up and down, her eyes barely leaving the baby, though she made no attempt to approach it. She didn't care for the messy side of being a mother and she had little patience with the wet nurse when the kid cried for too long. As Spike approached, he saw the woman fumble and shut her eyes for a moment, obviously near the end of her tether. He was beginning to think that putting her out of her misery as soon as possible would be doing her a kindness.
"Got something to show you." He went to Darla and took her arm but she shook him off the way she sometimes did, her eyes asking quite clearly how he dared touch her without permission. "Come on, love." He put a cajoling note in his voice. "You'll enjoy it, you'll see. You need something to occupy you, and hanging round here like this, you're just making the poor cow nervous."
Spike gestured with his head towards the wet nurse as he spoke then mouthed quietly, "Honestly, love, with that face on you every time you look at her, you'll curdle the milk – or dry it up completely."
That gave her pause and after a moment and with an exasperated sigh, she followed him.
"What's this?" Staring at the trussed up cultist, she must have known but she still asked it.
"Found him sneaking around outside," Spike told her. "Dunno how they tracked us. They're right fanatics. "
"They are." She sounded afraid for a moment. "They were going to eat me alive."
"Nice." Spike patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Well, you can return the favour if you want with ninja-boy here."
"I need a knife." She held out her hand but didn't take her eyes off the hanging body.
Spike was pleased. "That's my girl." He went and fetched a butcher's cleaver that he'd liberated from the harbour master's kitchen back in Altamira, along with a nice thin blade to complement it, and left her to get on with it. Knowing her skills with both, he was glad he'd remembered to gag the stranger. The wet nurse was already spooked enough without being subjected to the sound of blood-curdling screams.
Returning to the adjacent container, he found she'd managed to settle the baby, now fast asleep in its nest of blankets. Spike smiled at the woman and made a rocking gesture with his arms and she nodded, looking reassured.
"Good for you, love," he said and gave her the thumbs up and this time she almost smiled back. The softly-softly approach was a tactic he'd used so many times to bait the trap that it came as second nature now. It was so much easier to lure humans to their own destruction all soft and willing, though of course violence always had its place. The art lay in knowing when to use it.
Spike glanced over at Dru, who lay like the dead, and a pang of guilt went through him that he'd allowed this to happen to her. He still didn't really know why he hadn't told Darla to just bugger off. She was family of course but generally speaking she'd paid very little attention to him back in the old days; just used him whenever she fancied a change from beefcake. Mostly, it was all about Angelus with her.
In spite of his guilt, however, he was still angry with Dru. He'd done his utmost best to make it up to her for that pact with the Slayer but she'd cheated on him and deceived him again and again. When she'd up and disappeared one night, he'd almost been glad because he'd needed a break himself by then. He'd found it too, in the shape of that silly bint Harmony. It'd struck him as ironic that she turned out to be a former classmate of the Slayer's, so much so that he'd pretended sometimes it was little Buff herself he was fucking when he took her, even though she had much better tits than that skinny little bitch.
You'd needed ear-plugs to live with her, though, and he'd been relieved beyond measure when Dru came back and promptly dusted her. Dru had been acting – odd, even for her. Spike could see that something bad had happened to her because her face and body still bore the traces of burning, but she wouldn't say what had caused it. In the end, he'd decided not to push his luck and stopped asking her about it. You never knew with her when she might get fed up and decide to take off again. Instead, he'd kept her distracted with parties and games and a great deal of sex as rough as she liked it. He'd even blindfolded her and pretended to be 'daddy.' And yet, all the time, she'd been hiding so much from him.
Spike sighed. He looked from Dru to the sleeping baby – the cause of all their troubles - and then, as quietly as he could, walked over to the makeshift cot – a packing case with one side torn off – and knelt down beside it. He leaned forward, sniffing the child's body all over. It smelled as babies always did, sort of clean with a faint odour of sour milk. But beyond that, there was the unmistakable signature of its own unique scent, redolent of its mother and its absent father. Spike closed his eyes, allowing his features to change to their true shape. He let his senses expand outwards along the trails of scent and suddenly they were all there – not just Angel and Darla but the Master and Dru, and even himself. The kid might look like a nice crunchy human mouthful but he was family all right.
Spike opened his eyes again and let his face slide back into human form before the wet nurse saw it and had another fit of the screaming abdabs. The baby stirred in his sleep, pressing his little fist against his mouth and sucking hard. He was a pale little thing – not one of these big red screaming babies – and suddenly, in spite of everything, Spike felt almost tender towards him. He reached out and ran a finger down one soft cheek.
"Hey there, mate," he said, "it's your Uncle Spike. You go on smelling that way and you'll be fine, you'll see. We don't kill family."
"No, we don't - unless we have souls." Darla's voice behind him made him jump. Spike hadn't heard her approach at all, though he should have because the wet nurse was back to whimpering. Not surprisingly, he thought as he turned round and rose to his feet. Darla's light summer dress was spattered with blood and she was still holding the cleaver in her hand.
Quickly, he grabbed her arm and drew her away from the frightened human.
"Are you off your head?" And he was afraid she really was. The answer he got was a vicious backhand across the face followed by a passionate kiss that tasted of blood.
"I needed a break," she said, smiling, and at once, his cock began to thicken inside his jeans.
"Not here." He manhandled her backwards out of the container and into the other, almost slipping in a big pool of blood on the floor. She'd cut the clothes from the cultist's body and that wasn't all she'd cut either. Spike winced and shuddered, meeting the bloke's eyes for a moment, which were bulging and glassy. She'd probably have those next, or maybe the skin. She had a delicate hand for work like that.
"I want him to watch," she said, and she laughed breathlessly. "I want him to see how magnificent you are."
Her hands were pulling at his clothes and he allowed her to strip him, though the parallels with what she'd done to the hanging body sent a chill down his spine. Naked, he braced himself against the wall, his senses all primed and ready as she began a sinuous slide down to the floor. He felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with sheer terror. Her cool tongue was already tending to him when he noticed their victim was no longer gagged.
"Wait." He put his hand on her head to stop her. "He told you something, didn't he?"
Her blonde head was resting against his thigh. She looked up at him and smiled the smile of a satisfied cat. "Oh, yes. For instance, I know they'll be waiting for us when we dock in Southampton – the whole bunch of them and their leader too – their potentate, they called him."
"Great!" He didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice but she only laughed.
"Oh, my dear, sweet boy, you mustn't worry. The best and simplest way to neutralise a threat is to deal with it once and for all. My sire taught me that. You'll kill him, I know you will, and then his followers will either be mine or they'll be dead."
"How do you know that?" The certainty in her voice didn't reassure him about her sanity – more the lack of it.
She flicked her tongue against the wet pink tip of his cock, sending a shudder all through his body. "I know," she said, "because of what I just heard you say. My son is the Miracle Child, William, just like they believe, but until he grows up he needs a father and that father is meant to be you. I saw you with him. You want to protect him, don't you? You feel his power."
"Bugger that!" he protested, but she only laughed again and began to subject him to her considerable skill. Spike shuddered and moaned, swaying on his feet, but all the time he kept eye-contact with the trapped cultist. The poor bloke's lips were crusted together with blood. Evidently, Darla was done listening to him.
When Spike came, she swallowed him down without hesitation and just for a moment, he had a feeling it wasn't just his spunk she'd devoured. His knees gave way and she caught him and held him against her, his head on her breast. When he looked up at her, her green eyes shone with passion and confidence and at last, for the first time since she'd declared it, he began to believe she truly was her sire's heir.
*
Darla had really dressed up for the occasion, Annabelle thought, like she had when Dracula came. Her chair, which was only some old office chair that Erroll had found in a skip, was draped with rich silk cloths all covered in embroidery. They were cut-up saris from an Indian shop, Erroll said, like the ones in Darla's bedroom. Darla herself wore a long red dress that clung to her sinuous figure, accentuating every curve. Her hair and make-up were perfect, as always, and her nails were painted the exact same shade as her gown.
Connor sat on his usual cushion on the floor in front of her, a big gold-tasselled thing in plum-coloured velvet. She'd ordered Annabelle to dress him all in black – black trousers, black shirt and black polished shoes. He looked like he was going to a funeral.
Annabelle herself stood behind them. She was wearing her Norland College uniform, complete with the little, flat-topped brown hat and the white gloves. It wasn't actually her uniform, of course, as she hadn't been wearing that when she'd been kidnapped, and it didn't really fit properly. However, Darla required her to wear it at what passed for formal events in the lair. Annabelle was firmly not thinking about where it might have come from.
Spike had gone with Erroll to bring this Angel - Connor's real father - from the guestroom. Most of the minions that Annabelle knew by sight were present – but some were probably out hunting, as always.
The minions were talking quietly among themselves but then at the sound of footsteps approaching they fell silent, their faces turning as one in that direction. Annabelle repressed a shudder. Vampires didn't go quiet like people did. There were no suppressed coughs or shifting of feet. There was just total, eerie silence.
She didn't know what she'd been expecting in Angel - maybe someone who actually looked like Connor's father, with the same medium-brown hair and sea-blue eyes and the same delicately girlish features. However, when she saw him, it became plain that Connor favoured his mother, because Angel was tall – taller than Spike by a head – with heavy features and dark hair and eyes. He was handsome – very handsome – and much more Annabelle's usual type, the rugby-playing kind. Spike was behind and to one side of him, with Erroll to the other, and suddenly he looked delicate - almost frail - as if a strong wind could blow him away – next to the other men's muscle-bound solidity.
"Angel," Darla broke the silence. "So good of you to visit. I hope you're recovered from your journey?" She sounded like Annabelle's mother greeting a guest at a cocktail party.
"Stop." It was Spike's voice, speaking quietly, and at the word, Angel stood still. He was staring at Connor already and he hardly glanced at Darla. "I'm fine, thanks," he said, absently. He had an American accent too, though it didn't sound quite like Darla's. Suddenly, he squatted down so he was more at Connor's level. "Hey, buddy," he said, "how're you?"
Connor glanced back at his mother. Annabelle caught a sidelong glimpse of Darla's face and she didn't look particularly happy at being ignored. Annabelle remembered what Spike had said about vampires making other people vampires because they wanted them, not because they wanted children, and suddenly Darla's exceptional care with her appearance made a lot more sense than before.
"You can answer him, Connor," Darla said to the boy, and at the sound of his name, Angel looked up, startled.
"You named him Connor?" he asked in amazement, and now his eyes met Darla's.
Behind him, Annabelle saw Spike's hands clench into fists.
"Of course," Darla said. "It's what you wanted, isn't it? Your father's name, you said - though it's a little late to get in his good books now."
Angel's heavy brow drew down into a thunderous scowl and he opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it.
"Sure," he said, at last. "Thanks for honouring my wishes. So, Connor, how're you doing?"
His gaze had gone back to the boy now. All the while this exchange had been going on, Connor had been staring at Angel, his small, pale face its usual unreadable mask.
"I'm fine thank you," he said very formally, and Annabelle thought she saw Angel react with a little shudder of distaste to the child's strong English accent.
Angel looked sour for a moment but then tried to force his face into a friendly smile, which it didn't quite manage to bring off. "So what do you get up to all day? You get to go out at all?"
"No." Connor was still being eerily matter-of-fact. "I just stay here with Belle when I'm not with Mama and Papa."
Annabelle was almost certain that Connor had put a deliberate emphasis on that last word and she was sure that Angel noticed. He half glanced over his shoulder at Spike and the frown was back again.
"That's good," he said, "except that a growing boy like you needs sunshine and fresh air. Don't you miss those things, Connor, living down here like this?"
"No," Connor said again, and then he looked away from Angel, as if he'd grown bored with the conversation. He leaned back against his mother's knee and Darla began to stroke his silky brown hair.
"You see," Darla said, to Angel. "He's being well-looked after and he's perfectly happy here. We have an excellent nanny for him."
And then Angel was looking straight at Annabelle. She felt herself colour up at once under his scrutiny. She didn't feel like an excellent nanny, especially since she disliked her charge so much. Suddenly, that fact made her feel almost guilty –something to do with Angel's brown eyes that bored into her, seeking – as it seemed – some kind of reassurance. She thought what it must have been like for him, being separated from his son all this time, and felt sorry for him, even though he was only another vampire.
There was something else in his gaze, though – some special kind of earnestness that she didn't understand, as if he were trying to get a message across to her without being able to tell her openly what it was. She wondered suddenly if the article in the paper was wrong and her family hadn't given up looking for her after all. Perhaps Angel had seen them – talked to Harry, maybe.
"You gonna take the oath, then, or what?" It was Spike's voice, the words directed at Angel. "Thought that's what you came here for."
"Sure," Angel said again. "Whenever your mistress wants," and now he was the one putting emphasis on words. He managed to say 'mistress' as if it was something dirty – beneath his contempt – and somehow Spike was included in that.
Spike just laughed, although he didn't sound happy. "I'd watch it, mate, if I was you – keep a civil tongue in your head."
"It's all right, Spike. He has a soul, I guess he can't help himself." Darla didn't sound as if she minded what Angel had said but Connor sat up on his cushion and frowned.
It didn't seem to Annabelle that Angel was going about this the right way at all, antagonising everyone, and it must have dawned on him at the same time because, "I'm sorry," he said, to Darla, "that was uncalled for. I admit, I was jealous. Your – relationship with Spike is none of my business."
"No, it's not," and suddenly, like magic, Angel and Darla had created this intimate space around themselves, as if they were alone in the room. Annabelle saw Spike's fists clench again and Connor was still scowling. He turned round on his cushion, trying to get his mother's attention and just for once, she completely ignored him.
"You gave up the right to interfere in anything to do with me a long time ago." Darla's voice was soft – almost nostalgic.
"I couldn't help it," Angel said. "I didn't ask for what happened."
"No," Spike cut in sarcastically. "An innocent victim, that's what you were – well, weren't we all, mate - once upon a time."
Angel ignored him. Instead, he said to Darla, "You put up with that on a daily basis? You have more patience than I'd ever imagined."
Darla's lip curled. "It has its compensations," she said, smugly.
"Mama!" Connor's high child's voice intruded insistently into the conversation. He didn't like being left out. Darla's gaze swung round to him at once and she scowled. "That's enough," she said and she snapped her fingers at Annabelle. "Take him away. Can't you see he's overtired, you stupid girl?"
"Sorry." Annabelle hurried forward, very conscious of Angel staring at her again. She took Connor's hand and tried to raise him to his feet but he was having none of it. "No! I want to stay with Mama!" And then he turned on Angel, his small, pale face twisted with childish spite. "I don't like you," he shouted. "I wish you were dead!"
"Connor!" Annabelle's heart was pounding in her chest now. She knew from bitter experience that Darla would find some way to make this all her fault. Already, she looked furious and her eyes had that sullen gold glint that showed she was losing her temper.
As usual, it was Spike who stepped in to calm things. He walked round Angel's crouching figure and hoisted Connor up from his cushion and onto his shoulders in one fluid easy movement.
"Calm down, rugrat," he said. "Better let your mum and her ex talk it out, yeah? Sooner they do, the sooner we'll be shut of him."
He began to walk away, motioning with his head for Annabelle to follow and she hastened after him. She risked a quick glance back over her shoulder and saw that Angel was looking at her, the dark eyes still boring into her trying to convey that silent message. She saw too that Ravinder, at the front of the crowd of minions, had noticed the look between them. The expression on her face wasn't nice at all.
"Hurry back, Spike," Darla said. "I need you here."
"Yes, Mistress." Spike put the correct respectful emphasis on the word, but he didn't sound happy. Annabelle trailed after him back along the cross-tunnel, over the tracks and down the stairs to platform level. She was thinking about Angel and how she could possibly contrive to talk to him alone and whether it was worth the risk.
"Here we are then, kiddo." Spike deposited Connor on the bed in his parents' bedroom. "Want the telly on?"
Annabelle looked at her wristwatch. "He's not supposed to watch television after nine o'clock," she said, hesitantly. "Darla says it's not suitable."
"Bollocks to that." Spike switched the television on and began to flick through the myriad channels. "What the fuck does she know about bringing up kids anyway?"
He grinned down at Connor and Connor grinned back. They looked like co-conspirators now rather than the rivals they sometimes seemed.
"This looks okay," Spike said, at last. "Bit of mindless violence never hurt anyone."
He'd found some sort of horror film. A pretty blonde girl was being dragged along the floor screaming by something just off-camera. Annabelle turned away just as a horrible sawing sound started up and the screams got louder and louder and then abruptly stopped
"Is it a film about the Gravids?" Connor asked in a serious voice.
Spike was rummaging in his coat pockets. After a moment, he fished out a couple of chocolate bars and dropped them in Connor's lap. "Could be," he said. "S'a bit like that when they do their stuff, only slower, and they'd never waste blood that way – seen it once or twice. Here." He'd turned to Annabelle then and thrown something at her. She caught it automatically and found herself clutching a Mars Bar.
"Courtesy of Mr Asif upstairs," Spike said, and he tilted his head at her in that way that always made her catch her breath and shiver. "Relax, Belle - just get him to bed before we come back."
"I will." She watched him go, unable – as usual – to take her eyes off him. He was easy on the eye, which was one reason, but she also needed to do it– to keep track of the predator's movements.
"He's stupid to let Mama talk to that man." Connor spoke with his mouth full of chocolate but his eyes never left the screen.
"I don't think he has much choice," Annabelle said. "Besides, you shouldn't talk about your father like that."
"He's not my father." Connor shrugged dismissively. "Not really – but I like him better than that other one. Him. I don't like him at all."
"He only wants to see you." Annabelle wasn't sure why she felt moved to defend Angel but she found herself doing it all the same. "It must have been hard for him to miss all the years when you were a baby."
The silvery light from the television screen lit up Connor's face from below and danced in his dark blue eyes. He looked up at Annabelle, expression adult and bleak.
"What would you know about it?" he said. "You're just a stupid human cow and one day you'll end up like that." He pointed at the screen where another victim was getting the Gravid-like treatment to the accompaniment of more horrific screams.
Annabelle realised her hands were shaking. She clutched the chocolate bar harder and walked round behind the television towards hers and Connor's bedroom. "I'm going to get changed," she said.
Connor didn't take any notice. His eyes were glued to the screen.
Alone in the bedroom, Annabelle put the Mars Bar down on the bedside table and poured herself a glass of water. She was sweating but the sweat was cold and uncomfortable. She felt the faint vibration through the floor that presaged an approaching train and sat down on the bed under cover of the noise, put her head in her hands and sobbed.
She knew – she just knew – that if she didn't use Angel's visit as a means of escape – if she didn't even try – she would die just as Connor said. For a moment, she thought she was going to be sick and she ran into the bathroom and crouched over the toilet-bowl, retching miserably. When nothing happened, she put the seat down and rested her cheek against the hard plastic. She tried to think what to do but it all seemed so difficult – unless –
Abruptly, she got to her feet. She peeled off her white uniform gloves, rinsed out her mouth and washed her face and hands. Then she went back into the bedroom and tore the hated uniform off. She'd always felt silly wearing it walking round the streets of Bath and it was even worse here somehow. Instead, she put on jeans and a t-shirt. The noise of the television continued in the other room and she heard the rustling of sweet papers. Spike would be in big trouble if Darla found out he'd given Connor chocolate just before bedtime and so would she, probably.
She opened one of Connor's books– Winnie the Pooh, one she knew for certain he didn't like– took a colouring pencil out of his crayon box and began to write on the flyleaf.
It was hard to know what to say and she'd never been much good at English, but in the end, she managed:
Dear Mr Angel
My name is Annabelle Gieves-Bowen. I'm the nanny who was kidnapped in Richmond. I'm not a vampire. Please help me. Please tell my family I'm still alive and tell them to send help. My brother is in the army. This station is called Down Street.
Thank you.
There didn't seem much else to say so Annabelle tore the page out of the book as quietly as she could, folded it and stuffed it in her jeans pocket along with the pencil. Angel might not have anything to write with. She stood up, took a deep breath and went through to the other room. Connor was still sitting where she'd left him, his short legs swinging idly to-and-fro as he gazed at the television. He was still eating the chocolate too but more slowly now. He was probably getting full.
"I'm going to get your milk," Annabelle said, in her best, brisk nanny-voice. "And when I come back it'll be time for bed, all right?"
Connor barely spared her a glance. On the screen, a group of teenagers were inching their way down a dark corridor towards a door at the end, from behind which, the sawing sound could be heard. Annabelle wondered why people in horror films were always so stupid.
She shut the door behind her and hurried over to the eastbound platform. Near the foot of the stairs, she paused, looking up and listening, but there was no sign of anyone about. The door to Angel's guest room/prison was open and unguarded. As Annabelle ran towards it, she heard the vibration in the rails again and a blast of air from the eastbound tunnel blew her hair over her face. Inside the room, she looked wildly round for somewhere out of the way but obvious enough to be noticed and in the end, jammed the note and pencil into the metal grille covering her secret hiding place.
She finished just as the train thundered through the station, speeding up, it seemed, as it went. She was about to make her way to the kitchen when she heard voices approaching down the stairs. She froze, heart pounding in her chest fit to burst. It sounded like two or three people and she heard Erroll say, "You sure about this, boss?"
"Of course I'm fucking sure." It was Spike's voice, sounding angry – and most of all afraid and trying to hide it. "Don't want you lot hearing any of this. Just make sure the door's locked and come back in a couple of hours."
"A couple of hours might not be long enough." Now Angel was talking. "It's been a while, Spike, after all."
"Afraid you've lost your touch, are you?"
There was an almost hysterical edge to Spike's voice that sent chills down Annabelle's spine but galvanised her into movement. She ran out of the door and made it as far as the kitchen just as the vampires came in sight. She peered round the edge of the doorframe to watch them. Spike came first with Angel a pace behind him and then Erroll behind them both. She couldn't see their faces but Spike's head was bowed and his shoulders a little slumped. When they reached the door of the guest room, Spike paused and Annabelle saw his prominent Adam's apple jerk up and down in his throat. In profile his face looked weak sometimes, and now it definitely did.
Angel laughed. "No need to be scared," he said, a sneer in his voice. "You heard me promise Darla. I'm not gonna damage you."
"Yeah - right." Spike glanced back at him over his shoulder, face white as paper. Then he turned to Erroll. "Don't let anyone out except me."
He went into the room, walking like a condemned man, and Angel followed him. Then Erroll locked them inside together.
TBC
Notes:
Bath: a city in the west of England, home of Norland College (the posh school for nannies) and a lot of touristy stuff about Jane Austen
In this part, there's more (and slightly more graphic) unsoulled vampire nastiness.
Family Reunion Part 6
Spike didn't discover the three of them weren't the only vampires on board the container ship until a few days after the incident with Dru. He'd gone scavenging for fresh food for the wet nurse in the crew's quarters one night and on his way back, had discovered the corpse of the ship's cat, stuffed inelegantly behind a pile of old boxes in the hold. Once he'd frightened off the rats that had alerted him to the body, he'd examined it more closely - because beggars couldn't be choosers – and found that it hadn't been dead long and that its body was completely drained of blood.
He felt the hair on his arms rise as if in a chill wind, though the hold was stuffy and hot like all the below-decks areas. He shook his head, bringing fangs and ridges to the fore and scented the air delicately. Underneath the lingering smell of salt and mould, human sweat and animal death, he sensed one of his own kind not far away, and one not family either.
At once, he went into stalking mode, rising onto the balls of his feet as he prowled the empty corridors, panther-quiet, in quest of the elusive prey. He already had a feeling he knew who – or rather what – it would turn out to be since he'd already been chased by them half way across Mexico.
The strange vampire must have got wind of his approach at the last moment because it made a break from its hiding place near the entrance to the container deck. Spike caught a glimpse of shadow moving and took off in pursuit, getting a further sighting of a black-clad figure disappearing round a corner and the faint patter of what sounded like bare feet. He followed warily, sensing a trap and baiting it at the same time by allowing himself to be heard. If the stranger thought him overconfident, it might get cocky in its turn.
All well and good, but he only just avoided the stake that came flying out of the shadows, aimed at his heart. It struck his shoulder instead, causing him to hiss through his fangs in pain, but he caught an outstretched hand, and then a vulnerable jaw with his own fist, and then threw himself on the stranger punching and kicking, not giving him any chance to retaliate. When his assailant was safely battered into unconsciousness, Spike licked the blood from his knuckles, put the stake in his pocket and bent to examine his find. It was one of the cultists for sure – dressed in their trademark formfitting black and with that fanatical look about him even when his face was bruised into a shape wholly other than human.
He hefted the body over his shoulders and took it back to show to Darla. He strung the stranger up in the cold store, gagged him with his own ninja-style headscarf and left him to recover a little. Then he tidied himself up a bit and strolled back into their temporary home as if nothing at all had happened. The baby was crying and the wet nurse was trying to soothe it by changing its dirty nappy. Spike wrinkled his nose at the smell, though with a diet of nothing but breast-milk the odour wasn't too bad. It was more the evidence of the child's contrary humanity that disgusted him. How the hell could such a being even exist?
Darla was pacing again, up and down, up and down, her eyes barely leaving the baby, though she made no attempt to approach it. She didn't care for the messy side of being a mother and she had little patience with the wet nurse when the kid cried for too long. As Spike approached, he saw the woman fumble and shut her eyes for a moment, obviously near the end of her tether. He was beginning to think that putting her out of her misery as soon as possible would be doing her a kindness.
"Got something to show you." He went to Darla and took her arm but she shook him off the way she sometimes did, her eyes asking quite clearly how he dared touch her without permission. "Come on, love." He put a cajoling note in his voice. "You'll enjoy it, you'll see. You need something to occupy you, and hanging round here like this, you're just making the poor cow nervous."
Spike gestured with his head towards the wet nurse as he spoke then mouthed quietly, "Honestly, love, with that face on you every time you look at her, you'll curdle the milk – or dry it up completely."
That gave her pause and after a moment and with an exasperated sigh, she followed him.
"What's this?" Staring at the trussed up cultist, she must have known but she still asked it.
"Found him sneaking around outside," Spike told her. "Dunno how they tracked us. They're right fanatics. "
"They are." She sounded afraid for a moment. "They were going to eat me alive."
"Nice." Spike patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Well, you can return the favour if you want with ninja-boy here."
"I need a knife." She held out her hand but didn't take her eyes off the hanging body.
Spike was pleased. "That's my girl." He went and fetched a butcher's cleaver that he'd liberated from the harbour master's kitchen back in Altamira, along with a nice thin blade to complement it, and left her to get on with it. Knowing her skills with both, he was glad he'd remembered to gag the stranger. The wet nurse was already spooked enough without being subjected to the sound of blood-curdling screams.
Returning to the adjacent container, he found she'd managed to settle the baby, now fast asleep in its nest of blankets. Spike smiled at the woman and made a rocking gesture with his arms and she nodded, looking reassured.
"Good for you, love," he said and gave her the thumbs up and this time she almost smiled back. The softly-softly approach was a tactic he'd used so many times to bait the trap that it came as second nature now. It was so much easier to lure humans to their own destruction all soft and willing, though of course violence always had its place. The art lay in knowing when to use it.
Spike glanced over at Dru, who lay like the dead, and a pang of guilt went through him that he'd allowed this to happen to her. He still didn't really know why he hadn't told Darla to just bugger off. She was family of course but generally speaking she'd paid very little attention to him back in the old days; just used him whenever she fancied a change from beefcake. Mostly, it was all about Angelus with her.
In spite of his guilt, however, he was still angry with Dru. He'd done his utmost best to make it up to her for that pact with the Slayer but she'd cheated on him and deceived him again and again. When she'd up and disappeared one night, he'd almost been glad because he'd needed a break himself by then. He'd found it too, in the shape of that silly bint Harmony. It'd struck him as ironic that she turned out to be a former classmate of the Slayer's, so much so that he'd pretended sometimes it was little Buff herself he was fucking when he took her, even though she had much better tits than that skinny little bitch.
You'd needed ear-plugs to live with her, though, and he'd been relieved beyond measure when Dru came back and promptly dusted her. Dru had been acting – odd, even for her. Spike could see that something bad had happened to her because her face and body still bore the traces of burning, but she wouldn't say what had caused it. In the end, he'd decided not to push his luck and stopped asking her about it. You never knew with her when she might get fed up and decide to take off again. Instead, he'd kept her distracted with parties and games and a great deal of sex as rough as she liked it. He'd even blindfolded her and pretended to be 'daddy.' And yet, all the time, she'd been hiding so much from him.
Spike sighed. He looked from Dru to the sleeping baby – the cause of all their troubles - and then, as quietly as he could, walked over to the makeshift cot – a packing case with one side torn off – and knelt down beside it. He leaned forward, sniffing the child's body all over. It smelled as babies always did, sort of clean with a faint odour of sour milk. But beyond that, there was the unmistakable signature of its own unique scent, redolent of its mother and its absent father. Spike closed his eyes, allowing his features to change to their true shape. He let his senses expand outwards along the trails of scent and suddenly they were all there – not just Angel and Darla but the Master and Dru, and even himself. The kid might look like a nice crunchy human mouthful but he was family all right.
Spike opened his eyes again and let his face slide back into human form before the wet nurse saw it and had another fit of the screaming abdabs. The baby stirred in his sleep, pressing his little fist against his mouth and sucking hard. He was a pale little thing – not one of these big red screaming babies – and suddenly, in spite of everything, Spike felt almost tender towards him. He reached out and ran a finger down one soft cheek.
"Hey there, mate," he said, "it's your Uncle Spike. You go on smelling that way and you'll be fine, you'll see. We don't kill family."
"No, we don't - unless we have souls." Darla's voice behind him made him jump. Spike hadn't heard her approach at all, though he should have because the wet nurse was back to whimpering. Not surprisingly, he thought as he turned round and rose to his feet. Darla's light summer dress was spattered with blood and she was still holding the cleaver in her hand.
Quickly, he grabbed her arm and drew her away from the frightened human.
"Are you off your head?" And he was afraid she really was. The answer he got was a vicious backhand across the face followed by a passionate kiss that tasted of blood.
"I needed a break," she said, smiling, and at once, his cock began to thicken inside his jeans.
"Not here." He manhandled her backwards out of the container and into the other, almost slipping in a big pool of blood on the floor. She'd cut the clothes from the cultist's body and that wasn't all she'd cut either. Spike winced and shuddered, meeting the bloke's eyes for a moment, which were bulging and glassy. She'd probably have those next, or maybe the skin. She had a delicate hand for work like that.
"I want him to watch," she said, and she laughed breathlessly. "I want him to see how magnificent you are."
Her hands were pulling at his clothes and he allowed her to strip him, though the parallels with what she'd done to the hanging body sent a chill down his spine. Naked, he braced himself against the wall, his senses all primed and ready as she began a sinuous slide down to the floor. He felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with sheer terror. Her cool tongue was already tending to him when he noticed their victim was no longer gagged.
"Wait." He put his hand on her head to stop her. "He told you something, didn't he?"
Her blonde head was resting against his thigh. She looked up at him and smiled the smile of a satisfied cat. "Oh, yes. For instance, I know they'll be waiting for us when we dock in Southampton – the whole bunch of them and their leader too – their potentate, they called him."
"Great!" He didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice but she only laughed.
"Oh, my dear, sweet boy, you mustn't worry. The best and simplest way to neutralise a threat is to deal with it once and for all. My sire taught me that. You'll kill him, I know you will, and then his followers will either be mine or they'll be dead."
"How do you know that?" The certainty in her voice didn't reassure him about her sanity – more the lack of it.
She flicked her tongue against the wet pink tip of his cock, sending a shudder all through his body. "I know," she said, "because of what I just heard you say. My son is the Miracle Child, William, just like they believe, but until he grows up he needs a father and that father is meant to be you. I saw you with him. You want to protect him, don't you? You feel his power."
"Bugger that!" he protested, but she only laughed again and began to subject him to her considerable skill. Spike shuddered and moaned, swaying on his feet, but all the time he kept eye-contact with the trapped cultist. The poor bloke's lips were crusted together with blood. Evidently, Darla was done listening to him.
When Spike came, she swallowed him down without hesitation and just for a moment, he had a feeling it wasn't just his spunk she'd devoured. His knees gave way and she caught him and held him against her, his head on her breast. When he looked up at her, her green eyes shone with passion and confidence and at last, for the first time since she'd declared it, he began to believe she truly was her sire's heir.
Darla had really dressed up for the occasion, Annabelle thought, like she had when Dracula came. Her chair, which was only some old office chair that Erroll had found in a skip, was draped with rich silk cloths all covered in embroidery. They were cut-up saris from an Indian shop, Erroll said, like the ones in Darla's bedroom. Darla herself wore a long red dress that clung to her sinuous figure, accentuating every curve. Her hair and make-up were perfect, as always, and her nails were painted the exact same shade as her gown.
Connor sat on his usual cushion on the floor in front of her, a big gold-tasselled thing in plum-coloured velvet. She'd ordered Annabelle to dress him all in black – black trousers, black shirt and black polished shoes. He looked like he was going to a funeral.
Annabelle herself stood behind them. She was wearing her Norland College uniform, complete with the little, flat-topped brown hat and the white gloves. It wasn't actually her uniform, of course, as she hadn't been wearing that when she'd been kidnapped, and it didn't really fit properly. However, Darla required her to wear it at what passed for formal events in the lair. Annabelle was firmly not thinking about where it might have come from.
Spike had gone with Erroll to bring this Angel - Connor's real father - from the guestroom. Most of the minions that Annabelle knew by sight were present – but some were probably out hunting, as always.
The minions were talking quietly among themselves but then at the sound of footsteps approaching they fell silent, their faces turning as one in that direction. Annabelle repressed a shudder. Vampires didn't go quiet like people did. There were no suppressed coughs or shifting of feet. There was just total, eerie silence.
She didn't know what she'd been expecting in Angel - maybe someone who actually looked like Connor's father, with the same medium-brown hair and sea-blue eyes and the same delicately girlish features. However, when she saw him, it became plain that Connor favoured his mother, because Angel was tall – taller than Spike by a head – with heavy features and dark hair and eyes. He was handsome – very handsome – and much more Annabelle's usual type, the rugby-playing kind. Spike was behind and to one side of him, with Erroll to the other, and suddenly he looked delicate - almost frail - as if a strong wind could blow him away – next to the other men's muscle-bound solidity.
"Angel," Darla broke the silence. "So good of you to visit. I hope you're recovered from your journey?" She sounded like Annabelle's mother greeting a guest at a cocktail party.
"Stop." It was Spike's voice, speaking quietly, and at the word, Angel stood still. He was staring at Connor already and he hardly glanced at Darla. "I'm fine, thanks," he said, absently. He had an American accent too, though it didn't sound quite like Darla's. Suddenly, he squatted down so he was more at Connor's level. "Hey, buddy," he said, "how're you?"
Connor glanced back at his mother. Annabelle caught a sidelong glimpse of Darla's face and she didn't look particularly happy at being ignored. Annabelle remembered what Spike had said about vampires making other people vampires because they wanted them, not because they wanted children, and suddenly Darla's exceptional care with her appearance made a lot more sense than before.
"You can answer him, Connor," Darla said to the boy, and at the sound of his name, Angel looked up, startled.
"You named him Connor?" he asked in amazement, and now his eyes met Darla's.
Behind him, Annabelle saw Spike's hands clench into fists.
"Of course," Darla said. "It's what you wanted, isn't it? Your father's name, you said - though it's a little late to get in his good books now."
Angel's heavy brow drew down into a thunderous scowl and he opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it.
"Sure," he said, at last. "Thanks for honouring my wishes. So, Connor, how're you doing?"
His gaze had gone back to the boy now. All the while this exchange had been going on, Connor had been staring at Angel, his small, pale face its usual unreadable mask.
"I'm fine thank you," he said very formally, and Annabelle thought she saw Angel react with a little shudder of distaste to the child's strong English accent.
Angel looked sour for a moment but then tried to force his face into a friendly smile, which it didn't quite manage to bring off. "So what do you get up to all day? You get to go out at all?"
"No." Connor was still being eerily matter-of-fact. "I just stay here with Belle when I'm not with Mama and Papa."
Annabelle was almost certain that Connor had put a deliberate emphasis on that last word and she was sure that Angel noticed. He half glanced over his shoulder at Spike and the frown was back again.
"That's good," he said, "except that a growing boy like you needs sunshine and fresh air. Don't you miss those things, Connor, living down here like this?"
"No," Connor said again, and then he looked away from Angel, as if he'd grown bored with the conversation. He leaned back against his mother's knee and Darla began to stroke his silky brown hair.
"You see," Darla said, to Angel. "He's being well-looked after and he's perfectly happy here. We have an excellent nanny for him."
And then Angel was looking straight at Annabelle. She felt herself colour up at once under his scrutiny. She didn't feel like an excellent nanny, especially since she disliked her charge so much. Suddenly, that fact made her feel almost guilty –something to do with Angel's brown eyes that bored into her, seeking – as it seemed – some kind of reassurance. She thought what it must have been like for him, being separated from his son all this time, and felt sorry for him, even though he was only another vampire.
There was something else in his gaze, though – some special kind of earnestness that she didn't understand, as if he were trying to get a message across to her without being able to tell her openly what it was. She wondered suddenly if the article in the paper was wrong and her family hadn't given up looking for her after all. Perhaps Angel had seen them – talked to Harry, maybe.
"You gonna take the oath, then, or what?" It was Spike's voice, the words directed at Angel. "Thought that's what you came here for."
"Sure," Angel said again. "Whenever your mistress wants," and now he was the one putting emphasis on words. He managed to say 'mistress' as if it was something dirty – beneath his contempt – and somehow Spike was included in that.
Spike just laughed, although he didn't sound happy. "I'd watch it, mate, if I was you – keep a civil tongue in your head."
"It's all right, Spike. He has a soul, I guess he can't help himself." Darla didn't sound as if she minded what Angel had said but Connor sat up on his cushion and frowned.
It didn't seem to Annabelle that Angel was going about this the right way at all, antagonising everyone, and it must have dawned on him at the same time because, "I'm sorry," he said, to Darla, "that was uncalled for. I admit, I was jealous. Your – relationship with Spike is none of my business."
"No, it's not," and suddenly, like magic, Angel and Darla had created this intimate space around themselves, as if they were alone in the room. Annabelle saw Spike's fists clench again and Connor was still scowling. He turned round on his cushion, trying to get his mother's attention and just for once, she completely ignored him.
"You gave up the right to interfere in anything to do with me a long time ago." Darla's voice was soft – almost nostalgic.
"I couldn't help it," Angel said. "I didn't ask for what happened."
"No," Spike cut in sarcastically. "An innocent victim, that's what you were – well, weren't we all, mate - once upon a time."
Angel ignored him. Instead, he said to Darla, "You put up with that on a daily basis? You have more patience than I'd ever imagined."
Darla's lip curled. "It has its compensations," she said, smugly.
"Mama!" Connor's high child's voice intruded insistently into the conversation. He didn't like being left out. Darla's gaze swung round to him at once and she scowled. "That's enough," she said and she snapped her fingers at Annabelle. "Take him away. Can't you see he's overtired, you stupid girl?"
"Sorry." Annabelle hurried forward, very conscious of Angel staring at her again. She took Connor's hand and tried to raise him to his feet but he was having none of it. "No! I want to stay with Mama!" And then he turned on Angel, his small, pale face twisted with childish spite. "I don't like you," he shouted. "I wish you were dead!"
"Connor!" Annabelle's heart was pounding in her chest now. She knew from bitter experience that Darla would find some way to make this all her fault. Already, she looked furious and her eyes had that sullen gold glint that showed she was losing her temper.
As usual, it was Spike who stepped in to calm things. He walked round Angel's crouching figure and hoisted Connor up from his cushion and onto his shoulders in one fluid easy movement.
"Calm down, rugrat," he said. "Better let your mum and her ex talk it out, yeah? Sooner they do, the sooner we'll be shut of him."
He began to walk away, motioning with his head for Annabelle to follow and she hastened after him. She risked a quick glance back over her shoulder and saw that Angel was looking at her, the dark eyes still boring into her trying to convey that silent message. She saw too that Ravinder, at the front of the crowd of minions, had noticed the look between them. The expression on her face wasn't nice at all.
"Hurry back, Spike," Darla said. "I need you here."
"Yes, Mistress." Spike put the correct respectful emphasis on the word, but he didn't sound happy. Annabelle trailed after him back along the cross-tunnel, over the tracks and down the stairs to platform level. She was thinking about Angel and how she could possibly contrive to talk to him alone and whether it was worth the risk.
"Here we are then, kiddo." Spike deposited Connor on the bed in his parents' bedroom. "Want the telly on?"
Annabelle looked at her wristwatch. "He's not supposed to watch television after nine o'clock," she said, hesitantly. "Darla says it's not suitable."
"Bollocks to that." Spike switched the television on and began to flick through the myriad channels. "What the fuck does she know about bringing up kids anyway?"
He grinned down at Connor and Connor grinned back. They looked like co-conspirators now rather than the rivals they sometimes seemed.
"This looks okay," Spike said, at last. "Bit of mindless violence never hurt anyone."
He'd found some sort of horror film. A pretty blonde girl was being dragged along the floor screaming by something just off-camera. Annabelle turned away just as a horrible sawing sound started up and the screams got louder and louder and then abruptly stopped
"Is it a film about the Gravids?" Connor asked in a serious voice.
Spike was rummaging in his coat pockets. After a moment, he fished out a couple of chocolate bars and dropped them in Connor's lap. "Could be," he said. "S'a bit like that when they do their stuff, only slower, and they'd never waste blood that way – seen it once or twice. Here." He'd turned to Annabelle then and thrown something at her. She caught it automatically and found herself clutching a Mars Bar.
"Courtesy of Mr Asif upstairs," Spike said, and he tilted his head at her in that way that always made her catch her breath and shiver. "Relax, Belle - just get him to bed before we come back."
"I will." She watched him go, unable – as usual – to take her eyes off him. He was easy on the eye, which was one reason, but she also needed to do it– to keep track of the predator's movements.
"He's stupid to let Mama talk to that man." Connor spoke with his mouth full of chocolate but his eyes never left the screen.
"I don't think he has much choice," Annabelle said. "Besides, you shouldn't talk about your father like that."
"He's not my father." Connor shrugged dismissively. "Not really – but I like him better than that other one. Him. I don't like him at all."
"He only wants to see you." Annabelle wasn't sure why she felt moved to defend Angel but she found herself doing it all the same. "It must have been hard for him to miss all the years when you were a baby."
The silvery light from the television screen lit up Connor's face from below and danced in his dark blue eyes. He looked up at Annabelle, expression adult and bleak.
"What would you know about it?" he said. "You're just a stupid human cow and one day you'll end up like that." He pointed at the screen where another victim was getting the Gravid-like treatment to the accompaniment of more horrific screams.
Annabelle realised her hands were shaking. She clutched the chocolate bar harder and walked round behind the television towards hers and Connor's bedroom. "I'm going to get changed," she said.
Connor didn't take any notice. His eyes were glued to the screen.
Alone in the bedroom, Annabelle put the Mars Bar down on the bedside table and poured herself a glass of water. She was sweating but the sweat was cold and uncomfortable. She felt the faint vibration through the floor that presaged an approaching train and sat down on the bed under cover of the noise, put her head in her hands and sobbed.
She knew – she just knew – that if she didn't use Angel's visit as a means of escape – if she didn't even try – she would die just as Connor said. For a moment, she thought she was going to be sick and she ran into the bathroom and crouched over the toilet-bowl, retching miserably. When nothing happened, she put the seat down and rested her cheek against the hard plastic. She tried to think what to do but it all seemed so difficult – unless –
Abruptly, she got to her feet. She peeled off her white uniform gloves, rinsed out her mouth and washed her face and hands. Then she went back into the bedroom and tore the hated uniform off. She'd always felt silly wearing it walking round the streets of Bath and it was even worse here somehow. Instead, she put on jeans and a t-shirt. The noise of the television continued in the other room and she heard the rustling of sweet papers. Spike would be in big trouble if Darla found out he'd given Connor chocolate just before bedtime and so would she, probably.
She opened one of Connor's books– Winnie the Pooh, one she knew for certain he didn't like– took a colouring pencil out of his crayon box and began to write on the flyleaf.
It was hard to know what to say and she'd never been much good at English, but in the end, she managed:
Dear Mr Angel
My name is Annabelle Gieves-Bowen. I'm the nanny who was kidnapped in Richmond. I'm not a vampire. Please help me. Please tell my family I'm still alive and tell them to send help. My brother is in the army. This station is called Down Street.
Thank you.
There didn't seem much else to say so Annabelle tore the page out of the book as quietly as she could, folded it and stuffed it in her jeans pocket along with the pencil. Angel might not have anything to write with. She stood up, took a deep breath and went through to the other room. Connor was still sitting where she'd left him, his short legs swinging idly to-and-fro as he gazed at the television. He was still eating the chocolate too but more slowly now. He was probably getting full.
"I'm going to get your milk," Annabelle said, in her best, brisk nanny-voice. "And when I come back it'll be time for bed, all right?"
Connor barely spared her a glance. On the screen, a group of teenagers were inching their way down a dark corridor towards a door at the end, from behind which, the sawing sound could be heard. Annabelle wondered why people in horror films were always so stupid.
She shut the door behind her and hurried over to the eastbound platform. Near the foot of the stairs, she paused, looking up and listening, but there was no sign of anyone about. The door to Angel's guest room/prison was open and unguarded. As Annabelle ran towards it, she heard the vibration in the rails again and a blast of air from the eastbound tunnel blew her hair over her face. Inside the room, she looked wildly round for somewhere out of the way but obvious enough to be noticed and in the end, jammed the note and pencil into the metal grille covering her secret hiding place.
She finished just as the train thundered through the station, speeding up, it seemed, as it went. She was about to make her way to the kitchen when she heard voices approaching down the stairs. She froze, heart pounding in her chest fit to burst. It sounded like two or three people and she heard Erroll say, "You sure about this, boss?"
"Of course I'm fucking sure." It was Spike's voice, sounding angry – and most of all afraid and trying to hide it. "Don't want you lot hearing any of this. Just make sure the door's locked and come back in a couple of hours."
"A couple of hours might not be long enough." Now Angel was talking. "It's been a while, Spike, after all."
"Afraid you've lost your touch, are you?"
There was an almost hysterical edge to Spike's voice that sent chills down Annabelle's spine but galvanised her into movement. She ran out of the door and made it as far as the kitchen just as the vampires came in sight. She peered round the edge of the doorframe to watch them. Spike came first with Angel a pace behind him and then Erroll behind them both. She couldn't see their faces but Spike's head was bowed and his shoulders a little slumped. When they reached the door of the guest room, Spike paused and Annabelle saw his prominent Adam's apple jerk up and down in his throat. In profile his face looked weak sometimes, and now it definitely did.
Angel laughed. "No need to be scared," he said, a sneer in his voice. "You heard me promise Darla. I'm not gonna damage you."
"Yeah - right." Spike glanced back at him over his shoulder, face white as paper. Then he turned to Erroll. "Don't let anyone out except me."
He went into the room, walking like a condemned man, and Angel followed him. Then Erroll locked them inside together.
TBC
Notes:
Bath: a city in the west of England, home of Norland College (the posh school for nannies) and a lot of touristy stuff about Jane Austen
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Date: 2007-03-21 10:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-23 12:33 pm (UTC)Glad you're enjoying it and sorry to have been so long answering your comment.