Victor D. Infante is a poet, screenwriter, and journalist. More information and other works by the author can be found at his Web site.
Part One: Quiet Drinks in a Foreign Land
China, 2023: "Shanghai," muttered Xander as he dodged the vampire's punch. "Why the Hell did it have to be Shanghai?"
Dawn just rolled her eyes at him. The vampire—old one, she thought, her usual glamours weren't throwing it—took a swing at her. She ducked, and its fist shattered brick behind her. She didn't stop to see the spectacle. She fell to her back and kicked out, tripping the vampire's feet out from under it. It fell forward, and Dawn let gravity do her stake's work for her.
"Hello!" she said, springing to her feet. "Doing all the work here! Complain later!"
Xander got his bearings, turned, and staked the vampire before it could get another shot at him.
"You sound just like your sister sometimes."
Dawn shot Xander a withering glance. They stepped back to back to assess the potential danger from the remaining vampires. The vampires obviously didn't like the odds. One swore in Mandarin, and they retreated into the night.
"We never go anywhere nice," said Xander. Dawn shook her head, but was smiling. "Twenty years," she thought. "And in some ways, he hasn't changed."
She was glad of that.
They pushed on to the waterfront bar they'd been headed toward when they were attacked. Dawn noted that the vampire gangs were getting larger, more organized.
Xander nodded, more serious. "They're coming together for protection," he said. "The war's starting."
Dawn said nothing. They approached the bar in silence.
Inside, a seedy, underworld—in both senses of the phrase—crowd hid in plain sight, obscured by each other's efforts to remain unseen. Through the dim light, they sought out their colleagues. Xander knew they'd have beaten them here.
He was right. Wesley and Spike sat in a corner, obviously as unhappy with their location as Xander was. Shanghai had not been good to them.
Xander and Dawn pulled up chairs.
"I was afraid you weren't coming," said Wesley, smiling thinly.
"Vampire attack," said Xander. "They're coming fewer now, but more viciously."
"Like bloody wolves pushed out of the woods by construction," said Spike. "They've got nothing to lose now."
"The balance is gone," said Wesley. "We need to set it right, before the Slayers are gone."
They all nodded in agreement.
"So," said Dawn, all business. "Is everyone in place?"
"Buffy's group is in London," said Spike. "Willow's got the wards cast, and is dead sure the spell will work. Faith and Vi have Slayers spread out across the globe. We don't know exactly what the reaction will be. Could be bloody chaos."
"It's not like we have a choice, Spike," said Xander, grimly. "We've got to finish what we started in Sunnydale. The fate of the world depends on it. Angel died for it."
They were silent then. Wesley went pale. His stiff upper lip was quivering a bit, Dawn thought. Xander and Wesley had become close—nearly brothers, in some ways. At first it was because they were at the core of the new Watcher's Council, but then Angel's death, in this very city... it had affected the two of them hardest of all.
Wesley raised his glass.
"To Angel, and to everyone else that's died to set this sorry world right."
The four of them toasted in silence. Four heroes, each of whom have been through the fires more than they could count. They drank silently for a moment, and then Spike smiled maliciously.
"They'll never forgive us for what we're about to do to them," he said, his dark mood evident despite his voice's lilt. "Trust me mates, "I know."
Part Two: The Raid
Los Angeles, 2003: The LAPD barreled down the door with a battering ram, and policemen nervously hoisted their guns at the crowd of vampires gathered within the run-down warehouse.
The monsters lurched forward as Angel leapt into the fray ahead of the cops, barreling into the crowd, vamped out and in an obvious frenzy. Gunn began barking orders.
"All right, people!" he shouted. "We're shooting anything that's a vampire and not on our side. Remember, you're on the side of the angels this time."
"Whattaya think we usually are?" asked an offended cop.
"Huh." said Gunn. "Hadn't thought about it."
Wesley folded his arms into the lining of his jacket, and pulled them out quickly, revealing a pistol in each hand. He began firing—head shots only—into the crowd.
"Now, Gunn, don't taunt the clients. It's gauche."
After years of thinking Kate Lockley was crazy, a sudden increase in L.A.'s vampire population proved to be more than they could explain away. They turned to Kate. Kate referred them to Angel. Angel charged them a lot of money.
Spike came flying out at the crowd from the police's opposite flank It was his first big scrap since he fell naked out of the sky into the crater that was once Sunnydale, where he was found by a Wolfram & Hart scout team trained to seek out other-dimensional disturbances. His reckless abandon disturbed Gunn. Vamp was having too much fun.
Still, Spike's obvious need for release was nowhere near as disturbing as the fact that all of these vampires were, judging from their colors, Bloods. He didn't laugh at the joke.
He pulled out a stake and joined the fight, covering Wesley's back.
"Noticed anything about them?" asked Wesley coolly, as he tossed away one empty pistol in favor of a loaded secreted in his belt. "Head shots only!" he shouted at the cops, who seemed a bit lost. "The body shots have no effect!"
"You mean besides fighting beside the cops and a couple of Brit vamps against a bunch of ex-brothers? Starting to think I'm the wrong side, dog."
Wesley smiled. "I think they're taking applications. This lot's fresh."
Gunn looked closely. They were. Clothes still in fashion. New sneakers on a few. That "just exhumed" smell.
Angel and Spike did most of the heavy lifting, and the nest was cleaned up in no time. Angel pinned one against the wall, his hand tight around its jugular.
"Talk," said Angel. "Who's bringing vampires into my town? Why the sudden increase?"
The vampire grimaced, and then smiled at him.
"You." it said. "You will be judged, Angelus. Soon."
Angel bashed the vampire's head against the wall, knocking it unconscious. He turned to the group.
"Gunn, you have an idea what neighborhood this group was from originally?" Gunn nodded. "Good. Take a team tonight. find out where they're coming from. What's going on."
Angel turned to the police, and pulled a cell phone from his pocket. "I'm calling my people. They're equipped to handle the survivors. We'll let you know when we know something." The cop looked like he was about to protest, then thought better of it. "Where you going to be?" asked Gunn. "Evidently," said Angel, "I have an appointment."
Part Three: Safe as Houses
England, 2003: Faith and the vampire barreled out the second story window, and plummeted into the garden, below. Giles was almost annoyed at himself that his first concern was for the roses. But then, trying to trust Faith as he was, it didn't come easily.
Buffy was making short work of the other two vampires upstairs. The girls tried to leap into the fray, but Xander and Willow forbade it.
"It's not that you girls can't take care of yourselves," said Xander, "It's just that, this has the potential already for a too many cooks situation."
The girls looked dismayed.
"Don't worry," he said, "you'll all be iron chef undead soon enough."
"It's all in the knife work," said Buffy, decapitating one of her enemies and then impaling the other on the leg of an expensive looking table.
"Any good cook'll tell you that."
Faith appeared moments later in the doorway, covered in dirt and vampire dust.
"Someone want to explain to me how three vampires got into the fortress of humanatude here?" She looked directly at Giles. "Little words. Please."
Giles, leaned against the wall. It was very late, and he was very, very tired.
"I don't know," said Giles. "A step up in vampire attacks worldwide, and now this. And Spike's return"
Buffy bristled. Angel had called immediately to tell her that Spike was back, but had also informed her that Spike didn't want to see her straight away. That he needed some time to process. Giles viewed the situation, quite understandably, with mixed feelings.
"Xander and I will travel to Los Angeles tomorrow. We'll compare notes with Angel, see where things are with Spike. In the meantime, we all need some rest.
"I'm going to do a perimeter sweep," said Xander, "just to be sure."
"I'm in," said Faith. "No sleeping after that tussle."
"I'll bet," thought Buffy, but she refrained from saying anything.
Faith and Xander walked the paths of the garden that encircled the ancient British manor house. It was property owned by the Council, remote and expansive. Perfect for housing and training dozens of young slayers. Xander had joked that it should be called "Rupert Giles' Home for Gifted Youngsters," but Giles hadn't gotten the joke.
"You can shave your head bald! And I can be Cyclops!"
Xander figured his best material was wasted on Giles sometimes.
The girls had settled in nicely. Magic, money and political connections produced visas, and legitimate paperwork for the school. Dawn was enrolled with the slayers. Xander couldn't help but wonder what she'd have to go through to keep up with the other girls. He couldn't help but wonder what she'd become. He didn't dwell on it.
Faith was unusually quiet. At first, he wondered if she was going to make a play for him again or something. Or, conversely, gut him like a halibut. Neither was anything he was up for just yet. Anya's death was too fresh, and he didn't like being stabbed. "Call me crazy," he thought. "Just never developed a taste."
Faith froze in her tracks. Xander did likewise. There was a flash of light, and suddenly a fist was emerging from nowhere, plowing into Faith's jaw. Xander had shielded his eye from the flash, but as his vision cleared, he saw a beautiful, dark-skinned woman hovering over Faith, who was unconscious.
Xander pulled out a cross, and held it in front of himself. The vampire stepped backward, but she wasn't cringing.
"Is this all you've got, baby doll?" she said. "A house full of slayers, and this is the best you can do?"
"Back away from Faith," said Xander, edging forward. The cross was thrust forward with his left hand, a stake lay in his right, his fingers gripping so hard he feared bruising the bones.
"Oh, I don't know. Figure by now the witch has gotten some new wards up. Won't be able to get inside again, y'know?" The accent was Southern. Xander knew that much.
The vampire lunged, and Xander rolled, swinging the crucifix up wildly, connecting with her torso. The vampire screamed, flailing her arms at Xander. Xander drove the stake down, but missed the heart. She laughed, and swung her fist again, knocking him back against a tree. Stunned, he watched her saunter up to him.
"Mmm," she said. "This is going to be fun."
Suddenly, the vampire was thrown backward by a force Xander couldn't see. He turned his head, and there was Willow and Giles. Willow cocked her head to the side, and the vampire flew headlong into another tree.
"Tell us who you are," said Giles, calmly. "Why are you here?"
The vampire glared at Giles.
"I'm here to take your children, Rupert," she said, in a tone that would have been sultry if it hadn't been coming from, well, her. "The boy, the witch, the Slayer. They'll all be ours soon."
Giles looked like he was about to say something, but there was another blinding flash, and suddenly as she came, the vampire was gone.
Willow helped Xander to his feet, while Giles roused Faith. The four of them began stumbling back to the mansion.
"What the Hell was that about?" asked Faith.
"I'm afraid I have no idea," said Giles.
They walked a moment in silence, until finally, Xander broke the tension.
"Your children, huh?"
"After a fashion, I suppose," said Giles casually, as if it were no great revelation.
"Oh," said Xander.
"Wanna play catch?"
"Not really, no."
"Didn't think so."
Part Four: In Retrospect
China, 2023: Wesley stared deep into his Scotch, as if the bottom of the glass could divine their fortunes, could give them some indication that they were on the right path. Of course, thought Dawn, Wesley had long ago lost faith in prophecies.
Dawn scanned her comrades. Xander and Wesley were ill at ease, impatient to begin their work, but knew there was no going until sunrise. Spike seemed pensive, lost in thought.
Once, she and Spike had been close. Now, she couldn't claim to know him. Oh, she trusted him, she knew they could depend on him when the chips were down, but he'd taken to keeping his own council, the burden of his soul often weighing impossibly on him. Dawn often wondered how it was he didn't snap. Then she looked hard at him, and in her heart she knew. Beneath the violence and bravado, the pain he'd brought upon himself and others, was a man who never wanted to see anyone suffer like he did. Like those he harmed did.
"Twenty years," thought Dawn, "and he's nowhere near balancing the scales."
Spike could sense the tension at the table, the awkwardness that fell like a shadow when Xander had paused his story.
"Hard to believe we thought it was just business as bloody usual," said Spike. "Guess we never knew what usual was."
"Angel did," said Wesley. "I think, in his heart, he always knew what was coming."
Part Five: Power Shift
Los Angeles, 2003: Angel shed the corporate uniform, the Armani suit and neck tie, in favor of black jeans, a black T-shirt and his leather duster. He passed in silence through the halls to the elevator, emerging on the roof of the Wolfram & Hart building. He looked out at his city, at the lights that flickered against the moonless sky. He saw each light as a soul, as something flaring and beautiful then, eventually, gone.
He would save every one of them if he could. And every single day was a failure, because he could never, ever do that.
A chill flashed down Angel's spine, and his head jolted upright, nearly wrenching his neck. He wanted to scream, to run, to jump off the building to the safety of oblivion. But he held his ground.
Before him strode an inhumanly beautiful man, walking on air. With each step, sparks lit beneath his feet. The man's skin was porcelain. His hair vivid gold. His eyes were diamonds. A human would think this was an angel. Angel knew better.
"I am the Juris," said the man. "You are charged with crimes against our kind. Prepare to be judged." Its voice was Chopin's Nocturnes. It was so beautiful that Angel nearly cried.
The older vampires get, the more they take on animalistic forms. The Juris was a vampire so old, so evil, that it had taken on the form of the Earth's most vicious animal, man.
"What's my crime?" said Angel, doing his best to remain cool.
"You are charged with the destruction of the order of Aurelius, the destruction of countless of our kind."
"You left out a few unpaid parking tickets."
"Silence," said the Juris. It had barely raised its voice, but somehow the sound of that word shattered glass in surrounding buildings.
"Do you comprehend the depths of rage it takes to summon me?" said the Juris, as Angel steadied himself against the onslaught of its voice. "The loathing and fear? There has been a shift in power, Angelus. War is coming. Everything that was meant to be yours shall be stripped from you."
Armed Wolfram & Hart security forces suddenly stormed the rooftop. Angel turned his head as they appeared, then quickly returned his attention to the Juris, but it was gone.
"Too late," he whispered under his breath. "Much too late."
Part Six: Which Side Are You On?
Los Angeles, 2003:"Fish out of water," was too mild a term to describe it. Wesley glanced nervously about the crowded warehouse. Music that hit like thunder slammed against his chest in four-four time. Everywhere, bodies writhed and gyrated, their sweat glistening in the sweltering heat.
He looked at his companions. Fred looked as ill-at-ease as he felt, but Spike was holding up much better, sauntering to the make-shift bar as soon as he hit the door. Gunn had transformed the moment he arrived. All business when they left the office, he had been instantly recognized upon their arrival, and was on the dance floor with a young woman's arms draped across his shoulders.
"Looks fun," said Fred, glumly. "Yes," said Wesley. "if your brain can survive the racket."
From the look on Fred's face, Wesley figured out that this was the wrong thing to say. He wondered if he should just relax. Give in and dance. She obviously wanted to.
He never got a chance. Spike shoved a bottle of beer into Wesley's hands, and dragged a surprised Fred by the arm out onto the dance floor. Wesley took a sip and watched. "Alone" was something he was never comfortable with, and now was no exception.
"You didn't strike me as a dancer," Fred said as De La Soul reverberated against the walls. "Not, really," says Spike. "Just seemed like the thing to do. Loud music, pretty girl. Vampire." Fred began to say, "What?" but then noticed a handsome black man in a fairly dated outfit begin to lead a young woman out a side door.
"Bloody, Hell." said Spike, as he abandoned Fred to move toward the door. "It's always work, work, work." By the time Spike made his way through the sea of humanity, the pair had left the building. He emerged into the alley and looked deep into the darkness, where the vampire had already begun feeding on the woman.
Spike leapt into action, startling the vampire and knocking the terrified woman free. Spike lost his concentration for a second as he glanced to see if she was alright. Mistake. A punch like a pile driver collided with his skull, knocking him to the ground.
The vampire wasn't alone. Six hovered above him, and two of them stepped aside to reveal a seventh—a beautiful, dark-skinned woman.
"So, you're William the Bloody," she said, glancing down at him dispassionately, as though he were an interesting insect. "Not as hot as I'd been led to believe."
"Need a new publicist, I guess," said Spike. "And you are..."
"A rival. Kill him."
A crossbow bolt whizzed through the air, reducing one of the vampires to dust. Fred was already loading another round, and Gunn and Wesley had produced small swords. The fight was quick, and brutal. Gunn and Wesley took two out in tandem, giving Spike enough time to clobber another. Fred fired another shot, hitting another in the shoulder. It turned and ran. Spike took off after it, while Wesley and Gunn finished off the last.
The vampire turned the corner and started gaining speed. As Spike gained ground on it, the vampire ground to a halt. The female vampire--obviously the leader--was standing before them.
"Kneel," she said, and the wounded vampire fell to its knees. Indeed, Spike himself had felt an impulse to do the same, but resisted. He watched in fascination.
"I told you to fight and die for me," she said. "I have no place for cowards. So burn."
The kneeling vampire was suddenly alight with flame. Spike, too felt heat swell around him, but it didn't seem to set him ablaze. The vampire was dust. The woman, he noticed, was gone.
"She wanted me to see this," said Spike, to himself.
"You're right," said a voice behind him. "She did."
It was Angel. Wesley, Gunn and Fred caught up to them, visibly surprised to see him there.
"We need to talk," said Angel.
"Yes," said another voice emerging from the darkness. "We do."
Giles and Xander stepped out of the shadows toward their erstwhile allies. In the distance, the thump of bass and the pounding of the beat went on.
Part Seven: Why I Hate Shanghai
"Next round's on me," said Xander, rising from the table, smiling broadly and walking briskly toward the bar. Dawn watched him wordlessly, knowing full well that his appearance of affability was merely an act.
Xander, for his part, was wondering why every seedy bar he ended up at, in every corner of the world, always had American classic rock playing. Someone had downloaded the Eagles' "Greatest Hits" into the sound system, and "Desperado" was casting a melancholic pall across the room.
Funnily enough, in a similar bar in Japan a few years back, the same song had prompted an impromptu sing-along. He thanked whatever gods were listening for the small mercy of that not happening here. Not today. Today, he wanted to actually feel the melancholy. "The music of pain." He smiled genuinely at the thought of once being devastated at Buffy not going to the Prom with him. Or was it Homecoming? One of those. It seemed so long ago. He glanced over his shoulder at Dawn, who was not-so discreetly watching him.
He smiled, and turned back to catch the bartender's attention, when a flash of memory danced across his brain. Him, on a Shanghai rooftop, the stake in his hand, the look of mixed horror and relief on Angel's face as the point pounded into his heart, then suddenly only the swirl of dust. The banshee shrieks of Angel's soul as the Juris siphoned it from his body, a column of dark-tinged light erupting into the night sky. Dawn's shrieks as Drusilla forced her down onto her back, fangs sinking into her flesh. The horror and revulsion he felt when he knew he couldn't possibly reach her in time. The sudden relief as Wesley grabbed Drusilla's hair, yanked her head backwards and slit her throat. The feeling of defeat as he watched the Aurelius Gem tumble between dimensions into Hell. The haunting memory of the Juris uttering just one, simple word, which reverberated now inside his head.
"Judgement."
He was crying now. Not giant Lucille Ball sobs, just thin creeks running down his cheeks. He hadn't even noticed their starting.
Dawn was suddenly beside him, wiping the tears away. He kissed her gently on the lips, and regained his composure enough to order drinks. If the bar patrons had noticed anything, they said nothing. In some places, it paid not to notice things.
And still, the Juris's last words haunted him.
"Judgement," thought Xander. "But for whom?"
Part Eight: The Genealogy Lesson
Giles wondered if this was what the others were always thinking about him. Angel stood at a lectern, while behind him on a large, flat-screen monitor flowed images of an impossibly beautiful man, walking on air and shattering glass with a whisper.
"It's called the Juris," said Angel.
Wolfram & Hart's cameras had captured the entire confrontation. Giles puzzled at the thought of Angel with such resources at his disposal. What on Earth was he going to do with them?
Still, the Juris was the threat in front of them. There were audible gasps at its beauty, how its every movement seemed to flow like liquid. Only Spike's eyes seem to narrow at the sight of it.
"If it ever had a name," said Angel, "There's no one alive that remembers it. The few vampires who even know of it think it's a myth."
Angel stopped the tape with a flick of a button.
"It's not."
Gunn, Wesley, Fred, Spike, Giles and Xander sat in the miniature movie theater. There was a sort of nervous fidgeting between them, as though no one knew exactly what to say.
"So, why does it want to kill you?" asked Xander, ill-content to let the question they were all thinking lie.
"It doesn't want to kill me," said Angel. "It wants to judge me."
"Then kill you?" asked Spike, who was growing visibly more agitated as the meeting went on.
"Probably," said Angel with faux perkiness, before continuing more seriously. "As the legend has it, the Juris was one of the first vampires turned in the early days of man. In its youth, it cut a swathe through humanity, leaving bloodshed in its wake. Early on, it killed slayers with impunity, eradicated tribes. Centuries passed and it simply grew more powerful.
"Eventually, however, it got..." Angel seemed to struggle for the word. "Bored. Bored about covers it. It retired from this plane, but left one of its disciples an emerald that—with the proper ritual—would give its descendents immense power. The power to control our kind, to destroy them instantly. Most importantly, it gave the user the power to summon the Juris from its rest, to cast vengeance on those who betrayed their kind.
"The first vampire to wield it built a cult around himself, and followers flocked from every cemetery in Europe. With the emerald in his possession, it marshaled its forces into an army, a brutal wave that held whole countries under sway. That vampire was named...."
"Aurelius," said Giles, matter-of-factly. "Meaning it's an ancestor of yours." Angel gave him a cold, quizzical look, but whatever he was thinking, he let it go.
"Uh-huh," said Angel. "distantly removed, but yeah. It's a straight line." Angel looked up at Spike, who didn't look pleased.
"Then why is it here?" asked Wesley. "And who set it after you?" Angel flicked another button, and an image of the female vampire they'd fought earlier appeared.
"That's the one Faith and I fought," said Xander. "In England. Yesterday. We got here by magic, so I suppose..."
"Probably," said Angel. "Judging from what we saw and what Spike felt in the alley, not to mention the fact that the Juris is floating around, she's gotten her hands on the Aurelius Gem. The gem can only be used by a descendent of the Juris, and she's.."
"Descended from Luke," interrupted Giles, who was beginning to piece it all together in his head. "Her name is Azra."
"You seem to know a lot here, Rupert," said Spike, "Care to share?"
Giles took a second to clean his glasses, and then looked Spike straight in the eyes.
"After the Master nearly..." words were lost beneath his stutter for a second. He didn't know why he was suddenly feeling so anxious. "After you and Drusilla appeared, and after Angel lost..."
He stopped and looked at Angel, who was watching him with an unreadable expression.
"There was something about that bloodline. About all the vampires descended from the Master. They... you were all a bit smarter, more powerful. I decided to learn as much about the Order of Aurelius as possible. In order to destroy you all." Giles paused for a second. "If necessary."
Angel and Spike both stared at the Watcher, and then relaxed a bit.
"Right," said Angel.
"Makes sense," said Spike.
"But why?" asked Fred. "I mean, why is this Azra out to kill you?"
"Because I helped kill the Master," said Angel.
"Wait a second," said Xander. "I was there. Buffy killed the Master, not you."
"Because," said a voice that washed over them like emotion. "It is the nature of humans to struggle and die, and it is the nature of Slayers to hunt and sometimes kill..."
The heroes turned, and looked toward the back of the room, where the Juris stood, calmly watching them.
"But these two," he said, his gaze falling in turn on Angel and Spike, "these are abominations in my sight."
Part Nine: Memory
China, 2023: "Funny what comes to mind," thought Spike as he observed his comrades. Despite their obvious antipathy toward their current location and course of action, Wesley and Xander had been carrying the conversation. He chimed in here and there, if only to keep things flowing, but to tell the truth, there were bits he'd forgotten, and he was listening intently, trying to find the small details lost in the wash of decades.
Everyone always assumed he had that photographic memory gift that Angel had. No such luck. That particular talent was something Liam possessed even before Darla made a monster of him. It amused him that people were so quick to reach for the supernatural, rather than acknowledge just how incredible people's human gifts could be.
Spike figured he'd at this point forgotten as much as he knows. Maybe more. He knows he was in Hell for awhile, but that's a bit of a wash. Before that, he knew he stumbled and crawled his way from Africa to Sunnydale, the weight of his returned soul driving him mad. He remembered scraps of humanity, as though his previous life were a painting he'd been fond of as a child. He remembered Buffy.
Looking across the table at Dawn, watching her discreetly size up each entry to the bar as a potential threat, he couldn't help but think how much she'd changed from the girl she once was, the girl he failed to save from Doc, the night that Buffy...
He remembered the last time he'd come to Shanghai. How he and Drusilla had wrestled over the Aurelius Gem, how Dru had knocked him to the street below before turning toward Dawn.
"How many times can I fail to save this girl?" he thought, then realized that she was no longer someone who needed to be saved. Still, he'd die for either of them—her or Buffy. Even now, despite the distance between them. He did once, although it didn't take. And he tried to again, ten years ago this very day, this very city. That, too, didn't work.
Dawn had ripped the stone of the necklace Dru was wearing it on, and tossed it over the side of the building after him. The plan was, if they couldn't use it, then at least they could keep them from using it. Again, no luck. The Juris appeared and snatched it as it fell, tossing it through the swirl of extradimensional energy Willow had summoned. Awestruck by the Juris's appearance, Dawn let her guard down, and Drusilla lunged for her, nearly killing her, if not for Wesley.
The Juris gazed at Angel, and energy began to radiate from him. As the Angelus personality began to emerge, Angel begged Buffy to stake him, but she couldn't do it. Perhaps when he was fully Angelus again, Spike figured, but not yet.
Angelus flashed forward in Angel's mind, and he clocked Buffy with a sucker punch. The Slayer slid across the roof. Giles had already been knocked unconscious in the assault of Drusilla's army. It took every bit of effort for Willow to hold the doorway open. The plan was going to Hell, and soon Angelus would join the fray, if not for Xander.
Angel begged for Xander to kill him, and Xander looked as though he were inside a nightmare. Wesley turned as Drusilla burst into ashes to watch as Xander, tears streaming down his face, plunged the stake deep into Angel's heart.
Buffy had been uncomfortable with this plan, this using the gem to eradicate vampires from the face of the Earth. That both himself and Angel concurred with the plan wasn't enough to sell her on it. "We should have listened," he thought, "should have known that kind of foresight, that insight into whether a plan would work or not, was indeed a gift of her humanity.
"Now," he thought. "Now we do it right."
Spike bought the next round.
Part Ten: Will
Chico, CA, 2023: Brother Daniel could hear his fellow monks stirring even over the din of Radiohead's Karma Police. Curious, he turned down the stereo and left his chambers. The others were watching something in the distance, something silhouetted against the moon.
One monk wondered aloud if it were an angel, and certainly, it was beautiful enough to be, but Brother Daniel was very much an expert on things not being what they seemed to be. Whatever this was, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Inside his chest, he felt the beast stirring.
Whatever it was, it was fully visible now, hovering above the monastery, sparks jumping from its feet, moonlight glistening of its skin.
"Where is the boy?" it asked, in a voice that brought several of Brother Daniel's companions to sobbing.
"Bring him to me, or I will reduce this place to cinder."
The other monks began to quiver and retreat, but Brother Daniel seized a crucifix from around his neck and held it before him, defiantly. The Juris cocked his head at the sight of it.
"These things do not frighten me, wolf." it said. Brother Daniel edged forward. The other monks glanced at him in disbelief.
Brother Daniel weighed his decisions. Whatever this thing was, it could raze this building in minutes. The others had no chance against it. Moreover, he was unwilling to turn over the acolyte who'd been warded to him all these years, though he was hardly what one would call a boy anymore.
"Huh," he thought. "I suppose it's all relative."
Brother Daniel dropped the crucifix and let the wolf emerge. The Juris was expressionless as it leapt for him, teeth snarling. The other monks—who knew about his curse, of course, but whom had never seen it—began to run. The Juris swatted the wolf away effortlessly. Brother Daniel bounced as he hit the ground, stunned and certain he could feel ribs sliding inside. The Juris moved in for the kill.
"Wait!" said a voice, and the Juris stopped in mid air, head turning to see who was interrupting it. A man stood before him, dressed in a monk's robes. Although the man was approaching 40, he seemed younger. His face was still fresh, his hair shaven.
"Leave Brother Daniel alone," said the man. "I'll speak to you, but there will be no violence."
"You were once called the Destroyer," the Juris stated plainly. "You are the son of the vampires Angelus and Darla."
"That was a lifetime ago," said Connor.
Brother Daniel morphed into a human again, and attempted to stand. Not quite ten years ago, Wesley Wyndham Price had brought a confused Connor here, to help him find himself in the wake of discovering his past life and the death of his real father. In that time, he had truly become a part of the order, dedicating himself to the virtues of inner peace and enlightenment.
"Don't," said Connor, not taking his eyes off the Juris. "I don't think it's here to harm me."
The Juris looked almost amused at that.
"You should not exist," it said.
"And yet I do," replied Connor.
The air between the two of them crackled with tension. Brother Daniel readied himself for another attack.
"You're an ancestor of mine, aren't you?"
"Of sorts. You are the child of two of mine."
"Maybe. Or, I'm the child of a drunken lout and a syphilitic prostitute, neither of whom really got a chance in life. Take your pick."
"I had to see you myself," said the Juris. "See you with my own eyes. You..."
"Am alive," said Connor, not unkindly. "For all your power, you can't create life. And yet..."
The Juris lowered itself to Connor's level, and looked him straight in the eyes.
"Your father would have destroyed us all. He would have upset the balance."
"I know. He died doing it."
"And now the circle starts again. I cannot allow it. And yet..."
Brother Daniel tried to fathom the expression on Connor's face. It looked like compassion.
"We hunt. We destroy your kind. We delight in it. Are we not evil?"
"Perhaps," said Connor. "I used to think so. Now I'm not so sure I believe in such things."
Connor and the Juris stared silently at one another. Brother Daniel couldn't help but wonder if Connor knew something he didn't.
"Free will," said Connor. "There can't be evil if it's not freely chosen." The Juris seemed to consider this.
"Go in peace," said Connor.
As suddenly as it had arrived, the Juris left. Connor stood placidly, watching it ascend.
Part eleven: Intellect
Los Angeles, 2003: Angel moved first, leaping from the lectern toward the Juris with preternatural speed. Spike was right behind him, leaping over the row of chairs as though it were a subway turnstile. Wesley and Gunn rose quickly, drawing their weapons, as Fred, Xander and Giles fell back, preparing to see how best they could help.
"Stop," said the Juris, and a wall of force buffeted the heroes. Spike—in mid-air—was slammed straight into the wall. Angel was knocked backward and stunned.
Wesley aimed his pistol for the Juris's head, to no avail. Gunn charged the monster, only to find its hand wrapped around his throat. The Juris hefted Gunn above his head, strangling him. It began to open its lips to speak, when suddenly, an ear-piercing shriek filled the room, so jarring that the Juris dropped Gunn, who landed with a thud on the ground.
The Juris took its eyes off the heroes to see Lorne, whose voice was scrambling the Juris' ultrasonics. Angel wasn't sure if that trick would work, but it seemed to be at least buying them some space. Unfortunately, Lorne couldn't do anything but scream as the vampire glided toward him.
But he had taken his attention off Angel, who body slammed the Juris with enough force to knock him to the ground. Angel landed punch after punch on the monster, but to no avail. Within moments, the Juris had gotten its bearings back, grabbing Angel by the shirt and tossing him into Lorne.
The others had recovered, too, and had surrounded the monster. They all knew they couldn't win, but were determined to try.
"This is pointless," said the Juris. "I have not come to fight. I have come to bring you a warning. War is coming, but our wars are fought in shadows. We are immortal. Our wars are fought in glacial time."
The monster's head then turned toward Giles.
"Four tied to the Slayer line are destined to hold our fate. If I could, I would kill you all and be done with it, but the strands of destiny instruct me otherwise. You must all be judged in your turn."
Without another word, the Juris turned and left.
Part Twelve: To Die and Live in L.A.
Los Angeles, 2003: Drusilla was mad north, northwest, south, southeast and upside down and diagonal, but even she could tell a hawk from a handsaw. Most of the time. The hawk, for example, was the porcelain doll she glimpsed in a dream, the one with its hand wrapped around and dust to dust her ex-lover's throat. And this is the part of the song where the chorus is stars, and what lies beyond the finger-painted canvas?
She watched from the alleyway. The neon of the street signs pulsed like a heart. Everywhere shone with electric blood. Spike bad dog had beaten the captured vampire to a pulp before it sang such exquisite songs, those screams and revealed Azra's location. The boy, Xander, she had loved him once, a little, but that was in a dream, but isn't it always and the Watcher his blood was a symphony were back to back with the man called Gunn. They were making dust that swirled in the air like screams, like ghosts of anger. If they didn't have souls, what became of them when they were...
Spike bad dog, too much like daddy was angry too angry and howled at the moon as his fists sang songs and how could you use a there were no bodies what becomes of us when there is no spark? "Soon there would be no more of us," she said, beneath her breath.
Angel was not burning. Azra wore the gem on a chain around her neck "I am hunted," thought Drusilla. "These mad thoughts are mine" Azra could incinerate them all, save for the spark, which resisted her. Only a handful could command the gem.
Angel shook off his attackers and advanced on Azra. A vampire leapt on him, and in a desperate gambit, Azra ignited it. Angel fell to the ground in agony, desperate to extinguish the flames. He tore off his duster, a casualty of fire. We are all casualties of fire, in the end.
Wesley fired bullets at Azra, and they forced the vampire backward, but didn't kill her. Angel rose and advanced on her again. Outnumbered, and running out of fodder, Azra darted for the alleyways.
Drusilla was waiting.
In her panic, Azra slammed straight into Drusilla. Drusilla smiled, her gaze sinking deep into Azra's. "Shhh!" said Drusilla. "It's a surprise."
Horror is not a common expression on a vampire's face, but that's the only word for what overtook Azra at that moment. If she had thought for a moment, Drusilla would be hers to command, but she was running scared, and Drusilla's eyes were an abyss not easily turned away from. Azra stared, transfixed, as Drusilla ran her fingernail across the vampire's throat. Wordlessly, Drusilla snatched the gem, and Azra burst into flame.
At that, Drusilla laughed so long and loud that the battle abruptly halted. Her hands drenched in Azra's it was borrowed anyway blood, Drusilla strode into the street, where all were staring at her.
Drusilla clapped her hands in childlike glee. "What fabulous ribbons and bows we will decorate the party with, what streamers and gilt and the sound..."
And the world flashed white in front of her, like snow had engulfed everything, and suddenly Drusilla was somewhere else.
Part Thirteen: Time After Time
Elsewhere: One second Angel had been in Los Angeles, watching in horror as Drusilla emerged from the alley wearing the Aurelius Gem, the next, he was... elsewhere. He didn't know where he was, but he knew it wasn't Earth. The sky was littered with stars, but they formed no constellations he had ever seen. For a moment, he imagined they formed eyes and faces, but as soon as he focused on them, they were gone.
Drusilla was nearby, dancing to music that seemed to subliminally pulse from everywhere, slow and steady pulses of sound that must be just beneath any human range of hearing. Even he could barely perceive it. Spike stood next to him, and looked as confused as he did. The others were gone.
The next thing he noticed was that they weren't standing on ground, exactly, so much as a large disc of solid light that floated in the abyss. He looked over the edge, and saw the tapestry of stars extended in all directions.
"Bloody Hell," said Spike. "Where are we?"
"This is the place behind the metaphor," said Drusilla. "This is the place the mirror wants to be."
If Angel didn't know better, he could have sworn that Drusilla sounded almost lucid there. He didn't spend much time on the thought, because a light shimmered on the other side of the disc, from which five figures emerged.
Willow stepped forward. It had only been months since he last saw her, but she looked...older. Her hair was long and white, and she exuded an aura of power that eclipsed that of the girl he knew.
"Angel?" said a voice he instantly recognized, although it too sounded different.
"Buffy?" said Spike, beating Angel to the exclamation. "But you're..."
The nimbus of light surrounding Willow subsided, and Angel could now see that Buffy and Faith were standing to Willow's right. Both looked older, less girlish. Both seemed transfixed on him, as if they'd seen a ghost. To Willow's left stood two hooded men, both of whom seemed familiar also, but whom he couldn't get a clear look at. He realized that no one here had a scent, including himself.
"Sorry, guys," said Willow. "This has to be confusing, I know, but we've got ourselves a situation, and you have to listen to me."
"But what happened to you?" asked Angel. "To all of you?"
"An old friend gave me a head's up that something's wrong. You're going to..."
"He is to be judged," said the Juris, appearing in the air above and between the two groups. It looked down upon them appraisingly, and then turned its attention toward Willow.
"The natural order has been tilted," it said, and the comment seemed squarely aimed at Willow. "You have no right to interfere in this."
"Got you there, big guy," said Willow. "This all started when I resurrected Buffy. Consequently, I get to be the gal to sort it out." Willow turned her attention back to Angel. "Listen. Guys. You're not going to remember this, at least, not consciously. I can't do anything to change what's happened. But both of you, when the time's right, need to remember this much: It's going to all go wrong."
Spike and Angel looked stunned. An anger was visibly fuming on the Juris's face.
The taller of the monks stepped forward, and Angel gasped as he realized who it was.
"Dad," said Connor. "Remember this much. There is an order to things, and you can't change that."
"Connor?" said Angel, a sob building in his chest. "But you're... I mean, when?"
"It's OK, dad," said Connor. "I make it through."
"But," said Angel, but Willow interrupted him.
"Angel, you're going to do what you think you must, but you'll be wrong. And it'll end..." she trailed off. "Not good. Definitely not good."
Willow looked weary. Angel looked at their faces, and began to understand.
"You are arrogant, Angelus," said the Juris. "So sure of your righteousness, of your uniqueness. You have lost both."
"The fate of your kind rests with you two," said Connor, nodding to Angel and Spike. When one of you falls, you will remember some of this, like a fading dream. Four tied to the Slayer hold the fates of all of them, but you and yours are not a jury. You are not Gods."
"The Slayer line is fading," said Willow. "And the time of vampires stands on a precipice. They will either wait out the tide, or be destroyed entirely. It's all connected. The balance will assert itself as it must."
"But there are other options," said Connor.
The Juris descended to the disc and looked Willow in the eyes. Willow didn't flinch.
"I give him ten years," said the Juris. "I will take my daughter and remove her to a far-off place, safe from the abominations."
The Juris took Drusilla by the hand, and in an instant, they were gone.
"I love you," said Connor. "In the end, it will all be set right."
Angel began to speak, but in a flash of white light, they were gone.
Part Fourteen: The Night Can Make a Man More Brave
China, 2023: Spike could get drunk, but knew in his heart that it was largely psychosomatic. For him, drunkenness was an automatic reflex, like gasping when dunked in water. Some things the body just remembered. He sat on the roof of the hotel in Shanghai, sipped whiskey from a flask and listened to the city. In the distance, he heard Dawn and Xander's muffled groans, their possibly one last mad grasping at life before.... In the distance, he could here sirens and sobbing. Somewhere, not far, someone was dying. For him, there is always someone dying in the distance.
London, 2023: Buffy dreamed of Africa.
In the desert, the sand still hot beneath her feet, even by moonlight, while the wind cut sharp and cold into her skin.
Before her, the first Slayer battled a vampire. They had been sparring for what seemed like hours, each savage thrust countered, each potentially crippling blow blocked.
The vampire was tall and handsome, skin so dark it nearly melted into the night.
"It was so different then," she thought, "so unlike the... thing... that murdered Angel. It was human once."
She saw the slayer falter, saw something unreadable flicker in her eyes. With preternatural speed, the vampire's fist connected with her head, and she fell, and in a frenzy of blood and fangs, she was gone.
China, 2023: Gone. Angel was gone and he had never... so much unanswered between them. The mystery of their twin resurrections, the eerie parallels of death denied.
It had all gone wrong. Dawn had seized the Aurelius Gem from Drusilla. Buffy, Giles, Willow and Xander attempted to weave a spell that would cast the vampires from the Earth before the Slayers were gone to defend it. Before the battle was forever lost. The Juris appeared and shifted the tide of the fight. Angel's soul screamed as it was drawn from his body. No, not just withdrawn. Shredded. Angel's soul was being shredded into pieces. There are no words for that sound.
London, 2023: Buffy shifted in her sleep.
In her dream, she was in an African village, many miles from where the first Slayer died. A jolt of awareness shot through a girl's body—she was no more than 13, thought Buffy—and the Shadowmen took her by the hand, leading her to her destiny.
In the desert, the Juris—that was not his name, thought Buffy, not yet—began to walk south.
Buffy thought of Spike, of how he traveled here to find his soul.
China, 2023: Spike thought of Buffy, of how everything had changed when he returned. He, nursing a growing, aimless rage. She, more free than he had ever known her.
It was over before it ever started again. He made his home among those he thought most likely to kill him. He tried to make amends, and knew he never would.
"Soon," he thought. "Soon we finish the damn thing."
He took one last sip of whiskey, and left to sleep before the sun rose.
Part Fifteen: The Sting
China, 2023: Wesley drew a circle in chalk on the rooftop where Angel had died. He, Dawn, Xander and Spike took their places, holding candles. Wesley lit a match.
"Mind," he said, and lit his candle. In the distance—so distant Wesley wasn't sure it was real—he heard a voice whisper, "Descendent of the Shadowmen." He lit Xander's candle with his own.
"Heart," said Xander. Human, traded peace for knowledge. Xander lit Dawn's candle.
"Spirit," said Dawn. Of the Slayer line, but separate from it. Dawn lit Spike's candle.
"Hand," said Spike, Vampire, but more.
The wind began to whip around them, and suddenly, the air was filled with dust. A portal of energy swirled above them, through which the Aurelius Gem fell through, landing between them.
"We represent four corners of the struggle," shouted Wesley, into wind. "We seek the return of three fallen warriors. By the compacts of old, I implore, you. Bring them back."
The dust began to coalesce into three pillars. Slowly, they began to resemble sand sculptures at a beach.
A mind-numbing anxiety overtook them, as the Juris appeared in the sky above them. It walked toward them as though it were descending a staircase.
"Ignore it!" shouted Xander. "Keep your concentration!"
"I have seen horror," said the Juris. "I have committed atrocity, strewn bodies across continents. But this..."
With a wave of its hands, a nimbus of energy blasted toward the four. It dissipated like light rain on a windscreen, never touching them. The Juris arched an eyebrow in confusion, before an immense force knocked it backward.
Willow, bathed in white, appeared between the four and the Juris. The dust continued to shape into statues.
"You," said the Juris. "I told you not to interfere in this, woman."
"Uh-uh," said Willow. "We've had this conversation." With barely a crook of Willow's neck, the Juris plummeted to the ground. It rose from the wrecked concrete, flying at her like a missile. Willow deflected him.
"I don't know why you're so angry," said Willow. "You're the one who set this up. You trapped the Master beneath Sunnydale. You cast both Angel and Spike out of Hell."
"The balance must be preserved," said the Juris, rocking Willow's shield with a blow that could shatter buildings. "At all costs."
"That's what we're doing, you doofus!" shouted Willow.
With that, the statues took on human form entirely. Shivering, naked and stunned, Angel, Drusilla and Darla fell to their knees.
"Now!" shouted Willow.
A nexus of energy flowed between the returned vampires and the four still deep into their spell. The energy flowed upward, through the portal the gem fell into, and then seemed to spread to everywhere.
All over the world, vampires froze in their tracks, looks of horror overtaking them. Some stopped in the act of feeding, casting their victims aside. Some left their crypts, running screaming into the daylight.
A green flame began to engulf the Juris, and it laughed so loudly and mockingly that everyone present experienced a chill. The laughter continued as it disintegrated.
"It's done," said Willow. "Every vampire in the world, they all have their souls back."
The Juris's laughter continued, unabated.
"What's so funny?" asked Willow, rhetorically, before she was cold-cocked by Angel.
"What?" said Angelus. "You were expecting someone else?"
Part Sixteen: Endgame
With Willow unconscious at his feet, Angelus turned toward the next strongest foe, and pounced without warning. Spike wasn't prepared, and fell when Angelus tackled him. Angelus' fists pounded repeatedly into Spike's face before Spike was able to get his arms up into a block. Angelus didn't bother trying to break Spike's defenses, and instead flipped backward over Dawn, who had been approaching him from behind, stake in hand.
"Y'know the cliché?" said "Angelus, "About there being quiet and too quiet? Guess it's true."
Angelus threw a punch at Dawn, but didn't connect. Angelus looked startled for a second, and then comprehension overtook him.
"Gypsy tricks. Right. Kid, I wrote the book on Gypsy tricks."
Angelus punched again, this time nearly connecting as Dawn rolled backward.
"Love dancing with Summers women," said Angelus. "Bet you've got a lot of big sister's moves, if you know what I mean."
Angelus spun on his heel, catching Xander's arms as the stake nearly impaled him.
"Careful with that thing, you'll put an eye out."
Angelus tossed Xander into Wesley, knocking both over. Then, surveying the situation, he realized that—good start or no—the odds were against him. He dove over the side of the building, landing hard with a thud, and ran naked into the shadows.
"Owww," said Willow, nursing her jaw. A blue glow lit from her hand as she massaged it, and it magically mended. "Everyone else OK?"
"What... where are..." said Darla, and all eyes turned toward the two vampires. Darla was regaining her senses quickly. Drusilla was curled up fetal, muttering incomprehensibly. Willow conjured some robes for them.
Darla and Spike locked eyes.
"William," she said, her voice faltering. "I have... What did you do?"
"We figured it out, is what we did," said Spike. His face was pounded and bloody. "In all history, there were only three vampires who've had a soul, even briefly. Angelus, me and you." He then glanced at Drusilla. "It had to be a straight line between us."
Something dangerous flickered across Darla's face, but she remained impassive.
"The act of resurrection is like any other sort of creation," said Wesley. "It releases energy. We knew that, with the Aurelius Gem, and the power generated by three resurrections, we'd have enough energy to..."
"To ensoul all of us," said Darla, almost admiringly. "What, are we to suffer for our sins?"
"Yeah," said Spike. "We are. A bit. And then, when we're over that, we all get to decide what we want to do with our un-life."
"So this is a favor?" said Darla, her voice laced with venom.
"No," said Willow. "This is grace. The age of vampires and slayers is ending. But vampires have never been capable of making choices. Another thirty, forty years, they'd either have been hunted out of existence, or they'd overrun the Earth. Either upsets the balance. This way..." Willow hesitated a bit. "This way, they get to choose their own fate."
"So why didn't it work for Angel? Why is he...?"
"Because the Juris didn't just steal his soul," said Willow. "It destroyed it. Tore it into ribbons."
There was a stunned silence.
"Shouldn't we..." said Dawn, stuttering a bit. "Shouldn't we be getting after him? I mean, one bad-ass, soulless vampire can undo a lot of what we've done here."
"Angelus?" asked Willow. "Oh, yeah. A few years of him, we'd be back to square one."
And then Willow smiled.
"Don't worry," she said "It's covered."
Once he was sure he wasn't being followed, Angelus took a short cut through the backdoor of a clothing store, one with lots of leather in the window.
Fully clothed, he ducked down the alleyways, looking to find someplace to hole up until the next night. Maybe he'd make his way to Japan, he thought. Maybe back to Europe. Then, he stopped in his tracks, and smiled.
"Connor."
"Hi, dad," said Connor, standing at the far end of the alley. "Long time, no see."
Connor had traded in the monk's robes for loose jeans and a T-Shirt. His head was shaved, and his arms dangled calmly by his side. There was a stillness about him that even Angelus could sense.
"So, come to take a crack at your old man?"
"No," said Connor. "I've come to save him."
Angelus lurched at his son, ready to tear his head off. With one fluid movement, Connor caught the vampire's arm, and redirected his flight into the side of the building.
"I won't fight you, dad. I don't do that anymore. But I will defend myself."
Angel rose, and began to pace around his son. Connor turned also, keeping his eyes locked on the vampire's.
"Looks like you're unique again," said Connor. "The only vampire in the world without a soul."
"Yeah, the irony is overwhelming. Whattaya gonna do about it? Mine was destroyed. It's gone. Even the White Witch up there can't shove it back in."
Connor smiled at that, and with a burst of speed, Connor lurched forward, knocking Angelus to the ground and pinning his arms.
"Spike figured this would happen," said Connor, as Angelus struggled. "He remembered Willow's warning. So he, Willow and I worked out a little contingency plan."
There was a crackle of electricity around him, and Angelus realized now that there were runes carved into Connor's skin.
"The soul is more than something you stuff inside a body, dad. The soul's not even in the body. The body's in the soul. It's bigger than we are."
The electricity now was surging and alternating between the two of them, locked in a circuit. Angel screamed in defiance, and as he did, tears streamed down his cheeks."
"And my soul?" said Connor, "My soul's big enough for the both of us."
Epilogue: The Sun Never Sets
London, 2023: Buffy wiped the soot of a night's patrol in London off her brow, and put a kettle on the stove. She had trouble believing that she used to make fun of Giles for this. Now, she didn't know how to get through a day without it. Funny, that.
"I've lived in London too long," she thought. "Maybe it's time to go back to America for awhile."
She used words she never thought she'd use. Spent more time filling out paperwork than slaying vampires. When the mood struck her, she haunted museums and theatres. A few weeks ago, some of the younger girls dragged her out dancing, and acted like it should be some life-changing experience for her. She enjoyed herself more than she let on. Her life had gotten strange, she thought, but no stranger than spending an evening trying to talk a vampire out of jumping off a bridge.
It had all worked out OK once she convinced it that it probably wouldn't die , anyway. Then, she got it to one of the halfway houses Giles had set up in Brixton.
She figured soon she should stop calling them, 'it.'
It was nearly 5 a.m., so Giles would likely be up and working already. She put another tea cup on the tray, and ventured up to his office. He was negotiating on the phone with Wesley as to how much money they'd need to pull off this part of the stunt.
"Helping vampires readjust," she thought, rolling her eyes as she placed the tray down on Giles' desk. "Bloody Hell."
As soon as she thought, she realized she'd definitely been in England too long. She smiled. Giles smiled his "thank you" smile, and then went back to bickering with Wesley over money. She knew it was mostly sport—between the council's resources and Wolfram & Hart's, money was never an issue. Still...
Spike had returned to Los Angeles with Wesley. He felt he had a lot to sort out. Willow was away, too—traveling with Xander and Dawn for awhile. They wanted to see up close what they'd done. She figured it would be awhile before she heard from them. If it was like any of Xander and Dawn's other travels, she'd be getting scattered postcards from Katmandu and Nairobi.
Connor and Oz took charge of Darla and Drusilla. The monks weren't particularly pleased with the situation, but it wasn't the first time they'd taken in a thing that went bump in the night. From what she'd heard, Darla was adjusting...well. Not brilliantly, but well. At the very least, she was behaving herself. Connor seemed to be a moderating force on her. Drusilla? Drusilla was locked up. Nothing would help her, but Oz still sat with her almost every day. He seemed to think she wasn't a lost cause. He'd just sit there, and listen while she ranted at him. This seemed to soothe her.
Angel also accompanied Connor home—wanted to spend some time with his son. He wasn't sure what he'd do next. Not that any of them were, really.
There were battles left. Some of the vampires were increasingly violent, others, well, they were almost silly. Vi had found one crying at the National Gallery, in front of a Van Gogh exhibit, screaming, "What have I done with my life!"
There were battles still. Battles she wasn't used to fighting. That none of them were used to fighting. But for now, the war was over.
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