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6. New moon rising



It was a wonderful night; a lot of stars and the soft glow of the upcoming moon rising was just beyond the houses' roofs. Giles tossed off his brandy. Good heavens, maybe a whiskey would have been better. A double one.
That beautiful and limpid night was the night. The ritual to heal the companion of William the Bloody would have been celebrated. And Buffy, his slayer, nothing more than a little girl, wanted to fight him, and something much more deadly, the Scourge of Europe, who represented the darkest dream of every watcher, alone. At that name, Giles couldn't smother the curiosity and the desire to meet and study up close a creature full of such an obscure power…
He poured himself another drink, breathing faster. Buffy had known from her nark the ceremony's place. And she told him nothing. Giles smothered an angry gesture. She wanted to protect him…God, I must protect her!
He kept his promise and he didn't say anything to the guys. After all, it was the right thing, in addition to the problem with Xander, and could only increase the stress. And obviously he didn't want to involve Jenny. But he didn't want to sit and wait. He, Rupert Giles, who once upon a time had been called Ripper, was an extremely well trained watcher, especially for this sad but long awaited fight with the Scourge and his devotees. He knew that the ritual should have been performed in a church…Well. In Sunnydale there were forty three churches, but the number decreased if he looked for the ones closed or abandoned.
He put down the glass and opened the big chest which he used to keep his personal collection of weapons. I'm sorry Buffy, he told himself, choosing the ones most effective and easiest to carry, I'll find you and then I'll try and help you.
Spike looked at the big window which decorated the wall behind the altar. The stained glass was becoming brighter and every tone became liquid, as if they were dripping. The moon was rising, finally.
He negligently looked at the vampires who were awaiting his instructions in silence. “Nobody must enter. Kill every unaware passer-by, even if he only takes a leak on the other side of the street, right? Nothing, absolutely nothing must go wrong.” And he almost laughed while he was saying that, because he had the distinct feeling that something wrong was already happening…unless…
He saw Angelus enter from the vicarage’s small door and for an instant, maybe a split second, maybe a little more, all the words and all the thoughts went out of his mind. His grandsire's black shirt was undone and opened, and clung to him, looking like the night, seduced, was following him, trying to penetrate his skin. And these strange buckles which looked like spurs produced such a sinister noise at every step. Bloody hell, Spike sighed, and he went towards him.
“…mhm…I hope you know that the Slayer's here…” The blonde vampire pointed to the church entrance. “I suppose she's inside one of the confessionals down there”.
“Sure I know that Spikey”, Angelus replied. “What the hell kind of questions do you ask me?”
“This one: why? Why does she play hide-and-seek in such a ridiculous way and more important: why do we let her stay?”
Angelus came closer and hit him on the forehead. “Knock knock, Spikey…Is there anyone in there?”
Spike went away, more upset with himself than with Angelus. “You think she's come to…watch?”
“I don't think that. I know that”, Angelus confirmed with his usual, irritating self-assurance.
“But the other night she told me she wanted to stop the ritual…”
“Sure. That's what she is repeating in her confused head right now…Bla, bla, bla…”
Spike desperately wanted a fag, but it wasn't the right time to smoke. He arched his eyebrow, the one crossed by the scar. “And if you're wrong? If she surprises you?”
Angelus smiled and he put an arm around his shoulders, holding him. “Ah, Spikey, do you know what I like in you?”
“No…But I bet you'll tell me right now…”
“Yeah…that, despite everything, you're always that sentimental poet who was looking for the effulgence Drusilla brought home…” the two vampires' heads touched. “You…you think there's still hope for the girl, right?”
Spike looked at his grandsire, deep into the dark and dangerous waters of his eyes. “And you don't.”
“No, I don't, darling” Angelus whispered, stepping back. “You know me; I think hope doesn't exist.” He left, adding “And it's better if I'm right. Because if I am, Buffy won't interfere, but if I'm wrong…she will try to stop the ritual and…”
A muscle stiffened in Spike's jaw. “And we should kill her.”


The full moon shone. She saw it from the window's multicolored inlays on the nave's bottom and sometimes a spark of silver light reached her eyes. In the dark of the confessional, partly covered by a dusty white fabric, Buffy could clearly see the part of the altar in which the ritual would probably be performed.
She looked outside. Angelus was tickling Spike, who pushed him away, trying to repress a smile. More than companions, more than brothers…A sort of a strange family…No, they're beasts, Buffy repeated to herself, don't be distracted.
Angelus took off his shirt, showing her his large back with the tattoo in evidence like…like a target. Her hand held the crossbow near her hip: she could do it. Just one, precisely fired, and she would have dusted the Scourge. The surprise would have given her the time to prepare another arrow and send Spike to Hell too. Yeah…
She put the crossbow down. Oh, Buffy, who do you expect to believe that?
They know very well you're here. And you want them to know.

“You look like the Demoiselle of Shalott” Angelus whispered to Drusilla, who was waiting for him in the vicarage, lying down on a threadbare sofa. “Dressed in rich velvet clothes, loose hair…You would be perfect with some flowers in your hands…maybe lilies …”
She caressed his chest. “The Demoiselle of Shalott, yes, who lay down on the river's waters as a rose petal…The roses die too soon, don’t they, my angel?”
He nodded smiling, taking her in his arms. “You won't my love. You're just blossoming…”
“Blossoming…from the ground…” Drusilla whispered, holding to his neck. “As the first time…blossoming…”
“Yeah my darling, be quiet…” Angelus reassured her, exchanging affirmative glances with Spike, who stood at the door. “Everything ready?”
“Everything. We can start. You know…” Spike said “maybe little Buffy won't like the show…you'll scream.”
“Oh, well…” Angelus stated, grazing his lips on Drusilla's forehead. “I think she gets horny when I scream…”
When the two vampires came back, Buffy's senses got tense. Angelus held a girl with long dark hair and a heavy red velvet dress. So she was Drusilla…
Spike's girlfriend.
Engendered by the Scourge.
Despite herself she couldn't put down a pang of jealousy and disbelief. They both seemed so tender with her…they were helping her to sit down on the stairs in front of the altar and they held her as if she were a delicate and precious doll, something that could be broken with the slightest bump.
Angelus sat next to her, still holding her in his arms and cradling her softly; Spike arranged her skirt into its well made creases. Drusilla was looking at them; her wide and violet eyes were weak, and she was fed by their caresses. Buffy dug her nails into the wood.
She looked at those three creatures of the darkness and she saw something she couldn't understand. A deep bond she hadn't considered…Stop, stop, she reproached herself, you must be ready. You must be sober. Completely sober.
In the meantime Spike took a censer and he began to recite the ritual wording, in a loud and solemn voice, the game-face on. “Eligor, I invoke you, bringer of wars, poisoner, big obscenity…”
Soon the air in the church was filled by the acrid smell of the incense, and Buffy fought to not cough.
Spike was holding a seemingly turned golden cross. The Cross of Du Lac… “Eligor, lousy Lord of destruction, bring your black medicine…Come, and bring back to life your most impious and unmerciful daughter…”
Angelus raised his right hand and he took Drusilla's left one, linking his fingers to hers. Spike pulled a sharp knife from the cross. “From the blood of her sire she was born…” The blonde vamp came closer to the other two. “From the blood of the sire she will be born again”.
When the knife entered the two hands, an unnatural glow shone as if the sun was inside the building, and Buffy couldn't see anything for an instant. And then…the cry. Angelus's cry. A painful cry. Pure pain and perfect as ice.
Damn, Giles thought, with the bag full of weapons on his shoulder. There were more closed churches than he had presumed. And, just to make the situation a bit more complicated, that lousy wreck he insisted on calling a car, had let him down, definitely flooded. Damn, damn, damn…
He took a deep breath to calm down. If he remembered correctly, beyond that old building, just around the corner, there should be a small church, which had been closed for a few months…at that moment, a sudden bright light exploded across the neighborhood as a wave; Giles stopped, on the alert. Yes, that was the right church! That light meant that the ritual had just started and probably Buffy would have chosen that moment to attack. And he would have been there to help her!
He started to run and he arrived at the church in a couple of minutes. The glow had decreased but it kept shining weakly, and sometimes it lit the windows and the wide door of the building. Wait a minute…wide?
Giles looked around, clutching a stake. He expected to fight a lot of vampires who were on watch, but nobody was there. Only cars. Black, lavish and high-powered cars. He touched one of them: the engine was still hot. What…?
He had no time to assume anything. He was pushed violently and hit his head on the hood: he fell down deep in the dark almost immediately.


C'mon, c'mon Buffy, now or never.
But her legs refused to move, and her eyes could see only Angelus.
His head was bowed, his muscles were stiffened, his face was twisted in a mask of anguish. The veins of his and Drusilla's arms were swollen and black, and they moved, alive, throbbing, and they switched life from one to the other.
Spike and Giles told her that ritual wouldn't have constituted a danger for Angelus. Yeah, but Spike said a lot of things. And almost everything was false…and concerning Giles' books… they were not always right…
But how was it possible? How come the Scourge of Europe, the monster, the beast had assented to that torture?
You can't, bloody bastard, you can't die like that. You can't sacrifice yourself for your sick vampire.
Not before you plead for clemency at my feet…You can't…You can't…
Now, Buffy told herself, getting out of the confessional, now or never!
Spike started, turning back, with an amazed expression on his human face. But he wasn't looking at her; maybe he hadn't even noticed her…he was looking at the church entrance.
“Darla…” , he whispered.
Darla? Who was she?
Buffy also turned back, simultaneously stepping back into the confessional's shadow. In the entrance she could see ten or more vampires and Darla should be without any doubt the blonde one in front of everybody. Except for the feminine top she wore, which exalted her perfect womb, she was dressed exactly like Angelus: she had a leather jacket and leather trousers: her shoes had the same spurs as Angelus's…for some reason she didn't know, that curious similarity annoyed Buffy. Or rather - she understood observing her- everything about Darla was annoying her…
The vampire moved forward, pale, extremely beautiful, walking with studied, voluptuous elegance. Her blue eyes contemplated the helpless person of Angelus, lying down on Drusilla's womb.
“You can't listen to the elder's advice dear boy, can you? Especially if it’s good advice…”
“Darla!”, Spike enjoined. “Stay away from there. The ritual's almost done.”
She laughed. “Good, my snotnose! You've said …almost”. She signaled and all the vampires with her came rushing to the altar.
Spike roared, transforming, brandishing a huge candlestick. He noticed that only two of his companions were left to help him. All right then, it wouldn't be the first time he was a minority…but nobody could touch Dru.
Seven against three, Buffy thought…a thought which disappeared immediately. Her problem now was Darla. In the middle of the confusion, she had continued to walk slowly…and she aimed straight for Angelus. She saw her stop in front of him and pull out the knife of Du Lac without ceremony. Both Angelus and Drusilla fell down.
Darla bent down, the leather trousers sensually stretched on her hips. “Dear boy…why are you so stubborn, uh?”
He recognized her and a hint of a smile softened his mouth. “You've always loved me for that, haven’t you?”
She caught him by the neck throwing him on an aspersorium, which crumbled due to the impact. In a flash she was again over him, and she pushed the heel of her shoe on his throat. “Oh, what a pity…it was empty…I really wanted to see you burn a little bit…”.
Angelus shook his head. “C'mon…it's not your cup of tea to be so cliché…If you want to kill me do it now…it's your one and only chance….Kill me, because I'll never come back to your side…never.”
“Oh, you'll do that…” Darla hissed, pushing down harder with her heel. “Right now.”
“And who says that?”
Darla turned back hearing that voice, and Buffy hit her, throwing her against the first row of benches; then she tried to help Angelus but a lot of noise behind her stopped her. Darla was already rising, the game-face on, grotesque and bloody. “Faith!” she cried! “Where the fuck are you? The other Slayer’s here!”
Buffy's heart quickened. The other Slayer? What the hell…?
She couldn't formulate the question entirely. This time she was hit and thrown against the altar, and she had the impression her back broke into two halves. Shaking, she stood up and she was in front of her, striding towards her like an Amazon, between her and Angelus: she was a petite dark-haired girl, she wore tight jeans, a blood- red tank top and a tribal tattoo on her upper arm. She wasn't a vampire. But she was strong. Strong as a…
“Who are you?” she asked her, while she tried to breathe again.
The other winked at her. “You know who I am, B…but maybe, guess what, you don't understand…they told me you're not very clever…”
Buffy came down from the altar. From the corner of her eye she saw Darla attacking again. “Me? Yeah, well, that's true…I'm not so clever…”. She concentrated on her breath. Collect the power. She had to collect her power and convey it to the womb. To the core. To the origin.
“So I should know you? You're name's Faith, right?” Emotions, anger, fear, excitement.
Collect them Buffy, feel them.
The brunette nodded. “Right B. Rack your little brains…do you remember nine months ago?”
Buffy wasn't listening. In her mind there was only room for the first and only thing her instincts were telling her: take away Angelus.
Also she was amazed by her speed. With a flip she passed the distance between Faith and she staked an arrow in her foot, then she bent and hit Darla with a crossbow fire, hitting her on the shoulder. Then, with the adrenaline as a flame in her veins, she ran to Angelus, and lifted him up, putting her arm around his waist.
He didn't react; he only looked at her with his impenetrable eyes, in which she couldn't read anything but the effort to keep himself awake. Still holding him, Buffy turned back: Spike held Drusilla in his arms and he was trying to escape, getting around the other vampires engaged in the fight.
Their glances met for a moment, then Buffy and Angelus disappeared into the vicarage. Spike hesitated, but just for a moment…he always knew that when they made love and she told him she was his, he had known the Slayer would have been Angelus's property. She had become his at the precise instant his grandsire wanted her.
Bloody hell, congratulations then!
Faith pulled the arrow from her foot and anger blew up inside her together with the rush of blood that went out from the wound. Mad, she dusted every vampire she found near her stake, including the ones who came from Los Angeles with her, then she took an incense burner left on the ground and she threw it at Spike and Drusilla, hitting the head of the blonde vampire, who fell and smashed the huge wooden organ in the church corner. The resulting collapse of the structure engaged a lot of candlesticks and the fire blazed in seconds.
Darla reached Faith, pulling the broken arrow from her shoulder in one hand. “What a mess…” she mumbled. “A hole in my favorite jacket…where are they?”
“Down there” Faith answered satisfied, pointing at the burning ruins.
“Angelus and the Slayer?” damn, Darla didn't look happy at all.
“No, the blonde bloke and the foolish vamp…Don't know where your precious vampire has gone. The slutty slayer must have taken him away.”
The vampire relaxed. “She must enjoy him till she can…because mom's back and she wants her boy back…”

A/N: This is a translated and betaed story: bear it with us. Anyway, this is NOT a bangel story, this is NOT a spuffy story, but a bit of both. Follow us and see if you like what you read. Anyway, Spike and Buffy are always central front. And, please, review;))





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