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9. Lies my parents told me



“I could do it alone…” Spike mumbled, sitting on Angelus’ shoulders. “I can do it with the crutches…”
“Nobody doubts it, darling,” the other vampire replied quietly. “But you can train right here, at home. Have you smelled the wind? I think it’s better to avoid any risk, don’t you?”
“To smell the wind…” Drusilla echoed, following them, her long red fur-trimmed coat brushing the ground. “It burns…it burns…”
“Here we are,” Angelus asserted, as they entered the large old abandoned house. “Crawford Street. This used to be an exclusive neighborhood in the good old days. A lot of green, and a lot of decadent villas.”
“Decadent…humid green…” Drusilla whispered, pirouetting round.
“Ahem…” Spike interrupted. “I know you like to be underneath, Scourge…But I’m getting nauseous up here…”
“How delicate you are…” Angelus approached a big brand-new reclining leather armchair, and unloaded the blonde vampire on to it. “And don’t try to claim I’m treating you badly”.
Spike stretched his legs, pretending indifference, observing him as he sat on the stone steps that surrounded the fireplace at the center of the room. That night he wore his unmistakable black leather trousers and, unusually, a white shirt that emphasised his dark features.
“What do you think Darla’s preparing for us?” he asked him.
Angelus shook his head. “Don’t know…”
“Hey!” Spike cried out. “You kept us in that lousy crypt for two days and you don’t know?! And what the bloody hell were you doing for those two days? Were you out sunbathing?”
“Uhm…Well, I was looking for a safe place for you to stay…and then…” Angelus snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes! I was recovering from the effects of a ritual that almost killed me…”
“Recovering…Sure…” Spike’s eyes became two silver slits. “I can imagine how you were recovering… maybe you were helped along by a few blowjobs from the Slayer …”
“Frankly I don’t understand what you’re complaining about,” Angelus replied, looking at him, “…since you taught her how to give a blowjob…”
Spike became less and less aggressive. “Yeah, well…she’s good, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, really good….” the other mused.
“Stop talking about that girl…” demanded Drusilla, clapping her hands sharply. The echo of the sound resonated around them, and she laughed. “I don’t like you any more when you’re talking about the Slayer…if Grandma was here…”
Angelus took her by the hips. “Dru…my dove…Grandma is not with us anymore, you know that. And she won’t come back. I’ve already told you that”.
“She’s so angry…” the vampire mumbled, dangling from his arm. “So nasty…”
“You shouldn’t be frightened, darling. I won’t let her touch you”.
“How can you be so sure?” Spike replied. “She has a slayer with her…”
“Yeah…” Angelus stood, and began to pace up and down the room. “We knew there was another one: Buffy died for a few minutes when she fought against poor dear Heinrich…it’s a small problem. And I’m not worried. She’s cool. Excellent muscles. Temperament…but she’s just a mess of anger. Nobody’s taught her how to use her power. And I’m sure Darla won’t do it. She wouldn’t even know where to begin”. He stopped, next to Spike’s armchair. “But Buffy…she’s a good pupil. And not only where blowjobs are concerned…She smashed up the church. The brunette almost broke her back, and she collected her pain and fear together and turned them into power. She moved faster than the eye can see, and she beat down the other slayer and a four-hundred-year old vampire. She’s cut out for that. We chose the right one…”
“I hope so” Spike sighed. “We came here to conquer the Hellmouth…not to fall into it…”
“Depressed, uh?” Angelus mocked him. “I know what you need…”
He sweetly forced him to take his t-shirt off and began to knead his shoulders. “You’re like iron, darling, so tense…”
Spike reclined his head back against his Grandsire’s stomach, overcome by a pleasant faintness; immediately he was surrounded by Angelus’ musky fragrance that, like a balsam, calmed his inner struggles. That was the mysterious and masculine fragrance he had scented when he came out from his grave, the fragrance that pervaded the rooms in which he began his vampire existence, the fragrance that, for better or worse, could always make him feel he was home.
He felt a sort of weak and resigned pain. Angelus…easy to hate him. Impossible not to love him. And when the hands stopped kneading his skin, Spike sank down again on the couch, vaguely frustrated.
“Dru, my dear…”Angelus called her. “Take care of our Spikey, right? Enjoy the new house…I’ll go and buy something to eat…”
He ruffled Spike’s hair and went away: Spike was alone with Drusilla’s intoxicated, intoxicating presence. She straddled him and opened her red dress, showing her small pale breasts. “Do you want to drink from mommy?”

Joyce hurried over to the car. There was an expo opening at the art gallery in a few days, and she felt all the responsibility on her shoulders. It meant more money. And more commitment. And an ulcer, as sure as death and taxes. Great. Where on earth had her keys gone now?
“Mrs. Summers, I think these are yours…” she heard a low voice behind her shoulder.
She jumped, but immediately recognized the elegant, dark-haired young man who was handing her the lost keys. “Mr. O’Connor! How nice to see you again! Thank you…I’m so up in the clouds lately…and…please…call me Joyce…”
“And just call me Liam, please” He smiled, pushing his hands into the pockets of his leather coat. “It’s cold tonight…”
“Yes!…What are you doing here? I thought you had moved out of this neighborhood…”
“That’s right; a friend of mine has come to work with me, and we both thought it would be easier to share an apartment downtown,” he sighed, looking around. “But I like this neighborhood…it’s perfect for a solitary walk.”
“Yes, that’s true. It’s a good place to live…Well, I really hope you’ll come and visit us for a coffee, during one of your walks…” Joyce suggested, feeling a bit coquettish. “Last time was so interesting, talking about art with someone who really understands it…”
Liam nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll come for sure. Ah…Joyce?” he was looking at her intensely, and she couldn’t stop herself from thinking he had really amazing eyes. “Have you been to the hairdresser? Changed your style?”
“Oh…just highlights, nothing more…” God, he was the first one who had noticed that.
“Ah, that’s what it is. They suit you,” he told her, stepping back.
“Good night, Joyce…and say hello to your daughter too…” He knitted his brows. “Betty?”
She didn’t understand for a minute. “Uh?...Oh…Buffy! My daughter’s name’s Buffy…”
“Yes, of course…how stupid of me…Then, say hello to Buffy from me.” He shook her hand, a strong and decisive handshake. “Tell her I’ll come to visit you soon.”
Joyce watched his broad back for some seconds, as he walked away down the path. A particularly charismatic man…But what cold hands!


Hidden in the shadow of a tree, a cigarette in his hand, Angelus watched Joyce Summers getting into her car and pulling away from Revello Drive. He could almost hear her heartbeats becoming regular and her blood pressure coming down: she wasn’t aware of it, but she got a sense of relief every time she went out, every time the excuse of work and money gave her time to spend away from her daughter. A daughter who didn’t understand. A daughter who had frightened her too many times…
Parents, Angelus thought, crushing the butt under his shoe: a miserable race, genetically programmed to fail. He looked up. Buffy’s bedroom was in darkness: probably she was already out, patrolling. But he didn’t want to meet her that night.
And damn, he didn’t want to see Darla either…
But she was there. He knew that before he turned around.
“Hi, love”, the vampire whispered, her blonde hair shining in the dark. She glanced at their clothes.
“You’re in black and white too…we can still read each other’s minds…”
“Don’t be so pathetic, confusing preferences about clothes with some kind of bond between us.”
“Is that all it is? Sure?” Darla came closer, swaying in her typical way, as if she was making love. “But I knew you would be here…in front of the Slayer’s house…and here you are…Maybe you are the pathetic one. What game are you playing? Romeo and Juliet?”
Angelus laughed. “Whatever it is, you’re not invited, so don’t be sad.”
She was in front of him now, always beautiful, always exciting. He couldn’t deny that…but he could resist her. “Do what Wolfram and Hart told you to do. Or try to. Either way, you won’t get me back.”
Darla didn’t look scared. “I was the one who taught you to be obstinate, don’t forget that…” one of her little hands, with its natural pink-colored nails, slipped between two buttons of his shirt, touching his skin. “Really, you don’t miss me? Not even a little bit?”
Angelus allowed her to touch his skin and brought his face to hers, almost touching her lips. “Not at all.”
With a roar, Darla pushed him away. “Two hundred and fifty years…I gave you two hundred and fifty years. I’ve been a mother to you. And that doesn’t mean anything?”
“All sons leave the nest, sooner or later, don’t you know that?” Angelus replied, re-buttoning his shirt. “You have to set them free.”
“Bullshit!” Darla bawled, pointing at Buffy’s house. “It’s because of her, right? Because of that cheerleader…but you’ll get tired…she’s just new…”
“I’m disappointed in you…” Angelus skirted her, looking at her cynically. “Is that the value you put on our two hundred and fifty years together? So small that you believe a teenager could erase them in a moment? No, no…Darling, you underestimate us. The reason is you, Darla”. His voice became low and threatening. “You are the same bitch you used to be when you were human; you can’t stop selling yourself and having masters. First it was the Master, and now the Wolfram and Hart attorneys. You feel strong only if they pay and use you”. He took her by the chin, tightening his grip. “Well, I’ve no masters. None”.
Darla gasped, continuing to look at him, with rage and pride. And desire. “I’m your master.”
Angelus drew back his hand. “Ah, sure? Well…you know the crème de la crème of attorneys, right? So sue me”.



He moved away fast down Revello Drive, aware that she wouldn’t follow him. Neither of them wanted to fight directly. These spats were common, like fencing before the true battle; a sort of petting Darla enjoyed…he knew her very well. And it was the same for him, with one significant difference between them: his sire was a slave to her senses.
Families…Bonds…sometimes they were a consolation, a shelter in the vastness of the centuries. Sometimes they were chains he preferred to break and throw as far away as he could…
Walking through the cemetery, he felt he was not alone. He stopped, sniffing the air: it wasn’t a slayer smell…neither the blonde or the brunette. There was…Oh, yes.
Angelus explored with a glance the tombs and the funerary buildings and saw her, waiting in front of a crypt.
“Dru…I asked you to take care of Spike and to stay home…It’s dangerous to be out…” he reproached her sweetly.
She whimpered felinely. “My knight was tired and he fell asleep…But I’m awake...all night the voices are talking to me…” She moved behind him, rubbing herself against his back. “And they’re talking about you…they say I can’t sleep because of you…because of your blood…which is strong and powerful…” she took him by the hand and led him to a wall covered by ivy.
“Like your body…”
Angelus was listening to her, fascinated. He had always been enchanted by her visionary insanity.
He watched her kneel, the waning moon shining on her black hair.
“It’s been so long since you allowed me to taste your body…” Drusilla whispered; and with her white fingers she gently touched his thighs.
“My dove, you’ve just to ask for it…”
He heard her sigh, while she was unzipping his leather trousers. “Daddy, the Slayer is not the only one who has these talents…”
Angelus relaxed against the soft ivy carpet. Families…Bonds…sometimes they had pleasant advantages…


The first thing he saw, opening his eyes, was Miss Edith and her wide, amazed, glassy stare. Spike smiled, stretching. A typically lovely Dru gesture: she always used to put her favorite doll next to him, to watch him sleep…
The vampire sat up, touching his hair and face. The bruises were almost gone. He was getting better fast. Luckily. He hated to lay low…trembling he stood up and, naked, he reached for his jeans, pulling them on with some difficulty.
In the house everything was absolutely quiet, and sharp glints of lunar light peeked between the heavy black curtains that protected the archway leading into the garden. Spike took a crutch and limped outside.
He knew perfectly well where Drusilla had gone. And he could easily imagine what she was doing right then. That wasn’t a problem…It never had been. He understood her…
But, for some absurd reason, he felt distraught. Uneasy. Bloodily, desperately alone.
Why? Why now?
Next to him, the silence was broken by the sound of a twig snapping.





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