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Chapter 9: Get this Party Started

Previously: Tierre and Logan have a mini face-off in front of Franco, shortly after the attack on the Council. Franco reveals that Tierre had apparently checked Yesha in a Scarlet hospital. Tierre then takes Yesha away from said hospital. Meanwhile, Buffy and Faith storm Wolfram and Hart, and end up talking to Fred and getting a glimpse of Angel and Tierre’s past antagonistic relationship. The two Slayers track Angel and Wesley to New York, where Buffy first assaults Angel, and then ends up having a heart to heart talk with him about Tierre. Angel and Buffy gather Scoobies and Vashkans to plan how to attack Scarlet, and Angel brings forward and unlikely ally…Drusilla.

***

“You look very handsome,” Maggie smiled at Tierre, then stuck her tongue out at him through the mirror when he pretended to preen.

“Anyone would look good in a tux,” he said.

“I’ll remember that the next time I’m invited to one of those oh-so-classy banquets.”

Tierre shuddered inwardly at the idea of Maggie rubbing elbows with the sharks he swam with. Never, he vowed. They’ll never even come near her again. So far, his oath to protect her was going smoothly. He owed that to his friends, the people who would lay down their lives for Maggie in a heartbeat. She had no idea who they really were, thought of them only as people who had managed to grow close to the Wolfson family. If she took the time to examine the circumstances in which they’d entered their lives, she’d certainly suspect something, as bright as she is.

But she had learned to love them, and with that came her trust and acceptance.

Maggie watched in silent, almost maternal pride as Tierre ran his fingers through his rebellious locks one final time. For once, they obeyed him, and lay in a docile slick-back that showed off his face for the entire world to see. He wore a simple black ensemble, and a shirt so crisp and white, it nearly blinded her. His black Italian silk tie had been tied to perfection after several arduous attempts.

He was never flamboyant, her Tierre. When he dressed up like this, he always chose subtle elegance over flashiness. The effect was always head-turning. He just screamed ‘old money’ from every angle, right down to the casual, almost predatory grace with which he carried off everything. Not bad for someone who used to run out into the world with clothes that a flat iron would give up on.

Tierre caught her wistful look in the mirror and asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” Maggie wrinkled her nose mischievously, “Just thinking that this isn’t like you, showing up at one of Franco’s social events just because he asked you to. You always say these things bore you to death,” she said, “Or is there some other reason you’ve decided to play the obedient son tonight?”

“You could say that.”

“Ah hah! I knew it!” Maggie stabbed a finger at his chest, “So spill already. What’s her name?”

“Who said it was a lady?” he hated that her playful expression gave way to worry in a matter of seconds. He hated that he always seemed to give her reason to fear for his safety.

But if everything played out right, Maggie won’t ever have to worry about him again.

“Tierre,” she whispered anxiously, “What are you up to this time? It’s dangerous, isn’t it? It always is.”

He cupped her chin gently, “I’ll be careful, ducks. I promise,” Although telling her about everything that he did was out of the question, Tierre made it a point not to totally keep her in the dark. He respected Maggie too much to feed her nothing but bullshit.

Tierre gazed more closely at her, trying to reassure himself that she really was fine. He had been surprised when he and Yesha had arrived at the ranch and found Maggie there. She had been surprised, too ― pleasantly, when she caught sight of Yesha.

He and his hostile hostage had set his favorite redhead straight on the nature of their relationship right away. And then, much as he knew that Maggie hated it when he got too fussy, he asked her if she was feeling all right.

“Of course I am,” she’d snapped at him, “It’s practically summer, Tierre. I came for my well-deserved vacation, nothing else.” And then she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, “You worry too much, man.”

She’s fine, he had told himself over and over. She’d tell me if … if … she felt … ill.

“She’s got something to do with tonight, doesn’t she?” Maggie asked, snapping Tierre back to the present.

“Yes, but she doesn’t know anything,” he told her, just in case the original Wolfson had any ideas about grilling Yesha. Ever the gracious hosts, the two had given the Vashkan one of the best guestrooms to sleep off her jetlag. Tierre had no doubts that when Yesha woke up, the first thing she’d do would be to look for him. She’d find out he’d left her, and then she’d try to escape.

She’d also find out that there was no escape. Yesha was a smart elf-girl. She’d figure it out by the obvious lack of restraints on her. Her door wasn’t even locked.

And as for Maggie, Tierre was confident of her safety.

“I better get going. Franco will freak if I’m even a second late,” he said finally, “Hope’s goin’ to be practicin’ her piano lessons with you tonight, right?”

“Uh-huh. She’s doing really well, too. I think she may be Beethoven’s reincarnation.”

“No way, ducks. “ Tierre teased, “I’ve heard her play. I swear I thought I was transported to another world. Ludwig’s got nothin’ on your girl.”

Maggie grinned proudly.

“Maggie …”

“Hmm?”

“You know where to call me if … if you feel … somethin’ right?”

“You mean if I feel that I’m dying?” she said curtly. Tierre stared at her, hurt and terrified. Maggie tried to smile, but her face felt too stiff, “I’m fine. I feel fine. Why can’t you believe me?”

Tierre sighed, then pulled her into an embrace, “I know you’re fine. I’m sorry I’m so paranoid.”

“ ‘Stop being so paranoid’. That was supposed to be your New Year’s resolution.”

“Yeah. Four years old.”

She laughed, and the tension vanished. Tierre kissed her forehead, then said, “Oh, and if you notice some wonkiness tonight? Just ignore it.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t push. He’d tell her anyway, in his own time.


~*~ *~ *~


Tierre had one last stop before he went out to what promised to be a night in desperate need of entertainment. Sometimes, Tierre wondered what he would do if he wasn’t so blessed with his infinite gift for creating fun. Probably destroy the world as mankind knows it, as Angel had once predicted.

The short box of concrete that he entered housed an Internet café, one of several million that dotted the entire planet. This one was special, but it didn’t look special, hence making it even more special.

“Hey, Thorn,”

“Go away, Tierre.”

Tierre smiled, “Now is that anyway to greet an old friend?”

Nelson Thorn, the best, most discreet drop in all of New York City, maybe the whole bloody world, raised his head and smirked at him, “No,” he said, hazel eyes amused, “But it sure as hell is good enough for you.”

Tierre shook his head sadly, “And after all we’ve been through together ―”

“― Most of which were entirely your fault.”

Tierre gave up, “He here?”

Thorn gave his head a sharp jerk to the right, where a lone computer sat, facing a man with straight, blue-black hair.

Tierre made his way over to the man, noting with automatic accuracy, the faces of those who were inside Thorn’s Internet Café. He would need to remember them, just in case one of them is hired to take him out. They all looked up at him without moving their heads, and the brief flick of their eyes were so quick, as to be imaginary. Tierre knew better, of course. When you moved in the shadows of Hades, you soon learn that here, there was no line between the imaginary and the real.

“Ragnarok? Chess? Dungeon Master? Or something you created?” Tierre asked, peering over the black-haired man’s shoulder at the computer game he was playing.

“Something I created,” the man replied.

Tierre shuddered. There were some things that even he would think twice before facing. The games Ryan Alvarez created were some of them “Get away, stupid. You’re shadowing me.”

Tierre grabbed a seat and obediently sat down beside the computer, in front of Ryan, where his offensive shadow wouldn’t get in the way of the bloke’s playing, “I’ve got a job for you,” he said.

“I’m busy, T-Wolf.”

“You can do this between levels,” Tierre leaned the chair up against the wall until its front legs were off the floor, “How many levels are in that one?”

“Four.”

“And no one can get past the first. Have I told you lately what a frightening sadist you are?”

A ghost of a smile graced Ryan’s lips, “Flattery will get you anywhere. So talk.”

“I’ve got some guests coming over tonight, but I’ve got other plans so I’ll probably be late in coming home to attend to them.” Tierre began, “Would you mind playing the civilized ―accent on ‘civilized’, thank you very much― host for me? Just until I get back.”

“Do I look like a frigging ―” Ryan looked up, saw Tierre in his tux, and promptly burst out laughing. Tierre scowled and thought about hitting the guy, but that would probably just cost him one of his hands. His expression got even sourer when he saw Thorn attempting to hide a grin. Thorn had once vowed to be polite and charming in order to attract more customers. He failed miserably in this mission. The bastard was supposed to be a genius ― he’d been breaking Top Secret codes, both government and private, in his teens. He’d hacked into servers and mainframes and forced them to submit to his evil will in his early twenties. He did all that just to pass the time, now.

Genius or not, Tierre had bet good money that Nelson Thorn would go to his grave without ever learning the finer points of etiquette.

“This here has the Maggie Seal of Approval. If you don’t shut up, I’m telling,” Tierre taunted.

That shut them up. Tierre smiled, “Now will you listen?”

“If you’re ready to ditch your clever code …” Ryan grumbled.

“I am,” Tierre related his plan to Ryan, switching to a dialect that only Ryan and Thorn could understand. But Thorn was busy trying to look busy, and the message was mainly for Ryan, anyway.

Ryan continued playing, “You doing this for your old man?”

“Say that again and I’ll leak your games on the Net.”

“Well?”

“Sort of,” Tierre slammed the chair back to stable standing, “You in?”

Ryan shrugged, “Whatever,” he muttered.

“If you can’t handle this on your own, feel free to give her a call.”

Ryan smiled sweetly at Tierre, and flipped him off.


~*~ *~ *~


Summer’s Cove was like one of those perfect little dream towns, idyllic and elegant with its large, old houses with well-trimmed lawns, neat and wide streets, the colonial buildings and its quaint little gift shops. They weren’t shy about the trees. There were lots of trees around. Buffy liked trees. She might have even liked Summer’s Cove, with its squeaky-clean Boston small town image, and its pristine beach.

Of course, Sunnydale had been the same way, a bright, homey place. And it had stood on a hellmouth. On the other hand, if Summer’s Cove had any hellmouths, she didn’t feel them. There wasn’t a hellmouth in Boston, Giles had assured her early that evening, before they set their plan in motion.

As for that plan, Buffy still had her doubts. Mostly because of the woman they were forced work with.

Drusilla stood quietly beside her, listening to Angel put the final touches on their planned assault. She wore a gown of exquisite, deep red velvet, the color of blood. Her hair was done up, and delicate strands curled beside her beautiful face. Tiny rubies dotted her delicate earlobes. She wore no other jewelry, and she wore no make-up, but the red made such a perfect contrast with her alabaster skin. She was a vision.

Buffy wanted to claw her eyes out.

As though hearing her thoughts, Drusilla turned her head to look at the Slayer. She did not smile, but her face was far too serene to be that of a human being’s. Buffy forced herself to pay attention to Angel, and the rest of the plan.

Angel, Dru, Buffy, Willow and Seyhan were to infiltrate Scarletta’s party. Seyhan had been torn between helping to rescue Yesha and going with the team assigned to steal the Balancer. Surprisingly, it had been Rumus who had made up his mind for him; telling Seyhan that he must go and find the Ark A’ Fen Dai Vakar, for he was its true guardian. Yesha would soon be back with them; he and Selig would make certain of that.

Dru was confident that she can thrall her way inside; and even if she couldn’t, Scarletta had no reason to be suspicious of her. Dru had never been known to pledge allegiance to anyone but herself.

And to Tierre, of course. She hadn’t bothered to elaborate on that.

As for the rest, they’d be lucky if they weren’t shot on sight. Angel’s name was anathema to the Scarlet Empire, and dossiers of the Scoobies and Vashkans were probably being passed around the group’s circle right now.

Willow fixed that right up. A mild invisibility spell cloaked the four of them. She also taught the others how to voluntarily lift the spell on their own. She warned them that they must always be aware of their invisible status at all times. If their concentration broke, the spell was lifted. None of them could imagine a scenario where they would ‘voluntarily’ do that.

One of the younger Slayers had actually filched invites from some of the party’s real guests. Elsa and Andrew had hacked into a popular gossip columnist’s computer and stolen a guest list from there. The invites would be generally useless, since four of them would be invisible and would be getting inside by sneaking in via windows or backdoors, if necessary. But the young Slayer had been so proud of her little accomplishment that Buffy just didn’t have the heart to say no.

“All right,” Angel was saying, “Let’s go through this one more time. Seyhan, Willow, the two of you will look for the Balancer, but you have to wait until Dru has put Scarletta in thrall. He will be your guide and your shield.”

“What if she can’t?” Seyhan asked, glancing at Dru, “What if Scarletta is immune to your vampire powers?”

Dru smiled her Mona Lisa smile, “No one is,” she said softly, gazing at the Vashkan. Seyhan gazed back, his eyes going glassy, before he caught himself, gave his head a sharp shake, and shot Dru a withering look.

“Don’t do that!” he spat.

“You only managed to do that because Seyhan was looking right into your eyes!” Buffy pointed out.

“Stop it!” Angel ordered, “Look, when it comes to thralls, no vampire has ever surpassed Dru. She knows what she’s doing, all right?”

“So, we wait until Franco’s under thrall, then we politely ask him to give us the Balancer back, right?” Willow said quickly, her gentle sarcasm breaking the tip of the tension iceberg.

“Yeah, and that’s all you do, Will. Don’t try to fight with any of Scarlet, if you spot them,” Buffy said, “We’ll take care of that.”

“Are you certain that Mr. Giles and Alexander can lead 20 Slayers if ever a battle erupts?” Seyhan asked, referring to the Slayer battalion that they’ve taken with them as backup.

Both Willow and Buffy replied simultaneously, “Absolutely.”

“I don’t see them anywhere.”

“That’s because Giles and Xander already have them in position.”

“Okay, you guys ready?” Buffy looked at each of them in turn, “Good. Let’s do this.”

Willow’s spell was activated and the group got in the roomy Volvo Angel had provided. Drusilla surprised them again by driving the car herself. To the naked eye, she was just a beautiful woman, driving to a party alone.

They left the outskirts of town and descended from the low hill that overlooked Summer’s Cove. The town was even more beautiful up close. But there was something missing.

“Oookay … where’s the Scarletta estate?” Buffy asked, looking around her at the simple residential paradise, “This all looks suspiciously like suburbia to me. Where’s the palace? The moat and the Scarlet flag?”

“Hmmm … they would all be inside the kingdom, of course,” Dru said.

Since her smirk was invisible, Buffy made sure her voice was chock full of sweet sarcasm, “And where, pray tell, would that be?”

“Over there,” came the casual reply.

Buffy rolled her eyes, turned her head to the right ― and felt her jaw drop. Willow and Seyhan were equally speechless.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Angel said.

“An island?” Willow blurted out, “He owns an entire island?”

“Islet, would be more appropriate, I think. It’s not that big,” Angel huffed.

But it was big. The island was connected to Summer’s Cove by a stone bridge that looked like it’s been there for a couple of centuries at least, and would stay there for the next thousand. Cars were already crossing that bridge, entering the brightly lit kingdom of Camelot.

“I heard that there used to be other estates there, but that Scarletta had bought every single one,” Drusilla said.

Buffy began to wonder if 20 Slayers would be enough. She wondered just how many members Scarlet really did have in total. She didn’t wonder if they would all be there. She assumed they would. There was more than enough room for all of them.

“I sure hope the guests would be enough protection for us,” she heard Willow say, “You know, if he wasn’t such a bad-guy-in-disguise, I’d envy Mr. Scarletta’s talent for throwing parties. This is supposed to be for a benefit, yet you’d think Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie would show up.”

“That’s Scarletta for you. He’s just an extraordinarily rich guy who wants to make the world a better place. Who doesn’t want to be in the presence of a god like that?” Angel muttered bitterly.

“I still can’t believe it,” Willow murmured, “He always seemed so … good. I can’t believe it.”

“You will, Willow. Once we get in there.”

Buffy could still hardly believe it, either. But this had happened to all of them once before, with the Mayor. Even Buffy didn’t get the bad guy vibe off him then. She’d been wrong. She could be wrong about Franco Scarletta, too.

The procession towards the gates was slow. The guards were checking each arrival with a thoroughness that was almost ridiculous. “Sure, and I got all dressed up, too, when even the guards aren’t going to see me,” Buffy grumbled.

“This is for our own protection, Slayer,” Seyhan said, “And besides, we might be called upon to become visible once more. It’s better if we can blend in.”

“Be quiet,” Dru suddenly snapped, “And shield your thoughts as well. It’s possible the guards could be minor telepaths.”

“Only minor?” Buffy shot back wryly.

“I would know if they were any psychic threat,” Dru said simply.

They did as their lovely driver instructed. All four passengers were glad that they had received training on clearing their minds in one way or another. Dru, on the other hand, did nothing of the sort.

When it was their turn, the guards glared at her suspiciously, “Drusilla,” said one, who looked like he had walked right out of the ring from the WWF, “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited,” Dru handed over her card gracefully. The guard brusquely snatched it out of her hand and looked at it thoughtfully as though he could discern that it was a fake by spotting a single typo. The other two guards inspected the rest of the car.

Buffy could feel Seyhan tensing for a fight when one of the guards lingered too long where he sat beside the window. Angel was on the passenger seat, and Willow was on Buffy’s other side.

While the guard pored over the invite, Dru started chatting with him in a slow, husky voice. She wasn’t really talking about anything, just about how perfect the weather was for the party, and how she hoped she’d spot someone from Hollywood around. The guard merely grunted in response to her inane chatter. The four waited tensely for the verdict, barely paying attention to what Dru was saying.

And then the guard handed her back her card, “Okay, let ‘em through,” he told his partners.

Dru was smiling smugly, “Works every time,” she murmured proudly.

“Her voice,” Willow whispered eagerly, “It’s not about maintaining eye contact with her at all. The thrall is in her voice.”

Buffy really couldn’t care less, as long as the vamp didn’t start chatting with her.

By that time, they were inside the estate.


~*~ *~ *~


“Don’t you think you should put those things somewhere safe?”

Franco Scarletta whirled around, “Tierre!” he exclaimed, “Don’t sneak up on me like that! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Aw … I can’t be that lucky,” Tierre grinned to show that he was kidding. Franco was relieved to see that for tonight, Tierre didn’t bring his annoying sunglasses.

The young man ambled towards the glass casing that held the Balancer’s gateway. Beside it lay the ancient scroll that had been Franco’s most valued possession. Until now, of course.

Although the scroll was undoubtedly aged, it was still intact. It was written on parchment and nothing more extraordinary than plain ink had been used in the encryption. It should’ve been nothing but dust by now. But for some reason, it remained whole. Some unnamed force was keeping it together.

Inside, a long poem rested. Tierre had read the damn thing over and over again. Deciphering more than half of it had taken years, decades. But the decrypted stanzas had served as the map that had led Franco’s people to the treasures their boss sought. Obviously, they were on the right track.

“They are safe here,” Franco told Tierre, “They’re safer here than anywhere else.” He touched the scroll reverently, “Blood of the Guardian … Blood of the Child,” he murmured.

“Still haven’t figured out what that means, huh?”

“Not yet.”

“Could be that the Vashkans are the ones being referred to. Seyhan D’Harken, maybe,” Tierre suggested, knowing that Franco would disagree.

“I think it’s that boy.”

“What boy?”

“The one in the old Vashkan legends. The human boy the Balancer was supposedly entrusted to.”

Tierre shrugged, “Well, whoever he was, he’s long dead by now. That, or unbelievably old.”

Franco was only half-listening. Tierre didn’t share his vision. He didn’t really believe. But that was all right. Franco would make sure that he will. “When are you going to bring the Vashkan to me? Why are you hiding her?”

“Hiding? You know perfectly well where she is. She just needs time to heal. Be patient,” Tierre said, “Anyway, I came to tell you that your guests have arrived. Go on. Mingle. Bore yourself.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be down soon. Just let me center myself mentally first.”

Franco headed for the door, but before he left, he turned back, “Oh, Tierre … how is Maggie?”

Although his heart rate increased, Tierre showed no outward signs of being perturbed, “She’s doing fine,” he replied.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’m sure you are.”


~*~ *~ *~


The party took place in one of the gardens. They called it a garden, but it would probably be better described as a park. The entire place was lit by hundreds of lamps strategically hidden among the thick leaves of sturdy trees. An orchestra played inside a gazebo that had probably been built just for that specific purpose and for this specific night. Neatly-garbed waiters flitted between tables covered in snow-white linen, moving efficiently and gracefully, applying art to service. In each table, a single cut-glass bowl sat, boasting freshly-bloomed American Beauties. The long banquet table was laden with food prepared by chefs for the special purpose of feeding the rich. On another table was a sparkling champagne fountain. Hors d’ oeuvres and champagne were served, delicately balanced on silver trays. On yet another table was a huge ice sculpture of dolphins, posed as if they were arching above the sea.

The guests milled about, talking and laughing gaily. A single dress from any one of the women would’ve been worth enough money to feed one of the families who were supposed to benefit from this new fundraiser for an entire week.

Buffy and Angel circled them like invisible hawks, watching out for any of Scarlet disguised as one of the filthy rich and bored. So far, they had spied none.

“Everything okay out there, Buffy?” that was Willow’s voice, echoing gently in Buffy’s head. Since they couldn’t afford to freak out the guests by talking out loud ― they were invisible ― they decided to communicate telepathically.

“Uh-huh. Still no Scarlet sightings. What about you guys?”

“None yet. Where’s Dru?”

Buffy looked around. It was easy to find Dru. She was irritatingly dazzling tonight, “Over there, flirting with that rich old geezer.”

“Just passing time until Scarletta shows up, Buffy.” Angel said, sounding stern.

Buffy rolled her eyes, then quickly sidestepped away from a woman drifting in a cloud of perfume before she could get trampled. She kept an eye on Dru to make sure she didn’t disappear with one of the guests. The vampire had already attracted a small crowd, mostly men. She probably had them in thrall.

Drusilla’s involvement left Buffy confused. She could tell there was more to her sudden appearance than neither she, nor Angel, was willing to tell. Buffy hated that she had to work with the vampire. She didn’t now, and she never would, trust Drusilla.

And there was also the fact that Dru obviously knew Tierre very well. Better than Faith. Maybe even better than Angel.

Buffy didn’t like that at all. She especially didn’t like Dru’s mysterious little answer when Buffy had demanded, “Why are you even trying to help us?”

Dru had said, “I’m not helping you. I’m helping Tierre.” She refused to be swayed by the barrage of questions that came her way after that teasing line. Frustrated, Faith had lovingly caressed her favorite stake. All Drusilla did was smile that infuriating Mona Lisa smile.

“Buffy, heads up.” Willow warned.

Buffy looked up and saw Franco Scarletta, looking and moving like a king in Armani, descend from his palatial home to greet his guests. Once again, Buffy was struck by that kind, happy smile. You can’t help but trust a man like that. He just radiated confidence and genuine empathy. He moved among the movers and shakers with the ease of one who knew he was among peers.

Drusilla didn’t make her move. She didn’t even act like she was aware that her prey ―so to speak― has landed.

“What is she doing?” Willow hissed in annoyance.

“She must be waiting for something. Were we supposed to give her a signal?” Seyhan sounded confused.

“No, you were not, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather that you didn’t think about me as if I weren’t here,” Drusilla’s brain waves mingled with theirs and even Buffy winced guiltily, “You’re all distracting me.”

“Let her work, people.” Angel added.

“Thank you … Dad …,” Dru had opted for sarcasm, but somehow it didn’t end up sounding that sharp.

It was then that the tingle rose up Buffy’s spine, blooming like a flower of snow at the back of her neck. She knew that feeling well; had been intimate with this sudden, trembling awareness once upon a time. She had given up on ever feeling this kind of adrenaline-rush, the unique combination of predator-prey blood calls, ever again. She hadn’t felt this in so long.

Until the night the Council was attacked by Mercury.

She knew the very moment Tierre Wolfson came out to play, and it wasn’t just because her senses suddenly went on hyper-red alert. It was also because every single guest turned as one to look at him. Always a team player, Buffy turned to sneak a peek, too.

It was like seeing an entirely different person. The first time she saw him, Tierre had been just like any other guy. Deadlier, more graceful and a thousand times more attractive than just any other guy, maybe, but still, he certainly hadn’t looked like that.

His tux, the classic black and the snow-white shirt, fit him perfectly, clearly tailor-made just for him. His hair was in a painfully familiar slick-back, and Buffy was absurdly grateful for its natural dark gold hue. Absurdly grateful that it wasn’t platinum.

But it wasn’t just the attire, it was the way he carried himself. Tierre was undoubtedly confident, but tonight that confidence seemed different. Subdued, yet even more blatant, somehow. And then Buffy realized why. The first time she saw him, he had been fighting, and he had with him the rough, brutal confidence of a seasoned warrior. Tonight, he had shrugged off the persona of the fighter. Tonight, he was sophistication and male elegance given breath.

The transformation couldn’t have been more shocking had he suddenly turned into a woman.

And then he moved, and his predatory grace was very much there. This, the guests sensed, though they didn’t understand it. Their glances were covert and wary, and Buffy saw that unlike the charming Ivo and his elegant sister Maria, Tierre Wolfson had never had society’s acceptance. Only their fear.

“Like a very well-dressed panther, isn’t he?”

Buffy started. Drusilla’s husky murmur sounded so real that she swung around to see if the vampiress was standing behind her. She wasn’t, though.

Angel’s mental voice came through as well, but he wasn’t talking to the Slayer, “Seyhan, goddamnit, I said stay put! You so much as move an aggressive muscle and Tierre will know you’re there. Trust me on this!”

“He can’t see me!” Seyhan snapped.

“He doesn’t need to!”

Buffy wanted to see Seyhan, but she couldn’t. They were invisible to each other, too. The Vashkan must have said something that warned Angel that he planned to attack Tierre.

“Seyhan, remember what we’re here for!” Willow urged, “The Balancer and Yesha first, revenge second, when Scarlet doesn’t have a hold on us anymore!”

“Relax, elf,” Drusilla drawled, “I’ll go see if Mr. Scarletta would like to show us a little of his priceless collection.”

At that, Seyhan calmed a little, “Be careful,” he said softly.

“Second nature,” Drusilla said, her lips remaining motionless. She wove her way towards Scarletta, but her charm worked against her. Several guests stopped her for a brief chat.

“Go on ahead, try and get inside the house,” the vamp said, “This may take a while.”

“Get out if you see anyone who might belong to Scarlet,” Angel reminded Seyhan and Willow, “C’mon, Buffy. There’s gotta be someone out there who’s on our hit list.”


~*~ *~ *~


Angel watched both Drusilla and Tierre at the same time. It was almost nostalgic, he thought humorlessly. He almost felt as if he had been thrown back in time, when he had still been Angelus, watching over his childe and her childe, making sure they didn’t leave a mess of their food. The only one missing was Darla. How she had loved functions like these. She’d dress up, then, to make herself even more irresistible to the stupid, infatuated males who all ended up on her menu.

Memories of Darla eventually brought back Connor’s beloved face in Angel’s mind, and the brooding vampire reflexively pushed that memory away. Not here. Not now. Especially not with Tierre around. There was an indirect correlation between Angel’s failure with Connor and his disaster with Tierre that even now, the tall brunette still found too painful to contemplate. And so he didn’t. There would be plenty of time to brood later, he assured himself.

Dru was still trapped among the rich eager to make her acquaintance. She’d get away soon, Angel knew, so he focused on Tierre. He was talking to three older gentlemen. Angel’s vampire hearing allowed him to eavesdrop, but nothing earth-shattering was being discussed. They were talking business, apparently. It didn’t interest Angel, but the vampire enjoyed Tierre’s casual expertise on the subject. Tierre already ran more than half of Scarletta’s numerous enterprises. He wasn’t just clever and street-smart, he was intelligent, too. Intelligent in the way of educated men.

Just like Spike had been. William the Bloody’s young mind had enjoyed a high academic training; not that he had much use of it after he’d been murdered and turned into a vampire, but still he’d had it. It would make sense that Tierre had Spike’s natural intellect, as well.

The topic shifted from business to golf, and Angel almost laughed as he watched Tierre’s eyes glaze over with boredom. Some things never changed.

Just then, Dru had a clear path to Franco Scarletta. Angel quickly checked Tierre. So far, he wasn’t aware of their presence. That wouldn’t last long. “Work fast, Dru,” Angel sent a telepathic missile to his childe, “Buffy, don’t let Tierre out of your sight, but don’t get too close to him either. Be careful.”

“Got it.”


~*~ *~ *~


Drusilla hadn’t been completely honest with Angel, or the Slayer. Her confidence that she can put Franco under thrall wasn’t absolute. Yes, Franco Scarletta was indeed only human, and quiet ordinary when compared to the likes of his own doomed children, Ivo and Maria, or to Tierre Wolfson. Franco wasn’t immune to a vampire’s thrall. But Drusilla had two major hurdles in the way to a successful mind warp.

First: Getting close to him. So far, she had managed to pass herself off as one of the elite, especially since they flocked around her. Not that she can blame them, she was, after all, a raving beauty with a sparkling wit to match. She was Princess Charming, chocolate wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She didn’t even need to use the thrall on these civilians.

But Franco was a different story. He knew her. If he so much as caught a glimpse of her, her job here would be over. She didn’t dare hope that he would keep her alive if he caught her. 12 years ago, maybe he would have, but not now. Not when Scarlet now had individuals whose psychic powers were in league with her own.

And even though she had never made a personal enemy of the billionaire before, Drusilla had once been considered a threat by Maria Scarletta herself. Enough, so that the late heiress had personally tried to end the vampiress’ then newly-souled, newly-sane existence. There was no reason for Dru to assume that Franco would act any different from his daughter.

And Second: Assuming that she did succeed in putting Franco under a thrall, keeping him enthralled is a different matter entirely. The true owner of Scarlet was not only fiercely intelligent; he was also notoriously strong-willed. He can break out of a thrall almost as easily as the Vashkan, Seyhan, had.

There was only one way to take him, and that was to catch him with his guard down.

But before that … she would have to make him put his guard up.

Drusilla then seized a helpless pawn. Turning an irresistible smile on a balding, 40-something man in a very expensive, ill-fitting tuxedo, she asked sweetly, “Oh, I love this song! Would you like to dance?”

The poor man’s enthusiastic diatribe about the new eight-stall stable he just had built for his thoroughbreds came to an abrupt halt and he had to look behind him to make sure he was the one the gorgeous young lady was talking to. Drusilla turned up her smile several watts to blinding, before stepping in the awkward circle of her partner’s arms.

And the dance began.


~*~ *~ *~


“Franco, I’d like you to meet Drusilla,”

Franco Scarletta didn’t even so much as bat a hostile eyelash. Instead, he smiled at his friend and said, “We’ve already met.”

“You have?” Dale, the 40-something balding guy, sounded disappointed. He had been hoping to show-off to Franco tonight.

“Yes, we have,” Drusilla disengaged from her current partner and stepped in close to Franco. To his credit, he didn’t back away, “You naughty boy, it’s been so long. You didn’t even tell me you were having a party.”

“You were the one who disappeared off the face of the planet,” Franco’s good-natured smile never slipped.

Drusilla’s laugh was the sound of a gentle breeze caressing silver wind chimes as she addressed the people he’d been talking to, easily including them in the conversation, nurturing their ego, hence ensuring her social survival, “Well, a woman has to lick her wounds,” she said gaily.

An attractive woman laughed, too, “Oh, my dear. I’m afraid you’re not the only one whose heart was broken by this wicked man.” She slapped Franco’s arm fondly.

Drusilla softened her voice and her eyes locked on Franco’s. He quickly, but artfully, looked away, “But it was worth the break.”

Right on cue, the orchestra started playing ‘If Ever I would Leave You.’

“Dance, Franco? You know … for old time’s sake.”

“I don’t think Dale would appreciate me ―”

“Oh, not at all!” Dale was overly-enthusiastic, “Just bring her back in one piece.” The small circle of acquaintances laughed at this and Dale was suitably mollified.

Drusilla knew she had him. Franco Scarletta may be the founder of the most ruthless underground organization ever formed, but he was still, first and foremost, a gentleman. Courtesy was in his blood, if not his heart. By asking him to dance in front of his peers, Drusilla had taken away all his escape routes. Franco Scarletta was no Tierre Wolfson. His public image mattered to him; turning her down flat simply because he felt like it was impossible.

And then they were on the portable dance floor, whirling gracefully to the music. Drusilla caught more attention now than she had before. Upon closer inspection, the guests realized that she really wasn’t one of them. Drusilla could only hope that Tierre was looking the other way.

“What are you doing here?” Franco demanded, while his face remained as pleasant as ever.

“Enjoying myself. This is a lovely party, by the way.”

“Thank you. Enjoy yourself while you can.”

“Franco! Is that any way to treat a guest?”

“As I recall, a guest is supposed to be ‘invited’.” Franco’s voice had a cold edge to it, “What’s your game, Drusilla?”

“No game. I’m not playing.” Drusilla was equally serious.

Franco smiled. It had no warmth, just the flashing of white teeth. Like a vampire flashing his fangs, Dru thought.

“Take a single step towards Tierre, and I will stake you myself. In front of all these people, if necessary.”

He meant it. But if he was waiting to see Drusilla shake in her shoes, he was in for a disappointment. Drusilla had her own reasons for being here, and it wasn’t because she wanted to help Angel or his friends.

Her reasons were personal, and so much more important than her own safety.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “You know Tierre is safe with me.” With that, the fight was aborted. Franco was still suspicious, and his instincts were screaming at him to leave the female vampire’s embrace.

But then she started humming along to the music. The humming became a soft song. She had a really good voice.

Well, Franco though as a warm feeling of well-being came over him, Maybe just this one dance …

TBC….





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