Path of Thorns
The air was sharp and cold against her skin, and the first thought that came to mind was, naturally, that Dawn had been playing with the thermostat again. The past few weeks had seen a silent war between them when it came to controlling the atmospheric conditions of the house, and while Buffy was very pro keeping things nice and cool to conflict with the hot weather that was outside, her sister seemed to think that it wasn’t cold if it wasn’t snowing.
An inward grumble. She would complain to Mom, but there was no point when fighting a battle so destined to be lost. Dawnie was the baby of the family, and unsurprisingly got everything her way. Even if that everything included a contractual obligation to have the temperate conditions rival the North Pole.
It wasn’t for a few more minutes before she noted the pain stretching from her calves to her hamstrings, the awkward soreness of her shoulder, and reopened, albeit mostly healed wound in her gut from where the random 80s vamp had staked her with her own weapon a few weeks back. The cold air did a number on her—nipping and commanding her body with more self-awareness than was rightly owed upon first awakening. It was then that she noticed she wasn’t in bed—rather propped against something hard. A wall, most likely. She also noted that the soreness in her arms was due to their being pulled behind her, wrists bound with a manacle hardness that itched against the skin. Her feet were tied in a similar fashion, stretched with faux luxury in front of her. A blast of trepidation seized her most innate understanding, and she realized belatedly that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Any other person would have waited a few minutes before opening her eyes. Buffy had no such reservation. Even if the light did force her to look away just as quickly. Damn light. She never got used to that—the first sting of brightness after a long sleep. A few more seconds passed before she tried again. Carefully this time.
And immediately wished she had not.
There were a variety of things she would have expected. Harmony, for one, even if her accommodations weren’t nearly this uncomfortable. Despite the recent quiet from Spike’s love slave, it was not entirely out of prospect that the blonde idiot would try something else. Hire a professional to get the job done proper. Glory was the most obvious, but her surroundings quickly betrayed that this was not up to par with the resident hell-bitch. Granted, she had yet to explore her foe’s digs personally, but none of what she saw rang true with what she had previously deciphered concerning her current nemesis.
First of all, Glory wouldn’t have humans do her dirty work. And Buffy was surrounded by humans. All professionally dressed: decked out in attire that appeared to label them as a security team. Had she broken into a bank or something last night? There were far too many blank spots to own up to, but even in her Beer Bad stage, she didn’t reckon that she would have coordination to even consider something so audacious.
That and she didn’t remember drinking all that much.
The men surrounding her all bore the same grave expression. Grave but not accusing. Buffy took this to mean that her presence…wherever she was, was not by choice, nor her doing. The men also possessed a variety of blunt instruments, utility belts with even more fancy toys, and a few in back were clutching guns.
This was not good.
“Okay,” Buffy greeted with a groan, attempting to stretch before deciding that was a very bad idea. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
No one moved or flinched. It was almost as though she hadn’t spoken at all.
Better to keep talking. Perhaps if she continued to speak, someone would reply and she would get an idea of what the fuck was going on. “Get it? Kansas?” Nothing. “Wizard of Oz?” Nothing. “Do my stylish pop culture references go completely over your heads, or are you all mute?”
Then something.
“Ms. Summers.” A male voice—an unknown male voice—that seemed to come behind the men keeping her at weary bay. The intonation suggested a laid back nature, but she knew better than to trust people based on brogue. Nevertheless, the voice evidently possessed the power to breech the impenetrable force that was the security team. In a minute, a very pleasant, if not overly relaxed man was within sight. He was dressed splendidly in what was most likely a ten thousand dollar suit, had very pretty chestnut hair, and a curious smile that was neither threatening, nor pleasant. “Welcome to Wolfram and Hart.”
Blink.
“To…huh? Who are you? And what the hell am I—”
“My apologies. I am Lindsey McDonald, attorney at law. You are a guest in the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart, law offices for the…well, I suppose I don’t have to clarify with you on the sometimes-unexplained.”
Buffy tried to stretch once more and was again met with a surge of unexpected pain. “You people sure have a funny definition of guest,” she snapped. “What the hell am I doing here? What’s going on? Where’s Dawn?”
“One question at a time, please,” Lindsey said, holding up a hand. “Firstly, you are here because the late Holland Manners thought your…expertise in certain areas would be very beneficial for the firm. I apologize for the barbarian manner in which you were obtained, but Wolfram and Hart does not have a history of taking no for an answer. We run in a low-risk fashion, you see. As to what is going on…that will be revealed in time. And Dawn, your sister, I’m assuming, is safely in Sunnydale. Our interest does not lie with her in the slightest.”
It took a few minutes, but she managed to fight to her feet without use of her limbs, and despite the candid professionalism that McDonald portrayed, it was obvious that he was impressed. Buffy heaved a deep breath of exertion, tossing a dubious glance to the security team surrounding her. “Okay, I don’t know what’s going on here, but let me tell you up front that is not smart to piss me off. And right now, you’re riding a one-way ticket to Pissed City. Whatever it is that you want, it’s not for sale. Thanks so much. I’ll just be on my way.”
She indulged one step, or half step as her feet were still bound. There would be no leaving in these conditions unless she wanted to wobble her way to freedom, but in any regard, it proved to be a mistake. The nearest official seized opportunity and smashed the instrument he was carrying against her cheekbone: a harsh blow that elicited a strangled cry and propelled her back to the wall with more impact than she had been expecting, despite better judgment.
“That’s enough,” Lindsey ordered, apparently unraveled. The simple demeanor he had betrayed only seconds before had melted completely, and concern marred his brow with shades of irritation. “Everyone out.”
“I take it,” Buffy coughed, stretching best to her ability against the wall. “That when you say ‘everyone’, you don’t mean me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. The instant they were alone, he knelt beside her and helped her to her feet, assisting her to a chair that sat before his desk. His desk that was now in view thanks to the absence of the weapon-wielding buffoons. “The men were supposed to be there just for show. I told them that you weren’t to be harmed…” His eyes fell to the faint spots of red leaking through her shirt. “Anymore than you have been already.”
“Sorry if that’s not at all reassuring.” Buffy cocked her head. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me out of these…what are they? Cuffs?”
“Enchanted manacles. The company always keeps them in stock. Inescapable unless you have the key. Which I do.” Lindsey sighed and pivoted to the front of his desk so that he was near her and took a seat at the edge. “And again, I’m sorry. I’m already endangering more than I rightly need to right now, and not to absolutely kill the cliché, none of this was my idea.”
Of this? There was a this?
It was time to drop the formalities, if there had been any at all. “None of what?”
“Holland Manners was the former Division Head of Special Projects,” he began conversationally. “He was a visionary, I must say. For the past two years, the firm has suffered…well, not really suffered, but endured the attentions of someone I believe you know quite well. My condolences in that regard.” There was no mistaking the innate bitterness that seeped through his tone at that. Again sincerity. It was bizarre to hear someone who had admittedly kidnapped her from her town without anything of a forward explanation to sound sincere in his lament. “I’m sure you’d recognize him. Tall, dark hair, always brooding, occasionally bumpy in the—”
“Angel?” Oh God. “This is about Angel?”
“In some respects, yes. Angel has been a thorn in Wolfram and Hart’s side ever since he arrived in Los Angeles. While the dent he has made in our interest remains a minimal at most, he still proved to be…well, extremely annoying.” Lindsey stood and began walking around the office, moving behind her so that her eyes couldn’t follow him. “Getting in the way, messing with our projects…generally being an all around ass, though I’m sure that hardly fails to surprise.”
She hated it that he was right. In so many ways, it didn’t surprise. But she wouldn’t admit as much.
“Last year at the end of our spring term, Holland concocted a brilliant idea to keep Angel off our backs so that the more important projects could be granted the attention they deserve.” Another sigh and Lindsey wheedled back into sight. When he sat down again, she noticed for the first time that he was one-handed—completely dependent on his left, and had the sinking suspicion that Angel was responsible. “Believe me, I never thought it would go this far.”
“How far?”
“Your involvement…I never intended…” Another sigh. “I don’t have much time to brief you, Ms. Summers. Things have since happened that forced the control out of our hands and into…well; I suppose you can call them clients. And trust me, when they learned the extensity of Holland’s vision, they were very eager to jump to the opportunity to bring you into it. My authority as far as these matters go has reached its end.”
That was not good. Not good at all. Despite the circumstances, Buffy could tell already that whatever her fate had in store, she would much rather be in the company of this man than whoever he planned to hand her over to. He was human at least, and his human conscience was obviously leaking through. “Please,” she said softly. “Please, I can’t be here. Whatever this is, you’re going to have to find someone else. There’s…my sister. I can’t…Can you please just tell me what I’m—”
“If I could, I would.” And again, she believed him. Honesty from the conventional bad guy was not a good. When the evils of the world quivered, something even more malevolent was surely around the bend. “In the meantime, I am going to do everything in my power to see to it that you…well, I’m going to do everything in my power to help you. Believe me, I never thought I’d be so wrong at something that it’d come to this. It has.”
“Come to what? Just tell me what the fuck is going on, give me something pointy, and I’ll—”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s always that simple. Believe me, if it weren’t, I’d know it by now.”
Lindsey sighed. “With all due respect, Ms. Summers, you’re not entirely familiar with how we do business in Los Angeles. This isn’t what you are used to. And trust me, they aren’t going to go soft on you. You’ve formed some pretty powerful enemies doing whatever it is that you do, and—”
“Whatever it is that I do?” she all but screeched. “I do more than you could possibly—”
“I didn’t mean to degrade your work, and I certainly don’t want to get you into anymore trouble than you’re in already.” McDonald ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “But this…this is nonnegotiable. Completely out of my hands. I’ve risked enough asking to have any time with you at all. Do you understand?”
“I understand perfectly. I understand that you don’t grasp the consequences of what will happen if you don’t let me go. Right. Now.”
“I can’t help you,” Lindsey said again. “I’ve already done more than I should. Said more than I should. This is my neck, you understand? I don’t even care for these people and I…if the Senior Partners don’t demand my life for this, they’re going to demand something else.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
There was a minute’s consideration as the man paced back and forth, effectively torn. The look on his face symbolized the diagnosis of the human condition. Worried, fretful, and completely out of sync with whatever it was he was trying to grasp. If circumstances were different, she would have pitied him. But the circumstances stood. She was here, made prisoner by means she did not understand, and lost in the way of things. “It’s not just your boyfriend that the firm objected to,” he began, and immediately she flustered with objection.
“He’s not—”
“—your boyfriend. Yeah, yeah, I know. Trust me, aside Lilah Morgan or the person down in records, I don’t believe anyone knows more about Angel than the man himself. And he has been a…considerable annoyance.”
“As you’ve said. Stop wasting—”
“His associates have also proven a liability to the firm.” Lindsey turned away as though ashamed. “And as you might have guessed, the firm has a way of dealing with its various obstacles, including arbitrary personnel. I have taken action against our policies before at great personal risk, and again, I went out of my way to protect people that I do not particularly care for. This leaves me subject to investigation; I would not be admitting as much if I had not already been charged.” He stopped again and shook his head. “You were brought in when you shouldn’t have been, but at the same time, you can’t possibly have any idea what you’re asking me to do.”
Buffy cocked her head unsympathetically. “Well, maybe if you actually told me something rather than keeping with the lame excuses—”
McDonald stepped forward with a sudden, unexpected incursion of authority. “I can’t tell you anything. Haven’t you been listening at all? It’s out of my hands. The project is far out of my hands. Ms. Summers—”
“Stop with that. The name’s Buffy, Lindsey. Use it.”
“Fine.” His eyes narrowed and he mimicked her brogue with a note of whimsy. It was unintentional, but made him seem more human nonetheless. Despite the circumstances, she found herself reassured. The more human he was, the more chance she had to relating to him on an interpersonal level. “Buffy.”
“Okay.” Reluctantly, she forced herself to relax. It was becoming more and more apparent that struggling and name-calling wasn’t about to get her anywhere. Of course, it hadn’t exactly worked in the past, but the Slayer wasn’t accustomed to encountering a disinclined baddie. Whatever else was presented, it was more than obvious that Lindsey McDonald did not want to see her hurt. He was going to outrageous extremes to ensure her safety—he had made that very clear. And despite her current disposition, she saw no reason to doubt him. “We’re getting somewhere.”
“So it would seem.”
“Okay then.” Potential for rational thought. This was progress. “Instead of trying to explain to me what you can’t explain to me, start at the beginning. Is there anything that you can tell me?”
“You are familiar with the Order of Aurelius.”
It was most definitely a statement. She had endured too many sessions with Giles of a similar nature. However, that didn’t mean she could recline from seizing the set-up provided. For someone who claimed to know her great first love as well as he claimed, he certainly had a liking for the obvious statements.
Buffy had the uncomfortable premonition that such observations, however bothersome, were more for her reassurance than his protocol. But she scoffed anyway. There was no way, despite fluency, that she would willingly reveal her weariness. “Familiar?” she repeated incredulously. “Hon, remember? I dated the most…well, biggest—not that he was…I dated one of them. You’ve reminded me of my relationship with Angel several times now. More than that, I’ve had another trailing me the past two years. Familiar with the Order? Hell, I could write a book on it.” A pause at that. “Not that I would, or anything. That would require mass amounts of research, and I already have enough on my plate.”
“That being the case-in-point. Regretfully, William the Bloody—”
Her eyes widened expectantly, and she felt a rush of eluded hope, and even more disquieting repose. The same provided whenever something of familiarity is mentioned in unnerving situations. “Spike?”
“Yes.” Lindsey frowned, studying her more intently. “Spike turned down the offer that was proposed when you were retrieved from Sunnydale. Evidently—”
“What offer?”
“I don’t know the particulars. Only that the opportunity to rejoin the Order and have his more bothersome attributes removed presented itself, and he showed little interest in following them through.” His eyes narrowed. “The chip, for instance.”
What? Wait. That made absolutely no sense.
“Spike was offered the chance to have his chip removed and he turned it down?”
“It came at a price.”
“What price? Two months ago, he would have and nearly did kill to get that thing out of his head.”
A small smile at that, as though she was abandoned on the outs of a horrendously funny joke. “That is not my place to say,” McDonald decided, grinning still. “But one of the side effects of his agreement, had he complied, would be his removal from Sunnydale and all known associates to correlate with his rejoining of the Order. That was Holland’s objective, you see. When Angel refused to play by our rules, we…well, changed the rules. As well as the mission.”
The Slayer’s face fell. Cold and aback with unwanted comprehension. “You want Angelus.”
“We—”
“That’s why I’m here.” She shook her head in astonishment. “I don’t believe this. This is the mission prerogative? You can’t begin to know what kind of pressure I’m under back home, and you snatched me up to…what? Be your whore? I don’t think so.”
“That isn’t our objective at all—”
“Then tell me what is! Angel and I are not involved anymore, and will never be again. If I’m not here to get him to go all grrrr and fangy, then what the hell am I supposed to—”
There was a vampire in the room. Buffy jumped to immediate awareness, breaking all connection with her objective and straining in her seat to turn. Amazing how one could turn from forethought to the most innate instincts on mere suggestion alone. It was not Angel—her senses, while dulled where he was concerned, were still reasonably pointed and functional—but the power beneath it made her shudder. She had only once before gauged a vampire’s presence alongside his authority. One night long, long ago in an alley outside the Bronze.
“My, my,” the voice behind her drawled. Chilling and familiar. A brogue she had not heard in forever. “She certainly thinks highly of herself.” There was a second’s flash of blonde hair, then she was in view. A face four, nearly five years dead. The woman behind her introduction. The beginning and end of the constancy within her understanding. A small, malicious smile spread across opposing lips as the figure reclined comfortably against the lawyer’s desk. “Doesn’t she, Lindsey?”
Snap. Buffy was not taken aback to the point where she didn’t follow guidance and turn in the aforementioned direction, but it was difficult to look away. And still, when she saw Lindsey’s eyes, her blood chilled. Bad guys were not supposed to look that genuinely concerned for hostages. He had already broken too many of the inherent Bad Guy rules for additional slips to be anywhere near accommodating. “I have ten minutes left, Darla. That was our agreement.”
“I’m changing the agreement.”
“You don’t—”
“I’m changing the agreement, darling. Living with it.” Such prowess and authority. No one was going to dare argue with that tone. The vampire had not looked away from her query, rather leaned forward with a wicked smirk. “It’s time for our guest to be escorted to her quarters and…broken in.”
Buffy shook her head, grasped entirely with unreason. Every nerve in her body numbed with raw astonishment, and at last her more favorable motor skills decided to represent themselves. “I don’t…” she stuttered unintelligently. “You…I saw you…you…Angel, he—”
Darla smiled condescendingly. “Aww, how sweet. You think the laws of time and raison d'être bend only for your precious Angel? Not very quick, is she?” The last was most definitely directed at the lawyer, but the vampire refused to alter her gaze from the prime objective. “You really think your boy was the only one worthy of such reanimation? You think he was so important that none others within reason deserve such…exaltation? You’re a fool, Buffy. You didn’t know us when we last met, and time has not worked in your favor.” At last, she turned her eyes to McDonald, who remained stationary and unwilling to move in the corner. “What is the first rule of engagement, Lindsey? Do you know?”
“Avoid avoidance behavior,” he replied softly.
Darla’s eyes narrowed and she redirected her attention. “I was going more for ‘know thine enemy’, but that works.” She tsked and shook her head. “You’re so ignorant…I can really see why he found you as compelling as he did.” Buffy flinched and immediately hated herself for it; the notion enough to inspire a smile to the vampire’s face as she reached out to thread her fingers through the Slayer’s hair before the strands fanned and fell back into place. “Angel always favored the weak-minded in life, and even more so after the gypsy whores rejuvenated his conscience. His victims, though, as I remember followed the same pattern. So much easier to find. To fuck.” A whispered glint in her eyes, and the blonde leaned forward, simply bursting with unkempt glee. “To kill.”
The Slayer jerked again, recomposing herself best to her ability. “Keep away from me.”
“Sorry, dear. That’s no longer on the menu. But I do believe Lindsey has had enough time trying to soften things up for you.” Darla glanced upward. “And there will be no arguing. Untie her. We have a little…trip to make.”
That was enough to silence her. The prospect of being freed, even if it was fleetingly in hindsight, nearly made her eyes bulge out of her head. There was no hint of deception behind the vampire’s gaze, though that was hardly proof enough of eradication. It didn’t matter. If even her legs were free, she had that much more opportunity to escape. Find out whatever the matter was, alert Angel, and be on her way.
Back home.
It was too easy. Much too easy. But Darla was convinced. More so to the point when Lindsey neared to undo her bonds. Ankles first, arms second. He whispered a warning into her ear not to try anything, but he couldn’t honestly expect her to comply. Not now. Not with what lay ahead. Not with what she had learned.
Evidently, he did. The instant the manacles released her wrists, the Slayer bounded to her feet and delivered a punch that sent him flying over the mahogany desk and twirled with a roundabout kick to dispatch the vampire. Her more primal senses told her to search out a wooden weapon, but firsthand knowledge forewarned that a demon with Darla’s instincts and experience would have at least thought that far ahead. Thus she followed a humanly impulse instead, and bolted for the door.
The blinding white of the hallways might have hampered her if she stopped to realize her eyes weren’t quite adjusted yet, and in all fairness, the contrast between Lindsey’s office and the world outside was considerable. But Buffy was far from caring about the disparity of her surroundings. Her objective was escape: everything else was simply a matter of consequence.
It was indeed a law office. That was the most surprising thing. Throughout McDonald’s longwinded explanation of her dealings here, the Slayer had not quite fully accepted that she was in a building that was as open to the community as an everyday service. The guards that had greeted her upon awakening seemed to be nonexistent, and the people she passed granted her with glances that would have suggested she was insane if she did not know very, very differently.
Something more than the obvious was wrong here. No one was trying to stop her. No one even bothered to call after her and bid her halt so that her torment would be lessened.
In later days, she would have time to consider her actions.
A lot of time.
It happened so quickly it might as well have been a dream. Reflexes called upon that she only had to use once in a blue moon, exacted by someone who knew her well enough to suss out her weaker points. Something grasped her wrist out of the blink of an eye, and Buffy immediately pivoted to strike her assailant. Before she could so much as take a breath, her wrists were bound behind her and she was pulled tightly to a broad, strong chest.
A very familiar chest.
“I knew,” an equally recognizable voice drawled as she stuttered and twisted futilely, “that it was only a matter of time before you came running back into my arms. Welcome home, sweetheart.”
No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t…
A strangled sob commanded her voice and she jerked once more. His grip was too much for her. Even with her Slayer strength, her muscles were still worn and rejuvenating. Any extemporary attempt was useless.
Funny how the smallest instance could send her spiraling three years back.
“A-Angel?”
He laughed as if she had said something thoroughly funny. Time enough for her to register Darla’s presence behind him. The blonde vampire was grinning as well, a hand resting at his shoulder with such trained acquaintance that it caused the Slayer’s breath to catch in her throat. “What was I saying?” she asked rhetorically, eyes dancing. “Oh yes. So completely ignorant. Do yourself a favor, Buff. When you start to feel sleepy, go with it. It’ll be easier that way.”
“But not nearly as much fun,” Angelus chided.
A retort was ready on her tongue. She knew it was. But something heavy fell against her before she could think to release it. And then she was falling. Again down the endless tunnel where the clock chimed no more.
All went black.
To be continued in Chapter Nine: Till We Run Out of Road …