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Where does he keep the dosh?

I’d been rummaging around the poof’s wallet for a good ten minutes before I realised that there was no way the wanker would ever keep money in such an obvious place. The offices of Wolfram and Hart must have seemed like a godsend after this hellhole. It makes a hell of a lot more sense after seeing what the cheerleader had to put up with.

No wonder Angel joined evil incorporated.

My demon could still smell the faint traces of other demons, Lorne being a major signature. The great poof hasn’t bothered to find out where the Plyean has been hiding, dismissing his likely survival as trivial. I only snorted and looked down, holding back the desire to call him Angelus…. it’d probably just set Peaches off.

The ambiance surrounding this place makes the seal over the Hellmouth look like a bleeding merry go round. I’m not sure that Illyria would appreciate the role of a carnie but it’s the only metaphor that truly fits the scenery. Angel himself would most definitely fill the role of a side show freak. I can easily imagine the heckling which would attract attention: “Come and look at the massive pansy Angel! See his collection of nancy boy hair gel and constant brooding. You’ll be bored to tears!”

Somehow I don’t think we would earn any money.

The drawers of the hotel were as barren as Darla’s heart and it surprised me for a few minutes. In my existence I have never known a place which housed hundreds of people to be so empty but then I should have remembered that Angelus is not anything if not a thieving bloody scoundrel with barely a penny to his name. Should’ve known he’d clean out the coffers at the first opportunity.

The big git had been awoken by my yells of alarm and pounded down the rickety steps into the foyer where I had been standing, listening to the bleeding Watcher prattle on. I don’t know how the bloke could talk to me like that and tell me that Buffy was in trouble with not even a tremor. Either he’s been hitting the brandy or the watchers are not too concerned.

When I get to Rome, they had better be cleaning those sodding glasses for all their worth.

Not surprisingly Angel wanted to tag along to Europe as well. His demon stunk of elation the moment I mentioned the Slayer and hurt in the same sentence. Angel might pretend that he’s moved on from Buffy but he’s the exact same as me: love’s bitch and desperate to be accepted.

We really do make a sorry pair.

Of course I told him no. I’m not brave enough to think that the Slayer doesn’t have any residual feelings for the ponce. I mean she bloody well kissed him after I confessed that she was the only woman I could ever love. If that isn’t a kick to guts then I don’t know what is. My grandsire seemed to accept it for several minutes, even nodding and returning to his usual brooding expression.

I naively had sighed in relief and started getting organised for the trip when the big git barreled into my back. My demon instantly came to the fore, growling like mad and lashing at Peaches face until we realised that he wasn’t attacking.

The poof was… crying.

Now I know it’s not necessary to restate the hatred between me and Angel. Fucking novels could be written about our loathing of each other and the lengths we went to cause anguish. Angelus had used me as a whipping boy from the moment I rose from the ground coughing up dirt. Drusilla may have turned me but he made me a monster.

Suffice to say, I was slightly more than perplexed when Peaches decided to soak my beloved duster with tears. The leather has seen bloody gallons of demon guts and blood but not once has someone broken down on it.

The whole experience felt incredibly mortal.

Embarrassed, I shoved him off roughly, a grimace covering the smirk that tugged on my lips when he flopped back onto the floor. Just a day before the brooding wonder had proclaimed himself renewed, a hint of Angelus showing through. I couldn’t help musing on how the demon felt to have his soul gain control. Probably as bleeding shocked as I am.

Angel brushed his knees, the glimmer of tears coating his cheeks as he struggled to stand up again. “Please let me go with you Spike. I need to see her.”

“That’s what this is ‘bout?” I asked with more than just a slight trace of irritation. “You break down on me like a bloody pubescent girl because you want to see Buffy?” I snorted at his tactic, shouldering off the duster as I wiped off the remnants of his weakness. It irked that he hadn’t been able to summon any remorse for Fred but still could conjure up emotion for a woman that was halfway across the bleeding world.

The vamp has serious priority issues.

“I couldn’t stand not seeing Buffy before she passed Spike. You don’t have a clue what it was like to see Willow sitting in the lobby waiting for me when I returned from Plyea. It was one of the worst moments of my unlife.”

I growled at his statement. As if the wanker had any clue about true misery. He hadn’t spent one hundred and forty seven agony filled days protecting the bit and fighting the urge to walk into the next sunrise. No, Angel had been busy strutting around and playing the big protector role.

Angel started to speak, perhaps to reiterate his right when I smashed him to the floor. I had had it with the stupid sod.

“You know absolutely bleeding nothing about what Buffy has gone through or in fact what I have. It was me that nearly dusted when protecting ‘your’ girls from a crazy hell goddess. It was me who risked my unlife night after sodding night making sure that no big nasty got a piece of the slayer and it certainly wasn’t sodding you who dealt with the repercussions of Red and company dragging her out of heaven.” My voice, anger filled and vicious had reverted back to the upper class accent William had spoken with. It showed how truly angry I was at Angel’s assertions. The large terror filled brown eyes confirmed that he was well aware of how close my demon was to snapping.

“Where were you in that alleyway Angel?” I asked bitterly. “Buffy was this close to following through with her death wish.” I held my finger and thumb apart by less than an inch. “And not once in all that time did you show your sorry arse anywhere near Sunnyhell. The only time I did catch a glance of your pathetic hide was right after the slayer defeated Caleb, even though your signature had been at the house. I guess it was too much for you to show some support for Buffy when her kid sis and friends kicked her out of her own bloody home.” I stepped back, willing myself to calm down. I had even started breathing, I was so furious. The shadow of Illyria in the background was most likely the big git’s one saving grace. Given more time, a part of me is certain I would have staked him.

“Don’t ever tell me that you suffered Angel. You haven’t even come close to what you deserve.”

I barely registered the groan of relief as I stalked back up the stairs. It was going to cost extra to cart Peaches’ sorry arse along, but was a necessary evil. After all I could use all the help possible. If Giles was insistent on doing away with Buffy for her ‘own good’ then Angel’s blind devotion would come in handy. That, and the fact that Angelus could be unleashed with only a little persuading.

If Buffy dies, nothing will stop me from gaining revenge on anyone who ever hurt her. I don’t think that my soul would really raise a protest over the notion either.

Illyria’s voice, so close to the Texan’s called out to me from below. She wore the customary leather, a stoic expression fixed firmly to her face. “Where will you be going Spike?” she asked demandingly.

I pulled the duster more firmly across my shoulders, noticing that Angel had moved back into one of the dull rooms. “I’m going to see about a girl, Blue.”

She nodded as though that had answered the major questions of the universe. “I will come.”

“The more the merrier.”





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