A/N: Okay. First of all, thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. :) I didn’t respond to them yet, but I definitely will soon. Secondly (or ‘second of all’ if you’re Chris Crocker), I’m going to update every Thursday, and maybe more if the muse allows. Right now I have a bit of a head start, and I hope to keep it that way. :) More after.
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Chapter 2 – The Truth Hits Everybody
January 19, 1981
Aurelius Estate
Devon, England
H. J. Nest stared at the small slip of paper he held in his thin hands. The text was bold and stood out sharply from the crisp white page, as if its presence on the paper mirrored the heavy weight of their truth on his conscience.
The bowtie around his neck suddenly felt constrictive and tight, and he loosened it with the hand still holding the page, crumpling the paper in the process. Taking in deep gasps of breath, he tried to steady himself, to maintain the composure he knew he would need tonight. You knew this was coming, he internally berated himself. Don’t act like it’s such a big damn shock. Bitterly chuckling, Nest blinked and reached for the small tumbler of brandy he’d been drinking, taking a generous swallow.
This was not the time to be showing any signs of weakness. His father’s murder had damaged the reputation of the Aurelius Family too much already, and any sign of public weakness from their young Master—especially the night before his carefully negotiated marriage—would send them into a downward spiral. “You’re in the past now,” he said out loud, but to whom he was not entirely sure.
A final, fleeting twinge of pain blossomed in his stomach as Nest looked down at the now-crumpled paper in his fist. With a scoff, he let it fall to the artfully cluttered surface of his desk, before turning and crossing the room to the large gilded mirror on the wall. His study was decorated in dark hues of green and brown, these shades reflected behind him as he studied his own face. Where once his eyes had taken in the purest sort of love imaginable, he now only saw the cold darkness of their own depths. His pale face was thinner than it had been before, enhancing his sharp features; it suited him, the person he had become, the man he found himself now to be.
Fixing the black tie in an automatic, almost robotic fashion, Nest favored himself with one last glance in the mirror and strode quickly from the room, heading downstairs to coordinate with his colleagues the security of the home.
A moment after his departure, a slim, beautiful blonde in a lavish dress slipped through a second door into the study—it had been slightly open the entire time, the woman’s clear brown eyes having peered through the space at the curious activities of her husband-to-be. These same eyes were now narrowed purposefully as she took light steps across the plush carpet, until she stood at the very spot Nest had been standing moments before.
In her hands she held the crumpled piece of paper, which she could now see was a telegram. Her eyes clouded as they quickly scanned the message, her face not betraying the immense shock and betrayal exploding within her chest. Darla was not naïve—no, on the contrary; most women brought up in her type of family chose to be ignorant of the cruelty and pain their lives were awash in. Darla, on the other hand, reveled in it, the cold detachment and steely malice—but even now, as she stood in her husband’s house the night before their wedding, she felt hurt rage where there should only have been indifference. And for that, the blonde realized that she had already lost herself in the trap that so many women had found themselves in.
A dull ache set itself in her chest, its last remnants of girlish innocence fading away into a darkened hollow. There was nothing more to be done of it—her darling fiancé had surely done enough already. However, Darla reassured herself, this mattered no more; Henry was to be wedded to her tomorrow, solidifying his role as Master of the Aurelius Family. From then on, no one would be able to come between the two—in the eyes of their peculiar underworld, their union was to last for eternity.
Slowly, a sly smile crept onto Darla’s beautiful features. Casting one more glance at the paper clutched in her red-painted nails, the boldly proclaimed words now seemed arrogant and foolish.
ELIZABETH ANNE SUMMERS BORN TODAY
YOU ARE NOT NAMED FATHER
PLEASE CEASE CONTACT
“Foolish woman,” Darla muttered through her perfect red lips, tossing the paper into the fire and sweeping from the room.
~*~
December 24, 2001
Aurelius Estate
Devon, England
Irregular flickers of light painted the plush room with color not entirely suited to its mournful hues of evergreen and earth. The girl lay curled up on the soft cushion of a sofa, staring into the roaring fire but not feeling any of its warmth. She pulled the crocheted blanket closer around her thin form and shivered—even after four years she still hadn’t acclimated to the harsh English winters.
“Elizabeth?”
The sudden sound of her given name did not startle the pensive girl as one might have expected; instead, she let out a lengthy sigh before placing her hands on the back of the couch and turning to give her attention to the man standing in the room.
“It’s Buffy,” she corrected, the firelight gleaming on her blonde hair. “Is it time?”
A slight nod from the servant prompted her to stand, the soft blanket carelessly discarded on the cushions as Buffy strode purposefully out the door into the hall, refusing to be led to the chambers of her father’s widow—any semblance of formality in their relationship was in play merely to maintain the balance her mother had established four years before. Her only reason for staying was to carry out Joyce’s dying wishes, but the despite she felt for Darla outweighed even her immense respect for her mother’s memory.
“Sadistic bitch,” Buffy muttered as she stopped before the door to Darla’s suite, plastering a look of indifference onto her face before knocking sharply on the wooden surface.
It opened immediately, a dark-haired maid avoiding her eyes as she fled into the hall. Taking that as an invitation to enter, Buffy stepped onto the Persian rug covering the elaborately patterned hardwood. A musty scent assailed her senses as she closed the door behind her, shutting out any light from the hall. “Hello?” Buffy called out impatiently, making her way over to the wing-backed armchairs and perching herself on an uncomfortable seat. She was in no mood for the Nests’ dramatically late entrances, but there was no use hoping for a short encounter—it would be lucky for her to be able to leave before midnight.
Glancing at the chair angled to face her own, its seat conspicuously unoccupied, Buffy felt her heart twist painfully. If she’d known last year at this time that she would be sharing her last holiday with her mother—her true family—she… There was no way to know what she would have done, Buffy resigned herself to accept. Tragedies are unexpected, unforeseeable—
“Happy Christmas, Elizabeth.”
Unavoidable.
“Dearest Darla,” Buffy said, rising to face the deceptively angelic face emerging from the shadows. “Has another year passed this quickly?”
“Time’s speed is entirely relative,” the older woman replied carelessly, a smile appearing on her features. “Were you not eagerly awaiting this last holiday we are to share together?”
“No more than you were, I promise,” Buffy answered steely; their words were civil, but neither woman bothered to feign a conversational tone. “Has Liam arrived yet?”
“He will be out shortly,” said Darla, her long fingers absentmindedly caressing the arm of a chair. “Shall we sit? I am sure he will not mind.”
Buffy nodded tersely and reclaimed her seat, silently sighing in relief when Darla chose to sit upon the sofa instead of the chair nearest to her. To most, the silent company they shared—in an entirely unlit room—might have seemed strange, but Buffy had long forsaken her own reservations over the customs of the Aurelius home.
Still, Darla looked oddly ill-at-ease—and nervousness was something Buffy was unaccustomed to seeing in the eternally self-satisfied woman. “Is there something wrong?” she asked boldly, an uneasiness beginning to take hold of her as well. If something had Darla shaken, it must be of at least some importance to Buffy. Considering her entire survival relies on my charity, she wryly thought to herself, as Darla sat even straighter up in her chair and opened her mouth to speak.
“Allow me to answer that question,” a smooth voice called out from the shadows, before the irritated blonde could respond. Buffy didn’t know whether to be relieved or shaken as Liam walked through the thin trail of moonlight falling past the closed window, its beams highlighting his sharp features oh-so like his mother’s as he completed their circle.
“How nice of you to join us, my son,” Darla commented, narrowing her eyes at the usurpation of her commentary.
Liam ignored his mother’s obvious displeasure, crossing his legs easily and resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. “I had some business that needed attending to,” he replied, icily smiling at his sister and looking much older than his nineteen years. “Which is presently our most urgent matter to discuss.”
“Really?” Buffy quirked an eyebrow. “I thought we were maintaining our traditional semblance of familial holiday closeness.”
“Oh, Elizabeth,” Liam chuckled, shaking his head good-naturedly. “You’re being harsher than usual. I assure you, this attitude you have suddenly developed will disappear immediately once you hear what I have to say.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes threateningly at his words. “Brother dearest,” she began, “do not presume that you have any say-so in my behavior towards you. In one month, I will leave England and the Aurelius Family for good—but until then, I feel that you ought to show more respect to the true head of the Family.”
Her words were carefully chosen, and stung Liam as intended—but Buffy felt no true pride at the truth behind them. Yes, her father had named her as his successor—but she felt no calling for the type of life Henry Nest had chosen to lead. After her twenty-first birthday, she would be granted the privilege to pass along the title to the next in line, namely her younger brother Liam—the power that came with running a crime organization was more than the down-to-earth Buffy Summers felt she could take.
But she had done it—even as lower members handled the specifics of the operations, Buffy had made a few choice decisions that neither Darla nor Liam had been able to deal with, proving to herself—and the Nests—that she possessed the same shrewd logic her father had carried through his own reign. The knowledge both strengthened and scared her; still, she put up a calm front and hoped that her younger brother would obey her leadership for once, despite his much more active role in their family’s dealings.
Unfortunately for her, he quickly recovered from his initial shock and went on. “But of course,” he replied gallantly, sneering as if he needed to further emphasize the sarcasm in his response. “But I feel, Elizabeth, that as our revered Head you may need to be made aware of this information, as it is of relative importance to our Family’s survival.”
“And that would be?” Darla cut in, before Buffy could ask (though she would never admit it) the question (in the exact same impatient tone—she had had it all planned out in her head).
“It would be,” Liam began, “that the Aurelius Family about to be placed under investigation, and the main figure of interest will undoubtedly be you,” he smirked, “Buffy.”
~*~
A/N: Okay. So that’s Chapter 2—and again, I promise that everything is going to make sense after not too long, but it will take a teeny bit of time. And there will be a time when the jumping around time will stop—hopefully you guys can bear with me until then. Okies! Oh, and Buffy’s a bit OOC in this chap, I know—but it’ll be explained. Oh! And be sure to read the little italicized settings! Cause that will make the time-jumping a lot easier to keep track of. Thanks all! Much love and smooches! Reviews make my day!
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