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Author's Chapter Notes:
No, this does not mean I've given up on 'Breath,' it just means the muse kept being fickle, and while most of the chapter is written, it's not yet done.
So I give you this to tide you over.
Also, this is the second chapter uploaded today, so maybe look back just a bit.
*Mark’s office, Spire Building, London, England*

Mark was fast reaching a point where heads would have to roll. Despite his best efforts—such as contacting every single last one of the people he still knew throughout the firm’s worldwide offices, as well as any and all human and demon contacts he could get a hold of—results had yet to appear. Sure, voices in the dark and the ever-present rumor mill were doing their job quite well at providing bits and pieces of information, but nobody anywhere seemed to be willing or able to talk about what exactly had gone on in the pocket-dimension that the Senior Partners had created in order to deal with Angel and his team.

And the picture, fragmented and incomplete as it might have been, was not a pretty one, at least not from where he was standing. Apparently Angel had somehow managed to trick the Order of the Black Thorn into accepting him within their ranks, only for them to be then double-crossed by the souled vampire. That had triggered a retaliatory attack by the Senior Partners themselves, resulting in the creation of the pocket dimension, where the battle had raged for the previous two years, without any clear winner. Then, all of a sudden, something happened and the Aurelians managed to get their hands on that blasted broom everyone seemed to have been in a snit about for the past couple of months or so and everything changed. The Senior Partners appeared to simply have ceased to exist, all of the senior management joining them in oblivion. How exactly was anyone’s guess, but most of the fault seemed to belong to the two souled vampires and the Destroyer, Angel’s son.

Yet despite these broad strokes, the details of the story continued to elude Mark. There were only a few points that could be confirmed. Charles Gunn, former member of Angel Investigations, former employee of WRH during Angel’s tenure with the LA branch, and combatant during the Black Thorn debacle on the side of the Aurelians, had become the leader of the armies of the Senior Partners, following his having been turned into a vampire, and had managed some measure of success against his former allies. More recent reports, however, placed him firmly in command of the dimension on the Aurelian side, joined by a member of the Old Ones named Illyria, who appeared to be his consort. The thought of such a union made Mark scoff, but the very few reliable sources he’d managed to track down that knew anything about that world were willing to swear to it.

The second piece of information was more enticing and had a better potential of being exploited in the future. The slayers stationed in Cleveland were not only hosts to Angel and his son, but they were also the only ones who appeared to still be in contact with the pocket dimension. Unfortunately, no one among the people there was willing to talk to anyone outside their Contingent—not even to those in the Slayer Castle—about anything that was happening on the other side. In fact, few even knew about the return of the Aurelians.

Mark looked over the supposedly detailed report, which he was to present to Giles as soon as possible. He doubted the current state of affairs would satisfy his boss. The only silver lining in what was essentially a failed intelligence-gathering mission on his part, was the chance to further increase the rift between the old Watcher and the Slayers by underlining their continued hidden knowledge, to which not even Giles was privy. With one last deep breath and a glance at the mirror, Mark set off to see whether a partial victory in one secret mission could outweigh an almost complete defeat in another.

~~~***~~~

*Spike’s temporary quarters, Slayer Castle, Scotland, UK*

His second night inside the Slayer Castle was turning out to be just as restless as his first. Despite having mended some of the burned bridges with the Scoobies, and especially with Buffy, their situation was still as undetermined as ever; perhaps even more so then other times. Of course, he could admit to himself that he was still as in love with Buffy as ever, but telling others—her especially—was proving more complicated. Back in the day, when there had been no soul to keep him in check, he’d still taken months to announce his feelings for her; now it was even more apparent that he couldn’t just walk up to her and say, “I love you!”

And even if he did, what would that accomplish? According to Faith and the others, Buffy hadn’t been idle in the time he’d been dimension-hopping, having even hooked up with another Slayer, among others. Now that’s one show I’d pay good money to see. Especially if I could jump in and give a helping hand or two. True, she was single now, but what type of relationship was she looking for? Did she want to find The One, or was she just interested in flings and short-term relationships, that wouldn’t interfere with her job, while letting her explore herself?

That was what he’d done while fighting alongside Angel. He’d sampled and experimented, all the while knowing on some level that none of those relationships would stand the test of time; knowing deep inside that none of them were his Slayer.

He turned over in his bed and looked at the mostly repaired room bathed in shadows. He would have to find someplace to call his own in this world of hers—somewhere permanent, not this Watcher cast-off—because he knew that leaving was off the table. He tried to lull his mind to sleep with lists of items he wanted or needed, categorized by necessity and difficulty of being obtained, but to no avail. The way she’d let him hold her hand for a while earlier that day was one of the best memories he’d had in his entire unlife, but he couldn’t find the courage to ask her what it all meant.

A battle was coming. One of those all-out, do-or-the-world-ends kinds of battles, and every single time he’d been part of such a battle, his life had changed almost completely. The one with Acathla had led to Dru dumping him after more than a century, starting a chain of events that saw him become a chipped vampire reluctantly working for the Slayer. The Adam fiasco had more or less ended his attempts to go against the Scoobies and was yet another nail in the coffin of his evilness and led to his growing love for the Slayer. Glory had been the reason why Buffy had had to die, only to be brought back a broken shell of the woman he loved, which had led to the whole heartache rollercoaster that had been their non-relationship that year, culminating in his getting his soul.

And then there was the First, marking Spike’s turn at the whole hero bit when he’d sacrificed himself for the world, but mostly for her. It had taken him months to get back to functioning as a normal person and it had also made him want to be his own man for the first time in his existence. Then Angel had started his end-all fight, this time on the right side of the fence, and they’d all been sucked into an alternate dimension. He’d finally grown up there, as well as become a vamp hybrid for yet unknown reasons. In hindsight, maybe he should have gone to Buffy earlier, but for the most part he’d felt sure that they both needed this time apart to understand who they each were, before they could possibly have any chance at a relationship in the future.

He finally drifted off after promising himself that he’d have the talk with her before the battle with Dracula.

~~~***~~~

*Buffy’s private chambers, Slayer Castle, Scotland, UK*

The Slayer was equally troubled by the thoughts running through her head, making sleep a distant goal. Ever since Spike had shown up, literally on her doorstep, she hadn’t been able to breathe, to take the time to think things through, and sort through her feelings and the information that seemed to just pour on all of them. Barely two days previously the Slayer Council had been working with the most powerful covens in the world, taking over the operations of the now rudderless WRH, and apart from not being able to track down Dracula, doing pretty well all in all.

Now it looked as though the forces at play that had kept quiet until now were so powerful that she gave a silent thanks that she was no longer the only Chosen One; she was pretty sure that had Dracula tried to take over the world using these tactics in the past, he might have succeeded, leaving her powerless to stop him. Still, it had also become clear that, had it not been for their repeated strikes against the most powerful demon lords during the previous three years, the power vacuum Dracula was now working on filling would never have been created. So maybe it’s all my fault, in a way.

Shaking herself free of self-doubts, she tried to take in what the Circle and their Wolf Guard meant for the slayers. From what Oz and Erika had told them, with Willow, Dawn, and Dana doing the cross-referencing that had pretty much proven their story, the Circle had been established at the beginning of the 17th century, with the primary purpose of banishing Dracula from his seat of power. Since then, they had grown in power, but had been themselves forced to relocate due to repeated raids during the many wars that plagued the Balkans, at about the same time that Dracula had been using Stoker to pull the wool over the world’s eyes as to his real power and intentions.

The wolves, although seemingly well-organized and paramilitary in their tactics, were a different matter altogether. They were the spearhead of the Circle’s attacks against Dracula, as well as the defenders of the witches from all manner of foes—such as the Council of Watchers themselves. Apparently a great number of the Wolf Guard had perished in clashes with Slayers, who didn’t look twice at whom they were hunting. The simple fact that they were werewolves had earned them a death sentence, despite the fact that no actual civilian casualties had been attributed to them. Even those few instances in which the wolves had been accused of such attacks were proven to have been primarily orchestrated by none other than Dracula.

And there was the ultimate rub: Buffy could just kick herself for having had that walking parlor-trick within striking distance for so long and not having done anything about it, having falsely believed him to be mostly harmless and more myth than threat. How badly they had all misjudged him. What was even worse, from Buffy’s point of view, was that no less than one hundred and thirty eight slayers had lost their lives in the past two and a half months since Willow’s trip to Sighişoara— Kennedy and Gina chief among them. That number was actually greater than all the Slayers who had died throughout the 20th century, despite its two world wars.

Slowing down her breathing and taking control over her tense muscles, making herself relax in order to fall asleep, Buffy decided everyone was to sit down the next day for a round of good, old-fashioned research and spilling of the beans. So far, every time someone started to make with the explanations, someone else barged in with new information. Hopefully, by the end of the next day, they would have more concrete answers, and they could start working on a plan to take Dracula down, once and for all.

And maybe, just maybe, Spike and she could finally finish that discussion about their past, so that they could maybe possibly think about the future.

~~~***~~~

*President’s office, Cotroceni Castle, Bucharest, Romania*

The President of Romania had barely sat down at his desk when the doors to his office flew open. He didn’t even manage to get halfway up from his seat, when a surreal sight froze him in place. Four people, who seemed to be wearing some type of demon costumes, came in carrying some sort of tent-like thing without a bottom, so that the person walking inside was able to completely avoid the sun. What was even stranger was the fact that the one inside the tent was smirking at him, acting as though he owned the place, despite being an unwanted intruder.

Once the panic button hidden under his desk was safely pressed, the president spoke to the man now standing on the opposite side. “What’s the meaning of this? Do you have any idea where you are? Get out of here now; surrender to the guards, and maybe the justice system will be lenient!” To the President’s shock, his words caused the man to laugh heartily, while his companions just bared their teeth—and what weird-looking teeth they had, indeed!

“You are powerless to do anything against me, puny mortal! I was the ruler of these lands centuries ago, and were it not for me, you yourself wouldn’t be here. Now sit there like the sack full of blood I know you to be, and listen to my terms.” Letting his words sink in a bit, the stranger put his foot on one of the ornate chairs facing the President’s desk and leaned forward slightly, apparently mindful not to let any sunbeams touch his skin, while seeming unconcerned at the same time. “I am Vlad the Third, also known as ‘The Impaler,’ and I have returned to my homeland to take back my birthright and cleanse it from evil, just as the poet prayed for.” He accompanied his last words with a dramatic widening of the eyes, followed by the most evil of smiles.

*

“I don’t know where you come from, but my-” Whatever the president was about to say died on his lips, when Vlad revealed his demonic face, fangs bared and eyes alight with demonic glee.

“I come from the bowels of the Sultan’s dungeons, from the highest mountain peaks, where I built my citadels. I come from Hell on a mission from Heaven, and you will do my bidding or you and your entire family will be slaughtered like lambs. I will do just as the poet wished and throw all of you ‘politicians’ in jail or the insane asylum, before I burn them both to the ground. I’ll hunt down everyone that you hold dear and nail them to the doors of churches, so that the people will know to fear and obey me and God!” As he spoke, Dracula’s gaze seemed to grow in intensity. His speech became more booming and by the end of it, the president was cowering in his seat, his body drenched in sweat and wracked by fear.

In the still silence that descended after Vlad’s words, only the faint sounds of distant screams could be heard, as the last remaining soldiers tasked with defending the palace were drained and turned. Finally, an eerie calm overcame the president, and he smiled a subservient smile, with just a hint of maliciousness. “What is it that you command, my Lord?”

“First of all, I want you to introduce me to the government and to Parliament, and then I want to see your battle plans.”

“Whom are we to fight, Master?” All traces of defiance had been eliminated from the president’s brain, as the combination of fear and shock weakened his mental defenses enough for him to become a complete thrall to Dracula’s power.

Vlad, who had already turned and was being escorted to the door by his demon followers, paused and uttered only one word: “Everyone!” He would once more directly and totally control his country, after he had frightened, beaten, and enthralled the remaining politicians into submission.

______

*Dracula’s words are in reference to the poem “The third letter” (third of a series of five epic poems) by Mihai Eminescu, the Romanian national poet. In the poem, he initially describes the rise of Islam and particularly of the Ottoman Empire through a dream sequence, followed by the meeting between the Sultan Bayezid (also called 'The Lightning') and Mircea the Elder, a Romanian ruler (the grandfather of Vlad the Impaler) before one of the most famous battles between the Ottomans and the Romanians. The battle ended with the former being driven back across the Danube. The epic poem ends with a scathing description of 19th century Romania as being ruled by much lesser men than the titans of old, and includes a prayer for the Impaler to return and clean house by splitting the politicians into two groups, the mad and the treacherous, after which he would set fire to both the madhouse and the prison.


Chapter End Notes:
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