When Darkness Falls
By L.A. Ward and Sanguine
Chapter Ten: Masters and Minions
Buffy moved out of Giles's arms and said, "Spike's back."
Dawn pulled away from the group hug. "What?!" Her eyes were wide and she
looked shocked and angry. "Talk about nerve."
"Dawnie, we still don't -"
"Why didn't you tell me?!"
Buffy blinked. "Why didn't I. . .? Dawnie!"
Dawn crossed her arms and glared in a way that all teens -- but especially
female teens with the last name of Summers-could do amazingly well. "I
thought we'd worked this out. No more secrets. No treating me like a
"I don't treat you like you're brain damaged."
"Why didn't tell me Spike was back?"
Buffy sighed. "I'm telling you now. Besides, until a half hour ago, I
didn't know myself."
Buffy glanced away from Dawn and looked to Giles. "And I think things
could be bad. *Spike* could be bad. Again."
Giles didn't say anything, but he looked grim.
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Like Spike wasn't bad before?"
Buffy squirmed. Her insides clenched. Had Spike been bad? Had he really?
Buffy remembered the shock she had felt when Spike had been unwilling to
help her in the alley, the stunned disbelief that had coursed through her
as she had considered his saying, "It's not Saturday." Was that a threat?
Would Spike threaten her? Even last spring--even after...everything--Spike
hadn't threatened her. He had been out of his mind, dangerous, and out of
control, but there had been no malice in his intent. Even in her hurt and
rage Buffy had known Spike hadn't *meant* to hurt her. . .but tonight?
This was different.
When exactly had she come to believe that Spike-flaws, amoral value system
and all-was on *her* side, that he would always be on her side no matter
what? He was the thing that would not leave--stubborn, implacable,
unshakable. He'd loved a madwoman for over a hundred years. He'd loved
Dru even after she had pushed him away, insulted him, humiliated him, and
dropped him, because to Spike. . .love wasn't a fly-by-night thing. Was
that it? Was that the way Buffy had become convinced that even if things
had gone nuclear in a spectacular way, Spike would still be waiting in the
shadows ready to offer whatever help she needed whenever she needed it even
if. . .even if. . .
"Things are different now," Buffy said softly.
"Has he gone evil?" Anya was always one to cut straight to the heart of
the matter even if she only had a blunt butter knife to do it. "He's been
gone a long time. He may have found someone to take out the chip."
Buffy dropped her arms to her side when she realized she was hugging
herself. "I don't know."
"I wouldn't be surprised if he came back to kill all of you. You know what
"No, what do we say?"
"Payback is a bitch. Of course the phrase was originally a reference to me.
I *am* the-" Suddenly aware of three pairs of eyes trained on her, Anya
amended her statement. "In this case payback is a pissed off vampire. You
can't blame him. "
"I can't?" Part curious and part furious, Buffy asked, "And why is that?"
"You turned him into your minion, and you weren't even nice about it. "
"I did *not* turn Spike into a minion."
"Then what was he? He wasn't your partner. He wasn't your employee. And
don't say he was your friend. You let Xander bully him while you were
having sex with him."
Dawn looked outraged. "That is *so* none of your business!"
"I wouldn't blame Spike if he tortured each and every one of you," Anya
said defiantly. "You deserve it."
Dawn's face flushed red. "How can you say that? Is this some 'demons
stick together' thing?"
Anya lifted her chin. "Maybe. Why shouldn't I stick up for him? Not like
anyone else will stick up for us."
"You're Buffy's friend, that's why not! And. . .and. . .you slept with
Giles glanced at Anya, surprise evident on his face.
Dawn continued to sputter. "You slept with him, and you're Buffy's friend
and. . .and that's just *wrong.* And gross. Evil, wrong and gross and-"
"I'm Buffy's friend?" Anya asked in surprise. "Since when? Since when
has she been *my* friend?" She faced Buffy. "Name one time you've been my
friend. When have you helped me with anything?"
Buffy appeared non-plussed. She looked around the room as if she could
find a memory or an answer. "There was that Olaf the Troll thing."
"Slaying doesn't count."
Buffy stepped back. "It does so count. Why doesn't it count?"
"It's Slaying. You would have tried to kill Olaf anyway. I'm talking
about me. When have you ever talked to me or even thought about me other
than how I could help you?"
"Well. . . I. . .uh-"
Anya looked down at Buffy-really looked down-exploiting every inch of her
natural height advantage plus her three inch heels. "Never. that's when,"
Anya said flatly. "Xander left me on my wedding day."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "This story is getting old, Anya. You're going to
have to let it go sometime."
"This isn't about Xander!" Anya protested. It was weird seeing her angry-
really angry. "Xander left, and there I stood in room full of people I had
to face alone. I had to make all the explanations. I had to talk to the
caterer and pay for the limousine that we didn't even use. I had to
arrange for the flowers to be thrown away and the decorations taken down
and the hall cleaned. I had to pack my dress and sell it on E-bay. I had
to do all of it. Alone. Where was my 'good friend' Buffy? Or my friend
Dawn or Willow or *anyone*?"
"We offered to help."
"I must have missed that part. Guess I was distracted by the eye rolling
and irritated sighs." Anya's lips thinned and her brows drew together as
she frowned. "Want to know what emotion I got off you when I my vengeance
powers came back? I got that you felt bad because my wedding disaster put
a damper on *your* happy day."
Buffy had to grace to blush.
Anya continued in righteous rant mode. "The only person, the *only* one
who listened to me, who took my side was Spike."
Buffy opened her mouth.
"Shut up, I'm not finished." Anya sounded exactly like the vengeance demon
that she was-powerful and pissed off.
Buffy crossed her arms and waited.
"You stood there, just *stood* there while Xander attacked Spike and said
the horrible things to me. Why did you do that, Buffy? Because you were
my friend or because you didn't want Xander's sexist, patriarchal, annoying-
even-if-I once-thought-it-was-cute self-righteous temper turned on you?"
Dawn protested, "You're not being fair about any of this."
"Fair? Was it 'fair' that Willow destroyed the capital enterprise where I
barter goods and services?" There was confusion and a hint of pain in
Anya's voice. "I helped you guys. More than once. It was against
vengeance code. I shouldn't have done it. D'Hoffryn put it in my yearly
report, and now I'm on demon probation. But I helped anyway." She angrily
brushed away a tear. "When Willow's world destroying rage was over, when
she was gone, I *still* had a mess to clean up. Alone. Again." She
looked at Dawn. "Did any of you help? Did you pick up a broom or try to
glue together the crystal Zorrbesky sphere? Did you lend a hand to put the
chicken feet back in their jars? Did you do anything? Ever?"
"Except Giles," Anya corrected. She turned her tear-stained face toward
him and said sincerely, "Thank you for the help with the insurance company.
I don't know what I would have done without you."
Giles looked a little embarrassed but his gaze steadily held hers. "It was
the least I could do."
"And more than anyone else did." Anya's shoulders slumped and her head
hung low as she walked toward the front of the shop.
Buffy stood in the middle of the room for a long moment. Her expression
remained inscrutable before she turned to walk into the Danger Room.
Giles's expression was conflicted. It was clear that he wanted to follow
Buffy, but then he glanced at Anya who sat alone weeping. Dawn followed
Buffy to the back room.
A few things Spike had learned in his years in Sunnydale. First, if you
think you're ahead of the game, you're not. Second, if you think things
cannot possibly get worse, they will. And third, being hit in the face
hurt--especially if the pummeling was done by a Slayer or a two-by-four.
The two-by-four in question had been used to beat him unconscious.
Spike groaned and tried to move. He had no idea how long he had been out
but suspected it had been more than a few minutes, because the alley vamp
had found time to throw Spike in the boot of a car like he was a corpse on
the Sopranos. Did they throw dead bodies in the boot on the Sopranos? It
seemed like a mobster thing to do, but Spike wasn't sure whether it was a
passé for the Sopranos. The crypt had never had cable.
Spike shifted his weight , trying to find a comfortable position in the
cramped space. This wasn't the first time he'd spent time in a boot.
Being a vampire and having sunlight issues, camping out in his car had been
a necessity on more than one occasion. Of course, that had been the
spacious DeSoto and this -- Spike squinted and read the tag on the
underside of the boot lid - was a 2001 Volkswagon Beetle.
He'd been kidnapped and thrown into the boot of a bloody *Beetle*?! How
humiliating. He'd bow his head in shame if he had room to move.
Spike looked around. There was no way to get to the tire iron; it was
stored with the spare tire beneath the floor board. But Spike knew there
would be no problem pushing down the back seat and bursting into the
driving compartment to show minions what a pissed 120+ year old vampire
could do. However, even as Spike contemplated doing just that, he
dismissed the idea. It would be the quick and easy way to shoot to hell
everything he had done tonight.
The whole point of arguing with Buffy in front of witnesses had been to
attract the attention of the evil influences currently causing trouble in
Sunnydale. He'd done that. Now he needed to lay back and wait. . .which
would have been easier if the barmy vampires in the front of the car would
shut up and stop arguing over the radio!
The vamp called Jake wanted the alternative rock station while Dexter
insisted on easy listening. Bloody hell, they were playing Air Supply.
How fucking evil was that?
After a half hour of eardrum torture involving Barry Manilow's "Copa
Cabana" and Debbie Boone's "You Light Up My Life," the car came to a halt
and the radio was mercifully turned off. Spike heard the minions talking
as they walked around the care. There was a long pause.
"What's that?" Jake asked.
"What's it look like?" asked Dexter. "It's a gun. Cool, huh? I figure if
he rushes at us when we open the trunk, we shoot him."
"He's a vampire, you dipwad."
"Well, it would hurt! Slow him down long enough that he couldn't rip our
heads off. Did you see him rip Larry's head off?"
"Larry was a dick."
"That's beside the point, isn't it? I'm sayin' he's dangerous. Even the
Slayer looked scared."
"The slayer looked pissed," Jake protested.
The car's rear lights flashed as the boot was electronically unlatched and
Jake opened the lid. Spike didn't open his eyes or move.
"See," Jake said. "He's still out cold. Haul him out."
The minions pulled Spike's apparently unconscious body out of the car,
banging his head against the boot's lid.
=Clumsy bastards are gonna pay for that,= Spike thought as his arms were
thrown over the minions' shoulders and he was dragged through the parking
Spike hoped this wasn't some monumental waste of time. If he wound up
dumped at Sharkey's flat because the demon was running short of yellow
tabbies, Spike didn't think he could hold his temper - souled or not - in
Once inside the building, Jake and Dexter hauled him into the elevator
where Muzak played and Dexter began singing, "Up and away in my beautiful
balloon." Spike contemplated the satisfaction he would feel when ripping
Dexter's tongue out at the first opportunity that presented itself. Then
his mind drifted to Dru.
Was the Watcher Wanker right and Dru was behind all of this? Spike
couldn't see how. For 142 years Dru had hit upon one scheme or another to
destroy the world, but not one had to pass (as evidenced by the world still
existing). She had also always needed help. There had been himself -
though with hindsight Spike saw that he'd never truly been on board with
world endage. Consciously or subconsciously he had always seemed to
sabotage Dru's efforts. A little anarchy had seemed like a grand old time
to him, but as Spike had told Buffy years ago, he liked the world. Then
there had been the time Dru had Angelus's help.
Trapped in a wheelchair and dependent on the dubious mercies of Angelus and
Dru, Spike had experienced the first bit of true self awareness in nearly
one hundred years.
"I want to save the world," he had told Buffy, and the irony of the
situation had not been lost on him. Whatever his reasons and
rationalizations-no matter how properly selfish and self-motivated-he had
been aware that he was doing what he should not do. He had gone against
his own kind to fight by the side of a Slayer who loathed him.
The bell rang as the elevator reached their chosen floor. So much time and
distance traveled, Spike realized, only to find himself in the same place
as before...still going against his own kind to fight on the side of a Slayer
who loathed him.
Dexter and Jake carried Spike from the elevator but not down a hall or
through any doors. Spike didn't have to open his eyes to figure out that
whoever they were dealing with must have taken over the entire floor of a
Deciding it was time to fake coming out of a stupor, Spike groaned and
opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was a pair of exceptionally
well-shaped legs attached to perfectly pedicured feet in strappy stiletto
sandals. A multi-year association with Buffy and over a century of
showering Dru with gifts told Spike those shoes cost a small fortune.
Spike raised his head and focused on the woman's lovely, angular features.
She vaguely reminded him of the model Paulina Poraskova. She definitely was
Dexter said, "Look who we found."
The dark haired woman gave a chilling smile. "William the Bloody."
Spike frowned and his gaze narrowed. "I know you, luv?" He thought he
would remember a creature such as her.
"No reason you should." She offered her hand. "I'm Lilah Morgan."
Spike arched a brow then looked first at Dexter then at Jake who still had
his arms draped over their shoulders. Spike returned his attention to
Lilah. "In a bit of a bind here, luv."
"I can see." Lilah dropped her hand and looked at the minions. "You can
let him go."
Dexter shook his head. "I don't think so. You should have seen what he
did to Larry."
Lilah didn't look curious. In fact, she looked bored. "I'm sure it was
quite spectacular. And, given that Larry isn't here, I'll assume his
absence is permanent. Now, let our guest go."
Dexter and Jake reluctantly complied as a slender man of Asian heritage
shouldered his way by Lilah. "Mr. Bloody, our firm has authorized me to
make you an offer-"
"Who authorized you to do what?" Lilah demanded, her brows drawing together
as she frowned. "Gavin, you have no authority here."
"Linwood gave me authority."
Spike smirked and slouched in the bad ass way he had perfected well over a
century ago as he scanned the room's contents. He was in a penthouse of a
highrise overlooking Sunnydale. He could see the familiar city lights
through the wide expanse of glass. He wondered if he could see Buffy's
home from here.
This wasn't Glory's penthouse. He recognized that right off. It wasn't as
gaudy. This was sleek and in some ways reminded Spike of Deco décor in New
York in the nineteen thirties and forties. Had he just been dumped into a
modern vampire-filled Film Noir?
There were two minions in addition to Dexter and Jake. They stood near the
elevator doors. A hooded demon of some sort stood by a table in the corner
of the room while an ordinary human man stared into a gas fueled fireplace.
Then there was Lilah and her squabble partner, Gavin, and finally, there
was the figure shrouded in the shadows in the far corner of the room. A
man whose back was turned to the others as he stared down at the city
Spike remained highly aware of the silent figure on the far side of the
room even as he spoke to Lilah and Gavin. "When you two kiddies are
through kicking sand, you might like to actually make your offer."
Lilah shot Gavin a dismissive glare before returning her attention to
Spike. "*I* have been given the authority to offer you the chance to play a
pivotal role in-"
"Ending history as we know it," Gavin hurriedly finished Lilah's sentence.
Spike arched a brow and longed for a cigarette. Nothing was better at
stalling for time while looking coolly dangerous than lighting a fag. He
strove to sound bored. "Ending the world? That what this is about?" He
smiled in his most seductive manner as he approached Lilah. "Couldn't be
more original than that?"
"Originality is overrated," said the figure in the shadows. "Tradition is
something we should be proud to uphold, William. But then, you would know
little about that. You always wanted to break the rules."
Spike took a step toward the darkness. "And who might you be?"
"Who I am is of no importance," the figure answered. "What is important is
who I was and who I will become."
"And?" Spike pressed with impatience.
Still no answer. Bastard didn't even turn around to face him. Becoming
pissed, Spike took another step into the shadows. "What's this got to do
with me? Who the bloody hell are you?"
"Why, William, don't you know?" The man turned around and. . .
Spike had no idea who the man was. Not one bloody clue. Blond hair, sharp
features, blue eyes, but Spike didn't know him, had never set eyes on the
The stranger stepped into the light and smiled coldly. "Admittedly, our
acquaintance was brief...and unpleasant. You really are lacking in manners,
"So I've been told. Now who the fuck are you?"
The man ignored Spike and spoke in a preoccupied manner as though he was
only speaking to himself. "Darla was always aware of tradition. It always
called to her. She always returned to it, to me, despite the centuries she
wasted on that Irish dog Angelus. She was purebred and wasted time with
mongrels such as yourself. But she always remembered to drag her puppies
home to meet their master."
The stranger nodded at the minions, who rushed Spike. Derek, Jake, the two
minions by the door, all came at him at once. Spike turned and - damn it!
All the furniture in the room was chrome, steel, glass and leather, nothing
stake worthy anywhere in sight. He fought bare handed. Catching one of the
nameless minions off guard, Spike's roundhouse kick propelled the younger
vampire into the spandrel glass. There was a horrified look on the
minion's face as the glass cracked and came crashing down as the vampire
fell out the window. Spike could hear the minion scream as it plummeted to
the ground twenty stories below. Spike caught Jake, and with a quick
twist, ripped his kidnapper's head off.
Dust scattered across the black and white marble floor as a sharp pain dug
into Spike's back. He looked over his shoulder in confusion and stared
into a face that was no face. The demon he had noticed earlier had nothing
but a black void beneath its hood. . .at least Spike thought so. It was
hard to tell. His vision was becoming blurry and his extremities numb.
As Spike fell paralyzed to the floor, he saw the demon holding a large,
ugly looking hypodermic needle in its gnarled hand. Drugs? He'd been
Spike lay on the floor staring up at the blond man.
"You are of my Order," the man said. "You are of my line. I wasn't
particularly impressed with you a hundred and twenty years ago but my
options are limited." His self satisfied smile was ghastly. "William,
once again you've met your Master."
Reggie lay with his arms folded under his head as he napped at the
library table. Willow ignored the drool that made a stretchy string from
his lip to the highly polished mahogany. Lydia sat at the other end of the
table quietly reviewing her notes while Willow sat on the floor in the
corner with books scattered around her as she stared at the prophecy for
...like... the *millionth* time.
There had to be an answer. There had to be *something.* But no matter how
many times she had read the parchment Willow could find nothing new. It
was just the same words over and over again. She traced the ragged edge of
the paper and wished she knew where the rest of it was. When had it been
lost? A hundred years ago? Longer than that? If she had the rest of the
paper would she find some way to avert disaster?
A thought teased her. More than a thought, actually. It was a memory.
She remembered walking into the Magic Box and throwing open texts. She
remembered absorbing the words, *feeling* them and the histories behind
them. It had been exhilarating and terrifying. In her grief and rage, her
power had driven her over the edge. She knew now that the power inside her
could lead her to horrible things. It could overtake her conscience... her
But this was different. This wasn't rage. This wasn't grief and torment.
This wasn't vengeance. *This* was desperation. She had to do *something*
or the world would end, so Willow lightly, hesitantly touched the paper
while reaching out with her senses-with *all* of her senses. She could
feel the darkness behind them. It hovered just around the edge of her
consciousness. She turned her minds eye away from it. She would not go
there. She would never go there again... Please, never let her go there
again because if she did, Willow knew she would never make it back.
She tried to stay controlled and calm. She tried to remain at peace as
Tara had always tried to teach her to be, as the Council had coached her to
be. She could do this without losing herself. She had to.
She felt the words and she felt. . .
Damn it! That son of a bitch Quentin Travers!
Willow realized she had said the words aloud when Lydia suddenly looked at
Willow, and Reggie fell out of his chair. He wiped drool off his chin as
Willow waved the parchment. "Mr. Travers tore off the rest of the
prophecy!" she told them.
Lydia asked, "Are you certain?"
"Pretty darn certain."
"Bastard," Reggie growled then looked embarrassed that he had said the
word. "Uh... that is..." Reggie climbed to his feet. "Mr. Travers must be
concealing something important."
"Oh, I bet it's important alright." Willow mustered her resolve face. "And
we're going to find out what it is."
The room was no operating room. It hadn't been designed as a place for
medical procedures ... though Lilah had to admit there was something cold,
stark, and antiseptic about the room with its dead white walls, black
leather chaise, and chrome tables. The minions had dragged a paralyzed but
mostly conscious William from the living room to the room Dr. Melman had
appropriated earlier in the evening. Now, a bare-chested William the
Bloody lay strapped to the black leather van der Rohe Barcelona chaise, and
perhaps she should feel sympathy at seeing such a proud, wild creature in
restraints...but her mind kept wandering to kinkier places.
Lilah's pleasant musings were interrupted by Gavin asking, "Isn't being
vamped a bit like being pregnant? Either you are or you aren't."
Lilah stepped away from the chaise and returned her attention to the odd
menagerie of occupants in the room. Dr. Melman and his demonic medical
assistant were handling several vials of blood extracted from the vampire
laying on the chaise while Gavin pestered them with questions. Standing
silently to one side was Gabriel, who in a previous life had been known as
She was still confused by the specifics of the Master's situation. Having
witnessed Darla's resurrection a few years earlier, Lilah could only assume
that when magic was used to resurrect a vampire, they returned not as the
vampire but as a human. That was what had happened to Darla and that was
what had happened to the Master as well. He was human. At least she was
relatively certain he was human. Lilah found it strange that both Darla
and the Master had returned from their dusty graves with their memories of
their vampire lives intact.
Dr. Melman nodded in response to Gavin's question. "You are correct.
Infected with the demon *is* infected with the demon. But there are
varying degrees within the condition. After all, two months pregnant and
nine months pregnant do not completely resemble one another."
Lilah cast a doubtful look at the physician. "There are different stages of
infection?" This did not resemble the way that vampirism had been
explained to her.
"Not precisely," Dr. Melman amended. "But just as there are differences in
hormone levels and genetics unique to individual human progeny, vampires
have different bloodlines and different degrees of demonic presence related
to infection levels."
"But both are forms of reproduction..." Gavin ventured, desperately trying to
sound assured though Lilah heard the hesitancy in his voice.
The doctor nodded. "Oh yes. Of course, human reproduction and vampire
reproduction are very different things. Vampirism is more than science or
biology. It's magic." He indicated the faceless demon who was constantly at
his side. "This is the reason for my unique medical assistant. There are
many factors unique to nosferatu. For instance, in the case of vampires,
the first offspring are the strongest."
Lilah nodded. This she did know. "The first are masters."
The doctor shrugged. "If you wish to use such a superstitious and
antiquated classification system." His pinched features looked
infuriatingly pompous. Lilah hoped the doctor messed up in some way so
that the senior partners would okay her having him killed when this was
done. "It's a rather trite term."
She would definitely have him killed.
"If you say so," Lilah told him before falling silent and adopting a
secretive smile as she contemplated whether his death should be at the
hands of Lilliard demons or Zorads.
The doctor appeared to be oblivious to anything but the sound of his own
voice. "A vampire's first offspring is superior in every way to any later
offspring. For reasons unknown, a sire's first progeny bonds more readily
and more intimately with its human host. It functions at the highest
mental capacity, and is more capable of passing unnoticed among human
Gavin nodded as if he had in someway known all of this. He was an
inveterate poseur. "You mean they resort to game face less often."
"Usually, yes. Later offspring--" the doctor indicated the thuggish
vampire named Dexter standing near the door "-are more demon than human."
Melman looked at Lilah and asked in a patronizing tone. "Have you ever
seen the demonic species from which our earth-bound vampires originate?
Those demons are dumb as rocks."
"So being first offspring is important?" Gavin asked.
"To fully utilize the gifts of the human host? Yes, it is very important."
Melman laid the vile of blood down on the table and indicated Spike. "And
not a problem in this case. This vampire has never sired." He looked into
the microscope he had set up on this table. "He is also quite definitely
of the Line of Aurelius. There is no problem there, either."
Gavin drew close to the doctor. "You say that as though you believe there
is a problem *somewhere.*"
"Problem? No. Complication? Maybe." Dr. Melman hit a button on his
laptop computer and the microscope image of blood cells filled the LCD
screen. "Our blood donor is of the correct bloodline and therefore has the
particular strain of demonic infection that we seek. It's-" he laughed.
"Well, for vampires it is the equivalent of a very robust strain. But
remember what I said about concentration levels?"
"Varying degrees within the condition?" Lilah inquired.
"Yes. Our donor has the evil equivalent of a low sperm count."
"That is, if demonic infection were sperm," Lilah drawled. "Which it
"True, but, as a rough analogy it works fairly well. Of course, the
implications of William the Bloody's condition are far more startling than
a low sperm count. "
"And by that you mean...?"
"This is his blood. It is what is in him." The doctor pointed to the
computer screen image. "Note the lack of the darker, demonic molecules.
This creature would barely test positive for vampiric activity. He is
more man than monster."
Lilah glanced over at Gabriel. She could tell by the expression on his
face that he disliked what he was hearing. Straightening her shoulders and
narrowing her eyes, she asked in a stern, authoritative voice. "And how do
you propose to fix this?"
It was best to sound as commanding as possible.
The doctor's latex gloves snapped as he pulled them on. "Most sirings take
only a minimal amount of blood from the sire. In this case, I suggest we
drain the vampire entirely and centrifuge the blood for an artificial
Gavin grinned. "We're making vampire concentrate."
Lilah glanced at the blond figure the doctor had pronounced more man than
monster and admitted a truth to herself that she would admit to no one
else. They were proposing to bring this creature great pain, to drain the
life from him. There were violating him in an intimate and horrible way.
They were forcing William to sire against his will. Lilah knew she should
be disgusted. A normal person would horrified, but for her it was just
another day at the office. She worked for Wolfram and Hart.
Lilah watched Dr. Melman approach William with medical instruments that
appeared to have been used during the Spanish Inquisition. In contrast,
the immaculately appointed room also boasted a very technical looking
device. It appeared to be a heart/lung machine. Only from what the doctor
had described, Lilah was fairly certain no blood was going to be fed back
into the vampire donor. He was being drained to turn Gabriel into the
Master of Aurelius once again.
Lilah followed Gabriel, Gavin, Dr. Melman and his demonic medical assistant
across the room. She stood over the Barcelona chaise and looked down into
the paralyzed William's clear blue eyes. She saw many things written in
that cerulean gaze-anger, contempt, and resignation. She also saw
incipient fear which made her wonder...what must it be like to face having
life drained from you drop by drop for the *second* time...?
Continued in Chapter Eleven: Telling Secrets