Chapter Three

Buffy went through the day in a daze, her entire world turned upside down by the change in the man she had so recently thought of as her soul mate. She couldn’t understand how just losing his soul could have made such a difference in his feelings for her. How could he not still love her? How could he want to hurt her?

Willow and Xander did their best to be supportive; as her closest male friend was already jealous of the vampire, his support always seemed tinged with a hint of “I told you so,” and Buffy soon tired of it. Her Watcher was not much different, trying his best to explain to her that she was seeing the real Angelus – the demon Angel had kept hidden beneath his souled exterior.

“He’s a demon, Buffy, and without the help of his soul, he can’t love you. It’s just not possible.”

“Then how could Spike love Drusilla?”

Buffy’s innocent question took the Watcher completely by surprise. She waited, eyes wide open and trusting, for him to explain to her how a soulless demon could have risked his life to come to the Hellmouth and fight another Slayer in order to help his lover heal from injuries inflicted by an angry mob --an angry mob from which he had rescued her at great risk to his own life. Why that same soulless demon would back off from an opportunity to kill his third Slayer and provide his minions with a room full of victims to save his lover from Buffy’s stake.

Giles cleared his throat noisily. “Yes, well, it would appear that William the Bloody may be… That’s really beside the point, Buffy. However Spike and Drusilla may feel about each other, they are demons and I am sure it isn’t truly love. Not love in the way we think of it.”

“But it’s SOMETHING, isn’t it? Something has kept them together for over a hundred years. And if they can still feel…feelings, then why can’t Angel? Why does he want to hurt me?” Tears gathered in her eyes again and her lip trembled. “Why can an insane and skanky vampire get somebody to love her for over a hundred years and my boyfriend can forget about me in a few minutes? What’s wrong with me?”

The Watcher sighed again, mentally vowing to stake Angelus himself if he had to, if for no other reason than for the emotional pain he was causing his charge.

“There is nothing wrong with you, Buffy. You are a beautiful, sweet, innocent, intelligent girl, one who has fallen in love with the wrong man. The demon is simply not able to appreciate you the way that Angel could when he had his soul. It is sad, and I am sorry for your pain, but you have to promise me that you will not let yourself be distracted from your duty by the fact that your current enemy is wearing the face of your former boyfriend.”

“I know, Giles,” she agreed with a sigh. “I’ll get him. I mean, how hard can it be? Spike and Drusilla are ashes; we’d already killed all the minions. All I have to do is find him and put a stake through his heart.”

Her lip quivered again at the thought of never seeing Angel—HER Angel—again, and Giles groaned.

“I do think it would be wise of you to always have someone with you when you’re patrolling, at least for a short while…” At Buffy’s angry glare, he quickly explained, “Not that I think that you cannot or will not do your job; I simply feel that you might need moral support when you are called upon to do so with Angelus.”

For several weeks, Buffy followed her Watcher’s advice, taking Willow or Xander or the well-armed Watcher himself with her when she made her rounds of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries. After weeks with no sign of her former love, Buffy began to relax and to hope that he might have left the area to set up a nest somewhere without a resident Slayer.

Unbeknownst to Buffy, Giles was spending a good bit of his time during the daylight hours searching for potential nesting sites. He was sure that he had picked up a trail once or twice in the early weeks; any leads quickly vanished, however, and even the use of some of his long-neglected skills in the magic arts, yielded no trace of the dangerous vampire. The vampire who, despite Buffy’s frequent hopeful remarks, Giles knew to be still in Sunnydale and responsible for many of the torn and mutilated bodies still turning up on a nightly basis.

If I didn’t know better, I would think Angelus was using a cloaking spell of some sort, though I’ve heard Angel grumble about magic too often to think he would suddenly begin its practice.

Buffy was on her way home, alone for a change, when she heard a child crying; she ran, without thinking, into the alley from which the sound was coming. Shock paralyzed her for a few seconds as she recognized Drusilla. The vampire was holding a small child, letting it dangle from her arm like a doll and ignoring the steady whimpering coming from it.

Recovering quickly, Buffy pulled out her stake and stalked towards the smiling woman.

“You really should have left here when your boyfriend dusted,” Buffy growled, raising her stake threateningly.

Instead of shrinking away in fear, the dark-haired vampire cocked her head and cooed, “My sweet William is not dust. And I have my daddy back. You would do well to think about that, Slayer. Daddy is not happy with you.”

“Daddy? You mean Angel?” Buffy’s voice rose in horror. It had never occurred to her that Angel might be reunited with his family and the thought of all three of them together made her blood run cold.

Drusilla took advantage of the Slayer’s momentary distraction to toss the child at her and slip away as Buffy automatically stretched to catch the limp body.

“I mean Angelus, little girl.” The vampire’s voice drifted back into the alley as she disappeared into the night. “And he is not happy with you.”

“I’m not real thrilled with him right now,either,” Buffy whispered as the mad vampire sped away.

She adjusted her grip on the child and started out of the alley, halting suddenly when a tall, slender man stepped in front of her. There was something familiar about the smiling but obscured face; before she could recognize his features, he waved a hand in the air, sending a small cloud of dust into her face. The Slayer gasped in surprise, then coughed and choked as the dust she had inhaled filled her mouth and nose.

She glared at the man, the fury in every line of her body gradually being replaced with fear as she found herself unable to move. Her attempts to ask him what he was doing failed as miserably as her attempts to hit him, her mouth having been paralyzed along with the rest of her voluntary muscles. Once again, she felt the tingle on her neck that indicated the presence of a master vampire and she struggled against the magical bonds holding her, unable even to cast her eyes around to see if Drusilla had come back.

The mystery didn’t last long, however; she suddenly heard the familiar and yet so alien voice she remembered from a month before.

“Well, hello, lover.” The words came from behind her. “I see you’ve met my new friend, Ethan.”

Buffy’s eyes focused on the smiling man in front of her; as the dust and shock cleared, she recognized him as Ethan Rayne, the man from the costume shop whose magical costumes had turned Halloween into an actual nightmare. The man whose idea of fun had almost gotten them killed before Giles had found him and made him break the spell. She remembered waking up with Spike drooling over her throat and preparing to make her his third conquered Slayer.

The sorcerer’s assistance to a vampire had been inadvertent that time; now, however, it appeared that he was deliberately and willingly working with another master vampire. Her eyes glared her promised retribution even as her heart beat faster at the sensation of Angelus’ cool breath on her neck.

“We’re going to have so much fun, lover,” he purred. “Just you and me and my pretty poppy. Hours and hours of fun…” He raked her throat with one fang, lapping up the free-flowing blood and laughing at the fear he could smell rolling off her body.

“All right, Angelus,” Ethan spoke up. “Remember, she is my bait. You don’t get what you want until I get what I want.”

“Fine, fine,” the vampire agreed easily. “I’m a patient person. I can wait.”

He picked Buffy up as though she was a sack of potatoes, throwing her over his shoulder in a gross parody of the tender way she’d carried him out of the burning church so very recently, and followed the man as he glided down the street.