|
|
Part NineRegan Leary didn’t get afraid.
The last time she’d been afraid had been when she was ten years old and her father had hit her, repeatedly, again. Regan had been a precocious child, so she knew that was called “child abuse” and was wrong. But this was her daddy … Something inside her had finally said, “ENOUGH!” So she stopped crying. In fact, she stopped reacting altogether. So daddy wanted to hit her? Fine. He wasn’t going to get any satisfaction out of it. Naturally, he hit her harder, but coldly she stayed silent. And one day, quite unemotionally, while her father was hitting her again, she turned around and pushed him down the stairs. Her only reaction, when her mother told her that she’d broken his neck, had been a hollow laugh and the single word, “good.”
The signs of the abuse had been unmistakable, so there were no consequences; the therapists assigned to “help her through this trying time” had eventually given up in despair. And that was the last time Regan Leary felt fear. Or much of anything.
So what she was feeling now, hanging from a cavern wall by iron chains attached to her wrists, staring in disbelief at a traitor she’d thought an ally, could not possibly be fear.
Wishing, unfortunately, didn’t make it so.
Angel was standing at the far end of the cavern, conversing quietly with a vampire Regan couldn’t see. Various other vampires scurried from place to place, some painting a mystical pattern on the floor, a few just stopping to gaze at her hungrily before moving on. If they’d gotten close enough, she would have spat on them.
Cale was still unconscious next to her. She thought about waking him up, but what was the point? She glared at Angel — no, Angelus — until finally he noticed and said, “The Master said to keep you alive. She didn’t say that you had to be intact. So unless you’d like to be an eye short, look elsewhere!”
“Am I bothering the big bad vampire?” Regan taunted. “It’s obvious I’m going to be dead soon anyway, why not enjoy life while it lasts?”
Angelus stalked over. “Because I can make it last a very long time.”
Regan knew this was true; still, she answered with such quiet certainty that Angelus simply turned and walked back to the far end of the chamber. “You. Don’t. Frighten. Me.”
Cale whispered, unmoving, “Well played.”
Without turning her head she asked quietly, “How are you doing?”
He snorted softly. “As though you care. My head’s killing — my head hurts. Do you have any way out?”
“Left my fuckin’ lock-picks in my other jacket, sorry. We’re going to have to hope Emily finds us. “ She grinned coldly. “We’re doomed.”
“Don’t say —” he shouted, then stopped as every vampire in the place turned to look at them. The short one said, “You’re on. Go get ’em, tiger!”
Angelus said, “Yes, Elsza. My liege.” So that was the Master! Regan thought she didn’t look all that impressive, but one thing she’d learned was that age was more important than mass. Angelus walked over and stopped in front of the two.
“Comfy? Too bad. You won’t be alone long, though. I’ll be bringing the rest along in a minute or two. They trust me.” He grimaced. “Ten years I’ve been faking having a soul. This is going to feel so good.” He laughed coldly.
Suddenly, angrily, Regan said, “Angelus, you hurt my friends and I’ll break your fuckin’ neck.”
This time, the laugh held genuine amusement. “Friends? Regan, you don’t have any friends.” He walked off, into the passage by which they’d entered the chamber. Elsza approached in full vampire mode and patted them on their heads.
“Won’t be long now,” she hissed.
“Kind of puny for a Master, aren’t you?” Regan answered.
Surprisingly, Elsza laughed and went human. The laugh was more menacing than the voice had been. “Why, Regan,” she said patronizingly, “it’s not size that matters, it’s technique. And I have technique to burn!”
“Then burn,” Cale snapped.
“You’re both witty,” the Master said. “That’s good. I think I’ll keep the two of you around awhile.” She stepped closer. “As vampires, of course.”
It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t fear, it wasn’t fear …
* * *
They were in Willow’s old beat-up station wagon. Cordy made a comment about how, if the Watchers could arrange the house and the job, they could also arrange a nicer car. Willow laughed.
“Yeah, Cordy, I could have a Cadillac. And a nicer house. And I could probably get by without the job, just study all day. Why don’t I just put a big sign on the roof saying, ‘Yoo-hoo, vampires! Watcher in here. Please burn this house.’”
“Yeah — wait.” She grinned a wry grin. “That wouldn’t be good.”
Xander put an arm around his wife. “Perceptive much?”
Emily turned around. “Would you two quit joking? My friends are in trouble, and you’re exchanging witty banter!”
Xander looked abashed. “Sorry, Emily. We’ve always dealt with trouble by joking. Keeps us from really thinking about Armageddon in ten easy lessons. Keeps us sane.”
Willow said, “Emily, it’s the way the Slayerettes work.”
Emily snapped. “No, it’s not. We don’t work that way.”
Willow stopped the car. “Okay. Calm down. You’re getting way too upset, and an upset Slayer is a nonfunctioning Slayer.” She said, more softly, “Everyone handles stress in their own way. Xander and I, we joke. You can’t let this consume you. We’re all concerned, believe us. We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t.”
Emily gritted her teeth. “Whatever,” turned to Xander and said, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.” Emily got out of the car, concentrated, and shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You’re not properly set,” Willow said. “Close your eyes. Relax …”