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Part TenAngelus screamed in excitement. Repression was a bitch! From the moment he’d carried the badly injured — and it had felt so good hurting the repressed British bastard — Giles out of the burning warehouse, he’d been faking the soul.
At first, just to avoid having four seriously pissed-off Slayerettes spindle, fold and mutilate him. He still didn’t know if he could have caught that bolt had it been headed for his heart and not his shoulder. But they’d been so easy to fool. Cordelia was a brainless twit, Willow a sentimental fool, and Oz a nonentity. Xander had been a problem, but he wasn’t able to stand alone.
From all indications, ten years hadn’t changed any of them. Well, except Oz. He was dead. It had just broken Angel’s heart to have had to kill the poor werewolf, but what choice did he have, really. Poor Willow had been devastated, but her relationship with the slob had been the last thing holding her back from becoming a Watcher.
Still he’d restrained himself. Oh, a killing here, a killing there, but nothing traceable. And after Buffy’s death the next three Slayers had been based outside of Sunnydale anyway. Still, he had to play it safe, not raise suspicions. He’d actually been defending the place against whatever supernatural beasties had come, in anticipation of today.
Some of their blood had been delicious, though.
As he roamed through the tunnels he came across a startled rat. Out of the sheer joy of being himself again he picked the rat up and threw it against the wall, which it hit with a satisfying crunch of bone and spurt of blood. He looked over at the body. Still alive. Good.
Angelus kept going through the tunnels, grimly whistling a merry tune. Every once in a while he’d climb to the top and listen through one of the manholes. They’d find him eventually. They had to be frantic by now. Angelus shook his head in mock sympathy with their suffering, and continued onward.
* * *
For the 37th time Cale Benjamin quietly but fiercely gathered his strength and gave the chains a good hard yank away from the wall. For the 37th time, his wrists gave out before the wall or the metal. They were scraped and bloody by this point, but Cale would be damned before he became a vampire. He’d said as much to Regan.
“Got this shit pretty well covered, haven’t you?” she’d answered bitterly.
Finally Cale gave up in exhaustion and turned to look at Regan, who was just hanging limply from the wall. He couldn’t believe this heartless witch sometimes. Here they were, in imminent danger of having demons take over their bodies and helping the Master rampage across the world, and she was taking a nap! He leaned his head over as close as he could get to her ear and took a deep breath.
Regan broke in, “Shout in my ear and your neck is next.”
“Enjoying your nap?” he asked sarcastically. “Look, Regan, on the off-chance you haven’t noticed, we’re in trouble here. Angelus is going to lure my friends in here and we’re all going to be center stage at a mystic ritual, and snack food for bloodsuckers after it’s over.” He noticed her bored expression. “To hell with it. You don’t care. You don’t care about anything. You’re going to be one hell of a vampire, Regan. You’re already pale, cold, lifeless and brutal.” He pretended to stop and think. “There’s an idea! Make like the demon’s already in you, maybe they’ll let you out.”
She asked softly, “Why do you think I don’t care, Cale? There’s no point to struggling now. These chains are strong enough to hold vampires. I hate having to do it, but I have to hope Emily finds us in time. Till then, I’m saving my strength.” She grinned. “I’m breaking that bastard Angelus’ neck myself.”
“No, I am.” Regan disagreed with him, and they were about to start arguing about who’d get the honor when Elsza approached again, with gags in her hands. Most of the other vampires had left the cavern, and the mystic symbols on the ground — except for a small gap along the back passageway — had long been completed. Apparently the Master just got pleasure out of watching them argue.
“Don’t fight,” she sneered. “You’ll both be vampires together.” She reached up and stuffed a gag in Regan’s mouth.
“Regan was right,” Cale said. Regan looked at him in surprise. “You certainly don’t act like a Master’s supposed to.”
The Master laughed ominously. “Must’ve missed that section of my Master’s Handbook. Hey, this is a new millennium, and the old ways never worked. A vampire’s got to be able to change with the times.” She gagged Cale. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got rituals to perform. The Hellmouth waits for no one.” She left the cavern.
Cale strained harder.
* * *
Xander and Cordelia looked at each other, then at Emily in sympathy. If he’d been the Slayer he would have run screaming through the streets a long time ago. Emily just kept getting out of the car, extending her senses to their limit, cursing quietly to herself and getting back in. She’d been doing this for over an hour and a half now, which left — Xander checked his watch — a bit under three hours, if Willow’s calculations were correct. And Willow Rosenberg made a mistake about as often as Cordelia had a bad hair day.
Willow certainly seemed to have tighter control over Emily than Giles ever did over … still, the young redhead seemed to have gotten her irritation under control. They’d covered most of the residential area of Sunnydale and were now working their way slowly towards the Bronze. The sporadic traffic behind them was getting seriously cheesed off at Willow’s stop-and-start, stop-and-start, and Xander didn’t imagine it was doing her car much good either. Still, this was another fun and exciting trip into the bowels of hey-let’s-stop-the-destruction-of-the-world. If that meant pissing off a few people, well, that was too damn bad.
They reached the Bronze’s alley. Emily walked down it a few feet and concentrated. A look of surprise came over her face. “Got one,” she said.
Willow said, “Good, now — Emily! Wait!” Emily drew a stake and ran for the nearest sewer access. The three Original Slayerettes threw open the car doors and sprinted down the alley after her. When she reached the manhole she threw it open and jumped straight down into the muck. Sounds of a struggle could be heard. Swearing to themselves, the three followed her.