Nine

A DAINTY DISH, TO SET BEFORE THE KING

Drusilla had been in the closet for sixteen days.

Drusilla didn’t know that. She had lost track of time...lost herself in the dark, and the whispers...

But Angelus knew. He knew exactly how long he’d kept Drusilla in the closet; he kept careful track of the time, as he sat on the other side of the door throughout the long days and all through the nights, listening to her. He liked listening to her; he liked being with her. She had the most beautiful voice, and the most beautiful scent: she smelled like roses. The only drawback to keeping her in the closet was that he couldn’t see her eyes; the light in them was exquisite. He wanted to devour that light...take it into his darkness and keep it for himself, forever.

Sometimes Drusilla prayed, and sometimes she screamed, and sometimes she cried...and sometimes she came back to herself, for a little while, and tried to be strong.

That’s what she was doing now. Angelus smiled. They never lasted long, these moments of strength; but they were entertaining to listen to...

“Not real,” Drusilla whispered. “None of you...you’re not...you’re not real. I won’t listen. Cassie. Cassie. Cassie Cassie Cassie Cassie Cassie Cassie Cassie.”

Angelus took Drusilla out of the closet three times a day, for a little while, to eat and bathe and use the bathroom. It was about time for her bath now.

But today would be special: today began the next phase of his plan.

“You’re not,” he heard Drusilla whispering again. “I won’t hear you. You’re all trying to confuse me. You’re not real. Shut up, Miss Edith! SHUT UP! SHUT UUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPP!!”

She started banging her head against the door after that, and Angelus heard her sobbing.

It had a strange effect on him. He didn’t know what the feeling was that went through his stomach, whenever he heard her sobbing...he didn’t recognize it, and could never think of words to describe it. He just knew it always annoyed him. He frowned.

Eventually, Drusilla stopped banging her head against the door. It was a good thing; he would’ve had to stop her because he didn’t want her to hurt herself, and that wasn’t the tone he wanted to set for their encounter today.

“Cassie,” Drusilla whispered. “Red robin...they’re not real. None of them are real and I won’t let them hurt you. Big sister will stop them.”

“Of course I’m real,” Angelus whispered.

He felt Drusilla stiffen; felt her eyes, searching him out in the darkness. He felt her fear...smelled it. Not just fear. Her heart rate was speeding up now, too. In anticipation. Sometimes when he talked to her, she knew that meant she’d be let out of the closet for awhile. Not for too long...just a little while. But Angelus knew Drusilla lived for those moments now.

“How are you, darlin’?” Angelus said, to the door. “How would you like to leave that closet for a spell?”

“I’d...like that,” Drusilla said, to the darkness.

He noticed she always seemed stronger, after he talked to her; more focused. As if he were her tether to the real world. He found that interesting. On the one hand, it wasn’t what he’d had in mind for her and it was annoying; it could potentially jeopardize his plans for her. On the other hand, part of him...the part he didn’t understand, the part with the strange feelings he couldn’t put words to...was pleased by it.

“I’d like to see Cassie,” Drusilla said. “Could I...please? Please?”

“Sure, blackbird,” Angelus said. “Anything for my girl.”

In the closet, in the dark, tears filled Drusilla’s eyes, and she smiled.

She heard the chair being moved away from the closet door.

The door opened. Light assailed her. She blocked her eyes.

“Thank you,” Drusilla whispered, as the tears ran down her cheeks. “Thank you.”

She couldn’t see. It always took her eyes awhile to adjust. Angelus touched her cheek, and she leaned against him. Whenever he opened the door, she always leaned against him, and cried...

They always remained like that for a time, when he first opened the closet door. Being in the dark, alone, the first thing she needed was to feel like she was part of the world again...to touch someone. He always let her lean against him. It was always the first thing she did.

She was crying now. He wiped her tears away, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the light.

Eventually, she looked up at him. He smiled down at her.

“Cassie misses you, blackbird,” Angelus said, and began untying her, starting with her ankles. “We all miss you...the whole family.”

Angelus gently massaged her ankles after he untied them, until Drusilla felt life returning to them.

“Is Cassie all right?” Drusilla asked, as Angelus untied her wrists.

“Of course,” Angelus said. “She’s part of our family. We’d never hurt our little Cassie.”

“Can I go to see her now?” Drusilla said.

“Well, I think you’ll want your bath first, love,” Angelus said, and untied her wrists, and started massaging them. “And you must be hungry again too. And after that, Mr. Morgan wants to see you. You have a busy day ahead today.”

“He wants to see me?” Drusilla said. “My fath--”

She looked down at the floor.

“I mean...Mr. Morgan?” she said. “He wants to see me?”

Angelus smiled. Drusilla hadn’t called him her father yet, but she had stopped calling Mr. Morgan her father at least, and she had stopped calling Olivia her mother too, because Angelus and Darla had told her not to. She was making progress.

“Let’s get you taken care of, Dru,” Angelus said. “All soft and clean and pretty, with your hair done just the way you like it. And then you can have something to eat, and we’ll have a visit with Mr. Morgan. And then we’ll see Cassie after.”

“All right,” Drusilla said.

Angelus massaged her wrists for a little while longer, and when Drusilla felt she could move them again, he took her hand and gently stood her up. He walked her out of the room, into the bathroom at the other end of the hall. There was a bath already drawn; the water was hot. There was a dress, petticoats, a corset and underwear, on a hanger on the doorknob.

Angelus shut the bathroom door behind them, and they stood together in the little room.

“Well, the water’s not gonna stay hot forever darlin’,” Angelus said, and smiled like a wolf, showing her all his teeth.

“I...need to undress,” Drusilla said. “You can’t be here.”

It was the same every time. He always stayed with her while she bathed and she always protested. He allowed her some things, some say in how she was treated. But some things he refused her. He always made her undress in front of him, and he always bathed her.

“Of course I can, Dru,” Angelus said. “I’m your father. No secrets between us.”

She looked up at him. She looked over at the bathtub. She looked down at the floor.

“Get undressed, Dru,” Angelus said. “I’ll wash your back. You like when I wash your back.”

Drusilla looked at herself in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked thin, and pale, and haggard. Angelus stood behind her, and cast no reflection. Drusilla had long since ceased to be surprised by that, or to wonder what it meant. She knew he was a demon, sent to take her to Hell.

Angelus touched her hair, and caressed her neck, and leaned in close to her. He ran his hands across her shoulders. His hands were cold, but his touch was gentle and Drusilla found herself enjoying his caress. She tried to pull away. But she couldn’t; he was too strong. He was always too strong. He controlled her.

He turned her around, and kissed her. His lips were soft, and warm.

She blushed, and looked away from him.

Angelus smiled. She always blushed, every time, when he kissed her.

He slipped her dress off her shoulders. She held it in place, and didn’t let it fall, and looked down at the floor.

“Please don’t,” she whispered.

He turned her toward him, and raised her chin, and made her look at him. He held her in his eyes.

Drusilla thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Angelus moved his hand up her leg, caressing it, and lifting her dress.

“Please,” Drusilla whispered, and grabbed his hand. She tried to look away from him, but she couldn’t...his eyes held her fast.

He was beautiful...the kind of man she had always fantasized about.

She made herself think about Veronica, and what he did to her. She made herself think about how ugly he had looked then.

“No more hemmin’ and hawin’ now, Dru,” Angelus said, and took her hands in his. Her dress fell to the floor, and she stood before him in her petticoat, blushing. “Time for your bath, precious. Get undressed for me.”

She knew she had no choice. She knew he’d force her, if she didn’t comply. And they had Cassie.

He knew she’d get undressed for him. She did it every time. The protestations, they were just part of the dance.

She took down her petticoat, and her under-petticoat, slipping them slowly down over her knees and to her feet, as she blushed.

She stood before him in her corset now, and looked down at the floor .

“I can’t...do the laces all myself,” she said.

“I know, precious, let me help with that,” Angelus said, and turned her around, and unlaced her corset in back. It was a red corset; Angelus thought the color looked perfect on Drusilla.

Drusilla was shaking a little, as he undid her corset. She always shook a little. Usually it was entertaining, but he wanted her relaxed today. She needed to begin to trust him, today.

He kissed her neck.

“You London girls do require a bit of unwrapping,” he said.

He noticed Drusilla smile, just for a second.

“This corset is very pretty on you, Dru,” he said. “You look beautiful in red. That’s why I picked it out for you.”

When he had her corset off, he turned her around, and lifted her chemise. She raised her arms, and he lifted it over her head. She covered her breasts, standing before him in only her drawers now, and didn’t look at him.

Her nipples were hard; he knew she didn’t want him to see.

He took her hands in his, and kissed her. This time, he felt her respond; he felt her kissing him back.

He released her hands, and held them down at her waist. He kissed her again, and cupped her breasts in his hands, as she looked at the floor, blushing again.

“Look at me,” he said.

She looked at him. He gently pulled down her drawers, kneeling down in front of her as he slipped them off her feet. He looked up at her and smiled, as she stood naked in front of him.

“I can be gentle, Drusilla,” he said, as he stood up and put his arms around her. “I want to be gentle, with you.”

She nodded. She made herself think about what he did to Veronica.

His hands cupped her breasts again. Her nipples were hard and she felt herself becoming wet, between her legs. Her body was betraying her. She tried to look away from him but his eyes held her again...

“But first your bath,” he said, and lifted her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all, and gently set her down in the tub.

It was always embarrassing for Drusilla at first, having to bathe herself while he watched. But it was just one more thing to get through every day...one more obstacle to surmount in order to see Cassie...

He washed her back, and his hands were gentle and his touch was pleasing on her skin. He washed her feet, and smiled.

He didn’t speak. He helped her bathe, and smiled, and he was gentle, even tender with her; and he was handsome, and part of her wanted him to kiss her again.

She had never been with a man before, and she found that her body was continually betraying her now; it thrilled to his touch. It had been betraying her more and more with him, every day. She felt like she was tingling. She felt flushed, and her heart felt like it would explode right out of her chest. Every place he touched her, she felt warm and full, like she was about to burst, like she had been in a cocoon her whole life and she was finally about to break free of it. She felt the blood beneath her skin, pulsing through her.

When she had finished bathing, he lifted her out of the tub, and dried her off. When she reached for the clean underwear on the hanger, he shook his head, and lifted her up in his arms again.

“But...Cassie,” Drusilla whispered.

“Afterwards,” Angelus whispered, and kissed her, and carried her naked back to her bedroom.

As she lay naked on her bed, watching Angelus undress in front of her, Drusilla was calm.

They’d done this before. Every day, he brought her naked back to the bed after her bath, before he dressed her and put her back in the closet.

Every day, he left it up to her. Every day, she refused him.

But she had seen it, in her vision...she had seen the moment, and she knew it was going to happen eventually.

Angelus was going to take her, eventually; take her virginity, in the same bed he raped her sister on. There were clean sheets on the bed now at least.

After a moment he stood naked in front of her, and his body was pleasing to the eye as always, muscular and well-proportioned. But, lying on the same bed he’d violated and murdered Veronica on, Drusilla no longer felt warm, no longer felt flushed. Her body didn’t tingle. She just felt tired.

She wasn’t scared of him, of this; she wasn’t apprehensive. She knew it was going to happen eventually and she had resigned herself to it, during all those long, lonely days in the closet. It was simply one more thing she would need to survive, one more ordeal to get through to see Cassie.

In all her visions, Cassie was always alive. She prayed that meant Angelus and Darla would be true to their word, and let Cassie live as long as she did everything they said.

She would be strong. She would do everything she needed to do to get to see Cassie, and protect her...

She would be strong...

She heard a whisper.

And then another...and another...

She looked around the room. She saw Angelus, smiling down at her. She saw her porcelain dolls behind him, smiling down at her from their shelves...

The dolls were whispering to her.

They were making demonic faces and saying terrible things, and calling Drusilla evil, and wicked; a harlot, a slut, a whore. A betrayer of her family...

Angelus laid himself on top of her, and began gently kissing her. She stayed calm, because she knew she had to; she knew she had to be everything he wanted her to be. She hardly noticed his kisses anyway; the whispers were getting louder. The dolls were all laughing at her now, telling her she deserved to be raped for what she had done, for what she had brought down on her family...

Drusilla closed her eyes, and tried not to think about the whispers. They weren’t real.

Angelus kissed her neck.

But the whispers were getting louder...

“You belong with me, blackbird,” Drusilla could just barely hear Angelus saying, as she shook her head, and squeezed her eyes shut tight, and tried not to listen to the whispers...

Whore, the whispers said.

Judas, the whispers said.

Evil, the whispers said.

“No...no...” Drusilla whimpered. She knew the whispers weren’t real, they couldn’t be real...

We’re coming to take you to Hell with us, the whispers said.

She felt Angelus now, hard against her, between her legs...

“No...” Drusilla whispered, and couldn’t even hear herself amidst the other whispers filling the room. She started to cry...

“Look at me, blackbird,” Angelus said. “Look in my eyes.”

She looked up at him.

And he held her in his eyes...

And the whispers went away.

The room was quiet, as she looked up at him...stared into his nothingness.

“You belong with me, blackbird,” he said. “You belong with me, love. You always did.”

The room was quiet, but for his voice. He caressed her cheek. She felt his cock against her. He was big; she had never been with a man before and she hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much, when it eventually happened...she hoped he would be gentle with her, like he’d said. She hoped he’d give her a choice today, like he’d always done before.

They looked into each other’s eyes. His eyes were dark and beautiful, and empty. But Drusilla thought she could lose herself in them...she thought she could remain in them, and be protected. As long as he held her in his eyes, the whispers couldn’t get through. She felt them, felt the whispers trying to get through to her ears, but they couldn’t reach her now. She was focused on him...his eyes drew her in and held her, concentrated all of her in him, and when she was in him the whispers couldn’t get through. She felt disconnected from herself when he drew her into his eyes, and held her there; she felt like she was melting away into him...a weak, flickering candle in a vast, endless night. She didn’t know why exactly, why the whispers couldn’t reach her when she was with him...when she was in him. She only knew that he protected her.

“Say it,” he said.

He kissed her again. His lips felt soft, and warm.

“Say it, blackbird,” he said.

“I belong with you,” Drusilla whispered, as tears fell down her cheeks.

He smiled, and kissed her again...

She kissed him back.

“Is today our day, Dru?” Angelus said. “Is today our day?”

She shook her head, as Angelus knew she would.

Then he played his card.

“Cassie misses you,” he said. “Are you excited about seeing her tonight?”

Drusilla nodded.

“How would you like to see Cassie every day from now on?” he said.

“See her...every day?” Drusilla whispered.

“She misses you, love,” Angelus said, and stroked her hair. “We all do. Darla and I were thinkin’ we should take dinner together from now on, the whole family right and proper. Me and Darla and you and Cassie, every night. Would you like that?”

She nodded, and tears fell down her cheeks.

Angelus was always gentle, with Drusilla. He kissed her again, and took in her rosy scent, and held her in his eyes. She was still afraid of him, but she responded now, when he kissed her; she responded a little more each day, and lately she had been kissing him back. Hesitantly at first; soft, little pecks, but as the minutes passed now she became more relaxed. He touched her tongue with his, and her tongue retreated from his at first, but eventually it came out of hiding, and brushed against his, lightly flicking it. Her nipples were hard under his soft touch, and her body was warm...

Angelus liked her scent. He liked her blue eyes locked on his; he liked the light in them. She was still tense, her body stiff underneath him, but, little by little, her body was beginning to adjust to his; she was beginning to soften for him now, to yield. One of her hands, soft as silk, light as a bird’s wing, ran lightly down his arm, stroked the hard planes of muscle there where his triceps ran down toward the elbow.

He kissed her neck again, and her breath was warm on his cheek. Darla never felt warm that way. She was beautiful but she was cold...Drusilla was warm.

But she was still crying. Tears rolled down her cheeks unceasingly, as she responded to him; as her body softened and grew flushed beneath him. Her face was wet, but her most intimate place, the place he was up against now, was dry. With other girls, he simply forced his way in. He didn’t want to do that with Drusilla, so he always asked her; always gave her a choice. She always said no.

“You’ll need to be a good girl for Daddy, if you want to see Cassie every day,” Angelus said.

“What...must I do?” Drusilla whispered.

He took each of her nipples in his mouth, and gently sucked them, taking his time with each one. Drusilla closed her eyes, and let out a moan, like a bird trilling. It was soft, almost imperceptible, but Angelus had excellent hearing. He kissed her hard, flat stomach, and ran his fingers down her thighs. They were lean and muscular, like Veronica’s, but they were pale; Drusilla’s complexion was sickly. Veronica was ruddy and tanned; she lived in the sun. Drusilla belonged with the moon.

“You know,” he said. “Today has to be our day. And then every day after this has to be our day too. “

Angelus gently opened her legs, and positioned himself between them, his lips inches away from her pussy.

“I can...see Cassie every day?” she said, blushing now as she cried.

“You’ll have to walk the dog with her afterwards, too,” Angelus said. “Cassie gets emotional when she has to walk the dog. You know how excitable she is. It would be easier for her if her big sister was there to support her and comfort her. You can be strong for Cassie, can’t you?”

Drusilla wiped her tears away, took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Can Daddy give you a kiss now?” Angelus said. “Or would you rather not join us for dinner?”

“You can...you can kiss me,” Drusilla whispered.

“Is today our day?” Angelus said. “And all the days after?”

Drusilla nodded.

And then she sobbed, as Angelus did something he hadn’t done with anyone but Darla in more than a century...

“Why, Arthur, you smell like piss,” Darla said, and threw a bucket of cold water on the naked, emaciated form of Mr. Morgan, curled up pale and shivering on the floor of the attic in his own filth. “It’s terribly unseemly.”

The water woke him up, spluttering and coughing. His hands and ankles were tied, and he was blindfolded; neither the ropes, nor the blindfold, had been removed since Darla had first applied them, sixteen days before.

He trembled at the sound of her voice; she had beaten him every day. She smiled, as she saw tears falling down his cheeks.

Darla never allowed him to bathe; the bucket of cold water was his daily bath. But unfortunately Angelus insisted that Mr. Morgan be made to piss and shit in a bucket too, and the attic smelled terrible. Darla found it all extremely trying. She’d complained to Angelus, who wasn’t too fond of the smell either, but he’d said that allowing the father to use the facilities like a human being would have worked against his plans. The smell was a constant irritant now and Darla wasn’t too happy about having to prepare Mr. Morgan’s meals either; but they’d killed all the servants, so someone had to do the cooking...

Darla liked cooking for Cassie and Dru but cooking for their parents was annoying. She grit her teeth through it, and made Angelus promise that when this was all over he would take her to Spain again for a nice, long vacation.

Thankfully, that morning Angelus had told Darla that Mr. Morgan had been sufficiently softened up and it was time for him to go; the daily beatings had worked wonders, and Darla had taken his blood at regular intervals too, whenever she felt peckish, and that had sped the process along. Angelus said there was no real reason to keep him around any longer; he knew Mr. Morgan would give him what he wanted now and Drusilla was ready to hear her father say the words.

Angelus hadn’t needed to torture him very long at all the night before to get him to agree to do what he wanted, shrieking his assent amidst his tears. Mr. Morgan had deteriorated very quickly over the sixteen days of his captivity, languishing naked in his own filth in the cold attic: the strong, healthy, confident, commanding man Darla had beaten to within an inch of his life that first day she’d burst into the house was gone, now. He’d wasted away; in his place was a pale, weak, sick, terrified creature, a prey animal, a rabbit in a trap. He looked like he’d aged a decade in those sixteen days; being starved and beaten and drained of blood and kept blindfolded the whole time had a wondrous effect. The blindfold was Darla’s idea; she wasn’t sure what would happen to a person if they weren’t allowed to see anything for a prolonged period of time but she was curious to find out and Angelus thought it could prove to be entertaining.

It had made Mr. Morgan afraid: he never knew when the next beating would come, never knew if someone was watching him, never knew when the torture would begin again until the pain was upon him, like a stalking wolf suddenly moving in for the kill.

“Are you ready for your big day, Arthur?” Darla said. “Soon you’ll be back downstairs and reunited with your family...well, all save one.”

He nodded, looking down at the floor.

She crouched beside him, and removed his blindfold and untied his hands. He flinched, when he felt her hands on his skin. When the blindfold came off, he whimpered, and blocked his eyes; the attic was lit only by a single oil lamp, but the light was harsh after sixteen days wearing a blindfold and he still couldn’t see.

“Your eyes will take some time to adjust to the light,” Darla said. “In the meantime, you can have a bath; a real one, and then you can get dressed.”

She smiled, and caressed his red hair, and straightened his moustache.

“All the things we took away from you will now be given back,” she said. “But just remember, Arthur, not to deviate from the plan. If you do, if you fail to meet our expectations, we’ll kill you. But we’ll make you watch us kill Olivia first. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “My wife,” he whispered, hoarsely. “Is she...?”

Darla backhanded him in the mouth. His mouth bled; he spit blood.

“No talking out of turn, Arthur,” Darla said. “You don’t ask questions. You answer the questions put to you.”

He nodded again.

“I hate you,” Darla said. “I suppose you’ve managed to figure that out by now. But do you know why I hate you?”

He didn’t say anything. He seemed to collapse in on himself a little, bringing his legs up to his chest and curling up in a ball. He sat very still, and looked down at the floor, and shook a little.

Darla smacked him in the mouth again. He screamed, and began sobbing.

“I asked you a question, Arthur,” Darla said. “And I would prefer it if you answered me without my having to coax you, because as much as I enjoy hurting you, you smell like piss, and I’d like to keep our time together brief. I don’t hate Dru, or Veronica, or Cassie. Just you, and Olivia. Do you know why?”

He shook his head.

“Well, part of the reason I hate you is the way you look at me,” Darla said. She was still stroking his hair. “You look at me like I’m beneath you. Oh, I wouldn’t blame you for disliking me now, but you looked at me that way from the moment I first entered your house. Do you know I had originally planned not to hurt you? Well, not much at least. The plan was to knock you about a bit and then tie you up, but I hadn’t intended on going overboard. But when I saw that look in your eyes I decided you were an arsehole, Arthur. I decided you’re an arsehole, and I wanted to hurt you. And so I did. But the way you look at me is only part of it. It’s why I decided to start hurting you, it’s why I initially disliked you, but it’s not why I hate you now, and why I hate Olivia too. I hate you both because of what you’ve done to Cassie.”

She wrenched his hair, pulled him closer. He screamed, and looked away.

“Look at me, you piece of shit,” Darla snarled. “Or I swear I’ll rip your fucking throat out right here and Angelus and his plan can go hang.”

He quailed, but he looked at her: looked into her nothingness.

“You’re her father,” she said. “You’re supposed to care for her, you’re supposed to encourage her and be proud of her, love her for who she is. But you don’t. Do you know how talented she is? Her paintings are splendid. Someday, despite your influence, she could become one of the all-time great artists, someone they write books about. But did you hang up even one of her paintings? No. Even if her paintings were rubbish you should have hung them up, because she’s your daughter. But you don’t care about her, you don’t want her, so even though she might be the next Goya you refuse to hang her paintings in your own house. How do you think that made her feel?”

Darla had tears in her eyes now. She grabbed Morgan by the shoulders and shook him, flailing him around like a ragdoll.

“Fathers are supposed to care for their daughters!” she screamed, as she shook him, and he cried. “They’re supposed to love them! They’re supposed to love them! Why couldn’t you LOVE HER?! WHY?!”

Her face changed to vampire form, and she growled at him, and showed him her fangs. He whimpered, and tried to look away, but she held him fast.

“You’re just like my father was,” Darla snarled. “He didn’t care either. And you’re just like him. And now look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

She spit in his face, and let him go. He fell to the floor, and cried.

“I was sad without you, Daddy,” Drusilla said, glaring down at Angel out of the shadows like a predatory bird. “I do so relish your vicious games.”

“What are you doing here, Dru?” Angel said, and stood up, and faced her...faced those ice-blue eyes. He wasn’t at all sure that this was really Drusilla, but she acted like her, and if he was going to get any information out of her he thought he’d have to do it on her terms. “What happened to Spike?”

“My little Spike was naughty,” Drusilla said. “Making googly eyes at the Slayer. I know what he’s up to. I can see. And then he ruined our party. The world would’ve been so pretty, all the people were going to be little dollies and I was going to play dress up, and then we were all going to join Miss Edith for tea. But then Spike came and he said we couldn’t have our tea party, and Miss Edith was very cross with him. Now the world is ugly again, and no one comes to tea.”

“Dru,” Angel said. “Where’s Spike?”

“Gone, gone, flew away....we’re sad, Daddy, Miss Edith and me; Miss Edith is so sad, I had to pluck out her eyes to stop her crying. She just sits on the shelf now and refuses to talk to me. But I know what she’s thinking. She whispers to the other dollies, when my back is turned. Whispers nasty, nasty things,” Drusilla said, with a smile that showed her long canine teeth.

Then she turned away from him, looking down at the ground.

“My little Spike, he tried to hurt me after he took me away, but it wasn’t the same. Every time he whipped me, he wanted to be whipping the Slayer. I can see. I can see. And Miss Edith snickered at me the whole time. She’s such an evil dolly.”

“And now you’re here,” Angel said.

“Spike always said he and I were supposed to be forever,” Drusilla said. “And I believed him, for awhile. But fate plays tricks. Fate cheats. Sometimes, the one you think you’re meant to be with...isn’t. Sometimes, they fly away... sometimes they’re meant to be with someone else.”

She turned and looked at him again, and smiled.

“But you know that all too well, don’t you Daddy?” she said.

“I’ve had a long night, Dru,” Angel said. “Not really up for one of your riddle games right now.”

“But it’s always a game,” Drusilla said, and snarled at him...but she still smiled. “It was a game when you raped me, and took my family away from me, and a game when you killed me. A game when you broke me, and turned me, and told me you loved me, and a game yet again when you sent me away. But you never could finally put an end to me, could you? I wonder why that is?”

“I should’ve put an end to you,” Angel said. “I should’ve killed you last year.”

“Oooh, Daddy, spank me again, you know I’m bad,” Drusilla said. “So where’s your Slayer off to? Where’s the love of your life tonight?”

“Is that why you’re here? Are you going to try to hurt Buffy? I won’t let you, Dru.”

“Oh, don’t be cross with me, Daddy. I’m just playing a little trick on you. I know exactly where the love of your life is. And I know where your Slayer is too. She came to me, when I was with Spike, when he was hurting me, trying to make up for ruining my party. I saw her, behind his eyes. Hide and seek, hide and seek, peeking out, peeking out. The Slayer laughed at me from inside him. Drusilla, you’re such a flighty, frivolous thing. I don’t know what Spike could possibly see in you. And every time he hurt me, I knew he really wanted to be hurting her. So I left.”

“And you came to Sunnydale,” Angel said. “Why?”

“I knew you were back. Spike didn’t believe me but I knew, I always know. I knew you were back to bring me presents, because I’ve been very good. So I asked Miss Edith what I should do...and...”

Drusilla took one step toward him, like a stalking wolf.

“SHE...” Drusilla almost shouted, her voice reverberating like a gunshot through the silent courtyard, as she put her left foot down, and froze, crouched there, watching him; holding him in her eyes, and smiling like a jackal.

Drusilla took another step toward him.

“WHISPERED...” Drusilla barked, as she put her right foot down, and froze again, standing close to him now.

She put her mouth to Angel’s ear.

“Run away, count to ten,” Drusilla whispered. “Daddy’s back, playing hide and seek like that dreadful Slayer, the one who got stuck in his eyes...the one he thinks he loves.”

She giggled, and pirouetted away from Angel like a ballerina.

“But you cast her out, Daddy,” Drusilla said, twirling around the courtyard now. “You cast that horrible girl out, and then you came and found me, because I’m always very good, and we were planning our tea party. But then Spike came and ruined it, because she found her way in through his eyes too, and she’s stuck there even now, laughing at me, and making faces at Miss Edith, who is too well-mannered to respond in kind. So I came back. I know the Slayer’s secret places; I know where she hides. She thinks she can hide from me but I’ve played games here before, I know all the secret paths.”

She stopped spinning, and picked a jasmine flower, and held it to her nose.

“Got her scent right here, I do,” Drusilla said, sniffing the flower, and staring at Angel over the top of it. Her blue eyes were portals to some cold, empty place, freezing him where he stood.

Angel could hear a growl rumbling up from Drusilla’s throat now.

“Dru. I won’t let you hurt Buffy,” Angel said.

Drusilla smiled at Angel again, her mouth a black maw, stinking of blood; her teeth a gate of knives.

“I thought you liked when I hurt people, Daddy?” she said. “Have I been bad again? Bad girl. Bad daughter. Lock her in the closet. Do you hear them?” Drusilla held the jasmine flower to her nose, and smiled, as she suddenly looked all around her; as if she could see something that he couldn’t. “Do you hear the voices, whispering all around?”

“No,” Angel said.

“You never do,” Drusilla said. “They’re afraid of you. You always send them scurrying away.”

It had taken Angelus a long time; Drusilla was afraid, and she was a virgin, and she was tight; he didn’t want to hurt her. But Angelus was patient. He’d licked her between her legs first, and although Drusilla had tried not to enjoy it, she’d grown wet for him after awhile. When he judged that she was ready, he’d moved between her legs, and kept up a steady pressure against her, and kissed her as he did.

She felt warm, when he finally entered her...

Now they were done, lying naked together on the bed, the same bed he had raped her sister on. And she was crying; not because he’d hurt her. He had been very careful not to hurt her. He knew she was crying because it was the last thing, the last thing she had been keeping from him, the last thing she had that was only for her. And now he’d taken that away from her too. She had nothing left now, and so she cried...

He held her in his arms.

“We’ll get you something to eat, darlin’,” he said. “Then Mr. Morgan wants to see you. And after that, later on tonight, since you’ve been such a love, we’ll go have a visit with Cassie. All right?”

She nodded.

The whispers still hadn’t come back. As long as she was with him, the whispers couldn’t reach her...

“Every day is our day from now on,” he said. “Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Will I...have to go back into the closet?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “Because you’re still an evil thing, Dru. The Lord’s not done punishin’ you yet. But I’ll always be there, on the other side of the door, watching over you. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Her crying got worse; she buried her face in her hands.

He held her; she tried to pull away. He didn’t let her.

“Do you want something with you, in the closet?” he said, and cursed himself for saying it; it wasn’t part of the plan. It was weak, giving her something. He had no idea why he’d said it...

“Something with me?” she said, and looked up at him, with that beautiful light in her eyes...

“You can have something, something to keep you company. A blanket perhaps, something to hold onto.”

“One of my dolls?” she said.

“Sure darlin’,” he said. “You can have one of your dolls.”

“Miss Edith,” Drusilla said. “She’s always whispering to me from the shelf but sometimes I can’t hear what she’s saying because she’s too far away.”

“All right Dru,” he said, and smiled. “You and Miss Edith can have a right good time together from now on.”

Darla had allowed Mr. Morgan to bathe and dress in his finest clothes, and eat, and even have a cigar. He sat in one of the overstuffed leather armchairs in his study now, still squinting a little even though the study was dim. He wasn’t tied up at the moment, but Darla knew he was too terrified to try to escape, not that it would have done a lick of good if he did try.

Angelus sat across from him, in the other armchair. He smoked a cigar too. He didn’t breathe, but he liked cigars; he liked how they tasted. He knew Darla liked them too, but cigar-smoking among women was unheard of in London and Darla was being a proper lady for the moment. She was sticking to his plan perfectly, making sacrifices for him. For a moment he nearly felt guilty about his plan, about the secret part of it he hadn’t told her: the endgame he foresaw. Of course, that endgame was only one of many possible outcomes and much of it depended upon Drusilla. There were risks...but he liked risks.

He smiled, and smoked his cigar, and watched Mr. Morgan. He noted with amusement that Morgan seemed even more afraid of Darla than of him. Angelus had gone through the motions when he beat Morgan; he liked torturing women but he found torturing men to be rather boring. But Darla liked torturing men and she especially liked torturing Mr. Morgan; she beat him with relish every day, remarking once to Angelus that Morgan reminded her of the johns she used to sleep with when she was a whore. She said that Morgan looked at her like she was beneath him. Angelus almost felt sorry for him after that.

Mr. Morgan was a slave, and he knew it: Darla had beaten him, and taken his blood, and broken him, and now he sat in his study, and held a cigar in his shaking hand, and looked down at the floor, because the candle was too bright; and he waited to play his part in Angelus’ plan.

Mr. Morgan didn’t like the idea of denouncing his daughter at first; although he was mortally afraid of the beatings now and Angelus knew he would do whatever he was told in order to avoid another one, Angelus could see that Morgan still didn’t like it. And that wouldn’t do; Mr. Morgan needed to mean what he said, when he played his part. Drusilla needed to believe it.

So Angelus had lied to Mr. Morgan, and told him he’d let him keep Cassandra and Veronica and his wife if he agreed to give Drusilla away; if he agreed to disown her, and call her the Devil’s spawn, and tell her that he hated her and that he had never loved her, not even when she was little, and, most importantly, tell her also that Angelus was her father now. Angelus told Mr. Morgan that he and Darla were the Devil’s messengers, and that the priest had been right: that Drusilla was evil, a Hell-born thing. Mr. Morgan, addled by pain and weak from blood loss and lack of food and sick from sixteen days of lying naked in the cold, damp attic, had believed everything he said. Angelus saw it in his eyes. Morgan had cried a little, too. And Angelus had allowed it: he gave him that moment, and didn’t beat him again, nor did he allow Darla to beat him. Angelus knew those tears were the last link between Mr. Morgan and Drusilla; when they had run dry, the link would finally be severed.

Now Morgan was done crying, and they sat together, smoking cigars.

Angelus had decided to give Mr. Morgan one last moment as a man before he was disposed of. Being beaten by a woman for sixteen straight days would be hard on any man. There was something perverse about it, Angelus thought; it just didn’t seem right. Though he didn’t tell Darla that.

So he gave Morgan this last moment, as a man, while Darla watched and smiled, and Drusilla lay in her closet, whispering to her doll, and waiting.

“Don’t be soft with her, Arthur,” Angelus said. “Dismiss her from your house, from your family, and be firm. You can beat her if you want. When we’re done here I’ll take Dru from you and then Darla and Dru and I will be gone and you’ll be reunited with your family. Eventually this will all seem like a bad dream.”

Morgan nodded, without looking at him. Darla sat down on the arm of Morgan’s chair, and smiled, her blue eyes catching the candlelight and looking beautiful in the darkness; for a moment Angelus thought it made them look as if there was something in them. But he knew there wasn’t. He wanted to be back with Drusilla.

“Arthur’s an honorable man, Angelus, a man of his word,” Darla said. “He’ll do what we agreed.”

She touched Morgan’s hand. His hand shook, much worse than before.

“Won’t you, Arthur?” she whispered in his ear.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Time to fetch Dru,” Angelus said, and stood up.

“I’ll keep this big, strapping man company until you get back,” Darla said, and smiled up at Angelus, and held Morgan’s hand.

When Angelus returned to Drusilla’s room, Drusilla was arguing with her doll about him.

“He’s not,” Angelus heard Drusilla whispering, in the closet. “He’s not handsome. He’s not nice. He wants to hurt us.”

Silence.

“No, I think you fancy him, Miss Edith. I, for my part, find him very rude.”

Silence.

“I did no such thing. I’m a good girl. I would never do such a thing. Good girls don’t do things like that.”

Silence.

“I didn’t like it.”

Silence.

“That’s a horrible thing to say. You’re a horrible dolly. I hate you.”

“Dru,” Angelus whispered, to the door.

“It’s him,” Drusilla whispered. “Be quiet, Miss Edith, he’ll hear you.”

There was a word: sometimes Drusilla forgot it for awhile but she knew she could always go back to it, because she kept it hidden in a little box inside her mind. The box was a pretty little silver jewelry box lined with red velvet inside, and it had a lock on the outside. Even the whispering voices didn’t know about the word, because only Drusilla had the key to the box. Even Miss Edith didn’t know about the word. The word was just for Drusilla, and even though she forgot it sometimes, with all the whispers all about her, she knew she could always go back to the little box, and the word would be there waiting for her.

Revolver.

“Dru,” Angelus said. “It’s time to see Mr. Morgan now.”

“All right,” Drusilla said, to the darkness.

“I’m your Daddy now, Dru,” Angelus said. “You need to admit it, and start saying it from now on. All right?”

Silence.

“Dru?” Angelus said.

“All right, Daddy,” Drusilla said.

When Angelus brought Drusilla down to the study, Darla was still sitting on the arm of Mr. Morgan’s chair, smiling. Mr. Morgan wasn’t smiling. He looked scared; his face was pale and drawn. Angelus thought Darla had probably hurt him again. But once Morgan’s eyes lit on Drusilla, the fear was gone; in its place Angelus saw indignation...he saw rage. But he saw resolve too, and control. Morgan knew he had a script to stick to and he seemed determined to get it right.

“Hello, Dru dear,” Darla said.

“Hello, mother,” Drusilla said.

Darla smiled, and walked over to her, and hugged her. Drusilla hugged her back. She didn’t look at her father...hadn’t even glanced at him once yet.

“I’m going to make you a wonderful dessert to go with your dinner tonight,” Darla said, and kissed her cheek. “Because you’re such a love.”

“Thank you, mother,” Drusilla said.

“How about a pound cake?” Darla said. “Cassie likes them, and I’ve found some delightful pound cake recipes. Would you like that, dear?”

Drusilla nodded, and smiled, and leaned close to Darla, and didn’t look at her father.

Darla looked up at Angelus. She knew Angelus had fucked Drusilla today; she saw it in his eyes, and in Drusilla’s too. She wasn’t sure she liked the fact that he’d fucked Drusilla, or that he’d most certainly be fucking her every day from now on. She’d known it would happen eventually, but now that it was here she felt strange...as if she had lost something. She resolved to forget the feeling; it made her uncomfortable. And she had to admit she was impressed: Darla wasn’t sure Dru was quite broken yet but she seemed well on her way. There was still something in Drusilla’s eyes, though...Darla thought Drusilla was scheming. But she wasn’t actively resisting them anymore; instead Darla thought Dru was hiding now, being stealthy and secret, and very quiet...

“Pound cake?” Angelus said, and grinned. His dark eyes looked amused.

“I’ll have you know I make wonderful pound cake, Angelus,” Darla said. “It’s simply scrumptious.”

“’Course it’s scrumptious. Hell, there’s not a doubt in my mind, darlin’.”

“I see that insolent gleam in your eyes.”

“Insolent. That’s me. I’m the very word.”

Drusilla was still holding onto Darla, and Darla was stroking her hair. Drusilla still hadn’t glanced at her father.

“Be careful Angelus, or there won’t be any cake for you,” Darla said.

“Guess I better be on my best behavior,” Angelus said. He gently took Drusilla’s arm, and turned her toward him.

“Daddy?” Drusilla whispered.

“Dru, Mr. Morgan wants to talk to you,” Angelus said.

Drusilla nodded, but she still didn’t look at her father. Angelus turned her toward him.

Drusilla stood between Angelus and Darla, looking down at the floor.

“Go ahead, Arthur,” Darla said. “Tell us why you wanted to see Drusilla today. We’re all very curious.”

“Drusilla,” Mr. Morgan said. “I’m talking to you. Look at me.”

His voice was soft, but it became louder as he talked, and his anger lent it strength.

Drusilla looked up at him, met his eyes.

“Come here, girl,” he said.

Drusilla didn’t move.

“Go ahead, Dru,” Angelus said. “We’ll be right here.”

Drusilla shuffled a few steps forward, and stood in front of her father, looking down at the floor, as the whispering voices floated around her, and called her terrible names. She wondered why no one else could hear them. There were so many of them now and they were all so loud...

She wanted Miss Edith. Miss Edith always comforted her but she had left her in the closet.

She tried to remember her word; she couldn’t now. She couldn’t concentrate with all the whispers. But she knew the word would be waiting for her in the little box.

“All your life, you’ve been a disappointment to me,” Morgan said. “The day you were born, I knew you would turn out this way. I knew you were an evil, ugly thing.”

She looked up at him. The whispers were suddenly gone.

No, not gone, she realized: they were still there, the horrible creatures who always whispered to her; they were still all around her, floating through the air. She could see them now, sometimes...they always smiled like wolves.

But they were silent for the moment. They wanted her to hear this. Because this would be worse than anything they could ever whisper to her...

A tear rolled down Drusilla’s cheek.

“All your life, I hated you,” Morgan said. “I tried to keep you away from your sisters, tried to keep you from tainting them with your evil. Veronica knew. She knew what you were...”

Drusilla glanced around the room. The room was spotless; he never let anyone in here. She saw the Bible resting on its pedestal. She used to sneak in sometimes, and read it...she had her own Bible in her desk, but she liked his; it was beautiful. Soft, sumptuous old leather, with pages gilt in gold...

He caught her sneaking in there once, when she was fourteen, and beat her. She tried to tell him she only wanted to read his Bible but he didn’t believe her. He actually laughed when she said it: he laughed and asked her what she could possibly want with a Bible.

She never read his Bible again after that. She never read hers again, either.

Drusilla felt Angelus behind her. She felt his eyes on her. For a moment she felt like she was in a play...giving a performance. Or perhaps her father was giving the performance?

She didn’t like that room. The books on the shelves, perfectly arranged, the smell of his cigars...she wanted to be back with Miss Edith.

“But Cassandra fell under your spell,” Morgan said. “Thankfully I’ve managed to save her.”

She looked at him again.

“What...what do you mean?” she said.

“I never loved you, Drusilla,” Morgan said, blowing out that awful cigar smoke; Drusilla waved it away from her face. “I always wanted to get rid of you, because I knew you were an abomination. The priest said so too. Your monstrous visions are the Devil’s work. Those two fiends behind you are proof.”

Angelus chuckled. He had to give Morgan credit for that; the old man had some steel left in him after all. Angelus glanced at Darla. She was frowning.

Good for you, Arthur, Angelus thought. Let’s show these damned women who’s boss.

“I’m giving you away, Drusilla,” Morgan said. “Mr. Angelus over there, he’s your father; he’s the one you belong with. You don’t belong with a God-fearing family like ours; you’re a fiend and you belong with fiends. You’re a devil. And some day the Lord will send you to Hell. Until that day you can go with Mr. Angelus and be damned and I’ll be well rid of you.”

Drusilla started to cry.

“I didn’t...I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I tried. I tried so hard.”

“Get out of my sight,” Morgan said.

Drusilla stood before her father, looking down at the floor again now, and weeping.

“Angelus,” Darla whispered, and took his arm. “She’s had enough. Stop this.”

Angelus ignored her. Drusilla held her head in her hands, and wept.

“Get out!” Morgan suddenly shouted, jumping up out of his chair at Drusilla. “Get out! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

Angelus smiled. It was all going perfectly...

Drusilla looked up at her father, and wiped her tears away.

“Not without Cassie,” Drusilla said.

Morgan backhanded Drusilla across the face. She stumbled backwards and fell to the floor, and started wailing.

Darla tried to go to Drusilla. Angelus grabbed her arm and held her back.

“Don’t you dare even mention her name,” Morgan said, pointing down at Drusilla, his face red, his hand shaking. “Don’t you ever mention any of our names again! You’ll not sully Cassandra with your presence, you fiend, you devil, you scum! Do you hear me? You’ll never see her again!

“NO!” Drusilla screamed, and lunged at him, scratching at his face. He fell backwards, onto his chair.

Angelus chuckled again. This was perfect. This was the most fun he’d had in years...

“You won’t take her! I won’t let you have her! I WON’T! I WON’T! I WON’T!” Drusilla screamed, still scratching at his face, digging deep and drawing blood, as he tried to fend her off.

“Enough!” Morgan screamed, and grabbed Drusilla by the throat, and throttled her.

“Stop this!” Darla hissed to Angelus.

“Not quite yet, darlin’,” Angelus whispered. He didn’t think Morgan would kill Drusilla, that wasn’t the deal...

Angelus held Darla’s arm, held her in place.

Morgan was still throttling Drusilla. He had both of his hands about her throat. Her face was red, she couldn’t breathe...

Angelus watched carefully. In a few more seconds, he would have to intervene...

Morgan hurled Drusilla away from him. She went flying, bounced off one of the bookcases, and fell to the floor, crying hysterically.

“A whipping, is that what you want, whore?!” Morgan growled, and took off his belt, and stalked toward Drusilla, holding one hand against the scratch wounds on his face. “Shall I whip the evil out of you?!”

Drusilla screamed, and tried to cover up, as Morgan began whipping her with his belt...

It was perfect, Angelus thought; he couldn’t believe his luck. The whipping was the perfect stroke of serendipity.

But that feeling came back to him, when he saw Drusilla being whipped... the feeling he didn’t understand, the one he found annoying.

Drusilla was screaming...

Darla wrenched herself free of Angelus, and ran to her.

“Get away from her!” Darla screamed, and tore the belt out of Morgan’s hand, and grabbed him by the throat. “GET AWAY FROM HER!”

She could ruin it all, Angelus thought. He couldn’t let her kill Morgan now, not this way. It wasn’t the plan...

“Darla,” Angelus said.

Darla had Morgan by the throat; she was holding him suspended in the air with one hand. He was choking to death.

“You bastard I should kill you,” Darla snarled at Morgan. “BASTARD!”

“Darla!” Angelus hissed.

She turned to him. For the first time since he’d known her, he saw something in her eyes.

Tears.

“You want him?!” she snarled. “HAVE HIM!”

She flung Morgan away from her. Morgan sailed across the room and crashed into Angelus, knocking them both to the floor.

Darla looked down at Drusilla, crying on the floor.

She felt something...a strange feeling. She didn’t know what it was...she didn’t have words for it.

Darla knelt beside Drusilla, and put her arms around her.

“I’m here, Dru,” Darla whispered. “I won’t let him hurt you again.”

Drusilla threw her arms around Darla, and held her as tight as she could, as Darla brought her to her bosom, and rocked her, as she screamed, and cried.

Angelus flung Morgan away, dusted himself off, and stood up. Morgan was crying now too.

Angelus looked down at Darla, holding Drusilla in her arms.

Darla looked back up at Angelus, with tears in her eyes.

“Are you satisfied, Angelus?” Darla said. “You win again.”

She looked back down at Drusilla, and smoothed the hair out of her eyes, and wiped her tears away.

“You always win,” Darla said.

That night, Angelus stood with Drusilla, in the front yard.

Mr. Morgan was tied to a tree, and gagged.

Angelus had a bullwhip in his hand. Drusilla had Miss Edith. Miss Edith was a pretty porcelain doll, about two feet long, with long, blonde hair in curls, a red evening gown, big, blue eyes, and a somewhat mischievous smile.

Drusilla was looking down at Miss Edith, and smiling; sometimes she shook her head at the doll, and sometimes she nodded.

Darla wasn’t with them. Angelus knew he would have to have a talk with her. The incident with Mr. Morgan had touched something in Darla, and she had nearly ruined his plan because of it. He’d sent her away after that, and he had to actually tear Drusilla away from Darla when he did. He’d put Drusilla back in the closet for a couple of hours, with her doll, until she calmed down. Angelus wanted her level-headed when she watched her father being killed. Darla went to Cassie’s room, and they played checkers. Darla was still with Cassie now.

“This man tried to hurt you, Dru,” Angelus said. “He hurt Cassie too. He’s not your father. He never was.”

“We won’t let him take Cassie away from us,” Drusilla said. “Miss Edith and I have decided.”

“No, he won’t take Cassie,” Angelus said, and touched Drusilla’s cheek. “No one will ever break up our family.”

“He never hung up any of Cassie’s paintings,” Drusilla said. “And his cigars always made Miss Edith cough. I think Miss Edith hates him.”

Drusilla wasn’t looking at Angelus, or her father. She was looking down at her doll, as she had been since Angelus had brought her out there.

“He whipped you,” Angelus said.

Drusilla looked down at Miss Edith. Angelus took her chin in his hand, and raised her eyes to his, and held them in his.

“He whipped you,” Angelus said. “He said terrible things. He called you terrible names. He doesn’t care for you. But Darla and I do, and so does Cassie. ”

“We’re a family,” Drusilla said, and smiled.

She wasn’t broken yet. Angelus knew he’d made progress with her, but he still saw something there, in her eyes...a spark of resistance. She was still fighting him. Only in small, secret ways...but he knew she was scheming.

“I think Mr. Morgan deserves a whipping, don’t you?” Angelus said.

“As you say, Daddy,” Drusilla said.

Angelus began whipping Mr. Morgan. Morgan screamed into his gag. Drusilla watched, without expression.

Morgan began bleeding immediately; the whip shredded his clothes and his blood flowed freely. Whipping was a slow death; it was painful, and death came from blood loss. Morgan was unconscious after a little while; Angelus kept on whipping him, long after that. The night was quiet, and warm, and still. The gardens smelled wonderful. The harsh crack of the whip, echoing through the darkness and seeming to go on forever, was the only thing that broke the silence.

After about twenty minutes, Angelus gave the whip to Drusilla, and made her whip Mr. Morgan too. She cried a little, as she did, and she screamed, and she smiled, all at the same time.

It took awhile for Mr. Morgan to die. By the time he did, he didn’t look like a person anymore. He looked like a hunk of bloody meat.

Angelus left the body tied to the tree. Later, before Darla took Dru and Cassie to walk Olivia on her leash, he’d remove the body and dump it in the horse stable. For now, he liked the way it looked; a pale, cold, fleshy thing, tied to a tree, dressed in hanging rags, standing in a pool of blood. He thought the sight was strangely beautiful.

He took Drusilla’s hand, and walked with her to the house. She whispered to her doll, and held it tight.

She didn’t once look back.

Drusilla dropped the jasmine flower to the ground, and stepped on it, crushing it beneath her heel.

“You always send the voices away, Daddy,” she said. “You send them away, because I’m your daughter. You send them away, because you love me.”

She pirouetted back to him, and stood in front of him, smiling her little girl’s smile again. A thin shaft of moonlight fell upon her then, and she was cold and beautiful in that light, like a statue made of ice.

“Dru...I’m not...the same as I was before,” Angel said.

“You love me,” Drusilla said. “You always did. You loved me even before...even before we played all your wicked games. That night when we were heading to the opera, when my carriage passed you, and you caught my eyes, you thought you had me trapped. But you were wrong, Daddy. I trapped you. I trapped you in my eyes, and held you there, and I never once let you escape. Even now, you’re still in my eyes. You’re still in me. And you always will be.”

“I have my soul again, Dru,” Angel said. “I’m not like that anymore...I’m not the same person anymore.”

Drusilla laughed again, and looked up at the sky.

“Can’t I smell it on you?” she said. “Poor Daddy. Poor sad, naughty Daddy. Saddled with that horrible burden for so long, because of those nasty gypsies. Forced to scamper about, creeping and crawling like a bug, filthy, living in alleys, covered in shame, eating rats, dining on ashes. All those years. Wearing that filthy soul like a funeral shroud. Hiding, always hiding, hiding from the sun, hiding from all your days, from all the things you did, from all those sad faces. Hiding from me. The worst thing you did. Me.”

She turned back to him, and moved close to him. Her hair smelled like roses. But her breath smelled like blood.

“And all the while, every day, every moment, you were burning,” Drusilla whispered. “That filthy thing inside you, it burns you, Daddy...I can see it, burning you away. Inch by inch, moment by moment, you’re turning to dust.”

“Dru...” he whispered.

“Lie to me, Daddy,” Drusilla whispered back. “Tell me that dirty cast-off soul doesn’t burn you. Tell me you wouldn’t give anything...anyone...to be free of it again. You were free for awhile...and didn’t we enjoy ourselves? Didn’t we play some perfectly horrible games? Didn’t we love? You brought me a beating heart for Valentine’s day. You were so thoughtful...you knew just what a girl wants... how to make a girl feel. You always did. You still do. And you’re burning. Not just because of that soul. You’re burning for me.”

She smiled up at him, and held him in her eyes...

And he knew she was right. He hadn’t trapped her. He hadn’t ever trapped her. She had trapped him. From the moment he first laid eyes on her, more than a century ago, she’d trapped him, and held him...

“Lie to me,” she whispered. “Tell me you’re happy. Tell me you’re a good dog, happy on your leash. Woof.”

He didn’t say anything. He looked down at his blackbird, and wanted more than anything else at that moment to be running free with her again...to have a family again...to put down his burdens...to forget all the faces.

“That soul burns you but it doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re still my Daddy. You’re still my love. Don’t you see? Spike left me because I’m not meant to be with him. Buffy left you because you’re not meant to be with her.”

“How...did you know...she left?” Angel whispered.

“I saw,” Drusilla said. “I always see. I saw the Slayer, with that other one...that new Slayer...Faith. Buffy’s true love, the one she was always meant to be with...the love of her life.”

Angel turned away from her. He looked around the courtyard...he looked at the life he had tried to build.

“Oh, such a sad Daddy. You thought you let her go, but she was already gone, wasn’t she?” Drusilla said. “Gone, gone, flew away...flew into another’s arms. Fate plays tricks.”

Everywhere he looked, he saw jasmine flowers.

“You know my visions always come true, Daddy,” Drusilla said.

They were beautiful flowers. They were strong, and just a bit reckless...

“Fate plays nasty games,” Drusilla said. “Almost as nasty as yours.”

Once, he thought they smelled almost too sweet...and then he came to Sunnydale, and fell in love...and knew that he wanted the scent of his love around him, all the time. He never wanted to be away from her scent...

“Darla thought you were hers,” Drusilla said. “She thought she was your true love. But fate tricked her too.”

He knew all he had left of Buffy was her scent now. Jasmine.

“But she played her part in your life, Daddy,” Drusilla said. “She played her part in fate’s game. She brought you to me. Where you belong.”

He smelled Drusilla, close behind him. She smelled like blood and roses.

Red, Angel thought. Red was always Drusilla’s color.

“But we can play our own games,” Drusilla said. “It took us more than a century, but we solved the puzzle. We made it through the maze. We found the ones we were meant to be with...we found each other.”

Angel remembered how sweet human blood tasted...how sweet Leah Maguire tasted. How sweet Drusilla tasted, the night he took her, and turned her.

“I have a soul now, Dru,” Angel said. He still had his back to her. He couldn’t let her see his eyes. Couldn’t let her see...that he knew she was right.

Drusilla smiled.

“It doesn’t matter,” Drusilla said. “Buffy doesn’t matter, and that soul doesn’t matter. You’re still a bad dog, deep down inside. A wolf. And the wolf is more powerful than that puny soul that’s polluting you. Your darkness is stronger than its feeble light. The wolf can devour that light, if you’ll just let him off his leash.”

She moved beside him, and put her mouth to his ear.

“You belong to the Devil, you always have,” she whispered.

Darla sat with Cassie in front of the mirror in Cassie’s bedroom, and brushed her hair. They’d been together sixteen days now and Cassie wasn’t afraid of her anymore; Darla had been steadily chipping away at her, and like a skittish fawn, Cassie had gradually become less nervous around her, had gradually become used to her, until finally they could sit like this, and talk, and laugh, and Cassie liked her company now. When the crack of the whip had echoed through the yard, Darla hadn’t allowed Cassie to look out the window to see what the noise was. She knew Cassie was a sensitive girl, and it would upset her. Instead, she sat her in front of the mirror, and brushed her hair while Angelus whipped her father to death. Cassie didn’t even seem to mind anymore that Darla cast no reflection; it had made her nervous at first, but she had become used to it.

Darla always smiled, whenever she talked to Cassie. She always made sure there was something gentle in her eyes, when she looked at her. She spoke softly to her, never once raising her voice, never allowing even a trace of impatience into her tone. Her hands were soft, when she touched Cassie, and Cassie didn’t flinch at her touch anymore, when Darla did her hair, or caressed her cheek. Darla called Cassie her daughter, and told her she would always take care of her, and never let anyone hurt her.

Darla told herself she was just following Angelus’ plan, at first; but it was a lie and the lie grew wearying after awhile. Darla had decided, sometime over the past two weeks of playing checkers with Cassie and watching Cassie paint and doing Cassie’s hair and cooking her meals and talking to her about the wide world outside her window, that she would just have to accept that there had been an empty place inside her, a place she hadn’t even noticed, until she’d met this girl. Darla had decided to accept the fact that she wanted a daughter...she had wanted a husband, and she had found Angelus. Now she wanted a daughter too, and she had found Cassie.

Cassie had a bandage on her neck; Darla had been taking some of her blood every day. She’d told Cassie that it was just a special kiss, a kiss goodnight before bedtime, and though it would hurt the first couple of times, eventually it wouldn’t hurt, and she would come to like it, and want it. Darla was smart and she had been around a long time and learned a lot of things: she knew that sometimes it was in a vampire’s best interest to be inconspicuous, especially if said vampire wanted to enjoy a nice relaxing vacation in Barcelona or Venice or Shanghai. Leaving a string of corpses in one’s wake tended to attract attention, and it could all become a dreadful nuisance when she was trying to unwind and enjoy herself. So Darla had thralls; she had dozens of them throughout the world.

She’d hunt someone she took a particular fancy to, and she’d drain them, but not fully; she wouldn’t kill them. But she’d make sure they understood that she could have killed them, and that they were alive now at her whim. As long as they let her take some of their blood, whenever she wanted, they would be allowed to live. And it would be a good arrangement for them, too; she promised them they would come to like it in time, and they always did. Some humans could very quickly become addicted to having their blood taken, Darla had found, and she had become quite adept at recognizing which humans were most susceptible. Of those, she chose only the most beautiful and the most interesting, and over time, they fell in love with her. She allowed that, as long as they didn’t become too bothersome about it; she allowed them to think of her as a lover, or a mother, as the case may be. Sometimes she even fucked them: her male thralls were handsome men, it was one of her criteria for choosing them. The sex didn’t mean anything to her; it was a pleasant diversion for an hour or so. But it meant something to them. To them it was a spiritual experience. They loved her.

And their love was useful; sometimes Darla and Angelus had needed a place to stay in emergencies, or some extra money or new clothes, or some consideration from the local authorities, and these thralls who worshipped her were willing to give, and do, anything for her, just to be near her. There had been a time when a particularly persistent vampire hunter named Holtz had tracked her and Angelus throughout Europe, relentlessly following their trail with a veritable platoon of armed soldiers at his side; that was more than fifty years ago now, and he had eventually given up the chase, but he had nearly managed to capture them both, on several occasions. Darla’s network of thralls kept her and Angelus one step ahead of the hunters during those hard decades; the thralls provided money and clothes and shelter, and, most importantly, food, when she and Angelus desperately needed it. Holtz was gone now, but Darla still remembered those difficult days. Now that she had money and the finer things in life again, she rewarded her thralls for their aid and their devotion. Some of her thralls now were the children and grandchildren of the thralls before them; whole families were devoted to her. She visited them, when she was in the neighborhood, and brought them gifts; they loved her, and gave her their blood.

Darla wanted Cassie to love her too. She wanted Cassie to think of her as her mother. So she took Cassie’s blood, and as she predicted, it had brought them closer together. Taking someone’s blood repeatedly also made them extremely susceptible to suggestion too, which was helpful, with Cassie. Whenever Cassie thought about things Darla didn’t want her thinking about, Darla could look in her eyes, and make her forget them for days at a time with a few well-chosen words.

Cassie had been very afraid, that first time Darla took her blood; she was shaking a little, as Darla came to her in her bed, and laid down beside her, and took her hand, and told her to close her eyes. Darla bit into her neck, as gently as she could; her teeth were razor sharp and the sting was less than it might have been but she knew it would still hurt the girl. Cassie had whimpered, and cried, and shuddered, and held on tight to Darla’s hand, as Darla took her blood, careful not to take too much; it tasted very sweet. Darla bandaged the wound when she was done, and then she tucked Cassie in, and told her to sleep.

The second night Darla took Cassie’s blood, Cassie said it hurt less; the third night, Cassie said it didn’t hurt at all. By the fifth night, she had begun to enjoy it; she moaned.

On the ninth night, when Darla had finished draining Cassie, and told her to sleep, and got up out of the bed, Cassie pulled her back toward her, and asked her to stay. They slept in the same bed that night, and Cassie rested her head against Darla’s bosom. There was nothing sexual about it; Darla didn’t like girls, and as for Cassie, she’d had no experience with girls or boys and as far as Darla could tell she didn’t seem to know what she liked. She held on to Darla under the covers after Darla drained her, and drifted off to sleep in her arms. They slept together that way every night now.

Today, while they played checkers and ate muffins, Cassie had asked if Darla could take her blood more than once a day, but Darla had refused; it would be too much. She told Cassie she would just have to be a good, patient girl, and wait. Darla knew Cassie was addicted now. She had seen it in her from the moment she first met her; she knew Cassie would be particularly susceptible to it. It was the perfect stroke of good fortune...

Darla finished brushing Cassie’s hair, and put it up in a chignon bun the way she liked it, and smiled.

“There,” Darla said. “My daughter’s pretty as a picture.”

“Are you making that pound cake I like tonight?” Cassie said.

“Well that depends,” Darla said. “Have you been a good girl?”

“I’ve been a perfectly wonderful girl, mother,” Cassie said, and grinned. “I even let you beat me at draughts today.”

Darla laughed.

“Yes, dear, I’m sure you did,” Darla said. “I suppose I’d better get cracking on that pound cake then.”

Darla had found to her surprise that she liked cooking; or rather, she liked having someone to cook for. The food seemed tasteless to Darla, but she knew Cassie liked it, and they ate together. They took all their meals together in the dining room now, talking long into the night about all the exotic places Darla had seen, the places she planned to show Cassie someday. Cassie was still afraid of Angelus, her hands beginning to shake whenever he was near; Darla had eventually told Angelus he would have to stay away from Cassie, and he had assented. He was thinking about Drusilla, and there was no room for anyone else at the moment anyway. But starting tonight, they would all be eating together; not only would Angelus be joining them for dinners from now on but Drusilla would too. Cassie was afraid of Angelus but she loved Drusilla and missed her terribly, and Darla thought she’d be able to put aside her fear of Angelus if Drusilla was with him. Cassie had asked about Drusilla every day; eventually Angelus had sped up his timetable for Drusilla, at Darla’s insistence, because Cassie missed her so. The original plan had been to keep Drusilla isolated for at least six weeks before allowing her to see her sister, but Angelus had grudgingly assented to allowing Dru to join Cassie for a meal every night, on the condition that she also walked Olivia with her.

“Are you excited to see Drusilla tonight?” Darla said, as they sat in front of the mirror together, and only Cassie looked back at them.

Cassie nodded, and smiled.

“She’ll be joining us for dinners from now on?” Cassie said. “Dru will be with us every night for dinner?”

“Yes, and when we walk the dog after dinner too,” Darla said.

Cassie’s smile disappeared. Darla stroked her cheek.

“Walking the dog still makes you sad sometimes, doesn’t it?” Darla said.

Cassie nodded.

“The dog needs to be walked,” Darla said. “She needs to relieve herself. If we kept her locked up in here all day, she’d relieve herself on the floor. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Cassie shook her head.

“It’ll get better, Cassie,” Darla said. “And Dru will be with us on our walks from now on; she always makes you smile.”

Cassie nodded.

“And I know how to get a smile out of you myself,” Darla said, and touched Cassie’s waist. “I know a certain girl is very ticklish in a certain place. If I can’t get a smile I may have to resort to drastic measures.”

Cassie grinned. “I have a theory that you’re ticklish too, Darla,” she said. “I just haven’t found the spot yet.”

“You can keep trying, but I keep telling you, I’m impervious to your efforts.”

Darla walked Olivia twice a day, in the morning a little before sunrise and at night after the sun went down, and she had Cassie join her on the walks at night. The first night they’d walked Olivia across the grounds, Cassie couldn’t look at her or at Darla; she looked at the grass, and the flowers, and the stars, and she cried, and Darla didn’t make her hold Olivia’s leash. But the second night they walked Olivia, Darla gave Cassie the leash, and although Cassie cried again, she held it, and walked Olivia, while Darla walked beside her, and held her hand.

Slowly but surely, Darla was separating Cassie from Olivia...she intended to destroy Olivia in Cassie’s thoughts, reduce her to an animal, a thing to be pitied and laughed at. And after Cassie had finally abandoned Olivia, finally stopped thinking of her as her mother, Darla would dispose of Olivia, and turn Cassie when she was ready, and then they would be happy together.

Darla was going to show Cassie the world. Cassie would paint landscapes in Shanghai, she would paint portraits in Vienna...

Darla wondered what Cassie would be like after she turned her; she thought it would be a tragedy if Cassie lost that bright, beautiful, fragile thing inside her.

The dog-walking sessions were important, perhaps the most important part of Darla’s plans for Cassie, and she couldn’t allow Olivia to interfere. So she’d had a good long talk with Olivia the first night Cassie was to come along, as she put the leash around Olivia’s neck; Darla told Olivia in no uncertain terms exactly how she expected her to behave on their walks with Cassie, and she told her exactly what she would do to her and her entire family if she didn’t behave, and then she spent a full hour demonstrating that she meant what she said. Darla had lived a long time and had learned a lot about hurting people over the centuries; she knew how to inflict pain without leaving any visible wounds. By the time Darla was done hurting her Olivia would have done anything to make the pain stop; Darla was certain Olivia would have disowned Drusilla like Angelus wanted right then and there, but Angelus had said it wasn’t time for that yet. When Angelus came up with a new scheme, everything had to be just so.

Darla told Olivia that she expected her to piss and shit the way a dog does, by a tree in the yard. Olivia had been losing a lot of weight; she’d been tied to the bed ever since that first night Darla and Angelus had arrived and she hadn’t been given anything other than water for the first couple of days. But once Darla had decided she wanted Cassie she began feeding Olivia to make sure she’d be able to shit on their walks; it was very important to Darla that Cassie see her mother defecating on the ground like a dog.

That first night that Cassie came along went perfectly. Darla had been taking Cassie’s blood for a week by then and Cassie was becoming addicted; it made her calmer, less excitable. Olivia crawled dutifully around the yard, naked on her leash, and she was careful, as Darla had instructed her, not to look at Cassie even once. She sniffed at things, like a dog, the way Darla had told her to. When Darla stopped at a tree in the yard, and gave Olivia a little nudge with her foot, Olivia pissed and shit by the tree, looking down at the ground.

Cassie couldn’t look. She held her head in her hands, and covered her eyes, and cried. Darla hugged her.

The second night, Darla had Olivia fetch a stick. She took Olivia off her leash to do it, but it wasn’t a risk; Olivia had been down on all fours for so long Darla thought she’d have trouble standing, and even if she did manage to stand Darla could run the woman down with ease. And Olivia always did whatever she and Angelus told her to, because Olivia knew her family were hostages...

Olivia didn’t know Veronica and her husband were dead. She never asked about her family, because Angelus had warned her never to talk without being spoken to. Olivia’s eyes told Darla she still had some hope left, hope of surviving this ordeal with her daughters alive, and Darla knew Angelus needed that hope to remain, for a little while longer at least.

Now that he’d finished with Veronica, Darla knew it was just a matter of time before Angelus turned his attentions to Olivia. She was broken already, Darla knew Olivia would do anything Angelus said. But the walks on the leash with Cassie along were having exactly the effect Darla wanted, and she didn’t want Olivia dead just yet; she had told Angelus that she wanted Olivia alive for the time being, and he had assented.

“Are you looking forward to dinner with Dru tonight?” Darla said.

“Yes, mother, very much so,” Cassie said. “Will...will Angelus...I mean...father...be there too?”

Darla knew Cassie was still afraid of Angelus. It was one of the reasons they had decided to have dinners together as a family now; Cassie needed to become used to him. It would take her some time; she was a skittish girl. But Angelus had promised to be on his best behavior. And Darla thought perhaps she’d let Angelus take Cassie’s virginity, as long as he promised to be gentle with her. Darla knew Cassie was attracted to him even as she was frightened of him, and she also knew Angelus could be an angel when he wanted to; he could make girls fall in love with him, even without taking their blood. She wasn’t sure, though; part of her wanted to keep Cassie for herself. Angelus already had Dru.

And Darla was angry with Angelus; she was angry with him, for what he put Drusilla through with her father in the study.

It felt strange to Darla, being angry over that; but she was, and though she didn’t really understand why she should be, the fact remained.

“Yes, he will,” Darla said. “But I’m sure you’ll find that he can be wonderfully kind, if you’ll just give him a chance, Cassie. Will you give him a chance? Will you be nice to him? His feelings would be terribly hurt, if you were short-tempered with him. He’s really very sensitive.”

“I’ll be nice to him, mother,” Cassie said.

“Good,” Darla said, and kissed her cheek. “Now what say you help me get started on that pound cake?”

Dinner was perfect that night; it was even better than Darla could have hoped. They had a lovely six-course meal culminating in roast duck, which both Dru and Cassie complimented her on. Dru sat close to Angelus and seemed very comfortable with him, and she and Cassie were all laughs and giggles for the whole meal; they acted like they had never been separated. Cassie had been nervous around Angelus at first, but he had a way with girls, and he had charmed her, and smiled, and told his ridiculous old Irish jokes, and played the clown for her amusement, and held her in his eyes; within fifteen minutes she was practically eating out of his hand.

He gave Darla a look, after he’d been at the table with the girls for a few minutes, and he had managed to make Cassie laugh that first time; Darla knew Angelus backwards and forwards and she knew the look was an apology. He took her hand under the table, and they held hands for the rest of the meal.

After the meal Angelus insisted they have their cake in the parlor, and it turned out he had a surprise for them: when Darla and Dru and Cassie followed him into the parlor they saw one of Cassie’s paintings, a portrait of herself and Dru, hanging on the wall above the sofa, replacing the old family portrait that had hung there before. He’d hung it up while they were cooking. They sat on the couch together after that, eating pound cake and laughing, and Darla leaned her head on his shoulder.

Even Olivia’s walk afterwards went off without a hitch: Cassie was much calmer with Drusilla there, and for whatever reason, Drusilla wasn’t making a fuss. It was the first time Drusilla had seen her mother since she was put in the closet, but she hardly even bothered to look at her. Instead she looked at Cassie, and held Cassie’s hand as Cassie held her mother’s leash, and she held Angelus’ hand, too.

Olivia did what she was told; she knew if she didn’t she’d be killed. She thought her daughters would be killed too, because that’s what she had been threatened with, and that and the pain Darla inflicted upon her every day kept her compliant. Darla liked hurting Olivia. Olivia should have stood up to her husband, should have fought for Cassie and Dru, and she didn’t. Some days, when they were alone and Darla was torturing her, Darla came close to killing her. Every day now, she gave Olivia an hour of pain. It made Olivia a perfectly obedient dog.

“I think the dog would like to play a game,” Darla said, taking Olivia’s leash off as Olivia shit beside a tree. Olivia didn’t cry anymore on their walks; Cassie became disturbed when Olivia cried, so Darla had begun stressing, in her daily sessions with Olivia, the importance of not crying. Darla allowed Olivia to cry when they were alone together on their morning walks just before sunrise, but not on the evening walk with Cassie. “Who’d like to have the dog fetch a stick?”

Cassie looked down at the ground, and stopped smiling, the moment Darla said it; Darla knew Cassie hadn’t completely let go of her mother yet, and it would take time. But she was making progress; Cassie didn’t cry anymore, when Darla made Olivia fetch the stick. She became sullen, but she didn’t cry, and her mood always became bright again later, when Darla took her blood, and they went to sleep together.

Drusilla suddenly giggled.

“I want to see doggie fetch the stick,” Drusilla said, and picked up part of a tree branch from the ground, and whacked Olivia across the shoulders with it, hard. Olivia yelped, but she didn’t look up at Drusilla; Darla had warned her about making eye contact with her daughters.

“Go fetch, doggie!” Drusilla shouted, and giggled again, as she threw the branch across the yard. Olivia crawled toward it. She’d gotten used to moving on all fours now, and although she couldn’t move very quickly, she no longer collapsed when she did it. Her arms had become much stronger. Olivia made it all the way to the stick without resting on the way, and picked it up in her mouth.

Angelus watched Dru carefully while Olivia fetched the stick, and Darla kept her eye on Cassie.

“Oh, the doggie won’t bring the stick back,” Drusilla said, frowning suddenly, as Olivia took a moment to rest before coming back. “Doggie’s trying to keep the stick to herself. She’s a bad doggie.”

Angelus turned Drusilla toward him, and looked her in the eyes.

“You think she’s a bad doggie, darlin’?” he said.

“Doggies should know tricks,” Drusilla said. “She’s not doing it right.”

“What do you think we should do?” Angelus said. “How can we make her a good doggie?”

Darla noticed that Cassie was watching Drusilla very carefully now. Cassie had a nervous little half-smile on her face, and her eyes seemed very moist.

“We should punish her, Daddy,” Drusilla said. “Unless she brings that stick back right now we should give her a good smack on the nose.”

Angelus looked at her, held her in his eyes, tried to read what was there.

Then Drusilla did something she had never done before.

She broke his grip. She turned away from his gaze, before he released her.

At that moment, any random passerby could have knocked Angelus over with a feather.

“Dru?” Cassie said.

Drusilla looked at Cassie, and smiled, and held her in her eyes.

“We’re a family, red robin. This is our Daddy,” she said, and kissed Angelus’ cheek. “And this...”

Drusilla put her arms around Darla, and hugged her. Darla was taken by surprise at first, but she quickly hugged Drusilla back.

“This is our mother,” Drusilla said.

Drusilla held her hand out to Cassie. Cassie took Drusilla’s hand, and Drusilla brought her close, and Darla brought Cassie into their embrace too.

“We mustn’t get too attached to pets, Cassie,” Drusilla said, still smiling at her little sister. “They can be disobedient. They can be bad, and they can be a nuisance. Sometimes they do their duty in the house. Sometimes it’s better not to have a dog. Maybe we could get a cat instead.”

“Would you like that, Dru?” Angelus said, watching the three of them like a hawk. Darla looked back at him; he could tell she had no idea what game Drusilla was playing