It’s boiling hot and I’m bored. Some ugly vamp is rabbiting on about nothing.
‘…it’ll be the greatest event since the crucifixion. And I should know. I was there!’
I snort. Time to make my entrance I think. ‘You were there? Oh, please! If every vampire who said he was at the crucifixion was actually there it would have been like Woodstock.’
‘Precisely. And I happen to remember making you myself, Alberto, in 1537. April I believe. Who are you?’
Oh sod it. Sodding bloody bollocking hell: it’s the albino fruitbat.
‘Name’s William of Aurelius, Master.’
Why the bloody hell did nobody tell me that the fruitbat was master here?
‘Ah yes. I remember you.’
He does? Alright, I know I’m his grandchilde, or great great grandchilde, or whatever it is. I can never work that sort of stuff out. But there must be hundreds of us running around the planet by now. And I’ve only met him the once before, for about an hour, the majority of which he couldn’t even see my face on the grounds that he was pounding that sodding passenger-liner between his legs into my arse-hole. They do say that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but I was already dead, so I guess that’s why I’m not grateful.
‘I’m honoured, Master.’ I’m not, I’m trying to avoid a repeat performance.
‘Leave us.’ He gestures to the assembled minions and when they have scurried out he crooks a suggestive finger at me. Still out-oscaring Wilde I see.
I swagger forward with as much swag as I can muster, and do the down on one knee bit. But with an I’m-a-bloody-master-vampire-in-my-own-right-now-so-don’t-think-you-can-take-me-like-a-whimpering-fledge-this-time air. I hope.
‘How dare you come here!’
OK. Not so fruity.
‘Your blood is tainted. You should not presume to enter our doors.’
Tainted? What the bloody hell?
‘Master, I have fought and killed two slayers, I have raised dark powers to do my bidding, I have led minions of hell and many strong vampires to wreak havoc across the globe.’ And after sixteen pints and a curry I can sing Oh Little Town of Bethlehem to the tune of Memories, backwards. I’m a sodding master vampire, you ponce. ‘Whoever has slurred my name and therefore the bloodline it is part of, has lied.’ Yeh, the bloodline, that should get him. ‘And I will rip their hearts from their chests and eat them before their dying eyes.’
‘Still arrogant I see.’
Yeh. Whatever.
‘Your blood is tainted childe—’
I’m not a childe, I’m a master vampire, so don’t think you can get a rise out of me, you wanker,
‘—by the actions of your sire.’
What the hell? Angelus? I haven’t seen bloody Angelus in nearly a hundred years.
‘Master, the blood that made me was pure when I was made and still pure on the day you yourself accepted me into the order. I have done nothing to taint it since. My blood is true.’ Them’s the rules, you pillock, and since you probably made them up you can damn well stick to them.
‘Hmm. Perhaps. We shall see if you can prove it. Salicia!’
Oh now this is a bit of alright coming over. A pretty little red-head fledge with a sexy taste in outfits and one devil of a tilt when she walks. ‘Yes, Master?’ So you’re the purring favourite pussy of the moment are you?
‘We have a guest, my little willow-wand. One who wishes to see the puppy. Take him down and explain to him why the puppy is such a very bad dog.’
‘Hmm! Yes, Master. And then,’ she bats her eyelashes ever so prettily, ‘can I play?’
‘No, my sweet. Not this time. But you may watch while our guest does, if he wishes to play.’ And his tone tells me that I had better wish, if I want to keep my blood nice and squeaky-clean and inside my veins where it belongs.
‘I’m sure I will be able to think of something to keep her entertained, Master,’ I say. Might as well give the old bugger something to worry about whilst we’re gone.
The little red baggage takes me downstairs. It’s some sort of night-club, this lair the Master’s got himself set up in. With a wild taste in entertainment’s scattered about, that I intend to take a much closer look at, as soon as I get the chance. Though come to mention it, there is a brunette in the corner…
‘Drusilla.’ I asked you to wait in the car whilst I got everything sorted. ‘You shouldn’t be walking around. You’re weak.’ Are you OK, baby? You look like you’re about to collapse.
‘Look at all the people. Are these nice people?’
‘No.’
‘I’m cold.’
I quickly put my jacket around her. ‘I’ve got you.’
‘I’m a princess.’
‘That’s what you are.’ My bloody princess. And I make sure she knows it. ‘Me and Dru, we’re movin’ in,’ I say firmly. ‘And she needs to rest, so find someone to show her to our room, pet.’
The little red-head is eyeing my plum with far too much interest and I want them as far apart as possible. ‘Xander!’ she calls to another fledge. ‘Show the pretty lady to a guest room.’
Yeh, he’ll do, just a bog standard fledgling with too much attitude and the dress sense of a biker. Nothing to interest Dru there. But I give him a bit of a look, just to make sure he knows that this is a master’s woman he’s escorting and he’d better not get any funny ideas. The idiot looks all brash and unconcerned, but I can see he’s having second thoughts; and I’m not worried any more. So, after a bit of pouting from, and explaining to, Dru, I let my saucy red head lead me down to this famous puppy that I’ve got to look at for some reason.
It is far too hot in here.
Oh God, it’s him.
I know the second I walk through the door, just who is curled up in a ball on the far side of that cage.
Angelus. My Sire.
The Scourge of sodding Europe, chained up and screaming in silent agony from every pore of his being.
‘Hello, puppy.’ The little red-head’s trying to be all cool and menacing in front of the important guest. ‘Are you asleep?’
No, he’s not asleep, but he sure as hell wishes he was.
‘What did he do?’ I ask as casually as possible.
‘He was a bad puppy. He tried to hurt people. He tried to stop the Master rising and he tried to stake us. He killed my friend Jesse.’ She pouts and hisses. ‘Naughty puppy. So we had to catch him and put him on a leash and train him to be good again.’
‘Right.’ I hold out my hand. ‘Keys. Then clear off.’
She’s pouting again. ‘But the Master said—’
‘The Master said I could let you watch if I wished. I don’t.’ And you’re not running straight to tell him either. ‘You can go and help my Drusilla settle in.’ That should keep her occupied, and I’ll string Dru up and flog her if she does anything I don’t approve of, which should keep my Princess happy if nothing else.
The fledge leaves and I unlock the cage door.
He’s moving, that great black shape uncoiling and getting to its feet. Knew you weren’t sleeping, Angelus.
And then we just stand and stare at each other for longer than it takes to count to a hundred. Thirty thousand three hundred and sixty-two days since I last saw my sire. What exactly do we say? The etiquette books don’t really cover it.
‘Spike.’
What’s happened to you?
‘Angelus.’
You were my sire, man. You were my Yoda.
‘Why are you here?’
And that does it. I’m back a hundred years and a million kills and I’m standing in his study scared so stiff that my stomach is somersaulting, and I’m putting everything I’ve got into not showing it; whilst he grills me about my latest escapade. With the whip he’s going to use on me, the second he’s decided I’ve had enough lecturing, lying on the desk between us where I can’t take my eyes off it.
How can he do that? I’m a master bloody vampire and he’s the one chained up in a stupid cage for crimes against his own kind, so how come he’s the one asking the questions still?
‘Drusilla’s sick. I brought her to the hell-mouth to find a cure.’
‘Drusilla is with you?’
‘Yeh. She’s upstairs.’ She’s still with me, sire. I’m still looking after her. See what a good boy I am.
‘Sit down.’
‘Er, I think I’m supposed to be torturing you, mate. To prove my loyalty to the order or something.’ He winces. I called him mate: one of the big no-nos that. I got cuffed for that more times than I can count. You never learn, do you, boy.
And then I have to rush forward fast to catch him, because it seems not sitting down isn’t much of an option for him at the moment. I lower him down and let him sit back against the bars.
God, what did they do to his chest? Those look like holy water burns. You’ve got to be pretty pissed with another vampire before you go near enough to holy water to torture them with it. It’s a bit like beating someone with uranium rods: there are obvious reasons why it isn’t done. Up til now my Dru is the only one I’ve known who is mad enough to do it. Bless her.
‘Spike, have you seen Darla?’
Sodding hell. One hundred years and he’s still only thinking about that stupid bitch. ‘No. Is she here?’
‘I’m not sure. She was. I think she may have left, I haven’t seen her for…’ he hesitates, ‘a long time.’
Cleared off probably. Couldn’t bear to see her darling boy gone to the dogs.
‘I don’t blame her,’ he says, as if it is somehow his failing that I might think he did. ‘Not after everything. It wasn’t her fault.’
I shift uneasily from foot to foot, looking down at him. Which is bloody weird in its own right because I hardly ever got to be the one looking down on him. I mean, this is Him. My Sire. Angelus. The Scourge Of Europe. Him.
Fuck.
‘I’m supposed to be torturing you.’
He looks up at me with eyes so sorrowful I can see why they call him puppy; though I hope like hell he’s never let them see him looking like that. ‘Well you’d better start then, hadn’t you.’ Said with a misery that cuts through any irony he may have intended. And he doesn’t even look down as he says, ‘I’m sorry. Very sorry, Spike. For what I did to you. For leaving. I’m so sorry.’
And I bite my lip, because he’s changed the rules. Again.
I haven’t a clue what to do. Plenty of options, but not a clue which to go for.
‘What do you want me to do?’
And very briefly he closes his eyes, then opens them and looks back at me. He pats the floor beside him. ‘Sit down, Spike. I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at you.’
I don’t sit though: I just stay standing, shifting from one foot to another – looking down at the Scourge of Europe.
Sod this.
I hunker down and fumble with the keys until I find the one that undoes the manacle on his leg.
‘Come on.’
He pushes himself up, using the cage bars a bit so he half turns and I can see his back. It takes a lot to scar a vampire, but they seem to have managed it. What do they think I could do to him that can compare to that? He gave me a thousand lashes once and my back is still as smooth as the day I was turned. I’m a master vampire who has practised every form of torture under the moon on both humans and my own kind and I’ve never seen a vampire scarred this bad. Not when I’ve known how every inch of that flawless skin used to look.
He gave me a thousand lashes once to teach me how to enjoy torturing things.
He gave me a thousand lashes once.
One thousand.
Count to a thousand very, very slowly, and think about the pain growing for every second of that time. And then that it doesn’t stop when you’ve stopped counting.
‘Up against the wall.’
And I get to see the startled rabbit look in his eyes before I slam him against the cage and wrap the chain around his arms and the bars, and snap it locked again. He used to make me stand still and take it, but there were other factors involved then.
‘You gave me a thousand lashes to learn how to do this, you bastard.’
He blinks.
‘And you made Dru watch.’
Like I said, other factors.
I take off my belt. Oh, there’s a whole row of toys nicely arranged on the wall over there, but this is my sire, who always wore braces but used to carry a belt around in his pocket just for me, so I’m not much interested in the fantasy playthings right now.
I double the belt over in my fist and spread my feet, and wait.
He’s pressed his forehead against the cage and he’s gripping the bars and not moving.
And I wait.
My boot’s got a white scuff mark on the toe. I don’t know how it got there, I must have kicked a stone or something. I would remember if I’d tripped. I’m sure I would remember. It’s a big white streak, like I had rubbed a piece of chalk over it, with three little flecks on the left-hand side. Black and white.
There was a black pool of blood around my boots. Different boots then of course. Same blood. My blood. And flecks of white plaster which had crumbled off the wall where I was digging into it with my fingers. Like a film of dust on a pond on a hot summer’s day.
He gave me a thousand lashes once.
He used to make me polish his boots. I hated that when I was a fledgling, cleaning his bloody boots for him like some sort of minion. Then it became a routine. And then a sort of ritual. The little thing I did for him every afternoon before he was awake. Getting his boots clean and getting black polish under my nails whilst I did so. I always did: however often I did it, I could never stop the polish getting all over my nails.
I haven’t touched a tin of boot polish in a hundred years. And my black painted nails are currently digging into the leather of my belt.
‘I don’t want this.’
He stiffens. ‘I deserve it.’
‘I know you bloody deserve it! This isn’t about you, you bastard. Not everything is about you.’
I really, really don’t want this.
I swing. Putting every ounce of the strength of a master vampire into the blow and watching it crack across his back with a sound like a thick timber beam fracturing. And when I pull it back for the next blow I can see the welt blossoming red against the cold ashen skin just before I bring the thing slashing down on top of it again.
And I’m trying to think about all the times that he did this to me. So often sometimes that one lot of bruises hadn’t faded before he put fresh ones on top. And the other things. When he wouldn’t let me feed for a week straight until I’d learnt some stupid ritual off by heart. Or the times he just made me stand to attention in the middle of a room all night, so I would have done anything to be able to move, and it was only the determination not to let him see me fail that kept me upright. And when he would wait until it was almost dawn, and we were miles away from anywhere, and then he would get into the carriage and tell me I had to run home by myself. Even though he knew it was impossible. Even though I pleaded with him that I would never make it.
But it’s amazing what you can do if you put your mind to it. So I swing again.
Now there is blood. Drops of the blood he has tainted. His blood. Sire blood. My blood. Our blood. Blood, trickling down his back. It’s just bloody blood. He stole it from some stupid human a few hours ago, or a pig or a rat or whatever it is they have been giving him to feed on. It’s just sodding blood.
‘Sire?’
He doesn’t respond.
‘Answer me! I’m talking to you. When I ask you a question, you bloody well answer me!’
‘What was the question?’
‘What do you want me to do?’
He moves very slightly, eases his fingers off the bars and turns his head just enough so he can see me.
‘I want you to go. Take Drusilla and leave here. There are other places you can look for a cure. Find Darla. Tell her I’m sorry and I love her. Stay with her if she wants you to. Look after them both. Keep them safe. Have a good life together and try to forget me.’
I’m looking back at the floor again. I can’t meet his eye.
Stand up straight, stop fidgeting and keep your eyes down when you’re talking to your sire, boy.
There were roses in the pattern of the carpet in his study. And a little chip of veneer missing out of the edge of his desk, where he threw the carriage clock at it in a rage once.
‘What if this is the only place I can cure Dru?’
Don’t argue with me, boy. I’m not arguing, Sire, I’m just trying to explain. Please let me explain.
‘What’s wrong with her?’
A direct question. Have to answer a direct question, otherwise you’re really in for it.
‘There was a mob. In Prague. She got hurt.’ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
‘Magic involved?’
I shrug. ‘Dunno. She doesn’t seem to get better.’
‘Then there must be magic involved as well. There was probably a witch in the crowd whom you didn’t spot.’ Idiot boy. ‘There is a text, the DuLac Manuscript. Get hold of a copy somehow. It contains counter spells for every known curse against vampires. You will need to find one of the decoder crosses that he made, to understand it and translate the text. The cure will be in there somewhere.’
Yes! Yes, yes, yes! This is what I came to Sunnydale for! This is why I needed the knowledge of the ancient order on the hellmouth. Pity I didn’t find out which order it was first, but what the hell, planning was never my strong point.
Is that it then? Can I go now?
‘What about you?’
‘That isn’t your concern.’ Mind your manners, boy. I go where I go and I do what I choose and if I tell you then I tell you, but you never ever ask, do you hear me. Never. And each word driven home with a blow.
I swing again.
And again, and again.
‘Tell me, you bastard.’ If I ask you a direct question you damn well answer.
‘You’ve got to go, Spike. I’m telling you to take Drusilla and go. Find Darla. Do what you have to do. Go.’
It’s cracking across his back and there is blood streaming down now; I can feel it flicking back onto my face each time I swing.
‘Answer me. You will bloody well answer me!’
‘Now!’
‘Answer me… please, Sire. Tell me.’ I let the belt fall limply.
‘Now, boy.’ Quiet but hard as iron.
‘Please.’
‘I made you better than this, boy. I made you a killer, a fighter, a master vampire. I gave you a thousand lashes once and you barely made a sound through most of it. Now pull yourself together, and do what you have to do.’
‘Please.’
‘Do as you are told.’
I don’t want to do this. I really, really don’t want to do this.
I did though. I took my belt and I swung it as hard as I could until his back was torn to shreds. I went and got some of the other implements and used those as well. Until he screamed his head off with the pain and I was sure that not the Master or any of his stupid little minions would ever think anything other than that my blood was pure. So that not one of the Order of Aurelius would ever think that William the Bloody was a turncoat, sappy, apostate whimp, like his sire. And so they would let me take Dru the hell out of there. So I could find Darla. So I could keep them both safe for him.
And I left him behind.
Because Angelus was my sire and he told me to go. And because he had done every thing he ever could to make me a master vampire. Because what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Well he killed me, and he made me stronger still. Then he turned me into a hard, soulless, vicious, skilful, beautiful, passionate killer.
And I didn’t want to fail him.
Which was why I tortured him with every ounce of venom and hatred and imaginative brutality that he had ever shown me how to muster. And why I enjoyed it. I really, really enjoyed it. Just like a proper master vampire should.
I enjoyed it.
I did.
I really did.
Because he gave me a thousand lashes once.
And it was the only way I could ever find to thank him.