An Irish Preoccupation      by Josey

“Boy!” Angelus’s voice thundered through the house as he slammed the heavy front door open. The minions in the entrance hall threw themselves prostrate on the floor, shuffling rapidly backwards to avoid the well-aimed boots that were swung in their direction. Completely oblivious of their abject terror, the Master vampire stalked into the house, every fibre of his body vibrating with barely controlled rage. Grabbing a body at random, Angelus hauled it up by the hair and addressed the quivering underling through gritted teeth.

“Where is he?”

“M-Master William is not at home, Sir.”

With a growl of disgust Angelus dropped him and stood hands on hips, coldly regarding the bodies around him. “Would any of you happen to know where ‘Master William’ is?

One, braver or more foolhardy than the rest, cleared his throat, immediately attracting the attention of the demon looming over them. He raised his head and spoke tentatively.

“He left three days ago, Sir. We were ordered not to follow him and he didn’t see fit to inform anyone where he was going.”

“And Drusilla?” The minion shook at the menace implicit in the words.

“Mistress Drusilla is upstairs in her room, Sir. She has been inconsolable since Master William left.” As Angelus stalked up the stairs the minions fled leaving the hallway deserted.

****

Spike was well on the way to alcoholic oblivion again. He’d got as far as Waterloo station but hadn’t been able to decide whether the continent or Manchester offered a better option for a bolthole. In self-defence he had found a small gin palace near the docks and started drinking. That had been four days ago. By his own calculations he’d passed out at least five times since. As he slid spinelessly down the wall into the mixture of spilt alcohol and urine that passed as a floor, Spike registered a vaguely familiar face peering at him through the open door. His last conscious thought was ‘Oh bugger, they’ve found me’

****

It’s not easy to sober up a vampire. Coffee has no conspicuous effect and, as they have no need to breathe, sticking their head in a bucket of water doesn’t work either. Angelus considered his rapidly sobering Childe floundering in the icy river in front of him, before idly sticking out a boot to push him back as he reached the steps. Really it was lucky that William was still young enough to be susceptible to the cold.

**************

London December 1884

“I’ll match your Siamese and raise you two tiny tabbies.”

The other demons around the table folded. “You win again, Master Spike.” Tension radiated from Hanaff, one of the Kailiff demons. He had lost a substantial amount to the vampire this evening and it wasn’t the first time. He lifted his glass and swallowed the contents before slamming it back on the table. “I hear your bog-trotting Sire has taken his whore on holiday again."

The temperature in the room plummeted and a faint scuffling near the door suggested fast exits. Spike laid his cards down slowly and calmly before staring deliberately at the belligerent demon opposite him. “Would you care to repeat that?”

“I said ‘your bog-trotting Sire has taken his whore on holiday’.” Hanaff hauled himself to his feet, “Are you going to make something of it?”

Truce not withstanding, a public insult of this magnitude couldn’t go unchallenged. Spike stood pulling himself up to his full height, still a good foot shorter than the other demon. There was no way in hell he was going to beat a Kailiff, but he’d go out trying or he wouldn’t be able to show his face at the poker table again.

“Yeah, I think I will.” With those words the vampire hurdled the table and threw himself at the wall of muscle and bone that confronted him. There was only one way this was going to end.

****

“Ow. Dru, don’t. It bloody hurts.”

“Hold still silly. They’ll heal quicker if they’re bound.”

Spike was sat on a stool in the huge kitchen, Dru hovering around him, trying to bind his shattered ribs. She looked at his face, still bruised and puffy from the beating he’d suffered by the Kailiff demons. What they had done constituted a grave insult to the whole family and retribution would have to be taken. Dumping the Childe of Angelus, naked, bloody and unconscious, in the Red Lion was bad enough, without the shamrock they had painted in a garish green paint on his bum. With Darla and their Sire out of the country it was up to her and Spike to ensure that revenge was exacted.

The only question was how they should go about it. Angelus had left strict instructions that they should not get involved in any of the ongoing feuds between the various demon clans in London, but this was a new feud, so their involvement was not technically against the rules.

“What are you thinking about, beautiful?” Spike caught Drusilla’s face between his hands and stole a kiss. As much as he missed their Sire he loved having her to himself, she always felt saner without Angelus around to torment her. She swung away from him trailing an arm behind her, their fingers twined together, then pulled him to his feet. The movement jarred his ribs and he wrapped his other arm around them protectively.

“What are we going to do, Spike? Daddy’s going to be ever so cross when he gets home.”

He pulled her into the crook of his arm and planted another kiss on her lips. “We’re going to kick some demon arse, my dear.”

Although between saying it and doing it was a gulf so wide, Spike wasn’t sure how he was going to bridge it. That aside, his own pride wouldn’t allow the matter to lie fallow until Angelus’s return. The humiliation of coming round in a pub full of humans was not something he would forget in a hurry, not to mention the beating and the shamrock. A knock at the front door prevented their kisses developing into anything more interesting.

“Master William?” A minion was peering into the kitchen.

“What.” Spike stopped his detailed study of Dru’s lips and looked up exasperated at the interruption.

“There’s a gentleman in the hall who wishes to speak to you, sir.”

Grabbing his shirt and slipping it carefully over his damaged ribs Spike told him to show the visitor into the study. With a final kiss from Dru and his jacket over his arm, he left the kitchen.

************

London February 1885

“So you’d already decided to engage in a feud with the Kailiff clan.” Angelus was sat behind his desk, chin resting on his hands that were steepled in front of him.

“Yes, Sire.” Still sopping wet and with a pool of water collecting on the carpet under his feet, Spike stood opposite him, hands folded behind his back and eyes downcast. He’d expected to get staked as soon as Angelus caught up with him, so he was somewhat surprised to still be here. Maybe Angelus was just drawing it out, humiliating him further before going ahead and staking him anyway. Spike wouldn’t put such a thing past him.

“It didn’t occur to you that I was perfectly capable of taking care of the matter, and that a telegram explaining the problem would have brought me straight back to London?”

“No, Sire.” Spike felt truly miserable and just slightly resentful. He had done his best to defend his Sire’s honour and this was the thanks he received. Granted things had gotten a little out of hand, but that was hardly his fault.

Angelus pushed himself up from the desk and walked round to stand beside him.

“You’re wet.”

“Well, yeah. You threw me in the river.” He looked his Sire straight in the eye then flinched away, expecting to be hit.

“And you’re dripping all over my carpet.” Spike shuffled his feet and looked at the stain the dirty river water was making. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. Angelus had dragged him straight into the study the minute they’d got back the house.

“William, William. What are we going to do with you?” Angelus shook his head looking sadly at the drowned rat in front of him. Blond hair darkened from the water and plastered to his head, filthy wet shirt and trousers clinging to his lithe body, quite a sight for a vampire who’d been on the road for several days without company.

“Spike.” Spike muttered.

“Excuse me?” And still the disobedient, recalcitrant Childe.

“I said, ‘Spike’. Even you’d started calling me that before you left.”

“Spike,” Angelus paced over to the fireplace and picked up the switch that lay on the mantel, “Spike, was the potential Master vampire I trusted with my affairs when I had to leave. I have come home to discover that it was in fact William, an extremely stupid fledgling that was running things.”

He ran his fingers up the switch’s tapering length and flexed it thoughtfully. There were distinct sounds of agitation from behind him. He ignored them until an apprehensive voice broke the silence.

“Not the switch Angelus, please?”

“And why not?”

“Because I’m not a fledge anymore. Because. Look I know I screwed up, but I was trying, really trying.”

“William, you are always trying. It is the one constant in my perpetual existence.” This was fun. In the last six months the two of them had reached a tentative friendship based on a grudging mutual respect. He hadn’t played with Will like this for a long time. He’d missed it.

“But I was.” There was a definite note of whinging belligerence in the voice now.

Angelus flexed the switch again, turning to raise a speculative eyebrow at the young vampire making an unsuccessful attempt to blend in with the furniture.

“If you think you did so well, why don’t you tell me about your visitor.”

***********

London December 1884

Slipping on his jacket as he walked into the study, Spike was confronted by a strange looking figure about his height with a shock of unruly red hair, skin pale enough for a vampire and odd snubby nose. His clothes were smart, without being expensive and he was clutching a hat to his chest with both hands. Spike tasted the air. Despite appearances, his visitor smelled non-human.

Stopping a few feet away from the creature, Spike held out his hands to show they were empty and greeted him. “Welcome to the House of Angelus. I am Master William. You wished to see me?”

“Master Spike.” The creature bobbed obsequiously. “I’ve been sent to offer greetings and respects from me, most generous, employers. They’ve heard of yer recent adventures and wish to pay their respects.” It was spoken in an Irish brogue to rival Angelus’ in its incomprehensibility. It took him a couple of moments to fathom out what had been said.

“And your employer’s would be?” There was something about the man that made Spike’s skin crawl, as if he were in the presence of magic.

“They’re most commonly known as the Daoine Sidhe, sir. I’m sure you’ll have heard of them, being the well-educated gentleman that you are.”

Who the hell are the Theena Shee? Spike racked his brains for any clue as to who or what was being referred to and came up empty handed. However, if his knowledge of them was assumed he wasn’t going to admit to having never heard of them.

“Ah, yes. And can I offer my greetings and respects in return.” Social calls from emissaries were all very well, but he had a certain vampire on the boil in the kitchen. Spike decided to hurry things up. “Is there something your employers wish of me or is this a purely social visit.”

“Ahh, Master Spike. ‘Tis funny you should ask. My employers have a favour they’d like to beg of you and, should you be willing, are prepared to offer you a little help in return.”

“I must warn you, I am not in any position to negotiate a treaty on behalf of this House.” Dru would have to wait; potentially this was far more important.

The envoy held up his hand to forestall Spike’s excuses. “Sir. Do not misunderstand me. This is not being in the way of a treaty, but simply in the nature of a private arrangement between yourself and the Daoine Sidhe. They have a little problem you, in your generosity, may be able to help them with. They, in their turn, are offering you something you require, to wit, a way to revenge yerself on the demons that so recently humiliated you.”

That got Spike’s interest. If these Theena Shee were willing to help him with the Kailiffs, he would be willing to at least listen to their problem. Not wanting to sound too eager, he injected a note of boredom into his reply.

“And what would they want in return?”

“’Tis but a small favour, sir. Some of their people wish to visit London and desire a safe place to stay. You have a large house and they are few. T’was hoped you could spare a little space for them.”

The house was virtually empty with Angelus and Darla away. They could easily put up a few visitors. Still, Spike felt he needed to make something clear. “These visitors. Are they dangerous to vampires?”

A strange smile ghosted across the man’s face. “No more than the Daoine Sidhe are themselves, sir.”

“Right. Well.” Not knowing what the Theena Shee was, the statement didn’t help. However, the man was obviously waiting for an answer. Help with the Kailiffs versus a few visitors? Spike gave the man the answer he was waiting for. “I think that this arrangement will be perfectly satisfactory. When will the visitors arrive?”

*******************

London February 1885

Putting the switch down on the desk right in front of Spike, Angelus wandered over to peruse his bookshelves. After some consideration he pulled out one large tome and threw it to his by now silent Childe. Spike looked at the title, ‘Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland.’

“I gave you that to read last year. I presume you did not.”

Spike disconsolately flicked through the first few pages before answering. “No, Sire.”

“At the back you will find a glossary. Please do me the courtesy of finding the entry for the Daoine Sidhe.” Angelus sat back at the desk and picked up the switch, turning it around and around in his hands. After a few minutes had past in virtual silence, he started to tap it impatiently on the desktop.

Eventually Spike broke the silence with a sigh. “They’re not here, Sire.”

“What letter are you looking under?”

“T?”

“I suggest you try D and check the English pronunciations of the Gaelic.” Exactly as he thought, even if Spike had tried to look up the Daoine Sidhe he would never have found them. Sometimes Angelus despaired of his Childe. Considering how well educated he had been when turned, Spike now seemed to revel in his ignorance.

“Ah.” Spike sounded sheepish and somewhat embarrassed.

“Can I presume from that, that you have found our elusive Daoine Sidhe?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“And? What does it say?” It was a bit late for this, but in Angelus’s experience even a retrospective lesson could be useful.

“‘The fairy people of Ireland believed to be the dwindled gods of the Tuatha da Danann, the aboriginal Irish.” The halting mispronunciation made Angelus wince. “Other sources suggest they were fallen angels that were too good for hell.’ That’s all. But this book,” Spike flicked it closed and jabbed at the cover, “is by a human. It’s about fairy stories, things you tell children.”

Angelus ignored him. “And what is another term for a fallen angel that dwells on this plane?”

Frowning, Spike searched his memory. He knew the answer to this one, he was sure. Then it came to him. “Demons, Sire.”

“Exactly. So is this just stories you tell children? Or is it just possible that this tome which has a place on my bookshelf is a useful and informative document?”

Spike sagged. There was no way he could win this one. If he’d read the book when it had been given to him then he would have known exactly who the Daoine Sidhe were. If he’d known that, none of the rest would have happened. Angelus had him tied up and was going to throw away the key.

There was a knock on the study door and at Angelus’s ‘Enter’ a minion hesitantly opened the door.

“Master Angelus. It’s ready for you now, sir.”

“Kitchen. Now.” Spike jumped at his Sire’s command. Kitchen? It had a tiled floor that was easily cleaned. Maybe it wasn’t going to be the switch after all. Casting a longing look at the cane still in Angelus’s hands he trailed out of the study. Surprisingly it was a pleasant something waiting for him. The huge stove had been stoked and in front of it, steaming gently, was a hipbath, a couple of huge towels and his robe.

“You smell and you’re staining the carpets. Bath. Now.”

Angelus sat at the table and watched while Spike stripped off his sodden, filthy clothing and dropped it in a heap. Whatever paint the Kailiffs had used was obviously semi-permanent because the pale backside in front of him still sported its green shamrock. He tried unsuccessfully to smother a chuckle at the appropriateness of the symbol and its location and, at the sound, Spike swung round and glared at him.

“What’s so funny?” When he saw where his Sire was staring Spike twisted his shoulders to try and look at himself. “Is it fading? Bastards. I don’t know what the hell they used but it won’t come off. Dru scrubbed for hours and I just ended up with a sore arse.” With a self-deprecating snort he gave up and hopped into the bath, groaning as the scalding water assaulted his frozen skin.

While Spike scrubbed, soaped, and tried to get river silt out of places that should never have encountered it, Angelus continued his consideration of his Childe and the situation Spike had got himself into. Much of his earlier rage had dissipated. Coming back to London and finding himself the centre of a maelstrom of violence and rumour had shaken him. When he’d discovered the cause, his initial instinct, after sorting the problem out, had been to stake the idiot who had started it. Then, as Spike had begun his tale Angelus had found himself remembering events in his own past that were less than rational in regard to the Daoine Sidhe, and had started to relent.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t a lesson to be learned here, however, and keeping Spike off balance would be an aid to its learning. In the meantime he had a wet, warm Childe in front of him and days of hard, lonely travel behind him. It had been a long time.

“Finished?” When Spike nodded, Angelus stood and picked up the ladle that hung on the side of a bucket of clean water. “Stand up. I’ll rinse you off.”

Clean and smelling a lot sweeter, Spike was soon towelling himself dry, revelling in the warmth of the room and the feel of the soft material against his skin. He was taking his time. Angelus’s eyes were burning into him and he could smell the waves of arousal pouring off his Sire, so it came as no great surprise when he was wrapped in a pair of arms and dragged back into his Sire’s lap. Spike was a realist, if he played his cards right at this point then the evening could end far more pleasantly than he had feared.

He snuggled back ensuring he wriggled firmly against Angelus’s erection that was hard against the base of his spine. When a hand slid under him between his buttocks, he dropped his head back onto the older vampire’s shoulder and purred. Cool breath wafted over his neck as Angelus laughed softly.

“You’re a hedonist, boy. Has anyone ever told you?”

“Me, Sire?” Spike sat up and looked wide eyed at his Sire. “Whatever would make you think that?” He ground his ass backward eliciting a strangled hiss from the vampire under him. In reply, strangely warm, slick fingers slid into him and his answering gasp was equally heartfelt.

“Warm. What you using?”

Angelus hummed distractedly as he slowly stretched the muscle clenching tightly around his fingers before answering. “Beeswax polish. Found it in the drawer. Put it by the stove to warm.” Patting Spike lightly on the hip he added, “Lift up.”

Spike raised himself slightly and then sank back down onto Angelus’s shaft, the silence in the room momentarily broken by their simultaneous moans of pleasure. They stayed unmoving for long moments, both enjoying the sensation of being joined again after weeks apart.

Then Angelus bit playfully at the back of Spike’s neck and spoke. “I adore my Sire with a passion that can never end and Drusilla? She is the darkness in my shadow. But you boy, have a way of getting a rise out of me in every way possible.”

With those words he slid round and stood, pushing Spike forwards face down on the table next to them. Ignoring the whimpering from his Childe laid out before him Angelus stood admiring the sight. The flickering gaslight highlighted every hollow and curve on Spike’s back and shoulders. His arms were stretched above his head, cushioning his face and accentuating the slim lines of his torso. Angelus ran an appreciative hand down the silky white skin, taking the time to trace careless patterns with his fingertips around prominent vertebrae and the outline of the shamrock. Spike arched into the touch, his whimpers turning to purrs under his Sire’s hands.

Sliding his hands down further, Angelus cupped the quivering pale globes of flesh that enclosed him, parted them with surprisingly gentle hands, and used his thumbs to caress the place where their bodies were joined so intimately. His cock jumped at the convulsive grasp of muscle the action caused and he withdrew slowly, never stopping his slow circular movements. As Spike pushed back, Angelus pressed his thumbs into the tight muscle either side of his cock marvelling as it relaxed to accept the additional penetration.

He kept his movements slow, savouring the feel of his Childe’s slick channel around him, his angle and pace designed to stimulate not fulfil the demands being made by both their bodies. Removing one thumb from its new home he stroked his fingertips further down across the smooth skin they found there. Firm pressure educed a gasp of pleasure and another contraction of the body around him. Enough. He clamped both hands round the slight hips below him and slammed his next thrust home with as much power as he could. Spike howled, grabbing the table with both hands, the wood splintering under his grip. Pulling out almost completely, he slammed in again, using his grip on Spike’s hips to keep his Childe immobile beneath him.

He kept up the relentless pace for several minutes acknowledging, with a twist of his lips, that with this angle and position there was no way the younger vampire was going to be able to come. And that was fitting. Spike had caused him a lot of trouble in the last couple of days and revenge, in whatever form it came, was sweet. Eventually, close to his own climax, he took pity and grabbed his Childe by the hair pulling him up against his chest. With a small gasp, Spike flailed wildly for a moment, and then his hands flew to his cock pumping wildly. Angelus felt his own climax hit and he shuddered, thrusting deeply as he released his seed. He immediately pulled out and stepped back, still holding Spike by the hair. The younger vampire sobbed at the loss of contact, but continued his desperate actions as Angelus watched him, coldly smirking as his Childe managed to reach his lonely orgasm.

“And hedonism is a dangerous thing if it is not tempered by self-control.” He snarled as he dropped Spike to the floor and untangled the loose strands of blondish hair from his fingers, adding “When you’re finished join me in the study again.”

Spike cleaned himself up using the tepid water from the bath and pulled on his robe. His mind was in turmoil. That had started out so well, his Sire had been gentle and playful. He’d almost thought that he was forgiven, but then... He shivered at the coldness in Angelus’s voice; maybe Angelus wasn’t going to be merciful as he’d hoped. Hugging his robe around him, he hovered outside the study door unsure of what was waiting for him. With a quick mental shake, he opened the door and walked in.

Angelus was sat behind the desk when the door opened and he waved at the rug in front of the fire, instructing Spike to take a seat. He put as much warmth into his voice as possible, wanting to keep the younger vampire off balance and by the look on Spike’s face it was working. Waiting until he was seated, Angelus started the questions again.

“So you agreed with the emissary’s terms. Was there anything else?”

“No, Sire.” Spike’s eyes were fixed on the carpet. “That was all he said and everything seemed really good until the next evening.”

“The next evening?”

“The head of the Kailiff clan came round to apologise. He was very upset by what had happened and wished to avoid a feud. He brought Hanaff, the one who started it, with him. They offered a public apology and restitution so I decided to accept it. We parted, not as friends, but at least willing not to go to war.”

“That was probably the most sensible thing you did during the whole ridiculous debacle. Presumably you gave no further thought to the agreement you had made with the Daoine Sidhe.”

Spike shook his head. “Not until the first visitors arrived.”

*************

London December 1884

Spike woke with a start. Someone was hammering on the bedroom door. He untangled Dru’s arms from round his chest and climbed sleepily out of bed, grabbing his robe. The minion on the other side of the door was hopping up and down with impatience.

“Master William. You must come now. They’re all over the place. I swear there’s hundreds of them. They’re in the kitchen, into all the cupboards. They’re even in the Master’s study.”

He didn’t even wait to hear where else they may be or, for that matter, what they may be. Spike headed for the stairs getting more than halfway down before he saw them. His steps slowed, mouth falling open in shock. The minion was right. They were everywhere and there were hundreds of them. Lots of tiny figures, none above six inches high, all with little red hats and green coats, the floor of the entrance hall was crawling with them. It was rather like a nasty infestation of garish cockroaches.

As he stood, frozen to the spot, he heard a high-pitched whistle and order started to form in the chaos. Before him rank upon rank of the little creatures formed until eventually they stood at least twenty deep at the bottom of the stairs. Without conscious volition Spike’s feet descended towards them and, when he reached the bottom step, one small figure stepped forward to salute him.

“Fourth, Fifth and Tenth troop of the Siofra reporting for billet, sir. Where would you be wanting us?” It piped in a brogue stronger than the emissary’s.

Spike stared, blinked, shook his head and stared again. Then he pinched himself. Unfortunately his hall was still full of, what did they say they were? Sheaf-ra? Six inch high pixies, was the closest he could come.

“Sir?” The voice piped again.

“Err.” Billet? They were staying? Realisation dawned; these must be the visitors from

the Theena Shee. He was playing host to something that escaped from Midsummer Night’s Dream?

“Billets, sir.” It was amazing that such a little voice could contain so much quiet understanding and patience.

“Where would you like to stay?” And Spike was amazed that his voice came out as calm as it did. “We have bedrooms or maybe the kitchen?”

“Would you be having a garden or glasshouse, sir? Most of the lads would prefer a horticultural setting.”

“Glasshouse? Conservatory. Through the house, out of the French windows, help yourselves.” With his words the small figures turned as one and marched off.

Over the next few days the new visitors proved to be little trouble, despite their promise on arrival. They kept to the conservatory, when they weren’t out and about, and Spike soon pushed their presence to the back of his mind. It wasn’t until he started to read some very odd stories in the Times that he started to get concerned.

“Dru?” She looked up at him with sleepy eyes from the chaise lounge. The Sheaf-ra fascinated Dru and she’d spent many hours with them singing herself, or dancing when they sang to her. Consequently Spike wasn’t seeing much of her, when she had her eyes open anyway.

“There’s something extremely weird happening. This story,” Spike poked his finger at the offending article, “says that things have been stolen from the House of Commons, small things like pens and watches, but lots of them. And then there’s this one,” he jabbed again, “which says that someone got into the Queen’s greenhouses and ripped up all her orchids.”

He turned the pages rapidly until he found the next one. “Then this, Scotland Yard is reporting huge numbers of petty thefts from city establishments and the Times itself, all its movable type was, moved.” He folded the paper and put it purposefully on his lap. “I think we may need to speak to our visitors.”

*******

London February 1885

The glass of liquor being held out to him brought a temporary halt to Spike’s tale. He took the proffered drink and sniffed it suspiciously before staring up at his Sire. After the episode in the kitchen he wasn’t sure he trusted Angelus not to have laced it with holy water.

“That’s my good sipping whisky so do me the courtesy of appreciating it.” Spike took a tentative sip and relaxed.

Angelus perched on the edge of the desk and glared down at him. Spike shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of his Sire’s perusal and picked at the nap on the rug. He was confused. The offer of good whisky didn’t agree with the cold stare he was getting. It didn’t make any more sense than what happened earlier. Quietly he took a small breath, trying to tease out the scents emanating from the older vampire. That simply confused him more. There was anger, no doubt and arousal, - again? - But there was also another smell, something he’d never smelled on the other vampire before.

“Did it not occur to you at this point to call me home?” There it was again.

“No, Sire. We really thought we could handle it, Dru and I. Where is Dru, by the way.” He looked around the room as if expecting her to appear out of the shadows.

With a low growl Angelus answered, “In her room and she will stay there until I have finished with you.”

“Is she okay? I mean she was bound to be a bit upset when I just…” Spike was never good at taking a hint, so the backhand that sent him sideways into the fire came as a complete surprise. He scrambled backwards out of the hearth batting frantically at his robe which had started to smoulder.

“Bloody hell, Angelus! Set a bloke on fire why don’t you.”

“Will that work? ‘Cos I’m running out of ideas here, William and you as a pile of dust seems like a pretty good one at the moment.”

Angelus’s resolve was crumbling. If only Spike would show some genuine contrition for once. Oh he’d happily admit his mistakes if they were pointed out one by one but it never seemed to go deeper than that. He didn’t like comparing his Childer but Penn had been so quiet, so respectful, so easily trained. He sighed, caught up for a moment in the happy memories of a bright willing face looking at him with something bordering on adoration.

He snapped back to the present and stared at his current Childe, who was knelt on the rug with a pout on his face glaring at the finger he had poked through the burn hole in his robe. Sometimes he felt he’d tried everything on Will, understanding, threats, beatings, sex, nothing worked. He’d give him one more chance - and that was a phrase he’d used far too often with William - if he wouldn’t co-operate maybe the threat of fire would make him.

With a huff, he tried again. “And did you speak to your guests?”

Spike looked up at him, a small, confused frown on his face. “Oh, the pixies. No, I never got round to it ‘cos then the others arrived.”

“Others?”

********

London December 1884

They were far too engrossed in each other to hear the new arrivals enter the house so the sight which confronted the guests when they were shown into the sitting room to meet Master William was less than dignified. Spike was on his knees under Dru’s skirts while she writhed and moaned above him. When the minion cleared his throat, Spike looked up, shock on his shiny face, to see a gaggle of the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen staring at him and giggling.

He closed his mouth, wiped a quick hand across it and struggled to his feet. Dru simply whimpered and pouted at the interruption. There were more stares and giggles from the doorway and when an astoundingly stunning redhead said something he couldn’t understand and pointed, the giggles turned to appreciative nods and smiles. A quick glance down told Spike all he needed to know. He spun round, grabbed his jacket off the floor and slipped it on, buttoning it up before turning to face the visitors again, a desperate smile plastered across his face.

********

London February 1885

“So, what you’re trying to tell me is that you didn’t get round to speaking to the Siofra because you were too busy doing Dru, yes?” Angelus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was beyond incompetence; it bordered on gross negligence.

“Umm, yes?” There was a hopeful, almost apologetic look on Spike’s face.

“Can’t you keep your hands off her for two minutes?” He’d damn well make sure he did in the future, even if he had to lock them both in separate rooms. That relationship was getting way out of hand. He waved away the excuse he just knew was going to fall from Spike’s lips next and instead asked, “So, the new arrivals. What were they, apart from embarrassed.”

“They weren’t embarr…” Taking note of the scowl on Angelus’s face, Spike didn’t finish the comment and instead explained. “They told me they were the lan-awn shee, but I can’t be certain ‘cos things got a bit odd after that.”

“I’m not surprised things got a bit ‘odd’ with a house full of Leanan-Sidhe. I’m a lot more surprised that you and Dru are still here and moving, frankly.” Angelus was genuinely shocked. “Leanan-Sidhe are extremely dangerous succubi, they’ll drain the life force from anything, including vampires. A demon is no different to a human as far as they’re concerned.”

He cast a quick assessing eye over the vampire in front of him as if expecting to find traces of the succubi still in evidence. Instinctively Spike looked down at himself carefully, raising his hands and checking them out.

“They don’t do anything permanent do they?” He sounded genuinely worried.

“Most of the time they leave their victim’s dead so, yes, I would call that pretty permanent. Why your demon is still among the living I’m at a loss to explain.”

Spike swallowed nervously. Even in retrospect it hadn’t occurred to him that any of his guests’ had been that dangerous to him and Dru, not directly anyway. Covering his disquiet as well as he could, Spike drew attention to the other part of his comment.

“Well they certainly messed about with my head that’s for certain. All I can remember from the middle of December through to the middle of January is...” he paused trying to find a way of describing the memories of heaving, panting flesh, the cries of passion and wonderful seductive smells which assaulted him.

“From the look on your face, I think I can hazard a wild guess as to what you were doing for a month.” Maybe if I just cut it off, Angelus considered looking at the captivated expression still on Spike’s face. I mean, it’s not like he needs it and it would probably grow back in a couple of years.

He cleared his throat, pointedly and the younger vampire looked up, still slightly glazed from his foray into his memories.

“Umm. Middle of January. Basically, by the time I was aware of what was happening again all hell had let loose.”

*********

London January 1885

He felt weak and nauseous as if he hadn’t fed for a month. The room was freezing-ly cold and he was in an empty bed that reeked of sex. Spike shakily dragged himself to the door, annoyed that the minions had allowed the fire to go out and peered through it. The landing was in darkness and there was no sign of movement. It took him several minutes to dress, and then he staggered downstairs towards the larder. The humans that had been stored there were long since dead and only the cold had stopped them putrefying. Left with no other option he opened the front door and went out into the night. He needed to feed, quickly.

With a skill born of starvation he hunted down a young couple near King’s Cross-Station, draining both before his hunger reached tolerable levels. Then he grabbed a young man to take home for later, managing to make it back to the darkened silent house with no one the wiser. He dumped the comatose body in the kitchen and was about to go find Dru when he heard piping laughter from the conservatory, the pixies, followed by a less familiar sound, that of a baby cooing and gurgling.

Inching the French windows open Spike looked to see where the noise was coming from. The Siofra were gathered around a bassinet laughing and singing to whatever was inside. He crept forward and was astounded to see that far from containing a human baby, which he could have had for dessert, there was a small, grey creature with tiny horns framing its face. It looked perfectly happy, waving its arms around trying to catch hold of the tiny figures around it. A sinking feeling wrenched in Spike’s gut, small, grey, horns, he was looking at a baby Kailiff demon.

“Are ya pleased, Master William? Isn’t she a beautiful baby?” The Siofra Spike had come to think of as the head pixie, chortled happily. “We’ve nearly finished our business here in London, so we finally got round to fulfilling the other part of our responsibility.”

“But, but.” He didn’t know what to say. No mention had been made of the aborted feud since the visitors had arrived, and Spike had completely forgotten about it. Now the pixies had stolen one of their babies and considering Kailiffs had children about once every fifty years he was pretty damn certain that someone was going to notice.

“No need to thank us, Master William, sir. T’was an easy task for us. We left a bewitched log in its place so they’ll not notice till the changeling dies.”

“A changeling? A log? What the hell are you going on about?” Spike lost his temper. He was still disorientated by the empty house, worried about Dru and now these stupid creatures had started up a feud he thought he’d put a stop to.

************

London February 1885

“You didn’t inform the Daoine Sidhe that the feud was over?!!” Forget bordering on gross negligence, this was gross negligence. Angelus lurched to his feet and went to grab Spike round the throat as his frail control over his temper finally snapped. “You made a deal then forgot to tell the other party that the rules had changed? I canna believe you would be so stupid!”

Halting mid move, he swung round turning his demon face away from the stunned vampire sat on the rug, and grabbed hold of the edge of the desk trying to get his anger under control. If he attacked Spike now he would rip his head off, it was as simple as that.

More shocked at his Sire’s control than by his violent outburst, Spike sat silently fearing what may come next. Normally Angelus was quite happy to thrash him into unconsciousness if he behaved stupidly, so if he was showing restraint then Spike reckoned he was in severe danger of imminently becoming dust. The shaking in Angelus’s shoulders started to slow and the wood that had been creaking ominously under his hands fell quiet. The only sound in the room was the crackle of wood burning in the fireplace.

Eventually Spike broke the silence. “Sire?” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I really am.” There was an unprecedented note of contrition in his voice. “I never meant for anything to happen. It just did.”

Angelus sucked in a deep breath and, without turning round ground out equally quietly, “That is the problem. You never mean it and you are always sorry.” He shook his head despairingly and stood upright releasing his death-grip on the desk.

“I don’t know what to do, William. I’ve tried everything and nothing works. I beat you till you’re unconscious; I explain why things are important, I’ve threatened to stake you so many times its now an idle and empty comment. God damn it, boy I’ve even tried spoiling you and fucking you into the mattress every night. Not one of them has worked. What do I have to do to get through to you, to make you think? To make you, for the first time in your un-life, actually consider the implications of what you are doing?”

With that he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Spike stayed sitting by the fire listening as the sound of his Sire’s heavy footsteps receded up the stairs. He was devastated by the outburst. Threats he was used to, he lived with them everyday, like the violence, but this was different. He had never heard such an emotional display from Angelus. An apology seemed called for, and Spike considered several things he may do or say, dismissing them all as paltry offerings in the face of his Sire’s wrath.

He remained on the rug as the dawn broke, watching as the sunlight encroached on the room through the curtains he hadn’t bothered to shut. When it drew close enough for him to touch he shuffled backwards - he didn’t want to die - and continued to withdraw until he was behind the chimneybreast, wedged in the corner where the two walls met. Safe at last from the sun, he fell into a fitful sleep.

Angelus smiled as he drove a stake into his heart…

Angelus scowled as he ripped his head off…

Snarled as he pushed him into the sun…

Cried as he ripped his heart from his chest…

Laughed as he threw him into the fire…

And he died… He died and he died and he died.

A terrified scream woke Angelus from his equally fitful slumber upstairs and he shot down to find the source. He entered the study and didn’t immediately see Spike, concealed as he was, at the juncture of two walls. It was only the quiet whimper that called him over and he approached carefully. His Childe was huddled against the wall, his knees up to his chest, his hands scrabbling at the wall. There were deep gouges in the plasterwork and blood on his fingertips where he had tried to dig his way through to escape whatever was in his dreams.

Tentatively Angelus put a hand on Spike’s shoulder, and gave it a little shake. “Spike? William?” Spike’s eyes flew open and met Angelus’s with a blank gaze, which then filled with terror as he tried to back away further into the corner adding new bloodstains to the wall with his hands.

“Don’t kill me. Please Angelus, don’t kill me.” He was shaking his head rapidly from side to side and was obviously still caught in the throes of his nightmare.

Angelus pitched his voice as calmly as he could, much as he would speak to Drusilla when she was having a vision. “William, it’s me. I’m not going to kill you. You’re having a bad dream, but you’re okay. Wake up.”

Comprehension flooded Spike’s face and, with a cry, he threw himself at Angelus wrapping his arms around his neck. “Sire. Not Angelus. Sire.” As he nuzzled into the familiar smell of home and family that he found there, he continued to whisper, “Sire. I’m sorry. Don’t kill me. I don’t want to die. I’m so sorry.”

Clutching Spike to him tightly, Angelus slid down the wall, stroking his hair and muttering quiet words. There hadn’t been a dream like this one since the days just after William’s rebirth and they had contained horrors every vampire was familiar with. At the time he had teased the young fledgling unmercifully, accusing the new one of weakness to hide his own terrors at the memory of such dreams. But this was different. As he cradled the distraught vampire in his lap, it became obvious in Angelus’s mind that something he had said had finally gotten through, and Spike finally understood how close he had come to meeting his final death that morning.

Eventually, the shaking and words stopped, and a quiet regular breathing, that always indicated that Spike had fallen asleep, started in his ear. Angelus stood and carried the somnolent form upstairs. After stripping off the smut covered robe and laying him carefully on the bed with the coverlet tucked the tightly around him, Angelus quickly checked that Dru was still sleeping peacefully before joining Spike in bed. He drew the sleeping body towards him until they were spooned together, Spike’s back against his chest, and wrapped his arms around him, chuckling quietly as he felt the younger vampire relax completely and snuggle back into the embrace, a softly whispered “Sire” falling from his lips. Maybe there was hope for this recalcitrant fledge after all.

Spike woke the next evening, firmly caught in his Sire’s embrace, with his head pillowed on his broad chest. He lay for a while casting his mind back through what had happened, dwelling briefly on his extremely disturbing dream. He still felt the need to apologise, but knew that whatever he said would come over as flippant, even if it was meant wholeheartedly. He traced random patterns on the smooth skin under his fingers, noting without concern the dried blood marking his nails into deliberate half moons. Maybe he was looking at this the wrong way. He was an action sort of guy, not a talker. Maybe he could offer something to his Sire that would make the older vampire believe that his apology was genuine.

When his stomach grumbled, the beginnings of an idea formed in Spike’s mind. Slipping silently out of the bed, he grabbed his robe and cast a quick eye back at his Sire. Angelus had not moved and remained fast asleep but he was probably hungry too, neither of them had fed the night before. He left the room and made his way to the kitchen. As he suspected the minions had refilled the larder. Taking his time Spike selected a young one, enough for them to share and dragged it upstairs. Growling quietly, he scared the young lad enough ensure the blood would taste sweet when they fed later and dumped the trussed, gagged and naked boy in the corner of the bedroom. Then he returned to the bed and proceeded to wake his Sire in the time-honoured fashion.

So it was that Angelus awoke to the pleasant sensation of being inhaled by his Childe. He lay still, enjoying the feeling but not yet willing to participate. This wouldn’t be the first time Spike had tried to get himself out of trouble with sex and his forgiveness wasn’t going to be bought so easily this time. He contented himself with letting the younger vampire do all the work, simply grunting in satisfaction when he completed in Spike’s mouth.

When he felt his mouth flood with his Sire’s seed Spike fought not to swallow. On this occasion he had better uses for that precious substance than to fill his empty stomach. He spilt a goodly amount into his hand, then returned to gently sucking and lubricating the half hard cock, not enough to be uncomfortable, but aimed at bringing Angelus to full arousal again. With his spare hand he prepared himself as well as he could, using the fluid to ensure he was slick and ready, then he drew himself up the bed, straddling Angelus’s hips, positioning himself carefully, before lowering, oh so slowly onto the waiting shaft. Resting his hands on his Sire’s chest, eyes tightly closed and breathing gently, he savoured every millimetre of the penetration. This wasn’t about the huddled gropings of sex beneath the sheets but a gift freely given, and he imbued it with as much of the respect and adoration he was feeling for the magnificent creature below him as he could.

Finally he felt wiry hairs brushing against his hole and knew that he had brought his Sire fully home. He sank forward until his was lying on Angelus’schest and turned his head, leaving his neck fully opened and exposed. This was as close as he could get to an apology; he was offering his Sire his body and his blood. It was up to Angelus to accept or reject them. His dead heart nearly leapt when he felt powerful arms enclose him and fangs brush against his neck parting the skin. His blood was drawn slowly as if each mouthful was being carefully tasted and considered, and Spike tried to fill it with his contrition and remorse for his thoughtlessness.

Angelus had watched the performance with fascination. It didn’t look as though this was simply a manoeuvre designed to get Spike off the hook, but it wasn’t until his Childe’s neck was bared to him that he understood what was being offered. There was complete stillness when his fangs penetrated the flesh, absolute confirmation of Spike’s submission, and Angelus repaid the offering by drawing his blood slowly, tasting the unvoiced emotions it contained. He was convinced. On this occasion Spike was truly sorry. All they had to do now was find a way to stop it happening again.

They were lying quietly, both recovering from their exertions when Angelus’s stomach rumbled loudly. He grumbled and was moving to get up to feed when his Childe jumped out of bed before him with a request to remain where he was. Spike dragged the boy over and broke the ties that bound him, holding him by the neck to stop him escaping. With a quick heave the youngster was bundled into the bed and the two vampires settled down to play and feed. With the skill of cats they kept their prey alive for as long as they needed, not allowing the gift of death to come until both were fully sated with the human’s terror and his arousal drenched blood.

In the aftermath Spike, belly finally full, cast a resentful look at the battered and drained corpse that had been kicked off the bed, and muttered, “There’s nothing like human bodies, they’re so bloody warm. Pity they get cold so quickly.”

“I would’ve thought you’d had your fill of warm bodies recently.” There was no malice in Angelus’s voice, just teasing humour and it elicited a growl of faked annoyance from the younger vampire.

“Yeah. But it’s not like I remember it. I mean, a month, a whole sodding month spent in the arms of some damned attractive pussy and I don’t remember a single detail.” Spike picked speculatively at his nails, trying to remove both fresh and dried blood before giving up with a shake of his head and sucking them clean.

“They saw you, you know. When you returned the baby, the Kailiffs saw you.” Although he didn’t want to break the mood, Angelus really wanted to finish hearing Spike’s version of events.

“I noticed. It was the way they chased after me, howling like banshees. It was a dead give away.”

“They’d have caught you too, if they hadn’t been dealing with the after effects of the succubi themselves.” The Kailiffs had still been a little unnerved by the experience when Angelus had met up with them on his return to London. What with changeling, Leanan-Sidhe, and the explosion that had virtually destroyed their lair, the Kailiffs had every reason to be a little disturbed.

“They wouldn’t, believe me.” Spike sounded absolutely convinced but Angelus was distracted.

“And they weren’t the only ones who had an overdose of succubi that month. They also attached themselves to various businessmen and politicians, including Gladstone, several senior Royals, and the head of the Metropolitan police. They were very busy girls; business was virtually suspended in London during their stay.”

Silence fell as they considered the effects of the succubi’s visit. There must have been chaos and they’d both, for different reasons, missed it. A miserable thought for creatures that glory in the easy feeding of such happenings.

Again it was Spike who broke the silence. “Did you ever manage to find out what they were trying to do?”

“Not as such. Although there are some clues. Their victim’s were all high ranking and, except for Gladstone, rabidly anti-Irish. Then there’s the explosion. Why did the Fir Darrig, the emissary, want to blow up the Tower of London as well as the Kailiff’s lair?”

Spike shrugged. “No idea. He just said that if the lair went up, then the others would stop harassing the Kailiffs. Which makes absolutely no sense when I look back at it. Why would I want to blow them up? I must have been mad.” Confusion washed over his face as he tried to make some sense of his actions.

Angelus smiled indulgently, some of the empathy he had felt the previous night for Spike’s plight at the hands of the gentry returning. “The Fir Darrig are very adept in magic. He probably used a Pishogue, or spell to influence you. They also play tricks on people, which is probably why he was sent to you in the first place. It would have been an easy task for him to convince you to fall in with them.”

“But why blow them up? Why not just stop being nasty to the Kailiffs when I asked? Plus they should have chosen humans with a better grasp of explosives. Cunningham and Burton didn’t know what the hell they were doing.” Spike snorted at the stupidity of the human’s that had been involved in the latter stages of the debacle, and was surprised when Angelus answered.

“I’d wager that it was the Tower they wanted destroyed and the lair was simply used as a way to get your co-operation. My guess is that these last months have been about the Daoine Sidhe doing their bit in the fight for Home Rule, and ironically they chose an Englishman to facilitate it. I would have expected them to use someone with native roots at least.”

“Maybe it was the shamrock on my arse. It was pretty evident when the Kailiffs dumped me in the Red Lion down St. John’s Street, and you know what that place is like. Full of radicals and troublemakers.”

There was a censorious note in Angelus’s voice when he replied. “I would not call fighters for Irish independence ‘radicals and troublemakers’, but maybe you’re right. The shamrock marked you as belonging to an Irishman so I guess that made you fair game.” He paused. “Why did you say the Kailiffs wouldn’t have caught you? They still seemed pretty upset when I spoke to them.”

Spike grinned. “That would have been the pooka, mate. I can categorically state that no one catches a pooka in full flight.

It was Angelus’s turn to look surprised, “A Phouka? How did you end up on one of them?”

Turning over and putting his head on the pillows, Spike closed his eyes as he cast his mind back.

******

London January 1885

Having successfully managed to get into the Kailiff’s lair without being spotted, Spike had just got the baby settled back in its cot when its mother appeared. She let out an almighty bellow and attacked him, sending him flying backwards out of the window. Like a cat he twisted mid-air, landing on his feet, but the fall had been a long one and his right leg buckled on impact when he hit the ground. The injury left him moving much more slowly than usual, Spike was in full flight down the back alleys but the Kailiffs were still closing on him. As he rounded the corner he spotted a huge black horse hitched to a railing and with a flying leap he landed on its back and grabbed up the reins.

The horse didn’t even flinch. Spike dug in his heels, clinging tightly to the saddle, expecting it to take off. Nothing. He could hear the Kailiffs coming up the alley he’d just left and kicked again in frustration. If the damn thing would just move he would be halfway across London before they worked out where he was.

“Move damn you.”

“Do you wish to go somewhere?” The horse turned its head and asked politely.

Spike was very glad he was holding on to the saddle, ‘cos a talking horse is just the sort of thing to make a fella fall off.

“Excuse me?” The Kailiffs were nearly to the road.

“I asked if you wanted to go somewhere.”

Bugger this. “Anywhere but here?” Spike tentatively suggested.

“Hang on then.” With those words the world vanished in a blur. Grabbing the saddle with one hand and a handful of mane in the other, Spike dropped his head and followed instructions. After a while he started to get extremely uncomfortable, his leg was aching, his backside was sore and his hand was cramping from its grip on the saddle.

“Drop me off at Copenhagen Street, if you don’t mind, mate. I can walk from there.”

The horse’s chest rumbled beneath him and Spike got the distinct impression it was laughing at him.

“Copenhagen Street is long past. We’re passing Richmond at the moment.”

“Richmond?” Spike yelped and sat up, sawing on the reins trying to get the horse to stop.

“Please stop doing that, it’s irritating. You asked for anywhere but here so you get the full trip. All twenty-four hours of it now just sit still and try not to distract me.” There was a slightly peeved note in the horse’s voice so Spike complied, allowing the reins to go slack. His leg was now seriously sore from gripping the horse’s side, the talking horse’s side. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“You’re not a horse, are you?”

“You know, even for a vampire you’re pretty dense. No, I am not a horse. How many talking horses have you met?”

Ignoring the insult - he couldn’t believe horses were insulting him - Spike ploughed on.

“So, what are you?”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you to sit still and shut up?”

“Yes.”

“Did it work?”

“No. What are you?”

The horse sighed, a strange sound like a quiet whinny, and said, “A Phouka.”

“What’s a pooka?”

“I am.”

“Okay. You are a pooka and a pooka is what you are…is…whatever. What do pookas do?”

“They take people for wild rides.” This was turning into a very unrewarding conversation.

“Helpful insight being as how I’m stuck on your back hanging on for grim death watching the world goes by in a blur. Where are we by the way?”

The pooka looked around. “Umm. Somewhere in Berkshire, I think. Maybe somewhere near Windsor."”

“Oo, I’ve never seen Windsor. Can we stop?”

“Only of you want to go up in flames. The sun’s out and its only our speed that’s keeping you alive right now. I wish I’d known you were a vampire when I started out. I’d have dropped you off at Copenhagen Street.” Regret. The pooka was regretting picking him up? Spike was mortally insulted. Some folks went out of their way to spend time in his company.

“Well, excuse me for not breathing!”

“Please, can you just hang on and shut up or I’m going to stop so fast you’ll be in Australia by the time you land.” Regret had turned into anger so Spike did as he was told.

About three hours later he was deadly bored, had full body cramp and was going slowly out of his mind.

“Where are we now?”

“Near Cardiff.”

“Oh.”

Thus the day continued with both parties getting increasingly irritated with each other. By sundown they were in the highlands of Scotland, and the pooka stopped for a few minutes for Spike to get off and stretch his legs. That was the idea anyway. What actually happened was that he fell off and rolled around on the boggy ground while the pooka stood and laughed at him. When the time came to remount, Spike had to drag himself onto the pooka’s back as his legs wouldn’t support his weight, and when his ass made contact with the saddle he nearly fell off again. With a hearty, “Hang on” the pooka took off at full speed, Spike bouncing and cursing on its back until he managed to get his balance.

Their arrival at Copenhagen Street wasn’t pretty. The pooka stopped with a snort, relieved to be rid of the vampire that had been asking, “Are we there yet?” for the last three hours. Spike fell off again and had to lie on the ground until his plaintive cries attracted the attention of the minions in the house. Only after an extremely long bath was he able to close his legs and sitting down took a good while longer.

******

London February 1885

Spike paused. Angelus was sniggering and he couldn’t help a rueful grin himself.

“It wasn’t that bad. I nearly saw parts of Britain I’d never seen before. Worse thing was I couldn’t walk properly for a day when I got back.” He shuddered. “Did I ever tell you I hate horses?”

Angelus laughed. “Be thankful that nothing worse happened to you.” He slid down the bed and ran a hand idly over the green shamrock painted on the pale skin in front of him.”

Spike twitched irritably. “Don’t. I swear they used leather dye. It’ll never come off, I’m sure.” He sank his head into the pillows, so his next words were almost too muffled to hear. “Plus every time you touch it, I remember what an idiot I’ve been.”

Angelus’s hand paused, then he slapped Spike’s bare backside hard. “Right. Get up. Go hunting or whatever you want to do. I’ve got things I need to deal with. I’ll expect you back by five, okay.” With that he pushed his Childe out of bed and lay back, ignoring the loud complaints about vampire’s being evicted from their own homes.

While Spike was out, Angelus made preparations for his return so that, when the front door opened at two minutes to five and his Childe appeared, on time for a change, he had everything ready in the study. As the door opened, Angelus fixed his sternest expression on his face.

“Get a chair and bring it here.”

Spike felt a knot of dread form inside him when he saw Angelus’s face and wondered what the hell he could have done to get his Sire angry again. Maybe this was a continuation of the odd mood swings he’d noticed last night. He sat pensively next to the desk and seriously considered whether running wouldn’t have been a better option.

“Give me your left hand.” The command was spoken in a cold voice, devoid of any compassion and Spike wondered how much this was going to hurt. He obeyed anyway, his hand lost in his Sire’s much larger one.

“As I said yesterday, I am at a loss as to how to get you to co-operate. I have decided to do something that should be a continual reminder of your stupidity and disobedience.” Spike winced at the words but didn’t move his hand.

“You gave me your blood willingly, “Angelus continued, “and you acknowledge that as your Sire I am entitled to do whatever I will with your body?”

There was no doubt about it; this was going to hurt. Spike nodded, “Yes, Sire.”

“Put your hand on the desk then.” He did.

Angelus took an earthenware ink pot and one of his paintbrushes from the drawer and proceeded to shake the pot and remove the stopper. By now Spike was frowning in confusion and Angelus glared at him.

“It was the shamrock that gave me this idea.” He bent over Spike’s hand and proceeded to paint another shamrock, this time in a dark red on Spike’s thumbnail. When he’d finished he looked up again and laughed, finally dropping the cold demeanour he had adopted when his Childe had entered the study.

“This is an aniline dye. It won’t wash off and will be repainted if it starts to fade. I’m hoping that every time you see your nails and what I’ve painted on them, you’ll remember the one on your backside and how you earned it. Maybe,” he tapped the end of the paintbrush on the tip of Spike’s nose, “you’ll remember to think about what you’re doing.”

As the vampires bent to their task, Spike as caught up in what was happening to his hand as his Sire, he had a sudden thought that may explain both the unfamiliar scent he had picked up and Angelus’s odd attitude to what had happened.

“Angelus? Have you ever met the Theena Shee before?”

Putting the paintbrush down, Angelus leaned back in his chair and treated his Childe to a level gaze. Spike looked away; maybe this was something his Sire didn’t want to share.

With a small, exasperated sigh, Angelus picked up the paintbrush again and said, “It was about seventy years ago. Darla and I were in Dublin and we had a visit from a strange red haired creature…”

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