Part 2

2029

Music swept over the crowd, penetrating even the darkest corners of the Bronze. Buffy glanced at Alex, who was watching her. She smiled at the look in his dark eyes, then turned to Delia who was sitting with them.

"So does the U of O have any cute guys?" she inquired, cupping her chin in her hands, her elbows resting on the table.

"Tons!" Delia exclaimed, finding a topic she liked. "Mom has this big freak out whenever I mention frat boys, but besides that it’s great!" Buffy laughed.

"My mom does the same thing . . . something about a giant lizard or something . . ." Alex growled slightly.

"And why were you paying attention to frat boys anyway?" he demanded, his eyes gleaming.

"Cause I had to see how very wonderful my boy is," Buffy replied playfully. "And I did!" She leaned over and kissed him playfully.

"Boy, happy couples are boring," Delia sighed. They broke apart and stared at her, half amused and half shocked. "What? I was just telling the truth," she muttered.

"Well, we better start fighting, if only to amuse Delia," Buffy laughed.

"Sounds like a plan," Alex replied.

"Buffy!" a voice shrieked. Buffy turned and shrieked something oncomprehensible in return, sliding off her chair and running to meet her best friend of all time (besides Aex). Lanie McPherson was short and blond and totally adorable. Behind her at a more sedate pace followed the third of their childhood trio, Sophia, a tall slender young woman with decidedly Italian heritage.

"It’s so good to see you!" Lanie exclaimed, jumping up and down in her excitement. "Why didn’t you call? The second you got into town!"

"I didn’t know you were home sweet girl," Buffy protested. "Or you Sophi . . . plus I just flew in last night."

"Twenty four hours ago! You are an evil being!" Lanie cried. Sophia merely smiled, her dark eyes glittering.

"Why didn’t you call me?" Buffy asked, silencing her friend’s protests. Alex came up behind her to see what the commotion was and Buffy drew his arm around her. "You guys know Alex."

"Oh fine, see him," Lanie muttered.

"We’ve met," Sophia answered. Buffy glowed.

"It’s summer vacation guys!" she cried. Sophia looked on the verge of laughter and Lanie nearly began jumping up and down again. A new song came on.

"Come on, let’s dance!" she cried, siezing Buffy from Alex’s hold and pulling her out onto the dance floor. Buffy caught Sophia and dragged her to, blowing a kiss to Alex as he was left in the dust.

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

"You sure you don’t want me to walk home with you?" Alex asked for the fiftieth time. Buffy laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Shall I get out my holy water and spray some on you?" she asked. "I’ll be fine! Go!" With a last kiss and a reluctant glance, Alex went back inside to help his mother close. Buffy would usually stay herself, but she still had some jetlag and she’d promised Lanie and Sophia they’d go shopping the next day, so she really had to get home. Patting the stake, cross and holy water she had in her pocket, she started out, walking briskly down the dark street, humming one of the songs from the evening.

She didn’t hear anything until the man had grabbed her and had his hand over her mouth. She bit him and felt the cold steel of the knife against her throat. Buffy froze.

"That’s better," he murmured in her ear. She shivered and closed her eyes, one hand searching for the cross. Unobtrusively she pulled it from her pocket, waiting until he relaxed the knife to thrust it to his face. Why was a vampire using a knife anyway?

Because he wasn’t a vampire.

He laughed at the cross and she felt the knife again.

"You think God will scare me away little one?" he whispered. "Not likely." Something in her soul began to scream and her stomach clenched like it had when she saw her father turn into a werewolf for the first time. Only a thousand times worse.

"Please, what do you want? There’s money in my purse," Buffy whispered, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat. He laughed again, a cold, chillind sound devoid of any humor. Maybe he wasn’t a vampire, but he wasn’t human either.

"Well that would be wonderful if I wanted money," he replied. He moved closer and she closed her eyes, feeling his breath stir her hair. When he spoke next it was in a whisper, right in her ear. "What I want my sweet, is you." Buffy felt her world collapsing, the sky spinning, the darkness closing in. She felt him pull away and just as she gathered her voice to scream, a weight descended on her head and she knew no more.

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

Alex stopped in the middle of lifting a chair onto a table, a sudden chill through his heart. Something was wrong . . . with Buffy. Something was wrong with Buffy. But that was impossible. She could take care of herself, and it wasn’t far to her house. Still, he wished she had let him walk her home.

"Alex?" Cordelia asked. "You okay?"

"Fine, Mom, I just . . ."

"Do you want to go home?" she asked. For a second he thought of making sure Buffy was okay, then sighed and shook his head.

"No, it’s okay. I’m fine, really," he assured her. She smiled at him and got back to work. Trying to shake off his feeling, he did the same.

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

The room was dim, lit only by a rusty red lamp, the color of dried blood. She remembered what had happened and tried to sit up, but she couldn’t. She was chained, spread eagled to a large, hard bed. Her chains rattled as she moved and a second later he came in.

He didn’t look as he should; from his voice and his actions she had pictured a dark, snaky man with sinister eyes, but this man was tall and blond and smiling. Only his blue eyes revealed his plans. Buffy began to shake and tried to breath slowly, to stop the trembling before her teeth started to chatter and he saw her fear. But he seemed to know it already. He sat on the bed beside her and touched her face. Though the caress was soft, his hands were cold and Buffy shrank back from the touch.

"Please let me go," she whispered. He smiled at her, looking like a football player from her high school, though he was older, in his thirties. He still had that look, wholesome, All American. Buffy could hardly breath, could hardly think. His eyes swallowed everything.

"We haven’t had our fun yet," he whispered and a tiny part of Buffy’s mind wondered who this man was, did he have a job, a family, children? Most of her screamed though, screamed and screamed silently, hoping somehow someone would hear.

"My name’s Buffy Rosenburg. My mom’s a computer scientest and my dad in the lead guitar in Dingoes Ate My Baby. Oz . . . have you heard of him?" she startled to babble, recalling somewhere from the dim recesses of her mind that if victims humanized themselves to their attackers, the attackers often left them alone or let them go. "I’m going to be a junior at UCLA in the fall and I live in L.A. and my boyfriend Alex is going to come live there with me. I’m an only child but my mom’s best friends have lots of children and they’re like my siblings and my two best friends are named Lanie and Sophia and we’re going shopping tomorrow. Or is that today? Please let me go," Buffy sobbed. He cocked his head, as if considering it, then sighed.

"No, I don’t think so," he said. "Not just yet anyway." And then he apparently decided they’d talked long enough, because he started to rip her clothes instead.

Buffy tried to tear her mind away, tried not to think of there here or the now. She thought of Alex and his half smile and his sweet moody eyes. She thought of her friends and what she wanted to get at the mall, how much it would cost her to replace the dress she was wearing how she should get a summer job soon or she’d be in trouble come fall. She thought of everything and nothing helped. She closed her eyes and saw his face. She closed herself and he broke the door down and invaded her mind and her body and she couldn’t be anywhere but there.

That was all before he got out the knives and the whips and the matches.

And when it was over, she lay unmoving, unthinking, screaming silently forever and ever and all the times that came after that.

1573

"Where have you been?" Eliane’s mother asked as she came in the scullery door.

"I went to see Father Ambroise," Eliane answered, untying her cloak and hanging it up. "He gave me some books to study."

"Eh . . . wll, a marquis arrived and a group of musicians. We could have used your help," Jacqueline said.

"Je regrette Maman," Eliane said, tying a cloth over her bright hair and joining her mother in washing dishes. "These new arrivals, what are they like?"

"The marquesse is handsome and they say he is very rich! The musicians are good looking too. But you must be careful–"

"I know, je sais Maman. I’ll be careful. Where’s Rosalie?"

"Lady Régine asked her to settle the musicians in, then she had to put Aurore to be."

"What about Véronique? Who is putting her to bed?" Eliane asked, just a tinge of bitterness in her voice. Jacqueline clicked her tongue.

"You musn’t say such things! Véronique is a lady, and must be accustomed to being waited on," she said in reprimand. Eliane sighed.

"I know, but we must dress her and undress her as she chatters on about all the wonderful people she meets and balls she goes to . . . It isn’t fair!"

"I know sweet, but it is life. She was born a lady and you were born my daughter and that is the way it is," Jacqueline said.

"Oh! I did not mean it like that!" Eliane exclaimed, kissing her mother’s cheek. "I’m glad to be your daughter! It is just . . . I wish we could control our birth." Then I wouldn’t be the slayer, her mind finished.

"Everyone does and no one can. In Heaven we will all be equal," Jacqueline said piously. Eliane nodded dutifully.

"You’re here!" a voice exclaimed. "Where were you El?"

"At the church," Eliane answered, turning to kiss her best friend’s cheek. Rosaline was her age nearly to the month, with a slim figure, auburn hair and bright hazel eyes.

"Did you bring books?" Rosaline inquired excitedly. Eliane smiled–though she found no great pleasure in her studies, her friend loved them.

"Yes, I brought several. They’re over by the door. Did you speak with the musicians? Tell me about them!" Eliane exclaimed.

"You’ll never guess, I have a cousin among them! His name is Sébastien and he is my father’s sister’s son! Imagine that! He is a juggler though, not a musician, but he travels with them. There are four others. One of them is the son of a lord, but he would rather play and travel than stay at his father’s castle! He played a bit and he is wonderful!"

"How exciting! We should get musicians more often!" Eliane said brightly.

"I saw the marquis too! He is very . . . very handsome but in a dark way, as if there was something that made him unhappy or brooding. He has black hair and very dark eyes and he dressed all in black! I watched him when he came in and he seemed unhappy, but when Lord Hilaire came he was all good manners and then I had to go!" Rosaline reported.

"It sounds marvelous! I cannot wait for the ball, even if we only get to watch!" Eliane exclaimed, secretly praying that she would even be able to do that much. Ambroise could be strict, but she could usually get around his edicts somehow.

"We get to dress Véronique," Rosaline pointed out. Eliane made a face.

"How exciting! And we get to hear about the marvelous time she had and all the men coming to pay court to her!" Eliane muttered.

"Don’t be unhappy! At least we get that much!" Rosaline exclaimed. Eliane summoned a smile for her friend. Truly the only reason they did get that much was because Rosaline’s mother had nursed Véronique. Rosaline had therefore become Véronique’s companion, and Eliane had somehow been included in the trio, though the lady and the cook’s daughter had never gotten along well. Eliane was too proud, though she had no reason to be–unless one counted kindness, goodness, beauty and the fact she kept the world safe from vampires (all of which Eliane thought should be counted). Somehow the rest of the world didn’t seem to agree.

"Oh well . . . Maman, are we done? I’m rather tired," Eliane said. Her mother eyed her for a moment, then nodded.

"Get off to bed then. There’ll be lots to do tomorrow, so no staying up reading!"

"I promise," Eliane said truthfully. She kissed her mother’s cheek and Rosaline’s (though her friend promised to come up momentarily). As she walked through the small dark stone hallways to her small room, Eliane wondered why Roasline’s description of the marquis sounded so familiar . . .

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

"And here’s your breakfast," Eliane said, setting down the plate in front of Rosaline’s cousin.

"Thank you sweet lady," Sébastien said. Eliane waved off his jokes and set about serving the rest of the musicians. They were eating in the kitchens, but even there she had to serve them. Ah the life of a scullery maid.

"Thank you," the head of the troop–she thought his name was Etienne–said as she served him. Eliane smiled brightly.

"Well it’s the least I can do. And you all must play for us later!" she exclaimed. Etienne grimaced.

"Hopefully we will not offend your ears," he said.

"Well not much does I’ll tell you!" she laughed, setting down extra food in the center of the table for when they finished their first servings. If there was one good thing to say about Lord Hilaire, he did not skimp his servants and players.

"Come sit, eat with us," Sébastien said, looking up from his food for a moment.

"No, I cannot, I have work to do. Either Rosaline or I will come in a few minutes if you need anything. Enjoy your food," she said, then left them to go into the main part of the kitchen where her mother was working hard at breakfast for the high table.

"Come here and take these out," Jacqueline called, handing Eliane loaves of hot bread just out of the oven. She accepted them from her mother and went out backwards into the Great Hall where breakfast would be served soon. Concentrating on not dropping the bread, Eliane ran straight into someone. She tipped and one of the loaves was slipping, but a large hand caught it just in time and steaded it in the baskets. Eliane turned, admonishing the person for not watching their step and found herself face to face with the man she’d met the night before on the road. He didn’t know who she was. He was dressed richly. He must be the marquis.

"Watch–Pardon my lord," she said, curtseying and nearly losing the loaf again. He grabbed one of the baskets and lifted it and her up.

"Do not apologize. I am sorry for nearly losing your burden for you. Let me help you," he said, taking one of the baskets.

"No, my lord, I could not possibly let you–" she began, holding on with all her considerable strength.

"Nonsense. And how do you know I’m a lord? I do not believe we’ve met," he said.

"We haven’t. But how many servants walk around in velvet?" she demanded, then remembered her place. "My lord." He laughed.

"Well, you have a point. Here, I command you to give me the bread. Much better. Where does it go?"

"Up on the High Table," she murmured. He frowned slightly.

"Are you sure we’ve never met? I did not recognize your face, but there is something–"

"I am certain my lord. Didn’t you only arrive last night?"

"How did you know that?"

"Well you must be the marquis. There are not many nobleman here I do not recognize as I have lived here my whole life," Eliane pointed out, setting her basket down and pointing to where he should put his.

"Once again I see your point. Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asked. Eliane looked aghast.

"Of course not my lord! Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I was wondering what time breakfast is," he admitted.

"In fifteen minutes my lord. If that is all, may I have leave to go?" she inquired, trying to make her voice lower than usual. It really would not do to have him recognize her as the Slayer. And what kind of marquis was this anyway? He fought vampires and helped serving girls.

"Of course. I look forward to meeting again," he said. Eliane paled and bobbed a curtsey before fleeing to the kitchen. Apparently his helping of serving girls had a purpose besides philanthropy. Meet again . . . well she should have realized what he wanted at once. Nobles weren’t kind to servants without some sort of goal in mind. And with male nobles and the goal was usually the same. Maybe she should warn Véronique . . . or maybe they would deserve each other.

"What took you so long?" Jacqueline demanded.

"I ran into the marquis. Don’t worry, he wasn’t angry. Quite the opposite actually. I know, I know, be careful. I am careful. And I’ll avoid him, I promise," Eliane said, her hand going to the silver cross she had tucked into her skirts. Even her most modest dresses were too low cut to wear it without notice.

"I just worry," Jacqueline sighed.

"I’ll be fine Maman. I can take care of myself," Eliane said. Her mother didn’t know the half of it. Though she prayed to God she wouldn’t be forced to use her Slayer strength against any men–men, especially noble men were automatically believed or servant girls.

"El, there you are," Rosaline said, entering the kitchens. "Have you met the musicians?"

"I gave them breakfast. And a charming lot they are too! Etienne asked about you," Eliane said smiling.

"He did?" Rosaline asked, her eagerness giving away a clue to her own feelings. Eliane laughed.

"Indeed! He seemed very unhappy that you weren’t there. How is Véronique?"

"Lazy as usual! I only convinced her to get up by prodding her with tales of the marquis," Rosaline said, rolling her eyes. Eliane made a face.

"I met him. I don’t believe he’s all he seems either. Does she need me to lace her up?"

"Yes, she said I should send you up," Rosaline replied. Eliane sighed. Her strength was an asset when it came to getting Véronique as tightly laced into her corset as she insisted she should be.

"I’’m going. Go check on the musicians and see if they need anything," she said, giving her friend’s hand a squeeze as she passed her and went to the stairs leading up to the noble bedrooms. She hadn’t had time to eat yet, and she wouldn’t for a while . . . there would be more guests arriving that day too and that meant more mouths to feed, more rooms to prepare. And as soon it got dark she’d been ordered to go hunting. Such fun!

On to Part 3