The Resurrection Gambit
Part Twelve: To Die and Live in L.A.
Los Angeles, 2003: Drusilla was mad north, northwest, south, southeast and upside down and diagonal, but even she could tell a hawk from a handsaw. Most of the time. The hawk, for example, was the porcelain doll she glimpsed in a dream, the one with its hand wrapped around and dust to dust her ex-lover’s throat. And this is the part of the song where the chorus is stars, and what lies beyond the finger-painted canvas?
She watched from the alleyway. The neon of the street signs pulsed like a heart. Everywhere shone with electric blood. Spike bad dog had beaten the captured vampire to a pulp before it sang such exquisite songs, those screams and revealed Azra’s location. The boy, Xander, she had loved him once, a little, but that was in a dream, but isn’t it always and the Watcher his blood was a symphony were back to back with the man called Gunn. They were making dust that swirled in the air like screams, like ghosts of anger. If they didn’t have souls, what became of them when they were…
Spike bad dog, too much like daddy was angry too angry and howled at the moon as his fists sang songs and how could you use a there were no bodies what becomes of us when there is no spark? “Soon there would be no more of us,” she said, beneath her breath.
Angel was not burning. Azra wore the gem on a chain around her neck "I am hunted,” thought Drusilla. “These mad thoughts are mine” Azra could incinerate them all, save for the spark, which resisted her. Only a handful could command the gem.
Angel shook off his attackers and advanced on Azra. A vampire leapt on him, and in a desperate gambit, Azra ignited it. Angel fell to the ground in agony, desperate to extinguish the flames. He tore off his duster, a casualty of fire. We are all casualties of fire, in the end.
Wesley fired bullets at Azra, and they forced the vampire backward, but didn’t kill her. Angel rose and advanced on her again. Outnumbered, and running out of fodder, Azra darted for the alleyways.
Drusilla was waiting.
In her panic, Azra slammed straight into Drusilla. Drusilla smiled, her gaze sinking deep into Azra’s. “Shhh!” said Drusilla. “It’s a surprise.”
Horror is not a common expression on a vampire’s face, but that’s the only word for what overtook Azra at that moment. If she had thought for a moment, Drusilla would be hers to command, but she was running scared, and Drusilla’s eyes were an abyss not easily turned away from. Azra stared, transfixed, as Drusilla ran her fingernail across the vampire’s throat. Wordlessly, Drusilla snatched the gem, and Azra burst into flame.
At that, Drusilla laughed so long and loud that the battle abruptly halted. Her hands drenched in Azra’s it was borrowed anyway blood, Drusilla strode into the street, where all were staring at her.
Drusilla clapped her hands in childlike glee. “What fabulous ribbons and bows we will decorate the party with, what streamers and gilt and the sound…”
And the world flashed white in front of her, like snow had engulfed everything, and suddenly Drusilla was somewhere else.