DRUSILLAS ROSES Chapter Two “All these years you’ve lived, Dru, and you still forget your purse.” Her lower lip quivered and Xander realised he had upset her. Crazily, he felt bad about it. Oh, well. Might as well go with the madness… “Mocha, latte, cappuccino or espresso, then?” he said flatly. Her hands fluttered nervously. “The stars don’t sing to me any more. Miss Edith is silent.” That was vintage Drusilla-speak, for sure, but overlaid with a weariness and uncertainty he had never heard before. She really didn’t know how to answer him. That was vintage Drusilla too. Stone-cold killer, malevolent seer; but waif, vagabond and lost child as well. More lost than he. One hundred and fifty years past her time with all her ties, both vampire and human, severed. The vampire Angelus had murdered her entire human family, made her insane and sired her, becoming a demonic father to her. But now Angelus had a soul, called himself Angel, and had rejected her. Spike and Darla, the other members of her vampire family, were dead. She was just as estranged from her people and her past as he was. He had researched Drusilla’s history years before, and knew family meant everything to her. It looked like she had also lost her precious Miss Edith, an old porcelain doll which she thought spoke to her. It had probably just stood for a scrap of her long-lost innocence and helped whatever was left of the saintly young girl she had been distance herself from the devil-child she had become. Now even that last crumb of comfort was lost to her. She really was all alone. And to top it all, she didn’t even know how to order a cup of coffee. He almost felt sorry for her. “Okay, Dru. Promise not to kill me and I’ll buy you a coffee. Deal?” She nodded, tucking herself tidily onto the chair next to his. Taking care not to turn his back on her, he ordered café mocha grandes for them both. This Starbucks still served them in the big old white mugs and Drusilla warmed her hands on it when Xander passed her the drink. She doesn’t look well, he thought. There are dark circles under her eyes. She hasn’t been feeding. What’s happened to her? She timidly sipped some coffee. He noticed her fingernails were no longer painted purple and looked quite badly chipped. Edward Hopper would love this, he thought. A one-eyed man and a vampire, sharing coffee late at night in a diner. The only thing necessary to complete the picture would be Elvis sweeping up behind the counter. Drusilla looked at him briefly while Xander wondered what the hell to do next. “So what brings you to this neck of the woods, Dru?” he said. “Not necks. Not prey. Not time. Not place. Silver rain and golden light brought me here. I am standing on the chessboard with my white knight and I don’t know my next move.” Oh, great. A depressed, rootless vampire has singled me out because I’m the only person she knows. Why does it always have to be me? Why do demon women always zero in on me? An embarrassing memory surfaced. The spell he’d made Amy the witch cast to win Cordelia back. It had made everyone except Cordelia fall in love with him. Everyone including Drusilla, who had even saved him from Angelus before trying to turn him. Her intent had been pure, though. By her dark standards, the greatest gift she could grant a human was eternal life. And as Spike had once said about magic, while battering him up against a tree one time, “there’s always consequences. Always!” Xander quickly weighed up all the pros and cons of his situation. Then he took his cell phone from his pocket and showed it to the vampire. “Dru-.” She went on sipping her coffee, still holding the mug in both hands like a child seeking warmth, and looked up at him. “I’ve got my finger on the trigger, Dru,” he said. “One press and an army of slayers will come after you. You understand?” She nodded, quite meekly. “Now maybe I’m being an idiot, and it wouldn’t be the first time, but I’ve come to understand a bit about vampires over the years. It used to be pretty simple. Humans good. Vampires bad. Black and white. I saw my best friend Jesse turned, so I really didn’t like you very much. But then Angel showed up with his soul and Buffy fell for him. Next came Spike, who loved Buffy despite lacking a soul, became my roommate for a while and shagged Anya before saving the world. Sure, sometimes I could have happily staked him. Other times I worked with him, even played pool with him at the Bronze now and then. Occasionally, I even kind of liked him, although not for long. He was Spike, after all.” Drusilla’s eyes brightened and Xander belatedly remembered that she did have feelings for Spike. She had been in a relationship with him for 120 years or so. His death had virtually widowed her, and he knew how that felt. He had lost Anya at exactly the same time as she had lost Spike. It was getting harder and harder not to feel sorry for her. He passed her his handkerchief, and wondered at the sight of Drusilla Aurelius, scourge of Europe and master vampire, dabbing delicately at her eyes in a Starbucks on the edge of L.A. while being comforted by a mortal enemy. Even enemies can have common ground, though, Xander thought. He had heard of something called “Stockholm syndrome” once. A situation where bank robbers and their hostages, trapped together in a Swedish bank vault, had forged relationships and stayed in touch. So, spark an ember from that love spell, add a dash of Stockholm syndrome, weave a lonely, widowed vampire into the mix with a bereaved Scooby, and what do you have? Common ground and a truce, if nothing else, he guessed. Drusilla was looking at him keenly and Xander reminded himself that it would not do to forget that, for most vampires, humans were just meals on legs. “Xander?” “Yes, Dru?” “What happened to your eye?” She reached towards the empty socket beneath the patch and he jerked back. “An evil thing called Caleb took it out with his thumb,” he said. The memory was still too close and he lashed out at her. “An evil thing like you.” That’s it, he thought. She’ll definitely kill me now. Instead Drusilla shrank away from him, clasped her hands in her lap and whimpered like an old dog who had taken one too many beatings from a sadistic master. “I’m sorry, Dru,” Xander found himself saying. “I don’t know why you’ve come to me – actually I’m not even sure why I’m still alive – but I can’t help you. We’re on opposite sides of the coin. By rights I should kill you, and I definitely will tell Buffy you’re in the neighbourhood when I get back.” He stood up, taking care to have his cross handy. Drusilla flinched, making him feel oddly guilty. At the door, he turned. “Good night, Dru,” he said. She was still sitting there. Not quite like a Madonna in stone, but pretty as a picture nonetheless. “Good night, Xander,” she replied, sounding sad. Damn it, he thought on the way out. Why do I always have this effect on demon women? But God, was she ever beautiful.
Posted on: Sun, 14 Dec 2014 11:01:48 +0000
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