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Business as usual by Lilachigh
 
Chp 53 Victims
 
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Business As Usual  by  Lilachigh



 



 



Chapter   53       Victims



 



 



“Snowy!  Kitty!  Here, kitties.  Oh dear, where have you got to!”  Agnes Pringle sank down on a large wooden crate - not to catch her breath exactly, because of course she didn’t need to breathe, but even if she was a vampire, her legs still ached a little when she ran too far.



 



She peered round the dark off shoot of one of the sewer tunnels, hunting desperately for a sign of her two cats.  Ever since she’d had that very alarming visit from Richard Wilkins III, telling her that she would be well advised to leave Sunnydale because there was an unstoppable Apocalypse on its way, she’d been grimly preparing to do just that.  Agnes was well aware that when Richard said ‘immediately’ then that was what he meant.   She wondered why she hadn’t questioned his advice: she was no longer the timid, unsophisticated vampire she’d been when he first met her. Oh no, she now prided herself on being - what was the expression young Andrew used?  Streetwise.  Yes, well, tunnelwise would probably be a better description for a vampire, but the meaning was the same.



 



No, she hadn’t queried what Richard had said because she felt in her very bones that he was telling the truth.  She knew she wasn’t a clever, upper class vampire, an Aurelian, like Spike, but even she could sense something extremely unpleasant was building all around Sunnydale.  So in the hours that had passed since her ex-sweeheart left, she’d been busy packing. Not because she was scared to stay: no, if she had only had herself to worry about, then she would have barricaded the door to the Olde Willow Tree Tea Shoppe and fought off anything that dared to threaten her beloved home.



 



But she wasn’t alone. She was, like it or lump it, as her dear mother used to say, in charge of several vampire children.



 



Agnes gripped the edge of the wooden packing case so hard that a splinter dug into her flesh. Wincing, she sucked her finger, tasting her own blood.  There was no choice; that was the trouble. She knew only too well that when trouble broke out between the human world and demons and vampires, the first casualties were the weak - children and, yes, women, but the children most of all.  What chance would Nancy and the others have against packs of Unturneds, probably lead by the Slayer,  out to defend their town against a demon invasion?  None at all.  It was all very well for Richard to say they were going to destroy this world - he did exaggerate so! - but no matter how many demons arrived, it would be bloody and nasty.  So, although it broke her heart, she knew she had to leave Sunnydale, take the children and, somehow, someway, get them to safety.  



 



Leave Sunnydale!  A shudder rippled through her body as if the very foudations of her being were crumbling.  This little town was her home, the place where she’d made friends, a new life, run a thriving business, survived and she had to give it all up for a very uncertain future.  Agnes knew herself well enough to know that she’d rushed around without stopping since Richard left, not allowing a second of time to sit and think, to accept what was going to happen.  Keeping busy kept her despair at bay, but she had the horrid feeling that it wouldn’t stay away once she was quiet for more than a few minutes.



 



 



 



She’d already told the children to start getting together their most valuable possessions, ready for when night fell and she could buy a nice big camper van from Sheldon, the vampire car dealer whom, admittedly didn’t have a good reputation amongst her customers - convertibles whose roofs opened unexpectedly during daylight were unforgivable -  but beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to escaping from an Apocalypse. She needed to get to Los Angeles, to visit Mr Nicholas Elder, who had helped her once before.  She only hoped that by sending Spike to see him when he’d headed off to Africa, she hadn’t used up all her credit with that very odd man who worked for such an alarming organisation.



 



But that was a bridge she would have to cross when and if she came to it. Now her problem was far more basic - she had to find her cats, Snowy and Kitty Fan, and get them crated up, ready to travel.  There was no way she was leaving them behind!   She’d been searching and calling for half an hour but guessed they were probably home by now, laying on her bed, oblivious of the trouble they were causing her.  Agnes sighed and struggling to her feet, peered round to get her bearings.  Oh, yes, she knew now where she was - underneath Anya’s shop, The Magic Box.



 



Turning to hurry back to her own basement, she hesitated.  She liked Anya, had felt so sorry for the poor girl when she’d been so cruelly jilted by that boy Xander, the Slayer’s friend. And Agnes knew that Spike had liked the ex demon girl, too. Why, only a few days ago, Clem had let drop a remark that made Agnes think the vampire might be looking away from the Slayer at last and have warmer feelings for Anya.  That would have been such a happy arrangement. She’d had such a nice dream about the two of them settling down together in a cave just along the tunnel from her, perhaps adopting a couple of the children and...



 



But then - she sighed - Spike had rushed off to Africa, his mind still full of Slayer obsession and Anya had been left once more.  Agnes thought it sad: she’d always been so reliable; theirs had been a good, business-like relationship - a basket of muffins every day and Anya had keep quiet about her neighbour being a vampire. It had worked very well.   Leaving Sunnydale without saying goodbye seemed a very poor way of acknowledging that friendship.  Surely it couldn’t hurt. Richard hadn’t said his information was a secret - although she supposed it would be a little difficult to explain, even to an ex-vengeance demon.



 



Making up her mind, she climbed the wooden ladder from the tunnel up to the door that led into the lower store-rooms of The Magic Box.  She knew Anya worked late and hopefully would still be there, stock-taking or counting the money she’d taken that day.  But as she climbed into the basement of the shop, she froze. The noise from above was terrifying - crashing and banging - glass shattering, wood splintering and even the air here in this room shimmered with the oily grease of magic being used close by.  



 



Agnes felt faint - she could taste such power, such hatred and despair, jealousy, revenge, every skein of colour of every anguish she could remember, but overlying them all was grief - deep, bottomless, grief that ripped at her brain until she was forced to crouch in a crumpled heap on the floor and vamping out, she buried her head in her arms. 



 



She had no idea how long she lay there but finally she realised the air was still and quiet once more. Wincing from the stiffness in her arms and legs, she stood up and brushed the dust from her clothes.  With trepidation, legs trembling, she stared up the wooden steps that led into the main shop.  Whatever had happened up there was none of her business, she told herself.  There was no need to go poking her nose into demon matters that didn’t concern her.



 



“I must go; the children will wonder where I am,” she muttered to herself but oddly she watched as her hand clutched the wooden rail and she found she was pulling herself upwards.  There had obviously been some sort of fight and where there was fighting there were usually casualties.  Anya might be hurt, badly injured and there was no way Agnes could go home without checking.



 



Nervously pushed open the door, and was faced with a scene of such devastation that she let out a little squeal of horror.  The Magic Box had been smashed to pieces, with such force that Agnes could only guess that the demons Dear Richard had spoken about had arrived early. Really, some people couldn’t even organise a war successfully! She imagined organising an Apocalypse was probably like following a really difficult recipe and it you deviated, disaster happened, as when she tried to make lemon curd with blood instead of lemon juice.



 



She took a step forward, stopping as glass crunched underfoot and a noxious smell rose from whatever had been in the little flask.  Agnes hesitated - she couldn’t see Anya but somewhere, buried in the wreckage, she could hear groaning.  Carefully, she edged forwards - the sound was coming from under a pile of splintered book shelves. Thanking the fact that being a vampire made her far stronger than she’d been as an Unturned, Agnes heaved the jagged spears of wood aside, then gasped.  It wasn’t Anya lying on the floor but the battered face gazing up at her was that of nice Mr Giles who’d once owned the shop before he went home to England.



 



Before she could stop herself, Agnes vamped out, then hastily shimmered back into human face.  She was almost certain that her fellow compatriot hadn’t noticed because blood was trickling down into his eyes from a cut across his forehead.



 



“Oh goodness!  Oh dear. Do let me help you. Can you move? No, perhaps you shouldn’t. I believe moving is not a good idea until you know how much damage has been done.”



 



“I’ll... be... fine.”



 



The words came in no more than a whisper and were so patently untrue that Agnes tutted crossly.  “You certainly won’t be unless you let me help you.”



 



“If you could just help me up - I need to - vitally important - she must be stopped - must - ”



 



“Who must be stopped?  Do you mean Anya?  Surely she didn’t fight with you, Mr Giles?”



 



“Anya?  No - it was - look, please, help me up.  I can stand - I’ve suffered worse than this over the years.”



 



Agnes doubted this last remark but knew gentlemen didn’t like to be argued with, especially when they weren’t well.  She slid her hands under his shoulders and effortlessly heaved him upright, forgetting that there should have been no way she could have done that. 



 



Rupert Giles staggered a little and clutched her arm.  Leaning heavily on her, he stumbled through the wreckage towards the shop door.  



 



“My tearooms are just along the street,” Agnes said. “If you can walk that far, I can administer some first aid and a nice cup of tea. Sweet and strong - for shock, you know.”



 



She pushed open the door, then hesitated. How stupid!  For the first time in how many years, she’d forgotten to think about the time of day. Was the sun still out?  Surely not. It must be evening by now, but then Californian evenings could be very bright.



 



“I think you’ll be all right,” Rupert Giles murmured, “she’s made it almost night out there.”  He swayed violently and would have fallen if Agnes hadn’t caught him round the waist and held him as he doubled over in pain.



 



She looked down at the blood-stained head so close to her now, the tender skin of his neck showing just above his collar and felt a wave of anguish sweep over her.  She didn’t understand what Mr Giles had just said, but one thing was quite clear - he knew!  She felt her stomach turn over, just as it did when she forgot a batch of scones and they came out of the oven black as cinders.  This man who was a friend of the Slayer and so many other influential people in Sunnydale, knew her secret, that she was a vampire.  She would, of course, have chosen not to kill him if it had just been herself to consider - but if he knew about Miss Pringle, surely he would know about the children, too.



 



And she vamped out.



 



tbc



 



 



 



 



 



 



 



 



 



  



 



 



 



 


 
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