Moxley had his spies who arrived with the second wave of Watchers, and consequently sacked every Watcher he found to be associating with the St Petersburg Court. But his ‘spies’ were generally working for him because of fear, not commitment to his cause. They were easily identified by others in the group, then ‘informed and converted’, all bar one, and Spike let the rather weasel-like Simon return to his boss.
After receiving the report, the rotund, balding, Moxley raged around the meeting room, pacing back and forth behind his Chairman’s seat as soon as he learned of the numbers of Slayers and Watchers involved in the ‘betrayal’. In his view it added insult to injury considering those Slayers who had been returned to their homes after he had worked *so* hard to gather them, or in his terms “…harvested the crop and molded them for their role.”
He finally stilled and rounded on the group of rather nonplussed looking Watchers in the room. “Eliminate them… all! Every *being* associating with that abomination of a ‘Court’. Raze the building to the ground and stake or shoot anything or anyone that escapes!”
A very young looking Watcher who could not have been more than nineteen, blanched but still managed to squeak out “But sir… some of them are our colleagues, we can’t just…!”
“You want to join them boy?? Because I’m happy to accommodate! I said *Kill*. *Them*. *All*.”
One of the older watchers then piped up, “But Mr Giles is…”
“Giles is history. His moral compass is corrupted, his body is failing, and he is no longer even a Watcher. Good God, it will be an act of kindness for that bastard! How hard is it to kill an invalid!!? Just put a bloody pillow on his face… you’ll be doing him a favor!”
A thirty something mild mannered Frenchman stood at that point, “Sir I wish to protest! We cannot just go in murdering young Slayers! There will be…”
He was cut off by Moxley, “These girls are *dead* to their parents anyway, and the Watchers signed their lives to us when they joined. And *so*, might I remind you, did you!
“The rest of that group of demon scum?… Who cares! Bloody dead things and witches is all they are!”
Moxley was on a roll, so missed some of the furtive looks that flew around the table. Not everyone in the room was quite so comfortable with murder on their hands.
The meeting was adjourned with Moxley calling his right of veto on any matter, and eventually simply issuing an edict.
All individuals involved or associated with the St Petersburg group were to be eliminated, and within a week of the St Petersburg downfall, all the remaining European Slayers not associated with the ‘uprising’ would be ordered to kill demons of *any* variety on sight, those failing to comply would also be ‘removed’.
The majority of the Watchers’ Council was stunned into silence. This was *not* a decision based on justice or balance, but literally the stuff of the Middle Ages Inquisition.
Andrew received a text message within minutes of the meeting’s conclusion and alerted Spike.
……………………
Spike and Xander’s Sire arrived on the evening following the edict. It was the first time they had seen Anton truly angry. The Immortal raged, likening Moxley’s policy to all other genocidal maniacs of the past.
The word of Moxley’s scorched earth policy had spread like wildfire – and strangely, so had the legendary efforts of the Vampiric court to return all the abducted Slayers and protect the humans and wiccans in their care. The older Slayers still present remembered their own calling… and were thrilled to conference call with the Immortal’s partner, their first Slayer, Buffy.
An additional seventeen Watchers and upward of thirty Slayers had arrived late on the day after Anton swept in, all of the latter well over fifteen years of age and were standing proud at their first meeting, and *all* opposing their current edict and wanting to assist in righting a heinous wrong.
The new group was quickly ushered into a side room to be greeted by one of Willow’s senior wiccans, given timetables of their schedules and information regards their training. After which they were fed and led to a bus which took them to their accommodation. Buses were scheduled to shuttle them back and forth as needed. Without exception all were impressed, even Moxley’s new mole, a very naive twenty year old watcher from Mains was beginning to have second thoughts.
The ruling couple and Minna welcomed the Watchers and Slayers in their care, leaving them in no doubt that the rumors of the Northern Clans’ care for their human population were not only plausible, but true, and also in no doubt as to who were the ‘good guys’.
The entire summer palace heaved with people every daylight hour and lat into the night.
Unrepentant and set on his task had chosen his own fate by threatening the Mistress with a stake after he was ushered into a side room and questioned about his alliegence. Hans’ from Mains (the young German Watcher and Moxley’s mole) was already been turned as a minion by the time of his phonecall to the dictator Moxley. Information might be power, but false information infinitely more useful in times of war. And this was… war. He performed his duty then was ushered below stairs to serve his Mistress in whatever way she chose.
…………………………………………
When Anton arrived he had foregone all etiquette and marched directly to Spike’s suite, Anna making a swift exit as the Immortal swept into the room. Spike stood as the dark figure entered, as did his Consort. Anton threw off his coat in a rather fierce gesture. Seeing his two boys again, only reminding him of the trouble they faced.
Spike looked tired, and Xander exhausted, so as the High Master began, “I am sorry to trouble you Sire…” Anton answered by simply pulling Spike down to sit beside him on the ornate antique settee, and tore open his wrist and offering it to Spike. The smaller blonde vampire groaned then slumped a little against his friend as he gratefully accepted the powerful blood.
Anton took a little of Spike’s in return before signaling to Xander and repeating the exercise.
Already briefed regards the Watchers’ Council’s agenda, there was little to do but discuss the immediate launch of their own strategy.
The legal work had been done and there was easily enough evidence to convict immediately.
The masterstroke would be the coordinated swoop on all involved. Moxley and his cronies would be charged with organizing a European wide, syndicated, child kidnapping organization. The testimony of the Watchers and former Slayers (even though many were under age), was key to the prosecution case. But they had to be sure that those testifying were protected.
Moxley’s spies were good, but the network of the High Master, Minna, the covens and renegade Watchers was far better.
They also needed to protect their own.
………….
Giles *had* to be moved as soon as possible as it was more than apparent that he was Moxley’s first target, but he was in the middle of the final chemotherapy regime and extremely ill. Moxley seemed to have marked the aged Watcher for ‘removal’ as soon as possible and engaged a rather enthusiastic mercenary to that effect.
Spike’s solution was simple. That evening Giles was moved to their rooms. And not just to their rooms but into their bed. His own ‘sick bed’ was stuffed with a dummy as a foil.
Meanwhile the High Master and Consort slept on a mattress placed beside the old Watcher, despite Spike’s aversion to the smell of illness.
Giles was in no state to act or even comment. It was the second day of his final treatment and he spent most of it under the careful eye of a lovely oncology nurse as he shivered his way through the last of the chemotherapy.
He had known what to expect by now on an academic level but was still adjusting to his baldness in all regions, and the extreme vulnerability he felt as a catheter was reinserted to collect his urine and bag attached for any faeces. This time it was Xander and Spike who comforted the old Watcher as he shook uncontrollably. Eventually his teeth stopped chattering and amidst sobs, he continued to apologize for ‘being such a bother’.
It was early afternoon and Giles had slept a little in the middle of the enormous four poster bed. When he awoke both Master and Consort were lying either side of their friend. Both had an arm over his torso trapping him between them. He felt dreadful, exhausted, humiliated but safe. Xander was half snoozing too, until Spike began to comfort the ill human.
“C’mon ya ol’ bugger… The boy’s got your back and some silly bastard of a High Master is here too, no need ta be strong for now… Who are we gonna bloody tell?! C’n smell the tears comin’. Just let go of that stiff upper … and trust us yeah? Let ol’ Spike and Xan take care of you.” Spike dialed up Giles’ pain medication to the maximum the nurse had recommended, then removed all the monitoring equipment he dared, knowing he could detect even the smallest shift in heartbeat or scent.
Giles relaxed into the caring embrace, let out a strained laugh then began to cry. All the frustration and fear regarding his illness, and the months of worry over the Watchers’ Council, and the years of grief and angst before that, dissipated into the tight hug of two friends. He gave in to the permission to be vulnerable in their care. Rolling painfully toward Spike the near bald, very ill man buried his head in the crook of the Master Vampire’s arm and felt a warm body spoon him softly from behind. Like a small child he sobbed himself to sleep.
The old watcher awoke abruptly and alone in the bed somewhere near five in the afternoon to yet another bout of nausea. He dry retched three times, before the nurse was able to add an extra ‘boost’ to his I.V. and his stomach settled a little. He relaxed somewhat, then burst into another round of rather embarrassing silent tears. The doctor in attendance felt he should report the incident to a troubled looking Consort and High Master.
Ushered in by Anna, the youngish medical specialist began abruptly, “Are there any next of kin?”
Spike was immediately in game face as Xander’s stress level ramped up to a critical when Spike literally yelled through both link and mouth, “What’s happened??!! He was fine when we left him not yet an hour ago!”
And Xander quickly offered, “We’re his family.” The young doctor did not seem at all phased by the raised voice of the High Master, which surprised the Consort, but then Xander saw him blink – a thin membrane passing over the eyes that on closer inspection were indeed those of a reptile and a slight dropping of the glamour as Spike’s power rolled through the room with the distress of the High Master.
“Well then, I must tell you that he is in need some counseling and a great deal of support from you all while he recovers. Sadly the human body is so flawed and the drugs we have had to use in this latest treatment are likely to temporarily alter his brain chemistry. Apart from the uncertainty of being unwell, and the ongoing issue with his hepatitis complicating the whole thing, his usual emotional state will be disrupted.
“We will examine his medication and add an anti depressant if necessary once this round of chemotherapy had performed its task. In the interim I would suggest a few drops of your own blood if you are willing and some form of hashish – it will have the dual effects of quelling his nausea and increasing his appetite whilst also improving his feeling of well being. Do you think he would be amenable to that if I suggest it?”
Spike relaxed a little and almost grinned as he answered, “Chap was a bloody rabble rouser in the late sixties ‘n seventies, reckon I can hear his inner Ripper cheerin’ already. Go ahead and suggest it – we’ll sort the supply.”
“Oh and one last thing, I recommend a macrobiotic diet – nothing complicated – shall I give you now or…?”
“Just hand it to Anna on your way out – she’ll talk to the kitchen staff. Poor bugger’s been eatin’ next to nothing ‘til now… Cook will be mighty pleased when the tray comes back with even half a plateful of anythin’ eaten.”
The following evening, Willow and the nurse were sitting talking quietly as Giles slept when the assassin struck. The Watchers had not warned the mercenary of the strength of the wards that alerted the household of any intruder’s entry, nor anticipated that a powerful witch and the Mistress of the household (and her partner) might be sleeping alongside their target, the individual was ridiculously out maneuvered.
Ex-Captain Bosworth had no ‘beef’ against his target, it was simply another job. He had been doing the same for various private interests ever since leaving the Legion nine years ago. He had conventional weapons, and given the free standing building and the angles involved, a evening of reconnaissance dictated no other choice but to rappel from the roof and try to shoot through a window. He had done his research and read the documents. He knew they had moved the target and also knew the suspended entry was risky. But he had been successful in more difficult circumstances. And he was to be handsomely rewarded.
The red dot centered on the elderly gent’s forehead and whine of the automatic weapon were expected.
The Senior witch and Mistress acted.
Before he had a chance to compress the trigger, the ex-soldier found himself frozen in position. Immediately and effortlessly, Mistress Minna put him into thrall, extracting the information they needed, then swiftly draining and turning the mercenary.
She had a new minion with just enough memory to keep his deadly skills, but ensuring his loyalty only to his Mistress and her will.
Willow turned away as the gun for hire was drained. Her only solace, the sounds of ecstasy as the former foreign legion soldier came in the Mistress’s hand as she milked him of both his semen and his blood. The new minion had no control over his errant ‘member’. He like so many others, would continue to be instantly hard to the point of pain as soon as the Mistress or and of the Higher Court were present. In the privacy of the housings below the palace, he would be perpetually safe from the sun, trained to serve and free to pleasure. It was their only permitted relief and their demons did not hesitate.
Bosworth was the new boy on the block and eager to enjoy his new status. His demon was stronger than some, though he, like the others of his ilk, could not quite remember what their previous alliances or lives had been. He did know however, that he would defend his Mistress until he was dust. It included seeking out and draining his employer, the mole in the hole which he did on the third night.
Before the trials of the abductors began, the eviscerated body of a Watcher, complete with full hand written confession of his betrayal, was found near the southern gate. It was not, perhaps, the pure justice the ruling couple would have preferred, but was understood.
The senior minion Bosworth went on to serve his Mistress as a loyal and effective head of security at her winter court in Kopenhagen for just over sixty years before he was dust.
……………………………
Early on the morning two days after the attempted annihilation of Giles, the raids on the Watcher Headquarters and various satellite offices across Europe occurred.
It was technically a police raid, ordered by the governments in each country and coordinated via Interpol across eleven European nations. All individuals involved in the abductions were arrested. Fearful of the Watcher’s magical abilities, the wiccans had all combined energies to bind any magicks attempted by or around the Watchers, outside the St Petersburg trusted group. Glamours and cloaking spells simply failed to take, and the normal human judicial system took its course.
The world of international politics and law did what the Vampire Court could not. Anton had friends in very high places and as it turned out, Moxley’s action regards the ‘abduction strategy’ was to be a fatal blunder.
Moxley and four others were charged by a human court with kidnapping minors, and a variety of other charges. Most pertaining to holding an individual against their will, torture of a minor and various other misdemeanors that even at international law level spelt a lifetime of jail.
The courts of England were swift and efficient, and on show. It was a closed case and one rather embarrassing on an international level as it had come to light that the kidnapping ring had been operating for two years with its home base in England yet completely without action by the police services… and another sixteen countries were involved.
The courts in other countries were swift to redress the oversight, the convictions eased along by the related cases and bolstered by international law and precedent.
The Emergency Watchers’ Council lay low and appointed a new Chairperson, with restricted powers after their experience with Moxley. The very odd part being that the ‘new guard’ was apparently very happy to ‘muck in’ with the renegades.
The trials of the Shameful Seventeen (as the press had dubbed them) across Europe were *very* public. The press had a field day showing images of tiny sobbing girls pointing fingers at their captors, and equally emotional parents describing horrific tales of searching and grieving for months. Moxley and his cronies were named as ‘leaders of a bizarre blood cult’. Despite a good defense, the information gathered by Willow and the court group was utterly damning in every case.
Xander could not help but smile at the speculation regards the motivation, assuming ‘white slave traders’ and ‘pedophilic predators’ when none of the nineteen could provide a viable reason for abducting the girls. All pointed the finger at Moxley as leader.
Eventually Moxley and twenty two others across Europe were convicted. Internally the coup was complete. The headquarters was relocated to St Petersburg temporarily, and Andrew was installed as their Chairperson. Giles, sadly, was still not well enough to take on a fully participatory role.
………………
Three months after his internment in a jail just outside Manchester, Moxley was transferred to a medium security jail nearer to London. He smelt a reprieve and assumed he still had supporters in the Watchers’ group. With no family to speak of and few former colleagues interested in his wellbeing he really had no way of finding out what had happened to the Council. ‘In’ for twenty years non parole, he began to devise his own method of getting a ‘cushier deal’. Three weeks after arriving at his new abode, Moxley managed to convince the guards of his ‘suicidal tendencies’. He had expected to be moved to the infirmary then make an escape from there, but the sadly under-funded facility simply moved him to a high security ward in the local hospital.
After a month on heavy medication, which strangely (when he swallowed) did indeed seem to make him feel calmer, the former watcher managed to contact one of his former Council colleagues via phone, but had severely miscalculated the level of antipathy that most Watchers now had for him. The bullying of other Watchers, the kidnapping and brainwashing of Slayers, and the scorched earth policies that he invoked – including killing some of their own, was all too much. His location was reported to a still recovering Giles, who contacted the High Master of Europe on the instructions of the new Council, and asked Spike for the Court’s assistance.
Moxley disappeared from his isolation cell the following evening. The security camera reported a simple ‘there one minute and gone the next’. No-one could forward an explanation. To cover their own bafflement, the facility reported suicide. Shortly after, he was reported dead by his own hand. There was a cursory tribute made to him at the New Council headquarters, but few mourned his passing. A distant cousin of Moxley’s inherited a small amount of money and the matter was buried… literally.
Several covens had banded together to transport their nemesis from his hospital room, to a room in a quiet French country estate on the border of Switzderland. The ancient rooms of the farm house had little light and were cool, even in the height of the hot summer they were enduring.
A still disorientated Moxley was swiftly shackled, yet managed to sneer at the ruling couple as they entered the small room he was occupying.
“Ho, the real bastards appear!” He spat in their direction. “Too afraid of me to take me on bare fisted? Well F#$@ you! F#$@ you!! The gay half breed and his whore what a handsome…”
His words were cut off by a perfectly calm Mistress. Minna had stepped from behind the ruling couple in full game face. The iron fingers pressing into his throat not cutting off his air, but rather, crushing his larynx. There was no more sound. She smiled at her High Master.
“Much better. May I deal with him High Master, I am sure you and your Consort have better things to do.”
Spike simply nodded and ushered his Consort from the room.
Moxley would have screamed in pain but was no longer able, then realized his supreme error. and took the ex-Watcher hard and fast, deliberately stroking the man to near completion as she drained him, then feeding him but a few drops of her own blood as they all moved aside so the human could spurt his hot seed onto the ground as his body succumbed.
Moxley like a few others before him, had ‘earned’ the right to be turned as a minion. And given the deliberate nature of his turning, he would also be a begging ‘bottom’ for any demon who chose to use him.
As the man died, Minna whispered to him in perfect English, “You were a whore for power Mister Moxley, now you are simply a whore… oh… and a demon… enjoy.” The Mistress then dropped the body of her newest minion and walked from the room. She ordered transported to their demon brothel in Moscow.
The first act of the newly risen minion was to roll over and present his rear to the older vampire sent to monitor his rising. He was taken hard and fast, painful pleasure and in complete silence, the damage to his larynx being permanent, carried over from his pre turning. He couldn’t quite sort out why he felt wrong and right at the same time, so simply smiled stupidly as a cool body completed inside him. He was then led to his permanent quarters in the brothel, joining others of his kind and some beings whose race he thought he should know but couldn’t work out why.
He was fed animal blood and was still trying to remember his own name as the Mistress’s staff collared him then chained short, forcing him to hold a kneel position on the ground. He was stimulated and prepared, then, just before coming, had a full restraint fitted to his nether regions and a large butt plug inserted with retainer strap to ensure its permanence. The new vampire grinned, though barely registered the instructions: his fittings would remain constantly until his willing services were required; he was to shower and remain lubed at all times; he was to obey the Mistresses and Masters in all things; and he *would* display his enjoyment always.
Moxley knew he should try to understand why he felt so different but was a little too confused about everything to bother so simply went with his demon’s instinct to submit and smiled at the handler.
After his restraints were locked into place, he turned to the minion next to him and they grinned at each other. Moxley actually enjoyed the feeling of being restrained. He felt he belonged and snorted a silent laugh with all the awareness of a one year old at play group. His act was reciprocated. He couldn’t remember his name, or anything else, but it seemed like this was his place and his body felt good, even if he was still hungry for something.
Within the hour, he began to rub his caged erection against the ground and the action moved the plug in his rear. He repeated the act, eventually having a dry orgasm. It quickly became a constant behavior, mimicking that of his other four collared and chained vampire compatriots in the servicing room. He knew their faces but could not remember why.
They were easily trained and rewarded for good behavior by occasionally having their constant erections un-caged and release permitted, or by being fed a tiny drop of a Master’s blood with their animal meal. Moxley knew there was something ‘before’, but really could not process the thought to its conclusion. Over time he learned that he had hurt many of his kind but could not really remember the before and had no real remorse. Now his demon purred as he made his handlers happy by servicing their clients.
Twelve years later, Moxley was dusted accidentally during an amorous encounter with a Na’alich demon, his client taking the minion a little too enthusiastically over a chair and the broken wood penetrating the unbeating heart of the former danger to all demons.