TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 10/?
AUTHOR: Pythia
E-MAIL: pythia@tiscali.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the UPN Television Network. The story is written for the pleasure of the author and readers, and has no lucrative purpose whatsoever. Please do not reproduce this story anywhere without the author's consent.

POSTING NOTES: *.* is for emphasis. {.} denotes thought and [.] implies translation from another language.

The Bronze was bouncing. Wednesday night was popular among the college crowd, and this Wednesday was no exception. The band was from out of town, the music was hot, and the air was heavy with the usual miasma of soft smoke, the scent of beer and the impact of too many people packed in an enclosed space. It was no wonder that vampires were drawn to hunt around its environs; the place practically neoned 'free food' with every pulse and beat of its nightly revelry.

Buffy had smiled at the bouncer at the door - who'd smiled back as he saw Angel behind her and had opened the door with a flourish. Heavy, rhythm laden music had pounded out, laced with staccato drumbeats and deep bass chords. Jungle music; the sound of tribal dances and the bone humming incantations of a rave.

"Whoa," Angel remarked, stepping close so that he could be heard. "This is intense. You really think anyone will try anything in this kind of crowd?"

"Yes," Buffy nodded, leading the way into the club, her eyes peeled for trouble. "Wesley said the first thing Lilithu did *last* time she was out was send her people to attack a festival. Hunting tactics. Stir up the herd and then you can start picking the weak ones off at the edges."

He looked impressed. "Discovery channel?" he asked, over the pulsing din.

She shook her head. "Lion King," she answered with a grin. "Dad took me. Back in LA. We used to go to Disney movies a lot."

"I liked 'Fantasia'," Angel admitted, adding, almost apologetically, "I went to the premier."

Buffy laughed. *That* was hard to picture, the earnest vampire sitting through the antics of Micky Mouse and being entertained by dancing mushrooms. The demon on the mountain sequence though - that might be more his kind of thing. And the dinosaur bits … No, she still couldn't see it. "I shall remember that," she threatened warmly. "Next time I pick up a rental."

"No need," he murmured in her ear, the pounding rhythms of the place forcing them to be close, to be intimate in order to communicate. "Ru - Giles has a copy. We can borrow his."

There were a few more things in that statement than she wanted to cope with right there and then; the hesitation with which Angel slipped from her Watcher's first name to his last, uncomfortable evidence of the way things now stood between the two of them; the confident implication that he'd still be around to lend them *anything* - and the mere idea of *Giles* owning a copy of a Disney movie.

Even if it was a total classic.

The thought started to lift a wry smile to her lips, one that froze there with sudden, disconcerted horror. There was no way *Angel* could know that. Those few times he'd been in Giles' apartment had been strictly on business and hardly occasions for casual browsing. But as *Angelus* … She shivered, not wanting to follow that thought where it was taking her. She'd dealt with the whole Angel/Angelus thing. In her head they were two separate people, one her true love and the other the demon that he kept chained with the light of his soul, and she didn't want to think about the demon, about the monster which had prowled her Watcher's apartment, sifting through the trappings of his life and using them to dress and camouflage the sadistic trap he'd set.

The one with a very dead Jenny Calendar lying at its heart …

"I'll - ask him," she managed to gulp, wondering if she'd ever be able to, if she could ever face him with knowledge like that and *not* have him question how she knew. Wondering if - *hoping* with all her heart - that he would wake up and be there to be asked …

Glass smashed.

The music faltered.

Someone screamed.

And Buffy went into overdrive, pushing thoughts and anxieties to one side in order to focus on the moment, to deal with the *now*, just as she'd been taught.

Two snarling, savage vampires had crashed though the upper windows and down onto the dance floor, scattering shards of glass and startled dancers with equal disregard. The crowd panicked, stampeding for the exits; the band hastily abandoned their instruments, leaving only the deep throbbing drum rhythms running in time to the strobe lights. Buffy snatched up a pool cue, leaping onto the nearest pool table and then over the heads of the struggling crowd to land - armed and ready - in front of the first vampire. Angel was briefly pushed back, but quickly powered forward again, emerging out of the throng on the far side of the dance floor, to confront the second beast. They *were* beasts. There was no doubt about that.

In fact, they made the average vamp - even one in full demon face - look like a pussy cat.

Deep set eyes gleamed golden and savage in the pulsing, flaring light. Sharp pointed teeth dripped saliva and blood. Claws curved like talons from their fingertips, slashing and striking out at those few foolish - or unlucky - enough to linger on the dance floor. Where a normal vampire would stand upright like a man, these were hunched over, moving with loping, animal like steps. And they slobbered and they snarled, striking to kill and to maim, dealing damage with pleasure - and with frightening speed.

The first arrival had slashed through two people, gutting one and tearing open the other's leg, leaving him crawling across the floor, whimpering with fear and pain. The second had pounced on a young woman, yanking her head back and ripping out her throat with one savage bite. Two dead already and one on the way; that was *bad* and it was *fast* and it was going to stop.

Right *now*.

Buffy swung the cue with determined force, knocking the vampire away from the wounded victim and following through with a jabbing backhand designed to send it flying. It dodged, grabbed the cue and pulled her forward. She dodged to one side just in time. Talons tore through her shirt and drew blood.

"*Hey*," she protested, jerking the wood up so that the heavy end of it slammed the creature under the chin. "No grabbing on a first date "

It staggered back - and then leapt sideways, heading back towards its victim, its hands extended to slash and grab. She cursed and went after it, shoulder slamming into it with directed force, so that it went tumbling a second time. A glance down made her wince. The wounded man had now joined the fatality list. His throat had been slashed from ear to ear. When she looked up again, the vampire was greedily licking the blood from its hands, painting scarlet stains across its lips and cheeks.

"Oh, *gross*," she reacted, sickened by the grotesque sight, by the primal pleasure the creature displayed. It had been a young man once. Its skin and build hinted at Mexican migrant or someone from even further south. Its long and dark and greasy hair was caught back by a twisted bandanna, and it was wearing old jeans and an even older t-shirt - but it had the face of a monster, and eyes that gleamed with unholy and hungry fire. Cold light pulsed around the room, painting the world in staccato flashes, and deep pounding drums throbbed through the air; the sound and the fury turned the creature into a hunched terror, a brutish, bestial *thing*. Buffy realised she was staring at a true nightmare, at the vampire's inner demon, its hunger and its depravity exposed to the world. "You are *so* going down," she promised, steeling her resolve and swinging the cue like a quarterstaff. It lifted its head and it growled at her, revealing its fangs in a threatening snarl.

After which it charged to the attack.

Buffy dodged just in time, slamming the cue into its stomach and lifting it with a jerk and a twist; it flew up and over, tumbling over the length of wood and landing flat on its back. She reversed the cue, powering round in a classic, 'Bruce Lee would be proud of this' stance, and getting ready to strike. She wasn't quite fast enough; the vampire had already sprung up from the floor and was leaping for her with both arms extended. The pose became a startled backstep and reactive twist - and only just in time. Once again claws whispered past skin, leaving painful, stinging welts behind.

Angel wasn't faring much better than she was. His vampire had gone for his throat, grappling him down onto the floor and fighting to get past his defence. Had he not been a vampire himself, he'd have had little chance to resist the assault. As it was, he was struggling, holding the creature back with effort as they rolled over and over, each trying to gain dominance.

Buffy had no time to spare to help him. She was fighting for her life, deflecting powerful, slashing strikes that drove her back and kept her on the defence. The creature was frighteningly fast - and it simply shrugged off blows that would have sent the average vamp staggering. That was part of the problem; it seemed to have absolutely no sense of self preservation. It wasn't fighting so much as *mauling*, attacking with furious and delighted savagery. The strobe lights went on pulsing and flickering in time to the canned beat, turning the conflict into a surreal dance as they surged back and forth across the floor.

"You just - gotta lay off - the *caffeine*," she decided, ducking a sweeping attack and turning in to elbow the thing in the face. "Or else I need to drink *more*." A hasty spin and a kick sent it flying, giving her a momentary breathing space. It picked itself up and leapt at her again. This time she was ready for it. The pool cue rammed home with force, driving point first into the charging vampire's chest. Its own momentum carried it forward, and it disintegrated into dust just as its claws reached her throat.

"Least he didn't miss his cue," she quipped, spinning the length of polished wood with a gratified flourish. There was an angry grunt, a startled yelp of pain - and the second vampire flew past her in a flail of limbs, landing in a sprawl across the light spattered floor. Buffy completed the twist, seized the cue in both hands - and rammed it down determinedly. Dust exploded outwards with satisfying force.

"Are you okay?" Angel was picking himself up from among the debris of several demolished tables. His jacket and shirt were ripped, and there were dark angry welts painted on the skin beneath. Buffy nodded, tossing away the cue and hastening over to inspect the damage. The scratches on her arm were stinging, but not badly enough to complain about. *His* wounds looked decidedly painful.

"I'm fine. You - are *you* okay?"

He thought about it, glancing down at the ruin of his shirt. "I'll heal." His head lifted, taking in the sprawl of bodies on the floor, and his expression darkened with quiet anger. "They won't." She winced. He was right; killing the beasts never brought their victims back, and every life lost was one too many. But this was war, and if they *hadn't* been there, the carnage would have been unthinkable. These vampires, these children of Lilithu, weren't the subtle malevolent menace that she was used to fighting. They were monsters, pure and simple. Their mistress had sent them out to maim and feed and kill.

"She has to be stopped," Buffy declared tightly. "*This* has to be stopped."

He nodded, urging her towards the back door. They had to get out of the club before the police arrived. Armed and armoured men would be bursting through the doors at any moment. Garbled accounts and half drunk witnesses would suggest crazed drug addicts or make wild animals responsible for the attacks, and the police would mark it down as one more unsolved crime of violence. That kind of thing happened in Sunnydale.

If it wasn't for her nightly patrols, it would happen regularly.

"She has to be hiding somewhere," Angel was saying, leading the way down the back ally and into a quiet corner where they could talk. "Somewhere where she can take her victims and turn them into these - *beasts*."

Buffy shuddered. It had been hard enough dealing with two of those things. How many more would be guarding their mistress' lair?

"We have to find it," she considered anxiously. "We have to find her."

"No," Angel advised warily. "No, fighting on her terms would be a very bad idea. We only just held our ground in there. Buffy - you said she'd faced a Slayer before. She clearly knows much more about you than we know about her. That's why she … attacked Giles. And why you can't just charge in regardless. She's a *sorceress*, remember? There has to be another way."

He was right - but that didn't make it any easier to hear.

"I just want this over with," she said. "I want to know what she's done, what she's *doing* - and I want to stop her. Before anyone else dies."

"I know." His words were sympathetic. "Look - I'd say the excitement was over for tonight. Why don't I take you up to the hospital, and then - start asking around. See if I can track down where she might be hiding."

Buffy sighed. It was a plan, of sorts. Her mind was busy reviewing the fight, trying to decide what she could do better the next time round. She didn't have Giles' analytical eye, and it was hard to disentangle the action from the emotion, to separate the moves from the memory of making them. A part of her desperately wished her Watcher had been there. She needed his input on this one, needed his advice and his guidance. And a part of her was just as glad he *hadn't* been - because now that she'd actually met Lilithu's spawn, she had a pretty good idea of how Gregory Webber must have died. 'His body was badly ripped,' Albrecht had said. It was too easy to picture what that really meant. But he - and Eva - had found a way to stop her. Somehow.

Somewhere in the Koenisgburg collection was the answer they needed. But all they had were vague hints, an entry in a dead Watcher's diary and the chance that the rest of the paperwork might have been preserved in the Council's archive. Even if Webber's translations could be found, they'd still have to make sense of them. She hated to admit it, but with Giles out of action, there was only one person with the skills to unravel *that* riddle. She desperately hoped that Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was up to the challenge.

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