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Allies
From the street, the boutique looked as if it had closed early. The front part of the store was dark; no light shone, and no people could be seen moving inside. From the street, everything looked quiet, serene. . .normal. . .except for the early hour, of course.
Inside the small, classy, privately owned boutique, the scene told a different story. Clothes, shoes, furs, purses, jewelry and other accessories were strewn all over the carpeted floor. Bodies of the store clerks, the blood drained from their still cooling bodies, lay sprawled in the aisles, their faces frozen in masks of horror and fear.
The only light in the store shone out through the half-open door to the storeroom; the light slanted onto the main floor in a strange crescent shape that was continually altered by the spasmodic movements of the two occupants inside.
The storage room looked as if a tornado had blown through it: cartons were torn open, their contents spilled all over the floor, clothes racks were tipped over, the apparel that had adorned them now lay heaped into piles, some for try-on, others for discard. Shoeboxes had been emptied; the footwear they had held had been sampled and then thrown aside in lieu of a new pair. Pieces of jewelry littered the floor in glittering piles, some still to be admired, others already rejected as too hideous to even fathom their usefulness.
In the midst of all this chaos were two females, one blond, one brunette. They now sat in the middle of the floor, examining their new found treasure, whispering together, and occasionally emitting laughter that was too high pitched and shrill to be completely sane.
The blond suddenly picked up a black, spaghetti strap dress, and ran behind the changing screen in the corner. She quickly changed into the garment, then came out from behind the screen to stand in front of the three-way mirror that covered half of the far wall. The fact that she cast no reflection didn't seem to bother her; she continued to preen in front of the looking glass as if she could see herself clearly. The dress was jet black, short and clingy; it showed off her slim figure to perfection.
With a light giggle, she turned to her dark-haired companion. "What do you think, Dru? Is it me?"
Drusilla gazed at Darla with a rapt expression on her face. "Oh, Grandmummy, yes. It's beautiful. You're beautiful, Grandmummy!"
Darla smiled at her 'grandchild' turned sire, crossed the room to touch her lovingly on the cheek. Then she turned away, back to the mirror which showed her nothing, running her hands down the curves of her body as she did so. "Yes," she said softly. "My dear boy would like it, I know. If he was still my boy, that is. Those damn gypsies; they had to ruin everything! They just *had* to give him a soul!"
"I know, Grandmummy," Drusilla agreed, standing up and walking to stand beside the pouting Darla. "Nothing's been the same since then. . . except for a little while when he lost his soul. . .then it was like old times. Except *you* weren't there, of course."
"No, I wasn't there," Darla lamented. "I would have loved to have seen that. . ."
"Well. . .it's never too late. . .perhaps it can still be arranged," a male voice with a hint of a Southern drawl suddenly came from the direction of the now fully open door. Saul shook his head as he entered the room. "What a mess you ladies have made!" He smiled; it was a smile full of evil and devilish delight. "What a beautiful mess! I do love a beautiful, *bloody* mess!"
Drusilla stared at him with a sense of recognition, but Darla had no clue. "And just who the hell are you?"
Saul looked please with the question. He gave Darla a cocky grin, leaned up against the wall, arms folded across his chest. "Well, let's see. . . Angelus, Drusilla, Spike. . .that would make you my great-great grandmother. Thus, ma'am, I am your great-great grandson." He then bowed with flourish.
Darla looked from Saul's bent form to Drucilla. "*Spike* did this?"
Dru nodded. "Saul."
Saul straightened, saluted the two female vampires. "At your service, ma'ams."
"Thank-you," Darla told him sweetly. "But we're not in need of your *services*. Come on, Drusilla." She walked toward the storeroom door, only to be blocked by Saul.
"But I think you are, 'Grandma'," he whispered, his green eyes boring into hers. "Just as I'm in need of *yours*. We share a common enemy- and relative- in Angel, the vampire with a soul. You want him back as the *soulless* Angelus. That would be fine with me; I could learn from the *real* Angelus. I just want 'Soulman' out of my way. I've found what I've been looking for; I've found my destiny. 'Angel' is trying to stand in my way." He put his hands on Darla's shoulders. "We could help each other, 'Grandma'." He looked at Dru, grinned. "'Grand*mas*'." He looked back at Darla. "Together, we can *all* get what we want. And when I do what I'm meant to do, well, then we'll rule the world. We'll rule the world."
"You can have the world, Saul," Darla cooed up at him. "I just want my boy back."
"Do you really think you can do it?" Drusilla asked. "Do you really think you can give us Angelus back?"
Saul shrugged. "All it takes is what? A moment of 'perfect happiness'? I'm sure we can find one of those. . .somewhere. Somewhere where he least expects it." He smiled avariciously, turned to look out the front window, out onto the darkened street. "And we will find one, but for now, the night is young. . .and I'm hungry." He held out his arms to both of his companions. "Shall we, ladies?"
"Yes," Darla smiled up at him as she and Drucilla each took his offered arms. "Yes, Saul, I believe we shall."
They then stole out into the night. The city of LA awaited them.
