"Spike is a beautiful name," the little vampire beside him whispered.

It was the first thing she’d said in three hours, after he’d brought her back to his lair - such as it was - and let her nurse on his wrist while he gulped down a jar of the cow blood.

He managed a smile for her, still trying to deal with the onslaught of emotion that claiming a Childe brought. He was nearly overwhelmed with the instinct to protect this little bit of a thing, to train her and teach her and feed her and adore her... "You think so, luv? Wouldn’t if you knew how I got it."

"I know how you got it," she said, shifting closer and laying her head on his shoulder.

"Do you, then? How’d I get it?"

He expected her to say something about his hair, perhaps.

"You cut those people open," she whispered, "cut out their spines and their hearts and she danced in their blood."

He stared at her - at the horribly familiar vague look in her pretty green eyes. "Pet?" he swallowed. "Oh, bloody hell, pet, you’re a Seer!"

"Yes..." she said softly, her eyes focusing on him. "You don’t like that? You’re not going to send me away, are you?!" Her voice rose in alarm.

"No, pet," he assured her quickly, putting a careful arm around her. "My Childe, ain’t ya? Wouldn’t leave ya for the world. Won’t let ya go away from me, not ‘til ya want to."

"I’ll never want to," she vowed, returning to her shy snuggling.

He snorted. "Don’t know ever’thing ‘bout me yet, pet. Won’t like it much when ya do."

"You have your soul and you fought for it. You earned it. Every other vampire with a soul has bought it or had it forced upon them."

"There are others?" This conversation was entering the area of the surreal. If there were others - plural - what about Angel’s precious prophecy?

"I can see them," she said, going back to the whispers. "I can hear them in my head, sometimes. They call to me."

"Call ya?" Spike sat up, staring down at her, instantly alert to possible danger for his Childe. "Call to ya, how?"

"They’re lonely," she whispered, "even though they don’t all know it. They need others like themselves - like you did. I needed a Sire and I wanted one with a soul, and some of them are old enough to help me. But... but they scare me, and you didn’t."

"And I didn’t..." he repeated, his voice heavy with disbelief. "Pet, I scare ever’body. How’d ya get ta see ‘em? Didn’t sense it in yer blood, like a vamp gift?"

"Oh, no," she said, blinking at him with the hazy, satisfied look a very young vampire got from feeding on Sire’s blood, "I was born with it. It’s a characteristic of my family - my mother’s family - the firstborn daughter is always a Seer, and her firstborn daughter after her."

"Oh," he said, not sure how to respond to that. "Well, that’s..."

"A horrible, sorrowful heritage," her words were soft, "it has caused my family nothing but grief and pain. Do you know of the Watchers?"

"Yeah, pet," he blinked, a little surprised that a fledge like Emily would know anything about the Council of Wankers ...er, Watchers. "I know ‘bout ‘em."

"They knew of us," she sighed, curling closer to him and shivering slightly. "They have used my family for years; my mother, and her mother, and her mother before her. We are of a special sort of Seer - we find people."

"So they used ya to hunt out the Slayers," Spike guessed.

"Yes," she smiled up at him, her head still leaning against his chest. "Yes, you do know. They used us to search them out - we can know a little of their lives while we search, and then, once we have touched a person, we can see whatever we need to see. They made use of us; kept us a well-guarded secret for a century or more."

"Sounds like them," he nodded. "Kept pretty tight grip on ya, too, I’d bet."

"Yes - and it hurt, you know. When I was human, the visions hurt badly. The pain has driven all of us into an early grave. My mother died when I was only twelve."

"M’sorry, pet," he said, cuddling her a little closer.

"As was I," she whispered.

"How old were ya when the visions started?" he asked. "Did they use ya just as soon as she was gone?"

"They started when I was five - but they were hazy and weak until my mother’s death. One of the Watchers explained a ‘theory’ to me, that it took trauma to jolt our visions into full power. He discussed it like it was some dry fact of history - I hate Watchers..."

"I agree with ya, there, poppet," Spike sighed. "Never met but one half-decent one, an’ he got kicked out o’ the Council. Big surprise there."

"What was his name?"

"Wesley somethin’-er-other. Ya ever meet one called Wesley?"

"I don’t think so," she said, shaking her head.

They were both silent for a moment; Emily tracing the seam of Spike’s sleeve absently while Spike took the last gulp of his dinner.

"So - how’d ya get turned, then?" Her Sire finally broke the silence.

"A Master discovered our secret and decided I would make a splendid Childe," she said, her voice a little bitter, but not much. "He waited until one of the rare days that I was alone in the house and then he managed to get in - I don’t know how, for we had spells and wards beyond the fact that he needed an invitation. I don’t even remember seeing him - I only know that my father came in as he was carrying me out, and he realized what had happened. He staked him, and then lay me in my bed, covered all the windows, wrote down what he was going to do in his journal, and then used the Spell of Equal Exchange to give me back my soul - mine for his, and so he died."

"Heard o’ that spell," Spike said softly, snaking an arm around her and giving her a comforting hug. "How’d he know how ta do it?"

"My Mother had Spell-books - she wished to learn Magic and the Watchers let her, thinking it would add to her power."

"Ah." Spike didn’t really know what else to say, so he changed the subject. "Pet, why do ya think ‘Spike’ is a beautiful name if ya know how I got it? Ya got yer soul, ya shouldn’t think guttin’ people is pretty."

She smiled up at him. "It’s not what you did, it’s the reason behind it."

"Come again?" he asked, blinking.

"You loved her, and she wanted you to be strong and fierce and for others to fear you. I know what you were like, my poet Sire - you would not have done half the things you did if she had not wanted them."

"Dru? But she never said..."

"She didn’t have to," Emily’s smile grew wider. "You loved her, and she was the center of the world for you - you knew what she wanted even without realizing that you knew it. That is why your name is beautiful to me."

"I don’t..."

"Because it is a symbol, a remembrance of the love you had for her."

Spike stared.

Emily gave a tired giggle. "You have pretty blue eyes; it’s no wonder that she chose you..."

"You’re sleepy, pet," Spike said, shaking his head at her. "Silly-sleepy. Ya need ta rest now."

"Here in your lovely lair?"

"This ain’t a lovely lair, Em. This is a nasty subway tunnel. We’ll find something better soon; the right kinda place for my girl." He stood, shifting her carefully until she was laying on the bench. He took off his duster and tucked it gently around her. "Got stuff somewhere, pet? Anything ya need me ta go get?"

"No," she said softly, half asleep already. "No, just my backpack, that’s all. I ran - from the Watchers, you know..."

"Yeah, pet. I know," he said softly, picking up the ragged, light backpack that he’d barely noticed she’d been carrying. It didn’t feel like it had anything at all in it - he’d have to see about getting some nice things for his pretty new daughter.

It wouldn’t be all that difficult, he hoped. He knew that Angelus - back when he had been Angelus, before the soul - had set up accounts in each of their names. He’d occasionally, over the years, sent a bit of money to his. Just something put by for Drusilla, in case she was to need it. He hadn’t even touched it in Sunnydale, when he’d been hungry and broke and lived in that crypt, because he’d still thought of it as being for Drusilla.

But Emily changed things. Dru had an account, too, and even if there’d been no additions to it, it prolly had a jolly bit of interest built up. Knowing Angel’s nagging conscience, he would have taken care of it for her, since she was too loony to do it herself and he prolly thought William didn’t remember the accounts existed. He’d checked it once, and though nothing new had been deposited, there were records that someone was at least making sure the account didn’t go dead and revert to the Crown - it was in an English bank.

The guilt trip hadn’t extended to his - it had never been touched except for when he himself added to it. Of course, since that had included a few very nice little treasure hordes stolen from demons and the occasional thick purse stolen from some traveling merchant, his own account was prolly bursting at the seams now.

He smiled down at the now-sleeping fledgling, curled up on the hard bench. For the first time, he was grateful that Angelus was such an anal long-term planner.

He’d be able to treat his girl like the princess she was.

"You don’t have to," her soft voice sounded, and he jerked around.

He’d been certain she was asleep.

"Don’t have to what, pet?"

"You don’t have to worry about getting nice things for me. You are enough - my Sire is enough for me." There were tears in her big green eyes.

There were tears stinging at Spike’s eyes, as well, but he fought not to show them. "Yeah, alright, princess. But I guess we need a better place, anyway; this ain’t the safest in the world."

"Oh, I see," she said, but there was the trace of an indulgent smile around her lips.

He gazed at her suspiciously. "Yeah, alright. Ya go to sleep now, okay?"

"Where will you rest?"

He shrugged. "Been sleepin’ all day, all night lately. Got it stored up."

She blinked, then pinned him in place with a glare. "You will wake me, if you feel the memories overtaking you? I can help."

"Memories... ya see all that shit, too, pet?"

"They claw at your mind, make it bleed all your sweetness away - I can help you, Sire. Please, let me help you. They hurt you, and I don’t want you to hurt."

"Sweetness...? Pet, you’re as odd as my Dru ever was." He deliberately didn’t answer her plea. He didn’t want his Childe seeing him when he was in the grip of that madness.

"And there is a compliment I’ll treasure," she said, and he was struck by how much older she seemed than her scant years.

He recognized the mark of a hard, bitter life, and his soul and demon both longed to change that for her. "Sleep now, Emily," he said, and put a bit of Sire-voice into the order. He’d never thought he’d be using that for anyone, and it gave him the faintest shiver of delight - he had a Childe, for however briefly he could keep her with him - he had Family again, someone to call his own!

*

Emily tried to obey the order for now, laying her head down on the smooth wooden bench - but her eyes watched her new Sire as he moved around the small space, setting her coat and her backpack into a little alcove with his own few scant belongings, tucking the remaining jars of blood into the dented little refrigerator. She wondered how he’d ever gotten electricity for that down here, and resolved to ask him later.

She wasn’t a slow girl, and her gift had made her positively ancient compared to other girls her age - there wasn’t much chance of keeping your childlike innocence when you could read people’s thoughts and memories with only a touch.

She hadn’t missed how her lovely Sire hadn’t answered her plea to help him - and her eyes easily told her that Spike was too thin and very tired and very, very sad.

She fully realized that much of the sadness came from the memories of the things he’d done when his demon had been in full control - but her brief touches against his mind told him that an equal amount came from memories of two pretty girls, one blond and the other with darker hair.

Neither of them went with the name Drusilla - these two girls were human.

Emily didn’t know who they were - not yet - but she passionately hated them.

They had made her Sire cry.

If she ever met them - she was going to make them pay.