The fourth picture, last in an obvious series, took pride of place, in the direct line of sight of the Master’s chair on the Diaz.  Spike swallowed hard and backed up slowly, in order to take in the picture in greater detail.  He bumped up against what felt like an immovable object, halting his progress.  Angel.  He let out the completely unnecessary breath he’d been holding and leaned back incrementally, letting his weight rest against the larger vampire’s stalwart length.  Strong arms came up to circle his torso, then pulled him close.  A light touch of lips against the claiming bite on his neck was no more than that of a butterfly’s wings, but it made his head reel.

“Sire,” he whispered, completely undone.

“Angel, these are fantastic,”

Even as Wesley spoke, before he turned around to face Angel and Spike, who stood some ten feet behind them, Spike had himself stepped forward, out of Angel’s embrace, to stand with his arms crossed over his chest, a neutral expression on his face.  Angel let him go easily, and by the time Wesley saw them, they stood several feet apart, both staring up at the painting.

“Thanks, Wes,” Angel replied.

“I knew you were a talented artist – every Watcher learns that when they study you – but I had no idea you worked so well in paint, much less oils.  You could have had…”

Wesley stopped abruptly.

“A good career?” Angel finished.  “Not where I came from, not in that time or place.  Even if such a thing been been possible, my father would never have heard of such a thing.”

Even now there was a tinge of bitterness in Angel’s voice at the recollection of his domineering, controlling father.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Wesley agreed.

“The Watcher’s Chronicles discuss my father?” Angel asked, surprised.

“No, no,” Wesley clarified.  “Well, not beyond his, er…”

“Demise?” Angel supplied, a frown on his face.

“Uh, yes.  I simply meant that the time and place, as you said, would not have been conducive to such a thing.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Well, that’s too bad, dude – er, Angel,” Gunn quickly corrected, looking chagrined.  “Because they’re really beautiful.”

“Thanks, Gunn.”

“Since you’re here, Angel, we might as well check the status of the marks,” Spike said after a momentary pause.  “Wes, do you have the spell?”

“Yes, it’s quite simple.”

He recited a simple line in Latin, and Angel nodded, the words quickly committed to memory.

“Just recite the spell, then reach out.  You should be able to feel a connection to all those who applied the mark.”

“But they won’t feel me doing it?”

“Not at all – that particular spell only allows inward flowing communication.”

“If he only feels those with the mark, how will he know if someone hasn’t applied it?” Spike asked.

“I don’t know exactly, but the research of the spell makes it plain you’ll know.  You’ll have to tell us afterwards, Angel.”

The Clan Master nodded, stepped into the star, called out the activation command, and the five points sprang to life in flame.  Without further ado he closed his eyes, recited the spell, then stood silent and still as the others watched from outside the Pentagram.  A minute later he opened his eyes, shook his head in a clear sign of amazement, deactivated the star, and joined the others.

“It worked.  All the marks have been applied.”

“What did it feel like?” Wesley asked.

Angel thought for a minute, a far-away look in his eye.  Finally he spoke.  “Like when you run your tongue over your teeth and find one missing when you didn’t expect it.  You’re so used to its presence you don’t notice it until it’s gone, but when it’s gone, you definitely notice.  That’s the best I can do,” he said, shrugging.

“Fascinating,” the ex-Watcher said.

“Okay, so that’s done,” Spike said.  “Since everyone’s here, we may as well check the perimeter wards and add some backups, then we’ll get on with the training session.

The blond stepped into the star, standing at the center, where Angel had stood a minute before, activated it and spoke a short spell.  A low level buzzing sound appeared at an almost inaudible level to the humans.  It was pitched higher to the vampires, who heard it quite clearly.

“Intruders,” Illyria said calmly.

“No, Illyria, an uninterrupted signal means the wards are intact,” Wesley corrected.

“Intruders,” Illyria repeated, this time pointing toward the back of the Hall.

The others turned around and found what appeared to be at least a score of cloaked figures standing grouped near the back of the hall.  Angel and Spike sprang forward, game faces on, to stand protectively before the pets.  The dark-robed figures sank into obeisance, their heads bowed, faces covered by cowled hoods.

“Who are you?” Angel growled menacingly.

The figure at the apex of the loosely grouped cluster gracefully unfurled from the kneeling position and slid her cowl back, revealing a slight-statured female with auburn hair.  She was a vampire.

“We are the Clan of the Magdala, Order of Merovia.  You may call me…”

“Maria,” Angel supplied brusquely.

“Yes,” the slight figured said, bowing.

“How did they get past the wards, Wes?” Angel asked tersely, never taking his eyes off the intruders.

“I don’t know, Master Angelus,” the pet replied, mindful of the others in the room.  “No demon should have been able to pass the perimeter without us knowing.  As far as I can tell, the wards are still in place.”

“They are intact,” the red-haired vampire agreed.  “The Clan of the Magdala is the oldest line of our Order.  Everyone within our Clan shares a common human bloodline, and from that line, only those with the sight are turned.  We have increased the power of our line through a study of the earth magicks, and were, through those powers, able to cloak ourselves from your wards.”

“You’re Wicca?” Wesley asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

The vampire nodded.

“Why are you here?” Angel demanded, cutting Wesley short abruptly.

“We have long been aware of you, Master Angelus, and the prophecy that surrounds you.  We know what you intend to do within your Order this very week.”

Angel took a threatening step forward, Spike at his side, but Maria held up a hand, stopping them.

“We wish you no harm,” she assured him.  “In fact it is from you that we seek a boon.”

“A boon,” the dark vampire repeated.  “What is it you seek?”

“Long have we sought the means to realign ourselves to our human line’s mission, and thus be redeemed.  We perceive that through you we may do this.  Accept our clan, Master Angelus, into the Order of Aurelius.”