Title: Spilled Perfume (1/9)
Author: Meghan
Email: meghanreviews@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to the characters of BtVS and Angel. The plot is loosely based on Carol Ann's "Genie on a Hellmouth" challenge.

Summary: Genies and vampires are immortal enemies, so what happens if they knew each other prior to becoming immortal in their respective counterparts?

Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Buffy and Angel as in BA goodness.

Chapter One: The Excavation

The excavation was proceeding ahead of schedule but the antique glass bottle had yet to be found.

Angel was impatient. He couldn't wait another moment. If this was another fruitless search there'd be hell to pay, especially since he'd wasted his time out here in the dead of night to oversee the project.

Flames flickered on torches at the edges of the site, casting more shadows than light, but it was the best that they could do. He'd been searching for her for a long time now, ever since he'd met Anyanka, a charming vengeance demon. It'd been a long time since he'd last seen Buffy, nearly two-hundred years. The new millennium was eighty years coming, and he'd vowed long ago in a fit of rage to the demon to find her again before then.

Until now, all the labor and effort he'd put into this vow had been a pointless overture on his behalf, but Buffy was out there. He had a bone to pick with that genie, and he planned on picking it apart real soon. Perfect happiness didn't come around often and that spiteful little blonde had ruined it. Now, because of her and her lies, he was a demon: a blood parasite. He was going to make her pay dearly for all that she had done.

With an impatient shake of his head, he strolled into the dig, and en route to the newest site being carefully exhumed, grabbed an archaeologist by the neck. The mortals, funded by some legal company called Wolfram & Hart, were here in hopes of finding some sacred prophecy or another entailing the End of Days. They had eagerly let him on their excavation, pathetically eager to curry favor with the vampire who had been named The Scourge of Europe.

Angel paused before the deep pit that traveled further underground. The Senior Partners had sent him a long winded letter detailing how they had recently discovered a cave on the side of the silk road in the Middle East depicting his little genie. No cost they'd said, in fact offering to pay his way out there from his penthouse lair in Paris. Such a proposal was not to be overlooked, and the black and white photographs had cinched it. Buffy had been here, and he hoped that she still was lying around under the rocks and sand.

He sank his fangs into the jugular of the aging Dr. Giles and drank deeply, enjoying the shocked gasping noises of the old man. With a wrench of his head Angel ripped his fangs out of the wound, and stalked gracefully down the steps ignoring the gurgling of the archaeologist behind him. The prat should have gotten a better day job, because the night shift was surely killing him.

"Mr. Morgan, have you found it yet?" Angel growled, retaining his demonic visage, as he turned to the mortal in charge.

His eyes rounded in shock as a lithe and lovely woman sauntered up to him wearing a hard hat and a come hither smile on her face. The brunette stuck her hand out ignoring the demonic countenance that glowered at her with blood trickling from the corner of his lips.

"Mr. Angel, what a pleasure it is to meet you. Don't worry I won't hold it against you for that previous statement. Most masculine chauvinists can't believe a legal agency as grand as Wolfram and Hart would employ me, much less make me head of this excavation." She turned and started to walk briskly down into the deeper more lingering shadows of the old building. "Now if you'll follow me, I'll show you where we found the pictures."

"I don't give a fuck about her portrait, I want to know if it's here? I was told that in your search for a prophecy you'd come across something antiquated that might intrigue me. The only thing I desire is that glass bottle, so tell me where is it?"

Miss Morgan smiled engagingly at him over her shoulder, swinging her bottom in wide arcs in flirtation. "Now Mr. Angel, you do understand the history of demons and genies do you not?"

"Yes," he growled, before reverting back into his more pleasant human visage. "They've been around since the dawn of time. Demons and genies are the immortal enemies of one another, most especially that of a vampire because of their human appearance."

A Cheshire smile spread on her face and she laughed in a soft sultry tone, resting her hand on his arm before purring. "How little you know Mr. Angel, and you know just the basics, but Wolfram and Hart has been studying this since the dawn of time-- the Senior Partners to be exact-- I think you should be prepared for a more than slightly unwelcome greeting by your genie."

"I'd expect a frosty greeting from the coldhearted wench in this bottle. I knew Buffy."

Miss Morgan's eyes rounded in an incredulous comical look, that mirrored his earlier disbelief when they'd first met. "You knew the mortal woman before her imprisonment? Is there any way that we could---"

"No," Angel said firmly, giving her a rough push to keep them moving. "Absolutely not. I'm collecting the genie and leaving, and you should pray never to meet me again. When we next meet you won't be important enough to keep alive."

"Oh pooh," Miss Morgan pouted prettily, with a little stomp of her foot. Then instantly she grinned again, spreading her arm out to motion him into a dilapidated room.

The first thing Angel noticed was the smell. Even after so long, he knew who it belonged to, because it had belonged to her. Jasmine… and lily of the valley. This was Buffy's scent, he thought with a wicked gleam in his eye. It was strong in here, and now that he was confronted with the smell he could tell there were lingering traces around the underground cavern.

"So you believe her bottle is in here?" he asked, already prowling the perimeter of the room, watching the only two excavators in the room as they worked carefully on removing every bit of dust and sand.

"We believe so Mr. Angel."

"Good," he declared, returning to where Miss Morgan stood. "Would you like to grab a bite to eat?"

"I would love to, let's get out of here."

That wasn't quite what he had in mind.


Three weeks later, the room had been dismantled and completely torn apart. The staff had been relocated to another section of the dig, leaving Angel alone to try to find her. It shouldn't be this hard to find a perfume bottle of such delicacy and stature. It had been commissioned by Buffy back in the days when he had known her in his mortal life - and hers. She had commissioned it for a perfume her father had wanted to purchase, its recipe and all existing quantities. Buffy's father had been a rich old bastard who had doted on his daughter, making her first in his life and money right behind that. The old man died in grief thinking his daughter had been kidnapped and murdered.

Lilah had tried to help but he had threatened her very existence if she darkened the doorway of the room ever again. He worked ruthlessly, unmindful of the furniture, and priceless antiques. Angel wanted that bottle and he was going to get it, no matter what it took.

He had finally progressed to dismantling the walls, the beautiful portraits of Buffy and her Master were demolished in a fit of rage. How many men had she pleasured? He wondered cynically with quirk lighting his features. Angel knew how she had wanted him, had never made any other pretense. When he had first started whoring around she had told him how she'd never want to live that kind of life, opening her legs to any man with a coin.

Now she wasn't even getting the satisfaction of money. And she couldn't say no. Whatever her masters wished, she had to obey.

Angel laughed mirthlessly, as he took a sledge hammer to the smiling face of the bearded man in emerald robes holding Buffy in his lap. The kind face had been annoying, almost as much as her own returning smile.

Determination furrowed his brow as he worked on the crumbling mortar. It had to be here in the walls, it was the only place left to look… working now with his bare hands he ripped the wall apart, breaking his nails on the cement as he tore it down. As inch by inch the walls were torn down, Angel began to despair.

It was typical that in the last standing wall lay the treasure that he sought. He looked haggard at the end of the week as he pondered the prospect of tearing the wall down himself or getting a team in there to do it for him. Angel decided it was best if he did it, and immediately set to work on exposing the bottle lying within.


Eighty years she had been cooped up in this little bottle after her last master had fallen to sickness. Maige thought it was someone close to him and had given her his last wish. Someone worthy would be the one to find her hidden in his house.

Obviously none of his blood relations were worthy, she thought with a cynical snort. She was doomed to remain inside this tiny palace for eternity because only one person was worthy of her. Angel, she thought with sadness.

He didn't love her, and by now he could well have been staked. Not that that beast wearing his face was Angel. No, her Angel was long gone, lost the minute that whore had drained him of his life and given him her poisonous blood instead. All that survived now was the monster wearing his beautiful face.

Vampires were the immortal enemies of genies, but despite everything, the thought of him truly being gone, even just his shell and the echo that remained of his life, left her insides collapsing. So Buffy held onto the fact that he was a vampire, an immortal creature, and that one day should he ever care to look for her, he'd find her.

She had to explain herself, her actions that had led to what had trapped them in equal lives of despair.

Angel hadn't given her the time to tell the whole story before he had exacted revenge upon her.

Now she was a genie, immortal, trapped within a young womanly body with just enough curves in all the right places. Buffy wished some days for her cursed existence to end, she had had 5 masters in her short life of servitude: two awful, one incompetent, and two endearingly sweet.

Maige, falling into the last category, had given her an out to the life of granting wishes that he hadn't realized when he made that last wish. It had to be against the rulebook somewhere, but he had made it so that the only people that she'd ever serve again were good of heart. It was little enough comfort, but it was better than the life of uncertainty and brutality she had been subjected to before.

However if she had thought it through, she might not have acted so rashly, Buffy thought to herself. She could be out seeing the world, and inflicting half wishes on the masters who controlled her bottle. Maybe catch news of the world of the supernatural and hear of Angel.

But she hadn't thought, and was stuck in her imprisonment for an eternity of loneliness. Not that it mattered without Angel, but to be able to hear another voice. To talk to someone, that might have been nice.

The bottle began to shake… startled, Buffy looked up at the lid that capped her inside this perfume palace and waited with baited breath. What was happening? Was the earth shaking? Or was someone picking her bottle up after all these years?

Terrified yet exhilarated, Buffy dashed to the side of her bottle looking out hopefully to see anything, light, movement. But no-- nothing-- just darkness and that steady shaking. Disappointment flooded her system, and she collapsed against the soft pillows of her velvet cage.

There weren't any prospects to keep her mind entertained and as usual her thoughts drifted back again to the past. Gloomily she stared at the large Claddagh ring trapped within her perfume bottle, and dreamt of better days when she thought she could have anything… anything at all… including love.


It felt like ages had gone by to Buffy.

That steady thrumming kept shaking her bottle. How long had it been since she felt the first tremors? Days? Weeks? Months? It certainly wasn't an earthquake those things never lasted very long and would have dislodged her from her position behind Maige's bedroom wall.

Maige had loved her in his own way, almost friendly. He had lusted after her when she first met him. But like the previous passionate attentions it had waned and died when they realized she while a genie, and could grant all their wishes… she was not a woman… becoming immortal had had its price.

Like a vampire she could not give children, whose eggs and sperm were not fertile; but she belonged to another wretched loss of virility. A male genie was rarer than the most precious metals on earth because most masculine genies were of awful temper and usually caused deaths to their masters through the granting of wishes. The female gender could very well do the same, but it was in their nature to be more appealing-- sultry, exotic, and docile for the most part. But genies, of both gender, lost something more precious then fertility.

Women lost their wombs and men had their manhoods forsaken.

Their magic too powerful to be allowed to breed. Phenomenal cosmic universal powers contained in an itty bitty space. The lifestyle was a bit cramped one could say.

Buffy had wanted in her mortal life to give birth to a dozen little brown haired imps with dark chocolate eyes so deep they must contain all the answers to all of life's mysteries. Her plan had been simple; to marry the man she loved more than anything in the world, to make her husband happy, to live somewhere in the country, to die in her husband's arms quietly having lived a full live brimmed to overflowing with laughter, joy, and love.

But simple plans always had kinks.


Angel worked tirelessly on the last wall. Leveling it ceiling to floor, thankful always that he didn't need to breathe for the dust and dirt floating in the air. Lilah was sending meals to him so that he could keep up his strength, and he appreciated it, but even feeding took time out of his efforts to clear out the wall.

He figured that today would be his last day working on the wall as he had only a part left to go, and if he calculated correctly it was probably behind the picture of her perfume bottle. An ingenious clever way to hint quite obviously where the bottle was at, but so obvious searchers would overlook it, like he had. Oh well, the time spent into the project was going to a good cause: revenge.

He remembered very well that day at the altar when his whole world had come crashing down. His pain so intense, his anger so strong, he had conjured a vengeance demon. The demon he had called avenged for men while his ex-fiancée avenged for women. Buffy had called upon Anyanka ruin his wedding out of the spite of a woman scorned. Buffy hadn't made peace with the fact that he loved someone other than her, that he'd go against his family's wishes and marry the woman he had chosen to be his bride.

His engagement to Buffy had been arranged by their families. It had been an engagement that he had gladly broken to marry a woman of his own choosing, a woman he could love.

His grief at the loss of his one chance for pure happiness had conjured Rafeeliky to exact a punishment on the woman who had caused him to lose the life he had so desperately wanted.

The punishment wasn't severe enough, Angel thought, a cloud of anger helping him ignore the pain in his torn and bloodied hands.

With one last heave, the section of the wall broke open and revealed that his hypothesis was correct. The bottle had indeed been behind the painting. Carefully, he removed the glass bauble, his body held in suspension as he awaited to be struck down for touching the home of a genie as it was known to happen when a demon had the temerity to pick up a genie's prison.

After a moment, when nothing had happened, Angel concluded that it was just a fable, because how often did demons run into genies? Only often enough to make them immortal enemies, but how could any demon resist the opportunity to have such a wealth of power at his disposal?

With satisfaction, Angel placed the bottle in a black canvas bag that he had brought to carry the wretched artifact should it try to cause him pain when he held it. Besides, why tell the lawyers he had found what he was looking for? It was none of their concern. They could just go on ignorant of what had happened.

Methodically, he tore down the rest of the wall and waited until dusk to depart from the excavation site.