Chapter Nine

 

 

 

 

Buffy wasn’t the type of person who swore and it was a good thing she wasn’t, because she would have been screaming expletives at the top of her lungs. It was one of those rare, cold southern Californian nights, and the dampness from a recent rain shower made the winter wind seem even sharper. It was a good night to be inside with an electric blanket and a mug of cocoa. And where was she? Standing in the bushes outside of Angel’s rundown mansion, freezing her butt off, that’s where she was. And it was all because of him . Spike. Stupid, bleached-out Spike. She must have been out of her mind to let him anywhere near her.

 

Buffy rose up on her tiptoes and peered into the cracked window. To her relief Angel was alone in the large, empty front room. He was sitting on the sofa near a blazing fire, reading a ragged paperback novel. She noted with wry amusement that he had his brow furrowed in his typical sad sack frown. It didn’t occur to her that this was the same frown she had often found sexy. Nor did she perceive that for the first time since she had known him the sight of Angel did not send her heart fluttering. Even when he stood up and stretched, and his unbuttoned shirt fell open to expose his chest and stomach, Buffy felt nothing for him.

 

Nothing.

 

Preoccupied as she was, she was not aware of the change. She hesitated, hovering near the window as she considered her options. The way she saw it there were only two. Either she could go in and tell Angel some bogus story about why Spike would show up telling him they’d slept together, or she could wait here in the bushes and kill Spike when he arrived. She wasn’t too keen on either choice, but in the long run the latter plan seemed her best chance at keeping this thing under wraps. She didn’t want to kill Spike, but she couldn’t think of a single story that would believably explain why Spike would lie about sleeping with her—and how he would know all the sordid little personal details he would be sure to share. And Angel knew her well enough he might see through even a well constructed story. No, she would be better off killing Spike.

 

She inched around the side of the mansion until she had a good view of the front door and then settled down on the ground to wait. The ground was cold and covered with damp, smelly leaves, but she didn’t dare stand up for fear Angel would walk by the window and notice her there.  She leaned against the cold stone wall and pulled her legs up against her chest, shivering as the cold air seeped through Spike’s thin shirt. If he didn’t get here soon she wouldn’t have to worry about Angel finding out about anything. She’d be dead, a frozen slayercicle.

 

Of course, being a slayercicle was better than being physically repugnant, and she felt completely gross after not having had a shower in almost two days. She was pretty certain that the sharp, nasty odor she detected was coming from somewhere on her person. She sniffed under her arms, trying to decide whether it was her skin or Spike’s shirt that was so skeezy. Actually, though, the more she leaned her head into her armpit the less she could smell the nastiness. So it must not be coming from her, after all.

 

Nose wrinkled, she began searching the bushes for the source of the stink. She crawled on her hands and knees around the corner of the house. The closer she got to the front walk the stronger the odor became until finally it became almost unbearable. It was too dark to see well, and Buffy wasn’t really sure she wanted to know what reeked like that anyway, so she turned around to begin the slow crawl back to her station. Then her hand collided with something strange, something soft and slimy that squelched under the weight of her hand. She pulled her hand back and her palm was smeared with something dark and sticky. It smelled really funky.

 

Appalled, she tried to wipe it off by rubbing her hand on the dry leaves at her feet. But the leaves were covered in it too, and when she tried pushing them aside to reach clean grass, she was disgusted to discover the source of the odor.

 

Rats. A whole pile of stinky, rotten dead rats was lying half-buried in the leaves. Some of them were intact enough to detect the gaping throat wounds which had killed them. Others were semi-liquefied in their decay, which accounted for the slimy gunk on the leaves.

 

And her hand.

 

It took Buffy a split second to make the connection, but when she did she couldn’t hold back a scream of revulsion. She stood, eager to get away from the rats as quick as she could, but in her haste she stepped directly into the pile. Her tennis shoe slid across the rancid, slimy material, propelling her out of the bushes and onto the lawn.

 

“Gross, gross, gross! ” she moaned, scraping her hands along the grass. But though she could remove the slime, the rotten stench remained. She could have cried. Could this night get any worse?

 

“Uh…Buffy? What are you doing here?”

 

She looked up. Angel was standing over her, his eyes darting from her disheveled hair to her soiled hands. The look of shock on his face was mirrored on her own.

 

It had just gotten worse.

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

“So…where is he?” a vampire asked.

 

Lenny ignored the fledgling’s question, though privately he was thinking that City Hall should have been able to round up a better committee for him to lead than this. According to Mr. Trick, however, these were the best to be had.

 

Sighing, Lenny flicked his eyes from the filthy bed and charred floor to his ‘committee’ of twenty vampires which stood in the open doorway of the empty factory, awaiting a command from him.

 

“Where is he?” The fledgling’s voice was more insistent now. “Huh, Lenny?”

 

“Does it say Psychic Network across my forehead?” Lenny snarled. He grabbed the fledgling by the throat and threw him against the wall. “I don’t know where he is!”

 

He paused, thinking it over. It was nightfall, hunting time for vampires. Spike could be anywhere right now. He might even have left town. Lenny knew he would be looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack unless he could find something, some clue to tell him where to start.

 

He began circling the room, sifting through the rubble with his foot. The factory was huge, but Spike seemed to have limited his living quarters to these downstairs storage rooms only. That wasn’t a lot of space to cover, and within a few moments Lenny had found his first clue.

 

It didn’t seem like much at first, a woman’s blouse with the buttons missing. But Spike was a vampire and a male; a torn blouse meant nothing more or less than a good time. But as he started to throw the garment down, a scent wafted from the silky fabric that caught his interest. He held it up to his face and inhaled deeply, curiously.

 

“Smells like…”

 

“What?” another vampire asked. The whole group was watching him as though he’d gone crazy. “What’s it smell like?”

 

Lenny smiled. “Slayer.”

 

He threw the shirt down and turned to address his group.

 

“C’mon, boys! I think I know where to find our old pal Spike.”

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

“So she didn’t tell you,” Spike said softly. He leaned across the small table until his forehead almost touched Joyce’s. He was still holding her hands and he could feel them trembling slightly.

 

“What do you mean?” Joyce asked. Her voice was just as quiet as and much shakier than Spike’s. “She didn’t tell me what?”

 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen…” he said sorrowfully, bowing his head as if in shame. “I never wanted it to get this far. We were mates, you see? That’s the way I wanted it to stay.”

 

“Do you mean…?”

 

“I didn’t reckon on falling in love with her.”

 

Joyce’s face colored slightly, as if embarrassed. Still, she pressed bravely on.

 

“Spike you seem like a very nice young man,” she began slowly. “But Buffy is a seventeen year old girl. You’re obviously several years older than that and I don’t think—”

 

“I tried to keep it from happening,” he cut in. “But she’s so beautiful, Joyce. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. And I’m…weak. I couldn’t resist her when she came to me, wanting.”

 

He looked up, meeting her gaze. “I didn’t mean to do it, Joyce. I didn’t mean to make love to her.”

 

“WHAT—”

 

Before Joyce could finish her thought, the window over the sink suddenly shattered, sending a shower of glass over the counters and floor. A large grey rock—the obvious cause of the destruction—went skidding off the counter and onto the tile.

 

“Oh, bleeding Christ!” Spike barked. “Hold on.”

 

Leaving Joyce sitting bewildered at the table, he crossed to the door. He threw it open without a moment’s thought as to what dangers might lay beyond it and stuck his head out to see what all the commotion was about.

 

Lenny was standing on the porch, just preparing to heave another rock. He smiled when he saw the other vampire staring at him from the open doorway.

 

“Hello, Spike.”

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

“Buffy?” Angel repeated. “What are you doing out here?”

 

“W—what am I doing?” Buffy echoed as she scrambled to her feet. “The question is what are you doing with a bunch of putrid rats outside your living room window?”

 

Angel looked embarrassed. “Blood’s blood,” he said awkwardly.

 

“You’re eating them?” Buffy remembered with revulsion that he had kissed her with that mouth.

 

He shrugged. “Well, when they were alive, obviously. It’s nice to have something warm every now and then. Butcher’s blood is always so cold and clotted, and—”

 

He paused.

 

“Wait a minute. You never said what you’re doing out here.”

 

She thought fast. “I was, uh, coming to see you. I noticed that truly vile odor coming from the bushes and I wanted to see what it was.”

 

His glance fell to her sticky hands. “And having found the source you decided to roll in it?”

 

“I fell.”

 

“Oh, God. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He moved forward as though to take her into his arms, but Buffy sidestepped quickly.

 

“Fine,” she said quickly. “I’m fine.”

 

Angel pretended not to notice the snub. But his tone became decidedly cooler—as did the words he spoke.

 

“You smell horrible.”

 

It suddenly occurred to Buffy that despite the gross out factor, the rats might actually have served a purpose. Vampires had heightened senses, including a very highly-developed sense of smell. If it weren’t for that God-awful reek Angel might have scented Spike on her, and heaven only knew what kind of havoc that would have caused.

 

Still…there was the gross out factor.

 

She wiped her hands on Spike’s shirt. “Yeah, well. Maybe that’ll teach you to leave a pile of dead animals outside the door.”

 

Angel’s standard expression was so glum he couldn’t really frown more. But his lips sagged down a little further than usual and he raised an eyebrow. “But they aren’t outside the door,” he argued. “They’re behind the bushes there.”

 

“Still…you could have at least buried them.”

 

She was buying for time but he wasn’t in a generous mood now. “So why were you coming to see me?”

 

Buffy opened her mouth and then closed it again. She had no idea what to say.

 

Meanwhile, Angel was growing impatient by her reticence. “Buffy?” he prompted. “Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

 

“Ah…”

 

“Tell me!”

 

The vehemence of his question caught Buffy off guard. Angel was so seldom angry with her; he was more the type to sulk than shout. It startled her to hear him yelling like that and she blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

 

“Spike!”

 

~*~  ~*~   ~*~

 


 

“Lenny. How have you been?”

 

Though Spike didn’t actually yawn, the bored expression on his face and relaxed position of his body was just as insulting as if he had. It clearly told Lenny that, committee or no committee, he was not about to be intimidated by a former sycophant.

 

“I’m good,” Lenny replied with equal cool. “Better since you left. You should have stayed gone.”

 

“Oh ho…threats, now, is it?” Spike asked with a wry sort of chuckle. “Looks like you grew yourself a sack since I was gone. A little one. But still…it’s progress. That why you want me gone? You afraid I’m gonna…” His voice trailed away as he held up his hand, wriggling his fingers in a scissoring motion.

 

Lenny, however, completely missed out on the insinuation. His eyes were not on Spike but instead fixed at a point behind him, just inside the Summers’ kitchen.

 

“What’s going on out here?”

 

Spike spun around, his hand freezing mid snip. “Joyce…”

 

Her eyes moved from his face to the crowd of vampires on her back lawn, most of which were in full game face. “What’s going on? Who are these people?”

 

“He used to work for me,” Spike told her, jerking his head toward Lenny. “Wants to talk business again. Give me a bit, will you?”

 

She looked nonplussed.

 

“But the window…?”

 

“Will be fixed,” he assured her. “Lenny is stupid, that’s the all of it. He was trying to get my attention and used a rock instead of pebbles.”

 

Joyce looked highly skeptical at this, but she didn’t seem keen to pursue the topic any further. Maybe it was the way Lenny kept flashing his fangs at her and grinning that made her swallow her questions and slip back into the house, barring the door behind her.

 

Irritated because he knew there was no way he could prevent Joyce from watching from the window—thus blowing his cover—Spike turned on Lenny.

 

“What in the bleeding hell do you want?”

 

Lenny smiled. “It’s just business like you said, Spike.”

 

“You were hired to come here? By who?”

 

“None other than our own illustrious Mayor Wilkins. You attract too much attention, Spike. You cause trouble, it makes enemies.”

 

Spike cracked his knuckles and stretched.  “Is that why I never get any Christmas cards?”

 

Lenny growled an indistinct response under his breath and started forward. The other vampires, however, hung back, watching with obvious trepidation. From the edgy way they kept looking around them, Spike gathered they were expecting the Slayer to pop up out of nowhere and destroy them all.

 

Spike stepped away from the door and the vampires immediately fell back, spilling from the porch back onto the lawn. Only Lenny held his ground, standing perfectly still until Spike reached him. He leaned in until his face was only an inch away from Lenny’s and whispered: “You value that new little sack of yours you’ll leave now.”

 

“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, smartass?” Lenny shot back.

 

Spike shrugged. “Well, all right.”

 

He made to hit Lenny in the jaw, but just as the other vampire guarded himself against the blow Spike snap kicked him in the chest. Lenny went flying down the porch steps and—crunch —landed on the cement walk.

 

“Got to learn when to call a bluff, mate.”

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

“Spike?”

 

Buffy avoided meeting Angel’s confused gaze as he echoed her. “Uh…yeah…” she said.

 

“What about Spike?”

 

She thought fast. She hadn’t meant to blurt out Spike’s name, but Angel had been yelling and she was confused….and it had been a very long day. And now she had to come up with something to say, something that wouldn’t send Angel running off to the factory to confront Spike.

 

“He’s back in town,” she began slowly.

 

“WHAT?”

 

Angel was really beginning to raise the decibel level now. Buffy shrank back slightly and tried hard to think of a way to diffuse the situation.

 

“I’m handling it,” she told him with far more confidence than she felt. “Don’t worry—I am handling it. I just…I thought you should know.”

 

“Handling it?” he echoed, waving his hands for emphasis. Really she had no idea Angel could show so much emotion. So far he had limited himself to only two: sorrow and remorse.

 

“Just how are you handling it?” he added. “I’d be really interested in knowing. I mean, you thought you were handling it when you decided to accept Spike’s truce. You thought you were handling it when you let him leave Sunnydale with Drusilla.”

 

The unfairness of the attack stung, and Buffy flashed back at him before she even thought.

 

“Do I have to remind you just why that truce was necessary?” she demanded. “It was because of you—and Drusilla—and your stupid plot to destroy the world. I needed Spike to ensure that you wouldn’t kill Giles. I needed him to tell me what you planning. I had no choice!”

 

“You could have killed him afterward.” But Angel’s tone was more subdued now.

 

“I couldn’t, actually. He and Dru left while you and I were fighting. But even if I could have staked him I wouldn’t have gone back on my word.”

 

“So why is he here?”

 

Might as well stick as close to the truth as possible—less chance of him tripping her up later on.

 

“I’m not really sure, actually. But he and Dru split up, and once he got here he wanted Willow to perform a love spell for him…to get Drusilla back.”

 

“And did she?”

 

“She did.” Buffy conveniently forgot to add that Spike’s request had taken form as a violent kidnapping, but Angel was sharp enough to see that without being told.

 

“He made her. Is she all right?”

 

“She’s fine. And so far he’s behaving himself.”

 

Angel’s eyes widened. “You’re not just going to let him walk away from this, are you?”

 

“Of course not,” she snapped. “I told you…I’m handling it.”

 

“Then you’ll kill him.”

 

“I’ll…do what I have to do.”

 

“You’ll kill him,” Angel repeated, this time with conviction.

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

Spike hadn’t had so much fun in months.

 

True, he had been a bit irked that Lenny should show up just as he was having a go at the Slayer’s mum. But now that they were in it, back against the wall, him against the mob, fighting fists-and-fangs….Now he was enjoying it.

 

There was a garden rake propped against the porch and Spike grabbed it as he launched himself over the railing and onto the lawn. Of course, by the time he got there Lenny had already regained his footing, but it didn’t matter. Spike dispatched several of the dimmer members of the gang as he swaggered down the walk toward their leader.

 

“Is this the best City Hall could afford you?” he taunted Lenny as he withdrew the rake handle from the rapidly evaporating torso of one of the “committee” members. “Really makes me think they ought to raise property taxes or something.”

 

A hulking vamp attempted to charge from behind and Spike turned quickly, at the same time rotating the rake so that the tined end was facing outward. One powerful swing later and the would-be attacker had parted ways with his own head.

 

Spike grinned and without missing a beat, wrenched his arm back so that the rake handle drove into yet another vampire’s chest. “See?” he said, turning back to Lenny. “This is too easy.”

 

“Sort of like the Slayer, huh?”

 

That gave Spike pause.

 

He narrowed his eyes at Lenny in a calculating sort of way then quickly regained his cocky smile. “Jealous?”

 

“Hardly.”

 

Lenny looked around and found that he was now facing Spike alone, his comrades having been dusted or else run away. Still, he stood his ground.

 

“I wouldn’t be bragging about it if I were you,” Lenny added, infusing as much contempt into the words as he could manage. “Whoring around with a Slayer isn’t exactly an admirable achievement.”

 

“Said the man who had never done it.” Spike snickered.

 

“You could have killed her,” Lenny spat. “And instead you—”

 

“Had a sodding good time.” Spike ducked the punch Lenny threw and, finding himself kneeling on the walk, he quickly took advantage of the position by sweeping the rake handle behind the other vampire. The stout wooden handle caught on Lenny’s ankles and pulled him down sharply.

 

Stunned to find himself lying flat on his back, Lenny quickly tried to roll back onto his feet. But Spike was too quick for him, driving the wooden shaft home before his opponent had time to do more twitch slightly. There was a sharp, short curse followed by an explosion of grayish-white ash. Then nothing. Lenny was gone.

 

Spike shouldered his weapon and looked around hungrily, hoping for more vessels in which he could pour his rage. Finding none, he threw the rake onto the lawn with a mixture of pride and disappointment.

 

“Well…that was easy.”


 

 

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”

 

Buffy nearly jumped out of her skin as the voice rang out of the darkness, so loud and discordant it didn’t sound like her mother’s voice at all. She paused on the second stair and turn slowly around to find Joyce emerging from the dark living room like a spirit of fury.

 

“I told you. I was out patrolling.” She looked closely at her mother’s drawn expression. “Did something happen?”

 

“Did something happen?” There was a hysterical note to Joyce’s laughter. “What didn’t happen?”

 

“Mom, calm down. Just tell me—”

 

“Who is this Spike person?” Joyce interrupted.

 

Buffy gripped the banister tightly, going pale as it became only too clear just how Spike had spent his evening.

 

“H—he was here?” she asked weakly.

 

“He was. He had the most interesting story for me, too. About the two of you.”

 

“Mom…”

 

“Is it true?” Joyce demanded. “Is it? Did you actually…sleep…with him?”

 

Buffy considered lying, but something in her mother’s face told her that option was closed to her. Whatever Spike had told her, he had obviously been convincing.

 

Buffy hung her head. “Mom…”

 

“I cannot believe this!” Joyce stormed. “After what happened with your last boyfriend, I cannot believe you would willingly jump into another sexual relationship with an older man! And he said—Buffy he said that  you—”

 

She looked up sharply. “He said I what?”

 

“He said you seduced him.”

 

“And—and you believed him?” Buffy asked.

 

“He sat in there and cried about it,” Joyce ranted on, oblivious to her daughter’s question. “And he said he loves you and he can’t help it. Really, Buffy, he doesn’t seem very stable to me.”

 

Buffy agreed with her silently and wholeheartedly.

 

“And then this group of—well, not men….Things guess you’d say. This group of things showed up and hurled a rock through the kitchen window.”

 

Buffy winced. “What did they want?”

 

“Your friend Spike apparently. They called him out and he went and…”

 

“He killed them,” Buffy finished.

 

“They were vampires.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And that Spike person…is he a vampire?”

 

Buffy’s eyes slid away from her mother’s. “He—”

 

“Is he?”

 

She nodded without looking up.

 

Joyce paled visibly at this news. “I—I let him in the house, Buffy. He was just a few feet away—he touched me—”

 

Buffy’s head snapped up.

 

“He touched you?” she demanded. “How?”

 

Now it was Joyce’s turn to look embarrassed—and even a little ashamed. She wrung her hands uneasily, her eyes cast down as she attempted to explain. “He was so—so earnest. I was talking to him…we were talking about you, actually. And suddenly he became so…intense. He reached across the table and grabbed my hands, held them as though his life depended on it…” Her voice trailed away.

 

Buffy clenched her fists and just managed not punch the wall. Damn that vampire! She had expected him to retaliate somehow, had prepared for it. But it never occurred to her that he would choose her mother as his instrument of revenge. She had been so preoccupied with worrying about Angel she had never considered Joyce at all. And now Spike had gained her confidence, filling her with half-truths to make her angry at Buffy. The worst part was Buffy had given him easy access to do this. She had invited him into the house last spring and that invitation still stood. He could come back whenever he wanted, and next time he might not be content with just slandering her to her mother.

 

She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Mom what did he say? After he fought those vampires did he come back inside?”

 

“I locked the door, Buffy. I wouldn’t let him in. I was frightened.”

 

Buffy opened her mouth to explain to her mother that locks wouldn’t be likely to keep an invited vampire from gaining entry. Then it occurred to her to wonder just why Spike hadn’t pursued the matter. He could have easily broken a window or knocked the door down, so why hadn’t he? Was he still trying to keep her mother on his side so he could spread more lies? But surely he would know this would be impossible after Joyce watched out the window while he vamped out to kill a dozen of his contemporaries. There must be something else, some bigger plan. And knowing Spike, whatever the plan was it wouldn’t be good.

 

She wheeled around and headed for the stairs. She needed to talk to Willow. It was time to renege on that stupid invitation.

 

“Where are you going?” Joyce called after her. “I’m not done talking to you yet!”

 

Buffy didn’t even pause as she gave her answer.

 

“Later, Mom. Right now I’ve got more important things to worry about—like how to keep that thing away from you.”

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

“I am an antichrist. And I am an anarchist…”

 

Though the sky was already fading from black to inky-grey with the impending dawn, Spike did not try to quicken his pace. He swaggered down the center of the empty street, singing loudly and every now and again breaking into what could almost be called a dance: spinning and jumping, laughing to himself. He was in a very good mood.

 

It had been a little bit disappointing that Joyce wouldn’t answer the door after he vanquished Lenny, but Spike wasn’t one to linger too long on regret. He’d had a feeling she would be watching the whole scene out the window, but it didn’t matter. He’d already told her about Buffy, and though he would have liked a little more time to gain her sympathy, he knew that it would work out well in the end. Whether or not Joyce trusted him now, she believed his story. The Slayer was probably catching hell for it right now.

 

The idea pleased him—more so even than his first plan of killing Joyce. He’d thought of pulling an Angelus and laying out her mum all eerie and lifelike, making the murder into a grisly game for the two of them. But ultimately it just wasn’t his style. And when Joyce mentioned that she was already upset with Buffy…well that was just too good to ignore. Too bad Lenny had chosen tonight to pull his pathetic little assassination attempt or he might’ve still had Joyce batting in his corner.

 

His dark blue eyes darted skyward. If he’d had more time he could execute the second part of his plan, but it looked like that would have to wait. He’d barely even have time to catch a bite before the sun came up, let alone making a trek across town. But the delay didn’t matter. The game was fun and he was in no hurry. In fact, he was enjoying the anticipation of what would come—enjoying it so much that his despair over losing Drusilla seemed long past him now.

 

Spike grinned to himself and broke into song once again, infusing each line with special significance:

 

How many ways to get what you want

I use the best

I use the rest

I use the enemy

And I use ANARCHY

 

He shouted the last word jubilantly. It had been so long since he had felt like this, like he had a sense of purpose. Those months in South America had been so tense; Dru had been distant and cool, more interested in consorting with other demons than spending time with him. Though she never said anything ill-mannered to him, her manner was one of subtle scorn. He had been anxious and upset, just waiting for the blow to fall. When it finally did he had become distraught.

 

But now the depression that had followed him for so long was finally gone and for the first time since last May he felt like himself. No, more than just himself. He felt lighthearted, in control. Important.

 

And it was all thanks to the Slayer.

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

A phone ringing late at night almost always heralded bad news. Willow knew this less from experience (bad news usually came to her other ways) than from instinct. The moment her Mickey Mouse phone trilled sharply she came fully awake, her heart pounding with dread.

 

Her hand trembled as she took the receiver from Mickey’s arms and placed it to her ear. “Hello?”

 

“Will, it’s me.”

 

“Buffy!” Willow yelped—before quickly lowering her voice. “Buffy where have you been? I’ve been—we all have been—so worried about you. You never checked back in after you went to the factory. I’ve tried to call you a hundred times today and your mother always said you were out. We tried to find you, but—”

 

“Never mind all that now,” Buffy interrupted impatiently. “Willow I need your help.”

 

“With what? What’s wrong?”

 

“Everything.”

 

The grim note in her friend’s tone set Willow’s heart to racing again.

 

“Buffy what happened? Didn’t—didn’t you kill Spike?”

 

“No and that’s not all. He was at my house tonight, Willow. He was with my mother.”

 

Joyce.

 

“Did he hurt her?” Willow asked. In the back of her mind was the picture of Ms. Calendar laid out dead on a bed of roses.

 

“No, thank God. Whatever he was planning it was interrupted by a load of his friends throwing a tantrum out in the yard. According to Mom, he went out to talk to them and there was a big vampire throw-down right outside the kitchen window. Spike killed at least a dozen of them; the rest ran away.”

 

“And then what happened?”

 

“Well, for some reason he decided to call it a night. He knocked on the door, but when Mom didn’t answer he didn’t break in or anything. He just…left.”

 

Willow frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Spike.”

 

“Tell me about it. He’s planning something, I know it. And whatever it is I don’t want Mom involved. I need you to come over here and take his name off the guest list.”

 

“Of course I will. When do you want me?”

 

“Right now.”

 

Willow looked around her dark bedroom, wondering how on earth she could sneak out without her mother catching her. But she was determined to help Buffy, who sounded as though she was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

 

“I’ll be there as soon as I get dressed and throw my supplies in a bag,” she promised.

 

“Thanks.” Buffy hesitated then added: “And Willow?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don’t tell the others, okay? I don’t want anyone to know.”

 

Forcing herself not to ask the obvious question, Willow promised she wouldn’t tell. “But can I at least let them know you’re all right?” she asked.

 

“Later,” Buffy insisted. “I’ll tell them myself later. Right now I need you to get this done.”

 

It wasn’t until after they hung up that Willow realized Buffy hadn’t explained where she had been all day or why she had not been able to kill Spike.

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

 

 

 

Willow kept her promise to Buffy so far as it went. She didn’t call the rest of the gang to tell them that Buffy had not been able to kill Spike; she didn’t even call them to let them know that Buffy was okay. But they called her as she was gathering her supplies together to go to Buffy’s and she felt this gave her license to talk.

 

Well, actually, only one of them called, and surprisingly enough it was Giles. He had just gotten home from his retreat in the woods and wanted to check up on how things had gone in his absence.

 

“I tried to speak with Buffy,” he explained when Willow expressed her surprise at being asked. “But her mother…she acted quite odd, actually. She said she couldn’t do anything to prevent my influencing Buffy, but she certainly wasn’t going to contribute to it. Then she hung up.”

 

“Buffy’s mom hung up on you?” Willow asked. “Jeez, Giles. What did you do?”

 

“I can assure you I did nothing to upset her. I merely asked to speak with Buffy and she blew up at me. I suppose it has to do with the college debate.”

 

“Guess so.”

 

Giles sighed heavily and Willow held the receiver away from her ear.

 

“Well how were things while I was away? Is there an impending apocalypse I should know about?”

 

Willow bit her bottom lip. Buffy had made her promise not to call the gang and tell them about Spike—but she hadn’t told Willow she couldn’t tell them if they called her. And she was dying to get someone else’s opinion on Buffy’s strange behavior.

 

“No apocalypse,” she began slowly. “But something did happen while you were gone.”

 

“Oh? What would that be?”

 

“Spike came back.”

 

“Oh…oh my...” Willow heard him draw in his breath before he added, “I suppose Buffy has been handling it?”

 

“Sort of…” She explained the events of the last two days and Buffy’s unexplained absence—though for now she left out her own suspicions as to why this was.

 

“I don’t understand,” Giles said when Willow paused for breath. “Did Buffy say what happened when she went to the factory?”

 

“Not a word. She just said she hadn’t been able to kill him. Then she talked about how he had showed up at her house last night. She wants me to go over this morning and place a barrier spell so he won’t be able to get in anymore.”

 

“Undoubtedly a good idea. Still…I can’t see how Spike managed to defeat Buffy in a fight and yet not kill her. Nor can I imagine that Buffy would back down or run away even if he did defeat her. Have you noticed anything unusual about her behavior? Other than her nonattendance, that is.”

 

“She’s been acting really strange,” Willow admitted. “Like she got really angry when she first found out about Spike, but then….Well, she hasn’t been at the factory all this time, or he would be dead now. And she hasn’t been home because every time I called her house her mom said she was out. And then there’s something else, something Oz said….” She broke off, too embarrassed to continue.

 

“Yes?” Giles prompted. “What did Oz say?”

 

“H—he said…he said he smelled…that she smelled like she was…”

 

“She was what? ” he asked, exasperated.

 

“Y’ know.…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Turned on.”

 

There was a pause as Giles obviously scrambled for something to say in response to this revelation. Five minutes of serious thought and all he came up with, however, was a single word:

 

“Oh.”

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

Spike’s good mood lasted most of the morning. He had managed to pick up a tasty bite on the walk home and had just managed to beat the sunlight into the factory (for some reason the close shave pleased him, as though he had really accomplished something). And the residual adrenaline from his skirmish with Lenny went far to maintain his good spirits.

 

But what goes up must eventually come down again and after a refreshing four hour nap he awoke rather restless. He wasn’t a creature who enjoyed being cooped up and found it rather hard lines to stay inside all day alone. When he had Dru he hadn’t minded so much; they had found some truly inventive ways of keeping each other occupied when the sun was up. But now there was nothing—and no one—to do. Not even anyone to talk to.

 

He paced the length of the lower level restively; the elation of the previous night was fading fast. Despite the fact that he was soulless and evil, Spike liked to consider himself a social creature. He needed contact—human or demon—in order to be happy. This contact did not necessarily have to be of a positive nature; in fact, he enjoying brawling and killing just as much as the other. But he wasn’t a vampire who should be left alone to brood, it didn’t suit him. Gave him too much time to think, for one thing.

 

Maddeningly, the one thing he seemed to think of most was the thing he wanted to push from his mind. Buffy’s rejection had stung him more than he would admit, and he preferred not to think of their tryst at all then to remember it in conjunction with her abandonment. But for some reason he could not push the thought from his mind and worried over it until he became morbid.

 

He had been stupid, of course. He should have killed the bitch, not kissed her. He knew it now. But knowing this did not prevent his wondering why it was she didn’t want him. What was it that made her come on to him so strongly one moment and rush out in a panic the next? It couldn’t be that she hadn’t enjoyed herself, because he knew she bloody well had. She rode him at a full gallop most of the afternoon, giggled and groaned, came about every five minutes. She had enjoyed herself.

 

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. Hadn’t been so bad for him either, come to think on it. She might’ve been a slayer and a child—and Angelus obviously hadn’t taken the time to teach her anything. But she was a fast learner. And even Dru couldn’t touch her stamina. Hell, she’d worn him out. It had been one helluva good shag, no doubt about it. He wouldn’t have minded another like it.

 

The smile faded.

 

Whether he wanted to admit to it or not, the truth was he had fallen into the Slayer’s trap much too easily and was even now having a hard time extricating himself. Despite the bravado for which he had become known, Spike had some serious insecurities and he indulged in them frequently and very carefully hid them from the world. Dru was the only one who had understood this, and it was only her rather immoderate affection that kept it in check. Now, without her, he was finding it hard going indeed.

 

The attraction he had always harbored for the Slayer would probably never have come to fruition had she not picked her moment so well. Depressed, intoxicated, all his defenses down, he had been a fairly easy target for her. And somewhere in between pinning her to the floor and the conclusion of their marathon shag, he had built in his mind an impossible fantasy of the two of them. He could envision a quick, easy conversion on her part. She could kill demons if she wanted; he did that on occasion when he was bored, so he wasn’t overly sensitive to it. But no longer would she carry that awful self-righteous chip on her shoulder. She would admit to killing for the pure joy of it and she would revel in that joy the way any good killer would. He would teach her how. He would teach her everything in just the same way Dru taught him, and she would revere him as he had revered Dru for waking up that sleeping part of his nature. It had been a stupid, impossible dream, one which seemed even more stupid and impossible the moment he awoke to find her gone.

 

Still, impractical as the idea was, he was having a hard time letting go of it. Even now in the back of his mind was the idea that as he carried out his current plan to break her, he would be breaking her to his will, and that the end result would be her crawling back to him on her knees. More absurd even than this was the realization that if she did return, he would most likely not kill her after all but rather welcome her back into his good graces with a forbearance heretofore expressed only with Drusilla.

 

As a matter of fact, there were a lot of emotions he now associated with Buffy that had once been for Drusilla alone.

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

“Wow. The whole committee, you say?”

 

Allan cleared his throat before answering Mayor Wilkins’ question.

 

“Most of them,” he said uneasily. “A few did manage to escape, but they seem to have left town. Mr. Trick was quite surprised. There were more than twenty vampires in that group and he beat them single-handedly.”

 

The mayor leaned back in his chair and thought about this for a moment.

 

“Well, Spike is nothing if not resourceful.” He sighed and rubbed his hands together. “You can’t help but admire that kind of destructive drive.”

 

“Of course, this does leave us in a bind,” Allan began delicately.

 

“How’s that?”

 

“The committee being gone, we have no way of getting rid of him.”

 

Mayor Wilkins raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Mr. Trick?” he asked.

 

“He isn’t willing to go alone and none of the other vampires will agree to accompany him. We managed to keep the massacre fairly quiet, but apparently Spike’s reputation precedes him. Those twenty were the only vampires willing to take him on.”

 

“What about the Slayer?”

 

“The Slayer?” Allan repeated, startled.

 

“He is a vampire. Isn’t she supposed to…?” Wilkins picked up a pencil from his desk and pantomimed stabbing someone with it.

 

“In as much as I can see, Buffy Summers has not approached him at all yet.”

 

The mayor leaned back in his chair and smiled.

 

“Well, why don’t we give her a little incentive then?”

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

Buffy checked her watch for the tenth time in two minutes. Where was Willow? It had been over an hour; surely it didn’t take her that long to gather her spell ingredients. She felt better after a hot shower, but still she wasn’t in the mood to wait around for Willow to pull her act together. She hadn’t had a full nights sleep in two days and it was starting to get to her; she was eager to get this spell cast so she could have a nice long nap. She tried calling Willow to see what the delay was but the line was busy.

 

Annoyed, she flopped down on the living room sofa to wait. At least her mother wasn’t around to finish the Spanish Inquisition. Joyce had some kind of appointment at the gallery and, after three cups of rejuvenating coffee she had left the house. Though her attitude was civil it had still been decidedly cold, and on the whole Buffy was glad Joyce would be out of her hair for the morning. She wished those idiot vampires would figure out a different way to torment her than by relaying her sexual activities to her mother. Not only was it incredibly aggravating, but it was starting to get trite. She had expected better of Spike.

 

Her heavy eyelids drifted shut. Though she was trying very hard to keep from thinking about him, Spike was on her mind as she half-dozed in the dark room. She couldn’t help it; her defenses were down from lack of sleep. And not only was she thinking of him, but she was actually sympathizing with the jerk! Despite what she wanted to pretend, Buffy knew this wasn’t like Angel. Angel had attacked her for the sheer pleasure of it; he hadn’t approached Joyce just to tell her about Buffy’s sexcapades, he was going to kill her. At least Spike hadn’t been overtly hostile with Joyce—and he did sort of have a reason to do what he had done. Buffy knew it was low of her to ditch him the way she did, and try as she might she was having a hard time holding on to her anger. Somewhere in the back of her mind lingered the thought that she would have behaved the same way, had she been in his place.

 

She sighed heavily.

 

That was the problem with Spike. He was always reminding her of the worst part of herself, which made it damn near impossible to truly hate him. And he acted so…human! Not like the ravenous, unthinking monsters that most vampires were. Like Angel had been. Sometimes—like in his relationship with Drusilla—he didn’t act like a vampire at all, and it made it all the more confusing to deal with him. And he had certainly treated her well the other afternoon…like a real lover. He could easily have killed her and he hadn’t. It was all very confusing.

 

But even more confusing than his behavior was her own. She still couldn’t figure out what compelled her to sleep with him. Nor could she fathom why the attraction which had sprung up out of nowhere seemed to be getting stronger. She had done her best to push that night from her mind; she’d been struggling to cultivate the little spark of rage she’d felt when she found out about his stunt with her mother. But it was no good. Even now she found herself besieged by a wild, completely senseless desire to see him. It didn’t make any sense at all.

 

She wondered briefly if there was such a thing as a hate spell. If there were spells to generate love between people then shouldn’t there be a spell to engender hate as well? Or at the very least, dislike. There must be spells like that—if for no other reason than to act as an antidote to love spells like the one Willow performed for Spike.

 

Willow.

 

Willow would know if there was a spell that could help Buffy.

 

For a moment Buffy felt excited. That was it! She could ask Willow to cast a little anti lust spell for her, something that would eliminate that awful, shameful longing that was driving her mad. She could finally dust Spike and remove his troublesome presence from her life. It seemed like the perfect plan.

 

Except that in order to have Willow perform the spell, Buffy would have to tell Willow about her feelings for Spike. The hopeful feeling faded as she came to this realization, and Buffy thought wearily she would rather kill herself than divulge her secret to her best friend. She knew Willow would be eager and helpful, and that she wouldn’t tell anyone if Buffy asked her not to. But she also knew that Willow would see her differently from now on. Her confidence in Buffy had suffered a tiny crack when Angel went on his little bender and killed Ms. Calendar; Buffy had a feeling this would shatter it completely. She couldn’t tell Willow. She couldn’t tell anyone, because there wasn’t a person in Sunnydale who would believe that she truly hadn’t wanted this. They would think she got off on the danger of making it with a vampire; they would say it was Angel all over again only worse. They would never trust her again.

 

Buffy sighed and sank back onto the sofa cushions. It looked like she was on her own in this battle. She just hoped when it came down to it she would be able to summon the strength to do what she had to do in order to get him out of her life—because right now she lacked the strength to get him out of her head.

 

Or her heart.

Chapter Thirteen

 

 

 

 

As much as he didn’t want to, Giles supposed he must talk to Buffy.

 

He would have liked to believe that Willow’s concerns were just the imaginings of a teenager who turned everything in life into a soap opera. Indeed, had the subject been broached by Cordelia or even Xander he probably would have disregarded it altogether. But Willow was a level headed sort of person, even if she was only seventeen. And if she said Buffy was acting as though she were involved with Angel again then it must be the case.

 

He felt a flash of irritation just thinking about it. Buffy he could forgive—somewhat—for her irresponsibility. After all, she was child who was carrying a superhuman burden; if she did not always react appropriately to situations then he could understand. But after two hundred-odd years Giles would have thought Angel would be more mature than this. Angel knew full well what the consequences of a night with Buffy would be, and the idea that he would attempt even a nonsexual romantic relationship with her was ludicrous. He must know he was ruining her chances at being even remotely normal.

 

It was no wonder Joyce hung up on him, Giles thought wearily. He was her daughter’s watcher. It was his responsibility to make sure she was mentally and physically prepared for the challenges that faced her on the Hellmouth. If Joyce had gotten wind of the idea that her daughter was dating a creature who had tried kill her, Giles didn’t blame her for being angry with him. He had obviously failed Buffy somewhere.

 

So, distasteful as the idea was to him, Giles knew he would have to talk to her.

 

However, he would talk to Angel first and this Giles did not dread in the least. Since the death of Jenny Calendar, he had been waiting for an excuse to rake Angel over the coals. Oh, he’d heard the excuse of how Angel wasn’t responsible for Angelus’ actions—that the soulless creature who had senselessly slaughtered so many was not the same broody man who made cow’s eyes at Buffy and wallowed in self pity for actions he claimed were not his fault but which supposedly haunted him anyway. Giles didn’t buy any of it—any more than he had bought the fact that Angel could be “friends” with Buffy. He knew that Angel wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off Buffy for long.

 

Giles smiled grimly to himself as he stuffed his pockets with stakes and holy water. Oh, yes, he wanted to talk to Angel. He had writhed under this hidden hatred too long not to take this opportunity, and he hoped—yes, hoped!—that Angel would give him a reason to use these weapons. He no longer cared about Buffy’s feelings; he didn’t care if Angel had a soul. Time and time again it had been proven that the soul did not keep the vampire from doing stupid, senselessly dangerous things. It didn’t keep him from ruining Buffy’s life, hanging around, preventing her from burying their relationship where dead loves go and moving on with her life.

 

Dead loves.

 

Snickering humorlessly, Giles pulled a large pewter crucifix from a shelf and draped its chain around his neck. He knew all about dead loves.

 

 And how to bury them.

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

“Buffy are you sure this necessary?” Willow asked.

 

“What d’ya mean?” Buffy’s response was slurred around a mouthful of nails.

 

Willow shifted the stack of crucifixes from one arm to another. “Well, the barrier spell should keep him out just fine. Why are you bothering with the crosses?”

 

“I don’t want to take any chances.”

 

Buffy pounded the last nail into the wall and let the curtains drop, concealing the wooden cross from view. “How many rooms have we done?”

 

“Everything but the basement, now. Buffy won’t your mom be mad that you put all these holes in her walls?”

 

“That’s why I’m trying to make them as inconspicuous as possible,” Buffy explained. “Except the ones I had to put by the doors, I think I did a good job hiding them. Don’t you?”

 

Willow wasn’t sure how to answer that. It was true that Buffy had hidden crucifixes behind draperies and furniture, appliances and even picture frames. But suppose Joyce decided to rearrange things? The wallpaper was now peppered with tiny holes—not only from the nails used to secure the crosses, but also with scars from all Buffy’s failed attempts to secure them. She wasn’t as skilled with a hammer as with a stake.

 

“It—it looks really…ah...”

 

Luckily Buffy saved her the difficulty of finishing this sentence.

 

“Do you think I should put any in the yard?” she asked thoughtfully.

 

“The yard?” Willow echoed.

 

“I could nail them to trees….”

 

“I don’t think you need them in the yard. I mean, your mom usually gets home before dark, right? And she leaves for work after sunrise, so Spike wouldn’t really be much of a threat.” Willow brightened. “Anyway, you’ll probably have him at the sharp edge of your stake tonight. Then you won’t have to worry about him at all.”

 

“Tonight?” Buffy looked confused. “What’s tonight?”

 

Surprised, Willow stammered, “W—well nothing, really. I just thought you’d be eager to finish with him. If you need help—”

 

“I don’t need help,” Buffy interrupted. “I just don’t think I should go tonight. I’ve had about two hours of sleep in the last three nights, and I’ve got school tomorrow. I think I should probably wait until I’m in top form before I try to kill him.”

 

Something in Buffy’s tone made Willow wonder if she wasn’t just procrastinating. But that was silly. Buffy hated Spike—she would be eager to kill him. Probably she was just very tired; she had been working really hard the last several nights and without any help from the gang. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?” she asked.

 

“Yeah…” Buffy threw down her hammer and looked in her friend’s eyes very seriously. “Don’t you guys go looking for Spike, okay?  And if he comes to you, don’t try anything. Just get inside and—and don’t listen to anything he has to say.”

 

Willow couldn’t help wondering just what it was Spike would say to her that Buffy didn’t want her to hear.

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

The sun was just slipping behind the trees when Angel’s front door burst open with a force that threatened to knock it from its hinges.

 

Angel, who was concealing weapons about his person in much the same way Giles had, turned to the open door with poorly concealed irritation. “It’s interesting that vampires need invitations but you can burst in any old time you please.”

 

Giles’ eyes were hard and cold as he answered, “The benefits of being human, I suppose.”

 

“Yes, well, as much as I’d like to stay and debate that, I have some things I need to take care of.”

 

Angel started to move toward the door, but Giles threw out an arm to block his path. “You aren’t going anywhere until we have talked.”

 

Angel sighed. He knew Giles had not forgiven him for what happened to Jenny, and though Angel did feel remorse for the incident he felt Giles was being unfair to him. After all, he had not had a soul when he killed Jenny; he didn’t even remember most of what happened during that period. And in a way, Buffy was just as responsible as he was. If she hadn’t given him his one moment of happiness he would never have lost his soul in the first place. Yet for some reason everyone seemed to be blaming him for all those miserable weeks. It wasn’t fair.

 

“What is it you want to talk about?” he asked morosely, certain it had to do with Jenny.

 

But Giles surprised him.

 

“I want to talk about Buffy,” he said briefly. “Rather, about something Willow told me about Buffy and its relation to you.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Succinctly, Willow has voiced her concerns that you and Buffy, heedless of the dangers involved, have rekindled your…romance.”

 

Something in the way Giles paused before the word romance irritated Angel, and he made no effort to be polite in his answer. “Well, tell Willow she’s wrong,” he snapped. “Now if you don’t mind…”

 

He tried to move past Giles, but once again the watcher extended his arm—and this time he had a crucifix in his hand.

 

Wincing, Angel backed away.

 

“I don’t think Willow is wrong,” Giles said softly. “And I’ll tell you why. Buffy has been away for the past several nights with no explanation as to her whereabouts. She was supposed to go to the factory to slay Spike and for some reason she was not able to do this. She’s been acting distant and strange to her friends. All of this says she’s been keeping a secret from us.”

 

“And you automatically assume I’m the secret?” Angel asked incredulously.

 

“You were last time. When you returned from whatever dimension you were in, Buffy hid you away, took care of you until you regained your sense—and never said a word to any of us,” Giles pointed out.

 

“Has it ever occurred to you that she’s been acting strange since Spike came into town?” Angel demanded impatiently. “I found her lurking outside my bushes just last night. She came to tell me Spike is back and that she was unable to kill him when she had the chance. She said she wanted to handle it herself when I offered to help her, and then in the next breath and told me he was ‘behaving himself’. She said he kidnapped Willow and forced her to cast a love spell for him—and Buffy called that behaving! She talked as though she would just let him walk away from this.”

 

Giles’ eyes narrowed.  “What are you trying to say?”

 

“She thinks it is wrong to kill him because of the truce they made last spring. Apparently, she’s been away for the last several nights because she’s been running around, trying to convince him to leave town.”

 

“You’re not serious.”

 

Angel opened his coat to show Giles the stakes, knives, holy water, and other weapons concealed inside. “Does this look serious to you?”

 

Giles glanced down at the weapons. “What—?” he began.

 

“I don’t have a truce with Spike,” Angel said.

 

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

 

 

 

“What an interesting change in tactics.”

 

Allan shot Mr. Trick a glance of poorly concealed disgust. “Well can you do it or can’t you?”

 

“Oh, I most surely can do it,” Trick answered. He displayed his sharp white canines in a satisfied grin. “In fact, I think I’ll handle this one myself. I’ve never fought a vampire with a soul and I’m a little curious.”

 

“I don’t care who you get to do it or if you do it yourself!” Allan snapped. “Just get it done. Tonight. The Mayor wasn’t happy about the fiasco concerning your ‘committee’ and he will be even more annoyed if this doesn’t work.”

 

“It will work.”

 

“Tonight,” Allan persisted. “It has to be tonight. We want this taken care of!”

 

“Okay, okay….Just chill, baby. I’ll handle it.”

 

Relieved, Allan turned away. He was halfway to the door when Trick cleared his throat pointedly.

 

“However…”

 

Allan turned around. “However what?”

 

Trick smiled and, extending his hand, he rubbed his thumb and forefingers together. “There is the small matter of the bill….”

 

 

Allan sighed and reached for his wallet.