Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For language, violence, and adult content)
Distribution: Sure. Just tell me where.
Timeline: Season 5 of BtVS: AU after Triangle. Season 2 of AtS: AU after Reunion.
Summary: Wolfram and Hart, host of the greatest evil acknowledged on Earth, attempts to restructure the Order of Aurelius, one vampire at a time. A soul hampers one, a chip harbors another, and a Slayer stands between them. The pawns are in place; it is simply a matter of who will move first.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon. They are being used for entertainment purposes and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [25]

[26] [27] [28] [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [36] [37] [38] [39] [40] [41] [42] [43] [44] [45] [46] [47] [48] [49] [50] [Epilogue]

Chapter Sixteen

Tourniquet

Lindsey McDonald didn’t even bother to glance up when the door opened. He had known it was only a matter of time before a spokesperson for the unholy trio decided to break the silence that had settled since the Slayer was brought into the picture. As it was, he had been looking to call Angelus into his office for some time now. There were things to discuss, pleasantries and their mutual uglies to get out of the way.

And a meeting to arrange.

“Well, well,” a familiar and overly unwanted voice drawled in greeting. “Alone at last.”

The lawyer snickered but maintained his focus on his work. “Hello, Angelus.”

There would be no pleasant exchange. They hadn’t bothered with such tomfoolery when the vampire harbored a soul; there was absolutely no reason to now. “You know, I just can’t seem to figure out why… Now, before I get ahead of myself, don’t get me wrong. This new and improved status of being is really working out for me. Granted I have a lot to catch up on, and the helpless pups over at my respected offices aren’t really helping me out in that department.”

Lindsey sighed and finally presented the vampire with his eyes, consigning his pen to his desk with raw agitation. “You’ve only been here two seconds, and I’m already tired of listening. Is there a reason that you’re here and interrupting my very important and highly entertaining tax filing?” he asked monotonously, cocking his head.

A rich chuckle colored the air. Angelus leaned forward, supporting his weight on the desk with open palms. “All that hostility, and you still maintain your sense of humor. Maybe I underestimated you, Lindsey. You aren’t quite the sniveling crybaby I had always pictured. Close, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t like to shortchange those I’ll likely be killing within the next five minutes with any doubts of their skills, however transparent they seem to be.”

Even at that, McDonald refused to bat an eye. The past few days had served as ample enough evidence that when it came down to chatting with associates, Angelus was about as much talk as he was action. That wasn’t to say the vampire didn’t have aspirations of following through; his torture sessions with Buffy had been split between words and lashes. Oh no. This was a creature that enjoyed the buildup. The suspense. The endless wonder if today would be the day he ended his taunts with an effective snap. “Is there a point you would like to make?” he asked. “Or should I have you escorted out by force? I do have work to do, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, right to the point. I always liked that about you, Lindsey. So direct. Forceful. You simply reek of testosterone. All that lovely man-juice that will never get you anywhere. At least anywhere you actually want to get.” Angelus glanced down speculatively, running his hand across the length of the desk before finding what he was looking for. A pen. A small instrument of minimal value. Something that had to be more fascinating than it looked. He ran his forefinger over the ballpoint, tossing a brief look upward as a smile curled his lips. “You’re really not afraid of me…are you?”

McDonald’s brows perked, and he gestured dismissively. “Should I be?”

“I could kill you with this, you know. Your head would hit the floor before you could think to call for help.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Lindsey returned honestly. “But you didn’t come up here to threaten me.”

“Didn’t I?” An incredulous snort tickled the air. “You really think you matter to her? That she lies awake, dreaming of you when the day is done? That she touches herself, and calls out your name when she—”

“No need to be crude.” Perhaps it was his indifference that bothered; a look of irritation overwhelmed the vampire’s face to a degree where, had he not been as valuable a player as he was, McDonald reckoned that might have been his last lucky break. “Obviously not. Why would you come up here and brag about that? In fact, why would you come up here at all? Don’t you have a Slayer to be playing with?”

That remark stank of deception—coated in lies and buried somewhere that he hoped remained perpetually undiscovered. The last thing Lindsey wanted to do was send Angelus back into the bowels of Wolfram and Hart to engage in another round of ‘how much can a Slayer bleed.’ The monitors in the room he wasn’t technically supposed to be in had long ago worn their reservation. He couldn’t stop watching—a morbid fascination. For every flinch that crossed her face, for every tear that trenched her cheek, for every time she bit her lip to keep from screaming, he hated the vampire more.

And it wasn’t just that. It could never be so simple. Lindsey McDonald—the folly of his own repugnance. His insides twisted with self-loathing that refused to grant him leave. For as often as he watched her torment, he never made move to interfere. To end it. To get her out of there. To save her and himself from this haven of sin. He couldn’t. He remained. He had to. Wolfram and Hart was what he knew.

It had only been two days. Two days. And she bled. She had bled too much.

And yet it was he who was dying.

Irony was a horrendous pain in the ass.

“Funny that you should mention the Slayer,” Angelus replied. “You’ll never believe what Dru shared with us over breakfast.”

Lindsey froze and glanced up.

Oh. God.

If the vampires knew that their torture sessions were being videotaped, things were going to go from bad to worse in record time.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” he replied, attempting with desperation to maintain a cool, disinterested façade.

“Seems Spike is in town. In town, and looking for us. Imagine that.” His eyes narrowed and he studied the man with intensity that could melt an iceberg. Funny how a vampire could produce that sort of radiation. With merely a look, a flinch, Angelus betrayed everything he was. And he enjoyed every minute of it. “I’m thinking, you knew about this, didn’t you?”

Lindsey didn’t know what merited the most reaction. The notion that his late night rendezvous to the security room had yet to be discovered, or that the vampire would display such interest in one of his own, especially one noted on the ‘likely to try something stupid’ list. “Our resources aren’t really focused on new arrivals,” he replied steadily. “But yes, I was informed. By Spike himself, actually. He claims to have rethought Darla’s offer. He wants in.”

Angelus drew back and stared at the man blankly before emitting a long, incredulous chuckle. “Perfect!” he decided richly. “How absolutely perfect. It never ceases to amaze me how centuries can change, but the people remain…” He paused, cocking his head for emphasis. “Irrevocably the same. Spike, one of my own. Same guy. Same mindless enthusiasm. Different cause.”

“I think it runs in the family, myself.” McDonald wisely avoided the vampire’s eyes at that, glancing once more to his work. “Anyway, I told him the Slayer was dead. He didn’t seem to care.”

He quirked a brow. “Interesting. I never thought he’d be inventive enough to go with apathy.”

Lindsey leaned back in his chair. “You’re so sure it’s a rouse?”

“Of course it’s a rouse, Bright Boy. Spike always reeked of way too much humanity to give up that quickly. And man—that kid becomes obsessed with something, he stays that way.” Angelus rolled his eyes and gestured emphatically. “On and on and on until I wished I had never even mentioned the Slayer. It was almost worth getting souled to not hear another word of his mindless, endless rambling.”

“He wants to meet you tomorrow at Caritas. At sunset.”

The vampire’s eyes widened in consideration. “Interesting choice.”

“Not nearly as interesting as what our tracers picked up.” Lindsey leered forward and retrieved a single-sheeted document from his desk. “The phone he used was issued to a Wright, Zachary Stephens. Anyone you know?”

“Name doesn’t sound familiar.” Angelus frowned speculatively. While improbable, the notion that Spike had suffered a drastic change of heart was not too outrageous to be marked as the truth. Were he to be on some Slayer-saving tangent, chances lay in the better wake of his contacting associates at Angel Investigations. Both men knew that.

Of course, it was entirely possible that Spike knew that as well. Possible, but unlikely. Despite the very sad esteem that merited his reputation preceding him, the younger vampire was not known for his forethought. It was vexing. All very vexing.

“Well,” Angelus decided with definitive finale. “I guess there’s never any harm in looking, now is there? Caritas at sunset…well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait until then.” He turned to flash McDonald a cheeky grin that practically dripped with disdain before bidding a very insincere farewell and waltzing out of the office to his leisure.

For everything the vampire formerly kept to himself to everything he now practically shouted from the rooftops. Lindsey never thought the day would arrive when he would miss the shadow of his former rival. Every minute mounted more surprises.

He did not want William the Bloody in these offices, especially if he had spoken the truth earlier. Vampires were fickle creatures—and despite whatever sense of romance the little Cockney might have felt prior to the turn of the tide, that did not deduct from the very well noted fact that he was a Slayer killer. He prided himself in it. Had already done two in and—by the files—had spent the past three years of his life skirting around the ways to kill the one currently in the firm’s darkest nook.

Drusilla thought that he was in love with Buffy. Hah. Rich. That was all very well for Drusilla. Lindsey much preferred to keep his opinion based on factual evidence, not the sporadic claims of a rambling undead lunatic. He did not know what Spike was trying to pull, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be on his side of the rope to drag the Slayer further into her shame.

Angelus’s hostility toward Buffy was founded but aged. Too much time had passed and he was currently hell-bent on revisiting the causes of yesterday. When he tired of her, it was going to take every string in McDonald’s command to keep the girl from reaching a messy end. Spike was a different story. His hostility had had time to brew. To bubble and fester. All scars were fresh and likely still bleeding; he wasn’t going to have the satisfaction of repaying that regard.

Not if Lindsey could stop it.

He had to get her out of there. Before things got worse. Before William the Bloody was implicated.

It was merely a question of how.

This time, she knew she was dreaming.

He stood in the doorway, shadowed by his own darkness. The figurative silhouette marking his undoing. His features remained blurred, either for the lack of convenient luminosity or the mask of tears that had long since dried and crusted under her eyes. She didn’t know. Had long since stopped caring. How much time had passed? Days? Weeks? Years?

Days. It was only days. Two or three at best. Likely three. Three sounded good. A sturdy, wholesome, reliable number. Three days since she saw him. Since he burst into the Bronze after his premature leave. Since he looked at her with such genuine regard to warn her of this. Of what it was. What was to come.

To warn her of Drusilla and Darla. What they had planned for her.

To warn her of Angelus.

And before that? A walk through Restfield cemetery. Cordial. Nice. Side-by-side, as though they had been doing it for years. As though witty banter and the occasional personal remark resembled a hug or a smooch on the cheek. As though it were a labeled brand of affection.

She had opened up to him that night. She had gone against her own established rule. She had prefaced herself and opened up, and Spike, never one to shy from a challenge, had admirably stepped up to the plate.

Everyone is wrong, he had told her. And he had been sincere.

You’re an ambiguity, Buffy.

And now he was here, and she was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. Nothing was clear enough to merit reality. Trapped in a daze where what she wanted was so close within hindsight, even if the same couldn’t be Spike. Couldn’t. Never had been, never would be.

What she wouldn’t do to see his face now. His face. Xander’s face. Willow’s face. Hell, right now, even Parker’s face. Someone to remind her that the world existed outside these three-dimensional walls. That she wasn’t in Hell, repaying for some sin she didn’t know she had committed. That life in all its blessed routine, complete with demonic Hellgods who wanted to use her sister as some sort of turnkey, was still the basis of reality outside her suffering.

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Because if Spike were here, it certainly wouldn’t be for her. He was a vampire after all. He was a very notorious, very dangerous vampire with two Slayer deaths under his belt. And he had been jonesing to kill her since he first blew into Sunnydale three years prior.

Funny, though, how the thought of him right now—in this distorted version of her even more distorted reality—brought with it some sort of peace.

Flash. He was standing there before her, now. The open sea of his eyes welcoming her own. Imploring her with depths that could find her even if they had to swim through the inner maze of her psyche. Despite everything, their differences, their banter, their mutual hatred, he somehow managed to know her better than anyone she had encountered. Better than even Willow at times, and that was scary. Vampires weren’t supposed to divulge their enemies so thoroughly. It displayed a nature of wanting left to be uncovered by an unnamed source. He knew her. Oh, he knew her. He always had.

He knew Slayers, he had said. That was true. But he knew Buffy better than any of the others. He knew Buffy.

When he spoke, his breath fanned her lips—her chapped, raw, sore lips. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t screaming in some form of agony. That hadn’t been explored and taunted for all its painful possibilities. Angelus was a connoisseur of such things, and by the way he touched her, he never wanted her to forget it.

“What’s this?” the Spike-apparition demanded. “My girl all chained up? Tsk. That won’ do, now will it?”

Buffy lunged forward at that—or rather, tried to. Her bindings held steadfast, pulling on skin that had long ago outstretched its limits. Her muscles were sore and abused, tired from struggling against an unrelenting chain. Tired of holding her up while the others made their play. Simply tired. She was grateful for the lack of mirrors; feeling the grime and blood caked upon dirtied flesh was enough. The last thing she needed was a diagram.

The chains would withhold anything; even and especially images conjured simply because she wished it so. The Slayer withdrew after a few seconds, emanating a pitiful wail as she limped in defeat. “Spike…” she whimpered imploringly. “Please…”

“Things are gonna get rough. You’re gonna have to sit tight. Close your eyes. Pretend ‘s not real. An’ wait. Jus’ wait. I’ll make it all go away.” He reached out to caress her cheek and she was surprised when it didn’t hurt. When she didn’t feel the need to flinch. Rather, it was exquisite. Being touched out of feeling rather than unsatisfied anger. Rage. Fury. Everything that constructed Angelus into being. “Hold on for me, all right, luv? Can you do that? We’re tryin’.”

“Spike,” she moaned, biting back tears. She had thought to having drained her body of tears, but somehow they kept coming. Stinging her eyes with their intrusive salt. Waiting to trek painful rivers down a face that could spare no more inward screams. “Please, don’t…Angelus…he’s…”

“I’ll find you.” He flashed a grin, then leaned forward softly and caressed her lips with his own. It wasn’t a passionate union. It wasn’t flavored with lust or unrequited fervor. More gentle and reassuring. And yet, somehow, she had never received a more ardent kiss. And real. Oh God. It felt so real. She could almost smell him. Cigarettes, leather, whisky…tears? Were those his tears she sensed, or her own? Too soon it was over, and he pulled back, drawing locks of bloodied hair between his fingers with a look on his face that she had never seen before. Never seen. Couldn’t place. But she loved it. “I promise, Buffy. I’ll find you.”

She opened her eyes and allowed her tears to sting, but before she could call him back, beg him to stay; he had dissolved into the night behind him.

There was a slam and she jerked awake.

The fantasy was over. Reality stepped forward with all its wretched glory.

This was it. She was alone.

And Angelus had returned.

He flashed a smirk, consigning some foreign object to the ground beneath her feet. Buffy refused to blink; refused to look at it. Rather lifted her head with whatever kept her going and met his eyes. Beat by beat.

And, as she had at every interval, refused to show him any fear.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted contemptuously, marking her brow with a forceful, bitingly cold crash of his lips. “Miss me?”

The warmth that had camped throughout her system left with the remnants of her lost redeemer. Truth returned. Nasty, spiteful, and real.

The same that could never be forgotten. Wanting did not make it so.

This was her certainty. Her stamina. Her one true thing.

She was alone.

Chapter Seventeen

With A Little Help

“Remind me again what we’re doing here.”

“I told you, Mr. Antsy-Pants,” Cordelia answered, propping her bag onto her shoulder and fighting the locks of hair that insisted on blocking her view. “There are a few things I’d like to pick up—and not that I’m all Angel-wiggy—but I figured it might be a little safer if I had someone to come with.”

Spike snickered and rolled his eyes. “What ‘appened to me not bein’ invited in?”

She grinned at him unpleasantly. “Well, since you’re so effectively neutered, it shouldn’t matter. Besides, as I said before, Dennis would so kick your ass.”

The door swung open at that without any hint of follow, and the vampire immediately found himself overwhelmed by a strong, unguided force that propelled him to the far other side of the veranda. The few drops of sunlight that had yet to dispel into the shadows trickled to vulnerable skin, and he yelped loudly in turn.

“Now that,” Wright said as he approached from the car, rugged face adorned with a grin of secreted amusement, “was funny.”

Spike scowled and fought to his feet. “Ghostly types. Always gotta have a bloody sense of humor.”

Cordelia shrugged and held the door open for him. “Well, they gotta pass the time somehow.” She gestured inward, the move broad and overly grandiose. “William the Bloody, I hereby pardon every bad thing you’ve ever done, and cordially invite you into my home. Consider yourself officially one of the gang.”

The vampire smirked at her and moved inward hurriedly. “Ha bloody ha, luv.” He ran a hand through platinum strands and was grinning when she finally shut the door behind them. “The day that you’re picked to reign judgment on all us poor demons ‘s—”

“Hey, I don’t see why you’re complaining. You’re currently my favorite vamp. Wanna keep it up?”

Wright rolled his eyes. “Because the selection is so wide. I guess if you wanted to go that way, he’d have to be my favorite vamp, too.”

Spike knew better than to push it, but couldn’t help himself. It was a rare day when he did. “Aw, shucks, Zangy,” he drawled. “I din’t know you cared.”

“I don’t. That being the point, in case you missed it.”

“And here I thought you boys were getting along,” Cordelia said dismissively, tossing her bag to the nearest chair. Then she lifted her head and called to no one in particular, “Phantom Dennis, meet Spike and Zack. Spike’s a vamp, Zack wants to kill him.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Wright said, holding up a hand. “I only want to kill him if I get to the others first. Right now, I’m just using him for his connections.”

Spike snickered. “’Course. Right martyr you are.”

“I do try.”

“Could you two save it for when I’m not around? Honestly.” Cordelia moved pristinely for her bedroom, glancing upward as though to catch the eye of her invisible roommate. “They did this all the way over here. It’s giving me a headache.”

“Well now,” Spike snickered. “Couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Hey, a healthy Seer is a happy Seer. Who knows? It might make my mind-numbingly painful visions all the more jolly.”

Zack smirked. “Yes. I’m sure the laws of nature would bend merely to accommodate you.”

“Better watch it, mate,” the vampire advised, though there was mischief in his eyes. “She was the Queen C. Near as I can recall, anyway.” His glance turned appraisingly to the apartment, narrowing his gaze at her very feminine surroundings. There was absolutely no doubt that a lady lived here. Even the greatest poof this side of the Atlantic wouldn’t choose these themes if they had any self-respect. Nevertheless, it was cozy. Very serene. Homey.

One would never guess that its resident worked for a vampire.

“So,” Cordelia said, emerging once more from her room with a small suitcase at her disposal. She wisely ignored the blank stares her random, not to mention rapid brandishing of a home-away-from-home survival kit. “What’s the game plan? Spike’s heading over to Caritas here in about a half—”

“Spike and Zack are heading to this…whatever,” the demon hunter corrected adamantly. When he received a skeptical look in turn, his spread his arms, eyes widening with incredulity. “What? Darla might show. You honestly think I’m gonna bypass a shot to—”

“Cordy, luv, do me a favor an’ keep Zangy nice an’ distracted for about three hours.” The vampire tossed an icy glare to his unlikely companion, speaking for everything the other man had not. Then it was all business. Amazing how the tone could change within a blink. The proverbial snap. Spike stepped intrusively into the hunter’s personal space. Like most men that were in the general acquaintance, Wright had several inches on him. He was domineering, built, and perceptibly unaffected by anything that occurred around him. A being of his own creation; schooled irrevocably that after all that he had seen and done, nothing would surprise him. That, however, was not enough to coax the Cockney back. Not when the waters they manned bordered the outskirts of rough. “Whatever else ‘appens tonight,” he said seriously. “’m not gonna let you sit by an’ bugger up my chances to get Buffy safe an’ sound. Somethin’ tells me that you stakin’ Darla wouldn’t be in followin’ the proper protocol of fraternizin’ with the enemy.”

“He wouldn’t have to know it’s me.”

“The answer’s no, Zangy.”

Wright paused and glared. “One, stop calling me that. Two, how the hell do you propose to stop me?”

There were a thousand and a half ways of answering that; all of which seemed as obvious as they were effective. He knew without consideration that none of the options that firstly came to mind would be attempted, but thought it better to leave them unvoiced anyway. Despite the man’s noted distaste for those of the undead variety, the past day had seemingly alleviated his standing. Wright would likely never admit it if his vehemence breeched and mended, allowing a few amendments to break his own golden rule.

The suspicious leers were becoming less. They had bantered more than argued.

Up until this point.

“Look, mate,” Spike said sensibly. “’m on your bloody side here. When—”

Wright scoffed at that, shaking his head in astonishment. “On my side?” he repeated, arching a skeptic brow. “You’re just using me.”

Cordelia waved a hand. “Ummm…did I miss something, Mr. Hypocritical? You are just using him too, right? Look, I know I don’t know you all that well, but I am a living, breathing person-shaped person here! And I do know Spike pretty well.” She frowned. “Well, I knew the old Spike…and when I say knew, I mean as in ‘ran from him as much as I could when I wasn’t trying to keep him from torturing my boss’…but you get the—”

The vampire cleared his throat and arched his brows. “Thanks ever so,” he said gruffly, eyes glued to the ground. “But I don’ really reckon tha’s gonna score me any points, pet.”

“Well, I was getting to a point.” Her eyes widened and she made a mocking face at Wright, who chuckled in spite of himself. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted…Buffy told me about this one time when an old friend of hers came down from…well…here…Hemery High and made a deal with you that if he gave you the Slayer, you’d vamp him. This ring any bells?”

The Cockney glanced down. Oh, bells were being rung. This wasn’t the sort of story one told to a demon hunter. Especially if one was in the process of winning the trust of said demon hunter. “Ummm, pet, s’all right. You don’ have to—”

“No. I’m just trying to make a point.” Cordelia pivoted to Wright, whose brows were peaked with interest. “Anyway, this guy totally blows it, obviously. Spikey here couldn’t kill the Slayer if—”

“Oi!”

“Well…”

“I don’t want to kill the Slayer, princess. Slightly different scenario.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “Are we forgetting the chip?”

Spike scoffed. “No. Of bloody course not. How could we?”

“Ahem.” Zack waved a little to direct their attention back into focus. “I believe there was a story…”

“Right.” Cordelia nodded and, very unfortunately, picked up right where she left off. “Anyway, the guy totally delivers but Spike screws it up—” She held up a hand and plowed through whatever interruption curled off the peroxide Cockney’s lips, voice elevated to volumes that were likely on the brink of attracting dogs. “—and even though it would’ve been just as easy for him to say no to the entire ‘sire’ thing, he vamps him anyway. Kept his word.” She paused with a frown. “I don’t really see why it did any good, anyway. Way I hear it, the kid bit the dust the next night.”

Spike smirked poignantly. “Gotta hand it to her. My Slayer knows me well.”

Wright snickered. “Aww, how heartwarming.” He tossed a sideways glance to the vampire, expression nearly imperceptible all except the shadow of what could be construed as a grin tickling his lips. “See? That story had a happy ending and everything.”

“My point was, Spike’ll keep his promise. Darla’s gonna be dust either way.” At that, the brunette earned a sharp, nearly surprised look from her vampiric cohort, one that stung with both gratitude and conviction. “Even if he promises something particularly grizzly.”

“After the Slayer’s outta harm’s way,” the peroxide blonde agreed, nodding adamantly. “I don’ give a bloody damn what you do to my unfortunate blood ties. Torch the place. See what I care. I jus’ want her out.” A heavy pause settled for a minute. Despite however annoyed he was, Spike could certainly appreciate Wright’s need for vengeance. A quick, swift, definitive end to something that had destroyed every purity his life had ever known. More over, he would be sure he received it, after all was said and done—even and especially if he assisted where assistance was needed. “Jus’ work with me on this. Work with me…an’ I’ll work with you.”

There was a long beat of silence—a wordless beg to reason. Further and further they treaded, crossing as many boundaries as possible within reason. This time yesterday, Wright would have answered a resounding no, hands down. Amazing how altered perception could affect one’s tolerance. Finally, he broke and nodded, glancing downward. “All right,” he agreed, refusing to meet the vampire’s gaze. “All right. For…her.”

Spike smiled—a real smile. Genuine and without snark. “Thanks, mate.”

“I’m putting a lot on faith, here. I’ve never even met this chick.”

“She’s worth it.”

“So you keep saying.”

The vampire grinned and placed a hand over his nonbeating heart. “Would I lie?”

Cordelia’s brows arched. “Uhhh, yeah,” she said skeptically. “I just vouched for your reliability, not your honesty. Stay where you’re better acquainted.”

The look he shot her was colored and mostly falsified, but one could not discount the way the corners of his mouth lifted into the barest hint of a grin. “So you’re tellin’ me that you don’ think she’s worth it?”

The young woman smirked. “Oh, heaven forbid! Any Slayer who can get two of the most badass vamps crawling on their knees within a stone’s throw of each other has to be worth something.”

“Now, there’s all the reason you needed to give me,” Wright complied, grinning madly. “Remind me that I’m doing this to save the girl that effectively got William the Bloody whipped. Any dame like that’s one I’m hankering to meet.”

At that, Spike’s gaze darkened. “I am not—”

For not the first time, Cordelia met Zack’s gaze, nodded, and they bombarded him with a collective, “Yes you are.”

“I—”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” the young woman told him, shaking her head and jingling her keys with the unspoken implication that everyone should head for the door. “Didn’t we clarify this just last night?”

“Besides,” Wright added, “you’ve told me several times that you’re not expecting anything from her in return. If that’s not whipped, I don’t—”

“Sod off.”

“Oh no, buddy. What was it you said? If it annoys, it stays.”

“So you’re takin’ to quotin’ a vamp now?”

He shrugged. “As long as it’s a whipped vamp, I’m cool with it.”

Spike scowled and stalked forward, only without the intensity he was striving for. At some point, the line had faded to a lesser-recognizable form of tangibility and settled at the point of no return. He was getting that buggering annoying feeling that this bloke was one he could learn to not-hate, despite the man’s noted abhorrence for all of his kind.

Instead of continuing with another string of useless slander that would ultimately get them nowhere, the vampire conceded with a shrug and allowed his façade to drop, gesturing to the door. “All right then,” he said, his casual lenience indicating in hidden layers that this trade was nowhere near over. They would likely be arguing the point until the trials were over and everyone was on their way home. “I better be off. Wouldn’t wanna keep the Great Poof waitin’.”

Zack’s brows perked and he made to follow. “So, to Caritas then?”

“Thought I told you that you weren’ comin’.”

“Funny. I could’ve sworn that…well, you can’t stop me.”

Spike paused intently and his eyes narrowed, fists clenching as though searching for control. “Zangy…”

There was an amused chuckle. Cordelia cast her gaze upward in random speculation of her hovering Phantom-Dennis and muttered, “Lover’s quarrel.”

“I promised I wouldn’t try to kill Darla,” Wright clarified, opening the door with a cocky grin. “But a chance to meet the legendary Angelus? Who could say no?”

“Bloody…an’ ‘f Darla shows?”

The other man shrugged. “Well, I’m assuming this place is sizey. Getting lost won’t present much of a problem. Besides…” It was small, nearly imperceptible, but one would swear that his eyes alighted with a hint of uncovered disobedience. The light of whom he had once been, perhaps. When circumstances were different. Someone who sought trouble as a means of entertainment, if nothing else. “I do this for a living.”

He was gone the next minute; sprinting out the door with shades of jollity that almost looked alien on his figure.

Spike sighed and cast his gaze heavenwards. “That boy ‘s gonna be the death of me.”

“Awww, I don’t think so,” Cordelia replied, thrusting her bags into the vampire’s hands without awaiting invitation. “He’s all talk, if you ask me.”

“I was speakin’ figuratively, you know.”

“Oh, I know. But even still…” She nudged her head to the door with wordless consent that he should follow. “One measly demon hunter take down William the Bloody? Puhlease. Even if said demon hunter does have a very, very nice physique. Not to mention abs and a six-pack and…oh, and all that upper-body—”

Spike cleared his throat. Loudly.

To her credit, the young woman didn’t miss a beat. She turned back to him quickly and flashed a bright smile that nearly coincided with the sequential roll of her eyes. “Oh, stop. You know you’re gorgeous.”

He grinned. “Naturally.”

“Is he seeing anyone? You know?”

At that, the grin faded. Amazing how quickly one could develop a streak of immediate empathy. He didn’t even have to fake that one. “Prolly best to avoid bringin’ it up,” he advised. “’E jus’ got over a bad break.”

“Oh.” The disappointment on her face was manifest, and nearly coaxed him to laugh again. Then she flashed her eyes upward, discontent vanished, and granted him a coy smirk. “You know I’m only asking about him because I know you’re off the market, right?”

“Of course.”

“Besides, all that muscle has nothing against vamp strength. You could totally kick his ass.”

It was odd the way his head hurt to even think of raising a hand against a human in anger. Was that the chip or the conscience-he-didn’t-want? At some point, one must concede that caring got them nowhere. “Not that I don’ appreciate the sentiment, pet, but—”

“I meant in a fair fight, dummy. Who are you more afraid of? Zachary Wright or Joyce Summers with an axe?”

He couldn’t help it; he chuckled. “Neither,” he replied honestly. “But ‘f I had to choose…”

“My point exactly. Now chop chop!” She clapped her hands loudly, ushering him out the door. “You don’t wanna be late for your date with Angel, do you?”

Spike scowled irately. “You know, luv,” he said. “’F I din’t like you so much—”

“I know. Just call it charismatic charm.” Cordelia grinned and strolled intently for the car where Zack had, again, assumed the passenger seat. “Be a dear and put the bags in the back. And are you coming or not?”

A long pause and he stood at the curb, safely incased in shadows even if the sun couldn’t touch him now. The sight of a new epiphany. Amazing. Only days had passed, and he already knew more acceptance and solidarity amongst these people than he had ever been granted in Sunnydale. The opening doors to compassion.

Perhaps that was the change. The influx of a conscience he did not want to coincide with the support he thought he would never have.

“Right then,” he said, bouncing Cordelia’s suitcase a bit, having nearly forgotten he was holding it. “To the belly of the bloody beast. Hope the wanker’s hungry.”

It was time then. Time to get the Slayer back.

Starting with a meeting.

Assuming he dealt his cards right, the Great Poof would never see him coming. It was risqué and more than flawed, but Spike had a natural hand at cards.

Even if he was known to keep the better plays up his sleeve.

Chapter Eighteen

Back Door Man

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, ‘what’?”

“I mean, ‘what’? What’s wrong with it?”

“You mean other than this side of everythin’? Bloody hell, an’ I thought you were s’posed to be the professional ‘ere.”

“I am!”

“An’ tha’s the best you can do?” Spike puckered an eyebrow and consigned a thoroughly smoked cigarette to the pavement as the two neared Caritas. From the outside, it looked to be a thoroughly busy night, and he wasn’t for certain if that scored a mark in the good or bad column. All would be revealed in due time.

Right now, though, there were more pressing matters.

For starters, a certain demon hunter who was in way over his head.

“I don’t see what you’re griping about. It seems more than—”

“Peaches isn’t some run of the mill vamp, Zangy. ‘E isn’t liable to fall for the same old that might’ve scratched your tally up from mediocre-wanker to above average.” The peroxide Cockney shook his head heavily, a low, humorless chuckle rumbling from the back of his throat. “’S gonna take more than that to chafe his willy. The stupid git won’ ‘ave an ear for believin’ me as it is.”

“Fine. You handle the ‘more’ and I’ll focus on the ‘that.’ Seems reasonable.” He paused thoughtfully. “And plausible, if you ask me—”

“I did ask you. Remember? The entire reason we’re ‘avin’ this bloody conversation?”

“Well, from what your friends have told me about this Host guy, I think he’d go for it.” Wright regarded him appraisingly. “Doesn’t seem like he’s rallying for the position as Angelus’s number one fan, either. I think as long as we make it look coincidental—”

Spike laughed again. “Tha’s jus’ it, Zangy. Great-Daddy Poofter doesn’ believe in coincidences. Jus’ like the Slayer in that, much as I hate to admit it. ‘F anythin’, it’ll look bloody timely.”

Actually, if he was completely honest dispelling the namesake of pride, it sounded like the best idea that either one of them could come up with. Not to mention the only thing that could pass as credible, even if it did risk more than he cared to risk. There was no better plan, thus he went with what he was granted. But, as always, the peroxide blonde was a capitalist. He needed to milk this one for everything he had.

And, as usual, it didn’t take as long as he originally wagered.

“Look…” Wright sighed and combed a hand through his hair. “I’m good at this. I am. And I know it can work. How about…we do the plan, and to call it even, I’ll buy the first round of drinks?”

The vampire paused speculatively at that, doing his damndest to shadow a grin. The bloke better start watching his step — he was going to end up Spike’s personal version of Xander Harris. “Right mate,” he said genially, thumping him once on the back for good measure. “’m convinced. You got yourself a deal.”

“I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact that I walked right into it.”

The Cockney grinned. “My, my. Can’t put anythin’ passed you hunter types.” He held up a hand before Zack could retort, nodding at a break in the sidewalk that led to an underground establishment. “Oh, looky. We’re here.”

“Has Angelus arrived yet? Can you tell?”

The vampire rolled his eyes. “’S not like sensin’ him through the bloody Force, Obi Wan. An’ yeh, while the wanker does ‘ave an intrusively familiar scent, there’s about seventy five lurkin’ down there alone to compete with it.”

Zack feigned astonishment. “You mean the great William the Bloody can’t even sense when his own grandsire is near?”

“What is it with you prats an’ usin’ my full name?”

The man shrugged. “It’s just fun to say. Of all the vamps I’ve known…and by ‘known’ I mean ‘killed’…there’s never been one that’s dependent on two nicknames. If I were you, I’d stick to the first. It has character.” When all he earned was a frown in turn, he gestured emphatically to support his claim. “Come on! There’s ‘William the Bloody’…or…” His voice dropped monotonously, performing a very impromptu and frighteningly accurate impersonation of Ben Stein. “‘Spike.’”

“Are you suggestin’ that Spike doesn’ have character?”

“It sounds like a name that belongs to an overweight biker with way too many tattoos for his own good.” Zack paused thoughtfully. “And as far as suggesting? No. I’m flat out telling you that it lacks in the character department.”

“The wankers I impaled seemed to ‘ave a different opinion.”

“Well, by all means, feel free to persuade me.” Wright stopped with a condescending grin. “Of course, you’d get a headache, and then I’d have to kill you for trying.”

“You’re jus’ lookin’ for an excuse to kill me.”

The other man stopped and graced him with a look that positively screamed, ‘Gasp! You’re kidding!’

Spike smirked. “Well, keep lookin’. ‘Aven’t you heard? I’m a soddin’ white hat now, jus’ like the rest of you. Cordy cleansed me of all my wrong when she invited me in, din’t she?”

Wright snickered. “You make her sound like the Pope.”

“Well, no. I wouldn’t give her that much power right off. ‘Sides, my family wasn’ Catholic.”

“Then you can’t be all that bad,” Zack replied with a grin as they prodded down the outer stairwell and stepped into the atmosphere that was unbeatably Caritas.

It was weird; seeing that face grin with some measure of sincerity. Spike hadn’t known the bloke for long, but enough time had passed that he could tell the man was one with little or no humor in his life. Somewhere along the way, an invisible line had been crossed. They were sinking further into this than either one would care to admit. “Besides,” the hunter continued, voice elevated to be heard over the noise. “I don’t think anyone could ever consider you a white hat.”

“Thank the bloody maker. I’d have to stake myself.”

At that, Zack paused pensively. “Well, now that you mention it…”

“Ha bloody ha.” That wasn’t it; it never was, but Spike’s attention was nearly visibly swiped away. Firstly by the music perturbing the air; secondly by the sight that greeted him on stage.

Lorne was singing again.

He was singing Barry Manilow.

Someone needed to be shot.

“Her name was Lo-la,” the Host vocalized beautifully. “She was a showgirl. But that was thirty years ago, when they used to have a show. Now it’s a disco…but not for Lo-la. Still in that dress she used to wear, faded feathers in her hair. She sits here so re-fined. And drinks herself half blind. She lost her youth, and she lost her Tony, now she’s—” He stopped and randomly directed the microphone to his very attentive audience, who screamed back, “Lost. Her. Mind!”

Zack was staring at the stage with a look of mixed wonder and fear on his face. “What the hell is this?”

“Apparently, ‘s the hottest spot north of Havana.”

A long pause.

“Why is it the hottest spot north of Havana?”

“I don’t know.”

Wright’s brows quirked and he shook his head. “Well,” he decided with a note of defeat. “I guess that if no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, then no one can expect that either.”

Spike’s eyes widened and a smile tickled his lips, unbidden. And before he could stop himself, he had plunged headfirst into a recitation that he had memorized without realizing it. “Our chief weapon is surprise,” he said. “…fear an’ surprise.”

“Two chief weapons,” Zack continued. “Fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency!”

The vampire was grinning broadly now. He couldn’t help it. “Er, among our chief weapons are fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, and near fanatical devotion to the Pope!”

It was tempting to continue, but Wright’s eyes alighted with inspiration. “Is that so?” he asked. “I thought you weren’t Catholic.”

“Oh, sod off.” Spike nodded to the stage where Lorne had spotted them, ending his highly annoying number, thanking everyone and announcing that the next routine would be performed by a Fungus demon from the Caribbean. He hopped down and immediately wormed his way through the crowd.

“This bloke,” the vampire continued, pivoting to Wright, “’s the Host. ‘E’s the git that told me to find you.”

“Spikalicious!” Lorne returned in greeting. “So good to see you, too.” He turned to Zack with a cordial smile. “And you must be the demon hunter.”

The man smiled self-consciously. “Hi.”

“Yeh, mate…” Spike shifted forward intently. “We gotta problem.”

“More like a proposition,” Zack corrected.

“Peaches ‘s gonna show at any minute—”

“—and we need him to buy that Spike’s more a bloodsucking fiend than he emanates—”

The vampire glared.

Zack smiled condescendingly.

Lorne blinked. “Huh? You invited Angel here?” Without awaiting a reply, he cast his gaze upward and heaved a sigh. “Leaping Lazaruses with a pogo stick. There goes another bartender.”

“We needed somewhere neutral,” Spike explained with a shrug.

“Yeah. Thanks for the nod, boys. Glad to know I’m in your thoughts.” The Host neared and lowered his voice; it was obvious he wanted to shout, but there was no point in riling the other customers. Yet. “I can’t have Angelkins in here harassing my customers! You have any idea how bad for business that is? It took a week to get back to the normal quote, and that was with the sanctuary spell!”

“Would you do it for a girl?”

Zack arched a brow. “Does he look like you to…you? He doesn’t go all gooey whenever someone mentions—”

The Host rolled his eyes and plowed through his companion’s objection. “Oh, fine. Throw a Slayer in the deal. Twist my arm. Want my liver while you’re at it?” He shook his head in relevance that there were no true harsh feelings. “Yeah, fine.”

Spike beamed and smirked at Wright.

Lorne sighed. “What do you need me to do?”

The plan, however effective, remained hopelessly rudimentary in technique. A passing glance in the spirit that whatever they were trying to emanate would succeed on all levels. The Host was seated at the pub, chatting up his current barkeep while nursing a phony headache. Spike, meanwhile, had perched himself on a stool surrounded by female demons of every breeding and variety, and looked to be having a ball.

Hard to believe it was a façade.

Zack was by the door, watching with awe and wondering where a dead guy got the energy. To his credit, he didn’t seem to be authentically interested in any of the lame come-ons that were being waved in his face, despite the amount of cleavage that managed to worm into the picture. There weren’t many creatures — human or not — that he wagered would be so thoroughly wholesome; especially to a girl that did not reciprocate his feelings.

Wright snickered at that. Wholesome. A wholesome vampire. No such fucking thing.

Not much time had passed; it seemed it, but he had only known Spike for a day or so. A day. Somehow he had gone from wielding a crossbow with every intention of firing to nearly treating a demon as an equal. There was something seriously fucked up with the world.

Trouble was, Spike didn’t act like a conventional vampire. Monsters were difficult to hate when they didn’t behave by society’s standards. Well, at least he reckoned. Before the monster in question, he had never encountered one that refused to conform to its innate nature.

The past few years had been set to a regular schedule. Get up, eat, dress, kill local nasties. That was the way it was. With every demon he slayed, he got that much of his own back. Such to the point where he reckoned he was taking from other’s plates as well. And why shouldn’t he? The world had robbed him of so much. In its sadistic temperament, it had given everything he ever asked for. Ever wanted. Ever needed. Gave it to him and let him enjoy it before ripping it away without permission.

He rued the day he let Darla into his life, even if he could not remember it. She had set the bar. She was the equation to which all others of her kind were measured. And he had never stopped in the past. Never once thought to ask questions before pulling the trigger. Before finalizing the kill. It was not a matter of negotiation. Demons were bad. They ruined lives, destroyed families, and were a disease that the earth needed to be rid of.

There had been so much. Strewn over books that first year, killing whatever nasty ugly that crossed his path. Researching, memorizing, and researching more. Learning everything there was about the Order of Aurelius. Its members, their respected histories, and their bloody trail throughout Europe. Flash. There was Darla and Angelus, terrorizing a demon hunter named Holtz. Another. Murdering a girl in a convent. Making a bloody mess of said convent. Another. Killing Drusilla’s family right in front of her; bathing in their crimson goodness before finishing off with the ultimate insult. Pumping her blood with their darkness. Making her one of them.

History was scattered with her. Every page. Every word. Every syllable. There she was. Darla. Russia, France, Ireland, Germany, Spain, Romania…it never ended. It never halted. Not for her. Wherever she went, she killed. And wherever she killed, she made sure her presence was known.

And she wasn’t even the worst of them. Oh no. The master must ultimately bow to its creation. She had molded herself into her own Pygmalion, passing as much mutated affection to her sculpture as possible. Without a doubt, Angelus took the cake. Hell, he sold out the bakery. There wasn’t a single mention of him that wasn’t drenched in blood. He was the leader of Hell’s armies. He was the reason there wasn’t an atheist in the foxhole. He was practically what had given vampires the reputation they had.

It was a consistency. The Master had made Darla. Darla had made Angelus. Angelus made Drusilla. And Drusilla had made the vampire that was currently his partner. His cohort. His associate. And he was going against those he was bound to in blood to save the one person that shouldn’t matter.

With no thought for himself.

Absolutely amazing.

Wright would have liked to believe it a rouse. He would have liked that more than anything save Amber before him right now, safe and sound, reassuring him that the past seven years had been some awful dream. But things had changed. An entire career built on stone, and it took only a matter of hours for his barriers to come crumbling down. To his credit, he didn’t believe that Spike realized how much he had allowed himself to soften since their haphazard acquaintance. He honestly didn’t remember laughing this much in the past forever for genuine purposes. For free, silly, adult humor.

He was beginning to feel again, and that was never good.

If he felt, it meant he was still human. Still living, still breathing.

And she was still gone.

Zack sighed coarsely, eying Spike again. A large part of him wanted it over with. To simply kiss the last of his compassion goodbye and kill the vampire for what he had been, not what he currently was. To deny such a creature of any form of offered deliverance. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. Because if Amber hadn’t been given a chance, why should he? Why should this Slayer he was so hung up on? Why should anyone?

Because this — this whatever it was — was true. He hated it, but it was true. The night before served as enough proof. Enough reason. The look in his eyes. That raw emptiness. That utter sadness. That fleeting rage that was overwhelmed only by the most burdened anguish ever felt. Spike’s face. Hearing that Buffy had been killed.

Even if he knew it was likely a fluke.

A true vampire would have ended it there. A true vampire couldn’t love.

Not really.

There hadn’t been anything to suggest monstrosity. The human wave of anger, of course. The rawness aligning his tensed muscles at he, paler than an undead man should ever be, completed the call as best as he could before retreating upstairs in solitude. And even after he knew that after the rain cloud had lifted, his mood hadn’t changed.

He had reveled. Reveled in what he lost in thought. In theory.

What he didn’t have to lose to begin with.

He really loved this woman.

And Zack hated himself for seeing it. Hated himself for breaking, even if it had yet to show. Hated himself for being here, for helping a creature he should have dusted, for doing anything other than what he came here to do.

Darla. He was here to kill Darla.

And fucking yet.

Spike met his eyes suddenly; such that Zack had hardly noticed he had been watching him. They shared a long look of mutual understanding; too much passed in too little time for comfort. Another level to his added corruption.

Corruption by a vampire who was, in turn, being corrupted by vampires.

Irony, thy name is Wright.

There was sudden rustling behind him, and without feeling the obligation to turn; he knew that Angelus had entered the scene. It was nothing if not an innate and sometimes frightening sixth sense. Something developed over the years of building and keeping himself safely guarded from the eye of redemptive humanity. Had he more time for deeper consideration, he might have wondered how he knew it was Angelus, but settled infinitely on the look in his vampiric cohort’s eyes. Some things were better left unexplained.

Now to put on a smile and act like a right loon.

It was time.

Zack pivoted sharply at the heel and would have plowed directly into Angelus had the vampire not already taken the means to push him aside. He didn’t even pay attention to him; his gaze set prematurely on Spike, whose act had raised several notches in ode to the grandsire’s arrival. He was appraising some slutty purple-skinned demon-whore, eyes not once drifting upward.

“What the hell is this?”

Wright cleared his throat and plastered on what had to be dumbest smile of all time. “Isn’t it great?” he asked loudly, earning only a mildly irritated glance for his troubles. “See that guy? Over there? With all the—”

Angelus didn’t even spare him a glance. “Shut up.”

“Unbelievable. And — whew — what a set of pipes! Took one turn at the mic and all those girlies just flocked over to him.” Zack clasped his hands together and rubbed conspiratorially. “And what’s best, he’d promise he’d turn me once he got something worked out with his schedule. Can you imagine it? A vampire! Living for-fucking-ever! Think of how much tail you’d get after a few centuries. Man, wait until I tell the guys downtown about THIS! They’ll shit themselves!”

At that, Angelus’s attention was snagged.

“He what?”

Wright’s countenance dimmed slightly, and he shrugged as though his previous excitement was of no consequence. “Oh, he’s a vampire. Or he says he’s a vampire. If he’s not, he has this really cool trick where his face goes all fangy. Not the prettiest picture, but hey — no reflection, so it’s not like I’d have to see myself or anything.” Then he made a face. “’Course, there is that ‘drinking blood’ thing. Yuck — disgusting. But I guess small prices must be paid, if I’m going to live forever. What do you think?”

There was a definitive snap in the vampire’s pretense, and his bumpies emerged without further prompt. A preemptive struggle to refrain from simply shoving the man against a wall, but he did manage to back Zack into a corner, hand forcefully on his shoulder to hold him in place.

Wright thought he faked fear quite well for a beginner. It had been, after all, a long time since such had been deemed essential. Then his eyes widened and a broad grin tackled his features. “Oh, dude!” he exclaimed. “You’re a vamp, too! Man, this is so my night.”

Just as he reckoned, Angelus was not in the mood for pleasantries. “Better watch it, boy,” he growled, “or I might be persuaded to take you outside. You know what happens when we go outside, right?”

“We hail a cab?”

The demon stared at him incredulously and rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he yelled to no one in particular, cutting a brief silence through the noise that surrounded them before the respected clientele returned to their business. “Spike was going to let you live forever? Sheesh, and I thought that boy had standards.” He paused with a small, secretive grin. “Or wait, maybe not.”

“H-he told me th-that he w-was better t-to start somewhere after a f-fa-famine.”

Stuttering was always good. Gave it a feel of realism.

“All right, Polly. Talk.” It was actually rather amusing; Wright could tell that he was dying to do something to measure his words. Slam him against the wall, tighten his grip around his throat, rip his lungs out and lick them clean — the usuals. “What do you know? And the truth, please. You see, I get a little…testy…when I feel I’m being had. You wouldn’t want me to get testy, would you?”

“Look, man!” he cried, clutching the vampire’s wrist tightly in semblance of fear. “All I know is that that dude sang—”

“He sang?”

“Yeah! He totally sang! And then—”

“The Host? He around here?”

Zack frowned ignorantly. “Host? What Host?”

There was a rumbled sigh of exasperation. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. That little ignoramus always did want to sire idiots as useless as him. The Host! A tall, greenish fellow, unspeakably annoying with a tendency to read your dry, meaningless, and rapidly-becoming-shorter future when you pay tribute to your favorite Patsy Cline number?”

“Oh! The green guy!” Wright wriggled free from the vampire’s domineering grasp and nodded, pointing at the bar. “Man, that dude pulled a total wig and has been over there ever since.”

Sure enough, Lorne was perched faithfully on a barstool, brilliantly crimson rag against his forehead as he sipped at a Sea Breeze. He was talking with the server, occasionally throwing irritated, half-frightened glances over his shoulder. When he glanced over to the pair, his eyes widened and he yelped something unintelligible before making a quick break for a section reserved for staff only.

A blaze of confusion and surprise overwhelmed the vampire. Zack had to refrain from the temptation to yelp his success.

Then a soft voice broke the reverie. Soft, but not from bursting with egotistical glory. The peroxide vampire was standing just a few feet away, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, brows raised and the kitschiest smile on his face. “Whatsa matter, Peaches?” he asked contemptuously. “You eat another philanthropist, or aren’ you happy to see me?”

“Spike,” Angelus said in greeting, releasing Wright completely. “I must admit, this is not what I expected. Making with the singing, taking up losers more pathetic than you…well, not quite, but close. What? You trying to impress me?”

“Not for you, mate. Or ‘aven’t you learned that yet?”

“You set this up for my benefit? Really, I’m touched.”

The younger vampire merely shrugged, rocking on his heels a bit. “Jus’ thought you’d appreciate a bit of the old proof. My last debut wasn’ exactly anythin’ I’d brag about.”

“Yeah, I heard. Moping and wailing and throwing yourself on the ground so the poor, dainty Slayer doesn’t get her feet wet.” Angelus shook his head, tsking with a nasty smile on his face. “I gotta say, your taste just gets funnier and funnier.”

Zack’s brows arched, but Spike didn’t look at him.

“Don’ really see where you’re one to talk, mate. You’re the one who popped her cherry, after all.” He shrugged and reached for his cigarettes, glancing upward. “Anyway, ‘m bloody over it. Guess I wanted a li’l taste, but no harm no bloody foul. Bit of the old spot of violence oughta throw me properly back in the game.” He jutted his chin toward Wright, but the elder didn’t follow his gaze. “Even brought me a peace-offerin’ for Dru.”

“You really think she’s gonna forgive you that easily?”

Spike’s brows arched, and he blew out a column of smoke. “Well, no. That bein’ what the peace-offering’s for, you ninny.”

“You got a lot to own up for, and I’m not sure I’m buying this change of heart of your change of heart.” Angelus stepped forward leeringly. “Funny how the last time I saw you, you had decided to take up a place next to the Slayer and her holy brigade of apocalypse-stopping buffoons.”

“Well, the Slayer’s gone now, isn’t she?” the Cockney demanded emphatically. “Shouldn’t be a problem unless you decide to lose your marbles over another one, as far as I’m concerned. ’Sides, my story sticks. I like this world. ‘S got all sorts of bloody potential. An’, truly mate, that was more ‘cause I was tired of listenin’ to you an’ Dru knockin’ boots. Darla’s bein’ back’ll be enough to gimme at leas’ some quality time with my dearest, don’cha think?”

Angelus gave him a long, thoughtful look. “You see, William,” he said. “This is where I’m having my problem. I don’t think we have any use for you…at all. Other than the occasional knack for keeping Dru entertained, you brought nothing to the Order except an unbelievably annoying knack of getting in my way.”

“Well,” the younger retorted, taking another puff of his cigarette. “This is how I see it. This Wolfram an’ Hart gig’s bigger than you, an’ tha’s jus’ killin’ your poor precious, evil-based ego, especially after a career in workin’ to stop the very thing that got you mentioned in all those dull-as-dust anthologies. More over, way I heard it, this was all fixed accordin’ to their likin’. I could always take it up with that Lindsey bloke or someone with a bit more tug. Someone a li’l higher up on the food chain. Or I could let you live in your li’l delusion of grandeur an’ come back on your terms. Which would you prefer?”

There was a long beat of unbridled consideration. Angelus’s eyes narrowed.

“And the whelp?” he asked.

Spike shrugged. “Jus’ a tasty li’l morsel to smooth over my princess. I do owe her an apology.”

Angelus’s brows rose appraisingly. “Morsel got a name?”

“Zack.” Wright’s eyes went wide, and the peroxide vampire must have caught it, for he dove for the first loophole he could find, and succeeded rather admirably. “Morris.”

Or maybe not.

Well, two could play at that game.

“There are some who call me…Tim…” Zack retorted ominously, earning a skeptically quizzical glance from the elder and a quick flash of annoyed amusement from his grandchilde.

Angelus quirked a brow and nodded disinterestedly at Wright, not bothering to mask his cynicism. “You really think Dru’s gonna forgive you if you give her this?”

“Willin’ to try, mate. Got any better ideas?”

The elder smiled conspiratorially. “A few. But this is a decent start.”

“Yeh. ‘Cept I still got me a problem.” The peroxide vampire tapped his cranium; ignoring the pointedly unabashed look of accusation the demon hunter shot him in turn. “Li’l birdie told me that your friends might be able to help me out in that department. Make it so I can chase the other puppies again.”

“Ah, yes. The chip.” Angelus crossed his arms, chuckling richly. “Only you would be incompetent enough to become the lab monkey of some fraternity boys. I—”

“Yeh, yeh. I’ve heard ‘em all, you overgrown ponce. Do your bloody worst, but you’ll be wastin’ your lack of breath. Oh, an’ while you’re at it, feel free to stuff it.”

He earned a string of tsks in turn. “Temper, temper. Why would I stop when it’s so much fun?” The elder demon shook his head and rumbled another long chuckle. “You always did offend easily, Spike. Never took care of that. Gives others the advantage… Not to mention it makes pissing you off just…hilarious.”

The peroxide vampire’s eyes narrowed. “You gonna help me out or not?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You didn’t say please.”

“I could rip your head off. Be jus’ as effective an’ a whole lot funnier.”

Angelus nodded appraisingly. “Big words. Think you could?”

“Guess we could always find out.”

It was boisterous, and the platinum Cockney knew it. Despite his strength — his speed and agility — he had never been able to best the elder in battle. And yet, despite immeasurable odds, therein awaited conviction. Strength. And for the weight of what he was gambling against, Spike felt he could part the Red Sea.

It didn’t take long; the vampire finally cracked a smile and thumped his grandchilde on the back for good measure. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” he reasoned. “Right. I’ll have Lindsey make the arrangements.” His eyes danced. “Get you…deprogrammed.”

“’m droppin’ in,” Spike retorted, not nearly as cordial. “Tomorrow at sundown. All right? Then we can get to it. Get the sodding procedure over with.”

Angelus smiled; it wasn’t pleasant. “And then…I think I’ll take everyone out on a little field trip. It’s been too long since we went out for a good old-fashioned hunt.”

“Do I get to come?” Zack intervened, struggling to desist from glaring at his companion and even more so to blockade the chorus of I told you so’s! his mind was playing on incessant repeat.

The elder vampire’s gaze remained level. “Sure,” he said, though his voice dripped with falsity. “We’ll bring the whole family.”

At that, Spike froze and his eyes widened. Whole family. Did that include…

He wouldn’t speculate. He couldn’t.

Angelus left shortly thereafter, much to the Host’s vocal relief. He had wormed his way to the stage moments later to assure everyone that the vampire had not been here of his invitation, and that he would be looking into enhanced vampire repellant spells that could designate who was and wasn’t invited in. While the visit had gone considerably better than it could have, the regulars were still shaken.

The guy was a fucking legend. No question about that.

Spike and Zack didn’t linger around that long, either. From the look in the demon hunter’s eyes, he was just itching to get his companion out where a sanctuary spell wouldn’t keep them guarded from each other, though the vampire hadn’t the faintest idea why. The only thing he was certain of was the temperament had, at some point, gone seriously downhill during the trade.

Perhaps he had underestimated his own acting abilities. This was the second time he had fooled Angelus. The previous year had seen an effective scheme-filled screw over of the Scoobies for Adam’s benefit. And now Zack Wright: the demon hunter who wasn’t too keen on believing him in the first place.

“‘Some call me Tim’?” he demanded as soon as they reemerged to street level. “Were you bloody tryin’ to give us away? This is too fucking important to be tryin’ to show up each other with pop culture references. Cor, ‘s a good thing Angelus ‘s such a bloody dolt; stupid wanker never had enough humor in his life to appreciate Monty Python when he was all—”

There was a cautionary smile, despite his noted icy disposition. That was an improvement. At least they were beyond the ‘I’m-staking-you-no-questions-asked’ phase. “Hello! You’re the one who decided that I resembled the star of some inane after-school special.”

Spike shrugged, unable to conceal a grin. “’Ey, you’re lucky I was able to recover that quickly. It was the firs’ thing that came to mind.”

Wright stared at him blankly. “Saved By The Bell was the first thing that came to mind?”

“Rather fittin’, don’cha think?” The peroxide vampire was practically trembling with mirth. “Mate, I don’ think there’s anyone in the whole soddin’ world tha’s watched more telly in the expanse of their sad, empty lives as I have this past year. Let’s face it, ‘e’s the most popular Zack there is out there in syndication.”

“If I’m Zack Morris, does that make you Screech?”

“Oi! Watch it!”

There was a chuckle as they fell into step. Comfortable. Even with the noise and busywork of a city that refused to retire even when the rest of the world was sleeping. Even with everything.

It was a few minutes before either spoke again.

“Are you really going to do it?”

Spike glanced up. “Do what?”

“Get your chip removed?”

A thoughtful pause of understanding at that. So that was the reason the man had frozen inside. It made sense, in retrospect. For a vampire who claimed to be off the good stuff, to immediately leap at the chance to have his handicap removed had to look more than suspicious.

But that didn’t change intent. Yes, Spike wanted the chip out. He wanted it out more now than ever. He knew that his unspoken oath to Buffy would keep from killing — whether or not that lasted. There would be no hurrying to off her friends. There would be no hurrying to off anyone. There would be no offing of anyone. He was on a strict diet of pig’s blood, and he intended to adhere its conditions.

At least for now.

It was more than that. Spike recognized his calling enough to understand that whatever decision he made now was final. The reemergence of his humanity wouldn’t take a break. Wouldn’t stop. Oh no, it kept coming. Kept with every breath he didn’t breathe. A chip didn’t make or break anyone. His had simply offered him a window. A view. And he, being the enormous dolt he was, had looked out.

He had been reminded of the world before he was killed.

The chip was just hampering him. And it was dangerous. It was dangerous for him with people like Zachary Wright out there. Those who had been wronged by vampires or demons. Those on a mission to cleanse the world of her disease — or do enough that they could die with a clear conscience. He needed means of protection. He needed something, or else the legend William the Bloody would meet an ending that was not at all complimentary to his reputation.

“Yeh,” he replied at last. “’m gonna do it.”

There was a sigh, and the joking disposition his companion wore diminished almost immediately. “You hypocritical bastard, I knew—”

“’m not gonna kill anyone, Zangy. Jus’ stop assumin’ before I’m forced to kill another fucking cliché.” Spike sighed and shook his head. “It doesn’ have anythin’ to do with nummy people treats. I give you my sodding word on that, all right? I eat anyone; you’re free to stake me. No questions asked. I won’ even put up a bloody fight. That rest well with you?”

Another breath. The man’s anger dimmed almost instantly. As though his will to believe had been pushed simply by obligatory objection. That notion was warming. They were making progress after all. “All right.”

An understanding. Formed, spoken, and agreed upon.

All right.

Lindsey slammed the phone down, though kept his fist coiled in a steadfast grip for long seconds. Long trembles rumbled through his body, every inch of willpower tingling on its last nerve. He was fighting the urge to yank out the cord and consign the entire thing to the wall with a definitive smash.

So fucking sick of everything going wrong. One thing after another. Darla. Dru. Angelus. The Slayer.

And now Spike. Spike was on board. On board, and he wanted the fucking chip out.

Well, of course he did. Couldn’t torture a Slayer with a zapper in the noggin.

This had gone far enough. It was time for action.

He would be damned before William the Bloody set a foot in this office.

Lindsey chuckled humorlessly, relaxing his grip and bringing the phone to his ear again. Easy enough. He was damned, anyway.

“McDonald here,” he said, voice cutting through the dark silence of his office. A man encased in his self-made shadows. The days had grown longer without his consent. He wondered who to talk to about that. “I need you to assemble a team. We have another ad hoc vampire to take out. Yeah. Right away.”

He might be damned, but there was no way he was adding to his sentence. If he was going down, he was going to take as many with him as possible.

Might as well use power while it was still his.

It was the least he could do.

Chapter Nineteen

To The Innocent

In the course of his long unlife, Spike had developed several fundamental understandings. Never bite off more than you can chew (followed closely by never chew more than you can bite), where there’s a will there’s a way, and never give homeless folk loose change. Always heightens their spirits. Better to keep them grounded in reality and get a free meal out of the deal at the same time.

Likewise, there were guidelines that one saved for a rainy day. He had those long memorized, as well. Among the lesser-known stanzas were: there were slums, and there were slums.

And Zack Wright’s motel was in the middle of a slum.

“’m a creature who lives in a graveyard,” Spike reasoned as they approached the building; one alit with neon lights that had the majority of vacancy burnt out, so that the sign flashed NO CAN every other beat. “More than that, in a bloody pit of filth. Granted I’ve done as much with the place as I can…but this, mate, is godawful.”

Wright tossed an irritated glance over his shoulder. “I wanted to keep a low profile, all right?”

The vampire appraised the building with his eyes, grinning tightly to himself. “Good job.”

“Look, would you mind waiting out here?”

“Why?”

“I just need to grab a few things and we can get going.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Afraid to let a bloodsuckin’ fiend see the grime inside your grime? Come on, Zangy. ‘S not like I have standards.”

“I’d really rather you wait out here.”

“Well, ‘m not gonna.”

Zack sighed in exasperation, caressing the bridge of his nose. “Why?” His voice teetered on the very edge of reason. The emptied foreshadowing that no matter the reply, he was liable to break to his last whim and resort to petty threats.

“’Cause ‘s botherin’ you, an’ now my interest is piqued.”

“Well, it’s going to remain unsatisfied.”

Spike was practically bouncing with buoyancy now; features alit with boy like fascination in a manner that suggested he would plow his companion down, chip be damned, if only to get to the other side. “Come on, mate!”

“No.”

“Wha’s there to hide?” At that, the vampire stopped and his eyes narrowed. “You got drugs in there?”

Zack stared at him; half stunned, half aghast. “What? No!”

“You do so!”

“Leave me alone!”

“You got a stash in there, an’ you don’ wanna share.” He held up his hands. “Well, don’ worry. I gave up the psychedelic buzz back in the ‘60s. Made me see things even wonkier than usual.”

“That being the point, I can see why.”

“So, there you ‘ave it. ‘m not gonna lay a hand on your goods.”

“Yes, I know. Mainly because you won’t be seeing them.”

The vampire’s face fell into a petulant pout. He was on the verge of whining like a three year-old. “Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s the lamest excuse ever.”

Wright grinned. “You’ve been hanging around Cordelia too much.”

A rumbled blurb of amusement tackled the air and Spike shook his head. “Bint does have a way with words,” he conceded. “An’ she was talkin’ you up earlier. Seems to think you’re her type of guy.”

The hint of tease faded into the hunter’s tone. He shadowed a grin and neared the door to his motel room, hiding his face from sight. “Is that so?”

“Only ‘cause I’m unavailable.”

“Oh. Right.” He began wrestling with the lock, conceding a glance up to toss the vampire a wicked smile. “And by unavailable, you mean ‘hopelessly in love with someone who has too much of hero complex to return the feeling,’ I take it.”

“Not funny, mate.”

Wright cocked his head in consideration before unexpectedly throwing himself against the stubborn door in an overall ineffective body slam. Overnight, it had evidently decided to stick. “It is if you’re me.”

Spike sighed heavily. “’ll find time to laugh when she’s back safe an’ sound,” he decided. “Then it’ll be tragically funny. ’Sides, Cordelia’s cute, but she’s as daft as a table lamp. More your type.”

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?”

Spike snickered and rolled his eyes. “Right. Bloody adorable.”

There was an amused snicker that nearly covered the hunter’s noteworthy haste in making it through the door before the vampire could second guess his intentions. Of course, as all things, it couldn’t last more than a second. Too soon the peroxide Cockney caught on and all but threw himself at the closing barrier to give it a good shove.

“Give it up. You’re not getting in.”

“You right bastard.”

Wright grinned and managed to fasten the chain lock. “Sorry,” he replied in a tone offering anything but distress.

The victor’s lapse was his celebration. The fleeting forgetfulness that, yes, while he did have strength that some might consider subhuman, his companion had strength that was. Before he could even turn around, Spike had snapped the lock in two and tumbled inward with a haphazard crash.

“You ass!”

The vampire fought to his feet, dusted himself off, and flashed another grin. “Sorry,” he retorted in the same tenor.

“If I ever find the idiot that decided vamps could enter public accommodations without an invite, I’m going to tear his spleen out.”

“That’d be the PTB, mate, an’ good luck.”

Zack snorted; Spike chuckled.

Then he took a look around.

The room was pretty much that: a room. A telly, two beds that had been semi-made by room service, and a sparse collection of things that one could likely manage to live without forever, much less however long he intended on staying in the Hyperion. There was nothing lying around that seemed remotely incriminating. A large anticlimax after an equally foolhardy struggle that neither would be bragging about later.

Spike turned to Zack, brow domed to perfection.

“You were tryin’ to hide the roaches, is that it?”

To his surprise, however, Wright looked equally bereft at the lack of scandalous findings, though he did not bear the mark of a man robbed. He instead bore a sideways irritation. The same that he saw half a dozen times on the Slayer’s face every day when he was implicated in any given matter.

Spike refused to adhere to the unspoken past-tense of that clause. There was no past-tense where he was concerned.

And there never would be.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

“I’m a bad housekeeper,” Wright invented lamely, gathering his belongings. It was most clearly an invention; no one looked that puzzled at his own excuse without reasonable merit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“What?”

“I have to…” Zack nodded indiscreetly for the bathroom.

“Use the loo? Thanks. Din’t need a soddin’ diagram.”

He frowned, instantly angry. “I didn’t—” He started before realizing that irritation was ineffectual when the target was one William the Bloody. Instead, Wright shook his head and marched intently for the restroom, snatching something too quickly for it to have caught the vampire’s notice. “Never mind. I’ve given up trying to argue with you.”

“Given up? Already?” Spike glanced up and flashed a grin. “’S so early in the game, mate.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not playing.” That was definitively that; like a three year old determined to get the last word, Wright slammed the door to the restroom and locked himself inside. The action prompted a chuckle but nothing more. That bloke was more than a little strange.

And then, for no reason whatever, the vampire found himself overwhelmed with the notion that he needed to call Rupert right then.

Likely because he hadn’t kept up to his word at all like he intended.

Well, like he intended to intend, anyway.

Like he said he would.

“Zangy!” he called. “’m usin’ your phone. You mind?”

There was a muffled response that he didn’t exactly know how to translate. Conceding, he took that as the go-ahead, offered his thanks, and correspondingly decided to ignore the ruffled comment he earned in turn.

The call was likely the wisest thing he had done all day; he agreed wholeheartedly with Zack’s conception that his plan was the quickest. The most liable to produce speedy results, but speedy did not always equal good, and the peroxide vampire would be the first to acknowledge this. In the past, such things wouldn’t have bothered him. He was an advocator of making the rules up as he went along, bugger all to consequences, present and future. There was always a loophole to seize. A window to crawl through. Something that measured his complacency with enough accuracy not to be discounted.

This was not such case. Not with the life of his Slayer hanging in the balance. The wrong move would solidify her end, and he would never forgive himself.

Pawns were in set; things were in motion that could not be redone. He knew it. It was simply a matter of eluding the voice that forewarned with petulant reiteration that every step he took sank him deeper into an immutable mistake.

“Look, Rupes,” he said, barraging mindlessly into a stream of tedious dialogue that was designated to warn and scold even more so than he had already. Perhaps it was the ambiance, the company, or the severity of the circumstances, but the Watcher’s warnings seemed even less valid and worrisome than usual. And of everyone there was in Sunnydale to fear, Spike’s hat was off to Rupert Giles. The old man had stones in him, even if he was the only one to see it. He had stones, and he was not afraid to refer to them with every beat of his calling. “’F I can, I’ll give you a ring, but from here on out, you’re jus’ gonna have to trust me, all right? ‘m not gonna be in the position to pick up the bloody phone every five minutes.”

“Yes, that would be quite the accomplishment,” the Watcher agreed irritably. “Considering your contact with me has been at a very minimal percentage of what we decided upon your leaving.”

“Things change, mate. I think you of all people should appreciate it.” Spike tossed a brief glance to the closed door. Wright was still in the loo. “Anyway, ‘s not like I’m flyin’ in solo. Angel’s merry band of superheroes are all on board, an’…I got help in other places.”

“Other places?”

Spike nodded ineffectually; the lifeless room answered in with the same sort of candor. “Yeh,” he replied. “There’s this hunter, a demon hunter. ‘E’s an all right git once you get passed the attitude an’ bias…’course, now that I think about it, tha’s right up your alley, innit? This guy’s big on the wronged-out-for-vengeance gig. Seems Darla pulled a nasty before she joined up with the Master in SunnyD. Completely ruined this bloke’s life. ‘S a sad story…she did things that I din’t think she had the gall to—”

“You’re telling me that you feel for what she did?”

The peroxide vampire blinked at the unexpected wave of brazen incredulity before recalling just whom he was speaking with. A bloke becomes accustomed to one thing and all else falls uncertain. That was certainly one thing that earned his favor with the Los Angeles crowd: the reason to understand without prejudice. It was nice.

And more so, despite his reluctance to admit it, he did feel for what Darla had done. He felt more than even he thought a vampire could. He felt because he had sampled a taste of the same the night before, and found its flavor more than disagreeable. If any of his so-called family even thought of torturing Buffy in that manner, he would have all their heads on stakes before they could explode into dust.

“Well, yeh.”

“I can’t believe you’re bringing freelancers into this. Do you have the slightest idea—”

At that, the vampire scowled. “Oi! Wait a minute! Zangy’s no bloody freelancer, mate. ‘E’s one of us.”

“One of you?”

Oh. Of course. One of you. One of Spike’s kind in the eyes of Rupert Giles.

Of all the fucking nerve…

“How did this man know that Darla was back? How did he know where to find her at all?”

Spike opened his mouth to reply, then paused and realized that he didn’t know.

Huh. Well, that was odd. He remembered Wright mentioning that he received word, but he never identified a source.

Still, that was consequential. It didn’t mean anything.

Only it could mean the world.

“Wes,” he invented quickly, tossing a glance to the bathroom door as it opened again and Wright stepped out, brows perked. “’E’s a friend of Wes’s. Blokes know each other from the way-back-when. ‘E’s the one that brought ‘im in.”

Zack frowned, not following.

Spike waved generally and turned his back, though watching the other man carefully, fresh with new suspicion. The turns he had taken thus far were irreversible, and while the face he saw was the same that Lorne claimed to have directed him to, mistakes were known to happen in the past.

It was likely explainable. Why he was here. How he knew about Darla. How he knew so much about the Order of Aurelius. How he knew everything. All within the same measure of reasonability.

It occurred to the vampire that this was a very dangerous ploy. His want of feeling was becoming more and more human by the day, and it would eventually lead him to a dead end. He wanted to believe Wright was legit more than anything. He wanted to believe because, in the time they had spent together, he had grown rather fond of him. And that wasn’t something that happened to the peroxide Cockney every day. Hell, it wasn’t something that happened every century. Angelus was the only other male in his life that could even begin to qualify as a relation, and that was simply because they had tolerated each other for twenty or so years. There was Giles and Xander, of course, but he wouldn’t even pretend that what they shared merited the status of friendship.

And while Wright would likely deny it with every fiber of his being, they were as close to becoming friends as Spike had ever experienced.

“Look, ‘m bein’ careful, all right,” he snapped, turning his attention back to the receiver sharply. “’F anythin’ of importance ‘appens, I’ll give you a ring. But tha’s it. All right? I can’t be runnin’ off to the phone ‘cause you want me to. There are things in motion that—”

“We’re leaving town, Spike.”

Okay. Out of the blue, much?

He willed his eyes shut. God, he missed her.

“Oh?”

“The Watcher’s Council shared some rather dire news with us pertaining to Glory, and I refuse to risk more by sitting around here. Buffy’s family…her everything is in danger, more than just her life.” There was an edge to the Watcher’s voice that he didn’t want to place. The sort of will of giving in before the game was through. As though everything was lost and there was nowhere to go but away. “I cannot put Dawn in that much danger. Joyce is beside herself enough with worry…”

Spike emanated a long sigh at that. He hadn’t even allowed himself to think how the Slayer’s mother was reacting to all this.

“…and her condition…” There was a long pause. “Her condition might be worsening as well. We—”

God. Everything was falling apart.

“Right,” he agreed hoarsely. “How do I reach you?”

“Wesley should have my cell number. If not, contact me through the Watcher’s Council. I won’t disclose anything now.” Another silence, not quite as long. “Please, Spike,” he said softly, forfeiting everything that ever was with a simple note of aching desperation. “Please get her back. If you do…I’ll…”

“Don’ make promises, Rupes,” Spike replied. “I’m not here to barter or trade. I’m here ‘cause she’s gonna make it. You get me?”

There was a near incoherent concession at that, the exchange of not-so-pleasant pleasantries, and the general bout of usual threats before he brought the call to conclusion. Zack arched a brow and heaved his bag over his shoulder once more, nodding for the door.

“I take it your friends back in Sunnydale don’t know about your little Slayer infatuation?” he said flippantly.

“Oh, they know I have a Slayer infatuation,” Spike replied gruffly. “They jus’ don’ know ‘s gone from ‘wanna kill’ to ‘wanna shag.’”

The other man arched a brow. “Is that all you wanna do?” he ventured softly, as though afraid of the answer. “’Cause last time I checked, grown men didn’t cry when a potential cum-bucket kicked it.”

The punch hit through the still of the room like dry wood smacking against a steel bin, and Spike’s consequential yelp of pain solidified its end. Wright made no move to defend himself; he reckoned he deserved it for that remark, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t irritated.

“What the hell was that?”

Spike reeled immediately, his eyes shining defiant strands of yellow through a frenzied mess. “Don’t ever talk about her like that,” he warned lowly. “Ever. Do you understand me?”

There was a long pause.

“Yeah,” Wright conceded finally, nodding. It was earnest. He turned to absently slide a scrap of paper to the dresser, eyes shining reverently. “I’m sorry. That was beyond uncalled for.”

“You’re bloody right it was.”

“I’m sorry.”

A few beats ticked by, the air lingering with their mingled breaths. Finally, Spike nodded and moved to brush passed his companion. “Right then,” he said, casting a quick, curious glance to the discarded note but unwilling to allow his eyes to linger. “Get everythin’ you need?”

Zack nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Another glance. Markings were comprehensible this time. “Right then,” he agreed. “Let’s off.”

Wright edged out the door, and Spike turned fully to the dresser. After all, curiosity killed the cat. While he wasn’t a cat, he wasn’t any better when it came to ranges of ignorance.

The final glance sealed it.

On the paper, very legibly, was the word Hyperion.

They didn’t outside a stone’s throw of Zack’s motel room before something went wrong.

Very wrong.

It wasn’t as though Spike hadn’t faced odds of a lesser magnitude. He was more than accustomed to being in the full of danger’s glance with every step that he took, and had long ago conceded to the same adage that he had at some point forewarned the Slayer about. Every day, one must acknowledge that the morning’s wake might be the last known from the earthly helix. Of course, in the vampire’s perspective, whatever came his way was ultimately avoidable. There hadn’t been a situation yet that he had not managed to talk himself out of, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t grounded.

He wasn’t Angelus. He knew that his tale would likely have a dusty ending. He knew he wasn’t invincible.

However, he would be damned even more than he already was if the lot of wankers surrounding him now were the ones to finalize the period of his very long sentence.

“Friends of yours?” Wright demanded. They were back to back—surrounded by a gang of seven or eight vamps that could have passed as a wandering street gang had Spike not known what to look for.

The peroxide Cockney arched a brow, still attempting to gauge the situation. Each of the aggressors was wielding something wooden and pointy, and while some eyed his companion’s jugular hungry, it was more than obvious that he was target. This did not ring as good.

They had been sent to dispatch him. And as if to clarify this point, one broke the unspoken etiquette of the pack and launched himself toward the intended. Disarming him was simple; a matter of skill and cunning, of which the elder vampire had in abundance. The overall impact was anticlimactic; with a huff, the platinum blonde wheedled the makeshift stake from his opponent’s grasp and sent the other spiraling down the apex of categorical dustiness. One down. It wasn’t difficult to label these wannabes as babies of a larger world. He had been around the block enough times to know who was and wasn’t of the old blood.

No. They were mercenary vamps. He hated mercenary vamps.

“I’d say an emphatic no,” Spike retorted.

“I’m agreeing.” Wright exhaled deeply and withdrew something from the lapels of his jacket. Another stake, most likely, or a weapon of similar nature. The peroxide vampire wagered that he kept something that would kill vampires handy at all times, just in case he happened to run into a certain blonde female whose demise was quicker than she likely wagered.

“What do you think?”

Spike snickered. “I think I’ve made more enemies in this town than friends. Bloody Peaches. Weren’ we s’posed to be pullin’ one over on him?”

He wouldn’t mention the other option: the one where this was all Wright’s doing.

“No. I mean, you take the three over there, I get the four over here?”

“Why should you get four?”

Zack glanced over his shoulder and flashed a cocky grin. “Because I called it.”

Spike smothered a smirk. There was more of himself in his companion than he had ever encountered in another individual. “Not ‘f I beat you to it, mate.”

“Loser buys drinks?”

He chuckled. “You’re gonna be outta money ‘f you keep on like that. But you got a deal.”

They broke apart at the same time, launching headfirst into a dance that either man had long ago memorized and mastered. Poetry in bloody motion. Spike felt the familiar rush of unbridled excitement tackle his senses, and he whooped in merriment. Too long. It had been far too long since he had indulged in a true decent spot of violence.

There was one perk to living in Los Angeles, he supposed. There would never be any of the slow nights that had befallen Sunnydale the weeks before Angelus’s reemergence.

It was series of low blows and high punches. All too soon, Spike had dispatched the three that had served as his prime directive and turned his focus to Wright, catching a glimpse of the man’s fighting skill for the first time. And despite however much he hated to admit it, the hunter knew what he was doing. He moved musically—set infinitely to his own beat. Almost as though he had been composed to be the first male Slayer. The sort of innate cunning that was only recognized when one was put to the ultimate test.

Watching him it was difficult believe that he hadn’t been doing this longer than seven years. His technique was almost as good as Spike’s, and that was something that the vampire refused to take lightly.

But that didn’t mean he was going to buy the wanker drinks.

Wright had set and aimed to kill the last when it suddenly imploded into a flurry of dusty bits. A scowl immediately beset his features, especially when he pinpointed the cause.

“That wasn’t fair,” he complained.

Spike grinned at him unabashedly. “Life isn’ fair, Zangy.”

“I’m so not rewarding you for stealing my kill.”

“Oh, you’re a welcher, then?” The peroxide vampire shrugged as though the knowledge was of no consequence. “Right then. I can live with that ‘f you can.”

“I am not a welcher.”

“Well, you wanna pick the pub, or should I?”

The man rolled his eyes. “I might not be a welcher, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I’m not buying your drinks, Bloody. Not for that. Deal with it.”

Spike arched a brow. “Bloody?”

“You know…‘William the Bloody.’”

“Not very original.”

“Don’t like it? Stop calling me Zangy.”

“Not on your—”

A horrible, overly dramatic growl sliced through the Cockney’s dialogue before he could reach the thought to completion. Immediately, both men reverted to attention, whirling in time to see the launch of a random vamp that had somehow escaped their notice. It took that for Spike to realize he had consigned his stake to the last he dusted, and though Zack was quick and had better aim than he would ever admit vocally, the approach was too hasty and arbitrary to make any estimates that might score as accurate.

But then something happened.

Something very, very unexpected.

The vampire exploded in an array of surprise and cunning that Spike had only previously allowed concession to the true professionals. It was so unexpected that he nearly swore the dust shimmered with a variety of different hues, even if that marked his own eccentricity, and was—not to mention—impossible.

It took several seconds to register that the true bombshell wasn’t the sudden end of their equally haphazard attacker.

It was the source of his demise.

A small girl with dirtied blonde hair, holding a model of what looked to be the same brand of Wesley’s handheld crossbow. The girl, and the woman behind her.

There was nothing for a long minute. Spike just stared.

He knew those eyes.

And it stunned him into breathtaking submission.

“What…” he breathed, unaware that he was panting. “What the hell is—”

“Nikki!” someone called in an unfamiliar tenor. It took seconds to realize that the sound had emanated from the hunter at his side, and a foreign, nearly parental expression had crossed his features sternly. The universal forewarning that someone was in very big trouble. “Where the fuck have you been?”

The young blonde spitfire that was all too familiar for eyes shrugged dissonantly, though her countenance was not nearly as cold as she was trying to stem. “Well, if you had bothered to call to tell us where you were, you might’ve found that we’ve been sitting ducks for the past day and a half. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” She gestured to the child at her side. “And don’t use that kind of language in front of her!”

“It’s okay,” the girl replied. “I’ve heard it before.”

“That doesn’t make it all right, sweetie.”

That seemed to ebb Wright even further. “Stop parenting—”

“Well, I’m sorry. If I don’t, who will?”

“And what a fantastic job you’re doing. It’s almost one in the morning! She should be in bed!” The hunter broke into a pace; having seemingly forgotten that he was in the audience of a very confused vampire. The same who could do nothing but stare blankly and hope that everything eventually made some form of sense. Wright, meanwhile, had paraded forward intently, eyes blazing. “You take her out like this again, and I’m going to—”

Nikki arched a brow. “What? No really, let’s hear it. Drop your little righteous mission? Actually try to be a father for once? Be home at night to tuck her into bed and read her actual bedtime stories? Any of these sound good, or am I speaking a foreign language?” Without awaiting a reply, she glanced over his shoulder and gestured broadly to the nearly-forgotten and certainly-dumbfound bystander. “And when did we start associating with vampires? Huh? Especially ones that—”

“Spike?”

It was the first word to come from the child’s mouth, and it took that for the peroxide Cockney to realize that she had been staring at him the entire time. His attention averted sharply. The girl. The girl. The same girl from the alley.

This wasn’t…it couldn’t be…

“Yeh,” he replied with a weak, still bewildered grin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Wright abandoned his spat with the young woman without prompt and paraded intently to his unlikely companion. “What the hell is this? How do you know—”

“He saved us,” the girl responded, her eyes not leaving Spike’s. Small captivating orbs of knowledge. He knew he was lost without having to formally concede defeat. “He saved us from the Kraelek the other night.”

“Not saved,” Nikki objected in a huff. “I would’ve taken care of it.”

“Enough!” The peroxide vampire threw his hands in the air. God, the alley was spinning. “Will somebody please tell me what the bloody fuck is going on?!” He paused shortly thereafter and glanced once more to the child, wincing slightly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him.

Zack sighed and placed his hands on the girl’s shoulders, holding her to him protectively. “Fine. Why do I even bother to try and keep you two out of danger? You practically go on a danger scavenger hunt!” There was a moment’s pause as he cleared his head and redirected his attention with some semblance of formality. “Spike, this is Rosalie Melody Wright,” he said. “My daughter.”

Chapter Twenty

Purple Skies

They found the Hyperion virtually deserted when they arrived that night, and it was no wonder why. It was nearly two thirty in the morning; and while the city certainly buzzed with action, the staff of its salvation couldn’t afford to run while the gas tank was on empty.

“They really must trust you,” Zack commented, coming down the stairs. “Leaving you with Angel’s digs alone?”

The vampire glanced up. “’m not alone. Got you an’ your merry band, don’ I?” His eyes dropped to a hastily scribbled letter from Cordelia that welcomed him to all the blood in the fridge (apparently she had restocked) and that she wouldn’t expect money back…this time. He chuckled in spite of himself and poured a glass of crimson goodness. “Though I guess trustin’ you wouldn’t be in the best interest, either.”

Wright sighed his exasperation and ran his hands through his hair. “Look, would you have told you? Especially with…with what you know about what happened to us?”

“I wouldn’t hurt your Bits, Zangy.”

“Yeah, I know that. Now.” He shook his head and sank with exhaustion into one of the plush couches in the foyer. “So, you helped them?”

Spike snickered and took a deep swig of blood. They had eluded the formality of explanation in the alley of his motel room for a reason. The child needed sleep, it was getting later than any of them reckoned was appropriate, and Nikki had tossed in the strains of her own fatigue. There had been very little exchanged on the way back—mostly by Rosie, who was very childishly trying to prove that she wasn’t sleepy. She sat curled in her father’s lap, asking the vampire various questions pertaining to who he was and, more importantly, his past. Some of what she asked was so above and beyond the telling signs of her biological age that he had to stop and remind herself that she had yet to blossom into adulthood. Other questions, however, bordered on adorably ridiculous.

Though he would never admit that.

“On the way to Caritas,” he replied, hoisting himself onto the counter. “Cordy got snagged by one of her wonder-visions. Took us to some ruddy alley where your girlies were battlin’ a big nasty.” He stopped and shook his head with a slight chuckle. “Nikki’s a bloody pistol.”

Wright nodded. “Yes, she really is.”

“Who is she?” The vampire took another long sip of his blood, head cocked to the side curiously. “’m guessin’ she’s not your—”

“No!” The widening of the other man’s eyes in fervent protest was so extreme that it nearly stood as comical. “Good God no. Nikki’s…well, she’s my sister-in-law. After Amber…after that happened, I needed someone to watch Rosie. She learned everything I learned…she’s been with me from the beginning.”

Spike arched a brow. “You let her tag along?”

“I wasn’t about to let my daughter out of my sight. Not after what had happened.”

“Bit looks like she can take care of herself.” He chuckled again. “Even ‘f she is a tiny person. How old is she?”

“She’ll be nine soon.”

Spike nodded thoughtfully. “Older than I thought. She’s small for her age.”

Wright offered a poignant smile. “Takes after her mother in that.” He sighed and leaned back. “Rosie’s been through more than her fair share. I know she doesn’t deserve a lot of what I’ve made her do or learn. Some of what she does, she’s picked up along the way. Other stuff, Nikki or I have taught her. Made her learn…in case something happened to one of us.”

“No wonder she’s so bloody mature for her age.”

“Oh, she’s always been like that. She’s always…known things. It used to scare the piss outta me.” Zack shook his head ruefully. “Now I can’t…she…she’s very gifted. More so than I reckon even I’ve credited. She’s…she knows when things happen. Always has.”

There was a long pause.

“Bit’s a seer? ‘S that what you’re sayin’?”

Zack shrugged. “If you wanna call it that, I guess. I’m not sure how Cordy handles it, but Rosie…it’s not so much seeing things as knowing things. On the few nights that we’re actually together, she’ll be talking about something she saw or read or something to that effect…and stop suddenly to tell me that the phone’s about to ring or a glass is going to fall…little things like that.”

The vampire was silent for a long minute. “All right…li’l creepy.”

“You’re telling me. Amber and I used to not know what to do with her. Once she started talking…it was like an adult trapped in a child’s body.” He shook his head wanly. “She knows too much for being as old as she is.”

“She how you knew Darla was here?”

The question was unneeded; silence spoke for all just as well. Wright glanced off dazedly, and nodded to the best of his ability. “Yeah,” he said. “We were in Vegas…well, we were leaving Vegas. There was some…” He trailed off with a frown. “I don’t know the technical jargon for demons, but this one liked lights. It liked lights in a way that should be illegal in forty-seven states. And you know Vegas….”

Spike snickered.

“Well, we were leaving and…Rosie just…sort’ve blanked. And she said, very calmly, that Darla was in Los Angeles. Just like that. ‘Daddy, Darla’s in Los Angeles.’” He exhaled deeply. “I’m not even sure if she knows who Darla is, really. She’ll say things like that all the time. ‘Frank bought a new car,’ ‘Paullina got her hair done today,’ ‘Darla’s in Los Angeles.’ I’m sure there’s a reason for everything, but…I…I follow leads. Real, firm leads. I’ve already fucked Rosie’s life up enough to drag her into it any further. After Amber…after she was murdered, I shutdown. I turned all my attention to finding Darla and just…lost myself. Rosie’s probably the only reason I maintained…anything.” Wright sighed longingly, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t even know if I’m the type of person that Amber would love anymore.”

The vampire shrugged. “You’ve dedicated yourself to somethin’ you believe in.”

“For the right reasons?”

There was a long beat at that. Spike shifted slightly and reached for his cigarettes, ignoring the unspoken implication that there was no smoking in the Hyperion. He lit up and inhaled appreciatively, brow furrowed in consideration. “Way I see it,” he said, “there’s no ‘right reason’ for anythin’. Why should it matter why you’re doin’ somethin’ so long as you’re doin’ it?”

“So says the vampire.”

“Yeh, so says the bloody vampire. I might never get why I started ‘avin’ all these soddin’ touchy feelies. An’ ‘f I get…when I get Buffy back, she might never know why, either. Rupert an’ the soddin’ brigade of white hats’ll never understand why I’m here.” He shook his head and tapped the end of the fag lightly. “Don’ see why it matters. I don’ have the wirin’ to do the right thing. The fact that ‘m makin’ an honest effort at it should be more than enough.”

Zack snickered. “Yeah. Enough for you. I’m supposed to be above it. I guess that went away at some point.”

“You fancy a spot of violence, Zangy. There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

“There is when I neglect my daughter.” There was a long beat of silence as he gazed off in thought. “Nikki’s great, don’t get me wrong. She’s been with me from the beginning…wanted to learn everything I learned. Wanted to…she loved her sister, and she…despite all the changes she’s gone through, she’s still so much like Amber sometimes that I can’t breathe. And Rosie…I never wanted to become one of those parents who can’t look at their child because it reminds them of someone they lost. Rosie, though…she’s like her mother incarnate. People say that she has my eyes, but I don’t see it. I can’t see myself anywhere on her. All I see is…”

“I get that, mate.”

“I just…can’t stop. I’ve dragged Rosie this far and she’s a hell of a sport about it. She’s never complained. Never…really, never been any trouble at all. Even when she was really little.” He sighed and shook his head again. “But she deserves more than this.”

Spike cocked his head to the side, indulging another puff on his cigarette. “You ever reckon maybe she was made for it?” he suggested gently. “Sure seems like you were, whether or not you wanna admit it.”

“What? You mean like a Slayer?”

“No. God, I hope not. With ugly beasties out there who spend their lives huntin’ an’ killin’ Slayers? Creatures like—”

“You?”

The vampire snorted inarticulately, but nodded all the same. “Yeh. Once upon a time. Never fancied I’d ever change. Slayers are a nasty business, Zangy. They live, they fight a while, then some muck like me comes an’ ends it all for ‘em. I’ve seen the end of two…can’t say I’m sorry, ‘cause really, I’m not. Not like I oughta be, anyway.” Spike paused meaningfully and glanced upward. “’F I never know another Slayer again, it’ll be too bloody soon. Your Bit…I’d never hope that for her.” He glanced up. “Means more of the same for you.”

Zack shrugged. “Always has. What I do…I’m too deep in to stop…even for her.”

There was a pause. “Many ways to raise a kid, way I figure it. I’ve been all over the world, mate. Ruined my fair share of happy homes an’ the like. Done things I…I wish I could regret.” He sighed. “Don’ know ‘f that means anythin’…wishin’ I could regret it.”

“I think it means you do, on a level. You regret not regretting, and therefore regret.”

Spike smiled wanly. “You a philosopher, now, or jus’ specialize in therapy for the undead?”

“You’re beyond therapy.”

The vampire chuckled and raised his bloodglass at that. “’ll drink to that.” He finished off his makeshift supper and wiped his mouth. “Bit’s got potential,” he murmured a minute later. “Real potential.”

“We made sure of that. In my line of work, I wasn’t going to let her be in the face in danger every day and not know how to defend herself.” Zack sighed longingly. “Amber wouldn’t have wanted this for her.”

Spike arched a brow. “Even ‘f it had been the other way around?”

“Especially if it had been the other way around. She would’ve…she would’ve been above it.”

“I don’ see how what you’re doin’ is below it.”

“And again, we’re back to the ‘you wouldn’t.’”

“Yeh. I wouldn’t. Jus’ ‘cause I’m a vamp doesn’ mean everythin’ I say an’ think’s immediately an’ completely buggered.” He shook his head, billowing out a pillar of smoke. “You’ve jus’ met the worse of us.”

Zack’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize there was a ‘best’.”

“See? That’s what ‘m talkin’ about.”

“Spike, you’re the first vampire I’ve met who has any earthly ambitions that aren’t one hundred percent selfish.” He held up a hand. “And I’m still trying to figure you out.”

The Cockney gestured broadly to himself. “Not much to figure out, mate.”

“Yes, there is.” The conviction behind the hunter’s tone caused the vampire to stop and consider him, realizing what was being offered. That blessed leeway that had previously been denied. That acceptance. That want of trust, even if they hadn’t made it that far. The previous sentiment that had been determined just the night before that they could never be friends questioned by the man himself. With a self-conscious chuckle, Wright glanced down, studying the contours of his hands. “You’re a strange guy. I don’t want to believe anything that you say and I don’t want to…you’re a vampire. You’re the reason my life’s the way it is. Not you per se, but…your kind. I’ve hated vampires for so long. Not demons, vampires. For what you are. For what you do, or have done. And now you’re all with the noble ‘save the woman you love’ crusade.”

“’S not a crime to not hate me, Zangy.”

“I feel like it should be.”

Spike sighed. “Well, I feel like I should rightly be staked for what I’ve turned myself into. For startin’ to feel again. For lovin’ her like I do. An’ ‘s not jus’ her. When I saw your kid in the alley bein’ attacked by that big nasty, I…I felt for her. An’ tha’s not right. Not from where I’m standin’. I’m not s’posed to feel. Not for humanly types, not for younglin’s, an’ certainly not for Slayers.”

Wright nodded as though he understood, but the vampire didn’t see how that was possible. “Well,” he decided after a minute. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you do.”

There was a brief pause at that, and the peroxide blonde smiled. “Yeh,” he agreed. “Me, too.”

Their eyes met at that, and they exchanged a concise, however heartfelt grin of mutuality. After so much pain, there was a limit on how much a person could offer. Spike knew this all too well, and would not take it lightly. He didn’t know if this was in his benefit or not. If it was for Buffy or to ease the pain of a man he should feel no obligation to, but did anyway.

At some point, it had ceased to matter.

It wasn’t the most nutritional breakfast in the world, but there were some sacrifices every parent must make. Especially a parent living on Zack Wright’s income. The past few years had seen a tradition of fine dining at whatever local fast food chain was available, and because of the readily low prices (not to mention quality) everyone in his crowd was more than accustomed to McDonalds.

He had left the Hyperion before sunrise alongside Spike, who was too ancy to wait the duration of another day without making the first leap into Wolfram and Hart. They had taken the back alleys in case the sun decided to show up early for any reason, and Wright had spotted the vampire one Egg McMuffin that he demanded compensation on whenever they saw each other again. Spike had chuckled, waved his farewell, and disappeared before he could call him on it.

When he arrived back at the hotel, Nikki and Rosie were awake. That did not surprise him. Over the years, they had all adapted to the radical hours that a vampire hunter obliged in nature.

They ate in companionable silence, occasionally commenting on something marking notes in the obscure nature. All else besides, Nikki was still on the side of uncomfortable when it came to their newfound association with a vampire. She asked him half a dozen times if he knew what he was doing. What he was getting himself into, and wasn’t satisfied even when the child vouched her confidence.

“Spike’s a good guy,” Rosie supplied, munching on a hashbrown. She didn’t say anything more, but it was enough to convince her father once and for all. If the years had taught him anything, it was that his daughter’s senses ranged beyond impeccable. Her unspoken blessing solidified all remaining doubts.

It didn’t surprise him when Nikki failed to bend that easily. After Amber’s death, she had retreated within herself almost more than he had. Her bloodlust was nearly as pure, if not as refined. She hated all things of a subhuman nature, and nothing short of God’s decree would alter her perception.

The first few years, Zack had questioned the wisdom of dragging her along with him. It was dangerous enough having a daughter that he refused to leave in the care of his parents. His parents whom had never supported his marriage, and Amber’s weren’t any better. Despite their palpable love for their grandchild, he would rather have cut off his ear than leave her for what could be years at a time.

Nikki’s presence, while at times problematic, had served to solve the issue surrounding what to do with his daughter when he was out on business. Following some nameless lead. The young woman could never have filled Amber’s shoes—not as a partner nor as a mother to Rosie, and she had never tried. But she was good for them. And she had learned the tools of the trade with more enthusiasm than he ever could have wagered.

“I still don’t see why he won’t just kill everyone once he gets there and have it over with,” she mused.

Wright quirked a brow, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it really? Please tell me how.”

“These aren’t run of the mill vamps, Nick.”

“Yeah, and neither is he, right? He’s one of them.”

Zack frowned. “Not anymore.”

“God, would you listen to yourself? You’ve turned into one of…” She shook her head with a heavy sigh, poking erratically at her food. “You were gone for…what? A day? Two days? What happened? What could have possibly happened that—”

“I’ve gotten to know him. All of them. They’re good people.”

“Vampires aren’t people, Zack.”

“Spike’s the only vamp in this lot.”

“All the same.”

“You said yourself that he helped you the other night when he didn’t have to.”

Her eyes narrowed skeptically. “And that…what? Makes it all right? Atones for all the other people he’s killed? Jesus Christ, what’s happened to you? They brainwash you? Put you under some crazy empathy spell? Make it so—”

“Daddy’s right,” Rosie volunteered softly. “This one’s different from the others.”

Nikki’s gaze didn’t falter. If anything, she furrowed with deeper disgust. “And you’ve dragged your daughter into it, too.”

“Dragged her into…? I haven’t even seen her all week! I’ve been tearing this town apart looking for Darla…and you two. Spike was a lucky break.”

“And you’re just gonna let him walk after all this is over?”

At that, Wright was quieted. He had nothing to say.

“Oh my God, you are, aren’t you?”

“Calm down.”

“I will not calm down! This…this is crazy! You, being…” Nikki threw her arms into the air, jumping to her feet in full display of her discontent. “He’s one of them, Zack. He’s killed people just like Amber. And you’re gonna let him get away with it.”

“And what do you know about vamps, Nick? They kill because they like it. Because they don’t feel. Because the kill to them is more important than everything else.” He shook his head in disgust. “You know what I taught you. You think this is any fun for me? I know what he is. I know what he’s done. I’ve fucking memorized every kill documented in history, and it makes my insides turn to think of everything that didn’t make the books. But what I’ve seen of him these past couple days defies everything I’ve ever read up on him. On vampires. He’s in love with this chick.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“Well, it does!”

Rosie’s eyes went wide. It had been a long while since she saw them fight like this. “Daddy…”

Neither heard her, or registered the comment enough to turn. They were both on their feet now—shooting each other virtually identical looks that measured the same thing as far as reasonability.

“You’ve lost it,” Nikki decided. “This guy’s not you, Zack.”

“I fucking know it.”

“And this girl, whoever she is, isn’t Amber. Saving her’s not going to bring Amber back.”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a chance to live. That doesn’t mean we can fucking leave her there in the hands of the things that did to us what they’ll do to her.”

Nikki’s eyes blazed with anger. There was no talking her out of it. No stepping back. “This isn’t about her at all!” she screamed. “Not to you! It never was! You look at your new best friend, all you see is yourself. Amber’s dead, Zack. She’s fucking dead and if you let yourself turn into one of them, you might as well have killed her yourself.”

A very long, very cold silence swept through the lobby of Hyperion. An arctic storm behind Wright’s eyes—cutting and piercing as though he was gazing upon a stranger. His fists clenched tightly as though trying to prevent himself from throttling her. From hitting her. From doing anything.

It was the wail at first—the piercing scream of a child before Rosie fled from the room. That shook him out of his stupor. With the dying whimper of his daughter tickling the air, shivers sprouting up and down his arms, he knew no other truth. The impact of purified rage too strong to see any other means of understanding. “Get…” he said slowly. “Get out of my sight, Nikki. Now.”

The girl stood resolute for a few seconds before her emotions got the better of her. Before he could blink at the tears threatening to burst, she had turned and raced for the stairs.

Zack closed his eyes and hissed out a long, overdrawn breath, hands going instinctually to his head to ward off an impending headache. He pivoted without thought and returned to the table where the lingering smell of processed food still haunted the lobby. He was too forgone within himself to notice the hint of an audience.

“Wow,” Cordelia said from the entrance, still slightly wide-eyed. “I take it that I really missed something.”

At that, he sighed once more and glanced up with a hint of a smile on his face. “Morning, Cordy.”

She returned the smile and walked in slowly. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Well, I’ll let it slide, then. For now! ‘Cause, buddy, I totally need details later.” A pause. “Hey, was that the girl that—”

“You and the others helped the other night? Yeah.”

“Okay. I really missed something then.”

“I’ll fill you in later.” Zack glanced up, smiling gently. “So…how was your night?”

Lindsey froze over his work when the door to his office opened. He knew who it was without awaiting confirmation. Without needing anything to support the contrary. And everything he had been working toward fell flat without a glance at the repercussions. They hadn’t even bothered to inform him that an untamed—not to mention unapproved—vampire was in the building.

Things were getting worse by the minute.

“What can I say?” Spike said in manner of greeting, leaning against the doorway. He was grinning as though his words were highly significant. “Couldn’t wait.”