Ancient shades
by Kur

Author: Kur <kurhux@yahoo.com.ar>
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me but to Joss
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spike & Buffy
Spoilers: Season 3
Summary: Set during Season 3, Buffy and Spike are figuring out their
relationship, while the Mayor gets a Big Bad ally.
Thanks: To Melissa, best beta ever. See, I haven't changed one single
word. Thanks, thanks, thanks!!!!!  

 

The tall trees were wrapped in a white glow. A round, full moon shone
high on the sky patching the forest glade with silver spots. A bonfire
crackled and roared in the middle of it, the noise never lessening the
last whimpers of those who hung from the tallest and solitary oak that
stand in the valley. Their limbs moved spasmodically as if they were
marionettes, their strings yanked now and then by a tired hand.

A man stood by the fire. Orange and red drawings danced on the dark
velvet surface of his long gown. The crown on his head gleamed with
flashes of gold. Three big horns pointed at the moon and then to the
flames every time he swirled around them. Finally he stopped and turned
round, facing the other two men that had been kneeling in the shadows
of the distant bushes. One of his long twisted fingers commanded them
to come nearer. As one of them approached, the glazed, white eyes of
the wizard glimmered with moon rays. His left hand stretched out. A
casket appeared on his palm. Silver and ivory patterns embellished its
ebony frame.

"The Vessel of Thorns". His voice rumbled in his throat. A deep dark
cavern. "Use it well."

The man's hands shook a little, thrilled at the simple touch of the
little chest. When he opened the lid a soft greenish glow wavered at
its core. A crystal, red flask twinkled on the black satin. The colour
of blood. The colour of life. A sinister smile flashed for a second on
his thin lips. He finally raised his head and nodded.

Five naked people appeared from behind the trees. They cut the ropes of
the suspended bodies and threw all of them to the fire. The flames grew
to the sky, welcoming the offering with a howl and a satisfied, shrieking
yell. 
 

CHAPTER 1

"Joyce, stay away from him! Please, invite me in! Please!"

Joyce was horrified. That man standing at the doorstep. She had never
been able to bear him. There was something in him that emanated
invisible as a rush of foul air. He was so different from the gentle
Englishman sitting at the island. She had never had a civilized
conversation with that dark man who was yelling at her from the
threshold as that she had been having with the blonde well-educated
man. Of course he'd done certain wild things. She even remembered
hitting him with a shovel but every young fellow got a little wild
nowadays and she wasn't going to blame him for being in a rock band.
She herself kept in mind those days in which she went a bit out of
control back in her time so. She wished her daughter had chosen him
instead. Hadn't he helped her after all? Not to mention he was really
handsome. And by the way he had talked about his fianc‚e. He certainly
had a good, caring heart.

"You get out of this house or I'll stake you myself!" She yelled at
Angel.

Spike was truly amused. Watching his grandsire's desperate intents was
more than he'd ever expected. He couldn't but jump behind Joyce's back,
making funny faces. Laughing in secret. He had never seen Angel so out
of control, so.rejected. Rejected... The word tasted like manna in his
mouth. Like a mouthful of Slayer's blood. Speaking of whom. Buffy's
hand pushed him hard and he didn't even fight back. He lay there,
sprawled on the wooden surface of the kitchen counter while her eyes
took in the picture. Two cups still steaming and a bowl of...
marshmallows! She sighed and shook her head. Why on earth was he there
again?

Angel's gaze jumped from the disgust painted all over Joyce's features
to the tiny hand of Buffy resting flatly on Spike's chest till finally
it stopped on his wicked, shining smirk.

"Buffy, let me in! He's even more dangerous when he's drunk!" he shouted.

"It's not necessary". After the plea in her mother's eyes, she decided
it'd be better not to give an invitation.

Spike's smirk could have set the kitchen on fire. Joyce finally shook
the fear aside and nearly ran to the door just to slam it on Angel's face.

"Buffy, why don't you just sit dear? I'll put the kettle again and you
can have a cup with us."

"Mom, I think." Her ass crashed on the stool at the mockery in the blue
gaze. She hadn't realized her hand was still pressed against his stomach.
"And you're here with my mother because.?, she hissed.

"Your mother is an extraordinary, lovely lady", he said with a radiating
smile. Joyce blushed like a teen and put the cups on the counter. Buffy
squinted, full of doubts. Was this payback? A delayed revenge? She couldn't
but sip the hot cocoa, astounded by the way her mother chatted with him.
She was so obviously relaxed. She was enjoying it! Enjoying talking to
a serial killer! Of course nothing like that had merely passed through
Joyce's mind. Buffy had noticed that her mother tended to put aside that
spooky idea of vampires, demons and "the slayer" as if she were discarding
rotten apples. And Spike! What was he playing at? All polite and refined
as if he were some Victorian gentleman. Wait, bad choice of words. But
he wasn't anymore! 'I've never seen her that comfortable with Angel.
It's not that we ever had any talking-over-hot cocoa meeting. But...
hey, she was terrified of him!'

"Okay, time to talk?" She almost broke down the cup. Her gaze was made
of green marble. "Outside would be great."

"Oh, Buffy. I don't think so. - Joyce shot nervous looks at the back door,
- he might be. you know.there?"

Buffy frowned and spread her hands. The palms faced the ceiling. "What?" 

"Maybe you mother is jumpy 'cause your little bum-boy?" Spike whispered
with a chuckle. "Don't worry Joyce. I'll go out first. See if the bastard
is still around."

Buffy couldn't believe it. Relief washed over Joyce's face as a cleansing
tide. She was about to shout about how evil that horrid bleached monster
was when her mother's next words hit her better than a Fryarl demon.

"Why don't you tell him to stay for dinner? He knows everything about 19th.
Century art. You didn't tell me he was an expert."

"Expert? Expert?!!! He's only playing with you!!! He's a bloodsucker expert,
that's what he is!!!" Words rammed through her brain. Joyce's smile stopped
them to flow from her lips.

"I don't think he'll stay." That. Stupidest line ever. Her mother could
be the most insistent person in the galaxy. She knew damned well.

"Ask him anyway." Of course, and that meant don't come back without him.
Shit.

 

When she stepped on the porch, Buffy's face was the colour of a red flag
screaming danger. He was sitting on the bonnet of his DeSoto. A big black
crow on a big black perch. His feet were dangling in the air and a grin
swinging along with them.

"I thought you were drunk."

"Oh, and that was your mind talking by itself or laughing boy words?"

Buffy sighed feeling her fists begging to hit his face. She swallowed
as hard as she could. "Where are my friends?" Her eyes were tiny slots.
He had the nerve to look clueless. "They are missing, you are here."

He curled his lips, his tongue licking his teeth. "Okay, you've busted
me. You don't need to worry, love. They're fine. At the factory actually.
Those kids needed a time to be alone. Want a ride?" he offered jumping
from the car and opening the door for her.

Buffy grimaced in disbelief. What was he talking about? Saying stupid
things and seeing ghosts where. Wait a minute. What was he implying?
Xander and Willow? She nearly laughed out loud. Loony vamp. As if she
wouldn't have known. She dismissed his senseless words while fidgeting
on the seat. The corner of her treacherous left eye kept jumping at
his profile every time it had a chance.

Spike suddenly pulled up. The Magic Shop. Yellow police tapes across
the door. She couldn't move even after he got out of the car and kicked
the shop door opened. "Well, are you coming or not?"

"Why are we here?"  Being alone with him had not to be that disturbing.
She had a knot in her stomach. And there was something really wrong
with her cheeks. Maybe it was the chocolate. Too hot.

"Oh, I'm looking for something." He dismissed her doubts with a swirl
of a wrist. The black polish nails shimmered under the street lamp.

"The only blood available here you just got it so." She barely believed
her ears. He'd killed the lady who owned the shop and she, THE SLAYER,
was just casual about it. She should have staked him right there.

His amused eyes travelled along her shape. His head tilted to the side.
"I've always wondered. You liked being a toff, didn't you? I mean, you
acted so differently. As a woman, I could say."

She just stared at him. Her clenched fist didn't even rise. Odd.
Odder was the painful twitch in her guts.

"You know, that night in the carriage. that ponce had a huge hard-on
for you baby." His left hand climbed down his body to affirm his words.

Finally her fist connected with his nose. "You're disgusting."

His smile never left his face as he wiped out the blood of one nostril
and walked into the shop. "You don't know how much. Anyway, - he went
on as he picked one jar after another from the shelves. He looked at
each one thoroughly, as if his speech was written in the labels, -
Peaches is back I see. What? All love and birds singing again?"

"We are friends." Why in hell she was explaining anything to him? Why
on earth she had picked that lame, pathetic excuse? She certainly had
become brainless. Maybe he hadn't only eaten the shop lady but cast
a spell on the slayer as the cherry on the cake.

Spike shook a finger as if he was admonishing a little kid. "You'll
never be friends. You simply can't. What is there between you? Are
you shagging him?" His eyes looked at her from above a green flask.
They were like a laser beam, cutting her flesh to reach her most
inner thoughts. "And please don't tell me it's love. You don't know
what love is."

Buffy squeezed her fingers around a candle leaving her fingerprints
on the wax. "And you do know.?"

" 'Course I do, - he left the jar and sat on the counter, lighting
a cigarette. "Love is blood, you see. Blood screaming inside you to
work its will. And if there's something remotely screaming inside
you... well, I'm deaf as a corpse."

"You ARE a corpse." She stated with glimmering, sharp eyes.

Spike chuckled. "But bloody handsome, ah? Okay, let's go."

"I thought you needed.."

"Time. But I think it's enough for that friend of yours to make his
move. I don't trust him, though. That whelp is as smart as a rat. No,
wait. Rats are smart!"

"Craziness is catching, isn't it?" Her jaws were so tight she'd have
probably cracked nuts till Christmas.

"Yeah, like brooding it seems. Come on, pet. Smile a little. It suits
you." His big hand wafted on to her cheek as a cold breeze. Only a
moment. She fought back the strong urge to close her eyes and give in
to the sensation. "Ooops."

"What? What?" Her heart had skipped one beat when his palm drew away.

"I think we're in trouble." He rolled her to face the gang of vampires
staring at them. "Hello Lenny."

"Don't tell me - Buffy stepped backward into the shop - friends of
yours. I so dislike you!"

"Oh, come on love - he closed the door behind him throwing a bookcase
against it - this is going to be fun! You certainly need some. You
know, frowns and tears aren't good for your skin. Others things are
good too but this is not the time to point them out, I guess."

"They are too many." She sighed at the sight of the door been forced by
four furious vamps. They jumped over the bookcase seeking Spike's
shape. "Oh, shit. I hate you! And what the hell are you laughing at?"

She detested that particular quality of him. How could he be laughing
his guts out in a middle of a fight? They were only two, for Christ's
sake! That gang was up to nine. Even ten. And she had no weapons, and.
Irresponsible creature! Both! And now she was channelling Giles. If one
of those vamps had the remote chance of hurting her, that bleached head
would hang from her ceiling till the day she died! As a punch bag. She
ducked behind the counter searching for some useful weapon. Nothing
around. Only a chair. that would suit! She broke it in halves, sending
a splintered leg flying towards Spike's hand. "And I would have aimed
to his damned dead heart!" Two vampires launched at her and she kicked
the rolling ladder sending them to the ground. Her makeshift stake
plundered into their hearts.

Spike was really enjoying this. How could he ever think he wasn't going
to get that fun again? Yes, Dru'd left him. Granted. But. he shove a
sliver of a violet jar into the vamp's eye, truth was that he'd have
fought back her stupid words. "Being soft." But there was that blighter
Lenny to prove her wrong. The fat demon first punch connected straight
with his nose. Too tired of that too. And her other words. He back
kicked the stupid minion behind him and whacked Lenny's face. They were
true as well. It wasn't that he had told Dru anything. He didn't need
too. She could smell it. See it. Taste it. He grabbed onto the vamp's
jacket pulling him around. But she was seeing something from another
time. Another century. >From when he was a pathetic human. Lenny's face
crashed against the table.

Buffy hit one of the demons that had cornered her against the counter
while she kicked the other's balls. "I should have stayed at home. Or
maybe I should have left him with my mother having. I'm mad." She
yanked one of the vampires' head bashing it against the glass of the
counter. "There's no other explanation. How could I leave him, no less,
with MY MOTHER?!" The other one kicked her back. She stumbled but made
a sweep kick that made him fall just onto the stake she was holding. "I
can't trust him. I can't trust him. I can't trust him. One hundred
times written on my mind's board." The front window collapsed.

Spike was made of a unique and self-proud smile. It lit his face like a
theatre spot. "There! See if I'm soft." He wiped the dust of his hands
as he watched Buffy fighting. His golden warrior. The massive blast of
the window made him duck. Sounded as a storm roaring inside the walls.
Six vampires charged at him. This wasn't Lenny's payback. Definitely.
Something more was going on here. He crouched down at Buffy's command.
Flying jars passed above his head as glittering crystal bubbles. Holy
water. Smart. He flinched when a few drops fell onto his hands and his
left eyebrow. But nothing could erase his grin. The pitiable army ran
away like feeble rabbits. He stood up, turning his head around to look
at Buffy from above a shoulder. "See, I told you it's going to be fun.
A decent spot of violence. A brilliant bash. If you don't count the
lack of beer."

"If you want to keep that heart of yours intact, let's get out of here.
Now." Buffy went out of the shop with her chin nearly pointing at the
sky. Her back was as stiff as if she was using a corset again. She
didn't allow her left eye to move from the windscreen just once. She
knew how to control herself, damn it. She had had strength of mind. She
still had. Will power. That one which had helped her to survive in
another city, far away of all the people she loved. That one that had
stopped her tears each and every night when she managed to fall asleep
tired enough not to have disturbing dreams. Dreams of blue eyes and
blue silk. Dreams of cold lips and cold streets. That one that had put
a gag against her mouth every time Willow questions had stepped on
dangerous ground.  That same one that had rooted her feet to the ground
despite the crazy urge to run away when Angel appeared out of the blue
to kneel in front of her and hugged her waist. Yes, she had willpower.
It didn't matter how strong his charm was. 'Cause, after all, it was
all it was. Charm, a past attraction for a man that had been dead for
over a century. A clueless fascination for a demon that fit in all the
hated and prohibited files. No reasonable justification for it.

The factory was as empty and creepy as a forgotten tomb. Which it was.
Even her dreams had been buried in it.

"Somebody has been here." Spike stated, raising his head to the air,
sniffing like a wild animal would do. "I smell blood." Oh, hell! Wrong
choice of words. "You know. I guess they have escaped. Which is more
than I expected from them. Well, not Red. She's a smart bint." Talk,
talk, and remove that killing gaze from her green eyes.

"You better pray for them to be okay." Buffy pointed a shaking finger
to his figure before she turned round and left. Too many things to
face. Too many memories and the pain in her heart for past choices,
past nightmares. He was the worst. Tantalizing her with his mere
presence, which sent her mind to sink into a miasma of painful and not
allowed thoughts.

 

Buffy couldn't believe it. He had been right after all. How could she
be so ignorant to her own friends' feelings? Maybe she'd been too much
wrapped in her own emotions, in her own entangled maze. Sometimes she
just wanted to tell Angel the truth. There's nothing between us. There
hasn't been for a long, long time. But she wasn't prepared. She wasn't
prepared to confess to everybody what a liar she was. How many things
she had kept in a little box along with a necklace and a pair of
glasses. Her confused eyes faced the fa‡ade of Angel's mansion. Another
of those horrible maggots squirmed beneath her skin.

"Hey, I was wondering when you were coming." Angel stood up and began
to walk towards her. Something made him stop. Her gaze, her distant
stance. Reminded him of.

"I'm not coming back. Spike told me."

"Spike? Spike told you.?" His eyebrows were a black bridge over his
wrinkled forehead. When had she started to listen to that fiend?

"We're not friends. We never were. Lovers? Maybe once. And I can fool
Giles, I can fool my friends but I can't fool myself. Or Spike for some
reason." She whispered the last words as though she was accepting it
just to herself.

Angel's mouth was a thin line of disgust. "Spike?" It seemed he could
only repeat that name. "What does he have to do with this?" And with
all that happened in the past year, he would have liked to add.

Buffy shook her head and shrugged. "He made me think."

"Oh, made you think." A mockery rang in his voice. "So tell me why I've
this feeling there's something you haven't told me. Since those days, I
mean. More than a truce you did?"

"What are you talking about?" Maybe he knew. Maybe he had seen her in
that alley. But that was impossible! He would have said. The accusation
in his eyes finally made her understand. "Of course not!"

"Well, trying eagerly to please a killer. Makes me wonder."

"I'm not trying to please anybody! Maybe only myself! For the first
time in. ever!"

"What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing!"

"So please tell me, how it comes that you have never killed him? Not
even today after seeing him alone with your own mother?"

No answer for that. Well, not an answer she was going to share with him
anyway. "I'm leaving now." Buffy left without looking back. For some
strange reason she felt full of fresh air. Relieved. It hadn't been the
best way to set things straight but it'd do for that moment. Stupid
bleached vampire had served for some purpose after all. And she hadn't
even needed to ask him for dinner.

"Buffy, is that you honey? Hurry up, dear. Dinner is almost ready!"
Joyce hadn't lost that teen's cheerful spirit from the early night. She
would. As soon as she told her. "Wash your hands and join us in the
kitchen!"

"Us? Us? Oh, crap!" 

 

tbc...

CHAPTER 2     

 

"So tell me Allan, - Mayor Wilkins' fingers tapped rhythmically on the
glossy wood of the desk, - how things went with our welcoming
committee?" His hand rose in the air as if he'd wanted to slap an
invisible fly. "Wrong, of course. That loose cannon is still here."

"Well, I don't think so." Allan coughed a little. His eyes examined his
left shoe. "Spike's left town. Nobody has seen him again."

"But before he did... if that's remotely true, he'd a certain dinner
with a certain little girl, hadn't he?" The Mayor voice was full of
smoothness. He hadn't chuckled once. It wasn't that Allan missed that
particular sound. In fact he hated it so much that his knuckles cracked
trying to hold the strong urge to strangle him. This softness was
scaring.

"Yes. We checked that. Only the Slayer and her mother. And the vampire,
of course."

"Of course." Wilkins agreed and a grin appeared in his lips when he
started to get to his feet. Allan flinched a little. "A dinner for
three. I wonder if they had a good time... Is this butcher or blood
delivery man a friend of ours?"

Allan was so busy trying to stay in the same spot of the carpet that he
almost lost the change in topics. After blinking for several times he
managed to sputter an entangled "absolutely".

"Then, what about seeing he hires a new delivery boy? Or a new shop
assistant or however you want to call it? Let's say... you." Allan's
eyes were flying balloons when the Mayor's hands hold his shoulders.
"This task must be performed in the most perfect way. We can't leave
this important matter in trash hands. You do understand that, don't
you?" He nodded along with his assistant. "Good, good."

After opening a safety box, the Mayor put a little chest on the desk.
"Now, here, my rare and extraordinary treasure." He talked to the red
flask as if it had become an odd, miniature fairy. "Only one drop. This
must be used carefully. Patiently."

"One in each blood bag?" Allan didn't dare to touch the tiny bottle.

"One drop per day." The words were marked as hit by a stick. "Three is
a magical number. Life is so special. Full of surprises. I like
surprises. Well, surprising others, I mean. Go now. In three days we'll
have the best surprise ever."

 
 
Buffy sat on the couch at the student lounge feeling a little nervous.
Cordelia was talking to her friends just in front of them. Xander was
really jumpy. And guilty. She understood perfectly well that particular
feeling. She'd been feeling guilty for so long... If it hadn't been for
one particular annoying bleached creature, her friends would be
perfectly happy. Okay, that was a lie. They would probably have screwed
things up not matter what. Teen hormones talked better than any
rational brain. She knew... nothing about it! "I have no teen hormones
for anybody! No hormones at all!" She shouted to herself while
listening to Cordelia going back to her former self.  At least, if she
knew Willow well, her friend would certainly do that grovelling thing
she had claimed to get Oz back. Buffy crossed her fingers looking at
them going down the hall.

 

Angel jumped from his bed. He was so thirsty... Those blood bags didn't
seem to be enough. They always left him wanting more. More than pig
blood... More than an empty bed. More fun. He had known so well how to
get some fun... In his dreams he found what he needed. He shook his
head. They weren't dreams but nightmares. From the past. He couldn't
possibly missed that part of him... He entered into the main room,
pulling a T-shirt on his chest. He'd ask for help. Find out why...

"Who are you?" He stopped at the sight of two men standing at the door.
Another one, taller, wearing a grey suit appeared behind them.

"Trouble sleeping?" The Mayor crossed the room and sat on a chair. He
carried a black casket in his hands. "Let's introduce ourselves
properly. Of course you're Angel. Former Scourge of Europe, Angelus,
blah, blah, blah... I'm Mayor Wilkins, the one who owns, sorry, rules
this city."

Angel sat down on one side of the fireplace. Strange images danced in
his mind. One stronger than the rest. His fangs sinking in that
disgusting man's neck. "What do you want?"

"The easiest question first! That's not funny... It's not what I want;
it's what it's meant to be. Do you really think you came back 'cause
somebody up there took pity on you?" Wilkins shook his head and smiled.
"Sorry to disappoint you but I, well... let's say I've connections...
You ought to have them if you want to achieve a superior goal."

"What are you talking about?" Angel's voice raised in anger. He hadn't
felt this angry for quite a time. A century.

"I'm talking about your destiny. These dreams you've had... haven't
they taught you anything? They have showed you the glory. That one you
once achieved."

"That wasn't glory. That was... hideous. An abomination. I was an
abomination."

"But you enjoyed it, didn't you? We all have to perform certain... how
could I call them... bad? things to attain magnificence and splendour.
It's sad but it's how the world works. You know what they say... even
roses have their thorns."

He opened the silver and ebony lid. The green glow grew and surrounded
him as a toxic fog. Soon the wicked, greenish light lighted the whole
room. It glittered and pulsated for several minutes till it disappeared
with a thunderclap.
 
 

Buffy woke up with a gasp. Her heartbeat was a drum pounding against
her ribs. After coming from Faith's hotel room she had taken a bath and
lay down on her bed just to rest a little. That Christmas dinner was
going to be one for which she'd need all her strength. Or her patience.
She'd fallen asleep, though. She tried to put the bedside lamp on but
her hand hit the small box she always kept there sending it to the
floor. Trembling, she got down the bed and opened the shutters. A
white, cold moonlight leaded her way to the switch. She knelt down and
carefully picked up the scattered things, placing them again in the
little box. She crouched there, cuddling it against her chest, fighting
the strong begging of her eyes. Spill these hot tears that are burning
us.

Downstairs, sneaking as an intruder, she dialled Giles' number with one
trembling finger while she fought against the sleeves of a long coat.

"I... I need to talkthing that'd ever happen again, so why bother? The
greater surprise had been how good it felt to talk. Freely. As she had
never done before. Oblivious to the hate or the judging or the
accusatory looks. She could have spoken till the next apocalypse and
maybe even during and after it. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit...Why
had she chose Giles for the hearing ears? A father figure...? That one
she missed so much? Possible. Or had something to do with the British
thing? Yes, sure. 'Cause some other British guy would hear her
prattling about that particular subject...

"Hello cutie."

And now she was listening to him. She had wanted to hear that deep
voice so badly that now she was listening to it in a daydream. That was
over the top. She had simply put a halt to her continuous fantasies.
Her head turned round despite her own volition. There he was. Either a
ghost or a very ghastly joke.

"What are you doing here? Again?" The better way to hide her jumping
heartbeat. By mistreating him. Hope he didn't listen to it running like
a cheetah in an opened savannah. She glared at him wondering if he
could read minds or tell the future. Coincidences exist? She couldn't
tell.

Spike sneered widely. "Well, love. It's Christmas. Thought I'd have a
decent dinner, a decent chat and maybe a decent present." His eyebrows
arched seductively.

Buffy breathed out a long, fuming sigh. "I can't deal with you right
now. She started to walk again. "I'm... in a hurry."

Spike wasn't a guy you could leave behind. Not that she really wanted
to... but this thing she had to do... Soon he was by her side. "Going
to see Peaches?"

"No. Well, yes. And I don't have to give you, no less, any kind of
explanation." And that was a hell of a truth. Besides, why did she keep
on doing that? Every time he showed around she had that tendency of
confessing, better said, explaining her next movements. She certainly
had to stop being such an idiot.

"I'm tagging along."

"No!"

"Well, you know, I can walk wherever I want. This is a free country and
all that crap. 'Sides, I really like this soap opera. Want to see the
next episode."

Buffy's pace could have won a medal at the Olympics. She knew she
wasn't going to lose him in one corner. But at least she'd make him
sweat. Okay, vampires didn't sweat. Well, in any case his muscles would
suffer a bit.

She didn't call Angel but walked straight into the mansion. It was
quiet and cold as outer space.  Spinning around, she scowled at Spike
when he picked up an empty glass from the mantelpiece. "I told you to
wait outside. Or leave. Better the second choice." She doubted a second
at the stiffness in his body. His blue eyes were only black slots.

"He's not here. Something..."

"Don't tell me. You can smell it." She patted his shoulder. "Good dog.
Remind me to buy you a bone."

He growled. A sound that made her bite her lower lip just not to laugh.
There wasn't anything funny in his next words, though. "Traces of
magic. It's still in the air."

She followed him as he stepped out in the atrium and climbed the steps
that lead up. Maybe it'd be a good idea to have a hound dog to find the
way. All she might need was a gun and she'd be ready for an action
movie. He climbed up the hill, pushing the bushes aside till he
stopped. Angel was standing three metres ahead staring at the
magnificent view of the whole town at his feet.

Buffy ran, avoiding the sudden Spike-statue and the hand that almost
ripped her arm out from its socket.  She took only four steps.

"Angel..." She whispered, swallowing the horrible sensation that had
her guts twisted in a fistful of fire.

"Stay away from him, pet." Spike managed to say after sniffing the air
several times to check the possible mistake. There wasn't any. The
scent was too familiar. Nervously familiar.

"What? Why?" Something inside her knew the answer. It was like a
noxious fizz, expanding and contracting. Wicked, purple bubbles crashed
against the nape of her neck, frizzing her hair with fear.

"He's not Angel anymore."
 

tbc...

CHAPTER 3

 
Buffy never knew how she was standing in the porch of her own house
when all she could still see was the top of a hill and a sinister,
fangy grin as a bizarre moon. Her bones were so chilled that they
rattled under her skin as a tambourine played by a naked Eskimo. A
heavy thing was dangling from her shoulders. Leather. A leather coat.
Spike's coat. She looked at him but all she saw was a distant tiny
figure. As though she was looking at something from the wrong side of
a telescope. And what was he doing? Fighting the door? Forcing the lo...

"I've got the keys." Her tongue felt as if she had been eating gritty
bread. Rough and gluey. Spike didn't look better though. Was it her
imagination or he looked a little pastier? Ashy, grey in fact.

"I've got them since you couldn't find the lock..." No smirk flashed
with his words. Suddenly his hands were squeezing her shoulders. She was
about to take a few steps back. "Okay, now. Your mom's coming towards
the door. Let me do the talking, okay? Don't want to frighten her right
now, do we love? It's Christmas. At least for her..." He pushed her in
front of the door. 

"Oh, my God!" Joyce nearly yanked the door opened and grabbed Buffy's
arms. When the clock had stroke twelve bells she'd been more than
angry. But when it hit one, one thirty and her daughter never showed
up she'd just freaked out. "What happened to you? Are you okay? Faith
left. She was a bit upset and... Well, this is a surprise!" She declared
noticing the black figure standing a few steps away.

"Hi, Joyce! Bet it is, ah? Thought, you know, pass by, have a toast.
My fault we've run late. Wanted to buy you a present. Should have taken
Buffy's word. Everything is closed." Spike hadn't used his gentle, soft
smile as much as he had done in the few past months. Made his face hurt
a little. Made him wanted to grunt. Didn't know why he bothered that
much. Well, in fact he did. He liked the lady. He hadn't lied about
that.

"Oh, you shouldn't have worried! Good thing you remember us! Please,
come in, you two. We can have a late Christmas dinner, I guess." That
was a true smile. Warm and bright. Lit her all over. Made him wonder
why in hell her daughter hadn't inherited a little bit of it.

Buffy was in autopilot. The shock had been so striking. How was it
possible? She crumpled up on the sofa as if somebody had shot her.

"No, no, no, pet. If I've to slap you I will. Extra bonus it'll be.
Couldn't you just restrain yourself, ah?" His gaze was stormy and there
was something in the blue depths that look like an implicit accusation.
As though she was looking to Giles. Her lower lip trembled. "No tears,
either. Your mother will have her dinner and her smiles and presents
and you're going to be extra happy here. And then, we'll talk."

That was a threat. A threat! And she couldn't even react. "I'm going to
the bathroom."

"Five minutes, Slayer. Don't make me go for you."

Bloody hell! He's really pissed off! After all he'd done to help her,
that little minx had to shag the sodding ponce again. What was she
thinking of? He knew what it had taken for Angelus to appear the first
time. That blighter had opened his huge gob and swanked about it as
much as he could. It'd been fun at that time. If he didn't count the
slight pinch in his guts, which could always be a consequence of having
been in a wheelchair for months. Now...he hadn't felt this angry since...
he didn't remember. These feelings he had for her were so different of
anything he had felt before. He hadn't erased her image from his mind
even by dying. Literally. It was carved in the roots of his lost soul.
Printed in his dead flesh like a casing tattoo. No logical explanation
for it. It wasn't that he was a thoughtful bloke but he needed to put
a label to those emotions, tired of being caught staring at a wall with
a fag butt burning his fingers.

He had come back not to give anybody time for anything. He was seeking
his own time. Time to be near her, to check if Dru'd been right. "All
covered by her..." Were those the words? More or less. It was something
deep. Not guilt for whatever he might feel guilty about. Guilt was a
long forgotten concept. A notion he'd left for humans with all their
miseries and their little stuff. He wasn't the type who wandered about
beating his own chest. What was done, was done and to hell with it. She
was the guilty gremlin here.

Spike chewed and swallowed the roast beef as if it were Buffy's damned
heart. Images of her full breasts pushed up by a corset mingled with
the same full naked breasts being touched and nibbled by Angel. Her
breath, her gasps, her moans... Those lips he'd tasted briefly... Sweet
and warm. He'd felt her strength flowing inside him and then retreating
like a powerful tide.

And now there was Angelus... His own demon was crawling inside him; its
claws painfully scratching his ribs. "Mark her, mark her", it chanted
in his ears, mixing its grunts with Joyce's chat. "She'll be saved,
she'll be family." It was a woozy experience. The casual conversation;
the polite, gentle and educated conversation with light and decency and
the whispered chitchat with darkness and sordidness... 

That feeling of property... It wasn't even that. Chinese had this
concept... If you save somebody's life then... she belongs to you for all
eternity. He wanted her to belong to him. Not like a car or his duster.
He wanted to belong to her as well. Care, protect. Love. Bloody word
that destroyed every thread of evil in him...



Spike had threatened her. Spike had given her orders. Spike was
scowling at her from the other side of the table as if he were her
father and she were nothing but a naughty, mischievous girl. For the
first time in her life she really, really experienced the vast
difference of age between herself and those...demons. Demons... She
swallowed a glass of wine, then another. Nothing ease the awful guilt
wickedly fixed in her heart. As though she had done something wrong...
.As though she had betrayed somebody. Him. But she hadn't! She'd even
left Angel... The wine choked her as the shock from the first impression
started to recede and images leapt to her mind.

"He's not Angel anymore." As Spike's words sank into her mind, she had
started to move back from Angel. Not too quickly, though. Angelus had
grinned. A wide, flashing, depraved grin that had filled her with a
primal fear. The faces of all she loved passed like a rushing movie
in front of her eyes. As if she was travelling in the fastest subway.
Speedy photos, one after the other in a long, never-ending tunnel.
So frozen she was that she hadn't been aware of the hand that with
incredible haste, clamped on her wrist, dragging her to his hideous
mouth. Spike had saved her. Again.

On the top of that hill two demons had fought with the rage of a
century fuelling their blows. Grunts and groans mixed with insults and
snarls, and the flash of fangs sinking into any spot of flesh they
could reach. Like wolves, like rabid dogs fighting for their lives. She
had only watched. For a long moment she hadn't sensed even her own
skin. Miss Calendar's face was all she had in mind. And it was that
face that shook off her fear. She took out the stake she always carried
in her boot and jumped forward. Like a box referee trying to separate
two opponents in a grudge fight. Only that she had a weapon. The stake
sank in Angelus' shoulder with such a disgusting easiness... A bar of
old, rancid butter would have offered more difficulty. Last thing she
remembered was the puking. Bent over as if her stomach would soon
climbed along her throat to run away.

"I should call Giles..." His gaze nailed her to the chair.

"Bet Rupert is sleeping right now. After three kettles of tea. Not
exactly the party bloke, is he? 'Sides your mom here wants you to open
your presents. And I want some nog." Spike'd sounded as if she would
find a well-deserved torturing device inside the boxes. Or a demon to
squeeze her guts. Why was he so angry? Why? Probably 'cause she'd
spoilt his pummelling-my-grandsire present. Jerk. Buffy gulped her
fourth glass and jumped from her chair. The world had become a dizzy
place... His fingers clutched her elbow and guided her to the lighted
tree. Hundreds... did she really hang hundreds? of red little lights
twinkled their welcoming eyes.

"There's nothing for you, I'm afraid. If I had known..." Joyce
handed him a glass.

Spike shrugged; a bit astounded by the apology in her voice. Nobody
had ever apologized to him for not having a present at Christmas.
Nobody had ever apologized to him. Period. And about the presents...
Maybe his mother? No, they'd always had presents. But that was history.
Old, buried. This was stupid. This dinner and the gathering and this
pansy wish of family stuff... Buffy's hysterical giggles stopped his
intention of grabbing his duster and stomping away.

The stupid bint was laughing her butt off, holding the angel that
had fallen from the top of the tree. She was crushing it in her
hands while tears ran along her face.

"Oh, dear, give it to me! Buffy! What's wrong with you honey?
You're going to break it!" Joyce finally managed to pull the poor
ornament from her daughter's claws.

"Break it! He is... he's going to k..." She never finished her sentence.
A terribly pissed off vampire stated something about not letting
girlies get near the booze since they'd obviously couldn't handle it
and dragged her all the way to the kitchen and under the cold flood
of water of the sink tap.

Joyce's taken aback by his rude manners. She was about to protest
when Buffy spun around and punched his nose, making him bleed. She
sighed, not completely horrified. Her daughter had...well, she had
always had serious behaviour problems. Maybe she could ease the
violent phase by making some coffee...

Buffy sat on the stool swinging her feet, her hands under her butt,
glaring at him. She couldn't but made funny faces at his idiot
attempt of helping her mother. She imitated his smiles and words
as if she'd turned into a soaking, drenched mime. She didn't need
any coffee. She was perfect. Perfectly angry, that was it. At him.
For being nice. He'd no right of being nice. Not now. No when all
she wanted was somebody to punch till next year. She'd have phoned
Willow instead of paying attention to his threatening looks. But
Willow was with Oz... Her eyes went wide when she reminded that.
Well, at least one of them would get laid without finding a monster
the next day. Wait... what if Oz...? No. Those things only happened
to her. Fucking or not apparently. Where was her mother going now?
A kiss? A smile and a kiss? She was going to bed! She was going to
leave her alone with this crazy fiend! 

"You certainly are a barmy cow, aren't you?" Spike growled as soon
as he heard Joyce reaching the first floor. "Making that sodding
scene in front of your..." He stared at his chest in awe as the
hot dark liquid wetted his T-shirt. He was about to step forward
just to erase that satisfied smile of her lips when she jumped from
the stool onto the kitchen counter, ran to the opposite side and
grabbed a wooden spoon from a white jar.

Spike tried to yank it from her but she was faster and punched his
jaw. His fist connected with her temple. Buffy stumbled back but
didn't give him time to take any advantage. She kicked his belly
hard enough to send him against the fridge. The improvised stake
stopped on his chest.

"Guess I'm not that drunk after all. Thanks for the shower. What if
I use this? Like my Christmas present." His gaze was devastating.
More intense thanks to the black eyeliner. A cold blue fire was
smouldering inside its depths. Buffy felt it smothering her little
by little. "What? You're not smiling anymore. Am I giving you the
willies, Willie?"

"First of all, if I'd be mad enough to use that puff name again, -
flashes of his grandsire crossed his mind, - it'd never be Willie.
It's William, pet. You know that. And you're giving me nish." Her
flushed face was so near... The wet strands of golden hair framed
it as if it were the most extraordinary portrait. Her wicked smile,
which she'd tried to intimidate him with, was nothing but the most
feminine and seductive thing. Made his urge of protecting her grew
to colossal proportions. His demon agreed with a resounding growl.
Her upper body was leaning against his, the wet green silk blouse
doing nothing to hide her breasts. Her nipples pushed against his
soaked T. The image exploded inside him. "I'll give you something,
though. Your present, honey."

His left arm tangled around her waist, driving her closer while his
right hand held the nape of her neck like an iron grip. His head
was an arrow; she was incapable to react. The spoon fell to the
floor with a deaf thump as the first wave of pain rushed across
her skin. It felt as if a batch of nurses were injecting thousands
of hot needles on the same spot.

He took his time. Didn't guzzle but slake his thundering thirst of her
with excruciating slowness. As if he'd fallen in some sort of trance,
his tongue lapped leisurely, running up and down the little wounds,
then drawing circles around the lacerated flesh. His eyes were half
closed and a little hazed. Two slits of a coming sunrise.

Her back arched against the firm muscles of his forearm. Two of his
fingers fondled the soft spot behind one of her ears. Her hips moved
forward, pressing against his erection. She was falling, falling,
swirling in the most erotic whirlpool. Every pore in her skin opened
like a wild flower under the rain. Her knees were giving away. Not
'cause the lost of blood. Her bones had melted into a hot liquid.
Nog and wine combined with his scent. Suddenly his back was no
longer leant against the fridge. Hers had crashed against the edge
of the counter. An echoing thump. She didn't care. Couldn't. Hadn't
time to think about the sharp pain in her waist. She only had nerves
in her neck, between her legs, on the tips of her fingers running
wildly through his hair.

Spike let one of his hands slide down one shoulder, searching for one
of those moulds pressed against his chest. His thumb circled the hard
nipple; his fingers traced its roundness. His arm abandoned her waist
to travel down further. Those thighs of her... Powerful and lethal.
Warm and inviting under the silk skirt. He pulled it upwards as if
he was about to raise the curtain for the most splendid stage. One
of his fingers delved under her thong, outlining each side of it
while his swollen and hot lips looked for her mouth.

His tongue had a metallic, strange flavour. Her own blood. She moaned
inside his mouth. Her hands dived under his black T-shirt hunting for
his skin. His shoulder blades. Solid and graceful. His spine. Full of
little steps her fingers could ascend along to reach the hard support
of his shoulders. She climbed on his body as a perfumed ivy twining
around a marble column. So many times she'd fantasized with this...
Not the biting. Or maybe there was something of it in the dark,
unvisited corridors of her soul. Fantasies about his ravenous mouth
on hers, his teeth nibbling her lips, then her shoulders as the green
blouse glided down. Her breasts exposed to his tongue... being sketched
and recreated with each lick. She'd dreamt of his hands... Cupping her
slim ass till she barely sat on the edge of the counter. His body
sneaked between her legs and her calves closed the doors of his prison,
locked on the back of his muscled thighs.

That awful and unforgettable night she'd lost her teen dreams... So tight
she had closed her eyes, knowing the exact way in which his hands would
have felt... Fervent caresses reserved for the most precious gift. Not
a fragile one but a craved one. A century to build this desire. Sipping
in even the ultimate corner of her flesh, tasting the sensual flavour
of her ardent, blushing skin, proving their bonding had no limits. And
if it had, she was sure they would be able to break them to reveal new
nameless places.

Spike rubbed against her stomach, getting immobile when her small hands
unfasten his jeans and slipped inside the rough fabric. His demon face
twisted and fluctuated as her fingers traced the smooth skin of his groin,
the soft length of his raging cock. Any thread of self-control seemed to
evaporate as her tongue circled each of his fangs. All covered in her...
More than that. Wrapped, enveloped in hot wires that pierced his dead
nerve-endings bringing them to life. Ten blazing half-moons sank on
his ass-cheeks. He complied with their demand, twisting his hips a little
just to set himself at her entrance.

Buffy gasped, choking down an anxious cry. Needed him so desperately.
Needed him to fill that void that had grown inside her for more than
a year. Her teeth bit hard on one of his nipples. 'Please, please.
I want you. I've wanted you since you crowned me a Queen. Crown me
now. Erase that mistaken night that didn't have your blue eyes to
light my desire. Mould me in a new shape. Yours.' She begged in silence
while her panties disappeared and he slid inside of her with one single
thrust.  

His back arched painfully; his head bent back as a certainty dawned
on him. Dru'd been right. She'd seen it. Seen the deep connection that
lay dormant beneath the hate. She'd forced him to accept it in her
own twisted way. By ditching him. He started to move, slowly at first,
matching her hips, her path. His mouth was attached to one nipple,
sucking it, licking it. One of his sharp incisors cut a tiny gash
when her hands drew him closer. He couldn't but lap the seeping drops.
Ambrosia.

Buffy's eyes were fixed on that spot. Two round forms pushed up by his
hands, the tip of his tongue tainted in red, painting them with strange
patterns... Her hips danced to it while she drank in the whole picture.
Her breath was stuck in her throat. She just wanted to squeeze him so
tight that she'd probably snap him in two. She outlined his cheekbones,
the ridges of his forehead. Her demon. Strange thought that sent
shivers of forbidden pleasure through her body. His hands were vessels
sailing across the delighted curves of her thighs, of her ass, helping
her to match his now faster thrusts. She clutched to his neck, plunging
in the blue ponds of his eyes. At first, she'd have thought the bright
lights of the kitchen would make her feel ashamed. Would stop her from
showing herself to him, as she really wanted to do. Now she welcomed
them as they illuminated him in a dashing glow, hiding nothing,
allowing her to be fully conscious of the man that was making her feel
a woman for the first time. Yes, the first time. As it should have
been.

"This... this what's screaming inside me..." Nothing he might dream of
could have prepared him for this intoxicating surprise. The voice in
his blood blended with her moans in an overwhelming chorus singing one
word. Love. It didn't scare him, though. He didn't feel the rushing
need to shove her aside and run away till next sunrise. He was dying
again; his knees were buckling by the force of his desire. His hands
were filled with strands of golden hair, of scorching skin, sweaty and
slippery under his touch. He knew he was murmuring incomprehensible
things and didn't care. Only her lips, only her mouth, her neck. The
sizzling fingertips sank in his shoulders; her glazed over eyes traced
lines of fire on his face. Her breath was a zephyr confessing secrets.
Secrets that matched his. "Love you..." He whispered in a gnawing way.
Never expected to hear an echo. It reverberated through all the
hallways of his being taking his last thread of strength away.
He couldn't help falling to the floor, dragging her with him.

His entire being was drifting. He slowed his pace, drowning in the
sensation. Connected as never before. Now he'd accepted it, love was
wrapping him in a choking embrace. Gold sparkled behind his half-closed
eyelids. Buffy rolled him over, straddling him, thrusting deeper, her
hands in both sides of his face. "My demon, my beautiful, gorgeous
demon", she whispered over and over. Her movements grew faster, deeper.
He couldn't but match her body. Mine, mine, mine. Here. In this life.
Beyond. Past. Future. A growl started to rise in her chest. She moved
to an incredible speed. Her tongue plundered deeply in his mouth.
Rising her head, her eyes fixed on the yellow ones for a long moment
till her head flew ahead, straight to his neck, biting it with a
triumphal grunt. An earth-shattering orgasm rushed through her while
his back curved in an impossible arc and his fangs sank on her
shoulder, only sipping once before he spurted his being deep in her
womb.

They stayed still for a moment, enjoying the serenity that bathe their
exhilarated breathes till he pushed her up gently.

"Hey, I was comfy!" And that was an intriguing truth. As if this hadn't
been her second... no second, first time ever. How could she be so at
ease? Acting as they had done this for ages, relaxed and undeniably
satisfied...

"Yeah, but the tiles are cold." He smiled; one of those slow and
sensual smiles that made her heart reeled like a hurricane.

"You don't feel the cold." She snugged closer against his chest. Best
mattress ever... 

"'Sides your mom'll probably come down here to check if we're still
alive. Sort of speak. She's not deaf, you know. Let's go to the
sofa..." His smirk was so indecently convincing... She ran towards the
living room in a cloud of muffled giggles and disarrayed clothes and
let him trapped her under his weight on the velvet surface.

Buffy seized his face and planted a resonant kiss on his lips. "If
you're so worry about my mother, then I think you'd go and try to find
my panties..."

He tossed back. "This one, you mean?" A tiny piece of green fabric
appeared between his long fingers. He waved it far away from her
stretched arm. "I think I'll keep it. For lonely days..."

"You're a disgusting fiend!" Buffy slapped his chest and laughed loud
wriggling under him, playfully avoiding his mouth. He stopped the hunt
of her lips when her forehead wrinkled. A serious gloominess clouded
her eyes. "Why are you here?"

Spike sat on the couch running a hand along his muddled hair. "I wanted
to check..." He stood up looking for his duster. His jeans hung about
his waist. He didn't pay attention to it. He went back to the sofa,
lightning a cigarette. "I'd this dream... A crazy one. Thought I was...
you know, channelling Dru or something. Had to see you."

Buffy skidded up his knees. "I'll pretend I haven't heard one certain
name..." She grimaced. "I'd a mad dream as well. You were there. You
and me and..."

"Angelus." The name sounded as a bitter spit. The muscles in his arms
became rigid.

"Yeah, and that made me think that something had happened to him." She
noticed the way his lips faded in a thin, revolted line. "I didn't do
anything... I mean... I know why you kept on scowling at me all night.
You thought... You don't need to deny it. Took me some time to figure
it out but..."

"I know. I..."

"Please don't tell me you could smell it!" She bit his neck when he
nodded harshly. "Anyway, I think I should tell everybody. They must be
aware. It's the only way I can protect them. Besides, I have to find
out why... Where are you going?" She asked, bemused when he jumped to
his feet to arrange his clothes and put on his duster.

"Look for a place to crash. Dawn is just there and I'm not in the mood
of becoming a sodding crisp. It's better this way love, - he hugged her
tightly, rising her from the couch. Her feet dangled in the air as if
she were a doll, - don't want your mother to freak out. And you need
your beauty sleep to face your friendly dragons." His mouth captured
her lips in a hungry kiss. Her legs draped around his waist and she
rubbed against him in urgent circular motions. He broke the kiss with
a grunt rumbling in his throat.

"Got to go." He stumbled backwards, unlocking himself from the jail
of her thighs. Had to avert his eyes not to look at her swollen lips,
at the tip of her tongue licking them. Impish, provocative. He almost
dropped hypnotized by its movement. By the mesmerizing glint of her
eyes. By the way the first violet rays of the approaching sunrise
played in her sleek hair. He shook his head to get rid of the
sensation. A lethargic doze was creeping on him, closing his eyes,
slackening the strength in his limbs... Day light was so near...

"You look like a loony clown..." She whispered, dabbing the black
eyeliner under his eyes with a trembling finger. "Go now. I know you
have to." She walked him to the door and never left the sight of him
till he disappear under the street, at the nearer sewer entrance like
a black, enormous elf.

tbc...



CHAPTER 4

 

Buffy stretched on her bed like a golden cat. She felt so relaxed... As
if something had pinched her butt, her eyes grew wider and she jumped
from her bed running to the bathroom. How could she be so peaceful when
The Owner of Hell was unleashed in the streets? How could she possibly
fall asleep till... Didn't know what time it was. Opening the taps she
ran back to her bedroom. Three in the afternoon! Oh, God, she had
certainly lost her mind. Too much alcohol. Made her oversleep. Made her
fall on that bed as though she'd been knocked out by... Her eyes met
her own reflection on the mirror. That creature couldn't be she. Those
heavy sleepy eyes surrounded by traces of make-up, gleaming with a
strange, fulfilled glow... Her tongue glided over her lips. Swollen and
a little redder with a half smile curving their corners as if they were
sharing her little secret... Her hair was a mess. Or a nest, better
said. Golden strands as yellow straw gathered aimlessly on the same
spot. Her head. A purple bruise... a huge hickey on her neck. No. That
was the...

"Oh, my God! I'm completely mad! He bit me! He bit me twice!!!" She
shouted when her eyes fell to her breasts finding another little scar.
"How on earth I'd let him? How on earth I could enjoy it that much!!!
The wine... that made it. The wine and the shock and... I'm a twisted
thing. I can't miss him. I can't trust him!" She kept on while rinsing
her skin with a sponge. "I can't feel I'm a new girl by only... He made
me feel so good... Loved..." The sponge stopped on her stomach as
frozen by a beaming gun. "No... I probably imagined it. I've imagined
too many things lately when it comes to his annoying being. But he said
it... Said... he loved me! He can't love me!" The sponge began to rub
the same spot over and over again. Her belly bottom seemed to have
developed a strange rabid syndrome. "He can't! I can't! Can't feel so
happy! I've never felt this happy! Hangover. A serious case of post-
wine-nog-Spikeness." She poured so much shampoo on her hair that it
looked as she was wearing a white turban.

 "What if he goes all grrr and starts killing people? What am I
saying??? He goes grrr all the time. And he kills people!!! Okay, he's
not Ang... He's not a monster." She spitted the hot water along with
the shampoo spume. "Well, he is a monster but not THAT monster. I know
him... My mom likes him... My mom can't be that mistaken... She will
kill me!" She stopped in front of the mirror again, wrapped in an
oversize blue towel. "As soon as she knows... 'Cause... I can hide the
bits and the hickeys and the whole lot but sure as hell I can hide this
face. This... well-shagged face!!!" She hit the foggy surface.

"And I bit him!!! I remembered it pretty well. Made me feel so
powerful..." Clothes flew out of her wardrobe and piled on the floor.
"I'm a shrink case. I... I said it too!!!" The black turtle neck
sweater stopped on her face. Mumbling noises came from beneath it. "No,
I didn't. Didn't, didn't, didn't. No, no, no!!! I don't love him! I
can't! I'm confused, that's all. I'm stuck in that stupid past with
that stupid man who is dead and was in love with somebody else and...
I've to stop this. Tell him it was a mistake... don't matter how much
it hurts... But after... - she put on a pair of black boots, - when all
this is over. I've more urgent things to deal with. My mom now and
Giles later. Have to find out what happened... And have to avoid him,
at least when we have no company around. Yes, that's it. Better, I'm so
much better." She tied her hair in a ponytail. "But first... I'm
starving!!!"

She was about to run to the kitchen but aimed for the phone instead.

"Giles? Yes... I did it." Her eyes were fixed on the crystal vase
filled with fresh flowers. "You won't like... I want you to come to my
house. No, - the world had minimized to a land of yellow roses, - I'm
not leaving my mom out of this. Not this time. Yes, an hour. Can you
call the guys? I've got something really urgent to do." She crashed the
phone on its cradle. "MOM!!!"

Joyce emerged from the dining room, sipping from a mug, which said "I'm
a work of art" in black thin letters. She was carrying a book in one
hand. Her middle finger disappeared in between two pages.

"Who brought these?" It didn't matter how hard she tried to subdue her
fear and sound casual. Her heart was stuck in her stomach.

"The boy from the flower store, who else?"

"I mean, who sent them?" And please, don't tell me they came in a black
box...

"Oh, - Joyce dug in her pocket. Her soft smile never left his face, -
here" She handed Buffy a card. A neat, old-fashioned handwriting sailed
on its white satin surface. "The sweet pea confused me a little at
first but then I remembered this wonderful book and... What?" She
finally asked when her eyes jumped from the bunch of roses back to her
daughter's face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, Spike. Doesn't he have a different name?" She walked back to the
kitchen, followed by an agitated Buffy. "'Cause frankly, I don't feel
too comfortable with that..."

"MOM!!! HE IS A VAMPIRE!!!" If the whole neighbourhood weren't aware of
that fact now, they'd probably die ignorant to everything.

Joyce whirled her waist to look at Buffy as if she had just arrived
from Pluto. "Of course he is. Either that or he's got the most serious
case of sun allergy of the whole medical history. Besides, he wouldn't
know the fantastic meaning of flowers unless he weren't at least one
hundred years or more. That was a Victorian skill, did you know that?"

"And you don't care?" Buffy was truly stunned. "Well, picture me
confused here! You hate Angel!" She grabbed the mug Joyce offered,
never leaving the threshold and watching in horror when her mother sat
at the kitchen island. She swallowed the hot coffee and it burnt her
tongue. She didn't even notice it.

"That's completely different." Her mother's back was a rigid line.
"There's something horrible in him. Maybe his eyes..." Her fingernails,
pink and glossy, tapped on the book cover. The Victorian language of
flowers on gild letters. "Or the fact that he never smiles. Have you
noticed that? No, probably not. You're so blind about him..."

"Blind?" Buffy dared to take two steps into the kitchen. "I am blind?
Well, you aren't the... What's that?" She pointed at a small bouquet
that adorned an empty marmalade jar. Beautiful daffodils trimmed with
fern and white heather wrapped in a lace doily and tied with a dark red
satin. It was the most elegant and loveliest little bunch of flowers
she had ever seen.

"Yours." Joyce hid a wide grin when Buffy leapt to the island.

"Give me that book!"

 

In spite of the soporific state in which he had fallen into, Spike had
only slept one hour. Another of those weird dreams had woken him up.
Nothing as crazy and startling as the previous one, though. He was
walking with his mother along the Kew Gardens. Not as William but as
Spike. His true self. Or at least the only one that mattered to him.
She wasn't in the least terrified by his appearance. On the contrary,
she really seemed to be enjoying his natter on a certain golden girl. A
pleasant, peaceful dream. Not a thing he'd never admit in a loud voice,
having sissy dreams about his old lady. He spent five minutes staring
at the opposite filthy wall of the sewer till he realized he was doing
exactly the kind of thing he'd forbidden him to do. Storming along the
narrow, damp corridors he found himself opening a little back entrance
to the local mall. A quick stroll wouldn't hurt. Kept his noggin out of
stupid thoughts. 'Sides the chicks were worth the twitch in his eyes
due to the bright lights.

A little shop window caught his gaze. Victorian flowers. How silly of
these modern people to have this wish of past things. His heavy boots
stopped at the shining glass and a variety of smells and perfumes
attacked his nostrils. A forgotten portion of the dream leapt to his
mind. He was no longer in the Gardens but in some London street with
his cousin Lawrence, who was giving him his advice on which would be
the appropriated Tussie- Mussie to win Cecily's affections. Lawrence,
at his twenty-one, had been a specialist on the ridiculous hidden
meaning of flowers. Odd thing was that Lawrence never knew about
Cecily. He had been killed in a brawl near the Tower Bridge in a
dreadful, dirty inn he, in no way, could have gone to. At least not the
Lawrence they all knew.

Spike found himself picking two bunches of flowers and paying for them.
It didn't count he had nicked the notes three days ago at Willie's.
He'd have bought something useful, like two bottles of Jack or some
fags. Not even... He'd have skanked those things as well and kept his
dough instead of buying some poxy prezzies. Such a prick... He was
really screwed...

 

The house had never been so silent. If it hadn't been for the crumps
that fell from the half-eaten biscuit Xander was holding on his still
hand, she could have sworn that time had stopped. Like in those movies
where people got frozen by some alien invaders. Willow and Oz were
sitting on the sofa and Buffy had a brief moment to feel glad for her
friend. In no way she was going to think about their non-to-sure-
future. She had beaten Angel once; she could do it again.

She stood motionless beside the armchair in which her mother was
sitting. Her hand was on her shoulder as if by touching her she'd get
some serenity to deal with this noiseless bomb she'd just thrown above
all their heads.

Giles finished his tea and put the cup on the coffee table. Slowly,
quietly. As though there was nothing wrong and they were having a tea
gathering at the next country club. Buffy knew that was a bet she
wouldn't have lost. He'd be the first to speak. "Something magical did
it, you said. How are you so sure?"

"Well, it was in the air..." Why did he always have to aim for the
worst spot? She had just wanted to tell them the news without extra
details. It was impossible. Five pairs of eyes pierced her with the
same unspoken, puzzled question. Buffy inhaled. "Okay, Spike was there
with me. He actually... sniffed it." There. Her fingers pressed Joyce's
shoulders unconsciously.

"Spike?!" Xander shrieked and bounced on the armchair. Another won bet.
"Are we talking about the same guy that had wanted to kill you
thousands of times? Not to mention that he kidnapped us?"

Her fist snugged against her chest. "Yes, and that's not the topic
here."

"Not the topic!" Xander's eyes travelled across the other's faces.
"Well, what's the topic then? That we've got TWO freaks out there to be
worried about?"

"Only one. If Spike hadn't been there I wouldn't be talking to you but
tasting your neck. He... saved me."

"Saved you from what? Angelus? He didn't want another fiend to win the
big prize?"

"If you let me explain..."

Some people's lives were so simple... She had nearly dropped that
stupid and out-of-the-way dream of being an ordinary girl. She was a
chosen one, after all. Had to have some benefits... Not the regular
pushing, the unvarying doubts, the constant explanations... Maybe some
support, maybe some faith in one, just one of her decisions...

Xander was out of control. Perhaps it was the lack of other's
reactions. They were as cartoon faces, only their eyes moved to jump
from his red face to her pale one as if they were watching a tennis
match.

"Explain what? That once again you're going to put all of us in danger
for your twisted ideas of one, no! make them two now, favourite vamps?!"

"ENOUGH!" Even Joyce was taken aback by Giles' roaring. "She is right.
I don't think..." There was a long pause. Buffy could almost see the
gears in his brain adjusting to whatever he was going to say. Seemed a
hard task, though. Something he wouldn't have ever done if she hadn't
been who she was. "I must admit that I wouldn't be here if it hadn't
been for him. I mean, for the truce he did with you." His eyes had a
tender spark she had never seen. Her eyes watered. "Besides, if this
situation is due to black magic, I think we should waste our energy in
research rather than fighting each other."

Xander scowled at him and snorted. "Yes, and in the meantime we can
wait in a comfy chair and wait for..."

Joyce stood up so quickly that Buffy lost her balance. "Haven't she
proved, enough times, that she's worth your trust, Xander?" That was a
really angry voice. Soft and controlled. Buffy had always admired that
peculiarity in her mother. How did she manage? No shouts, no screaming
around. Xander sat down again, looking like a beaten puppy. Amazing.
"If she says we can trust Spike, I will. In fact, it makes me feel a
little more relieved to know there's somebody out there who helps her
instead of putting a spoke in her wheel."

"I think she's right." Oz gave her one of his sweet and supportive
looks. She smiled a little before finding herself enfolded in Willow's
arms.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy. This must be so awful to you! Have to deal with
all this again. I won't, and I'm totally promising here, put anything
in your wheel! Hey, I'll help pushing it if I've to! Even if I get all
muddy!"

"I guess it's enough if we don't go out alone. Stick together. Whatever
we have to do we can go with someone else. And Giles is right. We have
to investigate this. See if we can find what did it. 'Cause that will
lead us to who did it. Who could possibly want Angelus back?"

Well, that had been tough. Friendly dragons he had said. Accurate. She
did understand their feelings. The fear, the anger, the pain. She
understood too much lately. Pitiful thing was she couldn't apply it to
certain aspects of her life. Not to those which came to a bleached sexy
vampire who had her awake night after night, staring at her window,
waiting for the bell to ring or the door to be yanked or some thread of
his British voice chatting with her mother downstairs. Nothing. In two
weeks. Daffodils were now a wilted bunch she had placed with extreme
carefulness inside the D of The Victorian language of flowers. Maybe it
was better. Gave her time to think. After all, she'd labelled it as a
mistake. Something she shouldn't have done. Perhaps he'd realized about
the same thing. She knew of heart scars. They healed. Time healed
everything. But if this, whatever was they had together, had taken a
century... This wound would take a millennium.

 

tbc...

CHAPTER 5

 

The logs crunched and crackled in the fireplace. The place didn't sop
up the warmth and gleaming of the fire. It was still dark and fusty and
there were no signs it was going to improve despite the three lamps
that had been lit in the room.

"Well, Hobson, such a remarkable job. The ritual will..."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir but you do realized there's another threat
we haven't foreseen? I'm trying to say..."

"I know what you are trying to say, Hobson." Quentin Travers patted
the other's one shoulder with something between condescension and
superiority. "But this can't be stopped, no matter the unexpected
circumstances that may surround us. She will be fine. We have taken
severe measures just to keep things within the limits of this appalling
place. Not to mention this is a secret ritual. A secret that only the
Council knows about."

"Angelus is a sly beast."

"I am pretty aware of that fact, Hobson. If this Slayer is half of
the things Giles had told us, she will succeed. Now, you were saying
something about a cup of tea?"

 

Buffy yawned for the tenth time in the morning. She felt so tired.
Maybe she had patrolled too much. Taking her payback on piles of dust
that had done nothing to make her feel better. She knew she'd have been
happy. She hadn't even had to dump him or give a speech about her
jumbled emotions and how they had made her slipped that mistaken phrase
of love. Maybe the twelfth yawn was due to a poor diet. Fast food,
faster than ever if she took into account that she had been eating like
a dying bird lately. So that was the only and rational explanation for
this lack of strength that had been threatening to send her to the
floor all day.

Crap, couldn't she have a decent, normal birthday? Eighteen. She had
run downstairs that morning hoping to find another jam jar decorated
with fresh flowers. Still an optimistic chick. There was one with
raspberry marmalade. And toasts and a steaming cup of coffee and
cereals and her mother's sad smile as though she'd read her mind. Of
course she did. Thanks God Joyce had said nothing and, probably, that
would be the best present ever. Perhaps the best thing could be to slip
in her bed early enough not to have to deal with a surprise party that
would end in a disaster. As usual. Her bed and a sneaked bottle of
wine, 'cause after all not every day of your life you're eighteen. And,
in her case, that would certainly have to be celebrated with fireworks.
He'd have lit fireworks for her... In her blood, in her skin, in her
brains. Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh. A mistake. Repeat after me. A mistake...

 

"Well, well, well. And they say there aren't surprises left in these
days. Hi, Spike, my best friend. How have you been?" Willie grasped a
cloth in his hands before cleaning the counter like a maniac.

"Have better days. A bottle. Make it worth it. Don't want to puke in
that shitty excuse for a pee-room you've got back there." Spike headed
for the further table. Wasn't in the mood to listen to the chitchat...
There wasn't any chitchat. Everybody was in the most silent mood. Only
whispers and furtive glances. As if they were expecting big news.

The bottle made a strange noise when it hit the table. Willie had the
jitters or was his imagination? "I've heard Angelus is back." He didn't
pay attention to Spike's raised eyebrows. "Heard he's looking for a
certain blondie..."

"And that would be me? Afraid he can catch me here and tear the place
to the ground, Willie? Don't worry. He'd be dust before you could blink
an eye. 'Sides, I won't stay that long."

He hadn't been in the mood for anything lately. He knew he had acted
liked a chicken shit, leaving her like that... Flowers did it.
Channelling geek William had scared the shit out of him. Made him
think. Odd and astonishing. Should have marked it on a sodding
calendar. He had to bury that wanker inside him for good. To dig a deep
grave and stick him in it, pouring shitloads of lead on his damned
corpse. Prevent him form rising again. From assaulting him whenever he
didn't expect it.

Day after day he had forced himself to sleep after four bottles of
whatever he could find. Night after night he had stood under her window
as the duffer he had turned into. He could taste her blood. Sleeping,
awake. It didn't matter. He'd taste her skin, the salty drops of sweat
between her breasts... the coffee and the mint flavour of the
toothpaste... He had left his refuge only to watch over her when she
slept comfortable in her bed. Fag after fag he had sailed up and down
her body, had slipped inside the covers, had stroke the smoothness of
her curves. With his eyes fixed on the shutters. With all his being
conscious of her presence.

Three words were stuck in his mind. Playing on and on. At least in
those eternal moments in which he was as scatty as a lousy psycho in
an asylum garden. Love... was it love? Or some twisted emotion he had
clung to from his human days? And yet, he still remembered the first
time he saw her. The whole world was rolling in slow motion. He'd
wanted to shove aside whomever that was standing next to her just for
her body to dance against his. He'd wanted to curl and rub and stretch
against the red and yellow silhouette. Had intensified the desire of
having her in all ways possible... He had never thought too much about
anything. Made his noggin begged for mercy. Hadn't found the answer
yet. That hadn't stopped the longing, though.

"... because of the ritual." Willie was still talking and he hadn't
heard a word. Scatty. Yeah.

"You, the Slayer of Slayers, don't know anything about the ritual?
Eighteen's birthday... Slayer, vampire... Fight. One wins. It's said
that there's some sort of no special powers involved. But you can't
trust what you hear, now can you?"

 

He was a vampire. He had super strength and all that shit. The prince
of darkness and blah, blah, blah. Wished he had been as those pathetic
vamps from the movies and turned into a bat just to get to Giles' house
more quickly. He knew about her birthday. Had talked to Joyce when
Buffy'd been at school. He had explained over a cup of hot cocoa. The
lady had understood. Had accepted it. After all, whose mother wants a
monster for her daughter? Not that he cared too much about that
particular thing. But there was something in him that really wanted to
do things right. For once. That had convinced him of his insanity. He
didn't recognize himself anymore.

The door throbbed under his fists. The faded shuffle reached his ears.
If he had been a living being he probably wouldn't have heard it.
Muzzled steps as if the owner weren't eager for reaching the house
entrance.

"Invite me in or for bloody sake I'll wait right here till I'll fry!
And don't even start with that Watcher bullshit!"

Giles' hand clasped the door till his knuckles hurt. If it hadn't been
for Buffy's story he'd have shut that door and waited at the window for
a morning dust show.

Spike flew inside when Giles finally muttered an invitation. His coat
fluttered behind him, around him, like an ominous shadow.

"I'm not going to beat about the bush, Watcher. Just tell me if this
little thing that I've heard is right. There's a ritual and the Slayer
is powerless. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"I would say that's not of your business, Spike." Giles appealed to his
tough side. He wasn't going to be inquired by a vampire of matters
which belonged strictly to the Council. Despite all his doubts and his
disagreement about procedures.

"I'll take that as a yes. You are nuts. You and that bloody council of
yours. Have you seen her powerless? I had. She was lost, for Christ
sake!"

"This is not about strength." Would he be able to reach his distant
glass? He doubted Spike would allow him to move a toe.

"You can't beat Angelus with your brains. He's a cunning bastard. Had
two hundred years to improve his sodding skills."

"This has nothing to do with Angel. Security has been checked twi..."

"And you're a buggering idiot, aren't you?" Spike's roars echoed all
over the room. A comet would have been slower. Suddenly his blue eyes
were a blurring image in front of his glasses. "He'll slip in. He won't
miss this gift you've delivered to him in a golden tray."

Giles stepped back. The hard surface of the wall stopped him. "I see
what..."

"You don't see anything!" There was a grinding sound. His glasses had
vanished under one of Spike's boot. "Those bloody things served you for
no purpose! But I warn you..." His hands were on the wall, framing both
sides of Giles' face. "Pray Watcher. If you care for your bleeding
soul, just pray. 'Cause if something happens to her, I'll torture you
so slowly that you'll wish you'd never been born. And then I'll keep
you as my minion. Just to torture you a little more. Here... - his hand
forced Giles' neck to one side and his fangs sank in his neck. He
didn't drink even one drop before he tossed back - have a sample of
your future."

Suddenly he was gone. As a dreadful nightmare in which one couldn't
tell apart reality from illusions. Giles was terrified. For one long
moment Spike's tone had changed to a thundering, coarse and deep voice.
The sound of black, sordid and foul dungeons. Primitive and unknown
creatures crept starving in its depth. The sound of true evil. Even his
eyes had a hypnotizing gleam. Not yellow but red, as hot embers burning
the edges of his soul. He'd fallen into them seeing that promised,
horrifying future.

Giles knew about not-so-empty threads. Had thrown a few of his own back
in his time. Spike's behaviour had been excessive, though. And amazing.
A vampire showing so much care... If he cared about her, he'd have
known that every book of instructions began with the word trust. She
was the Slayer! The most powerful and brave and... He, her Watcher, had
betrayed her. He wondered if she would ever trust him again after all
the needles, and the chemicals and the magical stones he had used to
induce her a powerless state. He had had to save her! In the middle of
the street as if she were nothing but a little lamb. That worthless
vampire... he had been right. She was terrified. Screaming for help as
if she had forgotten who she was. What she was. And her eyes... Was he
going to forget that spark of true hate in the green depths? Her words,
her obvious, so obvious pain for his disloyalty? Bet Spike had never
betrayed her... As annoying and evil and disgusting and he could keep
on going with the list for the rest of his existence, he surely as hell
hadn't. In spite of...everything, she trusted him. In her in and out
circle of trusting him, she did... Joyce's words jumped to his mind.
"If he is out there...I feel relieved."

Giles ran towards the chest where he kept the special weapons.

 

Darkness surrounded her, more throttling than the terrorized bump of
her heart. Her hands waved in the air trying to find a switch. How in
hell had they thought she would be able to stop such a crazy vampire
with no strength at all? She had brought the weapons and the Holy Water
but... they were nothing if she couldn't even raise a stake in a
trembling fist. She wouldn't even show her face in that awful place if
the bastard hadn't messed up with her mother.

London murky, mucky streets flashed in her memories. Hands, obscene and
indecent, fear and desperation... Yet, she had managed to survive.
Okay, she had been helped in the end but those men... She had managed
to fight them even as the ordinary girl she was back then. Not to
mention her ingenious skills had been on top. She should have talked
about the lack of strength, however. The nervous giggle magnified in
the pitch-dark room. Like ugly, menacing worms crawling up and down the
walls. Hoped he had been there. With all his smirks and stupid cocky
attitude. Just there to help her. To share something of his strength
with her. To imbue yarns of it in her blood. Like a sponge absorbing
water. She'd had been more valiant, knowing he was behind her. Even if
he'd stood in the furthest corner and watched her, she'd have been
braver.

Her hand found a string hanging from the ceiling. A terrorized gaze,
thousands of terrorized gazes looked at her from the walls. Photos of
her mother. Her heart stormed as the door throbbed and pounded.

The pills were the clue. That bottle of pills she had grabbed from that
batty vamp when, thanks God, he had lost his balance before he could
choke her to death. He had gone even madder. Chasing her along those
corridors, across that maze. Only perverted people could have planned
such a trial for somebody they should have taken care of. Giles... As
she entered into the basement, she forbade herself of giving him one
second of her time. It was too precious to waste it in a traitor. Her
mother looked at her from the chair she was tied to. But first...

The daft vamp finally smashed the door and nearly broke her wrist in
his attempt of getting back his pills. She stared at him, silent,
motionless, waiting as he gulped the bottle of water that had been on
a table. She couldn't stop watching even when his body burst into dust
when the Holy Water finally performed its task. Relief washed over her
features and she ran to her mother.

"Buffy, thank God you're okay. Oh, that man..." Her eyes widened with
horror. "Buffy..."

"Don't worry, mom. I'll set you free. He can't hurt you. I promise."

"Don't make promises you won't be able to fulfil, little girl."

Buffy spun on her heels, frozen to the bones. Angelus. The most evil
smile dancing on his lips. His tongue swept them as though he could
taste her in delighted anticipation.

"And they say unlife is not worth it..."

The world shrunk only to two sounds. Her mother's strident scream and
the devilish thump of one boot on the wood step.

 

tbc...
CHAPTER 6

 

Spike had run along the empty streets not daring to stop and sniff the
air more carefully. His fear guided him. His overwhelming fear of
losing her before he could make things right. Show her he wasn't a
quitter. That something weird and uncanny had made a mess of his brain,
turning it into mashed potatoes. There were other scents mixed up with
Buffy's. Joyce's and... Spike stopped as if the whiff had staked him.
That fucking Watcher would die. If they were alive or not. He bloody
deserved it.

A distant, stifled scream stabbed his skull. He whirled around; his
yellow eyes brushing the street. An abandoned doss-house. The smell of
wet cement spiralled up from the windows. Spike rushed into the musty
building, crossing recklessly the corridors, directed by another shout
and the shattering sound of broken glass.

He went into that cellar as if he were blindfolded with black gauze.
Only a dark shape made of black leather was all he could see as he
snatched the collar of a coat and threw Angelus into the hall. He
followed him, not allowing that bastard to get to his feet, never
turning around 'cause if he did, if he agree to the pleading of his
heart, he'd be nothing but a piece of dead flesh. Dead without the
prefix un to keep him going.

 

Joyce was crying. Somewhere behind the haze in which she was wrapped,
Buffy could hear her gagged sobs. The most infamous demon in the same
room with her mother! The thought put springs in her shoes. Her hands
touched the wet cheeks as if she were soothing a little kid. Enjoying
the warmth of her mother's skin. Feeling her alive. The empty bottle of
Holy Water she'd kept in her pocket had been of no purpose. The few
last drops had slightly burnt Angelus' flesh. And yet, the few strings
of smoke had had a sweet and rotten odour... Like fruits long forgotten
under a summer sun. The smashed glass had opened a gash in Angel's
eyebrow. Buffy had really wanted to pierce his eyes with every shiver
of glass that had strewn over her. Of course, she needed strength even
for that. It had been so easy for him to send her to the ground, to
press her tightly to the floor. To pin her wrists trying eagerly to
taste her lips before he could taste her neck. The bulge that was
pressed against her stomach had been the nastier and sicker thing. And
then he had frozen for a bit, growling something about she being a slut.
He had slapped her with such energy that she still heard little bells
tinkling in her ears.

A crack behind her. Joyce didn't look scared, though. Buffy turned
round only to find Giles holding a crossbow. A powerful crash
ricocheted in the basement.

"Take her out of here. Now." She ordered before taking the weapon from
his hands. "To my house."

"Where... where are you going?" Giles couldn't tell what astonished him
the most. She speaking to him again, her command and consequent trust
in helping her mother or the fact she had started to run through the
corridor towards the fighting clamour.

 

Having regained his balance, Angelus jumped on Spike with blind fury.
They stumbled and fell through the stairs pit. He kneed his grandchilde
strong enough to send him to the next room. Spike leapt to his feet
quickly. They both circled the room like boxers on a ring, staring at
each other hatefully.

"You know you can't beat me, Willie. Have taught you that long ago."
That superior tone... 

"You've messed with my women, poncey. I'll dust you for that." And he
had never meant it that much.

"Your women?" Angelus' laughter was a shot in an empty field. Echoing
and outrageous. "You've always liked picking up my crumbs, haven't you,
boy?"

Spike wanted to tear that cackle to shreds. Each tooth slowly falling
to the floor like pearls from a ripped necklace. Instead he kicked
Angel's midriff with such force that he crashed against the lamps
shattering them into pieces. Before Spike could reach him again,
Angelus leapt to his feet and charged. So mad that he might have puffed
along like a black, lethal train. They collided in the air like black
meteors falling over the burning logs of the fireplace. The hot coals
sprayed everywhere like a drizzle from hell in a red, burning twilight.

"Why do you think I've lasted this much, boy?" He straddled Spike with
powerful thighs, marking his words with each blow. "'I'm not a puny
maggot like you."

"No..." He shoved him aside, rolling back up to a standing position.
Blood squirted from the left corner of his mouth. "You're nothing but a
jammy bugger. But your luck is about to change."

Those dark eyes that shimmered with hidden sniggers... Spike had
proved, over and over, he wasn't a failure. Had achieved important
things. More important than those deeds this scumbag bragged of. Yes,
he was older. But not greater. Only a worm feeding out of rat guts and
wandering along filthy alleys just for a sign from... heaven or hell or
whatever he could have found. Instead he had found a treasure. A golden
warrior. And he had screwed up even that. That bloody soul he had
boasted about was nothing but a piece of shit. Dry and so lost that it
couldn't have possibly know the difference between love and self-pity. 
His fist stroke Angel's jaws and it didn't feel like hitting iron
anymore in spite of the howling of his blistered hands. Loosing the
soul had brought nothing but a nightmare. Not some 'let's destroy the
world' nightmare but somebody who had so many birds in his noggin he'd
have sprouted wings out of his sorry lugs. He couldn't even achieve the
ultimate goal. The Slayer. Or him for that matters. Bloody thanks for
that.

Slithering on the hot coals, Angelus made a sweep kick before falling
to the floor. That bastard had bitten her. BITTEN HER! He should have
killed him the first time Dru'd towed him with her. He had known damned
right there wasn't enough room for two roosters in a hen house.
Somehow, he'd forgotten about that. The boy was hilarious. Not because
he was funny but because he was so gullible that made the bullying more
amusing. But he had grown... Had learnt... Not all the lessons he'd
have liked to teach him. That human side of him had always been right
around the corner. But he had achieved... -he was in no way going to
accept anything important related with that sad grandchilde of his -
certain things. Angelus grabbed Spike's head and crashed it against the
floor. One of his knees was firmly placed on Spike's crotch. He had
grown enough to believe, to truly believe he could beat him. Take his
things, his property. He had bitten her... His fist stopped in the
middle of a blow. Had bitten her and hadn't killed her. Hadn't added
a third Slayer to his body count. Why? Grabbing Spike by the lapels of
the red shirt he pulled him to his feet. Their gazes locked like two
gold, electric drills.

The dark figure of Angelus towering above him didn't diminish the slow
grin forming on Spike's lips. Those eyes were so easy to read. The poor
bastard was trying to twig it. Of course he'd smelt it. Probably not
the whole thing. Only the biting. But for a selfish bastard like him,
that was enough. He'd had the right to mess with Dru every day of their
"happy family" existence. But, what would the almighty Angelus have
done if his grandchilde had got nearer his precious slut Darla? Not a
stake, that's for sure. Artistry meant agonizing punishments, hideous
tortures, painful reminders of 'your place here, boy.' But if he
thought he was going to quell his doubts or certainties or whatever he
was thinking, he was more than crazy. "Hope it eats you, crunches you,
rips your sodding brain out of your skull", Spike would have shouted.
For the first time in his unlife he changed tactics and jabbed
Angelus' right eye with an elbow without crowing about. He made a
diving shoulder roll before Angelus could turn round. The berk was
fast, in spite of his bulky shape. A full spinning wheel kick
dispatched Angel to a wall.

 

Buffy entered into the room at full speed, without taking care of
possible hazards. She had banned the thought of finding only a dark
figure waiting for her. The room was a sinister black, tinged with
a reddish glow. She felt as if she had entered into a huge, pounding
heart. The beats came from the floor where two silhouettes struggled
like hellish chrysalises inside a black cocoon. With her back sliding
against the wall, she reached the furthest and blackest corner. There
was a slight, fainted tick when she opened one of the bottles she had
picked up from the bag she'd brought and left in one of the many rooms.
The point of the bolt that she placed in the crossbow shed dark red
tears.

Spike rolled over, jumping to his feet. He flinched from the blow that
sought his jaw. A flurry of cold wind grazed his left cheek and stabbed
Angelus' right nipple. Angel looked down at the bolt completely
flummoxed. A rush of malevolent smoke flung off from the wound while
his face twisted in agony. His bleeding mouth expelled a shrilling yowl
as he yanked the bolt out and hurled it down. Another arrow pierced his
shoulder, followed by a little flask of water. The splash reached
Spike's face making him hiss. Holy Water... Swerving to his left,
Angelus avoided the next approaching bolt and dashed out with a roar.

Spike swirled around still in his demon face. Buffy stood out in that
corner as though she was standing under a spotlight. Her steady hand
held the crossbow like a life belt from the Titanic. Spike lunged at
her with a growl. His hand slapped the weapon from her fist. He pressed
her against the wall, unfastening his jeans with a flick of his wrist,
guiding her sweaty hand to his shaft. She smelt of daffodils, of fear
and rage. Of sorrow and white heather. His kiss was avid, angry,
bruising. He rubbed himself harder; his knee disappeared between her
legs. On the dark, black corner of the silent boarding house only
groans existed. As if a bizarre creature had been abandoned there. As
if it couldn't exist but in the shadows. Her fingers' pace was as angry
as his lips, as his tongue battling inside her mouth. Buffy knew she
was hurting him but her need was stronger than her concern. She
understood his rage 'cause it matched hers. Helped hers to feed back as
a massive machine absorbing loads of energy, sending it back in myriads
of pulsating reddish novas.

His need was devastating. His desperate need of knowing her alive, of
hearing the rumbling gallop of her heart. Of getting rid of the entire
wrath and the fright of nearly losing her in spite everything he'd said
to himself in those past lonely nights. His hands left the wall and
pulled her nearer, tighter. His forehead pressed against hers as he
came with an agonized grunt. Only for a second he kissed her brutally
before tugging at her denim overalls, hard enough for the two hooks to
clatter on the floor with a shocked little shriek. Crouching down he
finished undressing her by tearing them apart.

Buffy arched against the wall as he pulled one of her legs over his
shoulder. Her ordinary white cotton panties vanished from her body. His
face dived between her thighs, making her jolt and grabbed his hair in
a frantic grip. She was sliding, swirling on new ice skaters. Spinning
on and on, her head dizzy and overwhelmed with powerful sensations as
his tongue thrust deeper inside her, circled and tasted her with sharp,
frenzy flicks. She pushed herself against his mouth; her knee buckled
and her shoulder blades pressed the wall. Her breath came out in short,
weeping moans. She'd like to watch down. Had never experienced that
before. But she didn't dare to open her eyes, scared that the whole
place would collapse in a whirlpool of blurring contours. Afraid of
falling to the floor into a puddle of rattling waves of blood. A
sobbing orgasm ran through her body and she couldn't help the sobs to
become a silent, quivering, deep cry.

Standing up, Spike hugged her with such force that he could feel the
buttons of her shirt digging into his flesh. She was wrapped around
him. Her legs, her arms, her face sank in the crook of his neck.

"Shhhh, love. I got you, I got you." He repeated in a low voice. "Never
leave you alone again. Promise that. I'll take you home now."

"I can't go home. I'm naked." She tittered between receding sobs.

Gently, he pulled her down and put his coat around her before taking
her up in his arms. "Won't let peeping eyes on your curves, pet. Those
are only for me. When we reach your comfy bed." He promised with a
roguish look, kissing her eyes.

 

tbc...


CHAPTER 7   
 

Buffy chewed the same nail for the fourth time unable to focus on
Willow and Giles chat. By the blush in her friend's cheeks, which
contended with her sleek hair, she'd have known that something really
important had been achieved. Instead, all her mind was able to sing was
the same dreadful song, as a soundtrack for the movie sliding inside
her head. Faith had killed a man. Faith had killed a man and I was
there. I was there and did nothing to prevent it. I'm a partner in
crime. Faith had killed a man... She stared at her clean palms.

"Don't you think, Buffy?" Giles sat at the end of the school library
table with a steaming cup of tea. Buffy looked down at her own cup.
When did she ask for it? She shook herself just to centre into the now
and here.

"Sorry, I was just... I'm sorry." Her nose nearly dived inside the cup.

"I was saying that I've..., you know, working on a spell... Just to
find out who was behind the Angel... - Willow paused for a little but
no flinch manifested in her friend's attitude – thing and big news are
that the traces... the traces of energy... a spell requires certain
amount of..."

"Willow! Just say it, okay?" And let me think what I'm going to do to
fix all this mess I'm into...

"Okay, I'm absolutely sure the Mayor had something to do with it. Or at
least someone who works around him. The location spells are accurate.
Can't fail. Well, unless is performed in a very bad way but..." Willow
nodded at Buffy's intense gaze. "The traces that went out from Angel's
house went straight to the City Hall."

Buffy gulped her tea. Maybe that man... 'Allan Finch... His name was
Allan Finch and I won't never forget it...' Another song of the
soundtrack. Maybe he knew something... Maybe he was going to snitch his
own boss? Had to do some research. Had to know why that man had been
there, so close to a pair of Slayers... Spying? Watching them? Trying
to fill his boss in about their routines? Only one way to know she
had... Breaking into the City Hall. Find out... Easier said than done.
If the Mayor was behind the Angelus outbreak... Better go with
someone... As support...

"So we know who might be behind it but we don't know how it was
performed." Giles bent over the table to grab a thick, green volume.
"I think this might help. I've received them this morning – he blew the
dirt from the cover and a thin cloud of dust made him cough – and this
here is the most powerful and archaic grimoire I had the chance to
achieve since I've arrived here. Of course, it's not the only one and
it'd help if we'd have at hand the impressive library..." Two pairs of
eyes were sneering at him. "Perhaps you want to study it, Willow?"          

 

Spike sat at Finch's desk chair as if he were the owner of the place
and were about to call somebody to bring him a cup of blood. One of his
boots heels tapped the wooden surface with an annoying bit.

"Can't you just stop doing that?" Buffy shut one drawer so hard that
she almost crouched down for a second waiting for someone to appear.

"Just when you tell me what's getting your knickers in such a twist.
Spare me the I'm the Slayer and this bloke in here was eeevil..." He
made a mockery of claws with his hands.

"I've told you..." The words strangled in her throat when a sudden
flash of black and silver spread her onto the desk. 

"You've told me a bunch of shit."  The tip of his tongue came out from
his lips like the nose of a pink, tiny mouse. "Now, will you please be
so kind to tell me?" That soft tone could have probably won William's.
For a shaking, fleeting second Buffy pictured him with glasses.

The facts escaped from her mouth before she had time to mull over the
matter. A long, breathless speech that made the blue eyes grew wider
than flat piñatas.

"Well – Spike sank back into the chair. A wry smile danced on his lips
– that's news worthy! A murdering, nutty Slayer on the loose! If you
see her call the coppers! Don't try to do anything! She's bloody
dangerous!" Buffy straddled his lap as her hand half stopped his
guffaws.

"If you don't shut up, I'll gag you!" She promised casting a quick,
nervous glimpse to the door. "It's not funny! I was there!"

"Promise about the gagging...?" His hips thrust slightly upwards.
"Okay, let me enjoy it for just another second." He closed his eyes.
His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he muffled another laugh.
Buffy forgot she was angry. In that moment, she'd liked to hug him and
kiss him as if they were in a desert island. Powerful feelings those
he'd raise with only one stupid laugh. "That's it. Now, what's the big
deal of you being there? Is not that..." Something in her eyes brought
him to a halt. A worried shadow. A shocked shadow. As if she wasn't
worth anymore. "You are. Worth it, I mean. You didn't do it, pet. Just
had the bad luck to be there with her. It's not that somebody is going
to believe that crazy bint if she's delusional enough to frame you..."

"But what if...?"

"If... I'll bite her. And whoever believes her. Right now, I think we'd
leave. Have wasted too much time and there's nothing here anyway."

 

"What's a Slayer without a watcher?" The Mayor asked bending forward on
his desk. His fingertips touched each other as though he was holding an
invisible sphere. "Did you know, this is really funny, that her
watcher's great granddaddy was the keeper of the books that will help
my ascension? It's said that he kept other things as well. Powerful
things. Extraordinary things. The Devil Stone. Siva's sceptre. Among
others." His gaze was lost between his fingers.

Angelus paced slowly along the office, lifting every object and turning
them in his big hand as if he was picking something in a gift shop. "I
wouldn't mind to take care of Giles..."

Wilkins' giggle caught his attention. His fingers clutched a crystal
globe as though he was considering its potential harm.

"And turn it into a failure again? Mr. Spike is around again, isn't he?
No, this must be performed... I wonder if this Watcher knows about the
sceptre... Maybe it's hidden somewhere... Of course, he wouldn't answer
if we asked him, would he? He's a tough guy after all. You know that."

"We could steal it." Angelus put the crystal orb on the shelf again.
"We could steal it from the keeper himself."

"I'd really like that. It would be really poetic. Do you know what
happens to a human being when time is severed? When certain things that
should have happened are erased from the time slate? They vanish.
Simply as that. Intriguing thing." The Major leant backwards. His eyes
veiled for a second. An idea was swimming in them, so clear that
Angelus could almost read it in the constant movement of the dark
pupils. He liked the forming plan. He really liked it.

"We've got more important things to deal with right now. This little
witch... She is close. Very close to know about the Vessel."

"Willow?" Angel snorted with disgust. "She is a novel, little brat.
Can't do anything..."

"That's not what our warlocks have said..." The Mayor swung a finger in
the air. "Again, the same question. What's a Slayer without a Watcher?
What's a Slayer without her personal witch? That who casts the spells
the Slayer needs for certain tasks..."

"What's a Slayer without his personal demon? A traitor who helps the
one who he is supposed to erase?" Angelus added with a wolfish grin. He
liked the idea. Oh, yes. From this beginning to the exceptional end.

"There's a problem, though." Wilkins stopped his twisted contemplation.
"There are two Slayers."

"I might have some helping news..." Demons chatted. Rumours travelled
in the night as hidden spectres. "I've heard one of them has been
naughty... Have crossed certain boundaries... Maybe I could... talk her
into... joining us? As protection, naturally. She'll be expelled. Or
convicted in far, far, England. Yeah, I could try..."

"Admirable inspiration." The Mayor grin was a white brick wall. "I knew
having the best of all times by my side was going to be an
extraordinary attainment. You and me will rule this world, my friend.
And others, of course. We'll be able to choose which keep and which
throw to the trash can of the Universe."

 

Buffy peeked out the hall before stepping out into it. Suddenly, Spike
grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the office. They spied
through a crack of the door as The Mayor walked out from his own
office, his hand resting on Angelus shoulder. Spike stepped back to a
window and opened it slowly enough to avoid any crack. They both jumped
to the street and didn't stop running till they were six blocks away
from the City Hall.

"So little Red was right, ah? The bloke has been behind this all the
time." He lighted a fag and took a deep drag. "Wonder what he needs
that bleeding ponce for..."

"Stopping the world? A massive, hellish apocalypse? Releasing a green
toxic fog to raise all the dead of the world for eating our brains?"
She teased waving the smoke out of her face.

"Watching too much TV, blondie? Guess I haven't been around enough,
then." He snapped the fag away. His arm held her waist, pulling her
closer. "I agree with the apocalypse thing, though. This will be
massive, that's for sure. He wouldn't have jumped into it for another
piece of stone."  His tongue licked one corner of her mouth. "It must
be more than an ordinary apocalypse. Guess he was promised the world or
some rot like that" His lips glided along her neck.

What? Apocalypse? World? Buffy was beyond words. She just wanted him to
keep on doing that for the years to come. Even if the world exploded in
that very second. Her hands grabbed his red shirt just to deepen the
kiss. "Yes, maybe... I have to stop..." Her hips swayed against his
like a kite in a lurid sky. "Have to stop... them."

"What colour is it?" His hand cupped one ass-cheek.

"Hmmm?" She nibbled his earlobe.

"Your knickers. What colour..."

She pulled back a little. "Why? Are you starting a private
collection?" Her eyes widened in surprise. That smirk... "You are!
I can't believe what a perv you are!"

"Oh, come on, honey... You love it. Admit it..."

"What I'm going to admit right now is that we've got to go back to
Giles and brief him." She brushed off the hands that were trying to
seize her. "Willow is working on this spell... If they find out..."

"Okay. Don't want to spoil your duty fun." His hands disappeared inside
the pockets of his duster. Buffy dared to take a quick glimpse at him.
Pouting. He was pouting. That sexy, irresistible lower lip of his was
jutting out for her to bite it. She wasn't going to. No way. A
murdering Slayer and a serial killer at large was more she had ever
expected to find in her more than demon-crowded path. No pouting or
malicious look would possibly make her forget...

"Stop!" She whirled round with her hands on her hips.

"Are you completely out of your top? Haven't done anything here!"

"Playing the fool is not your best suit, Spike." She started walking
again, her back rigid as a wall. "And before you say something
idiotic... first we have to talk to Giles. Then... we'll see."

"Thanks for the encouragement, pet. And for the crumb." He mumbled
lightning another cigarette.

"I heard that! This... it's only a game for you, isn't it? Can't you
see what I'm dealing with here? I saw somebody like me killing a man!
It'd be me! I'd have done it! It isn't something that I can talk freely
about... I have to give her away and somehow I... feel sick about it."
She finished in a low voice.

"But you didn't do it. You bloody didn't! That loony bint did it and...
what do you think? That she wouldn't tell if it'd be otherwise? Or
what? This isn't only about her? Is that beloved Peaches of you
what...?"

"I don't give a damn about him, you sorry, silly vamp! I only want
him out of my way! How can you say that when all I've done is hurling
myself at you in... Forget it" She threw out her hands with a furious
movement.

"You have...? Hurled yourself...?" Spike trotted behind her trying to
peer at her face through gold strands of hair. Finally, when it was
more than obvious she wasn't going to stop pelting along the street,
he yanked her coat to make her stop. "Talk to Giles. Talk to the whole
sodding Council if you want. Only an hour. 'Cause after you are done
with the talking I'll shag you so hard that you won't be able to talk
till next year. Got it? Now, let's find that bloody Watcher of yours."

He grabbed her wrist and nearly dragged her towards Giles' house
without further words. She didn't need any. Her heartbeat was so loud
that she didn't need vampiric ears to hear it. Running, that was it.
Running and that horror meeting show at the City Hall. Couldn't be for
that simple, arrogant and uncouth promise of him. She found herself
wondering if there were any clocks in Giles' flat...

 

Little black dots waltzed in front of his eyes life diminutive dwarfs
wrapped in dark cloaks. Xander was drowning in a choking whirlpool and
blackness was starting to blur Faith shape. He should have taken
Buffy's word. She knew how to deal with weirdoes. She had learnt to
known if somebody was only screwing with your brains. If somebody was
using you... So how in hell she was seeing that bleached freak? He was
dying and he still had time for that... Lack of oxygen... Why in hell
hadn't he heard Giles advise? He'd promised not to go alone to confront
this murderer Slayer but no. He had to cross his fingers behind his
back as a spoilt child swearing not to curse again. Idiot! Before he
fainted he took a glimpse of a dark shape at the threshold. Maybe the
angel of death had come for him. Maybe some angel of aid. He needed
some aid. He'd have welcome Spike's help itself in that moment. His
head fell on the pillow with a quiet thud. 

"Is that your best show, Faith?" Angelus stepped inside the room
walking straight to the bed. "Hmmm. Lousy. I mean, that child is not
a real challenge..."

"What the hell...?" Faith leapt from the bed, reaching the stake she
had left on the bedside table. "How did you...?"

"Entered? Well, don't need an invitation in a public, cheap motel like
this." His arms reached out in a rush. The stake was suddenly waving in
the air between two of his fingers. "You certainly should work in your
style. It sucks, really." His gaze made a quick jump at Xander's
figure.

"You think I need that to kill you?"

"And that's how you thanks me for my help..." He threw the stake to
a corner walking back to the door. "You see, since there are so many
people interested in... locking you up, I said to myself... 'Hey, maybe
she needs somebody to protect her.' He went out for a second and came
back dragging a suited man by one foot. "You know, since they could
probably want to commit her in some kind of Slayer asylum... far away
where she will never see the..."

Faith rushed to the door and peeped out. Four more men were lying on
the floor under the dim lamp of the porch. "So, who are they?"

"I could say some sort of Council welcome party. But of course, I can't
be sure..." He dropped the man to the ground and kicked him out of his
way. "If you want to stay here and ask to the next bunch..."

"What do you want?" She asked without taking her eyes from the pile of
humans spread at her feet.

"I thought we could make a deal. A trade better said. You killed Allan,
our Mayor's best friend..." His laugh had a mocking ring. It never lit
his dark eyes. "So there's a vacancy. I'm offering you to take it. What
do you say?" He shortened the gap between them.

"With the Mayor. You worked for the Mayor..." It was her time to laugh.

"Not for. With. We could be... friends. Have some fun..." Angelus
cornered her against the doorframe.

Faith mulled over his words for a moment. Of course, they'd come back
for her. Not once or twice but hundred of times if she didn't flee away.
She was used to that. Running away had always been some sort of karma in
her short life. This offering... something in it sounded so tempting.
Using her power to make a difference. No matter which one. No one would
judge her, or lecture her about morality and how little good girls sat
with their legs appropriately crossed and remained chastely mute when
gentlemen spoke. She'd be her own master, her own watcher and her own
rules maker. With the extra bonus of a wild, handsome vampire to screw
every night she might feel lonely. Bet B. knew something about that.
If not, why in hell she's screwing one at that moment? She knew the
answer to that. He was gorgeous. He was hot and powerful and surely
as hell she'd never be able to find someone that could match her in
a better way.  Her eyes finally left the Councilmen and climbed to
Angelus' face. He might not be Spike but he'd do... At least for now...
"Sounds really interesting..." Her fingers traced his jaw. "May we start
now?"

 

tbc...


CHAPTER 8
 

The only sound that filled the Mayor's office was a beating one as if
somebody had forgotten an opened tap. Three pair of eyes were fixed to
a monitor as the security camera tape showed Buffy and Spike skulking
through Allan Finch's office. The image made a leapt and showed them
walking out of it only to step backwards. Wilkins cursed and knocked
the monitor. It buzzed like a dying bee.

"Damn thing! It's not funny if you can't listen to what they are
saying!"

"The chat is not important. They have seen us and now they know..."
Angelus stopped his fingers dance on the desk.

"They knew it before that." The Mayor shook his head and sighed as
if the whole thing was extremely boring. "You didn't pay attention to
the witch part, did you? She knows... Had followed the traces of the
Vessel. They all lead to this place. I think it's time for our next
plan. I really want that sceptre..."

"What plan? And may I add what sceptre now that I'm at it?" Faith's
eyes never left the frozen image in the monitor. That damned bitch!
Always snooping around. Bet she had gone there to look for something
she could use to incriminate her. A proof... She rewind the tape and
stopped it just when Buffy was straddling Spike's lap. His face had a
seductive gleam that made all the lights in the office looked opaque
and dreary. What in hell a hottie like that was doing with and obvious
dull, killjoy creature like Buffy? Faith's fingertips outlined Spike's
frozen picture. She should have known how to gallop that one... He
looked like one who would really enjoy some of the games, no... all
the games she would have liked to play with him. "What...? Sorry,
you're saying?"

"Why don't you brief her while I talk to my... advisors?" The Mayor
spat Angelus' shoulder. The vampire didn't notice it. He had seen Faith
drawing her hand from the screen as if she had been caught stealing
something. Spike's smirk slapped him from the screen. "We are going to
have an extraordinary party! I can't wait!" Wilkins sang before
disappearing into the hall."

 

Buffy limped towards Giles's door dreaming of a hot bath and a pair of
strong, big hands to ease the stiffness in her right leg. A bubble bath
was out of the question. She hadn't time for that luxury. Fantasies
sucked sometimes. What was the point in having them if you couldn't put
them in action? The disgusting, sticky and stinking splodges of her
ruined coat begged for a trashcan. A rush of insults and a too loud TV
set welcomed her as soon as she opened the door. She walked towards the
sofa where Spike was half sitting; half crouched yelling as a madman at
the screen.

"You could have come..." She screamed just for him to advert his eyes
from the TV.

"Where?" Only one blue eye left the monitor.

"Patrolling with me."  Stupid attempt that of hers. As if a drenched
girl could possibly compete with a football match.

"And watch you while you dust my mates? No thanks."

She nearly sat on the couch but leapt to her feet when she realized
about the horrible mess her jeans would probably made if that smelly
grey slime got in touch with the velvet surface. Giles would shout till
next summer or he would make her rubbed it over and over again just to
get rid of the gummy stains. "It's my job..."

"Well, yeah." He was merciful enough to turn the TV down. "But that
doesn't mean I'm going to sit in the first row and clap. Now, shut that
pretty mouth of yours, ah pet?"

"I'm taking a bath..." And bye, bye fantasies. Of any kind. It wouldn't
hurt if she tried, though. "Want to help me?"

"Ah?... What?... Later..." A caveman could have probably known how to
speak better.

She was getting really angry now. No wonder he hadn't wanted to wait
at her own house as Giles had asked. Her mother wouldn't have let him
watch that... Who was she kidding? Of course she would have let him.
And maybe she'd have even bought a six-pack only for him.

Standing in front of the TV she made her last attempt.

"I can't understand where is the fun in watching twelve guys running
after a ball."

Spike swayed from side to side trying to catch a glimpse of the match.
He looked at those stupid dog toys with a spring in their necks. "They
are not twelve. They are twenty-two. Now please move." He jumped from
his seat, his hands on her shoulders and his chin on her entangled
hair. "YES!!!"

Buffy flinched and squeezed her eyelids shut. Boy, he had destroyed
her ears! But he had said yes... With a quick flick of her wrist she
grabbed the remote control, turned the TV off and threw it away. The
plastic device landed on the table with a not too pleasant thump.

"NO!!! Bloody hell, woman! Why have you done that!?" Spike lunged to
the table, jumping over the sofa. "We're under by two and we're about
to kick a soddin' penalty. Bollocks! I'm going to rip your throat
out!" He yelled from the floor where he had fallen after his boot had
got stuck in the carpet.

"That means you're going to take a bath with me?" Buffy looked at him,
leaning over the back of the couch. He was really pissed off. A louring
look. Dark, threatening clouds running in his eyes. "They are black.
Lace, actually. With these beautiful red silk ribbons tying them up at
the sides..." She teased backing towards the bathroom as he crawled on
the carpet. Grunts rumbled on his chest and she couldn't tell if he was
playing or he was really going to kill her. "But, if you don't want
them... Ahhh!" She cried when he leapt from the floor and raised her
to one of his shoulders, kicking the bathroom door.

 

"Willow, are you done?" Giles locked the padlock that kept his special
and forbidden books out of inexpert hands. Willow had learnt quite
a lot since last year... He shut out the reasons. Too painful. Yet,
he had a new chance now. An opportunity to take... He shut out that
thought as well. A resounding explosion made him whirled around.
A bright white light blinded him for a moment.

"Wow!" That was Willow's voice. She was fine, then. Giles's heart
didn't take notice of it. It continued trotting for quite five minutes.
"Have you seen that? Giles! Have you seen...? Are you all right?"
Willow helped him to get to a chair.

"I saw it before it blinded me." Giles rubbed his forehead with his
handkerchief. "What was that?"

"Well, as you know I've been searching some other traces of energy.
They are so helpful to understand the hidden meaning of spells!
Remember the one that lead us to the woods? It taught us something
really interesting..."

"Willow... To the point, please. Buffy and Spike are waiting in MY
house and I still have to live there." It never stopped to wonder
him how he could sound so casual about that particular topic. He
hadn't forgotten his last confrontation with that unbearable demon.
He still had nightmares where he woke up with fangs and big ridges
over his forehead.

"Okay!" Willow bent over the table. A big Sunnydale map was spread
on it. It had a little hole in one section. A thin line of smoke
still waved from it. Willow blew it and smiled foolishly at Giles,
hoping the light hadn't burnt a matching hole on the table. "The
warlock they summoned for the Vessel... he is back. But he's not
alone. They have performed a terrible spell there." She pointed
at the map hole. "Maybe right now."

"What?" Giles pushed up his glasses and leant over the table.
"Right now? What have they done? Do you have any clues?"

"Well, not sure about it. Maybe not right now but this morning
or yesterday night. The energy is still buzzing in there. I can
tell you. And for the what they have done... Maybe a portal. It needs
a huge amount of energy to open one. I know." She nodded proudly.
"But I have this feeling it was something else... It's in the docks...
We could... check?" A gleaming spark shone in her green eyes. She
had worked so hard in getting better and better in this strange,
powerful and mysterious subject. It wasn't as Maths or History
where all you have to do was use your brains and study hard for
the next day. She liked that. But she liked this even more. It
gave her some sort of power she had never had. Made her special.
Open new doors full of surprises and wonders. And, in a way,
it was like studying History. Every single king had had a witch
or a wizard to consult before each battle. They didn't even move
a finger if the stars didn't say so. And who read the stars?
People like her...

"Have you found anything about the Vessel? How it works? Because
these books you have asked for are very powerful and I don't want
to..."

"Oh, yes!" She grabbed some papers and an old book. "I'm not going
to tell you the whole tale 'cause I know you want us to be all
together but... I've been chatting with this friendly girl from
Bulgaria... Have I mention she is from a coven? I wonder if I... Yes,
yes. I know. She told me some Greek monks kept the Vessel in a temple
somewhere near Turkey. Yes, - she explained when Giles frowned, -
'cause it's said that it was Hermes Vessel. The flask was the
container in which he carried the souls to the Underworld."

"The monks gave it to... No, of course, - he sighed at her mocking
look, - it was stolen. But if it was used to... Then Angel soul is
trapped in it!"

Willow nodded cheerfully. She was so good at this! "All we have
to do is destroy it. Well, find it and destroy it. Well, not
only destroy it... There's this spell... more like a ritual... But
first I think we should check this hole?"

Giles gathered the books and walked out of the library. A ritual...
It didn't sound that simple. Looking at a more than eager Willow
didn't help to ease his doubts. She was so young... He didn't want
her to be harm in anyway.  Her skills had improved in ways he had
never expected, though. And that mere fact filled him with a primal
fear he didn't understand. He took mental note of watching her
closer. Put some limits. Some boundaries. She shut the door of the
car with a strange smile dancing on her lips. Yes. Limits. Before
it could be too late.

 

Fantasies had their own way to get real. Bubbles weren't sailing
on the water but inside her veins. Million of bubbles, small, big,
crashing around in her blood while Spike's tongue traced her inner
thighs, his teeth nibbling them like a delicious snack, his
fingertips running like tickling fairies along her waist. Buffy
was a puddle of bubbles spread on the sofa. She knew she had to
do something. Important. Something that had to do with the clock
or the fact that it was late. Her wet hair shed little drops of
water on the green velvet. On her forearms stretched over her head
just for her hands to clutch the arm of the couch. Something flew
over her head like a teasing mosquito. An elusive thought.
Something she should be worried about. Something... he did know how
to make her forget about everything... His tongue suddenly plunged
into her hot core and the thought scurried from her mind like
a mouse looking for shelter. She pushed herself downwards, moaning
and wriggling and a piercing sound was filling her ears; his big
palms lifted her round ass and the noise started to knock the walls
as if the mouse had turned into a shrilling big rat. Her back
arched with every circle his tongue drew inside her. Her fingers
sank in the sofa while he lapped her with urgent strokes and his
fangs scratched one of her thighs. His mouth sucked deeply and
she exploded in shaking, trembling spasms that left her limped
on the couch.

"The bell is ringing, honey." He said among giggles and she tried
so hard to understand the words. They seemed to float by her like
the thought that had return to tease her... Buffy sat with a jerk
and ran to the bathroom flinging her stained clothes on. Giles...
How on earth could she have forgotten about him? She went back to
the living room, a little flushed, a quick glimpse at the clock
said it was twelve thirty and Spike was lolling about as if his
legs weren't made of rubber as hers were and where were Giles
and Willow?

"We thought they were here. I went to the library to pick her up
but there was nothing there..." Oz sounded really worried.

"Only a map with a hole." Xander avoided Spike and opened a door
cabinet. He found a cookies bag and was about to crunch one when
he caught Spike's raised eyebrow. Turning round he leapt on the
sofa scowling at the vampire with extreme disgust. Spike's smirk
grew wider when Xander fidgeted on the damp spot Buffy's hair
had left on the velvet.

Buffy frowned; a question sketched on her forehead. What was so
important about a map and a hole? Sometimes she couldn't get
Xander's remarks.

"Yes, the docks." Oz asked to Spike's question. Obviously, he
had made sense of that insignificant issue. "I wanted to go there
first 'cause I know Willow..."

"We should go then." She looked at Spike. No further words. He
put his coat on and stomped outside to get his car.

"I'll follow you in the van." Oz hurried after Spike.

"Xander... why don't you stay here in case they come back?" Buffy
disguised her order behind a begging voice. Last thing they needed
right then was an annoying friend and an annoying vampire darting
insults and male ego to each other. So different from Oz... Maybe
it was some sort of demon bonding... Vampires, werewolves... A matter
of skin. As distorted as it might sound.

 

A big rat dashed between Buffy's boots making her jump with a shriek.
God, how in hell could she possibly be so frightened about those little
creatures when she had seen tons of different and dreadful beings in
the last years? Getting closer to Spike she looked at the next
warehouse. A lamp covered in dust lighted dimly the narrow street
filled with dustbins, pissed old newspapers and card boxes. The
bulbs of the street lamps had been smashed long ago. One of the
posts was bent to the ground as if a lorry had hit it.

"Sure this is it?" Buffy asked peeping through a hole in the wooden
door. After finding Giles's car, they had checked three warehouses
with no results. Spike's smelling powers were not at full tilt.
Strange and scary. She didn't even want to consider what could
possibly be the cause of it. Had him in an uneasy, jumpy mood.

"I can't be bloody sure, can I?" He raised his head; his nostrils
quivering as he tried to tell apart the mingled scents of old dog and
human urine, piles of rubbish and something that underlie... deadly
nightshade and myrrh. Water, stagnant water. As though they were all
standing at the edge of a filthy moat filled with rotten meat and
putrid fish. Deeper, there was blood and fear. And underneath he could
still pick up his grandsire's scent but faded as a bad memory. Above
all, the humming chimes of malignant power that had his skin twitching
with sickness. This wasn't good. He had never felt this way when it
came to sodding spells. But the whole warehouse seemed to be expecting
them to enter just to phagocyte them as a huge carnivorous plant from
hell. As though behind that same ordinary, scraped door he could find
hell itself waiting to hang him from a hook and torture him for all
eternity. He was damned sure that Angelus' torturing sessions would
have been a walk in the park compared to those who waited inside that
house of horrors. He was about to beg, yes, beg Buffy to turn round and
run as fast as she could when a strident screech cut the air better
than a cleaver. She opened the door and jumped inside before he could
stop her. "Oh, fuck, woman. I only wanted you to be safe. To let me
confirm this horrible hunch and let you now." Instead of shouting it
aloud, Spike stopped Oz with a sharp movement of his hand.

"Stay here, mate. Whatever you hear just stay here, okay?" If he could
have sweat he would have been a fountain by then. "And if we don't go
out in one hour... get a torch and set the whole docks on fire." He
commanded before rushing after Buffy with his undead heart stuck in his
mouth.

 
tbc...

CHAPTER 9

 
It was dark. Dark and cold and...damp as if he was sliding on an ice
lake in a winter night. The scents were stronger here, all mixed-up
with other odours added to the foul blend. Yellowish chinks of light
came through the rifts in the distant, wooden ceiling but never
reached the floor. Little, tiny, as remote as stars from a nebula.
Unconsciously, Spike began to breathe in short, desperate gasps, as
he couldn't find any trace of Buffy's scent or hear her footsteps.
The damned placed seemed to have eaten her alive.

As he went further into the place, avoiding big wood boxes and piles
of frayed thick ropes, another perfume invaded his senses. Opium. He
rubbed his nose with the back of his hand feeling he had gone back in
time. To those opium slums from his earliest weeks as a vampire when
the new world he had begun to cherish had shown its first unpleasant
cracks. Something in no way he wanted to live again. Something he had
erased from his memories with each and every throat he had gorged from.
His body began to ache as in those awful nights in which he had lay on
a bed, bestrewed over it as flowers on a grave. Wilted and dead like
them. Used and discarded like them. He shut his eyes for a long moment,
the gasps turned into choking wheezes when he felt the lewd hands
pawing him, the fingers and the tongues...

"STOP!" He shouted with a shudder of repulsion. "Don't breathe, you
pillock. Just don't breathe." He stumbled and fell on a pile of twisted
wires. Cold, long and... slippery? He jumped to his feet, frenetically
scouring his palm against his black jeans.

"Bloody hell! If only I could see a buggering thing! And hear...
I can't... What the fuck is going on? No sight, no smell, no ears
as if I had become a useless human... BUFFY!" He yelled, fear for her
starting to choke him better than the snakes that glided on his boots
and his calves.

A potent electric current pierced his spine and Spike staggered around
a few more steps before he crumpled up in a knot of shaking flesh.
Something caught his wrists. Icy and solid. Spike closed his eyes.
Numbness swallowed him with a greedy gulp.

 

Buffy blinked furiously, beseeching the drummer in her head to stop
the painful hymn. She managed to open her eyes and scanned the place.
Grubby, grey walls and long iron bars which crossed the ceiling in
complicated patterns. A tattered, brownish curtain hung from one of
them dividing the place in two. There was a mouldy stink, like that
she sometimes smelt in one particular cemetery. Dead rats and who knew
what else left to rot inside open holes in the earth. Her arms and her
ankles ached for being chained to some hooks in the wall. She looked
down and found herself naked.

"Shocked?" Buffy lifted her eyes sharply. Angelus' obscene gaze
ran along her body. "I've found out that nudity is so related to
vulnerability. At least with the prude ones." One of his fingers
circled one of her nipples. Buffy shook with revulsion and spat his
face. He cleaned the little line of saliva with a merciless smile.

"And I thought that Watcher of yours had taught you some manners...
Speaking of whom..." He snapped his fingers and the sound ricocheted
in the empty space as a bullet trying to find somewhere to hide.

The dirty curtain was drawn with a sharp noise of clattering rings
showing two hooded men tied up to metal chairs. Buffy felt the air
running away from her lungs. That was Giles's grey suit. And his
light blue shirt. Torn and smeared with blood. Clenching her teeth she
stabbed a grinning Faith with her eyes. If only she could free herself,
that lousy bitch would know how it could be possible to grin with her
butt. After she had shoved each of her teeth up her sorry ass. Faith
lifted the black hood and Giles's battered features slapped Buffy
better than a blow from Angelus. She swallowed hard, steeling her heart
at the dreadful sight.

"You know who that is?" Angelus pointed at the other man. He looked
like a faceless dummy. "Of course not. Nice trick that of vortexes...
Help you get everything you want. And I wanted him. Your Watcher's
great grandpa. Say hi."

"And all this time I thought you're after something important..." Her
voice was made of ice. So were her eyes. Buffy had a brief second to be
proud of herself.

"Good!" Angelus clapped and cackled noisily. "Spike is a very good
teacher, I reckon..." A fugacious disgusted spark twinkled in his dark
eyes. She wouldn't have seen it if her gaze hadn't been glued to his
face just to avoid Giles's pulped one. "But this guy here is something
else... He's the Guardian of magnificent treasures. Powerful treasures.
I could have killed him back there and vanished Giles for good but it
would have spoilt the fun, don't you think? You wouldn't have the
chance to see it. So I decided to give you the first row and the only
ticket to watch Giles vanishing in the thin air. But first..."

He yanked her head backwards, forcing a flask to her lips. The green
liquid seeped from the corner of her mouth as a strong rosemary scent
made her nostrils itched. An agonic stream of pain rushed through her
body when Faith prodded her with something like a taser. Buffy couldn't
help the scream. The bitter brew ran down her throat making her cough.

"Good girl..." Angelus patted her forearm like a caring father. "Now
we've to wait. This is the worst part but don't worry. It'll only take
five minutes."

"To do what? Don't tell me that your smart brain could only thought of
poisoning me." Buffy found out that sarcasm was the best way to make
the fear recede. Spike was a master at it. Maybe he was just for...
Nah. He was never afraid. But maybe he... She wasn't going to wonder
about him right now. 'Cause if she did, her heart would explode like
a neutron bomb. 

"It's a memory elixir. See, time is such a mysterious thing. If I kill
this man, then not even Giles's father could exist. So, there would be
no memories of him. And you don't want that, do you? No, I don't want
it either. The funny thing is you're going to be the only one who will
remember him. And you will try so hard to convince everybody that you
haven't lost your mind that they'll probably send you to those... how
do they call them? Yes, mental institutions to... clear your head.
Enough talking. Let's the show start."

"That won't happen..." Something horrible was menacing to shatter her
guts. A painful, twisting, steeling knot as if they were moulding in a
new shape.

Faith jabbed her ribs again and this time the air really escaped from
her lungs. "Shut up and watch." The bitch ordered with a cheerful tone.

Angelus fangs got near the immobile man's neck, his scornful yellow
eyes never leaving Buffy's white face. After what seemed an eternity he
finally pierced the flesh. The man didn't even flinch. He was fainted,
apparently. Judging by the mess his clothes were in they had probably
beaten him even harder than the poor Giles. Blood painted Angelus'
chin, his lips, the tip of his nose as he guzzled with agonizing
slowness. Buffy tossed down her tears when the man finally fell to the
floor. Her frantic, lunatic eyes hurried to Giles. The most amazing
and atrocious thing happened. Giles's shape began to die away. It grew
thinner and thinner till it finally disappeared with a faded chime.

"And now..." Angelus straightened himself doing nothing to clean his
face. "He is gone." A sinister laughter reached her numbed ears. Buffy
struggled against the chains but they didn't give way an inch. "And for
that sorry vampire of yours...I could do the same to him but, you know.
Family and all those things. Not to mention Faith here seems to have
got fond of him." Buffy swore her face had changed into a twisted mask
of rage. Not even a demon could have revolted its features the way she
did.

"Oh, don't be so worried, B. I promise I'm really going to take care of
him. Think I'm going to keep him as my pet. He's such a yummy treat!"

"Yeah, he's a beautiful toy, really." There was something so cruel and
pungent in that remark. Buffy fixed her eyes on his and she actually
saw the reason to it. A harsh rush of bile knocked her palate.

"Why are you doing this?" She turned away her gaze and focused on
Faith. Sarcasm had flown away. Only her torn, opened flesh as if a gang
of hellish lions had mauled her.

"Oh, you mean 'cause I'm the Slayer and all that crap? Joining the dark
side... Well, it's so much funnier!" Faith bent forward and kissed
Angelus' smeared mouth. "You should try. Seriously. It'd help you to
relax a little. I mean, such a body and so wasted..." Her stained lips
crushed Buffy's.

Frenzy sobs and quivering flesh. That was all she had been reduced to.
There wasn't even room for pain. Only a freezing numbness as that you
had after being stunk by a wasp. An overwhelming pain at first and then
nothing. "What have you done to Willow?"

"As a matter of fact, she'll be Spike's cell partner. For now, of
course. We've only got one single mystical cage. So hard to get those
things..." He grabbed Faith's waist and pushed her slowly towards a
door. Suddenly the lights went off and in the darkness Buffy's puking
sounded like a volcano. Chains evaporated as an iron gnome and she fell
to the floor, on her own vomit, curled against the bulking shape of
Giles's great grandpa. 

 

First thing Spike was aware of when he came to his senses again was the
powerful light from a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling by a black
cord. A little dazzled, he raised his eyes. His arms were stretched
over his head; his wrists shackled and chained to an iron bar that ran
along the room. He wriggled against them but the shackles chafed his
skin as if they were daubed with garlic.

"And all these years I thought I'd taught you well. But you are the
same weak tosser, aren't you Willie? One blow and you're out." Angelus
finished his cigarette and crushed it on the floor never leaving the
plastic chair he was sat on.

"Says who? The soul wanker? Always hiding behind the Slayer's
skirts..." He snorted loudly, fighting the stinking tears in his aching
eyes. He hadn't even smelt the sodding bastard. 

"Yes, the Slayer..." Angelus stood up. His dark eyes were gimlets.
"I should kill you right now. After all, you've been poaching on my
territory..."

Spike's eyebrows were birds ready to take off from his forehead. If he
hadn't been manhandled it could have been amusing. "It's not your
territory anymore, mate. In fact, I doubt it ever was."

"Well, I was the one who popped her cherry, didn't I?" He expected some
kind of wild reaction from his grandchilde. He didn't get any but a
muffled giggle.

"Oh, yeah, hot shit. Wait, I thought it was that ponce Dr. Jeckyll of
yours who did that. You just showed your ugly face when it's all over,
didn't you?" The smack split his lips. Spike gathered the seeping blood
with a quick flick of his tongue. "A great puff like you wouldn't even
know how to pop an eye out of his own bloody face. Unless they were
berries... That's your real stuff, ain't it gooser? Or is it angel?" He
blew him a kiss but he spat a thin thread of blood instead when another
clout broke his nose.

"Why isn't he naked?" Faith came into the room, patting her leather-
clad thigh with a lightning rod. Spike frowned at her tone.
Disappointment? Bloody unbelievable.

"Maybe 'cos that little trick doesn't work with me anymore..." The
answer was only directed to Angelus. Suddenly, the hidden implications
of the phrase kicked in. Buffy... Only a twitching muscle in his neck
told about his rage.

"We'll see about that, hottie..." Spike gawked at Faith's hand sliding
along his chest. Oh, bollocks! A loopy, horny Slayer! He'd have
welcomed that a year ago. Right now it was rather pathetic.

"Well... gimp, - Angelus laughed at his own joke, - my advice would be
that you chilled out a little. Enjoy our camp here. You'll have plenty
of time. Till one of us get bored of you."

A nauseating tremor ran along Spike's skin. Flashes from the past
threatened to fill his mind but he locked them out with every cell of
his brain. He had to focus on Buffy. Found out what that fucking sod
had done with her. Trouble was that he couldn't just ask, could he?
He knew what would be the exact answer to one of his questions. Some
laughter and another slosh.

"Now, I need something from you..." Angelus stabbed the crook of his
left arm with a syringe. When he was done he stepped back a little
rolling the damned thing in his long fingers. "Faith here is going to
take you to your rooms, Willie." He began to walk away and stopped as
if he had changed his mind. "Oh, and in case you wonder... she is
alive..."

Spike didn't know whether to feel relieved or terrified about the news.
He chose the second one. A hot single tear sprang to his eye and he
gulped it quickly. He would get free. Oh, for all the demons in hell
he would. He would rip that fucker's balls and make him eat them along
with his shaft if he dared to put one of his hands on his warrior.
And while he was at it, he would enjoy a brilliant, succulent dish.
Slayer's blood springing from the source itself. Faith torn neck served
in a silver plate for his own pleasure.

 

The clank of the heavy shackles pounded against the walls all the way
to his new home. A shining metal cell. Tons of light spots hanging
above it making the metal bars glittered as if they were made of
crystal. His eyes screamed inside his head but he never stumbled. Last
thing he wanted was one of that bitch's hands on him. He turned round
as soon as the door was shut behind his back. The bitch ordered him to
stretch his hands to the bars. The shackles disappeared leaving wide,
blistered gashes on his wrists. He had been right. Garlic. His precious
boots looked like if they had been gnawed by rodents where the iron had
been.

Squinting painfully, his eyes swept the place. There was a cot on the
left with some kind of bulking shape under a shabby, brownish blanket.
Another one was resting against the back wall. A grey blanket with
jagged edges was spread on it. Great, at least he could be able to find
some darkness under it since the sons of bitches had stolen his coat.
Spike walked towards the shape. Didn't even bother to sniff. His
nostrils were loaded with an electric smell... Like ozone... As
lightings in an open field. The whole damned place twitched with such
energy that even his skin trembled. Carefully he raised one corner of
the blanket. A red strand of hair shone on a dirty white pillow.

"Red!" He muttered tossing the blanket aside. "Red, talk to me love.
Red!" He shook her but Willow didn't respond. He threw away the pillow
and took her in his arms. Her head rested aimlessly on the puncture of
his arm. Made him wonder why they needed his blood for. It wasn't that
Peaches had turned into a barmy boffin, had he? Speaking of whom... The
dark figure of his grandsire loomed from outside the bars. Blurring and
even more disgusting due to the lack of distinct shape. A red thing
gleamed against the door of the cage.

"Thanks for giving me your blood so willingly, Spike. It will be your
locking key for good. Which is rather poetic, isn't it? Well, you
should know. Poet..." His mocking laugh rang in Spike's ears for a long
time. Yes, poet... He'd show that bastard what kind of poems he'd write
with his guts... Bloody beautiful poetry. Yes... Bloody beautiful...          

 

Oz had waited one hour. One hour and fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes...
He was going for the torches. Three, four, a hundred torches to put the
rats to run away. He had just reached the corner when a heavy thump
filled the air. He ran back only to find a curled Buffy on the floor.
She was wrapped in something black which looked too much like Spike's
coat. Oz's knelt, panicked. "Buffy! Buffy! What happened? Where is
Willow?" He screamed staring at the closed door.

"I'll kill them, I'll kill them." It was the mumbled chant that went
out her lips even after they reached Giles's house. The house that
should have belonged to a man named Rupert Giles.

 

CHAPTER 10
 

Buffy stood under the shower like a blind robot. Her hand moved with
a mechanical rhythm. Up and down. Side to side. The soap in her hand
was a green, squashed lump. Each time the sponge ran along her body,
a quivering cry clogged her throat and shot images in front of her
swollen eyes. Spike's hands on her hips, savouring her back, her
shoulders, the nape of her neck. Her hands holding tightly the taps,
all her spine arched to receive him and feel him pounding deeply inside
her. Slowly, slowly. Faster, faster. His teeth nibbling her earlobes,
his palms playing wise games with her breasts. Her lips tasting the hot
water and the shampoo foam, mumbling whispers and moans. Blasting in
a magnificent turmoil of comets and hurtling heartbeats. And that had
been... what? Three hours ago? Ago... Three flashing letters in a neon
sign. No tomorrow or later. A-g-o.

A knock at the door. Gentle, almost begging to be answered. Buffy kept
on with the mechanic show. Wild, staring eyes focused on the white
tiles. "I'm okay. Be out in a minute" A lie. A fortuneteller machine
of some freak, old show. Fixed painted eyes and a fixed sinister smile
telling big lies for a coin.

She rinsed her skin with a towel as blue as that she had used to ruffle
Spike's wet hair. Sexy curls she loved. Low growls she had turned into
groans as her hands discarded the towel and went down, further,
reaching his abs, his navel, his always-eager manhood.

A white shirt on one hook of the bathroom waiting for her. One male
garment. Big and perfumed with a faded lavender scent. Her fingers
brushed it and brought another rush of tears. It wasn't Giles's. It
couldn't be. He wasn't dead. He was gone. Vanished. She put Spike's
coat on instead. His scent encased her and it had something soothing,
hopeful.

As she finally came into the living room, she quickly noticed the
subtle changes in the décor. The sofa wasn't green but fawn. Squawking
beige leather facing a glass and marble coffee table. A wooden
chessboard with green stony pieces that looked aristocratic and
expensive. Spike couldn't have put his boots on that table without
smashing all of it into pieces. The walls were light blue. Paper.
Little frames of light coloured wood hung on them; all similar to those
in some doctor's office. Or some lawyer buffet. A deep blue carpet with
red and green patterns. Four chairs. Six packed bookcases. A vase full
with yellow pansies. No Xander, though. Only Oz and his sad smile, his
sad eyes fixed in her more than ridiculous att five minutes skulking
outside the place. Hidden in the shadows waiting for the show to begin.
Never a believer she was. A cloak spell they had said. Altered reality
they had said. Show what we want them to see. But Buffy... She was a
sneaky bitch.

The spell had worked. Had worked so well that her face had refused to
erase the happy grin even after she thought her whole features were
going to stay that way forever. A girlie Joker with a little bit more
of style. A grin that flickered only when his name was yelled in an
agonic yowl. His name... Faith had kept on smiling in response to
Angelus quick glance. Her ultimate prize was trapped there. Under
Buffy's perfect nose. Waiting for his true Slayer. Waiting for her
to complete her dream.

She remembered pretty well the exact moment she had discovered another
mistake in the Slayer's universe. They had invited her to the Bronze.
A gang of happy friends gaping at her as she bragged about half-true
stories. Till the spots converged in one single creature. The world
shrunk to one single floor tile. A white devil was standing there.
A cigarette was hanging from one corner of that perfect mouth, half
curved by a wry smile. All dressed in black, a Tee tightened above a
muscled, obviously hard, flat stomach; the most perfect pair of legs
clad in black jeans... A rush of heat wetted her panties and blushed
her entire skin. As if the armchair in which she was sitting had been
suddenly girdled around by a bonfire. Never in her life had she felt
such lust for a man, a boy or a guy. They were just toys to be
forgotten the next second she ordered them to leave. Or as soon as she
got into her jeans again and stormed away. But this vamp... Her whole
being was aware of that fact and that only aroused her even more. A
powerful, deep feeling hatched out from her most inner corner. She was
the gaping one now. She was drooling and trembling and was about to
jump from the armchair when he did it. He stood next to Buffy's chair
and bent forward, whispering something clearly naughty in her ear. She
giggled quietly and followed him among the crowd. Xander's face had
been a mask of disgust. Willow had squeezed the hand of that tiny,
inexpressive boyfriend of hers and they had smiled conspiratorially.
Faith had been left out. So out that even the leather duster looked
like a drawn curtain. That had been the night she had sworn to herself
that curtain would be hacked away by her fingers. Only two or three
more nights to fulfil another of her dreams. Two or three more days to
fix another mistake. One crumbling Slayer, one raising one. Like a new
Queen.

 

Buffy felt as if she had fallen down into the deepest and most hopeless
well. A tourniquet was tightly twisted round her throat, round her
ribs, stopping the normal flow of blood to her heart and brain. The air
in the room was thick and swampy. She hadn't closed one eye the past
night, not even under Oz's watchful eye. She was devastated. More.
Drained. Empty. Dead. Cornered in the most infamous and dreadful dead
alley of hell. No escape from there.

She wondered for the tenth time why she had let Oz drag her to school
in her state. Her head had that weird way of struggling, though. Books
everywhere to look for a spell. Books to find some clue, some helpful

hint. Books. Giles would have found something useful in them. And her

current Watcher... A prim, well-attired man with a patronizing and

toffee-nosed accent, a black tie around the pristine neck of his white

shirt. To strangle him with. To squeeze and squeeze till his head would

pop out from his neck like a chewing gum bubble.

"We know we are dealing with powerful forces here but what you did
yesterday was absolutely unacceptable." He tugged at the lapels of his
dark coat. "Taking your friends with you... How many times have we
discussed about this matter?" He tilted his head a little waiting for
her to say something. "Now Willow is in extreme danger or dead under
Angelus' maw. Due to your reckless behaviour. What's more, you spent
the whole night at your house when I clearly..."

"Who was Mr. Giles?" Her mind had been replaying Angelus' words. 'You
know who is this?' Maybe that could be a clue. A lose end of the rope
to disentangle the tight loop. "A keeper... No, a Guardian of
treasures..."

"Don't change topics, little girl." Buffy shuddered at the two last
words. "You should be punished... Don't look at me like that. We don't
want to repeat another distasteful incident with another Slayer." He
sat down next to her and something in his voice turned softer. "You
don't want to be sent to a Council reformatory as she was, do you?"

"Faith? You mean Faith?" Her bitter laugh sent a rush of something sour
to her throat. She swallowed so hard that she bit her tongue. "Faith
isn't locked in any Slayer's jail. She is out there with Angelus. She
works with him. And the Mayor."

If she had slapped his face or spat one of his serious eyes he wouldn't
have been more startled. So that was the way somebody looked at you
when they thought you had lost all the screws in your brains... With
horror and pity and a little amount of fear.

"I see all this has upset you more than I expected. You should rest
a few days. It has been long, frantic days after all." Pulling out a
handkerchief, he swept the few pearls of sweat on one of his temples.
"I'm absolutely sure you'll want to be hundred per..."

"All I want is to know who that Mr. Giles was." Buffy shot out in a
coarse, demanding voice. "'Cause those treasures, whichever they were,
they have them now."

Mr. Wyndham-Pryce cleared his throat walking into his office and coming
back after long ten minutes with a thick volume. Some yellow papers
fell from it. He didn't bother to pick them up but reached the pine
wood table instead, opening the tome at random. "Here is an awful
selection of what happens to a Slayer when she is not capable of
performing her duty. Or, just like Faith, she misleads her path. You
do remember those nights you spent locked up in the cellar... After the
William the Bloody affair..."

Buffy took a quick look at the drawings on the page. A woman was
hanging from her feet, her head touching the floor. All her hair had
been cut; snipped would be more accurate, and her clothes were nothing
but rags. There was a puddle of something dark at her feet and another
figure was lapping at it with extreme delight. A dreadful perspective
despite the low quality of the sketch. She had fallen into the Middle
Ages, apparently.

"I didn't want them to do that to you. But I'm only a Watcher. I can't
disobey the rules and neither can't you. I was punished as well as you
might remember..." There was a sad veil on his eyes. Buffy didn't dare
to ask. "So we solved that little W.T.B. issue and you accepted you had
been wrong. Angel had a soul and he willingly had accepted to be tested
by the Council just to be with you. Of course, till we had to kill him
after that soul problem. But William the..."

"I got it, okay?" She lied, unable to hear his name one more time. The
dam she had built around her heart was starting to crack and the waves
of tears were going to flood her entirely. "Please tell me who this Mr.
Giles was..." She begged once more.

He went out again, and this time it took him a little longer to come
back. Buffy could hear a clattering sound of keys and a lid squeaking.
He returned, one hand patting the dust of his coat, the other one
holding a mildew book which he placed in front of her eyes. It looked
like it had been rescued from a catacomb. And it smelt. Awfully.

"There." He impeded her hands to touch it. "You'll be able to take a
look at it after your punishment."

Buffy jumped up. "What? Are you freaking nuts? I've told you..."

Mr. Pryce shook his head with regret. "You don't know what you're
saying. We, you and me, took Faith to the plane in which the Council
would take her to England. The Mayor... he has been an extremely
helpful ally in these demons matters. He's even contributed with
generous funds to build a secret prison for some of them."

A shaking, horrid tremor ran through her body. The "W.T.B. issue", as
he had put it, was solved in that way? The stale whiff of the book
crept up her nostrils making her cough. Her palms, resting flatly on
its cover, were coated in a thin, cold sweat. She was trying, only
trying not to think in him trapped in a prison. Here or there. Or maybe
it would be better if she concentrated in the Mayor's prison. There
would be no Faith's hands there. Or Angelus's. He couldn't be locked
up, though. What about Oz's words? The duster and the secrets... So
lost in her thoughts she was that she almost lost the sound of clinking
metal. A pair of handcuffs shone scornfully under the library lamps. 

"Get off me!" She shoved him backwards and grabbed the book.

"Buffy, this is for all our sake. Believe me." Slowly, he walked round
the table.

"No, you fucking freak!" Buffy kicked the chair that was in her way.

"You know I wouldn't do this if..."

"No! I don't know anything! I don't fucking know YOU!" She screamed,
kicking him in the guts. He flew like a dead, huge bat over the table.
Whirling around, the book crushed against her chest, Buffy ran out of
the library, through the school corridors, out to the yard. She didn't
feel the floor under her feet. She was flying, spinning in the air like
an air diver with no parachute. Turning around a corner she bumped into
someone and fell to her knees.

"Well, you have never been very normal, have you? And look at you...
Even more horrid than usual. You certainly need..."

Buffy could have never believed she was going to thanks the gods for
Cordelia Chase. She was a big mouth as usual. Some things never
changed. "I need your help, Cordelia. Do you still have a car?" She
begged still on her knees.

"As much as I've always wanted to see you crawling it isn't a pleasant
sight, you know..."

"Cordelia, please, I'll do whatever you..."

"You could start by taking your hands off my Prada." Stepping back, her
eyes looking at the sky as if she were praying, Cordelia finally asked.
"Where do you want to go?"


 

CHAPTER 11 

 
Buffy was about to go into her house but chose the sewers instead. The
house wasn't safe anymore. First place they were going to look for her.
She paddled in the fetid water wondering how many times Spike had done
the same after long extenuating love marathons. It would have been so
nice to sleep in his arms all night... His sturdy arms in which she
felt like... "No, not now, please. I can't now. I can't." She begged to
her memories, to the quickening staccato of her heart. A sudden light
beam from the street severed the long passage like a dirty, bright
drape. She stopped under it, listening to the roar of the cars above
her head. Crouching down she opened the book. Her finger trembled a
little as she passed the pages carefully. Finally, her gaze stopped on
a waving river of black ink. A rush of hope passed through her body as
the bright tail of a comet. A flash.

"Lord Hanley Richard Carrington Giles. Lord Hanley for his
acquaintances. Server of the Council from 1877 to 1880. Keeper of the
Ordeal of Kamosis, Warden of the Hindu Gates, Guardian of the Hall of
Stones. Master of the Forbidden Keys and Books. (See biographies for
further information. Chapter 11, section 41)"

"Okay, really impressive but how did he die? And what happened to all
those things he was supposed to keep?" Asking to a book maybe could
have earned her another mark on the asylum road. The book answered
silently with an elegant, slant handwriting.

"After a long journey to India, Lord Carrington Giles was expected
to give a lecture at the annual general meeting of the Royal Hindu
Society, after he attended the gala at the Royal Opera House. As he
never arrived, an inquest was carried out by this Council. His friends
claimed to have seen him at his box in the theatre and afterwards on
the streets waiting for his brougham. Unfortunately, till this moment,
neither the carriage nor the Jade Chest has been found. His fiancée,
Lady Catherine Montour, is not to be blamed for this tragic incident as
she is still at the Riviera. Memorial service will be on November 14th
at St. Paul's, 8.00. A.M. (For the complete inquest report see chapter
66, section 234, pages 78, 79, 80, 81. Any further evidence will be
added in time.) B.P. Travers, C.H.I"

She couldn't but bitterly laugh at the signature. Either that one was
an ancestor or that lunatic bastard was immortal. Sinister thought...
Nothing about the supposed treasures, though. Not a clue of what
wonders, sort of speak, they could achieve with one of them. Maybe that
Chest... What was there in it? Only Lord Hanley knew. And maybe Giles
but he was as dead as his relative. Buffy sank to her feet. Didn't give
a damn about the puddle of stinking water that was soaking her butt.
Didn't even notice the rat that had come to test out who the intruder
was. Her world had collapsed like a house of cards and the damned cards
had slapped her face, had cut her flesh, had stabbed her bones and her
heart. Without a hint about those objects she was lost. Completely out
of the game.

 

The streets had a strange yellow glow, as if only candles were
lightning his path. Or maybe it was Buffy's hair. Golden and swaying
in the cold night, sparkling like a mirror ball while she ran with a
frightened pace.

"What are you doing?" He asked in such a casual way that it seemed
somebody else had said it.

She whirled around and the tears in her eyes were as golden as amber
drops. "I'm saving him!"

"Oh, that's it then? You want him. This is all about him." He shook his
head and his neck made a slight cracking sound. "Okay, go ahead then."

She resumed her race. Only ten steps before she stopped. She didn't
turn around this time. When she finally spoke it looked like she was
talking to an invisible person who were standing in front of her.
"Aren't you coming?"

Spike only laughed. His eyes glided along Buffy's body. Up her spine,
down her legs.

"I have to save him." It sounded like an apology. Her voice quavered
a little.

"Oh, 'cause all that human crap, ain't it? Or is it that you love
him?" A twinge of dejection in his guts. "I can't stop you."

Silence stretched like a rubber band. "Yes, you can."

"Really? I don't think you want me to. Unless you want this demon to
have some fun as its last wish." Twirling around, her watery eyes met
his. He drowned in her green ponds. "I'm not stopping you." He lit a
cigarette and in that street it seemed more out of place than her jeans
or the black nail polish that glimmered under the gas lamp.

"No. I have to stop you." The stake appeared from nowhere. The pain was
a mixture of sorrow and shock. Green eyes were his final sight.

Spike woke up, his hands flying to his chest. Oh, fuck! It had been
a dream... The same ghastly dream that had haunted him for the last
months. He had always wanted to ask. What's this between you and me?
Didn't have the guts to ruin everything. After running away, he wasn't
going to spoil it again by asking. He wasn't an analysing bloke, after
all. Relax and enjoy. That was his mantra. Enjoy even if you can't
relax. They got that, whatever it was and he was extra happy about it.
No further questions allowed. They had never mentioned the L-word again
and, for now, it was okay with him. Sometimes, when he was enjoying the
warmth of her breath on his face, the smoothness of her cheek on his
stomach, the roundness of her breasts splashed against his chest, the
words tingled inside his mouth, crashed against his teeth. He chewed
them back knowing that one day they would jump out of his lips no
matter his choices about the matter. His brain and mouth had never got
on very well together... He had dreamt of telling her, have a decent,
grown-up talking... Later, his heart had said. And now it was more
than later, wasn't it? Alive... That word seemed meaningless and void.
Alive, how? Tortured? Abused? Alive only 'cause her heart still beat
and she could merely open her eyes?

With the blanket still on his head, he peeped at the other cot. Empty.
A nasty lump fell to his stomach. Shit. Red... She wasn't going to bear
any torture those sick bastards could have planned. She was still
fragile. In spite of the growing power boiling in her blood, she was
still like a demon kid. Adjusting to the new powers with which it would
destroy the universe but still a child. No more fluffy, pink sweaters
for her. Those were for innocent girls. Untainted by the filthy and
nasty deeds of the world.

If only that sodding Gil... Who? No, that wasn't the name of the mighty
Watcher... Glasses? British accent, snooty and a pain in the ass. Fangs
on his neck... He shrugged. Maybe another dream. A pleasant one this
time. Dark suits and a barbwire tying his wrists, digging in his flesh,
blood seeping from the wounds as if he were a draining pipe. Long, cold
corridors. Manchester United match on someone's TV.

There was a whisker inside his head. Beating fast and hard all memories
and cell brains. Spike touched one of his ears. His hand was clean.
Good. Didn't want it to be smeared by grey matter. If he had any. His
other senses were a riot. He hadn't even heard when they came for
Willow... The sudden blast of the door being shut, that he heard.
Jumping to his feet, he took a battle stand in spite of the blinding
lights. A shape was crawling towards the cot. He rushed to it.

"Willow?" Oh, shit! Since when his voice had that uncertain tremor?
"Are you there? I mean, are you okay?" Another teasing feeling.
Impotence. As if his fangs had been ripped out from his mouth.

"Yes... I think so..." She sat on the cot, her hands tightly holding
the edge of it. "You don't have a pair of shades, do you?"

Sense of humour. Excellent! In doomed times, if you could find anything
to laugh of, you weren't that beaten. "No, but maybe you could move
that nose of yours and get one for me too." He sat but her side,
holding back the need of putting an arm around her shoulder.  "What
happened?"

"Well, not too much... There was a room and something was glittering
on a table. A stone. Red, with thousands of facets that waved on the
walls... I think I fell asleep 'cause I don't remember anything else...
I had a nightmare, I think. Really scary but..." There had been another
feeling in that bad dream. One of extreme power, as if she had been
raised into another state, one in which she was in command of
everything around her. Death and life in her hands, to dispense at her
entire will.

Spike released the air that he had been holding. That meant nobody had
touched her. "And you... you... by any chance... have you seen Buffy?"
The lack of sight and hearing couldn't have turned him into a weeping
boy, could it? 

"No. Maybe she's in another cell. I'm sure Gil..." She stopped, her
frown wrinkled as an image of an unknown man crossed her mind.

"Who is this bloody Gil?" Nervously, he leapt to his feet. After
furious quick steps, he couldn't but sit down again. "I've got this...
memory? Don't trust my mind anymore, Red. What the fuck is that buzzing
sound? All the time as a soddin' invisible hive buggering up my noggin.
I can't bloody see! I can't bloody hear! What kind of magic is this?"
The cot squealed when he jiggled fretfully. "And please, spare me the
bleeding mumbo jumbo. Not in the mood for long stories."

"A very powerful one?" She couldn't help teasing. "The sound is magic
working at incredible haste. But I think they could control it if they
wanted to do so..."

"You mean they're using it to drive us nuts? It's working, pet." Spike
spread the blanket on both their heads. Something was so soothing about
it. As a cavern in which he could hide for external hazards. If he'd
been a human, that was it. "My soddin' eyes... I twig that. These
bloody lights are going to melt them in their sockets. But not hearing?
The magic tune is not that loud."

"Have you tried the lock? I'm afraid if I cast a spell on it, the
energy will rebound and knock me unconscious... What?" In their tight
cave his snort had a crude resonance.

"I was thinking about poncey words. My blood is the locking key, he
said. So I poured some drops on the lock. There's this beam... It hit
me so hard that I thought I'd lost my teeth. And my jaws. But you must
try, Red. I've got to find Buffy!"

Some sort of outburst darted across the cell bars. One blue eye spied
from under the blanket.

"Are you playing hide and seek? You're grown up for that, aren't you?"

Faith. Spike dashed to the door, his hands stretched out between the
bars trying to seize the bitch's neck.

"Chill out, vampire. You don't want this nice, pointy bolt to stab that
glorious chest, do you?" She pricked his hand with it. "Now, step back
and be nice."

Another strong sound as the door opened. Maybe the noise was an average
one. Maybe his skull didn't want to take any more shrilling clattering.
Something hit his legs. Chains. If that soddin' bitch believed he was
going to chain himself up she was crazier than he thought.

"Come on, hottie. I don't have all the time in the world, you know?
Unless you don't care about your life... Which it'd be such a pity.
Perhaps the witch's life then?" The bolt scratched his arm. Not sounds
of Willow. Not even a muffled cry. "I know. Buffy..." Faith laughed as
he secured the shackles around his wrists and ankles. "I knew we're
going to understand each other well..."

 

The Mayor closed the lid of a big, green chest. His hands rested on it,
his thumb caressing the carved figures as if he was gently stroking a
horse.

"You were right. She fell in some sort of trance. And then she spoke."
Angelus sipped from a black mug. "It won't take too much time to drag
her to our side. It's inside her. I would have never..."

"That Stone is extraordinary. It's said that it corrupts the soul but
there must be something corruptible in you, don't you think? And she
has such power in her... You're a sceptical one, my friend."

"So I reckon is time to test the sceptre?" His dark eyes fixed on the
stone surface of the box. After stealing it, he couldn't restrain
himself. He opened the lid to discover a long, gold staff with an
immense onyx as the headpiece. Such powerful device wouldn't have been
that simple in style. He had expected something made of ivory or ebony,
maybe set with dozens of the most precious stones.

"This treasure can't be tested. It must be used." Wilkins clutched
the chest and there was something so possessive in his attitude that
Angelus squinted his eyes. "But the time hasn't come yet. If this
little thing can control all worlds and make you the ruler of gods and
beings, the barriers between them have to broken. And that's not the
case, yet. Patience, my vampire, is a virtue."
 
Angelus didn't reply. His gaze had only one spot. The Mayor's fingers.
His mind weighted the words. The ruler of gods and beings... One single
sceptre meant one single ruler. For millions of realms. As much amusing
as this whole thing was, he had to be alert. Not all the worlds he
wanted, but at least he would make his stand for half of them. And if
that tricky human planned otherwise, well, he would have to set things
straight. Ruler... He leant back on his armchair savouring the word.
Better than Acathla... Ruler... God...
 

tbc...
Thanks: To Melissa, best beta ever.  

 

CHAPTER 12
 

The persistent ring of the phone woke her up. Still half asleep Buffy
walked towards it and was about to take it when her hand vacillated on
the receiver. She couldn't answer... It could be them... After breaking
into her own house, she had crashed on the couch and fell asleep. She
hadn't even taken a shower. She hadn't even cried. Hadn't even thought.
Her entire body was an untamed knot of entangled muscles that struggled
among them to pull in different sides. Her head had that constant
pulsating throb... as if a woodpecker had nested inside her skull. The
world was wrapped in a haze. She couldn't walk, only shuffle like an
old, ill woman.

The phone finally stopped. Buffy went back to the sofa. Her eyelids
weighted like lead bricks. She was amazed of how it was possible for
her to sleep. But grief had that merciful side. A comforting embrace
when everything had exploded around her feet. When nothing was the
same anymore. His presence lingered everywhere. On the couch, on the
cushions, on the carpet. Standing next to the fireplace. There was a
permanent burnt mark on the coffee table. One of his cigarettes. The
little porcelain girl that looked sadly at her from the mantelpiece had
her tiny neck glued. One of his elbows. The TV was a black monster with
one blind, black eye. His lips and hands, his moans and whispers were
hidden behind her eyelids. She could feel him, touch him, taste him
with only closing her eyes. In her dreams.

This time the sound was an imperative one. Buffy jumped on the sofa,
clutching a cushion like a shield. Dawn drew thin, violet lines on the
closed shutters. That knock again. The door... She tiptoed towards the
door and crouched there as if she was about to pray. Her eye peeped
through the keyhole. A stripped sweater greeted her with its strident
colours. She opened the door, just a crack from where she could grab
Xander's arm and throw him inside.

"Why didn't you...? Holy Moly! You really look like... if you were
sleeping." He quickly changed before a fist could connect with his
flesh. Chicks didn't like to hear they didn't look like a fairy-tale
princess. How many times had he recited that? He was learning, though.
Just in time.

"Somebody followed you?" Buffy rejected the crisps bag. Only thinking
of food made her stomach churn.

"No. It's only six in the morning... But I thought I had to talk to
you. Just to..." He avoided her reddish eyes and headed to the living
room. Standing beside the couch he was about to sit down when he
changed his mind and fell on one of the armchairs. "I've been talking
to Oz last night. He told me... And I thought..."

"Why don't you just say it? Say that Willow is in danger because of me.
Just spit what you want to say and leave me alone!" Her wide eyes
showed all the horror she felt for treating one of her friends like
that. But she couldn't help it. She was a pressure cooker that had been
forgotten over the stove.

"Hey, not the accusation gang here! But I'm worried! And you don't look
like if you were... Maybe after all that happened you're exhausted.
Take out the maybe." His pitiful gaze was more than she could bear.
"All I'm saying is that maybe you need a holiday. You know, to clear
your head..."

Buffy's clenched fist stopped two inches away from Xander's gaping
mouth. "My head is okay. Don't ever say that again." Words sounded like
grinded stone. "I'm not mad!"

"I didn't mean... But I can't believe a word Oz told me! Shit! I didn't
even know you were seeing that fucking killer again! How could you? How
can you? They should have put him down when they had the chance..."

And there it was. The pressure cooker had had enough hot steam to send
it flying into the air. Frantic sobs shook her so intensely that she
fell to the floor in a puddle; her arms wrapped against her bursting
stomach. What a wretched excuse of a warrior she was! Crying, choking,
with her guts twisted in a seething knot, scared and lost.

Giles had always been there to help her. To guide her along the hard of
slaying. Even if he had done certain things, following Council orders.
In the end, all he had done was protect her. Pushing the final signal
stop forward just for her death point to be as far as possible. A
father figure she had said. It was so right! She felt as if she had
lost her dad twice. One, she could catch a plane and go visit. Watch
his eyes, the little wrinkles around them when he smiled. Smell his
aftershave; listen to his voice on the phone saying Happy Birthday even
if it came with bad news. But Giles... not lights would ever reflect
again in his glasses. The sound of his voice would be a faded memory
the next year.

She would never be able to watch girly movies with Willow. Or going
to the mall to buy shoes or clothes for the next Bronze night. They
wouldn't eat chocolate ice cream anymore while they sat on the couch
with a blanket spread on their legs. Nobody would ever share with her
hidden secrets of sexual affairs. She wouldn't laugh or blush whenever
the stories got hotter enough to embarrass her and there wasn't going
to be a Willow with green half shocked eyes to listen to her. 

And Spike... would they kill him after playing with him in ways she
wasn't prepared to consider? Would they be that merciful? How could she
carry on without his naughty smiles, his indecent and arousing remarks,
his hungry and adoring eyes? Every bath she would take, every time
she' put on one of her panties, he'd be there asking what colour it
was. His hands would slide along her skin the moment she closed her
eyes. His voice would always whisper in her ears, his perfume would
cover her entire life. She pictured herself sniffing around in the
streets, in a mall, everywhere, when a similar scent passed by her.
Jumping to the ceilings every time she'd hear a British voice. Her skin
would flake and die without his fingers. Her mouth would be always
thirsty without his kisses.

"Buff, Buff... I'm sorry..." Xander tried to hold her but she avoided
his hands and sat on the coffee table. "I didn't mean to... I'm
sorry." He'd like to fly away like a small sparrow and never came back.
Buffy's state scared him even more than Willow's fate. How was she
going to rescue Willow if she was such a ruin? "Everything is going to
be fine. You'll see. Remember how scared we were when you had to fight
Angelus for the first time? And you beat him. Sent him straight to
hell. And when you got lost in Halloween? We're terrified that you
might be... you know... And suddenly... phhh... you were back with us.
And that time in which you..."

He'd thought that enumerating her countless victories would soothe her
somehow. Would give her some of her lost strength or some peace of
mind. He never expected that hallucinated gaze. As though his words had
hypnotized her or something worse.

All of a sudden she jumped to her feet and grabbed a coat. She stopped
at the door and turned round to face him, still sitting on the
armchair. "I've got to go to Willow's house. Want to come?"

 

No wonder lions wandered around in circles all day long. Spike was sure
his boots would tear apart if he took another circle around that room.
That bitch had left him there, the shackles still in place but no
searing lights this time. Only a yellow bulb which lit his frantic pace
with a dull eye. There was a sort of bed in one corner, a reddish
blanket on it. Another of those known iron bars on the ceiling and a
chain attached to a hook. A hose wiggled on the floor. A green hose
with black stripes. He'd have probably told how many stripes it had.
The mug Faith had offered was still on a small table in one corner. The
red liquid had turned into a sticky jelly last time he had checked.

The door flew opened and Faith came in carrying a bucket and an
impressive crossbow. He'd never seen one of that size in his life. The
Magnum 44 of crossbows. He gulped a chuckle and smirked instead. His
eyes followed the bucket to the floor. Stupid bint. He was dead.
Couldn't drown even if he tried hard.

"Better, handsome?" Grabbing one of the hose ends, she went to one of
the walls and lifted a metal tap. The one hundred and fifty-six stripes
were connected to a faucet. The green hose began to spit water. "Think
so, without those blinding lights and the boring company... Not to talk
about the cot... Does it squeal?"

"Would you if I squeeze your neck?" In spite of the shackles he leant
against the wall with his arms folded on his chest.

Faith only smiled and threw something at him. Spike caught the key in
the air and arched his eyebrow.

"Take them off. Take all off." The strong remark on the "all" didn't
leave any doubts. He stared at the crossbow without moving an inch.

"I'm not your whore, bitch."

"No, you're only Buffy's bitch, aren't you Big Bad? Such a vampire you
are..."

"Take that out of my bloody face and I'll show you what a vampire I can
be." He rebuffed, starting to lose his patience. And this was all they
had in mind? No big plot to conquer the world but to have their own
private sex-toys? And some called him pathetic...

"Oh, I'm sure about that. Now take them off. Be nice. I don't really
want to hurt you. Just check why B. has chosen you..."

"Want to have a peek, babe? Come here and take them off. If you are..."

Faith shook her head and a gloomy spark clouded her eyes. "I knew you
were going to be a stubborn little demon. You'll beg me to take those
clothes off you."

"Huuuh, I can't wait..." He challenged as she tossed aside the weapon
and raised the bucket.

The splash soaked his red shirt, his Tee and his black jeans. Spike
looked down. The world stopped and the yelling started. Holy water...
His mind couldn't begin to process the notion. Crazy maggots were
drilling his flesh searching for his bones. The pain was unbearable,
excruciating. A mist surrounded him and his eyes couldn't focus on
Faith anymore but on his own smoking skin.

"Now you want me to take them off?" Her voice had the sinister ring of
a cruel, mad child.

Spike couldn't speak. His muscles had tensed to an impossible arc; his
teeth gritted together as if he was chewing sand. "I can't hear you...
Okay then." She walked towards the door.

"Fuck...fucking...bitch!" he stuttered in agony. "Yes! Take them off
now! For Christ sake, TAKE THEM OFF!"

A pair of hands tore the shirt and the Tee apart and a welcomed flow of
ordinary water from the hose cleaned the remains of his jeans. Opened,
horrid gashes, holes and welts hissed and bellowed in pain. His mind
was spinning so fast that he fell to the floor. Didn't take notice of
the lack of shackles or the hands that lay him down on the bed. He
wanted to die. Again and again and again. Wouldn't be that painful.

"Oh, poor boy. Look at you now... Bet B. wouldn't like you like this...
Don't worry, though. I'll take care of you." She promised kneeling down
by his side to take off the last shreds of denim. "I will always take
care of you." She whispered, kissing the cold tears that ran along his
cheeks.

 

"So, this is what dating bleached guy had taught you?" Xander couldn't
help the sarcastic remark. It pushed and pushed against his teeth and
he'd to let it out. "Breaking into people's houses..."

"Sometimes is very useful." Buffy replied, giving Willow's bedroom door
a final flick before stepping inside.

"And we are here because? Not that her parents will listen to us or
anything since they are in Europe but... Jail doesn't suit me."

"Does Willow still keeps a magic diary? You know, she's always writing
even the slightest thing in her computer." Turning on the machine, she
checked the different folders. "Hey, did you know she keeps every
school task in here? Isn't enough to give it in when you've finished
with it? Oh, shit. Password here."

Putting aside a pink cushion, Xander sat on the edge of the bed staring
at Buffy's back. Boy, wasn't she moody? One moment she was crying the
guts out of her and the other was chatting about stupid school stuff.
He didn't know how a computer was going to help Willow but Buffy's
hunches had proved to be right most of the time. And he was her friend
in spite of a serial killer bunking her up... Cancel that thought...
In spite of her wobbly mind-set, that's it. Friends were supposed to be
there not matter what and there he was. Coping and helping. "Must be
the magic stuff then. We could shout open sesame or something."

Buffy smiled a little and that thrilled and encouraged her for the
first time. If she could smile then she could rise to her feet and
kick that world upside down. And bring all those she loved back to her
bosom. Keeping the confident mood, she wrote "Abracadabra" and the
folder opened up like a casket of secrets. Alphabetical order... Oh,
Willow! You're the best! H, h, h. Halloween. A full detailed tale of
what had happened. With a little changes of course. Every time she read
Wyndham-Pryce instead of Giles her smile quavered a bit. But the whole
lot was almost the same. The words for casting the spell, the way she
had opened the portal, the list of required ingredients. Everything
with a typical Willow quote like "The only snag is the starch word.
Sounded like a poem. Must be stardust. Or starch for stiffen the whole
thing? Hmmm, look it up." And the most important one. "Mr. Pryce had
commissioned (his words there. Isn't he stuffy?) me the spell thing
'cause he hasn't been in touch with magic for a while and this needs
extra magic-dealing powers. Not that he knows about the other stuff
I've been dealing with... Think I should erase this last sentence..."

"So, - Xander peeped over Buffy's shoulder, - something we can use?"

"If we have a witch at hand, maybe. Or a demon. Or somebody used to
perform spells..." Her eyes widened as an idea twinkled in her head.
A, a, a. Yes! Anyanka. Former vengeance demon.

"You're mad, aren't you?" Xander stepped back a little when she twirled
around with a stormy look. "Sorry. I'll never say that again. Promise.
But she's the most annoying creature in the world! Not to mention that
he's always horny! Well, that's what I've heard..."

Second smile in less than an hour. She was definitely improving. "Maybe
it's been enough of skiving off. School is waiting for you. Grab your
books."

 

tbc...

Thanks: To Melissa, best beta ever.  

 

CHAPTER 13

 

Angelus stood beside the bed and tilted his head to deliver Faith an
angry gaze. He was planning on hurting his grandchilde but slowly. This
stupid girl had spoilt the fun. Useless attempt that of trusting on
amateurs brats. They ruined everything. At least, he'd seek comfort
in the obvious pain rushing inside Spike's body. Or maybe not even in
that. He was as unconscious as a knocked out boxer. With another look
he bunged a vial at Faith's face and left the room.

Spike was swimming in a fog. Sometimes it grew thinner and he could
focus on the world around. Sometimes it was so thick that veiled
everything. He was caught in an eddy where he spun round and round as
a little paper boat in a stream. He was aware of the hands that were
daubing his body with something fresh and welcome. And yet, he couldn't
help feeling that he was been anointed as a sacrifice for a black mass.
His inner flesh was boiling as if he was burning in some ghaut.

Images leapt inside his head as crazy goats. Gil... an Englishman with
a special task. To teach and protect... Gil... A Watcher... No. Mr.
Wyndham-Prissy was a Watcher. He had sent the hound dogs after him.
Had nearly locked him in some demon jail were they were all tied up
with hot wires and tortured every time of the day. The runaway had been
tough. Spike fidgeted on the mattress, feeling the pokers stabbing his
stomach again.

Hot hands fondling his chest. Dru... Dru's dark hair caressing his
thighs, her tongue tracing his knees, his legs, his shaft. As only
she could do it. Painfully. Wonder why he didn't like it anymore...
Buffy... Sweet lips on his eyelids and her voice whispering naughty,
future sexy things while he watched TV sipping from a mug. Joyce's
gentle conversation coming from the next armchair while Buffy's fingers
sneaked under his duster, folded on his lap. Joyce? He'd talked to the
lady a few times but calling her by her name was out of the question.
And, definitely, he had never been that close to Buffy's mother.
Buffy... His movements became more restless. The pain wasn't supposed
to be there. Something pinned his hands to the mattress. Darla's golden
hair then... Darla and that night in which he had been chosen as a
making-up present. Her present to his twisted Childe...

Spike yelled and squirmed and the hands disappeared like hands did in
a dream. Only whispers now. The nightmare went on. No matter how he
tried, he couldn't open his eyes.

 

Buffy peeked from behind a car, waiting for Xander and Oz to get Anya.
Too many pins to be attached to her coat in those days. Mad, fugitive,
vamp's bitch. And now, kidnapper. A poke on her shoulder nearly gave
her a stroke.

"How many times, people, do I have to say this? No paws on my car!"
Taking out a handkerchief from her purse, Cordelia cleaned the supposed
dirty spots from the red surface. "And what? Aren't you going inside?
Don't tell me! They've finally expelled you!" She sighed with evident
glee.

"I promise not to touch your precious car anymore if you leave right
now, Cordelia. If not I'll kick it. You know, a super Slayer's kick."
Buffy said the last words ducking a little when a suit man went out the
school doors.

"Hiding from that Watcher of yours, eh?" Something in Cordelia's voice
caught her attention. "Can't blame you really. He's such a total jerk!
What? He is and you know it. I mean, he didn't need to tell Snyder
that I spent too much time in the library, did he? It wasn't that I
wanted... Okay, I can't fool you. I wanted it. But he..."

"Cordelia, Cordelia, please..." Buffy was more than eager to listen
to that particular tale. Could be of some help if her plans went wrong.
Mad, kidnapper, and pin number five... Briber. Xander was coming
downstairs with a pleased Anya dangling from his arm, followed by Oz.
Cordelia had to be sent away. Now.

"Oh, that bitch! Guess some people are meant to be together..."
Cordelia's eyes went after the trio. She was taken aback when Xander
gave Anya a quick push to force her into the van. "Wait!" She grabbed
Buffy's arm before she could run away. "If you're going to take her to
that demon prison I want to go. She owes me!" She shouted jumping on
the front seat of the van after pushing Buffy aside. "You go back
there. Demons and you... Well, let's say you're used to dirty
clothes..." She smiled and shut the door.

 

The smell in the empty Magic Shop weren't as pleasant as it used to be.
Some of the things kept on the jars had horrible greenish goo floating
on the liquid they had been maintained freshly. Others jars had
shattered into pieces and nasty gluey slime shed to the floor as if
the shelves were drooling.

Buffy dragged a heavy table to block the basement door and turned round
to look at Anya, sitting on a wooden chair.

"What do you want? I'm human now." Anya stated without a thread of
fear. Her head was a little tilted to a side and a bored, disgusted
line curved her lips.

"I want you to cast a spell for me." Buffy crossed her arms on her
chest. Her gaze was hard and murky.

"Yes, sure. And then you're going to lock me up in that... whatever it
is of yours. Won't do it." She imitated Buffy's posture.

"Okay, since you're nothing but human now I guess it'd be pretty simple
to snap your neck in two..." Standing in front of her, Buffy put her
hands on the back of the chair.

Anya laughed. A true, amused laugh. Buffy winced a little. "That's
impossible. You're the Slayer and slayers don't kill humans."

"Don't be that sure..." It was only a murmur.

"Maybe certain slayers, but not you."

Cordelia hit a cobweb with her purse and stepped forward. "Well, I'm
not a slayer so I could break your neck if you don't help. After all,
you ruined my wish. I died!" One of her shoes stamped the floor lifting
a small cloud of dust.

"I cast a perfect spell. You ruined it." Anya glared at her with
antipathy.

"Maybe I'd eat you." Oz smiled sweetly. His eyes locked with Anya's
and she was the first one to avert her gaze.

"No. We would have to wait till next full moon for that and I don't
have that much time..."

"Time for what?" Cordelia looked at Buffy as if she just found out she
was locked up in a cellar. "I mean, I thought you're going to lock her
not ask for spells... Why do you want a spell? And why are we hiding
like common criminals?"

"You want the long story or the short one?" Xander teased. "Okay, Buffy
believes... knows, - he changed with a nod, - that this reality has
been bent a little. Meaning that the Watcher we all know it's not
really her watcher. She wants things back as they were. Her Watcher
and Willow back with her."

"You mean this here is not true? You mean that I was suspended from
school nearly a month and forced to be humiliated in front of my
friends for somebody who doesn't even exist?" Cordelia was blushing so
hard even in the soft light of the basement her cheeks looked as red as
beets. "Not to mention that we have to wear these awful clothes 'cause
your Watcher, - she stated with an accusatory voice, - has talked the
Principal into forcing the students to wear ancient, completely out of
date, boarding-school style! I can only wear decent shoes just not to
look like a complete loser! Not that you could have a problem with that
subject but..."

"Cordi, later, okay?" Buffy stared at Cordelia for a minute. She hadn't
noticed before but the Queen of Design looked like a fifty year old
woman clothed in a long dark skirt and a yellow turtle neck sweater.
Which wasn't even tight. She was right. It was awful. Turning to Anya
she showed her a piece of paper. "Here's what you've got to do. It's
not that difficult. You do it, you go away."

"If I do it, would you, don't know, help me to get my demon status
again?" Having no answer Anya skimmed the sheet and sighed. "That's
it? You can't do it yourselves? This human thing is pathetic, really.
You're worthless. I'm worthless!"

"That means you can do it?" A third smile shone on Buffy's face when
Anya nodded her acceptance.

"But first you must tell me everything. I mean, the whole story. Don't
want you to accuse me of having ruined a perfect spell." Anya parried
the blow Cordelia aimed to her head with her head. She thought she
should buy one of those. To use it as a weapon. Seemed useful...
"Where did you get this words from? And this list..."

"I'll explain, then you put your ex demon hands to it. Understood?"
Buffy sat on a table and began to talk.

 

"So I thought that if I could, well, you could, open a portal in that
same date and spot as Willow did, maybe I could have a chance..." Buffy
looked around but there wasn't anything remotely similar to water. Her
throat was burning. "Like a travel machine, you know..."

"But that was Halloween!" Xander was impressed by his friend's tale.
Nobody that could explain things so accurately could be that mad. It
wasn't that he'd considered... Maybe a little delusional... But he had
been scared. Now, he was terrified. Buffy was in lo... Buffy was
dating Spike! Regularly. Having met him as human didn't change the big
subject. And Faith... She was a bitch. He knew that. Her strength and
Angelus together were like a Molotov cocktail. Not to mention that
disgusting Mayor. He had that superior speech... Every time he appeared
on the TV Xander turned it off. Maybe it was something with that weasel
face of his. Or the fact that he talked as if he were some god trapped
among useless dwarves...

"Yes, and the memorial service would be on November the 14th. According
to the book. If she can change the date just for a few days..." Buffy's
heart was ablaze with hope. "I've figured out that, since the dress was
the... vehicle... is that the word? Anyway, that maybe we could bewitch
the dress I have. It could be helpful to come back home..."

"What if you have to change clothes?" Cordelia blinked several times.
Buffy changing? Doubtful... Only if she could find jeans and thighs in
the nearest Victorian shop... "I mean, if your dress get all muddy, as
usual and... You know what. Forget it. It'll never happen."

"I was free to go everywhere I wanted..." Melancholic eyes and deep
sighs. Anya was lost in her glorious memories. "I had this beautiful
pendant..." The chair knocking against the floor brought her back from
her reverie.

"That's it!" Buffy didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  "I've got a
necklace! Since I don't know how long it will take me to find this guy
I'll need something I can open the portal with. Can't keep all of you
waiting here. I mean, it's not that I'm going to phone or something."
Revamped. That was how she felt. Full of new strength and back to the
fight. "Cordelia, can you take me home? I've got to dress properly and
I'm sure you could help with that. Xander, you go back to school and
make sure everybody knows there's something really wrong with Buffy.
That she's being chased by her Watcher or something like that. In the
meantime, Oz will help you with everything you need. Take what you
want." She pointed at the shelves around.  "It's free of charge." Six
pins. Thief. And see if I care...

 

A thin, long haired, young vampire was sat on the edge of the bed in
which Spike was still lying. His hands went from a bowl containing a
blue scented liquid to the half-healed wounds on Spike's body. His grey
eyes never left the skin he was cleansing. His long fingers moved in
slow, pleasured circles on the pale flesh.

Angelus stood in the room threshold for a while, watching him. The
young guy didn't even notice he was being stared by an interested gaze.
"Where's Faith?" Angelus finally asked and had to hold back a giggle
when the fellow nearly fell to the floor. The metal bowl jumped from
his lap and chimed on the tiles like a bell.

"She... she went out, sir." His fear was so evidently disgusting.
Rookies had always annoyed him. They were like pariahs crawling
backwards. "She said she had something to check."

Nodding, Angelus smiled slyly. "You like him, don't you boy? Bet you're
thinking that somebody like you would never have somebody like him.
After all, you're a minion..." He took out a packet of cigarettes from
a pocket and lit one with a gold lighter. "Imaging the humiliation...
A master vampire being shagged by a useless minion..." A silvery, thin
column of smoke swirled in the air. "Unless he was unconscious...
Unless somebody had given you some blessing..."

Shaking from head to toes, the young vampire could see a stake in those
dark eyes. The cloth fell from his fingers and he was about to beg for
his un life when Angelus's next words staked him better than a wooden
weapon.

"Unless nobody had ever seen you..." Angelus stepped out closing the
door in the gentlest way. The distinctive sound of a key reached the
fellow's ears. He had been locked up. Alone. With an unconscious,
gorgeous master vampire... The fear in his grey eyes petered out as
a hungry spark replaced it.

 

tbc...




Warning: I was told I'd write a warning for this chapter so here it
goes... Torture and abuse. Sorry to S...    

 

CHAPTER 14

 
First thing Buffy took mental notice of, after crossing the blinding
portal to the past, was to kill Cordelia as soon as she went back to
Sunnydale.  She was sure the brunette had taken extreme pleasure in
tightening the corset laces to an extreme point... Buffy had argued
against the painful garment but she had to accept it in the end. The
damned dress didn't fit her without the corset not matter how she
wriggled inside it. Thanks God she hadn't thrown away the wig... In
spite of how much she hated that long hair, she didn't want anything
to spoil the spell. If she had crossed with that on, she had to wear
it. She would have worn a dress made of human skin if that had helped.


Second thing was that she was absolutely convinced she had forgotten
something. Not the pendant. Her hand had clutched it all the time Anya
had chanted the magic words. Not even the tiniest piece of paper she
had attached with a safety pin inside one of her white linen bloomers.
Buffy knew she should have learnt the going-back song by heart but she
had been so jumpy since they all had gathered in the alley for her
journey to the past... Afraid something, someone better said, would be
spying to ruin her last chance of getting things right.

Taking a deep, necessary breath she turned round. A closed, wooden door
and a wood sign swinging above it. "Jonathan Crowther & Sons. Private
Undertaker." Buffy shuddered. So Anya had cast a perfect spell after
all. Just in the same spot Willow had opened that one. But the
undertaker... It was closed... She's supposed to be staring at
William's cheap splintered coffin. What if it wasn't November anymore?
What if she had struggled so hard for nothing?

Buffy started to walk. She remembered those streets as if everything
had happened only yesterday. Now the sound of clattering wheels and
hooves would hit the cobblestones like a deadly drum. Now the horses
would snort when a whip smacked their hindquarters and her shoes would
rattle on the floor as her heart in her chest.

But there wasn't anything of that. The streets were silent and chilly,
empty and wrapped in a thin mist that blurred the kerbs and the lamp
post pedestals. The cold breeze sneaked under the layers of petticoats
making her shiver. She should have brought a London map. Or some money.
William had paid for the carriage. His mother had lent her the dress
and every piece of garment underneath. Even the shoes... But she was
alone now. Unless... unless it were still October... Unless they were
alive... Of course they wouldn't know her but she knew the house. Could
break into and... borrow some coins... The sixth pin was thief? So
true... But it was for a good purpose! If she'd manage to do it she
promised to give the money back to Spike.

The house she had known had had a lamp lighting the crocheted curtains
in the ground floor. It was warm and friendly. This one was dark and
gloomy. Maybe it was only her imagination and they were only out in
some social meeting... The front door was a black pit. Buffy tiptoed
towards it and rested an ear against the surface. Nothing. Not even the
tall clock in the hall. Her hand tried the doorknob. The door opened
its dark mouth with such easiness that she should have known that
something was really wrong. Despite her doubts, she stepped inside
the house and shut the door at her back. In the small parlour, a log
spluttered in the fireplace and died with a red hiss.

Her gaze climbed the stairs and a fist clutched her heart. It was so
difficult to control her rumbling feelings in that moment... Torn apart
she was. She'd have liked to verify that William was still alive. At
the same time, her heart bled and screamed for Spike. For what would
be going on with him. What if she took a peek? Only a second. Just to
check the date in that small leather notebook of his... As furtive as
a woman dressed in rustling silk could be, Buffy went upstairs and got
into his bedroom.

The box of matches was still on the bedside table. Just as she
remembered. She lit the gas lamp. A sizzling sound filled her ears
together with a door slamming downstairs. Voices. Shouting. Her hand
reached for the doorknob but it was too late. Someone was stomping on
the stairs, followed by a heavier sound. Buffy's eyes whirled around
the room and she jumped towards the desk, hiding behind the wide
armchair that stood between it and the bookcase. The orange glow of
the lamp stopped at the middle of the room leaving her wrapped in deep
shadows.

"All I say is that I don't want to stay here!"

William's voice! Buffy was so happy that she was about to leave her
refuge when the next voice froze her behind the armchair.

"And who told you, boy, that you can say something about anything?"

Angelus... Angelus's voice. That cold draught in it, mixed with an
unreal sweetness, something Buffy knew so well...

"This is MY house!"

"Was your house. Now... it's mine."

"YOURS! Who the hell do you think you are? I'm leaving and I'm taking
Dru with me!" He stared at his grandsire, challenging him to say otherwise.

"Don't push your luck, Willie... I only tolerate Dru's stupid caprices.
But me patience isn't strong..." That was a real threatening voice.
Buffy could picture a simple door with thousand of knives hid behind it
as a bobby trap.

"I'm a caprice? It's that what you're implying?" William chuckled.
"You're nobody to give me orders. And if I want to..."

Angelus's blow was so unexpected that caught him defenceless. His body
crashed onto a chair splitting it in half. Buffy crouched down even
more, not sure whether to stay where she was or jump like Batgirl
saving the powerless.

"I give the orders here." Angelus slowly walked towards William's
fallen shape. "I'm your master. And you'll do as I tell. You'll be
needin' somebody to teach you how things work 'round here, Willie." He
grabbed the front of William's shirt, forcing him to his feet. The next
slosh was straight to his chin. "'Cause in case you haven't realized,
you don't own anything. My women are mine." His fist sank in William's
stomach and he threw him against the desk. Buffy stopped breathing.
Almost. "And you're just a toy she'll throw away soon enough."

William leapt from the floor and his knuckles erased Angelus's smirk.
"I'm not a toy!" Another blow and Angelus's nose started to bleed.

The taller vampire wiped away the blood and sighed deeply. "Now you're
getting me angry, boy..." A clout on his head nearly knocked William
down but he managed to clutch Angelus's shirt. The fabric ripped and
they both fell to the floor in a confusion of limbs and fists.

Buffy's eyes were two green coins peeping from her shelter. Her fingers
grabbed the bottom of the armchair, ready to send it flying across the
room. No flying... Only an ordinary lift. As if she was picking it up
to sweep under it. She tried again. The same... And suddenly she had
the picture of what she had forgotten. The tiny detail about her lack
of strength. Just as she had done when she'd talked to Giles. Panic
crept over her, making her crouch down even more. All she could do was
follow Angelus's fingers crawling on the carpet as furtive worms.

The splintered leg of the chair appeared among them before sinking in
William's shoulder. Another one stabbed him on his right nipple but he
still fought back. A third smaller sliver pierced his side. William
wriggled backwards trying to get to his feet but Angelus's kicked him
and his back hit the edge of the bed. His shirt was soon ripped in half
and his wrists were tied to each of the bed posts. His foot threw out
but he didn't kick a thing. Everything was a blur. He didn't even feel
his bones.

"Now look what you've done to my shirt." Angelus pointed at the torn
garment. "It was my favourite one." Yanking it from his body he threw
it away on the armchair. "Oh, boy... you know why I don't kill you? And
I'm so close to doin' it... 'Cause Dru'd be so upset... But things are
going to change. They have to. 'Cause two roosters? Bad idea. You can't
beat me Willie. Think you've learnt the first lesson already. Second,
I do give the orders here and you just obey." His figure was as tall as
a dark obelisk standing between William's legs. "Third... yes, you're a
toy. A new one. Always wonder what she saw in you." He knelt and pulled
William's chin up. "Was it your blue eyes? Or those beautiful chiselled
features of yours?" Kneeling down, his big hands perched on both sides
of the young's face. His thumbs traced the cheekbones and stopped on
the lips. "Maybe it was that full bottom lip of yours." His face was
so near that, for William, it was nothing but a round yellow shape with
entangled features. His tongue outlined William's lips with extreme
slowness.

Buffy's hands ran to her mouth and her nose. She hadn't been wrong at
the warehouse. Everything had been etched in his words and his gaze. An
intense rush of something bitter was hitting her throat. She swallowed.
She merely breathed. He was so into the fight that he hadn't sensed
another presence in the room. She wasn't going to give herself away
only by puking.

"Or is it that you taste good?" His palm pushed the stake on the
shoulder and his mouth caught a blood mouthful. "I bet it was this."
William's crotch was painfully squeezed. Suddenly, his trousers were
shreds around his legs. His gaze was fixed on his grandsire's face
showing not a thread of the expected fear. His wrists didn't move at
his command. Maybe the stake on his shoulder had severed a nerve...
"Did you know that for certain people nudity makes 'em feel
vulnerable?"

Her eyes were itching. They didn't want to comply with her command of
no tears. They hung from her eyelashes, hot and furious. She dared to
pat the nearest desk. Not a single letter opener, a pencil, the box of
matches. Why in hell she had left the box of matches on the bedside
table? And lit what? Her dress? Would be a quick snack before seeing
the first sparks.

"So you are a big bad boy, ah Willie?" He held William's cock in one
hand as if he was inspecting some vegetable quality. "I can fix that
too. I can fix everything. I can make you so useless that you won't
be anybody's toy again." He pulled out the wood from between the ribs.
"Let's see..." Angelus unbuttoned his own pants. His cock sprang free
nearly hitting his lower belly. His palm began to rub William's shaft.
The nail of his thumb scratched the slit. "Oh, come on, boy. It's not
fair if yours is like that. Okay." He shrugged cutting a slight gash
near the head. William winced and clenched his jaws. "You think that
would make them look alike? Or maybe here?" The second cut went deeper.
"What if I cut it all?" The wooden shiver sank deeply. "Am I smelling
tears, boy? What a girl..."

Buffy desperately wiped the tears out with the dress sleeve. She
wondered how it was possible that her heartbeat hadn't set the whole
room to rock. She wondered if it was possible for her to hammer the
fiend head as she had done with Dru's. Her hand crawled to the blue
leather boot.

"Bastard!" William spluttered among gasps and grunts. The pain was
unbearable and he'd lost enough blood to faint. But he wasn't going to.
The prick had to kill him first.

"What have you said? Who gave you the order to speak?" The golden hair
was yanked backwards. " You speak if I want, you jump if I want. You
shag if I want. I'm your master."

"And that's why Darla is here?" William spat, a mockery ringing in his
rough voice. A slap crossed his face but he didn't falter. "Are you her
master as well?"

"Shut up!" Jumping to his feet, Angelus grabbed his grandson's hair.
His hand held his bursting cock pushing it against William's lips.
"Stupid boy! You won't be able to speak for a while. I guarantee you
that." His knee hit the shoulder stake forcing a scream out of the lips
he was pressing. He plundered into the opened mouth like a battering
ram through a castle defence. It didn't matter how hard William tried
to pull back. The hand on his neck was a thick wall. "You see, you do
what I want. Speak when I tell you. Do what I command." His thrusts
were violent and bruising. "Oh, yes, - he hissed, - you'll be a good
toy..."

He was so near that his grasp slackened. Gathering the last threads of
energy, William's face changed and his fangs sank deeply on the invader
piece of flesh. The hurt roar filled every inch of the room. Angelus
stomped back, his bleeding cock pointing at the savage smirk on
William's swollen lips like a finger promising a deserved punishment.
His face was twisted with rage. Only one thing in mind. Erase that
smile forever. He hit him so hard that the shirt split completely,
releasing William's wrists.

His booted foot kicked Angelus's balls with all the strength he had
left. Grabbing the bed post he struggled to get to his feet. Maybe he
should run away. At least for now. Till he could regain some power on
his own body. This could be the best and only chance he'd have that
night. He wasn't quick enough, though. His forehead was crashed against
the bedpost till he thought his brains would leave their spot on it
permanently. A hissing sound shrilled behind him and a rain of leather
lashes fell on his back. Losing his unstable balance, he fell on the
bed. The stakes ran through his flesh and pointed at the ceiling.

"So you want it the rough way. I'll give you rough then."

Oh, shit. He was lost. Lost for that crazy beast to finally win his
prize. With a final effort William kicked him on the chest and send him
against the bookcase. The bronze earth globe on the top of it waved a
little before falling on Angelus's skull knocking him out. William's
glazed eyes gawked for a moment. His face sank on the mattress.

Finally picking up the courage, Buffy got out from behind the chair.
Her legs were dancing a mad waltz. She stopped near Angelus stiff body
and kicked his ribs. He didn't move. She turned round to the bed. Only
two steps and her mouth opened in a silent scream to throw a flow of
sour liquid on the carpet. She had walked bare foot on that carpet. Had
swung like a princess. Had picked up jewels. Her face was now a river.
Holding her stomach she pulled out the two stakes in his body and shook
him gently. His blue eyes were bewildered and shocked slits. Buffy
forced him to his feet; amazed he could still have some strength left
in him. Downstairs, she was about to head to the door when a song
filled the air. Oh, shit! This night had no end! Shuffling hastily, she
dragged him to a door on the left. A dark pit welcomed her. The cellar?
She didn't think. Too shocked for even that.

 

tbc...
Summary: Set during Season 3, Buffy and Spike are figuring out their
relationship, while the Mayor gets a Big Bad ally...

Thanks: To Melissa, best beta ever.

 

CHAPTER 15               

  

Spike had been dreaming of a blue dress and a glass of champagne.
Bubbles tickled his nose. A white heather scent wrapped him in warm
arms. Till a clattering noise woke him up. A noise and Angelus's voice
delivering him as a dustbin to be filled with useless, rotten rubbish.
He stayed still, though. Let that bastard think he'd do whatever he
wanted. Let him leave. Let this sodding minion feel confident enough
to break his neck. Or show him the way out.

Two hands glided gently along his thighs, over his chest. A pair of
legs straddled his hips and a tongue, cold and sickening, flicked on
one of his nipples. His eyes flew open, a blue steel cleave that cut
the minion's ministrations. His fist punched the wanker's nose, sending
him to the floor.

"I should kill you, buggering prick." Spike jumped out from the bed.
"I should rip that shaft out from you and shove it up your sorry ass.
Make you walk with it stuck in your hole for all the years to come."
He kicked the minion's stunned face. "But I'm not going to. At least for
now. 'Cause you're going to show me the way out of here. And if you
succeed, maybe, just maybe, I won't wipe your sodding dust off my
hands."

He picked up the minion's clothes and checked the size. Too damned
small. Tearing the sheet in two, he tied it around his waist like a
white sarong before walking towards the door. He pressed an ear against
it. Not a sound. As if that room was the only thing in the world. With
a strong flick of his wrists he broke the lock and opened a crack. A
blue eye peeked down a long, dimly lit corridor.

"Now, - his fingers seized the minion's throat, - take me to the
Slayer."

"Faith? She is not... not..." The grip didn't allow too much talk.

"Not that bitch. Buffy. Where do they keep her?" Spike released his
hold only a little.

"There's no other slayer here." A thumb dug one of his eyes and a few
drops of blood trickled from one corner. "I swear it! The other Slayer
is out there! Crazy, they say!"

Spike couldn't believe his luck. This sod wasn't only a bum-boy but a
dork as well! "You know where the witch is?"

"Yes! Yes!" The younger vamp shouted when the thumb went for his other
eye. "I'll take you there!"

"Ladies first then." Spike quickly skimmed the room looking for some
wood he could use as a weapon but everything was either plastic or
iron. Snapping necks was all he had left then. His hand held the
minion's nape.

The place was like a maze of yellow, flaky walls. Water fell from the
ceilings in constant drops forming dark, smelling puddles on the broken
brown tiles of the floor. Bare bulbs hung from wires and did nothing to
light the damp hallways. Spike nearly welcomed it. After spending days
in Radiance Palace, this was some sort of bliss. Like the past days in
Oblivious Land. The problem was that he was going back to the Palace.
And nothing he could do, could possibly prepare his eyes for the
blinding blast.

"Behind that door." The vampire pointed at a grey metal surface.
"There's the cage."

Spike sneered at him and pointed at the door with a quick movement of
his head. The minion complied with the silent command. Spike squeezed
his eyes shut for a moment.

There was something wrong in that room. As he slowly approached the
metal humming bars, he checked the cots and the blankets. They were the
same. But the lights were bluish. No searing beams ready to destroy his
eyes. He touched the bars and a slight shot of energy ran along his
arm. Bloody hell! And Willow wasn't even there.

"Where is she?" He kicked the running vamp in his back. "Where the fuck
is...?" He lifted up his head. Steps. Near. Spike snapped the minion's
neck before he could call for help and ran to the door hiding behind
it.

Willow entered first followed by a girl. She was even younger than the
witch. Spike frowned, a little confused. That girl... she couldn't be
more than fourteen. And that was a guardian? Taking no chances he
jumped at her nearly strangling her neck with an iron arm.

"Now be a nice girl and turn round." His confusion climbed two levels.
She was human. But at the same time, she wasn't. As if she were nothing
but an empty shell. He hadn't time to suss it out, though. His other
hand sought Willow's wrist and forced her to walk behind him. "You're
going to show us the bloody exit. Got it?" The girl nodded with a blank
movement. A robot could have been more enthusiastic.

After crossing three corridors, she finally stopped. Spike sighed with
some relief. He remembered the big wood boxes. Had come in through a
door at the end of that room. Didn't need the girl that stood in front
of him like a figurehead. He vamped out. Couldn't let her run away and
deliver the big news, could he?  He retreated his fangs as soon as they
pierced the soft flesh. She tasted as a bag full of foul air. Fuck!
Spitting a little he pushed her aside and resumed his race. Willow ran
behind him as if he were dragging a kite to raise it in the air. Spike
stopped and howled like an abandoned wolf.

There was no door but some sort of temple front. Two tall, black
columns held a black frieze, from where twisted, suffering, stony
faces shouted in silent screams. Two strange birds were perched on each
column. They looked like eagles but their bodies were covered in fur
instead of feathers. Their long tails waved furiously in the air.
Growls resounded at his back. Spike whirled round. Three dark dogs
drooling a thick thread of white saliva. Each of them had four mad eyes
and curved, sharp claws. Okay, escaping wasn't going to be that easy.
He was about to make a move when Willow threw out her hands. A
murmuring chant flowed from her lips as pinkish sparks circled faster
and faster above her stretched palms. The sparks turned into red flames
and then into something black that grew larger and began to wriggle on
the floor like... like black serpents. Spike leapt back a few steps but
he couldn't take his eyes off of the approaching snakes as though he
had fallen into some trance. Why didn't they go for those damned dogs?
He couldn't move. With a great effort, he finally looked at Willow. Her
eyes had lost their sweetness and the green fields of their depths were
wrapped in black clouds. They were as empty, evil wells. A red flake
was stuck to her forehead and it looked like a third flaring eye. 
Snakes began to creep up his legs, his arms, his neck. "RED!!!" He
shouted before falling to the floor, locked up by five cold, black
chains.

 

The Bronze was really bursting that night. After being closed for
almost two months by a new decree against immorality and some League
of Caring for our Teens' Health, somebody finally thought the only way
of caring about teens was knowing where they were. Nobody could have
missed the grand re-opening. Oz had said that if they didn't show up
"they" would know. And he had been right. For a werewolf he was right
most of the time. That was a thing Xander could deal with. He had known
Oz for... well, not that long. But he was human... almost. He had known
him as human and now as... a... demon? Werewolves were demons? Didn't
know and didn't matter. They just got on well. Maybe 'cause... And it
had nothing to do with Buffy's personal story with a bleached vampire.
'Cause it wasn't the same, was it? Oz didn't go around killing people.
Not that he knew. And about the human part... Now he was entangling
things. Better got out of that crowded restroom.

Two steps out and Xander stopped on his track. A well-known dark haired
woman caught his sight. Faith... Faith jumping behind some noisy girls
with skirts so short that he'd nearly see their... Focus.  All Buffy
had told them chimed in his head while he took little steps, his back
pressed to the back wall. She was spying on them? Xander elbowed the
mass of sweaty people and finally reached the couch in which Cordelia
was babbling about her next holidays in the French Riviera.

"Faith is here." Three pair of eyes stared at him as if he had
announced he'd a bomb hidden in his underwear. Sort of speak. "I've
seen her."

"So... it's show time then. Can you see her now?" Oz tried to take a
glimpse by the corner of one eye but it only hurt. His back was so
tense that he thought his transforming ritual would begin in any
minute.

"She is six mega-mini skirts from us." Xander shook his head once more.
Man, she really got a nerve! What if Mr. Wyndham... Was he nuts? That
priggish guy wouldn't have recognized a dancing floor even if it had
been swept with his own body. Suit and everything. "Maybe you could go
for some Cokes? And take Cordelia with you? The deaf could hear when
she opens her mouth." Xander smiled a little just to soothe the angry
brunette.

"I'm doing this just to get my life back, you know. I mean, the one
that your friend told me about. The one with none of you around, I
hope" Cordelia stood up. The glass in her hand spilled its last drops
of sticky Pepsi on Xander's pants. "Oops, sorry Xander. It's not that
you'll ever notice another stain, though."

Her grin nearly blinded him. Something patted his jeans. Anya and
a paper napkin. Anya's hand cleaning his thighs like if he had been
soaked in a Pepsi barrel. And in a place the drops hadn't even touched
him. Xander gaped at her while his body, always with a mind of its own,
decided it liked the rubbing. Anya's smile was so near... Since when
did he like...? He leant forward and kissed her.

"It's not that I'm surprised." Cordelia asked for another Pepsi. "I
mean, she has always been an odd creature. All those strange things
mixed with an incredible lack of style could drive anybody mad."

Oz just nodded, his attention focused on the excellent view he had from
the mirror which was behind the bar counter. A girl with pink hair was
standing behind him. A big bubble gum nearly hid her face, turning her
into a pink balloon. Behind her, to the left, a tall guy with a
flowered shirt was trying to convince Faith about the benefits of
dancing with him. The Slayer had kneed something precious, apparently
'cause the boy's face was twisted in pain. Faith stepped closer.

"And that Watcher of hers! How could anybody stand his boring chat
without losing their mind? It's his fault, I think." Cordelia couldn't
stop talking. She was really enjoying pestering freely about her
annoying so-called friends. "Two Slayers and they both went nuts.
Thanks God they are both out of the way now."

"Yes! And Buffy..." Oz agreed turning round a little. He didn't want
Faith to know he'd seen her. "She deserves it. Hope they keep her in
that English cell forever. She killed Willow..."

"Oh, that little witch!" Cordelia winced when Oz's boot stomped on
her shoe. "Maybe she's still alive. Or doing some hocus-pocus in some
basement. And that's Buffy's fault as well. Had driven everybody around
completely loony. You know about the Napoleon tale, don't you? Well, if
you put a madman and a psychologist..." She began to swim against the
queue of people, heading for the couch. "Oh, my! Xander!" She yelled
with disgust.

Xander quickly jumped backwards, wiping his mouth with the back of his
palm. His hair was dishevelled as he had faced a tornado. "So... what
happened?"
 


Faith went to the back of the club feeling waves of pure pleasure
tingling her blood. As she dialled the phone number, images of a hot
and nearly healed vampire waiting for her in a room assaulted her mind.
"She's out of our way." Six words that tasted like nectar in her mouth.
Whistling a tune, she left the Bronze with a huge smile dancing on her
lips.

 
tbc...
Summary: Set during Season 3, Buffy and Spike are figuring out their
relationship, while the Mayor gets a Big Bad ally...

Thanks: To Melissa, best beta ever.

 

CHAPTER 16

 
The cellar was extraordinarily cold. Like a death pit. Or a grave.
Buffy's eyes were so open that they were like magnifying glasses on
dark, blurry silhouettes. He was so heavy... And so not of any help at
all. Besides, the long train of the dress did nothing to collaborate
and kept on entangling in her ankles as another demon trying to stop
her pace. She bumped into a hard surface. Hard and soft in some places.
Maybe a big sofa of some kind... Rounding it, she managed to hide them
both behind it.

Patting his face, Buffy reached his closed eyelids. Still out...
But she had to do something! She couldn't stay down there waiting for
Angelus to find them. Maybe her blood still held some kind of super
fast healing powers in spite of the lack of Slayer's strength... She
pushed her wrist against his swollen lips but he didn't move. Never
knew when she started to cry again. Her tears fell on his eyebrows and
glided along his nose. One, two, three as rain drops in a winter night.
Taking one of the pins that held her hair out of her face, she cut a
little gash and pushed the wound hastily.

"Come on, come on." A constant, pleading murmur. "Please, Spike.
Please..."

She didn't know if he had heard her but his tongue licked her wrist
making her jolt. God, how she missed him! How she missed the soft and
hot feeling of his mouth on her skin... A sudden racket made her raise
her head. Footsteps were coming down... She hugged the limp figure in
her arms like an orphan child who had found a new doll on the streets.

"Hiding Willie?" Buffy felt she had no tongue but a new heart pounding
against her palate. How in hell he was on his feet so quick? "Never
thought you're such a coward. Come on, - he ran into something and his
insult cut the air, - I know you're here. I can smell you... Your
blood, mmm. Really tasty, boy."

Buffy's hands flew to her chest as if she'd be able to cup her own
heart to prevent the beats from being heard. Her rapid gasps slowed to
those of a dying bird. But... if that fiend had smelt Spike's blood...
The gash in her wrist screamed with fear.

Another loud bump and an awful odour mixed with another swearing.
Something tickling and intense filled the enclosed space. Paraffin...

"Okay, play hide and sick, - Angelus giggled, - as long as you want.
Dru and I are going to have some fun out there. Without you, of course.
There's that place I always wanted to visit... Hope you'll be healed
when we return... Dru can't stand weak and feeble boys, Willie. Take it
as a friend's tip."

Her ears had grown. Either that or her hearing powers had achieved
vampiric levels. That silly, sinister giggle was Dru's. Buffy's guts
jumped with disgust and jealousy. For Christ sake! She could still feel
something so absurd as that in this hideous situation! The front door
slammed sharply. The air in her lungs escaped in a long stream as
though she were nothing but now flat tyres. Minutes passed without
further sounds. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Her legs were a numb spot. Grabbing
the back of the sofa, Buffy got to her feet. The light that came down
from the ground floor traced a yellowish path along dirty pieces of
furniture and stopped on the springs that pointed at the ceiling
through the torn flowered upholstery.

She stomped the floor a few seconds just to regain the normal flood of
blood. A moan came from the lying figure at her feet. "Sp... William.
William, please open your eyes." She begged with a strangled throat.
"I need your help. Just a little at least." She mumbled helping him to
a standing position.

Going upstairs had never taken so long to any person. Two steps left
and it seemed as far as her home. With a final effort they both
collided on the hall carpet. Buffy didn't stop to check on him. Rushing
to the door, she ran to the corner just to get a carriage of any sort.
She was going to get as far as she could away from that fucking house
even if she had to steal it, which it would probably be the case with
her current bad luck...

"Oh, come on! Where the fuck are you when somebody needs you?" She
shouted at the long street ahead as if she were waiting for a taxi in
some city. "Past year this damned place was crowded with... Oh! STOP!"
She waved her arms to the black carriage that turned round the corner.
And froze in that position. What if they were coming back in that
carriage? How more stupid she could be? Too late now. The driver
managed to bring the horses to a halt just a few inches from her dress.

"So, are ya getting in or wha'?" The man asked her from above. His
hatched-face was outlined by a lamp hanging from a hook by his side.

"Oh, sir! Yes! But I must... I have to..." The gears in her mind looked
for a good excuse. That not too gentle guy would never let her get into
his carriage dragging a fainted man. And last thing she wanted was
facing the police again.

"I'm here." A weak, rough voice sputtered behind her. Buffy swirled
around and her shocked gaze ran along a long, dark overcoat. Something
in his eyes was pleading her to stop gaping and start moving. He didn't
know how much time he was going to be able to fake a normal posture.
Buffy seized his arm and they both got into the carriage. The house was
soon a distant black speck in a black canvas.

 

After dozing the whole trip, William woke up in Buffy's arms. Her head
had rolled to one side and bumped slightly against the frame of the
window. Still a little dizzy, he drew the small, dark curtain but he
couldn't work out where they were. Tapping the ceiling with an
amazingly strong fist, he waited for the driver to stop.

"Where are we?" His face was like a moon showing through the drapes.

"Your missus back there told me to get ya as far as I could. Crossing
the river, she said. Never told me where."

"I'm asking you now." His fingers nails sank on his palm. For all
the...! He could feel the strength slowly filling them as warm ants.

"Tooley St."

"What???" William jumped out of the carriage. His knees buckled a
little. "Where were you planning to take us, mate? All the bloody way
to Dover? Thanks God horses don't swim. Would be in Calais right now."
He put a note in the man's stretched hand. Could have snapped his neck
in a second but a pair of sleepy hazel eyes were staring at him from
the window. A dream. He was so beaten that probably he was dreaming it
all. Her warm hand felt real enough, though. And the funny noise of her
skirt. Or the shiver that ran along her body and stopped in his palm.
Even the soft and insistent rain that fell from the sky.

As he walked along the streets, he couldn't but think the driver fellow
had done a good thing. Angelus would never trace them so far.  In case,
the bastard would plan such a thing. He'd have time to heal and to find
out certain things as why in hell, she, of all the women in the world,
was there again.  With the same borrowed dress, and he was not going
to think of his mother in that moment; spotless as if that damned party
had been only hours ago. The same pendant, the same earrings, the same
round, full heaving breasts threatening to burst the seams...

"Want a room, mate? Can't have that lovely missy all drenched, now can
you?" A man he hadn't seen. Or sensed. The rain was a heavy curtain
now, blurring the tall buildings and fading the poor lights of the gas
lamps.

William turned round. Her hair was a dark, soaked cloak, half hiding
her eyes. She was shivering. That wasn't a dress for being out in the
cold. William followed the man into a long corridor that smelt of old
wax and old leaking ceilings. The stairs squealed under their steps
as if it were full of invisible rats. He stopped in front of a bad
painted door. Some woman was singing a lullaby in the next room. A man
was shouting in the upper floor to a bunch of noisy kids. A ship siren
pierced the air.

"It's not the Queen's Palace but it's clean. And has a big bed..." The
man joked but all he got back was a steel blue gaze. "Fifteen shillings
a week. And the fireplace doesn't work."

William dug in his pocket. After she had run away to the street,
leaving him on that carpet, he had decided it wasn't a good idea to
stay in the house. As he'd said to himself before, he needed to get
his strength back to face Angelus again. He had grabbed the first coat
he had found hanging in the coat stand in the parlour. Couldn't wander
along the streets only dressed with black boots. And then, he had seen
her. Again. Like a ghost. Standing in that corner, waving her hands at
the approaching carriage, filling him again with the strange feeling
of a never-ending dream. He was still wrapped in it. While he gave the
coins to the man, when she walked into the room, inviting him in with
a weak voice. While they both stood still in the middle of the small
space, her eyes jumping from the ceiling to the floor, never reaching
his face. The wounds in his body still ached and shed tiny drops.

"You should..." ...take that dress off... He was going to say that.
His former William had stopped his tongue as though he were still a
gentleman. Facing her, he felt like that. As if he hadn't died and
reborn into a new life. As inhibited and shy as he used to be.

Listening to the unspoken words her eyes finally met his and something
in her heart broke like a porcelain cup. All the way inside that
carriage she had tried so hard to steel her heart. Just to face his
eyes. Just to look into them and didn't sink in a desperate whirlpool
of thinking she had Spike again. 'Cause he wasn't. He wasn't even human
William. And yet... His eyes told otherwise. The same blue, the same
tenderness they held when Spike thought she wasn't looking at him. The
same beautiful features caressed intensely by the warm orange light of
the candles. Outlined as if they were in some crypt, hiding from the
world to shout and scream in perfect and utter satisfaction. There was
something missing, though. The scar on his eyebrow. That she sketched
with her fingers when she was straddling him on her couch. She had to
focus on that, then. Just for her guts to stay calm. Just for the tears
not to flood her. Yet... it was such a thin rope... It would snap in
frayed halves. Sooner or later. She knew it with all the hot, clinking
nerve endings of her being.

 

tbc...



CHAPTER 17
 

There was a buzzing sound above his head. As if a fly was stuck in
some cobweb in the ceiling. Xander raised his eyes. The class had been
particularly boring that morning. Maybe it was due to the fact that two
seats were empty. Nobody had asked, though. Not even the teacher which
didn't make sense at all. He had been wondering if it would be wise to
talk to Mr. Wyndham... He felt from his seat when a high-pitched scream
filled the silent room.

The girl from the first desk was shrieking like a police car and it
didn't matter how she was slapped by the more than pale teacher; she
couldn't seem to stop. Cordelia jumped from her seat and gave her a
sudden blow that sent her to the floor.

Scrambling to his feet Xander rushed towards her with a pencil as a
weapon. Cordelia had turned evil! More! Now she would force them to
wear designer clothes or be banished from school if they weren't cool
enough. For her own cool standards, that's it.

"Well, she had to be stopped, hadn't she? It wasn't like she was some
famous soprano." Cordelia explained at the stunned look in the
teacher's face. "She's fine now. Look, her eyes are opened..."

"The red eyes, the red eyes..." The poor girl repeated in between gasps
pointing at the class board.

Cordelia frowned and tugged Xander's sleeve. Another scream from the
next classroom. Then another. The whole school seemed to be screaming.
Running steps filled the corridors. Frightened students and clueless
teachers were racing towards the exit door.

"Where are you going!?" Cordelia grabbed Xander's shirt splitting it in
two.

"Out! Where else?" Something in her eyes told him that wasn't what
she'd expected to hear. "Oh, please! We can't talk to that guy! Forget
him, okay? We can find something by..."

"Ourselves? How? Fishing on witchcraft sites on the Internet? In your
school textbooks? How!" Her mouth was curled in a wry line. Suddenly
the line changed to a wide smile. Her arm was a fast fishing rod. "Look
who I have found..."

 

Willow rejected the tray a fat vampire put on a table near the bed she
was sitting on. Her gaze followed the man's chubby fingers as they
pointed to each dish on the silvery surface till she finally begged
him to leave her alone.

She held her knees against her chest with trembling arms. She felt
as if a hammer was rhythmically hitting each of her temples and she
couldn't even focus properly.  Could be happy for the change in
accommodation. But it wasn't the case. She'd have welcomed the shining
bars just to check on Spike. Why had she done such a thing? It felt
that she had been guided by a remote control as those planes kids
played with in the city square. Till they bumped on the hard land
sending pieces of engine all over the place. Exactly how she felt.
Deactivated. Shattered and yet... The forces that had taken her over
had filled her with such undeniable and exquisite power... She had
really enjoyed it.

Willow hid her face on the crook of her arms. So ashamed of herself she
was! So splintered in parts she couldn't begin to recognize. All she
had in mind was the suffering on Spike's face as the chains constricted
his muscles. Buffy's watery eyes and her endless tales of love, despite
she had never pronounced that word aloud. Her friend... How was she
going to forgive her? How could she possibly know? How long have they
been left there to be played with? Nobody had come to rescue them.
Nobody had made any attempt to set them free. Buffy deserved... Her
sobs went deeper. Who was she? Who was that horrible creature that
flailed her slackening chains within her inner flesh? Willow cried out
loud and a bolt of energy from her hand sent the tray to fly. Spots of
food decorated the opposite wall as new humidity stains. Terrified, she
buried herself under the blanket.

 

Angelus jumped the last two steps of the long stairs. He had never
known there were caves and caverns underneath the City Hall. Not even
beyond. But that city from hell never ceased to amaze him. The Mayor
stopped in front of a black door putting out a key from the right
pocket of his blue navy suit. After blinking one eye he finally stepped
inside a huge room lighted with four big braziers. Golden cherubs who
held big round bowls where coal burnt furiously. Hieroglyphics covered
the walls; black, hermetic drawings of a sort the vampire had never
seen. Thin, white, shining lines separated them in columns. As if the
walls were Venetian blinds partially hiding a bright sunlight.

The alabaster pedestal that stood on the middle of the place shone
brightly under the firelight. The sceptre had been attached to its
centre and the onyx headpiece spread a fan of yellow beams on the
ceiling.

"Time is coming when the fabric of realms will open like an old net."
Wilkins stated with dark eyes. "It's so near, my friend. Can't you see
them? Spying through the cracks that treasure is opening?"

Angelus swirled around. His eyes were trying to cope with the images
that leapt from the cracks, crashing and fading into the yellow beams.
All sort of creatures travelled briefly in that light. As slides
running at incredible speed. Even his vampiric eyes couldn't catch
them all at once.

"They will feed the sceptre. Their energy will be ours to control
each of those worlds that are now falling apart." The Mayor's voice
had changed to a low and soft tone that seemed to come from a different
being. "Doors are revealing their secrets. Doors will be soon
completely opened. They are impatient. But it's not time yet. Soon,
very soon." His tone changed again and he chuckled softly.

"I can't understand how this could help us. I thought we were going to
have some fun..." Angelus took his leather coat off. How in hell could
he be feeling the heat?

"Maybe you haven't paid attention to the sceptre's name... Siva's
sceptre, that is. There's always a reason for everything, my eager
vampire." Wilkins walked towards the door, slightly pushing a reluctant
Angelus. "Erase old boundaries to trace new ones. To create new things
you have to destroy old ones... Sad but so true! And this, my friend,
is as a good world as any of those. You'll have your bloodshed, don't
worry. Do you really think these humans will give in without a fight?
I doubt it. Those demons that are trying to wrestle the power of the
sceptre are fighting for their worlds. This, my friend, is as those
lands... They'll fight. And even without a Slayer there's still a
Council. Get out of that warehouse. You may have an amusing task in
front of your very eyes..."

"Another Watcher?" Angelus's smirk matched the Mayor's. "Or maybe some
snooping Scobbies?" He sighed with delight. Time has come... Yes. To
take his revenge. To get rid of those that had spoilt his first attempt
for a good apocalypse. But this one... This one was so different! A
kingdom was waiting for him and no scrawny worms would stop him in his
way to his well-deserved throne.

 

"So, you've been a naughty boy, they say? Trying to leave me when I've
treated you so well..." Faith paced to and fro outside the cage in
which Spike was chained to the bars. "Maybe if I get a blond wig..."

Spike snorted. "Don't bother, brass. Won't happen even if you pull out
your bloody head out of your neck and trade it for hers."

Faith fuming sigh flowed from her nostrils like from a sleeping dragon.
"And I thought you liked Slayers..."

"Yeah, to drain them dead. Have you, by any chance, got a black leather
coat?" He teased, unable to see her expression. The lights were a white
heat wire over his head. "Mine is missing..."

"Buffy looked perfectly alive to me last time I saw her... If you don't
count her naked body hanging from a hook..." She recoiled, taken by
surprise by his sudden leapt. His fingers tore the shoulder of her
purple T-shirt.

"Still don't get it, do you?" Spike clutched the bars in spite of the
bolts of energy that shook him. "It's not the Slayer thing. She could
be anything else. A regular girl, a demon, a sodding cheerleader. I
wouldn't mind 'cause it's SHE who I want."

Was that completely true? Would he cherish her the way he did if she
wasn't a perfect match for him? He'd liked her without strength...
He'd wanted to... But he had turned to Cecily instead. He was a
pathetic geek, granted. But... what would he have done if he hadn't
been human? He would have ripped her throat out without looking at
her twice. Or maybe he would have shagged her while draining her out,
enjoying her desperate gasps for staying alive a little more. That
wasn't a thing he was going to say to this crazy bint, though.

"This game is only starting, Spike. When I finish with you, you'll
be begging for me to stake you. And I will. I swear it." Faith
venomous ring only made him laugh. "In the meantime... enjoy your
foodless days. Maybe you could drink from your own neck..."

"I'll be soon drinking from yours, bitch..." He promised, changing
to his demon visage. "Have anybody told you Slayers' blood is
aphrodisiac...? Hey, why don't you come in here and let me have
a taste? Who knows... maybe it could work. Maybe you could even get
me hard..." His laughing roar followed Faith livid withdraw for long
seconds. Oh, bollocks! He certainly had to figure how to get out of
that place!

 

tbc...

CHAPTER 18
 

"Where are you going?" She had asked from the black corner of the bed.
Not a sleepy voice but one in which sadness and something else blended
in an intoxicating potion. She had coughed again, deeply this time. Her
dress was still a little wet without a fireplace for drying it up and
the room was so chilly that even he had started to feel it.

"Out." He had said running away from the next question as if it would
be armed with a poisonous arrow. Away from the tempting puzzle that was
sitting on that mattress with only an old, worn blanket covering her
exposed skin. One night of lying on the very edge of the bed to regain
some strength had been enough. Enough of listening to her soft
breathing, enough of smelling a faded vanilla scent and something else
he couldn't put his finger on...

His excuse for running away had been she needed some medicine. His
stupid excuse. He could have said he needed some clothes. Could have
been more accurate. Less... obvious. 'I'm going out 'cause I don't know
why you are here, how you could save me, why I feel this way.' That
gaze of hers had prevented all his questions the past night. She had
grown thinner... If that was possible in... how many days? Four? Five?
Bluish circles surrounded her beautiful eyes giving them the look of
fields that had been turned into isolated isles strapped by evil
waters. An abandoned, cornered creature still lived there and its
sorrow was gigantic.

Too many questions swirled in his mind as he walked along narrow
streets, blindly stared by tall crowded buildings that looked like
rabbit warrens. Only that the rabbits were well hidden inside and his
guts had began to grumble for a small dinner. How in hell...? How could
she possibly have known? How to heal him? About his kind? And most
important... what was there in her blood? He felt awesome. As if
nothing had... No. That, he'd remember for all the years he might last.
Yet, every time he cooked up a new plan, and he had cooked a hundred
only in one night, for killing Angelus he hadn't been able to suppress
the dread that had run along his spine.

He passed by a dim lit inn. Some drunken voices were having a fight.
The bright smile of his cousin Lawrence appeared in the soft glow of
the street lamps. It hadn't been a year... Eight months. And he could
still hear his cheerful laugh when he stomped in the house early in
the morning, carrying bunches of fresh flowers for his mother.
Breakfast had never been the same after his death. There'd always been
a little more silence. His mother had made him move all the furniture
just not to look at an empty chair. And then, more important matters,
if somebody could put on a scale matters like that to measure their
importance, had taken them by surprise and Lawrence had become a sad
smile at teatime.

Why in hell was he pondering about the past? It was gone as a bottle
taken away by the sea. The girl. That was it. She and her trustful
eyes. She and her warm bosom in which he could have lost himself for
good. He had named her Queen Mab once. She was. A fairy. A golden fairy
that had torn the fabric of dreams to reveal herself in flesh and
blood... An alarm bell chimed in the night. The sound of the train got
nearer. Of course, maybe she had returned to the house after that party
but he had never seen her. His mother hadn't said anything about...
Well, it wasn't that they had had a nice long chat before... He pushed
the thought aside. He still cringed when he remembered what had
happened. Bad choice that of turning her. He should have known better.
His mother had always been...

"Turn round slowly or I'll kill you." A sharp tip pricked his back.
William whirled around but the boy didn't jump backwards but leapt
against his chest, missing his heart for inches.

William looked at the spike in his body. Bastard! He was really tired
of being stabbed every single day! His fingers sank in the boy's throat
dragging him closer. "You scared me for a second, you know? Want my
money, mate? Here. Get my money..."

The whizzing sound of the train that ran on the tracks behind his
back covered the boy's scream when he vamped out. Five minutes and a
completely drained corpse was discarded on the tracks. He looked at
it as he pulled the spike out of his chest and raise it to his eyes.
"Nice trick, lad." Three drops of his own blood fell onto his fingers.
"Really nice..."

Putting it on his pocket, he walked away knowing one thing now. Poor
old William'd have pissed his trousers in the same situation. Poor old
William'd have pissed his trousers about any situation whatsoever. He'd
have hesitated so much that he'd have ended not only stabbed but with
her ass-cheeks staring at the moon. Hesitation was a luxury he couldn't
afford anymore. He'd vacillated in the house. Had taken a few minutes
to deliver Angelus the first blow. And that had only earned him a good
whacking. From now on he had to act first just to save himself by
offering a sacrifice of blood. As radical as it might sound it was the
only thing that would let him conquer this new life, this new world.
He was a hunter now. And he had to be not only that but a dauntless
fighter as well. Achieve glorious, bigger things. Bigger than those of
that hideous grandsire of him. And in order to do that... he needed to
put the past behind.

 

William jumped from the train as soon as it crossed the Thames.
Dressed in some clothes he had pilfered from a window, he stopped the
first carriage and headed to his former house, determined to save Dru
from that maniac. The girl... he still didn't know her name, how came
he didn't ask? had to wait a few more hours. First thing was saving his
sire from that monster. He owed her that if not a brand wide universe
he now was eager to seize. Another house, a beautiful one, away from
Angelus could do for that night. He might stay with her just to erase
doubts. That grieving girl... made him feel guilty. Made him feel
things that he couldn't feel in this new path he had taken after
killing that boy. After making significant decisions. Face your
monsters. Face them all. Survive. No grovelling allowed anymore.

Empty. The house was empty and after one single night the perfumes
and odours were fading away like smoke. Back on the streets, William
sniffed the air. The scent lead him to his left and got stronger as
he approached St. James's Park. Maybe they had had a feast among the
trees. Maybe they had met some of those aristocrats Angelus liked that
much. So easy to follow them across the park that hid among bushes
discarded people that soon would be missed. As he reached Regent St.
the scent hit his nostrils as if those he was hunting were standing
next to him. A double wooden door with carved foliage and brass
doorknobs stood above six marble steps. William slinked inside and a
heavy, over decorated room assaulted him. Deep red velvet drapes with
golden silk tassels did nothing to hide the perfection of the golden
lamps and the ornate Persian carpets. Dark oak furniture of exquisite
beauty shone like big hazelnuts under the gas lamps. An old couple was
lying in one chaise longue. Their throats had been chewed unmercifully.
William stared at them and the white handkerchief that was trapped
among the podgy fingers of the woman brought him a fleeting, unexpected
image of his mother. The past had its own ways to break doors it
seemed. Of course, burying a sentimental fool like him would never take
one only night, would it? Still, he couldn't but feel that ridiculous
relief... Angelus had found another place. Some sort of baroque palace
in which he would feel like a refined creature despite the tawdry
little maggot he was. How was that of making a silk purse out of a
sow's ear? Not that he really cared. If Angelus wanted to live in the
Buckingham Palace itself, that was up to him. William had had enough of
those aristocratic asses to see behind their well-bred façade.

Faded grunts slide through the corridors as he passed by closed doors.
So it wasn't a house but a hotel. An expensive one. Good. Angelus would
probably jump from bed to bed just to think he was the King of monkeys.
He would be entertained and it would be easier to convince Dru to...
William never knew what hit him harder. The wolfish grin on Angelus
turned face or Dru's legs raised in the air, wrapped around her sire
waist.

"Take your hands off her!" William shouted, mugged by flashes from his
own personal experience in that psycho's hands. Poor innocent Dru of
him... That smile on her lips...just one little tune it sang. I'm not
that innocent. And I'm certainly not that raped.

"So, - Angelus chortled at the sweltering rage in William's eyes, - our
boy is healed! And back to our little family... Not that coward are you
after all." He tried to pat William's shoulder but he shoved him aside
never leaving the fixed look on Dru's face.

How could she betray him? How...? All his life he had been teased and
bullied by everyone who had had the chance to do so. Even minutes
before running to his death he had been betrayed in the most horrid
way. He had served his own shattered heart for Dru to feed from it. And
she had understood. She had taken his grief and given him wings to fly
wherever he wanted to go. By her side. 'Cause she had chosen him,
right? Right? So why was she rolling on silk sheets with this arrogant
bastard...?

"Oh, sweet William... come, join us. Love us... Don't spoil the un..."

The fun! For all the demons in hell! What fun was that of breaking his
heart again? Love us... He knew how to love. Had always been a pilgrim
knelt at the love shrine. But this... William stomped out of the room
followed by an amused Angelus. This... meant he was selfish? That they
could share when he couldn't? Love was selfishness. Somehow, you didn't
want to be touched by anybody else but by the one you cherish. Not due
to a possessive feeling like a kid could have for his favourite toy but
'cause he'd truly believed her fingers were the only ones who could
sketch his skin like any else could do. So... she didn't love him as
he... did? He loved her? In five days? All of a sudden his heart had
changed just by not beating anymore? It wasn't that he really loved
Cecily. He had figured that out. It was only an incantation. The way
she moved as in slow motion, her soft, well-educated voice. As some
distant goddess made of stone. As that fascination he had felt facing
the Greek sculptures at the museum. Grateful, then. He would never be
able to thank Dru enough for setting him free. For turning him from a
dying cocoon into a liberated butterfly. For setting at his feet and
opened chest of wonders. For giving him birth. 

Still, the borrowed blood in his veins boiled as a bucket of water
forgotten on the stove. Rage and humiliation, a well-known mixture,
were threatening to conquer his eyes. Trudging along the thick carpets
William left the hotel wrapped in heavy thoughts about deception and
disgrace. His fingers played with the cold spike in his pocket, with
the coins jingling in it. The far bells of Westminster Cathedral chimed
twice. Maybe it wasn't the bells. Maybe even the gargoyles were
laughing at him.

"William?" A shocked voice startled him when he reached the corner.
"Oh, my God! You're... But they said you were dead! We were so..."
The man ran his eyes all over his figure. His curled, fair moustache
flickered with disgust His wife had a gloved hand firmly cupping her
mouth as if she were about to throw up.

"Amused? Happy?" The horrified gazes were fixed in his face. Two
o'clock and they were still wandering along the cold streets. Surely
coming from another of those long, dull social meetings of them. This
one had to be extremely good, though. Perhaps with some exotic dancers
from abroad or a new artist to submit to a strict scrutiny just to
launch him or her in the most exclusive circles. Till they find another
toy. Not too different from Angelus they were... His fist clenched
around the spike in his pocket as words came crawling to his brain.
"I'd rather have a railroad spike..."

The man straightened his back, really irritated by his lack of manners
and his wife finally released her stretched lips. "Oh, William! How can
you say that?"

"Oh, sorry Helene. Sometimes I'm so rude... Nice diamonds by the way.
Bet they cost a fortune." The increasing rage that had overwhelmed him
while leaving the hotel had turned into wrath. How dared they pretend
to care when they had sent him towards the death path? Not that he
complained but... Certain people had no limits at all. Hypocrisy wasn't
something he had ever taken too well... "Some are so lucky..."


His armed left hand flew to the man's forehead while his right one
closed around the diamond necklace to stop the approaching scream.
"Does it hurt?" He asked as the spike drilled the man's flesh. "Oh,
please, do tell Blatham! It's not fair if you look at me with those
wide round eyes without answering my questions. After all, it was
your idea... Maybe if I help you a little more..." He pushed the spike
deeper. "That's a lovely dress, Helene. And an excellent cloak. Is your
son still in Paris? TELL ME!" She only nodded between choked gasps.
"Good! The house must be empty then, isn't it dear?" Another nod, a
little weaker this time. "Excellent! Well, this has been a wonderful
rendezvous but I'm afraid I have to go now."

Was it his imagination or her blood tasted deliciously sweet? As
revenge should taste. He knelt next to the man gasping on the floor
pulling the spike out with extreme slowness. "Better, Blatham? Bet
you rather listen to a poem right now. Even one of my awful ones.
Well, I've changed my style. This is so much better poetry, don't you
think?" The bleeding spike pierced one temple. "Oh, yes." He sighed.
"So much, much better..."

 

tbc...



CHAPTER 19

 

"Oh, my God, Xander!" Cordelia grimaced with disgust pulling a blue
sock from under her butt. "Can you just pick up around here? It looks
like a pigsty!"

Xander hauled the sock from her fingers, throwing it in a far basket
and missing it completely. "Can't you just focus or is it too difficult
for you?" He turned to Anya. "You were saying..."

"That you should be careful?" She replied still skulking in a drawer.
She pulled out a blue pair of boxers with an image of Bugs Bunny eating
a carrot. 

He sighed repressing the urge to leap and yank it out of her fingers.
And maybe gag Cordelia's mouth with it and made her gulp her own laugh.
He remained in his place, guzzling his Coke instead. "These things...
doors you said, how can we close them?"

"You can't." Her eyes widened at the next piece of garment. A leopard
print. Did it mean he was wild? Her gaze sought his pants. "Unless
you've got the sceptre, which I doubt."

"What sceptre?" Oz stopped tapping on the table. A teasing headache had
his head in a whirl. Since Buffy had crossed that portal he had gone to
that warehouse night after night just to check if there was a slight
possibility of getting Willow out.

"It's a legend, actually. The Siva's sceptre. To mould new realms from
those that already exist. To rule hellish gods and beings under one
single King who would set order in chaos. Destroy to create."

"Destroy beings to create new ones? Demon ones? Or destroy hell
dimensions? I'm a little lost..." Xander shook his head and couldn't
but picture himself with fangs and ridges on his forehead. Phew!

"No. You can't destroy hell dimensions without destroying good worlds.
It's how the universe balances itself." Anya opened a third drawer.
Socks. Not very interesting material... "So the sceptre reinforces the
barriers and destroys chaos. It was created to bring peace among
realms. Put everything in its place. A dangerous artefact..."

"If it fell into wrong hands. Got it. But how...?"

"Very simple. It's like a sweater. When you've got it hooked in some
nail you get a hole. If you poke in it, it grows wider. Imagine
thousands of hooks tearing the fabric of the whole bunch of universes.
Ouch!" She shrieked when Xander nearly snipped her fingers when he
closed the drawer.

Cordelia put a mirror and a lipstick back in her purse. "So, we should
find that... whatever it is and snap it in two. And don't look around
while we are at it. I saw this... I don't know what toothy thing
staring at me from a crack in my closet. And it was drooling!"

"Should we talk to Mr. Wyndham-Prissy?" Oz remembered how many times
he'd heard Spike calling the Watcher by that name. He'd smiled every
time in spite of knowing it by heart. It amazed him how he didn't smile
anymore. "See if he knows..."

"What for? To end in a jail or in a loony house? Like he wanted to do
with Buffy?" Xander paced along the narrow space. He had completely
forgotten he himself had considered the Watcher could be right about
the mental health of his friend. Reality had its one ways to put you in
the right track, though. A punch straight to your guts and you opened
your eyes like a freaking dummy.

"Maybe we could find out if he knows something... Induce him in a...
subtle way, that is." Cordelia patted an invisible wrinkle of her short
skirt. "While you spy on the Mayor."

"Oh, Miss Man-Eater wants another trip to Rejection-Land!" Xander held
her killing gaze without wavering an inch. "Do it. But make sure he
doesn't piss his pants this time. I know where we can start. The City
Hall. Tonight."

Oz didn't move. Something was flying around his head. Something...
"Anya. This King... he's only one, isn't it? I mean..."

Xander stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "You mean there are too
many chiefs in that evil tribe? Seems so..."

"There's this scroll, if I remember well... It explained how somebody
could use the sceptre to divide realms and rule above all of them."
Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to summon the memories. Finally, she
shook her head. "It's been so long ago... Five hundred years, actually.
Amazing how time flies..."

"When you're having fun. Sure." Xander barged in. Amazing was how much
time they were wasting. It seemed they had spent those five hundred
years talking in his basement.

Suddenly, some words came to her mind. "She shall be given the realm of
Sorcery. To rule above lesser beings, to control the primal forges of
witchcraft. Where everything starts and everything ends." Anya rolled
her eyes and smiled as if she had been caught in something naughty.
"It's the only thing I remember. And you can't blame me, 'cause if one
of you'd be a female demon..."

"Unbelievable! Please, let's go!" He yanked the door opened "We've got
urgent things to do!"

 

Faith walked hastily along the silent city streets wrapped in
a seething cloud. All she had in mind was Buffy and that tricky,
infuriating smile of hers. Why in hell didn't she stay in LA working
for some TV studio, making toothpaste commercials? Nope, she had to be
the chosen one. Had to screw her life over and over again. What was
there in her that everybody fell for? She wasn't even attractive. And
least of all, a good fighter. If she could have put her hands on that
little, good-for-nothing body of hers Faith was absolutely sure that
dull blonde wouldn't have lasted one round. But she was going to find
her. She was going to rip her skin off just to make a dress and flaunt
herself with it in front of that fucking cage.

The school had been closed till further notice. A flu epidemic, a board
said. She snorted loudly. Who was going to believe that when everybody
was hiding under their beds or locked inside a closet? Too many
fainting girls. That was it. And some boys as well. But she knew that
Watcher was there. In his private library with his private books. He
couldn't be so stupid and not figure out what was going on. And she
knew how to make him spit out the truth. Had Buffy been delivered
already? Or kept in some cell till the "welcoming committee" came for
her? If that were the case, she wasn't going to let them steal the fun
from her. She was going to snap that neck with her own bare hands.

Security locks weren't meant to deal with angry Slayers, it seemed.
It gave way so ridiculously. Silent, soft-lit corridors welcomed her.
There was something sinister in an empty school. Buildings that had
been built to be forever crowded should never be left empty. Shrieking
young voices, laugh and noise, teen gibberish made them. Those were
things that brought them to life. Without them, the structure was
nothing but a drain, dead carcass.

Faith reached the library doors. Only a crack and her chirping eye.
There was a tall, dark-haired woman with her back to the door with the
shortest and slinky black dress she had ever seen. Faith tried to look
further her but it was impossible. A British accent suddenly filled the
silent room.

"I'm pretty aware of that fact, Groves. No, the book is missing." There
was a pause and a tapping that sounded like a pen on a desk. "I've told
you..." A nervous fidgeting. Squealing shoes shuffling on the floor.
"I'm absolutely sure about that. Yes, I'll let you know." A phone being
replaced on its cradle. So, the Council was nervous. Well, they should
be.

"Cordelia..." Faith grimaced with disgust. And yet... Wasn't she one
of Buffy's friends? Maybe she knew... "I can't deal with you right now.
Important matters have..."

"You are always so tense..." Cordelia swung her hips as if she was
about to hypnotize a cobra. "Books won't go anywhere, you know. At
least, no while we have some tea..." She cornered him between a chair
and the table jam-packed with books of all sorts. 

Faith clutched the doorknobs. Wasn't going to waste her time in some
bitch in heat. They would have time... after she talked to that useless
moron.

"Are you researching about what happened yesterday?" Cordelia bent over
the table, doing her best to show as much of her panties as she could.
Her voice could have won the "I'm the clueless and most stupid girl
in the world" contest. Bet her "friend" Harmony wouldn't have done it
better. And she was natural... "I was so scared! I bet you are too,
now that Buffy is..."

Now they were getting to the point. Faith couldn't restrain herself
anymore. Doors slammed against the walls when she kicked them opened.
Two stunned faces stared at her in awe. She should give the brunette
some credit, though. She wasn't as pale as the Watcher was. He looked
like a drowned man. Even his eyes were bulging out as some dreadful
fish. "Yes, you should be scared... And talking about Buffy... where
is she?"

If looks could have spoken, Cordelia's would have been screaming at
Wesley. Don't fucking say it! Thanks God, he stuttered enough to choke
with his own saliva. "Wha...what a... are... you...?"

"Doing here? Well, what can I say? I was just in the neighbourhood...
Wanted to see what a pathetic Watcher Buffy had now..." She shoved
Wesley against the table.

"So... it was true! You're... evil!" Wesley couldn't believe his eyes.
She was there; nearly strangling him with powerful fingers and all he
could think about was how stupid he had been. If he had believed Buffy,
if he had given her the chance to speak... "And the Mayor... How could
you?"

"Why does everybody asks that? How could you?" She scorned his tone.
"Maybe 'cause I'm one step from glory. I'll be given my own armies. I'm
going to be the one to bitch others around. Like you do. With a little
more of technique, of course." She slapped his face. His head made a
funny rocking movement.

So, that would be a very good moment to hit the road... Cordelia didn't
think it twice. She started to move around the table to reach some
clear path from where she could run to the door. She was near the
stairs when Faith lifted up her head. The cruel glint in her gaze froze
her in the spot.

"Are you going so soon? Thought you wanted some tea..." Faith pushed
Wesley aside and booted the chair that stood in her way. Cordelia
didn't wait. She spun on her heels and rushed upstairs. For one single
minute, watching the approaching back door, she thought she was going
to make it. Her hand would clutch the doorknob and she would fly free
as a bird from a cage full of cats. Away of that thundering, ominous
noise that crunched the air at her back. A rain of books fell on her
head, on her shoulders, sending her to the floor. The heavy wooden
bookcase plumped down after them. Cordelia screamed in horror, her
eyes tightly shut at the looming piece of furniture, waiting for the
terrible pain of her shattered bones. The damned thing seemed to be
falling in slow motion. Like a plume ripped from a hat by a powerful
wind. One of the shelves broke her arm before the whole damned thing
stopped inches from her head. Her watery, horrified eyes dared to look
above her head. The bookcase in front of her had stopped it as a
merciful hand from Heaven. It wasn't going to last very long, though.
And she certainly needed to crawl out of that wooden prison before that
crazy bitch had the chance to finish her work.

"Why don't you make yourself a favour, Cordelia? Before you die crushed
like a nasty cockroach..." Faith kicked the wavering bookcase getting
another weak scream. "I can get this off of your skinny body, you know.
All you have to do is tell me where Buffy is."

Shots of painful lightening bolts ran along Cordelia's nerves while she
tried to roll under the books weight. One thing in mind she had. Crawl
out of this killing trap. The door is near. Come on. The bookcase fell
from the fourth shelf that was holding it to the third one. She didn't
scream this time. When it fell to the second shelf, giving her the
narrow escaping slit of a worm, Cordelia called for all the air she had
left in her lungs. "SHE'S IN ENGLAND!"  Gasping deeply, she couldn't
but feel a little proud of herself. A lie and a truth to buy some more
time. "FUCKING BITCH!" And she had had enough air left to add a well-
deserved insult! Her head had reached the vast empty space of one
corner and soon she'd have her whole body lying on the dirty but
welcomed empty carpet.

Wesley had finally opened the weapon cage after fumbling with the
padlock for what it seemed an eternity. His fingers were made of
rubber. Of warm butter from which the damned key had slipped to the
floor over and over again. Buffy's words danced to a flabbergasted
speed inside his head. Faith was there. Faith had to be stopped. Faith
was going to kill that beautiful, sexy little woman he had despised
against all the nerves in his body. That woman yelling lies for no
purpose at all. A dagger sliced the air aiming to Faith's body while he
went for the bigger axe that hung from the furthest hook. He caught it
halfway from the floor when his shaking fingers failed to grip it.
Inhaling deeply he turned round, raising the weapon on one shoulder.
A laugh like knelling bells hit his face.

"Playing rough I see." Faith pulled the dagger out of her shoulder and
stabbed Wesley's chest. He stumbled backwards in complete shock while
she pulled off the axe from his hand. As easy as stealing a big
Popsicle from a little kid. As easy as cutting bread for breakfast
toasts. "My sort of game..." She blinked at the red spray that painted
her face as a native warrior ready for war. "Guess we are not having
that tea after all?" Shrugging, she spun on her heels and was about to
leave when she looked at the cage again. Might be a good idea... Full
of new hopes she was. England was as far as the moon. Even more if they
had that B. bitch chained and drugged to a drooling monkey. Wish she
could have seen that show. And clapped. Road clear, girl. Poor old
Spike would know how to behave from now on. Would know how to beg and
kneel. Or vice versa. She didn't particularly care about the order.
He was going to understand one thing now. Slayers weren't a thing to
deliver unselfishly around like
 hot bread. They weren't meant to be a kicking-asses bunch. One and
only. That was what the game was about. One and only Faith for him to
believe in. To pray to. The Queen of future armies.

 

Pinkish orange rays touched the top of the hills, the roofs, the tall
trees wrapping them in a bucolic and peaceful atmosphere. From above
a hill, the sudden streaks that flashed on the walls were unseen. The
Mayor walked towards the small shape standing at the very edge. His
hand stopped on the slim shoulder.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Fresh air, an incredible sunset... Of course,
if you don't like it, you'll be able to change it. Don't know... the
colours... or maybe three suns or two moons..." He blinked his eye to
the serious gaze near him. "You'll be able to change everything. To
set things in motion and to make them stop. To make stars shine only at
your command. And to turn them off. So much power in one single pair of
hands..."

So much power... Willow drew a small smile.

 

tbc...



tbc...
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