The dinner had gone well. The food was good, the conversation easy. At first, Mark and Spike had been surprised that Johnny wasn't tripping over himself to flirt with the girls. Instead, he was polite, and would often ask Tara questions, trying to draw her out. Spike had wanted to laugh in the young drummer's face when realization hit him. Johnny was smitten the quiet librarian. A situation which delighted the bleached blonde to no end. Mark had noticed as well, and had spent the night alternating between flirting with Willow and studying his cousin. Spike sensed a serious conversation on the horizon between the two. He hoped he was allowed to sit in. It would be fun watching the younger man squirm.

Spike couldn't say he faulted him though. Tara was quiet and intelligent. And she had a classic beauty she didn't even seem aware of. As the evening wore on, and the coolers flowed free, she seemed to relax and made eye contact with the men more often. He figured they were all pretty close to drunk, a pleasant buzz making the atmosphere more friendly.

The conversation had been ghost free, by Buffy's demand. She hadn't been too pleased when she found out Dawn had told her little story, and had made it clear that there would be NO talk of spectral activities. Dawn had pouted, but agreed. Spike had been a little relieved, since her tale had brought on the unwanted memories of choking. He'd had two more instances since that first one, and he was already having a hard time explaining it away. The locksmith's comments hadn't helped, and Dawn's story wasn't making it any easier.

Shaking the unnerving thoughts away, he turned towards the pool, his breath catching at the sight before him. Buffy sat on the edge of the pool, her bare feet splashing languidly in the water. His eyes traveled up the length of tanned leg to the hem of her brief skirt, the edge inching up to nearly expose her hip. A thin expanse of taut stomach was peeking out at him from the gap between her skirt and her top. She was leaning back on her hands, her small, rounded breasts straining against the material. Her head was tilted towards the sky, her eyes closed, an almost dreamy smile on her very kissable mouth. Her flaxen hair fanned out behind her, the ends nearly touching the tops of her splayed fingers.

Want hit him, sharp and hard, nearly staggering him with its intensity. It had been so long since Dru. Almost two years. After her betrayal, he'd thrown himself into his work, not noticing or wanting the female attention on the road. But, this tiny slip of a girl had managed to make him forget about all that, and he had only seen her twice.

He returned her smile, when she turned her head, her hazel eyes meeting his.

"Why're you still over there?" she asked, her speech slightly slurred from the alcohol.

"I have no idea," he answered, chuckling when she giggled. She balanced herself on one hand and brought the other up to lightly pat the space beside her. Never one to deny a lady, Spike moved fluidly towards her. Buffy watched him through half closed lids, desire flaring hot and bright in her veins. She'd never felt this way with Parker, and she'd been in love with him. Or so she had thought. She'd known Spike for exactly fifteen hours, and all it took was a brief glance of those blue eyes, and she was ready and willing.

She shifted a bit closer to him when he sat down. He rolled his pants up before dipping his feet in the pool, so the material wouldn't get soaked. He leaned close to her, so she could rest her head on his shoulder, the smell of vanilla and Italian spices combining to make an unusual, but still pleasant perfume.

"Thanks for letting me and my friends invade you today," she said, her voice thick with relaxation.

"No problem. You've got a couple of great friends in there, from what I can see, and your sister's a charmer." He chuckled a bit, thinking if he was eight years younger, he'd be enamored with a different Summers girl.

Buffy giggled again, nodding her head in agreement.

"That they are, and that she is. Boys are always calling the house. But she won't go out with any of them." Spike's scarred brow shot up at that.

"Really? Why not?" Buffy glanced up at him for a second, then let her eyes drift closed again.

"She says, and I quote, 'High school boys are SO immature. All they can think about are video games, skateboards, and how far they can get before you slap them silly.' Unquote. She says she's going to wait until college. I told her they don't improve much, 'cause then all they think about are frat parties, cars, and how far they can get before you slap them silly." He had to laugh at that.

"Yeah, that last one pretty much never changes." She snorted in response. "Dinner was great, by the way. Thank you."

"I have a confession," Buffy said quietly. The seriousness of her tone had him frowning, and he looked down at her.

"What the matter, pet?" He could see the nerves dancing in her eyes. "Tell me."

"I can't cook." She said it fast, and he almost wasn't sure he heard her right.

"What's that?" She sighed heavily and straightened, looking him in the eye.

"I. Can't. Cook. Well, I cooked tonight. But that's because Tara was in there coaching me. I'm sorry I lied." She pressed on, so he couldn't tell her to get out. "I don't usually do that. But I wanted to stay, and I knew Will and Tara wanted to meet you guys, and it was out of my mouth before I could stop it. So please, don't kick me out." She didn't breathe through her speech, causing her to pause to suck in a gulp of air. Spike used the opportunity to lay a finger against her soft mouth, silencing her.

"It's alright, pet," he said, smiling.

"It is?" Her voice was muffled by his finger, the burst of warm air against his skin making him fight back a moan.

"Yeah. I wanted you to stay, too."

"Oh." Her eyes and mouth were both round with surprise.

"In fact. If you hadn't come over, I was planning on giving you a ring."

"Really?" The word was nothing more than a breath.

"Yeah." His eyes never left hers, as his finger trailed lightly across her lips, his other digits coming into play across her cheek to slide into the silk of her hair. They were so close now, their faces barely inches apart. Buffy was afraid to breathe, to blink, just in case this was a dream. His cerulean orbs darkened as he looked at her, his fingers gently massaging her scalp.

"God, you're beautiful," he gasped.

"So are you. Are you going to kiss me?" she asked, a blush creeping over her cheeks at her blunt question.

"I planned to," he admitted, a quick grin flashing across his face.

"Good," she whispered. Their eyes stayed locked on each other's, until the second his lips brushed hers, ever so slightly. She hissed in air at the whisper of the kiss, a pleasant tingle starting. He slowly moved his mouth over hers, savoring its softness and the faint flavor of strawberries lingering there. He nipped lightly on her pouty bottom lip, the action sending a tremor bolting through her. He pulled back a bit to study her face, his thumb tracing her cheek.

When he didn't deepen the kiss, her eyes fluttered open, confusion mixing with the embers of desire burning in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Her words were laced with uncertainty. He shook his head, reassuring her. His deep blue eyes burned into hers, as he dipped his head again.

"Nothing, luv," he told her, closing the final distance between them once more. She sighed at the pressure of his mouth on hers, her tongue darting out to taste. He tasted like beer and cigarettes, with the hint of something wild. Their lips parted in the same instant, moans filling the air at the contact. Her hands came up to tangle in his hair, and her head angled to afford better access. Their tongues battled wetly, the sensation sending sparks flying along their skin. The water splashed as her feet were pulled out when Spike hauled her onto his lap. She clung to him, her knees coming to rest on the hard concrete on either side of his thighs. They devoured each other, their hands sliding along each other's backs and shoulders. They'd pause long enough to gasp in a few breaths of air, then went back for more.

Buffy shifted in his lap, feeling the evidence of his arousal. She whimpered into his mouth, as wetness pooled at her center. He growled at her movements, his hands cupping her bottom to press her closer. She ground against him, begging for friction. This caused him to rip his mouth away from hers, his chest heaving with his ragged breaths.

"Buffy. . ." he gasped, his stormy eyes boring into hers. She pulled her lip between her teeth, her own eyes swirling as she looked at him. Her own breathing was no less ragged than his, her emotions in a state of turmoil.

"Spike," she returned.

"I'm not looking for a quick shag," he finally managed around the fog in his brain. He saw the relief slice through the desire in her eyes, and smiled.

"Good," she breathed, leaning in and devouring him. No more words were spoken, as they settled into an old fashioned make-out fest, the knowledge that this wasn't something fleeting making them less inclined to hurry. The kisses were slow and leisurely, an exploration of what made each other quake. They had no concept of time, as they sat there, entangled around each other. Nothing else mattered but this moment, these feelings that were raging through them. The sound of the patio light exploding barely registered in their consciousness. Their eyes were closed, so they didn't realize they were plunged into darkness, the light of the half moon the only thing illuminating them.

It wasn't until they pulled apart, desperately sucking in air, that the lack of light was noticed. And even then, it didn't matter. Just as they were leaning towards each other again, a high, shrill, feminine wail had them scrambling up, their haste nearly toppling them into the pool. It was just then that they realized the house was also dark, the sound of a scream piercing the night.

(Meanwhile, in the living room)

Johnny shifted to get more comfortable on the couch, his long frame settled half on, half off of it. One dark eye popped open to regard the person curled up on the end, her cheek resting on the arm draped along the back. Her legs were pulled up in front of her, her feet dangling off the cushion. Her right arm was laying across her lap, the palm of her hand facing up. Her eyes were closed and her breathing even, but he didn't think she was asleep. It had only been a minute or so since Mark and Willow went into the kitchen under the pretense of cleaning up the dishes. Johnny didn't think there was much cleaning going on. In fact, he hadn't heard the water come on once.

A silent laugh exploded from his chest at that. It seemed he was the only one not getting some kind of action at the moment. And that was weird. He was usually the one entertaining a woman, not them. Not that they didn't get their share of attention, they were just picky. Of course, he had a feeling Tara wouldn't be adverse to a little action, but he didn't want to.

*That's not true,* that annoying little voice in his brain told him. *You want to. A lot.* He scowled, and opened his other eye, drawing his gaze over the soft female in front of him. She was so different from the other women he'd had. He almost felt pulled to her, a sensation he wasn't used to. He wasn't too sure he liked it.

After she had gotten off work, she'd come down to the archive room to find him. There he had been, still hunched over the articles, frustrated at the lack of information they held. There were so many obvious holes in the case against Angel, even Johnny could see that he was railroaded. During his reading, his mind had traveled back to Tara. By the time she showed up again, he had convinced himself that his attraction to her was a fluke. Of course, that was until she had actually entered his vision again. Then, he felt it start all over again. She had given him that small, shy smile again, making his heart do this weird flip in his chest. He could admit, now, that he was probably a little gruff with her, then. He'd spent the rest of the night trying to make up for it.

Johnny knew Mark was going to try to corner him and find out just what the hell was going on. How was he supposed to tell his cousin, when he, himself didn't know?

He was so lost in his thoughts, that it took him a minute to realize she was staring back at him, a confused look on her face. When he did notice, his heart did that weird flip again, and he felt his blood start to race with arousal. It only got worse when she gave him that smile.

A blush stained her cheeks under his perusal, giving her skin a rosy glow. She shifted nervously, partially obscuring her face with her arm.

"No. Don't do that," Johnny said, pushing up into a sitting position. His knees were touching hers, the contact jarring, even through the two layers of denim.

"Do what?" Tara's voice was barely a whisper, but she did pull her head up. The curtain of her hair fell over her shoulder, a few strands falling into her face. He reached out and brushed them away, tucking them behind her ear. Without thought, he cupped her face, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Hide," he said simply. *God, she's beautiful,* he thought. Innocence shown through her bright eyes, surprise also in their depths at his hand on her. She had no idea of her power, he was sure. He had a feeling she could tie him up into knots, and leave him panting for more.

Tara was afraid to move, and break whatever spell was surrounding them. She had felt warm and relaxed a few seconds ago, until she opened her eyes and saw what she thought was longing in his eyes. She didn't have any experience in the matter, but it was so different from the way she was usually looked at, that that's what she perceived it to be. Now that he was touching her, she was sure of it. His calloused palm rested easily against her cheek, his thumb tracing a light circle on her skin. Goose flesh broke out on her skin, and a shiver raced through her. Impossibly, his eyes got even darker and roamed her face, as if memorizing her. She felt self conscious under the heat of his stare, and a tiny voice in the back of her mind was telling her the only reason he was doing this, was because Spike and Buffy were out on the patio, doing who knew what, and Mark and Willow were in the kitchen, doing the same. She was the only one left. Suddenly, she felt like a consolation prize, and dropped her eyes from his.

"Hey, what's the matter?" he asked when she did, trying to get her to look at him again.

"You don't. . I mean, I know that I'm. . ." she stammered, not sure what to say. She refused to look up at him, afraid to see the mocking in his eyes.

"You're not what?" he insisted, moving his hand to her chin and tilting it up. He saw the fear and uncertainty in her eyes, and hated it. She was stunning, and she needed to know that.

"I'm. . .I'm not your usual type. I-I know that. Y-you d-don't have to feel like you have to do a-anything. I understand." Anger slammed into him, the flames of it soaring in his eyes.

"Don't. If I do anything, it's because I want to, not because I'm just looking to get laid," he told her bluntly. Her eyes widened comically, and she blinked at him, unsure of what to say. "You're beautiful," he told her. She immediately shook her head, pulling her chin from his hand. Tears stung her eyes, and she seemed to pull into herself.

"No. Don't say that. I know you don't mean it," she denied.

"You know me so well after one day, huh?" Johnny's tone was harsh, his anger at her and whoever made her feel this way giving them bite.

"N-no. B-b-but there's no way that YOU could think I'm pretty."

"I don't." The tears fell at that, pain lancing through her chest. "I think you're beautiful," he insisted. He saw the denial flare up in her eyes again and did the only thing he knew would stop it. Before she could say a word, his hand had buried itself in her hair, and pulled her to him. Her mouth dropped open when she realized his intent, and he was thankful. A small squeak popped out of her, right before he closed his mouth over hers, turning into a moan when he plunged his tongue inside.

Her mind blanked out as soon as he did, and instinct thankfully took over. His lips were gentle, but demanding, his tongue searching for hers. When she tentatively touched hers to his, a groan rumbled in his chest, and his fingers tightened in her hair. She didn't realize she was pushing closer to him with the hand that was braced against the couch, or that her other hand was now gripping his wrist. All that mattered was the play of lips and tongue across hers, and the electric sparks it was setting off in her brain.

Johnny wasn't doing any better, realizing he had been right before. One taste of the sweetness that was her, and he was a goner. No one he had ever kissed before elicited the response that was ripping through him. The desire to carry her up to his room, and sink himself into her softness was expected. It was everything else that was throwing him for a loop. Lust was mingling with something else, something tender and strangely calming. Her scent was surrounding him, her taste consuming him. He wanted all of her, body, mind and heart. And, he found, while her inexperienced tongue tangled with his, that he could very well want to give her his in return.

They broke apart, eyes locking as soon as they opened, breathing coming in heaving gasps. He shifted closer to her, pressing her against the arm of the couch, his hands guiding hers around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his bright hair, her cloudy eyes searching his face.

"This is real," he breathed, not sure who he was telling, her or himself. He was just dipping his head when the lights suddenly died, plunging them into darkness. By then, he was kissing her again, and it didn't matter.

They didn't come apart again, until the inhuman cry had them surging off the couch, desire giving way to fear at the sound. They each took off for the kitchen when they heard the female scream.

(Meanwhile, in the kitchen.)

"I guess we better put the food up first. Know where the plastic containers are?" Willow asked, staring at the mess that was left. Spaghetti sauce was splattered across the stove and noodles were stuck to the sink. Small bits of lettuce leaves were strewn about the counter, and bread crumbs seemed to cover everything.

"I have no idea," Mark answered, exchanging a look with her. "Why did we volunteer for this, again?"

"I think it was supposed to just be a pretense, so we could be alone. But, I don't know about you, I can't leave it looking like this," she told him boldly, blushing. Alcohol always made her more forthright, a situation that could be good or bad, depending on the circumstance. From the way he was grinning down at her, she figured it was good.

"I could live with it," he said, reaching out for her. She gave him a coy smile and practically danced away, walking over to search cabinets. Mark nearly groaned when he saw that she was serious about this, and went to help her. It took only a few minutes to get the food put in the huge refrigerator, and Willow had stacked the dirty dishes next to sink, preparing to rinse them and put them in the dishwasher. She shivered when she felt him come up behind her, his long, hard body just centimeters from hers.

"You keep standing there, and I'm not going to get this done," she said, her voice husky. He chuckled a bit and ran the tip of his finger up the back of her arm, making her shudder.

"That's kind of the point," he teased, lightly gripping her shoulder and turning her around. She spread a hand across his chest to stop his forward momentum, and looked up at him through her lashes.

"I don't know what you expect of me. I'm not that type," she told him. Sure she had been the most vocal about Buffy coming over and jumping Spike. But that was mostly teasing, and Buffy knew it. Willow was the most experienced between the three girls, and the one with the most dents in her heart. She didn't feel the need to add another one.

"Willow, I'm not looking for that type," he told her, taking her hand away from his chest and kissing the tip of each finger. She watched in fascination as he did this, her green eyes darkening to emerald. "And anyway, a kiss isn't too dangerous. Is it?" He had moved even closer, their bodies just barely brushing. She shook her head, her speech stolen from her at the look in his eyes. Heat radiated from their black depths, searing her. She was mesmerized, her head tilting up as his leaned down, the air snapping around them as their lips touched. His hands rested easily on her hips while his mouth softly explored hers. Her fingers had skimmed up the muscular length of his arms to play with the ends of his dark hair, her tongue darting out to trace his full, lower lip. He groaned when she did this, his fingers tightening on her waist, and pulling her to him. Her feet left the floor when his arms banded around her tiny waist, crushing her to him. She held on, her own arms latching around his neck, her mouth opening for him. Tongues battled mercilessly, the culmination of their flirting all-night making them weak.

The only sound in the room were their moans and deep breaths every time they broke apart. Fire sang through their veins as hands moved restlessly over each other. Willow arched into him when his hand skimmed the underside of her breast, seeking his touch. He pulled away to look into her eyes, as his thumb grazed the hardened tip. Her head dropped back at the sensation, exposing the slim column of her throat to his hungry mouth. He nibbled lightly on the soft skin he found there, keeping his touches easy. God, he wanted this woman, in a way he hadn't wanted anyone in a long time. He'd been single by choice, not feeling it was fair to get a woman tangled up in his life while his celebrity still hung in the balance. He had wanted to be established before he went looking for commitment. But this girl, who he had barely known five hours, was making him seriously rethink it. Oh, they wouldn't move beyond kissing this night, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be long before they did.

When the lights went out, they didn't care. After all, who needs to see when your eyes are closed. The darkness just seemed to make their encounter more erotic, more exciting. It was when they pulled away from each other, breaths coming in ragged gulps, that they heard it. A high, piercing wail splitting the air. It couldn't be human, not that sound. Mark whipped around in the direction it seemed to be coming from, his eyes straining to see in the darkness. Willow, pressed against his back, peering around his arm while her heart triple timed in her chest. Just because she believed in ghosts didn't mean she wanted to see one. Almost as if on cue, the shimmering white figure of a woman appeared in front of them, her beautiful face twisted with rage.

Willow's eyes widened to the size of saucers and she opened her mouth to let out a long, terrified scream.

Chapter Eight

If anyone had asked Johnny how he made it to the kitchen in the dark without killing himself, he wouldn't have been able to say. By the time he and Tara had reached it; however, the lights had flickered back on to reveal Mark holding the sobbing Willow, his hand sliding over her back and soothing words slipping from his lips. He'd skidded to a stop, Tara running into him, the press of her body against his back sending a tremor through him.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Spike asked as he and Buffy came in behind them. Mark's eyes met Spike's, fear evident in their depths.

"Willow?" Buffy moved past them to make her way to the redhead. Tara followed suit, concern marring her brow.

"Willow, sweetie. Are you okay?" Willow pulled away from Mark far enough to shake her head.

"Hell no, I'm not alright. I just saw a fucking ghost." Disbelief flooded Buffy's face, and she shook her head.

"Will, that's impossible," she started, only to be cut off by the furious green eyes of her best friend. Tara laid a soothing hand on the terrified woman's arm, trying to keep her calm.

"Don't start that shit, Buffy. I'm not twelve. And I may have been drinking, but I'm not drunk. We all know the lights went out. And don't tell me you didn't hear that wail." When Buffy looked away, Willow huffed in triumph.

"It was probably just an animal or something."

"Bullshit," Johnny chimed in, before Willow could say anything.

"Hey," Spike snapped, not liking the drummer's tone. Johnny barely spared him a glance.

"There's something going on here and you guys can't tell me you don't see it," he challenged the other two men. He was pissed, horny, and tired of this shit. Not exactly in that order. They were supposed to be here for work, and they seemed to walk right into the middle of some horror movie.

"John, I don't know what you think you've seen. . ." Spike said.

"Seen? I wish it was only that."

"What are you talking about?" Mark asked, still holding onto Willow. The face to face with the. . .whatever it was, wasn't doing any favors for his nerves. Johnny lapsed into silence, actually embarrassed by his experience.

"She's been. . .damn." A hand rested on his hip, and the other on the counter. He refused to look at any of them, but he could feel their eyes on him, waiting. When he finally looked up, his eyes instinctively searched out Tara's. Looking straight at her, he started to speak. "Every night, for the last three fucking days, I've been having these dreams. Some chick in white shows up, rides me for all I'm worth, and rips my skin off my chest. When I wake up, the marks are gone, and so is she." Tara's eyes widened as he spoke, a blush darkening her skin. The others in the room were still staring at him, trying to figure out if his dreaming about sex was strange, OR unusual.

"So, you're getting some otherworldly loving in your dreams?" Spike clarified, scarred brow raised. "And this is creepy, why? And for that matter, you're a slut John. Can't imagine it's too far off the norm." Johnny reared on him so fast, he didn't have time to dodge the fist swinging at him. The impact had him spinning into the wall, slightly dazed. He recovered quick enough and retaliated with a left across Johnny's jaw. They didn't hear the women scream, or Mark's command to knock it the fuck off. A haze passed over their vision as they circled each other, anger radiating off the taut lines of their bodies.

"So, up for a spot of rough and tumble, are you boy? Well, let's see what you got."

"Fuck you Spike. Sorry you can't seem to understand that I don't like being used as a living dildo for the dead."

"Well, now you know how your girlfriends feel." Spike smirked, dodging Johnny's outraged charge. He slammed the younger man up against the wall, jerking the drummer's arm up behind him. Neither of them heard Mark curse violently, or the sound of his boots as he crossed the linoleum towards them. Spike felt his hand on the back of his neck as he was hauled away from the purple haired man. Johnny whirled as soon as the pressure was released, ready to attack again, only to have his cousin's hand planted firmly in his chest, holding him back.

"Knock it off!" he growled, glaring at both of them. "This isn't helping." Spike and Johnny were contemplating how fast they could take out Mark and get back at each other. The three girls stood huddled together, the volatile emotions between the men making their eyes widen and their hearts race. The ghost was forgotten for the moment as they held their breath, waiting. Almost simultaneously, the two knocked Mark's hands away, throwing him off balance, and sending him backwards. He stumbled back a step, jumping back between them before they could reach each other. He knew he could take them both out, it wouldn't be easy, but he could do it. They were still trying to get at each other around him, the sound of material ripping in their struggles.

"STOP!" The sound of the female voice and the shattering of glass had them spinning to see what the hell was going on. Tara was standing in the middle of the kitchen, flanked by a very pissed off Buffy and Willow, hands over her ears and tears streaming down her face. The remnants of a platter lay scattered at her feet.

"If you three are done drowning in your testosterone, could we please try to figure out what the HELL is going on?" Buffy said, scorn dripping in her voice. *Men,* she thought, glaring at the three of them. Johnny pushed away from his cousin and friend, making his way over to the crying girl. Mark and Spike felt their anger drain out of them, to be replaced by shock when the younger man cupped Tara's face in his hands, and started to whisper softly to her. She started to calm as he talked, her blue, watery eyes meeting his.

"I think it's pretty obvious what's going on, Buffy. There's a ghost," Willow insisted. "I saw her, and Mark saw her. And she looked MAD."

"There's got to be some logical explanation," Mark said, running a hand through his hair. He didn't want to contemplate the obvious. Willow's wide, green eyes met his, incredulous.

"What? Mass hallucination? We SAW her Mark. And she was in white, just like the girl in Johnny's dreams."

"Yeah, and you're getting locks changed that aren't broken," Johnny reminded him, never turning around. "And Spike's been standing around like he's waiting for something to jump out at him. So, you can't tell me you don't think SOMETHING is here. With us." He turned and looked at his bandmates, daring them to contradict him. Mark and Spike looked at each other, seeming to come to some sort of decision.

"That first night, after you two left the house," Spike started, fishing for his cigarettes. Once he had one lit, he continued. "I was playing the piano, thinking. Thought I heard something. Got up to check it out. The foyer was freezing, and it felt like there was something there. Next thing, it feels like there's ice moving through me. Then, I can't breathe, like someone's strangling me. Then I start to see these flashes of things, a room, the smell of flowers. A dark figure. I thought it was my imagination. Brought on by Buffy's story or something. It's happened a couple times since," Spike admitted, taking a long drag off his cigarette. Buffy stared at him, denial still having her firmly in its grasp. Just as she was about to say that that was probably all it was, the blonde cut her off. "What about you, mate? Seems there's got to be a reason for replacing locks that don't need it." Mark sighed, struggling for a minute. He didn't know just how he was going to put into words something he just COULDN'T believe in.

"The door keeps swinging open. Happened that first night. When I was on the stairs, talking to myself," he prompted, reminding the other two. "I was talking to her. The girl we just saw. She was standing outside the door, trying to get me to come out."

"And it seems she's been using Johnny boy as a fuck toy," Spike pondered, his mind trying to reconcile everything that was being said. Johnny scowled at the description, but couldn't really fault it.

"Oh, and there's this feeling of violation that comes along with it." Spike took one last drag from his cigarette, then turned on the faucet to douse it with water.

"Yeah," Johnny agreed.

"So, the two of you have had actual physical experiences with her, and Mark has just seen her, and she's trying to show him something?" Willow clarified, snapping into research mode. Nothing staved off fear like trying to solve a problem. At least that's what she thought.

"That sounds about right," Mark replied.

"So, maybe we need to figure out what she wants," Tara suggested, smiling softly up at Johnny.

"This is impossible," Buffy gasped, her eyes darting around the group. Spike sighed and walked over to her, taking her hand in his.

"Pet. I think we can agree that something weird is about." Her eyes searched his face and he saw the stubborn resistence in hers. He traced a thumb across her cheek, and gave her a smile. "It's alright, luv." She snorted at that.

"You all are trying to tell me that this place is haunted, and you tell me it's alright? Why am I not too sure of that?" She ran her hand through her hair, desperately wishing her buzz wasn't wearing off.

"Uhm, guys." All eyes turned to Willow, who was looking at the floor, her face aghast. She pointed a shaking finger to the area between Johnny's and Tara's feet. The pair jumped apart, Johnny running into Mark, who had come around to see what was going on.

"Shit," the brunette hissed, not believing what he was seeing. There, on the floor, the shards of the plate were moving. And it didn't seem to be just in random patterns. Slowly, as they looked on in wide-eyed wonder, the jagged edges twisted around, forming letters.

Buffy pulled her hand away from Spike as she started to back away from the words, denial warring with the evidence in front of her.

Tara's hands flew up to her mouth, her gasp audible still.

Willow edged around the movements on the floor, her hand searching and finding Mark's. Spike and Johnny were transfixed, seeing the words that had been haunting them for three days.

HELP ME

FIND HIM

"Buffy!" Spike caught up with her just as she was trying to yank open the door. She spun around on him, her eyes wild with fear and disbelief. He slid his hands up her arms, trying to soothe her shaking. As soon as the words had finished forming out of the pieces of plate, Buffy took off out of the kitchen, nearly knocking down Spike and Johnny in the process.

"I've got to go," she said, trying to shrug his hands off. She needed to get out of there. NOW. Broken plates were not supposed to move together like puzzle pieces to ask for help. And spectral visitors weren't supposed to rape people and try to kill others. At least not outside of the movies. They were supposed to be little dots of light, or something.

"Buffy, calm down. You've been drinking. I can't let you drive."

"I don't care. I'm not going back in there. And don't tell me she can't hurt me. She's trying to kill you and she's raping

Johnny, God knows what she would have tried to do to Mark if he'd been stupid enough to actually follow her." Tears burned her eyes and fear lanced her heart.

"I don't think she's actually trying to hurt us, pet. She's not HURTING Johnny, and the flashes I get only last a second or two. I think she's trying to tell us something."

"Well, then she should use that little plate trick more often and stop with the physical shit."

"Come on, Buffy. I can't let you drive like this. And I sure as hell can't drive right now. Let's go back inside and try to chat this out. Maybe if we can figure out what she wants, we can send her on her way. You know, go towards the light and all that." Despite herself, her lips quirked.

"How can you be so calm? You're getting choked on a daily basis. Why aren't you sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth, going 'buh-buh-buh'?" she asked, astounded. He gave a little chuckle and shrugged.

"Dunno. Guess it's 'cause I had a girlfriend who said she could talk to the spirits, once." Her brows shot up at that, and a smile spread across her mouth.

"You're kidding?"

"No. Ask Mark and Johnny, if you don't believe me. Right loon she was. But, maybe she wasn't so loony, then," he considered.

"Maybe not," Buffy reluctantly agreed. She dropped her eyes to the ground, and scuffed her toe in the gravel. "I really do feel kind of fuzzy," she said, finally. He grinned and cupped his hand under her chin.

"Well, then you should come inside. Got one hell of a mess to clean up." His and Johnny's little scuffle had broken quite a few more dishes and a vase that was standing on a table by the door. Of course the table was also now the size of matchsticks, but she figured that wasn't really the point.

"Fine. So, we go inside, clean up the mess, and try to figure out what the hell she wants. Then what?" The gleam that lit his eyes had her blushing. "Not so fast, mister. We get to know each other first," she demanded, stabbing a well manicured nail in his chest.

"That's fine by me, kitten." He grabbed her finger and kissed the tip, lightly trailing his tongue around the pad. She was amazed that the gentle contact had her forgetting about ghosts and possessions and anything else otherworldly. She watched in fascination as he drew it into his mouth, teeth softly scraping her skin. A tremor ran through her at that and she pulled her hand away, practically launching into his arms and crashing her mouth over his. Their tongues mated furiously, as hands flew over bodies, moans filling the air. He pressed her into the car, his lean body making her softer one form to his. Lightening seemed to explode behind their closed eyelids, heat raced along their veins, burning them.

When they broke apart, it was with reluctance, and only because of their need to breathe. They gasped in air, staring deep into each other's eyes, the colors now sapphire and emerald, respectively.

"I think," Spike said around breaths. "That we need to go inside." She nodded her head, her ability to speak still lost.

He was loathe to step back and release her, but he did. Linking his fingers with hers, he gave her a tug, and led her back into the house.

Chapter 9

The people who went in and out of the Sunnydale University Library on this bright Friday afternoon noticed a change in the shy girl that stood behind the counter. Students and teachers that went up to her to get help, each walked away with the sense of something having changed with the young woman. It wasn't anything outward. Her clothes were still the same, and her face still devoid of make up, her hair still it's same length and color. No, this difference could be seen in the glow of her eyes, the softness of her smile. Even the gentle flushing of her skin as she seemed to remember something. It was pleasant from what they could tell, and it turned the already pretty girl, beautiful. The other girls recognized the look, and either felt a twinge of jealousy or happiness for her. The men who approached her, noticed as well, but they couldn't put a name on it. But the girls knew. That was the look of excitement a woman gets when a man has entered her life. A special man.

Tara walked around the library, answering questions and filing books, feeling as if she were floating. By rights, she should have been dealing with fear and disbelief, in light of the Faith sighting. But, it was the other events of the night that kept pushing to the forefront of her mind. The memory of Johnny telling her she was beautiful, and seeming to mean it. The play of his mouth across hers in her second ever kiss. She figured the first didn't count, since she had been fourteen and it was a dare. This was her first real, kissed-by-a-man kiss. Whenever she thought about it, her skin would heat, and a sharp bolt of...something would lance through her. She couldn't name it, since she had never experienced it before, but it felt good.

Then of course, Faith had interrupted, sending them into all into a tizzy, and making the men admit their experiences. Johnny's had shocked her, the thought of a ghost raping him causing her brain to freeze. Her imagination had taken over, and the images that passed through her brain caused heat to flood her face, and a tremor to pass through her. She'd never been one to fantasize much. Why torture yourself with something you were never going to get? But, last night, after the girls had climbed into a cab and gone home, she had lain awake half the night, erotic pictures of her and Johnny making her quake. The gentle kiss he had brushed across her mouth before they left, fueling the fire.

Tara glanced at the clock on the desk, smiling a bit at the time. She was getting off soon, and Willow was coming to meet her so they could head back to the mansion to pick up her car. On the floor, in her backpack, was the notebook she had full of clippings and her own musings on the case. They had decided, after Buffy and Spike came back in and the kitchen had been cleaned up, to look into the case and try to figure out just WHO Faith wanted them to find. Tara thought she had a pretty good idea, but she wanted to know what the others thought first.

"Tara?" Her head snapped up, a blush creeping up her neck to stain her cheeks at being caught in her reverie. She peered up at the man with kind eyes behind wire rimmed glasses and smiled.

"Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. Hi," she greeted, spinning her pencil between her fingers. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce smiled down at her, his slight, subtly muscled frame encased in a pair of grey slacks, and a black polo shirt, tucked in. Tara thought he was handsome, the smile lines around his mouth and eyes the only indication he was over forty.

"Hello, Tara. You look happy today," he observed. The smile she gave him was secretive, and he was pleased. It was about time someone realized what a rare flower she was. If he had been twenty years younger, he would have taken after her, himself.

"Maybe a little," she admitted, her voice breathy.

"Well, that's just splendid." Tara giggled a bit, suddenly remembering she was talking to the benefactor of the library, and snapping out of her fog.

"Thanks. Did you need something? I-I mean...is there anything I can help you with?" She cringed at her abruptness, but relaxed when he smiled.

"Not really. Buffy called and said there was a bill from the locksmith, as well as for some dishes that were broken last night. Rock stars," he said with a sigh. He hadn't been real thrilled when Joyce had told him about the rental. But, he didn't own the house anymore, so he couldn't express his doubts about leasing it to a bunch of wild musicians.

"W-w-well, actually, I did that," Tara revealed quietly, looking sheepish. Well, she had done one, at least. Johnny and Spike's little scuffle had destroyed a few more.

"I'm sorry. You?" Wesley sounded incredulous.

"W-we were washing dishes, a-and it slipped. Sorry," she stammered, blushing to the roots of her hair.

"No, it's alright. And I don't have any right to say anything about it. I just came to pick them up. She said she'd leave them with you?" he urged, his brows raised a little in question.

"O-oh. Yeah. Here they are." Tara turned and plucked the envelope off the desk behind her, and handed it to him. She studied him for a minute, after he took it and pulled the handwritten bills out. She thought again, how strange it was that he was Joyce's accountant. He had plenty of money and didn't need to do it, especially for a house that held bad memories for him. She wondered if maybe he just needed something to do with his days, and couldn't quite let go of his father's house.

"Well, I'll send these out to their manager. Tell Buffy I'll call her later in the week," Wesley told her, and gave her an absent-minded smile as he turned away.

"O-okay. Have a nice day," she called after him, smiling when she saw Willow coming in her direction. Wesley acknowledged the redhead as they passed each other, not returning her smile as he studied the bills. Willow's lips quirked at his distracted manner, laying her elbows on the counter.

"Hey. What's with Wes?" Tara shrugged and turned to grab her bag.

"I don't know. He doesn't seem to like the idea of musicians in his father's house." Willow had to chuckle at that, and rolled her eyes.

"God, he can be so stuffy," the blonde snorted in agreement.

"Yeah. I'm leaving," Tara called to the other person behind the counter and walked around to join the other girl, without waiting for an answer. "Ready?"

"And able, Abel." It was Tara's turn to roll her eyes. They then walked out of the library, into the warm afternoon.

"Aren't you supposed to work tonight?" Willow huffed and nodded.

"Yeah, but I switched with Rick. Have to work all day tomorrow to make it up. Grr."

"That bites."

"In a big way," Willow agreed. She HATED her job. But student loans had to be paid. They lapsed into silence during the rest of the walk to Tara's ancient black Escort, opening the doors to let the heat of the day out of its interior. "Tara," Willow started, looking at the blond over the roof of the car. The other girl seemed to be in some sort of daydream.

"Hm?" She turned and looked at her friend, a happy gleam in her eyes.

"What's going on with Johnny?" she asked in a rush of breath. She might have been in the middle of one hell of a freak out, but she remembered the way Johnny hovered around Tara, and the kiss he'd given her when they'd left. Well, she'd only seen the tail end of that, since she herself was getting kissed breathless by Mark. But she knew of Johnny's reputation. Hell, anybody who could read knew it. He was an unabashed lady magnet, his odd hair doing nothing to detract from the sheer animal magnetism he exuded. She didn't want her shy, inexperienced friend getting hurt by a real live Don Juan.

"What do you mean?" Tara dropped her eyes and slid into the still hot car, throwing her pack in the rear seat. Willow followed suit, closing the door and buckling her seatbelt before answering.

"I think that little smile there answers it all. And the dreamy look you have in your eyes." Tara bit her lip to keep the smile from spreading into a goofy grin, her heart twittering in her chest as memory hit her again. Willow waited, wondering if Johnny was playing with her, or if he really saw the person she was. Tara cranked the car, trying to figure out how to answer. She didn't really KNOW what was going on with him. She knew she wasn't the sort of girl he went after. She glanced down at the black shirt dress she had on, the flowing skirt stopping at mid calf. She hadn't purposely picked this out, but she could see how it looked to Willow. She didn't normally wear dresses, but she had felt like wearing one. It made her feel feminine, and soft, and she liked it.

"I don't know," she admitted, pulling out into the busy afternoon traffic, and turning towards the mansion. "He kissed me." It was said quietly, but with so much excitement and anticipation that Willow struggled with happiness and worry for the girl.

"Oh, honey. That's wonderful. But, maybe you should be careful," she suggested, looking out the window. She missed the hurt eyes that flicked over to her, and the way Tara's hands tensed on the wheel.

"Why? You don't think he could really be interested in me?" Willow's head snapped around at that, hearing the pained tone of Tara.

"No, that's not it. He's just got this reputation. And I just don't want you to get hurt," the redhead insisted, willing Tara to look at her. She didn't, just expertly drove through town, trying to collect her thoughts.

"I know his reputation," she began, her voice tight. "And I don't care." A pair of russet brows shot up at that.

"What? You don't care? Tara, he's the love 'em and leave 'em type. He has more notches in his bed post than Bill Clinton."

"I. Don't. Care," she reiterated, turning onto Crawford Street. "Look, Willow, I'm not like you and Buffy. I don't attract guys like magnets. He seems interested in me, and I'm going to cherish every minute of it. If, when all this is done and they have the songs they need for their album, he leaves, I'll still have the memory. And that's enough." She pulled to a stop next to Buffy's Lexus, and turned to face the redhead. Willow had a look of shock on her face at her friend's willingness to be used.

"Tara, your first time should be with someone special, not just some random guy," she insisted.

"He's not some random guy. When he looks at me, I feel it, here." She held a hand over her heart, still awed that he made her feel this way, and she had only known him since the day before. "And it's my body to decide what to do with." Her voice held a firmness Willow wasn't used to hearing. The blonde had apparently thought a lot about this.

"Okay. Just. . .I don't want you to get hurt." Tara smiled at her and shifted to get out of the car.

"I'm not looking forward to it, either, but it's what I want," she said, before grabbing the pack and getting out of the car. Willow sat there for a minute longer, watching her as she walked towards the house. With a sigh of resignation, she got out, silently vowing she would personally cut off Johnny's parts when he hurt her.

"No Dawn. You can't go this time," Buffy told the teen who was dogging her heels. Spike was due there any minute to take her to the mansion, and Dawn was having a cow.

"Why not? You know, Mom's not going to like it that you're leaving me alone again," she said smugly, thinking that would be a way to get her sister to take her with her.

"That's why I called Amber's mother. You're spending the weekend there."

"What? That's so not fair. You're not supposed to call my friends' mothers behind my back." Buffy rolled her eyes and checked to make sure she had her cell in her purse.

"Dawn, she's your best friend." Buffy was starting to lose her patience, which was already spread pretty thin. After she and Spike had gone back inside, she had spent the next hour jumping at every sound, barely listening as the others discussed what they should do. Get the hell out had wanted to pop out of her mouth more than once, but she kept it back, since the rest seemed so intent on solving the mystery. Granted, her mother wouldn't be too pleased with her trying to break a rental contract, but she figured there were extenuating circumstances.

"I can't believe this." Dawn was beyond angry. She tossed her shiny hair off her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest, a look of teenage rage on her face.

"Look, you'd be trying to leave as soon as it got dark anyway. And that's only an hour or two away." Buffy tried to reason, glancing out the window to look for Amber's mother. "So, just go throw some things in a bag and get ready to go." Her tone brooked no argument, and the teen stomped angrily up the stairs.

"Fine. You go and hang out with the hot musicians, while I get to go and get tormented by Amber's little brother all weekend," she muttered, her voice fading as she progressed to her room. Buffy rolled her eyes, and looked outside again. She was tired and edgy, and SO didn't need Dawn's attitude right now. She'd already talked to Joyce, to get the low down on their aunt, and to give her the report on the gallery. Buffy worked there part time, still trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. It was Joyce's pet project, one that Hank had indulged with no qualms. She felt her heart squeeze at the thought of her father, and a sad smile touched her lips.

Seeing, or rather hearing Faith the night before had kept her up all night pondering the existence of an afterlife. She guessed, since her father hadn't made his presence known in the house, that he had gone on to wherever spirits went. She remembered the night the police had shown up at the door, their faces kind and full of sorrow, as they told her mother that Hank wasn't coming home. She and Dawn had sat huddled on the steps while they listened to the cop explain that the combination of the wet roads, and a sharp curve taken too fast, had ripped him from their lives. She'd been twelve, barely a year after they had moved here. Dawn had been seven, her wide, azure eyes looking at her sister, hoping the older girl would tell her that it was a lie, that their father was coming home. Unfortunately, once Joyce turned around, there was no lying that would cover the pain in her blue orbs, a pain that seemed to make her age almost before their eyes.

The sight of Spike's car, followed closely by Amber's mother's broke her out of her thoughts.

"Dawn! They're here."

"FINE!" came the angry reply. Buffy rolled her eyes again, and smiled as Spike unfolded himself from the car. If things worked out, Dawn would get plenty of opportunities to hang around the band. But, right now just wasn't the time.

The teen stomped down the stairs, just as Buffy pulled open the door. The brunette pushed past the pair and went straight to her friend's car, not even bothering with a hello or a goodbye. Spike's scarred brow shot up and he looked at Buffy, amused confusion in his eyes.

"She's pissed 'cause I won't let her come."

"Ah. I see. Well, nothing quite like a dose of teenage attitude to put you in the right mind, now is there?" She giggled a bit and nodded.

"Oh yeah. Just gets me right in the mood for ghost hunting," she said with a smile. Her smile faded as she looked into the blue fire that was his eyes. They were planted firmly on her mouth, watching in fascination as she had talked.

"Well, if that doesn't do it, how's this?" he asked, his voice husky. He took a step towards her, his hand coming up to rest on her hip. The air thickened around them, and it suddenly seemed hotter when their lips touched. She found it amazing that with just this gentle pressure, she turned into a warm pile of goo. His teeth scraped softly at her bottom lip, his tongue darting out to taste the strawberry lip gloss she wore. She sighed, her lips parting slightly. Pleasure sang through her veins when he pushed into her mouth, taking the time to tease, before sliding his tongue across hers. Tremors racked through them both, and little moans filled the air.

Gooseflesh broke out on her bare arm when his fingers grazed up the length, stopping to play with the strap of her dark green, spaghetti strap tank. His other hand had skimmed down over her cotton shorts, to caress the skin of her thigh. Buffy felt a wave of arousal hit her, and it took all her will power NOT to slam the door closed behind him and ride him right there. It really worried her that she couldn't really find anything WRONG with the idea. Especially since her hands had suddenly developed a mind of their own, and slipped under the hem of his t-shirt to discover the ridged muscle of his stomach. She moaned again, when the skin under her fingers rippled with her touch.

When he pulled away, his eyes were as dark as midnight, his breathing ragged.

"Let's go, luv," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. She giggled despite the sexual tension curling in her belly, and managed to remember to lock the door as he took her hand and led her out. She was pretty sure, she thought while they walked to the car, that if he kept kissing her like that, they wouldn't be waiting very long at all.

~*~*~

"Hey, John?" Mark knocked as he opened his cousin's door, calling for him.

"Yeah?" Johnny walked out of the bathroom, his long, bright hair damp from his shower. His jeans rode low on his hips, the cross on his back dipping below the band. Mark rolled his eyes at the evidence of too much alcohol, and closed the door.

"Tara and Willow are here. Spike went to get Buffy." Johnny nodded, grabbing a t-shirt and pulling it on. He looked up at his cousin and sighed, seeing the 'we need to talk' look on his face.

"What?" he snapped, his tone harsher than he had intended. He was tired, since he had spent most of the night awake, trying to stave off the dream as long as he could. Almost as soon as he had fallen asleep, she had shown up, fury twisting her face. He remembered his dream self trying to talk to her, tell her they were going to help her, but she didn't seem to care. She seemed intent on punishing him for whatever had pissed her off. Her teeth had sunk viciously into his thigh, dangerously near his parts, and this time, the bruise stayed. Just his luck he gets stuck with a jealous ghost. He so didn't need the lecture that was going to roll off Mark's tongue.

"I just wanted to tell you to be careful. She's not your usual type." Their eyes locked when he said that, anger flashing in Johnny's.

"Don't you think I know that?" he growled. "I just don't know what it is about her." He said that mostly to himself, the image of her sweet face flooding his vision. Mark quirked a brow at the look on his cousin's face. It looked like awe, and it made the guitarist wonder.

"She does seem to be a hell of a lady. But don't start something you don't intend to see through," Mark said, turning to leave the room. "Sex isn't everything, John." He said before pulling the door shut behind him. Johnny glared at the wood, feeling the need to hit something.

He didn't know what he wanted to do. Didn't Mark see that? He was as confused as he had ever been about anything, and his cousin poking his nose into it didn't help. Hell, he and Tara were both adults, so what did it matter what they did? He knew he wanted her, and he was pretty sure she wanted him. Why not? Just because she wasn't like the others, didn't mean they couldn't make some beautiful memories. Then, they could go on with their lives, just like he liked.

With that decision, he ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the tension that settled in his chest with it.

Continued...