Yellow Was Desolate Without Stripe
By Chris
Chapter 6: Chrysalis
Maybelle's fork froze in mid-air when she heard Buffy's question. Why had she brought the girl home? Before she could stop herself, she gave truth where half-truth would have sufficed: "Because you needed someplace to run to." Because I wish someone had given *her* a safe place.Struggling to contain emotions coming from a place she'd thought long dead and buried, Buffy raised her head to search Belle's eyes for the story hidden in the words. Grief lay trapped in golden flecks surrounded by clouded earth. The bedroom-- so much like Dawn's. Might as well cut to the chase.
"Who was she?"
The fork clattered to the floor. Belle jerked her head around looking for something in the room but seemed not to find it. An expression akin to fright lingered on her face when she returned her gaze to Buffy, who watched the older woman's reaction with growing curiosity. Maybelle took a long drink from her coffee mug, then cleared her throat, searching for words and the strength to deliver them in a matter-of-fact manner. "Leticia. My daughter, that's her name." Her voice grew in strength as the words came out in a staccato recitation, almost as if she were reading from a book. "She would have been 30 this year. She up and left in the middle of the night almost 5 years ago. I've made it my business ever since to find her. Haven't yet, but I won't give up trying."
Maybelle pulled her chair back from the table a bit, still looking around for something. "Now where's that damned cat? He's not begging under your chair, is he? Old pest."
The older woman was clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, but Buffy felt a burning need for answers. And why was Belle so obsessed with the cat's whereabouts? Avoidance much? Better let sleeping...umm...cats lie. Buffy picked up her fork and took a bite of the eggs. "Thank you, Belle, for telling me. She was a lucky girl, to have someone like you to take care of her."
"Aww, honey, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean for you to know...just -- stay here for as long as you need. But think about the folks back home who love you, before it's too late."
Belle seemed to give up on breakfast then, and stood to take her dishes to the sink. Over the rush of the tap water, her voice sounded almost cheerful as she called out, "Like I said, I'm off to town for a bit today. You do whatever suits you. Fishing poles are in the barn, and the library is down the back hallway." She turned off the water, wiped her hands, and smiled a brittle smile in Buffy's general direction as she headed out the back door. "Later-bye!"
Buffy rolled her eyes heavenward. Alone on the funny farm and no little men in white coats to come to the rescue this time!
---
The moonlight reflected off the murky waters of the Mississippi, highlighting the two figures, light and dark, as they made their way along the levee. The low male voices carried only murmurs into the thick stillness of the night, but the air around them was abuzz with the electricity of their give and take.
"Bloody hell. I dunno why you didn't find her. Did you even look, after the mambo queen told you what happened?" Spike's voice seemed to plead and mock at the same time. "Do this -- for Tisha's sake, if not for the bloody rightness of it."
The thin, dark-haired priest stopped dead in his tracks. His back stiffened, and he faced the vampire, speaking in a low, mean voice, "Rightness of it? How *dare* you speak to me of righteousness. If she hadn't been sucked into your madness, we'd be together now.""My fault? I'm not the git who couldn't make up his mind what he wanted and mucked it all up. I know *exactly* what I want, and you're going to help me get it."
You could have heard a pin drop as the words landed in the air between them. Father Aloysius dropped to the ground, holding his head in his hands. He remembered the night as if it were yesterday...she'd gone for help, something she thought he needed to choose her over the Church. And he believed she was gone forever. "I can't go back there. I just can't. Take me to her first." He lifted his head, coal black eyes boring holes into pale, glimmering blue. "Please?"
---The green trees and grey rocks of the Ozarks passed by at a rapid clip. Dawn was curled into the corner formed by the seatback and the window, sleeping peacefully. Xander's eyes were glued on the blur of yellow and cement of the road ahead of him. Louisiana? What were they *thinking*? Some random inkling to chase a train that she might or might not have boarded in Chicago?
How in the world had they ended up heading south on the road out of St. Louis, rather than west toward Sunnydale? He honestly couldn't figure it out. One minute with the sappy Dawn hugging, the next with the 'oooh, hello kitty!', and finally the 'Let's follow a locomotive into the swamps.' Oh well, at least Dawn would have a little fun on the last days of her Spring Break...the zoo in New Orleans was supposed to be pure monkey heaven. Maybe that would take the edge off her disappointment at his insistence that they leave the little black cat in the restaurant parking lot. Yeah. A visit to the zoo would do her good. Then off to her own cage in LA unless by some miracle they managed to find Buffy before Sunday.
Xander glanced at the sleeping teenager once again and heaved a huge sigh. Anya thought chimps were cute. It would have made a great honeymoon trip.
---
Brown-green water magnified the bright glow of late springtime sunshine, scattering light in random puzzle pieces through the canopy of moisture-hungry dogwoods lining the bank of the pond. Buffy leaned against a large pine, motionless except for the rhythmic movement of her hand stroking the large cat snuggled half onto her lap. She'd been sitting for hours, just watching the dragonflies whirl and listening to the chirp of the birds in the woods around her.
Lazy cat squints revealed that she was not alone in consciousness. Ralph was an alert, if relaxed, guardian. As a wisp of a cloud passed above, he sat up on his haunches, pausing to lick an already immaculate paw. Green eyes watched with interest as the cat lengthened its body in an indolent stretch, then casually strolled over to a low hanging dogwood branch. He turned his gaze to catch her eyes, as if to say "watch me now", then reached up a paw to bat at something balanced on a green twig. Buffy leaned forward to see what had his attention. Ugh! A caterpillar...all gooey with that, that-- stuff. Just a little too much like demon goo. Wanting to avoid lessons in the recreational habits of farm cats, she relaxed against the tree again, head swinging to one side as her she drifted off, thinking about the butterfly that would never be.
---
. . .Icy blue wings fluttered, telescoping cerulean mists over a blond woman's form
. . .Wrought iron bars shrank, closing in, reigning myopia over pale marble
. . .Furry masked faces danced, little cat feet breeding a sparkling fog
. . .White gauze floated, hiding power.
. . .Panic seized, lifting, spiralling in waves lapping at the shores of bittersweet wailing.
. . .Life surged
---
Buffy woke with a start, unsure whether she'd screamed aloud or only in her mind. Cloudy eyes focused and her racing heart normalized as she identified the leaden object perched on her chest, as Ralph. The cat was mewing tiny cries in her face, licking at her jaw, obviously trying to awaken her. When her hand reached up to brush him away, he flew off of her body and took up a pacing stance, obviously directing her back toward the farmhouse. A sense of urgency thrilled through Buffy's body, and she stood. There was *something* that needed doing. She pushed aside the questions flailing in her mind and followed the agitated cat into the house.---
A sibilant whisper emerged from the small square hole in the large wooden door. "What fools knock where no answers live?"Spike watched in silence as the priest answered the shining black eyes peering out over cast iron fittings. "A petitioner to the crossroads, with gifts for Gator and Legba, whose beneficence may answer great need. The time is ripe, and answers are owed."
A hiss floated through, as the opening slammed shut. Spike felt tremors squeezing his innards to water as the silence stretched out into brittle anticipation. The priest stood still and quiet, calling on a preternatural calm to still his gyrating pulse, schooling his muscles to remain frozen until the creak of the century-old door provided entrance into the musty slave quarters.
"Enter, then," said a disembodied voice. "But know that only one can be answered."
Chapter 7: PrayersAdrenalin rushed through her body and blood pounded in her ears as Buffy took the steps up the porch two at a time, tingles buzzing in her stomach. The pleasure she felt at the familiar sensation was at odds with the role of normal girl she'd been trying to play for days now. Reaching the door, she slammed into the house and looked quickly from side to side, feet moving automatically into a fighting stance. Instinct led her to grab at her waist for the stake that wasn't there. Spidey senses all worky-worky, but where's Mr. Pointy?
Grabbing a tall wooden candlestick from the top of the antique dental cabinet, Buffy stalked past Ralph into the front parlour, ready to protect her newfound corner of normalcy. Should have known demons would show up here, too.
What she found was far more surprising than demons in Tennessee. The round coffee table was littered with candles and crumbs of herbs, a wide, shallow bowl of water in the centre of the table. Scrying! The scene became even more frighteningly familiar when she saw Maybelle lying on the floor, a picture frame still grasped in her hands. For a split second, Buffy was immobilized by memories of finding another woman lying flat on her back in a living room. A plaintive cry from the cat rocked her back into reality and, in what felt like slow-motion, Buffy moved forward to kneel at Belle's side. As she felt for a pulse in Belle's limp wrist, all of the tension drained from her body. A strong and steady beat. Unconscious, but alive.
Her body slumping in relief, Buffy set the candlestick on the table. Carefully, she reached for the picture frame Belle was holding. Buffy was stunned to find a pair of large brown eyes staring at her from the face of the same blond woman in her dream.
---
The smells of scorched rock and astringent herbs seared his nostrils as Spike followed the frail figure wrapped in white gauze through the dark maze of hallways that were long ago used as slave quarters. The priest was still with him, though he wasn't moving under his own steam very well. Every so often, Spike had to reach out a hand and give the man a little push in the direction of their guide.
The thrum of beating drums seemed to vibrate from the very stones they walked upon, the rhythm becoming louder and more pronounced with each step, until the white-wrapped figure stopped in a doorway. "Wait here.""Well, den boy, y'coming on in, or jes' gonna stand dere, takin' up me spaces?" The sprightly voice was at odds with the heavy atmosphere of the place. Spike pushed past the priest and stood facing the small black man who reclined lazily against an immense pile of pillows. The smell of burning herbs was less noticeable in this chamber, and the din of the drums receded enough for him to hear himself think again. The edges of the vampire's lips began to turn up in a grin at the change in the vibe. This was a little more like he'd remembered it. Out with the pretentious voudon trappings and in with the serious mojo.
Ebony eyes moved slowly up and down Spike's body, drawing energy out with the glance. "Oooh-ee, hos. I see what you's a wantin, but y'ain't de onliest man wants sumpin'. Tell 'im to get hisself in heah." The shiny man's teeth gleamed white against thick lips as he shook his head slowly back and forth, gesturing toward the door through which Father Aloysius had yet to enter.
"Come on, then," Spike groused, reaching back to pull the priest through the door into the room. Both jumped a bit as the door slammed shut behind them. Blue eyes and black were trained on the small figure across the room. Through gritted teeth, the vampire whispered a silky threat into his companion's ear, "Remember. I don't get what I want, you don't get what you want."
"Well now, ain't you two 'bout de unlikeliest pair to darken my door in a good lon' while?" The short man stood up and walked towards the circle drawn in the centre of the room, rubbing his hands together in a gleeful whirl. "We'd best be gittin' on wit de bizness, den." Bouncing down on his haunches at the edge of the circle, he patted the stone floor.
Dark and light sat at equal distances from the squatter, watching carefully as he withdrew a handful of small, beige objects and threw them out toward the tallow candle flickering in the circle's centre.
---
Tisha paced the length of the house over and over again, pausing at the kitchen in the rear to stare at the motorcycle still parked in the alley. The cat, bothered by her agitation, wound himself around her incorporeal ankles, pawing at the door. Here! Again. Her mind flashed scene by scene through that night nearly three years ago... She cracked the door a touch, lost in thought, and Oscar darted out to slink cat patterns through the twists and turns of the cycle's gleaming metal.
Whispered secrets had tied the priest into psychic knots. What started with a frightened, powerful girl searching for redemption had turned into an ugly, heart-wrenching sort of beautiful. Innocent confession and determined examinations slid imperceptibly into guilt and fear, spiced with the pleasures of carnal thought, if not sin itself.
"But we can't. I do love you, you know that, but this thing, this power -- it will always come between us." Young, and remarkably innocent for one who'd spent two years alone in the Big Easy, she didn't hear the misdirection in his words, only the regret and love.
It should have been simple. Living her life unnoticed in the grey spaces of sin central had given her a bird's eye view into the dark, mystic goings-on of the shadow figures who inhabited the underbelly of the French Quarter. When she'd made up her mind to take an active part in eliminating the obstacle of her powers from their relationship, she'd never dreamed it could end as it had.
Things had been going so well... prices paid, obeisance's given, sacrifices made. Elation filled her at the prize which waited at the other end of the ceremonial power transfer. The ritual in all its thumping glory began in a rising swell of drum beats. She saw the intended recipient of her power manifest in a misty swirl and held her breath in anticipation of taking the final step towards her love. And in an instant it had all gone wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong.
That annoying, stupefied, drunk, lovelorn, adorable vampire chose that precise moment to crash through the circle of gyrating dancers, demanding assistance in recapturing 'his black beauty'.
Then came the sickening twist of her soul, an intense pain from the extermination of the connection between essence and being, the complete disorientation of floating, utterly outside. Outside her body, outside her world, outside her life. She watched the dancers drain the power centre, following the spirit that had assumed control of her body into the shadows, leaving her alone and disembodied with the source of the disruption.
Oh, the tears they had spent: tears of the non-living, torn from love through no fault of their own, tears of self-pity and regret. What a pair they had made that night, each raging at the other for standing in the way of happiness earned through sorcery, then comforting each other over the accident of timing that put them both in the same space, seeking the same thing, at the same cursed time.
In the end, William had tried to make amends. He'd found her this house to live in, offered to bring her love to her and, when she'd refused to allow it, he found Oscar to keep her company in her lonely non-existence. She'd watched him drive off in the DeSoto, liberated from a neighbouring driveway, and wondered if he could succeed in finding what was missing. There was hope in her for as long as he stayed gone.
But now he was back and she could feel a change coming. It vibrated in the very air tonight, dancing a thread of electricity through the remnants of the power that she'd tried to deny. She could feel it pulsing just out of reach. She missed its familiar feel almost as much as she missed her priest: her forbidden, contradictory loves.
---
Leticia. It had to be Leticia. Belle had been messing around with magic to try to locate her. Buffy sat back on her heels, examining the photograph. A nice, normal person had caused all this heartache by her disappearance. She wondered what it would have been like to be this girl, to have grown up on a farm, lived life as Belle's cherished daughter. Buffy was so preoccupied with her thoughts that it startled her when Ralph leaped over her shoulder, landing near Maybelle's body to lick roughly at her face.
Slowly, the prostrate woman's eyelids fluttered open, and she raised up on her elbows to stare at Ralph. "And just where were you when I needed you?" she questioned irritably. Owlish blinks gave away her disorientation as she looked towards Buffy, over to the coffee table, then back again.
Belle smiled a wan smile as brown eyes met green. "Hi, honey. I'm home." She waved a hand at the coffee table. "I just thought...if I tried to find her with magic, maybe I could stop the waiting. Woulda been fitting, somehow, if I could find her through magic, when it was my ignorant fear of magic that drove her away in the first place." Buffy's mind raced as Belle's face crumpled in remorse. Tears started to fall, huge, hot tears running in rivulets down the care-lined face, and she sniffled, "I'd do anything to have her back again, witch or no..."
Buffy didn't know where the certainty that she could make this better came from, but ignoring self-doubt, she barrelled on in typical Slayer style. Taking Belle by the hand, she helped her to stand, saying in a sympathetic but no-nonsense tone: "That's about enough, Belle. We're going to finish this, once and for all. And *no* *more* *magic* for you."
Buffy led the now silent woman over to the couch, where they both sank into the deep cushions. "I have a friend who might be able to help us," she said, "but first, I need to tell you about a dream I had this afternoon..."
---
The wizened old man sat quietly, staring at the pattern the bones formed in front of him. He tilted his head first one way, then another, a calculating gleam in his eyes. The seconds ticked past on the beat of the drums that provided the only noise in the room. Gradually, he lifted his head and raised a hand to stroke his chin, making a clucking sound in the back of his throat.
The priest seemed at peace in his skin, but Spike was ready to jump from his. "Bloody hell. What do you see?"
The clucking noise became a chuckle, then a full throated laugh. "Oooooh, boy. I'm a'tinkin you's not gon' wanna heah dat ..." His eyes grew rounder, and the laughing note disappeared. "The two of you's been seein' a world a'pain. And de women. Law' sakes, de women. Pair 'a fools, dats what y'iz." Abruptly, he leaned forward and blew out the candle, scooping the bones into a hand as he stood.
"Ol' gator ain't gon' talk at y'bof. Only one -- and mebbe den not de one what gits what he's a wantin'. One a y'all head on out to Manshack, and waits in a boat til he comes."
The tiny man stared at his clients expectantly. "So git den. No tellin' how lon' it gon take."
Chapter 8: CrossroadsSpike and Father Aloysius walked in silence along the cobbled streets leading away from the slave quarters, the burning question between them underscored by sidelong glances and studied avoidance. As they reached Bourbon Street, the bright lights and melancholy joys of commercial N'awlins drained the intensity from their steps, and Spike broke their silence. "This'll do, then," he said, pushing open a dilapidated shutter and walking into the intimate confines of a small bar.
Spike brought a full bottle of whiskey to the small table where the priest sat, along with two glasses. He poured two drinks, knocked one back, and handed the other to the priest before refilling his own. Alcohol, and lots of it, was necessary tonight, the last night of this particular miserable existence. An intense look crept over his face, and he leaned in across the table to emphasize his point. He *had* to win this argument. "Now lookit, Big Al, the little raisin said only one of us can meet this gator guy. And I'm not clear on what a man shack is, but it sounds more like a place for me than a skypilot like you." Taking a deep breath and avoiding the other man's eyes, Spike barrelled on un-weaponed, since he'd given the priest Tisha's location immediately after leaving the temple. "And this time, I'm going to see this through."
Father A interrupted Spike's rant with the wave of a hand. "I'm not going. And Manshack is not a what, but a where. The swamps, to be exact. Other side of the lake, maybe thirty minutes up I-55. There's a little shack of a restaurant called Mittendorf's; boat docks are nearby. If you grab a pontoon and hang canvas around the roof, you should be safe enough."
Mentally cataloguing the location, Spike looked up to meet the priest's eyes, suddenly suspicious. "You're not going to fight me? Why not? And what skin is it off your nose if I get fried?"
Father Aloysius stared into the dark amber liquid he was absently swirling. "I've got what I need now," he answered quietly. "Near enough, anyway." He raised his eyes to catch Spike's curious gaze, deep sorrow burrowing into the hollows of the priest's face. "I know I can't have her -- can't touch, taste, or smell her. But I can love her. Now and for the rest of my life. If I'm lucky, very lucky, I might even find a way to bring her with me when I go.
"As long as you've got that chip, there's no harm in leaving you be. And I owe you one." Aloysius gulped his whiskey and continued, surprise shading the fatalistic acceptance in his voice. "You were right earlier, you know. If I had put love before personal ambition and fear of ridicule, she wouldn't be where she is now. We'd be together. She would be alive, and we'd be able to make the world a better place for it. That'll never happen now, but I can spend the rest of my life giving her what I have to give."
Spike's fist closed convulsively around the neck of the bottle, rousing the other man out of his introspection with a wet crack of breaking glass and the forceful scraping of his chair as he stood. Spike's eyes narrowed to slits. Anyone watching would think he was angry, but the undercurrent of rejection and hurt was apparent as he barked, "Get up. It's time to go, you bleeding god wallah. Let's get this show on the road."Bitch. This wanker of a priest could contemplate a life loving a ghost witch, but Buffy couldn't even manage to admit that what they had was real... Turning his back on the bar and all that was in it, he walked back onto the street, each step ringing with fearsome purpose. Tonight, he'd find a way to fix it. Permanently.
---
The blond vampire roared across the Causeway, the muddy waters of Lake Ponchartrain reflecting the sparkling lights of the city he left behind. The feeling of freedom pounded through him, hammering the rhythm of the road into every cell of his body as he drove the deserted road towards Manshack. Freedom. One of them would give it up, the other gain it, all in the space of a day and a night. His evening with the priest ran through his mind on a constant loop. Something important had happened among tonight's twists and turns, something he was missing.
Spike reached down to his waist to turn the volume up on the cd player. "Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go..." Wonder how much liquid courage the priest will have to consume to face *his* ghost? Have to compare notes--if we survive to meet again.
---
Buffy sat on the hotel's veranda overlooking St. Charles Avenue, more than a little in awe of the world that unfolded before her. Graceful white columns framed a view of sturdy oaks, their heavily laden branches waving benevolently in the wind, priests giving benediction. From time to time, the gentle clanking of green and red streetcars accompanied the breeze, in no more of a hurry to reach their destination than anything else here.
Belle hadn't been kidding when she said Buffy had never seen anything like New Orleans. It was hard to believe that it was only yesterday she'd discovered Belle's body lying on the floor and learned that the woman in her dream had been Leticia. If it weren't for the urgent need to find Belle's daughter, Buffy would have loved to spend days on end in this city, just watching the world pass slowly by as she had on the farm. No chance of that now. The discovery that her dream reminded Belle of New Orleans sent her straight back to the train. And here she was, waiting for Tara's contact to show up at the Columns Hotel, smack in the middle of the Garden District.
What a strange conversation that had turned out to be. Tara was clearly hiding something, but Buffy had no clue what that might be. At least she'd sounded happy to hear Buffy was considering a return home. Tara hadn't heard from Dawn since Xander took her to Los Angeles. Leave it to the walking hormone bomb to insist on doing even that her way. The short hop by plane would have been so much more convenient for everyone, but since when was Dawn about what was convenient? God. Wouldn't she love it here?
Sighing wistfully, Buffy closed her eyes against the warm breeze, imagining herself on the veranda more than a hundred years ago, dressed in a deep blue, hoop-skirted gown, fan aflutter. "I do declare..."
Her lips were still moving in silent tribute to a time she imagined was simpler, if not easier, when a grating voice interrupted her daydreaming. "Are you sleeping? You shouldn't be sleeping. This is a business trip."
Jarred from a fantasy into which had entered a suspiciously familiar blond male in a grey military uniform, Buffy opened her eyes half expecting to see Spike lurking in the shadows. Instead, what she saw was Anya in a scarlet 'power-suit', blocking the view to the street. Quickly, she closed her eyes again, dropping her head against the back of the chair with a sigh.
It really shouldn't hurt this much. Just business. Anya's particular talents were vital to the business at hand. Sitting upright in the chair, Buffy squared her shoulders and faced the demon.
"You. I thought... yes. Business. But not here." Uh-huh. Still hurts. She averted her eyes, staring down at the straw in her iced tea. Buffy cleared her throat and tried again. "Actually, I don't know where. I told Tara...and she said someone would... But you?"
Anya took a seat at the table. "Well, this is rather awkward, isn't it? Damn D'Hoffryn anyway. He could've sent Hallie." Her face relaxed as she noticed the confusion rising in Buffy's face. "This puts me in such an awkward position. I didn't know he was taken -- and really, he was only trying to make me feel better. I don't think he meant...he couldn't stop talking about you." Anya suddenly seemed to remember something important. Her eyebrows perked up, and she tilted brown eyes slyly at the slayer, "He didn't want a wish. Maybe you don't either?"
Light dawned in Buffy's eyes as she realized what Anya meant. "I...I... No wishing!" She stood up to reinforce her point. "Absolutely, positively no wishing. Nope." Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Wax on. Wax off... Buffy began to stalk the length of the veranda. "Why would I care, anyway? So you slept with a vampire. A little weird, sure. But hey -- whatever floats your boat. You got the wrong slayer if you're looking for someone who's upset."
A smile spread across Anya's face, but her eyes iced over as she regarded the pacing woman. "Right. That's why D'Hoffryn sent me halfway across the country to find you. Because you don't have an ounce of resentment over what Spike and I did. No wonder he said he likes 'forthright' women! Well, that's just great," she finished with a smirk, "The forthright should stick together. Maybe we can compare notes over grits and grillades? I just love veal."
At that, Buffy exploded into a fury of motion, flying across the veranda and pinning Anya against a column by the neck. "No comparing of notes," she growled. Anya's eyes grew wider, and her face paled. Realizing that she was about to lose her best chance at finding Leticia this decade, Buffy released the vengeance demon from her hold. "But there *is* work to do. Sit back down."
---
Xander got out of the car and slammed the door. "And how is it *my* fault we've got to 'eat' the car in downtown New Orleans?" The last 8 hours of this little trip with Dawn had been like drowning in a sea of oestrogen. Who knew that normal women were so moody, anyway? Living with Anya had spoiled him in more ways than one. She was nothing if not consistent. He walked around the car and opened the door for Dawn, staring towards the train station. The plain, square building seemed utterly out of place amidst the faded brick and intricate iron trim of the houses and buildings they'd passed on their way into town. Dawn was out like a shot, running into the building almost before he had the door closed.
---
"'Bout this high," Xander held his hand at just above the five foot mark, "Blond, big green eyes, kinda cheerleader-type perky -- well, maybe not so perky?" The grizzled old woman sitting behind the ticket counter at the train station just looked at him blankly. "H'ain't seen her," she mumbled, and turned back to the small black and white television set on the desk. Xander shook his head and did a double-take when he turned to admit defeat to Dawn and found empty space behind him.
Panic bubbled in his guts until he noticed her in a corner of the dingy white room, talking to a youngish looking man with a mop. Both were leaning against a wall near the restrooms, totally absorbed in conversation. Arrrgh! Not *now* with the teenage hormones. Xander crossed the room and grabbed the Dawn by the arm. "Get lost, mop boy," he growled.
Dawn stomped her foot and jerked away from Xander. "Enough with the Neanderthal routine, Xander. He saw Buffy -- today." Her voice lowered to a whisper, "And he's kinda cute, too!"
Xander's head was spinning. What was it about Summers women? This one wasn't even fully grown, but she could still run circles around him. He turned to face the janitor, mumbling, "So, yeah. Thanks." Determined to retain some semblance of control in the situation, he grabbed Dawn by the arm again and wheeled her toward the exit. "We're here to find your sister, not to hit on skanky teenaged sanitation engineers. "So? What gives?" Xander queried.
Still sulking, Dawn answered briefly, "She came in early this morning and took a taxi that way." She pointed in the general direction of Uptown. "Oh. And he said she took some brochures from over there." With a flip of her hair, she pulled away from his grip and headed for the magazine rack, "If your Highness thinks it's worth checking…"
There were dozens of brochures in the rack, thousands of interesting things to do in New Orleans. But what would Buffy do? Dinner cruises were right out. Swamp tours? Yeah, Buffy'd be big on the mosquito netting as a fashion accessory. Xander was still wrestling with the unbidden image of Buffy wrestling an alligator in a safari hat and knee-length khaki shorts, when Dawn let out a squeal. "Ooooooh. This is it!" She waved a brochure for tours of the area cemeteries.
Xander was perplexed and, as usual, began to babble. "I dunno, Dawn -- this says the tours don't start 'til sundown. And, I mean, why would Buffy want a tour of cemeteries? Seems like the kind of thing she'd do ..."
Exasperated, Dawn finished his sentence and pointed to the map on the back of the brochure, "...on her own. I bet we can find her in one of these cemeteries tonight, for sure." With that, she grabbed another brochure and flounced out the door. "Come on, I want to ride one of those trollies! And I'm hungry. You said we could go to the zoo... We'll never find her in the daylight, so we might as well have a little fun..." A helpless Xander followed in her wake.
---
Through the long hours of the night the rhythmic creaking of the frogs and eerie hooting of the owls had ruled the moonlit agate of Manshack's swamps, quietly shepherding nocturnal inhabitants through the rippling heat. But, as darkness turned to dawn's purple glow, the guardians of the depths turned sentinel duties over the splashing of fish and the chirping of a thousand birds. The pontoon Spike occupied moved imperceptibly in the current, allowing him to react to the movement of the boat in the sun, viewing the glory of sunrise in relative safety. The canvas he'd hung around the edges of his stolen transportation protected him from accidental incineration, but the ever present demands of his nature threatened to send him into slumber unwilling.
She loved the sunrise, leaving him in the shade. Frustration rose in his gut, a crescendo of need and desperation seizing his very essence. He lifted the bottle of rum and took a swig. Holding the bottle up to check the level, he realized that it would be gone in a few more swallows. The pipsqueak should have given him a bigger bottle. Damned gator god better show soon... business to take care of. So ... tired. Unconsciousness descended. The hand holding the bottle flopped to his side, spilling rum onto the deck to run in swirling streams over the edges of the boat and into the swamp.
Waking with a start, Spike found himself...elsewhere. No way to know where, but he damned sure wasn't on a buggering boat in the middle of a swamp anymore. Beneath his reclining form was a slab of smooth, cool marble. Four walls surrounded him, if you could call them walls. The enclosure was formed of black iron bars, rising from squared corners to a neatly twisted roof over his head. Ambient light flooded the area, but it wasn't sunshine. It seemed to be emanating from the white mist that weaved patterns in the air and bloomed into a dense fog outside of his cage. This must be it, then.
He rose from the marble platform and walked to face the bars. The mist prevented him from seeing anyone outside the cage, but he felt a presence. "C'mon, then. Show yourself." Spike muttered as he paced, searching for motion in the vapour. No way out, but who knew what beasties could get in. The tension buried itself deep in his muscles, the pattern of his steps a counterpoint to the whispers of chaos approaching on thumping drums.
A pure thread of anger surfaced in his voice as the steady throbbing invaded his consciousness, sinking deeper with every beat. "It's time now, don't you think? I'm ready! Done my good deed - the witch 'n the priest are together again." Spike stopped his pacing and sat on the platform, head down. "S'not my fault you said only one of us could come! C'mon, Papa - do your stuff. I love her, and I'll do whatever it takes. Make me a real boy, y'wanker."
A bright cackle pierced the drowning beat of the drums. "You? Know what love is? Convince me."
Chapter 9: EmergenceCredits to: Tina Turner, Roy Orbison, Shakespeare (sonnet 116), and the Beatles.
A tingle ran up Spike's spine when shimmering blue light announced a presence just outside the cage, the mad torrent of laughter fading along with the insistent percussion. "Didn't think we'd stick with the spooky voodoo trappings for too long, did you? Sorry about the mists -- they come with the room." Spikes eyes fixed on the source of the light, disbelief at what he saw stealing his voice.
Of all the things Spike had imagined when he set himself on this course, the notion of having to prove that he knew what love was had never occurred to him. More than that, he'd bloody well never expected to be explaining it to an oversized house cat with a twitchy tail. The face was the most striking thing about it, if you didn't consider the muscles pulsing under the sleek, tawny coat as it paced the length of the cage. Slanted yellow eyes were framed by a solid ring of black, then a wide swath of white, effecting a mask over the intelligence and power that shone out of it's eyes as brightly as those of any sorcerer Spike had ever encountered.
The undercurrent of command that blanketed the immediate area gave lie to the whimsy in its tone and its diminutive stature. The cat leaped upon the marble slab and sat back on its haunches, staring straight at the vampire. "Well, Blondie? What do you have to say for yourself?" Spike's jaw hung open as the cat broke into a semblance of song and turned a Cheshire grin at him. "What's love got to do, got to do with it?"
---
The late afternoon sun beat down on the hot cement of the sidewalk as they trudged from house to house in the criss-crossed streets, both women bedraggled from hours of walking. Buffy stopped walking as they reached the corner of the final block of South Robertson Street. Pushing an errant strand of hair away from her sweaty forehead, she whined at Anya, "Can't you do another spell? One that is just a little more specific? We don't seem to be getting any closer, and all these houses look the same to me."
Anya was as exasperated as Buffy sounded. "I could have done another spell--if you had thought to bring something that belongs to her with you. As it is, we've got to be close." She pointed to the fence that marked the dead end of the street, and the border between public property and Tulane University's private campus. "One of these houses must be it, unless your runaway is attending Tulane."
Just at that moment, a ruckus coming from the last house on the street drew their attention. There was a man running out of the house, books flying after him as he landed with a dull thump on the porch. The sound of a woman's strident voice erupted from the interior of the somewhat ramshackle house. "You thought you could come here and tell me that, and I'd let you stay?" More books, mixed with pots and pans now, came flying out to batter the prostrate figure.
Anya perked up. "I think that must be the house we're looking for. Even if it's not -- I feel a call for vengeance." She tugged on Buffy's arm, "Come on. Let's go, before he gets away."
---
Xander stared across the table at Dawn, watching her cram the last bite of a shrimp Po' Boy into her mouth. The girl could *eat*. The sandwiches here were as big as his forearm, and she'd eaten the whole thing. "Mmmphl. . . s'good." Dawn leaned back against the wooden chair, a grin stretching from one ear to the other. She licked the last bit of melted butter off the tips of her fingers and sat up straight in her chair, revived. "So, off to the zoo, now? I want to pack in as much fun as I can, before we have to go prowl cemeteries tonight." She looked at Xander expectantly.
He groaned into the hand he'd smacked against his face. Twenty-one years old, and an old man already. "Can't we just sit still for a little while, Dawn? We've been going non-stop since we got here this morning." He waved a hand in the air, "Look, this is a nice, comfy place to rest. Everything a man needs and more -- sports on TV, beer on tap 24 hours a day, greasy food galore, and -- " he waved at a puff of smoke from the nearby cigar smoker, "Hey -- atmosphere!"
He'd stay here forever and brood if she let him. Dawn's eyes swept through the mainroom of St. Charles Tavern, which might most generously be termed a dump, and snorted imperiously. "Humph. This is what Anya meant, then, about men and Y-chromosomes and inertia, isn't it? You would *never* survive the mall, Lumplegs." What was it going to take to get him out of this funk? She stood from the table and placed one hand on her hip, extending an index finger to Xander's mug of beer. "Finish that, and we're going. To the zoo. And you will have fun. No more moping. 'Monkeys and birds and seals, oh my' and all that jazz."
Dawn hummed to herself on the way out of the restaurant: "We're off to see the Wizard. . ."
---Xander pulled the car onto the grassy hill where makeshift overflow parking had formed. Dawn bounced out of the car before he had the engine stopped, pointing excitedly at the banner stretched across the front of the Zoo. "Look, Xander! A festival!
'Audubon After Dark: Featuring live music by Voodoo Spirit'." Oooh, animals and hot dogs, and dancing and music too!" She grabbed his arm, dragging her reluctant protector behind in a race to the front gate.
Dawn kept up a steady stream of nonsensical, happy chatter, her feet barely touching the ground as they moved into the zoo. She stole a glance at Xander to see if her enthusiasm was infectious. Not quite enough, yet, but she began to giggle at the mimes playing to one side of the first festival tent and Xander finally caught her fever.
He took a deep breath, glanced down at the map, and favoured Dawn with the first real smile she'd seen on his face for as long as she could remember. He scooped up her hand and pulled her along in a merry march. "To Asia and back we'll go. Forward, Ho!"
---
Buffy reached the house first, bending over the man lying on the porch being battered by flying household goods. "Are you okay?" she asked, dodging airborne shoes. The man rolled over, exposing a cleric's collar and wide, shocked eyes.
---
Anya's voice interrupted his words as she skidded to a halt just inside the doorway. "Buffy. In here. Now, please?" The detritus had stopped spewing from the doorway, but something in Anya's tone indicated a serious discovery. Buffy leaped up and soon was standing next to the demon, staring at a close approximation of Leticia. Actually, staring *through* her.
"Leticia?"
Without further thought for the man on the porch, Buffy stepped into the room and closed the door, whispering to Anya "Is she . . .?"
Anya's wide eyes held far more humour than seemed appropriate as she answered Buffy's question. "A ghost. Is that her? The daughter we're looking for? This is going to be more interesting than I thought. I wonder if the rules cover spirits?"
"Just who the hell are you, and how do you know my name?" Hands on hips, the ethereal woman glared at both intruders. When neither answered, she floated closer, coming to a stop about a foot in front of Buffy. "Well? There's only one person in the world who ever called me by that name. How do you know my mother?" The strident voice lowered to a faint trace of its former vigour, "How is she?"
Buffy pulled a picture of Belle from her pocket and held it out as she opened her mouth to answer, but Anya spoke first. "Nevermind that. Who is that man on the porch, and what would you like me to do to him?"
Tisha took the picture from Buffy's hand and stared at it. When she raised her head, she gave both women a considering look. "It seems there is much we should discuss. Won't you come in?" Buffy was reminded of Belle's Southern grace as the ghost led the way through the foyer and into the parlour. "Do forgive the dust. It's difficult to manage housecleaning when you're incorporeal."
Buffy and Anya took seats on the settee, heads turning back and forth as if watching a tennis match, following Tisha's movements as she told her tale of woe.
". . .And so, that's how it happened. All along, I thought it was my power that stood between us; but it was his inability to decide, to admit that he loved me more than his Church or his position in it, that was the real obstacle. When I think of the grief that would have been saved if only he'd been honest… So *that* is why you found me expending what little power I could muster to beat the living hell out of him. He thought sorry would make it all better. Ha!"
Anya nodded in sympathy, "I know just how you feel," she murmured, a faraway look in her eye. She gave herself a little shake and resumed her business posture. "So I'll ask again: what do you want me to do to him? A nice case of boils? Perhaps perpetual psoriasis with dripping pustules on his communion hand? That'd make it tough for a priest." The excitement built in her voice as she began to list all the variations on 'drawn and quartered' she could whip up, when suddenly Tisha burst into tears.
Buffy laid a hand on Anya's shoulder, gently shaking the demon out of her building frenzy. "I don't think she wants vengeance, Anya. She loves him." With that, Anya began to wail in unison with Tisha, as if the world were about to end. In a way, perhaps it was.
Buffy quietly left the room, peeking through the window to see if Aloysius was still around. He was on the porch, though he had moved to the steps. Jerking sobs wracked his body, head in hands. A small Siamese cat appeared on the porch rail, running swiftly across to land in the priest's lap and lick at his face in much the same way as Ralph had done to Buffy that afternoon by the pond. Belle! Suddenly remembering why she was here, Buffy returned to the parlour, Slayer ire in full force.
"Enough already with the Wailing Wall." Buffy rounded on Anya first, "You. Get over it. Decide what you want, then do something about it. You want Xander, have him. You don't, then baby *move on*. " Tisha's turn was next, and Buffy began a gentler tirade with the ghost. "And Tisha -- God that sounds so much better than Leticia -- you need to suck it up. Take the same advice I gave Anya, but first -- you need to Call. Your. Mother. She loves you, and your disappearance has torn that beautiful woman apart. So *what* if you're a ghost? So *what* if you'll never lead a 'normal' life? I'm here to tell you -- normal sucks. And this pity party the three of you -- yes, I heard you walk in Mr. God-Is-Love -- are busy throwing for yourselves is causing far more harm than a little honesty would."
"Oh dear," commented a chastened Anya. "That's really not what I meant by forthright. But you are right. I should do something about it. I'll be on my way, then." The vengeance demon turned to Tisha, "Thank you for your hospitality. I will try to stop in and see you before I leave town." The air shimmered around her, and she looked at Buffy as she disappeared, "I hope he's still with Dawn. I always wanted to see the chimps. Audubon is supposed to be something special. Have a nice day!"
---
Recovering from the shock, Spike considered his companion. "You don't look like any alligator I've ever seen. . .figures I'd get a wanker of a cat as a substitute. So you wanna know what love's got to do with it. Love's everything. Wouldn't be here without it, would I?
"It's ripping me apart, piece by bleedin' piece. And there's only one way to put a stop to it, far as I can see. What she really wants, all the way down to her martyred toes, is to be Mary Jane Normal. She hasn't got much chance of that in the rest of her life, but not only does being with me put a kink in the Normal Girl illusion, it means giving it up for good. Leaves me no choice. She'll never admit she loves me unless this heart starts beating again."
Spike's rant was interrupted by a brief chuckle and a warble. "Ooo-ooo, love hurts. . . Sorry, Bub, when the tunes hit, I gotta go with 'em. You can never have enough Roy Orbison, in any case." The cat moved backward on the slab to get a fuller view of the vampire pleading his case. "They told me you were a big bad vampire, but I don't see much of that here," he smirked. "Maybe poetry is more your style. I'm trying to get you to see it's not about the love -- not yours for her, at any rate. Here. Try this on for size." The tawny cat stood on its hind legs and tilted its chin and nose into the air as it recited:
"Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove"
Pure astonishment shone from Spike's eyes, followed by daggers shooting at the declaiming feline. "You're daft. Bloody bonkers. Where's the guy was supposed to show up here? Bones downtown said he'd help me. You're not helpin', and your yowling makes my ears bleed.""Ah, don't get your panties in a wad, sweet cheeks. Gator's busy, and he couldn't do what you need anyway. He's an old stick in the mud -- no sense of romance. You pays your money and you takes your chances when you play with swamp spirits. And of course, you haven't paid yet. So quit your whining and listen up.
"Here's the deal, toots. I'll grant that you love her, even if you're not clear on what it means. You need to think about what old Willie said. But buddy boy, you better be sure this is really what she wants from you, because this is gonna be *some* alteration. . . and if she doesn't love you. . ."
"She loves me. I know it. Silly bint just can't admit it. Says I don't get it, but I bloody well do. I've given all that I have for her. I've tried everything I know to rid myself of her -- it just won't go away, this need to make her happy, to protect her. Do whatever she wants, whenever she wants it. I put her above all soddin' else. I'm a fucking empty shell, nothing inside but her any more. Still not enough, though, is it? Ergo, I'll have to give that up, too. Don't fancy a ride in a whale, but if that's what it takes, lead on MacDuff!"
The cat heaved a sigh and crouched down on the marble, staring up into Spike's eyes as if he could see all the way down to his toes. "Guess we'll have to do this the hard way, hero. You'll have to tell him what you want, and be careful. If you don't get it right, there's no telling what might happen. Here's the rules. Listen up, 'cause there won't be any return trips.
"First, this'll only work once. Ever. One payment, one miracle. That's the deal. No freebies.
"Second, the miracle's only going to take if the wish is made to serve true love -- that means you'd better be right about how she feels. Gotta be love on both sides: like won't cut it. You wish for selfish reasons, poof!
"Third, and this is the part you wanna think about -- No refunds. You play, you pay -- whatever happens next.
"Now, ready to pay up?"
Spike hesitated for a moment, wondering what payment would entail, then gave a brief nod in response. "Let's get this show on the road."
The figure of the cat began to fade, and damned if there weren't a rising swell of music behind his departure. "Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be."
---
Spike sat on the ground staring at the iron bars and waited for whatever came next. Nothing could surprise him now. The weariness was returning -- two days with no sleep following days of travel made concentration difficult. His eyelids drifted shut, even as his mind continued to spin. What had the cat meant? Be sure. . . alteration. . . prices. His thoughts became disjointed. They carried no weight, almost as if someone else were thinking them.
If she already loves me. . .then why won't she admit it?
If she already loves me. . .will she still love me when I'm human?
What if she doesn't already love me? What if. . .
Memories flooded through his brain as a supernatural stillness fell over the area. Buffy half crazed with guilt, shouting at him that he couldn't understand, couldn't see why this was killing her. The pain and anguish in her eyes when she realized what she'd done. Anya wondering if Xander ever really loved her the way she loved him. The priest, giving up the Church and anything that resembled a normal life to go to his ghost.
Buffy again, leaving him after the eggs fiasco, "This is killing me. . . I'm sorry, William." Leaving William! Spike bolted upright at the thought. "Bloody hell. The damned cat was right. . . She didn't just leave *me*. She left the man. But if it's not that, what. . ."
A piercing whine sliced the air and the iron bars began a slow creep inward. A bass voice assaulted him from every direction, accompanied by a streak of electricity that ran through his body, searing pain and agony into every fibber of his being and coming to rest in his skull.
"The price has been taken. Choose."
With his throbbing head bent in defeat, Spike muttered to himself, "If I can't have it, then at least it'll do someone good. . .meets all the bloody conditions." Staring out into the mists, he spoke with quiet conviction. "Make her real."
Chapter 10: HopeLightening crackled, streaking the scene with foreboding. "It is done," boomed the disembodied voice. Spike stood as the mists around him began to roil violently.
"Your price has fuelled her return. Beware of Lachis." A loud clap of thunder shook the cage, and the bars disappeared. Spike was alone -- wherever here was. He stood warily, looking around into the blank grey canvas of the landscape. No noises, no movements. Nowhere. How in the bloody blue blazes was he supposed to get out of this?
"Well, well, well." The cat appeared with no warning and perched on the edge of the table. It sat on its haunches and lifted an immaculate paw to its mouth. Was it *picking its teeth*? "So. Couldn't go through with it, huh?"
Spike's eyes flashed anger at the feline. "You bloody well knew I wouldn't. I don't know how you knew, but you did. You and your buggering poetry. If she won't love me as I am, it's not love at all, is it?"
"Awww. Don't take it so hard, buddy. I've seen an awful lot of magic done in the name of love in my time, and this kind? Rarely ends well. Count your blessings. And hey, Mr. Noble, that was a pretty decent thing you did for those two. But don't you think we'd better get you out of here? Now that your immortality's gone, you don't want to face Lachis. But I bet you'd have a rolling good time with her lackeys. No more silicon serenade for you."
Spike's pacing came to an abrupt halt as the cat's words sank in. No immortality. No *chip*? He stared dumbly at the cat, trying to formulate an intelligent question, when the cat stood on all fours, tail bristling. "Oops. Out of time. She's loose. I don't wanna be here when she comes a'looking for whoever stole her body!"
Spike felt his body jerk, then blackness descended on the sound of a feline trill, "The world will always welcome lovers . . .As time goes by. Tell 'em Sam sent you."
---
Buffy's eyes lit with surprise, as much at Anya's words as at her disappearance. Anya. Count on her to take things literally. But what was this about Dawn? Why would the demon say she'd be back to see Tisha before leaving town? Dawn was in Los Angeles. And Xander, still with her? Arrgh.
Turning to Tisha, she asked, "What's Audubon?"
Tisha sank into the cushions of the couch next to Buffy with a smile on her face. "It's the zoo. Right up the road; you can practically walk from here. Sounds like Anya thinks that's where she'll find them." She tilted her head as large brown eyes filled with curiosity. "You look surprised."
Buffy slumped back against the sloping ridge of the couch and groaned. "Surprise hardly covers it. What? There's a Hellmouth convention in New Orleans? All it needs is Spike to..." Her words trailed off as her jaw dropped. Without warning, the ghost had disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Rounding on a shaking Aloysius, Buffy demanded, "What is going on here?"
The priest's eyes were glued to the spot Tisha had occupied. His mouth opened and closed as he gaped, words banding the room in despair. "She's gone. Again." His body collapsed into a morose heap on the nearby chair. "Not now. Not again. I told him...told him this was a bad idea."
Buffy's patience, already worn thin, exhausted itself completely as she snapped, "Who him, what idea? And what was that about Dawn? The zoo?" She strode to the chair the shaken priest occupied and pulled him up by the collar. "Stop snivelling and talk to me. Now. I am *so* not leaving here without that ghost."
---
Xander fell on the bench, exhausted. Four hours of chasing Dawn around the zoo had worn him to a frazzle. He watched her stand in line for a Sno-Cone, flirting with the young man who manned the register. They'd had a ball, chasing through the water at Monkey Hill, digging in the sand in the Aztec exhibits, laughing at the otters playing their wet, innocent games in the Louisiana Swamp exhibit.He couldn't help being a little sad, though, as he considered how different the trip would have been with Anya. He'd been an idiot to leave her at the altar. And a bigger one to reject her a second time in his foolish need to protect her from himself. Thank god she'd been in a drunken stupor when he found her at the Magic Box. He felt the hurt returning, seeping through his blood with poisonous jealousy. He shook his head, trying to banish the repetitive images. They had no place -- no place in his plans to win her back. Staring at the unearthly woman singing onstage in the centre of the quadrangle, he tried to drown his thoughts in her voice.
"Here," said Dawn, handing him a paper cup. "Strawberry goodness. Slurp fast, though. Even with the sun going down, it's hot enough to melt an ice cap." She took a seat nearby, propping her feet in his lap as the singer segued into a rendition of REM's "The End of the World As We Know It". "So, music's good, huh? Kinda all-'80s, right? You know who likes 80s music... "
"I do. What are you doing at the zoo, Xander?"
Two heads swivelled around to find Anya, still dressed in the suit, standing directly behind them. She eyed Dawn, "And you are supposed to be in Los Angeles. Why did you abduct Xander and come here?" Xander dropped his cup on the pavement with a spectacular splatter of red juice and melting ice. He took a deep breath and turned to meet her glittering expression, "I...I...Buffy. We're looking for Buffy. How did you..." Fear crept into his gaze as his mind wrapped itself around the implications of her appearance thousands of miles from Sunnydale. "Why are *you* here?"
Dawn flew off the bench and pulled herself up to full height to face the vengeance demon. Taking a page from Anya's book, she dove in to head the threatening argument off at the pass. "Anya! I'm so glad you're here. He's so miserable without you. All that about inertia and Y chromosomes and genetic stupidity -- you were so right. Thank God you're here to set him straight."
Dawn shoved a stream of babble at the fascinated demon, but her words were soon lost in the commotion erupting around the band. A strangled, "William" vibrated from the speakers, and the singer collapsed in a heap at the foot of the microphone.
Shrieking, "What's she doing here?" Anya headed straight for the stage. "Stop, you. You can't do this," she shouted into the spooky swirls of smoke filling the air across the quad. She stopped midway to the stage, turning back to throw words at Xander and Dawn. "Stay with the girl. I have to go get Buffy. Lachis is on the warpath. It really would have been much easier if Tish had told us the whole story." With that, Anya disappeared.
Bewildered, Dawn stared after Anya, then jerked into action, pulling Xander behind her as she headed for the stage. "I don't know what's going on here, Xander, but if Anya says she's getting Buffy, I'm going to stay put 'til she shows her ostrich-loving face."
---
"Oh don't kill him, Buffy. There's no time for that now." Anya's appearance startled Buffy into loosening her hold on the priest, cutting short the tirade that was rising to a crescendo.
Buffy dropped her hands from Aloysius altogether and put them on her hips. "No shit, Sherlock. How about you start with telling me why Dawn and Xander are in New Orleans and how you knew?" Buffy regained momentum in her determination to dig to the bottom of the mysteries she'd found herself knee-deep in since arriving in Tennessee.
"Well, I could. But Buffy -- Dawn's at the zoo, and a very angry spirit is on the loose there. It seems your friend's daughter has resumed control of her human body, and the spirit which occupied it is very, very unhappy about being evicted. Come now, please. I should get back to Xander. He's fairly helpless when it comes to the supernatural. Straight across St. Charles and through the park."
Before Buffy could get a word in edgewise, the demon disappeared. "Did you catch all of that?" she asked Aloysius in astonishment. "A body? Spirits on the loose? Quick, what can you tell me about all this?"
Light had entered the priest's eyes upon hearing Anya's words, and his features were animated as he explained, "It's Tisha. That incredible vampire did it. He really did it. You have to go -- hurry. The spirit that stole her body will be most unhappy. I don't know how strong its powers will be without form, but I wouldn't want to stand in its way, and it sounds as if your friends might very well be directly in its path." He stood and walked to the front door, holding it open, "Good luck! Bring her home safely -- I know you can do it. He believed in you."
---
Buffy took off at a sprint, climbing over the fence and dashing through the patchwork green and grey of the nearby college campus at super speed. Unbelievable. First Leticia is Tisha, a ghost; then she's not, but there's an angry spirit after her. And it's a vampire's fault? Hadn't Tish said it was some poor lovesick fellow named 'William' who'd caused all the trouble originally? And 'he' who, anyway? Oh. OH!
Her body was on autopilot, and her brain raced nearly as quickly, leaping from fact to conclusion in a rapid-fire pattern that would have put a machine gun to shame. Floods of adrenalin swamped her system, bringing every nerve to peak sensitivity, heightening senses she'd almost forgotten were there. It felt good. Normal. As Buffy approached the back end of the park, she spared a bit of breath to laugh at herself. Normal. Yeah -- save the world, save a friend, save Dawn. Was it Tuesday? God, it was good to be alive.
Over the side gate and into the park, Buffy dove headlong into the crowd surrounding the musical stage, arriving to find three pairs of eyes staring straight at her. The fight or flight reaction still had her in its grip as she regarded first Dawn, and then Tisha and Xander with a mixture of delight and apprehension. "Chosen One Summers, reporting for duty. Where's the party?"
The very next instant, Dawn flung herself into Buffy's arms, wordless. Buffy returned Dawn's hug fiercely, staring over the girl's shoulder to take in the rest of the scene.
Xander appeared to be recovering from some kind of an attack, holding one arm aloft as if it had been hurt. Tisha--in a body!--smiled warmly at Buffy and pointed toward Anya towering over a hazy, quivering form. Buffy's stance relaxed as Anya's words drifted near. "And *that* is for threatening Xander. He is not a fair target. It wasn't his fault you got caught body stealing." Green streaks of lightening emerged from Anya's fingertips to shock the somewhat amorphous form of the spirit. "Now. You will go home. And stay there. Or I will find you, and you will regret it."
The mist disappeared entirely in a flash, and Anya dusted her hands together, obviously pleased at a job well done. Turning to face the staring group, she smiled. "Oh. Buffy, you made it. Turns out we didn't need you after all. It was just a social climbing swamp spirit. Now it's time for some fun."
Anya grabbed Xander by the healthy arm and pulled him to standing. Taking his face in her hands, she planted a big kiss right on his lips. His mouth opened to speak, and she shushed him. "No talking. I am giving the orders from now on, and you will be quiet." She turned to appeal to Tisha, "Could we have some music, please?"
Tisha grinned and took up the microphone in response. "Of course. I haven't done this in so very long; it will be a pleasure."
Buffy pulled back from Dawn, seeking her eyes. She knew she'd find anger there, but hoped for forgiveness. Dawn was as still as a statue for a long moment, then seemed to make a decision as she answered Buffy's questioning glance. "Yes, you're in the doghouse. But not now. I'm too happy right now. Let's save the mutual lectureship for later and dance?"
The otherworldly strains of the synthesizer pierced the darkening atmosphere with a pointed cadence as couples began to sway to the soprano lilt of Tisha's voice. Each one of them followed the music out of space and time, leaving Tisha alone to notice the solitary figure on the edge of the crowd, staring with a shocked intensity at the slight blond swaying slowly to and fro in the centre of the crowd.
---
Tisha's voice carried movement into the stillness of the night, punctuating the beat of the eerie song with gratitude and hope:
...You shine where others fade...You dare to be so brave...
...Don't compromise, no one can touch you
...Just believe, just believe
Spike caught the eye of the former ghost, reassuring himself that at least she had achieved what was needed. In the background, he could see Aloysius approaching the stage from the entrance near the Seal Pavilion. The man stopped when he caught the strains of her voice floating above the pulsing crowd. With a deliberate motion, he removed the collar from around his shirt, tossing it to the wind. The black shirt wasn't far behind, and the man resumed his path toward Tish. Spike could feel the waves of determination and longing from a hundred yards away. They would be alright then.Inexorably, his gaze returned to the Slayer, still weaving magic with her body. He couldn't stay. Tish might be singing those words to him, but they were about Buffy. He paused to watch her dancing in the grass, bare feet caressing the green carpet beneath, a smile on her face, shining health and happiness into her sister's gaze. The brightness of her soul had returned, warming his heart and ripping it to shreds with her light. It was obvious to him, now. The haze of pure want and desire had obscured what he knew to be true -- whether she wanted him or not, she deserved better. Her words to him in the alley haunted him. Especially now, there was nothing clean in him. And there never would be. With a wry smile at the spectacle Xander and Anya made, he waved a jaunty goodbye toward the stage and melted into the shadows.
He didn't see her turn to follow.