Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Twenty-One

The stillness of the roads unnerved him. Not even half past six, and already an unspoken abandonment had seemingly grasped the town. Event local hoodlums were not out causing their normal mischief. The Bronze looked relatively dead as he steered Willow onward. Granted, a few people had hit the streets - but for a Friday night, things were most certainly too serene.

It was as though the world had stopped.

William prodded the Witch for details along the way to Xander's, but she was regrettably ignorant of the more valuable information. Dawn had allegedly phoned Buffy that morning shortly after arriving to alert her that she would be late arriving that night. In response, the Slayer returned that she would be home promptly and not to argue. There were dangerous things about, and this was certainly not the appropriate time to concern oneself with shopping or social gatherings of any sort. When she had balked and not abided immediately, Buffy categorized it as typical teenage rebellion.

However, it was unnaturally dark out, even for the considered circumstances. A half hour prior, she had talked Xander and Angel into accompanying her to the mall with no success. Drained of ideas, she dropped by Diana Langston's house on the way back, and was informed by her mother that Diana had yet to return home as well.

That was when they got worried.

School was mostly deserted and the least likely place to find wandering teens without any extra-curricular activities to their names, and yet all other possibilities seemed illogical. Despite Dawn's tendency to disobey sisterly orders, she was mostly responsible, if not predictable, in habits. If she wasn't at the mall, she was at a friend's house. If she wasn't at a friend's house, she was at the mall. The only other places she went were school and patrolling, and she knew enough not to go patrolling by herself anymore. Not with the precautions being barked out from every which corner.

The panicked phone call to Willow was made directly after locating the drained body of Diana in the school basement. Vampires were the immeasurable verdict - and Buffy summarized by the indications of a struggle that Dawn, for the ten thousand nine hundred and eight sixth time of her life, had been abducted.

"It really doesn't happen all that much anymore," the Witch explained hurriedly as they paced their way to Xander's. "I mean, since Dawn turned into The Super Mini-Slayer, she's been very self-reliable and hardly gets into any jams. Granted, her mouth does have a way of running away with her...but-"

"If the Nibblet's been taken, it's 'cause Geryon's gettin' closer. 'E wants the Slayer." William was practically sprinting. "I knew that prat would try somethin' like this. Bit shoulda known better than to go wanderin' around a dark basement. Doesn' she take anyone seriously?"

"Dawn's still a kid, Spike," Willow retorted, unable to prevent her own frustration from leaking into her voice. "And she takes after her sister. She's not one to really follow the rules. She probably went to find her friend and got caught."

"I'm goin' to rip her bleedin' throat out next time I see 'er," the vampire growled. "Now's not the time to be all heroic. Now's the time to think straight if yah wanna save your arse."

The Witch frowned. "She couldn't have known-"

"'S all part of Geryon's plan." The house was in sight now. Angel, Buffy, Xander, and Giles were all on the front porch, talking animatedly, unaware of their hurried approach. "Fo' the Slayer to make a gibbet out of her own lintel. To make her home be her bloody gallows. Dawn's the key...in more ways than one. 'E knew he couldn't touch Buffy unless he got somethin' she loves. So she would kill herself in the process of getting her back."

Concern was masked with rationality. Her voice shook as she spoke. "I-it's not like Dawn's completely helpless, or-or that she's never been taken before."

"No. But there's a firs' time for everythin', innit there, pet?" William paused emotionally. "If that git harms one hair on her head, I'll tear 'im apart limb for limb, or die tryin'."

"Don't you dare." A sudden yank of his arm brought the vampire to a startling standstill, and his eyes leveled with the fiery infernos of a brassed off Wiccan. "Don't you go do something stupid and get yourself killed. Buffy couldn't take it if she lost Dawn and you. We'll figure something out. We always do."

Stubbornly, William shook his head, throat emanating a discontented growl. "No. 'S different now, Red. Everythin'. I can' just wallow around an' wait fer somethin' to happen. And bollocks 'f she doesn' like it. I won' sit around on my bum waitin' fer news. Tha's what you an' Harris are to do."

At that, a cloud of darkness flashed over Willow's face; almost hurt, if not annoyed. "Hey! Why do we have to wait? I mean - hello - really powerful witch right here!"

"Exactly. Mighty powerful witch who's been knackered up enough a time or two to go really bad. 'Sides, I need you 'ere, Red. 'F somethin' happens that we weren't countin' on, you might end up being a last resort."

"Oh no. No. No. No. I am so tired of being 'oh, last resort' girl. It doesn't work with Buffy anymore, and it sure as hell isn't going to work with you."

Vehemently, William paused in stride, dark eyes glowering over her with the utmost enormity. They challenged each other with unrelenting gazes - stubborn and grounded in the oldest of convictions. Many had fallen under the influence of Willow's 'resolved face' in the past, he knew, but hell if he allowed himself to yield. "Listen," he growled. "I got me enough to worry about without adding you to the list. Also made me a promise to Stay Puft that I'd watch out for you - make sure you don't fall. Don't aim to go back on that now. This'll be up to me, the Slayer, and Peaches, should he decide to tag along. Can't really speak on behalf of Buffy, but this is sorta her gig, and I doubt any words of advice would keep her from runnin' after her sis." He took a step forward. "You though. You, Harris, and Ripper - you lot's got your lives ahead of you. You can't keep runnin' about like this. You're made of tough stones, pet, but stones can get smashed easier than you think. Jus' stay an' work your mojo. Be ready for anythin'."

The biting conviction behind Willow's eyes flared in brief with heightened intensity before she inevitably conceded with a nod of defeat. "Yeah, all right," she grumbled. "But I don't like it. You're being pushy and stubborn and...mean..."

He huffed a breath of false pride. "Components of being the Big Bad, baby. Neutered or not. Soulful or not. I'm still-"

"A humongous pain in the ass. All right? I get it. Let's get moving."

It was Giles who saw him first, and his eyes softened in glazed relief. Without alerting the others, he hurried off the porch to meet them, stepping immediately in pace with the vampire while nodding a distracted hello to Willow. "Thank goodness," he said breathlessly. "We don't know how much time we have. I practically had to hogtie Buffy to keep her from going off without conferring with you first."

"It's going to be me, the Slayer, an' Peaches," William retorted, not pausing in stride. "I don' 'ave a bleedin' clue where we're gonna start, but somehow, I don' think this ponce'll hide long. 'E took the Bit intendin' for Buffy to come after her. 'S only a matter of time before he lets us see 'im." A brief pause as the others spotted them, waving them over with fierce intensity. "I worked out that code, with a lil help from Red."

The Watcher drew in a shuddering breath. "Do I even want to know?"

"Prat took it right from Dante, along with his purloined name. Canto VIII at the very end says: Io fei gibetto a me de la mie case."

Giles groaned and came to a stop at the foot of the porch, ignoring the wealth of gazes under which they were immediately placed. "'And I made my own home be my gallows,'" he recited.

"Or 'a gibbet out of my own lintel.' Same diff." William sighed. "'E'll 'ave gone by the house, I reckon. Seen it all empty-like." With emphatic wisdom, he turned his attention to the crowd gathering around the railing. He motioned to the Witch as his eyes locked with Xander's. "'S prolly best you lot set up there while me, Peaches, and the Slayer go out hunting. We'll scope it out first, o'course, but if those vamps 'ave already been there, they won' be comin' back."

For the first time in several days, his eyes met Buffy's and held. There was no time for exaggerated emotional pauses and reflections, but his gaze was ardent just the same. The sort of promise of I'm here and I won't let anything bad happen soaring without the need for words. Without the need for anything. The concern he saw mounting within her killed him. How many times would the fates allow this to happen before they left her alone?

He had a feeling she would be long dead and buried before destiny decided to stop messing with her.

"We'll get her back, luv," William murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear, though there was no denying to whom his statement was directed. "'F I 'ave to rip off every vamp's head in this bloody town, we'll get her back."

The Slayer nodded. "Yes we will." Then, without waiting for the others to follow, she soared down the steps and set off down the street.

William met Angel's eyes and nodded, and mutely, they tore after her.

The walk was hurried and no words were shared. He had seen that venomous gleam in her eyes more than once - that pivotal 'you fucked with me in the wrong way' malevolence that encouraged all creatures of any origin to run for the hills. As suggested, the tenor at Revello Drive revealed more than one visit during their absence. Buffy said nothing as she surveyed the damage. Nothing inside had been withdrawn, of course; it wasn't in vampiric following to ally oneself with demons for support, and without outside help, no access to the interior could be gained. But there were other minute destructions. Little things.

William watched the Slayer's face closely - carefully. He noted the way her jaw set in that determined, fiery and familiar manner. Several theories began circulating, but he didn't dare speak while she was thinking. Not to drive her away from some pivotal realization.

Angel occupied himself studying the insignia entrenched on the door. He touched it studiously, as though the senses would interpret the meaning on the slightest whim. The look on his face betrayed displacement.

"We should split up," the Slayer finally whispered, drawing both pairs of eyes squarely to her resolute form. "This guy...this...the Master wants me by myself. I'll give it to him, if that's what it takes." A wealth of oppositions filled his throat immediately, but Buffy met his gaze before he could voice any and shook her head in a manner that informed him promptly her will would not be altered. "I can't waste time worrying over dreams and other nonsense. This is what I do. The most important things right now is getting Dawn home safe and sound. We'll have more luck if we're not together."

He couldn't help it. The comment was there and begged to be heard. "We'll 'ave better luck if we're not all dead."

An aggravated grumble filled her throat. It rang with so much familiarity that William had to take a beat of recollection. Within seconds, his mind flashed to every look of raw irritation she had sent him, every sneer that suggested he was too slow to grasp a given concept, every time she had snickered and made a joke on his behalf. That was the Slayer he knew. Not the girl sobbing many confessions, proclaiming love that couldn't possibly exist - pursuing him while he placed the much needed distance between them.

Apparently, she recognized the gesture for what it meant, as well, and her eyes softened immediately. The notion was brief and she was back on task within a beat. "I don't have time for this," Buffy grumbled. "And neither does Dawn. I know I can handle myself on my own. Do either of you have an objection to fighting the evil without backup?"

"Yeh, pet, you handle yourself real well," William retorted hotly. "Wasn't jus' the other night when-"

"SPIKE! For God's sake, shut up!"

No tenderness or aching resolution in her tone. No endearing marks for his well-made point, nothing to suggest that he meant any of what she had sworn days before. No indication of that lasting patience she had always granted Angel and Riley - despite impending circumstances. It was truly like old times.

The emphasis on his former moniker was noted with dry acknowledgement.

He felt his demon rising at the notion, but calmed just as quickly. "Whatever eases you, Slayer. Little Bit's worth more to me than wastin' time out 'ere squabblin'. But I don' see how we're going to do her any good if one of us-" He nodded to Angel "-ends up in a dustpan."

"You won't." There was nothing to suggest how this ominous knowledge occurred to her - she just knew.

And oddly enough, that seemed to settle things.

Sunnydale was a town of modest size and many graveyards. The average funeral home toll accumulated so rapidly with each passing year that adding more hollow ground to the town's reputation seemed to be an annual event. However, it was decided amongst the three that a cemetery was the least likely place for the Master to have taken up residence. It was too obvious, for one thing, and her nights were occupied patrolling those grounds, anyway. Had there been any unusual activity to suggest a nest of vampires were familiarizing themselves with the territory, she would have been clever enough to notice the signs.

Okay, so no graveyards.

There were the usual places, of course. The mansion that had remained deserted since Angel's departure seven years earlier. The Bronze. The factory. That old castle Dracula had occupied that seemed to materialize and disappear all within one evening. Places that had seen too many fights to really take one more into account.

There was, of course, the Hellmouth. And that was where Buffy first volunteered to explore. Grudgingly, William accepted the Bronze on the eye-rolling worthy promise that he would work and not drink. He didn't have time to go over the logicality in her concern, and decided, in the end, to let it slide. Anxiety had likely sent her in the pathway of former habits - and even so, it wasn't like he didn't deserve it. That left Angel to tend to the places least likely to see action this evening, but all ground did have to be covered. They agreed to meet again within an hour at Revello Drive. Should one of the party not arrive, the remaining two were to assume Geryon had been found and progress to such location immediately.

William did not like this. Not one aspect of it. The plan was full of too many holes, and he didn't trust Buffy not to wander off after investigating the Hellmouth to other possibilities they had not discussed. He didn't trust himself not to do the same. It was all bloody ridiculous. The thought of the Nibblet out there in the clutches of some vampiric madman, successfully being used as bait to lure two arbitrarily selected vamps and a Slayer with more than one death wish to her name made his insides furrow with rage.

If he could not trust himself, there was no way he could trust her. Not with her sister out there. Dawn wasn't exactly helpless; she didn't need to be to get herself killed.

Yet there was no alternative. The sweep at the Bronze was thorough though made with haste. He busied himself whirling girls who looked distinctly like the Nibblet to face him and left them filled with puzzlement as he moved on. All the backstage rooms and secret compartments that people weren't supposed to know about were searched as well - but she wasn't there. The air did not carry Dawn's scent. His inward tinglies failed to alert him to a recognizable presence. She was definitely not being held at the Bronze.

The familiar alleyway outside the nightclub was vacant, though it did little to ease his nerves. As the nights grew longer, the crowds populating the regular hangouts became less and less innumerable. William sighed heavily and reached for his cigarettes. His feet commanded him onward to the Hellmouth but he refused to comply. Something told him Dawn was nowhere near a place the Scoobies would think to investigate. The purpose behind her abduction was abundantly clear, and he didn't reckon the Master would wait too long before making his move.

His thoughts trailed to Buffy in everlasting concern. Any involvement on his part - despite purity of intention - would inevitably brass her off. Right now, her thoughts mingled only with the safety of her sister.

And the Slayer herself?

Nothing would be discovered at Sunnydale High. Had Geryon intended to hold the young Summers girl there, Buffy's slayer senses would have gone haywire the minute she discovered Diana Langston's body.

This continuous reserve was petty and stupid. There were much more important things afoot.

To the Hellmouth it was, then.

Beyond finding Buffy and emphatically pointing out the holes in the unremitting game of ring-around-the-rosy, he was at a loss for what to do. They couldn't retreat and wait for someone to come to them. Not with Dawn's life on the line. And yet, any action seemed futile; the Master would not be traced until he willed it so.

So help me, he thought begrudgingly. If they hurt the Bit...

Something hard fell to the pit of his stomach - a cool, extra-sensory wave washing over him. The motion was brief but there was no denying it: the instantaneous trigger of his defenses. The way his demon emerged so thoughtlessly. A growl erupted from his throat and his nostrils flared into the telling air. William stopped in mid-stride and turned.

There were three. Three newbloods, from the looks of it. Three whom had just been sired, perhaps earlier that week with the lightened emphasis on patrolling. Three that smelled of blood. Three that had been sent to him.

The bleached blond's lips drew up a tantalizingly confident smirk. "Wha? This it? Come on, now. Bleedin' Master must 'ave at least a few stones in 'im. Can't bare to share more?"

A growl and it began. It was a dance he had choreographed so long ago. The first attacked without thought and was kicked back a second later. Back and out of eyesight. But not gone. Never gone. Another came forward - a bit more thoughtful, to his credit. William backed several paces, wishing fervently for a weapon.

It was an alley. He could improvise.

Then they all came at once. Each from a different angle, each aiming for a different body part. A stake appeared from nowhere, though regretfully, not in his hands. William inhaled needlessly and dove for the ground, rolling out of a tangle of arms and legs and to his feet at a safe distance away. The entrance to the Bronze tempted him in offer of meager sanctuary, but he knew better than to endanger more lives by leading a pack of hungry vampires into an all-you-can-eat hormone fest.

Besides, William the Bloody ran from no fight.

The platinum vampire eyed the weapon clutched in the middle attacker's hand avariciously, drawing in another unnecessary breath and circling around the snapping fangs and jaws. He snickered and attempted to bluff without anything to show for it.

"Come now," he taunted. "Surely one of you wants a taste of the Big Bad. Or p'raps I'm too demon for the likes of you."

Well, didn't that take him back? If only Drusilla could see him now.

The acerbic jest was all the motivation required. Again, all three lunged; stake aimed poetically for his heart. William kicked him back clumsily, sending a punch to his blind corner before he pivoted to throw off the last. With every blow, he seemed to be in the clearing - then they came reeling back for more.

The trouble with over-confidence was both the ill-fated attempts to prevent it from going to one's head and the smashing job it did fogging the level of peril in any given situation. To say William suffered from such regretful tidings was wrong - he merely possessed the misfortune of carrying an overload of Spike's former characteristics. Though the first initial minutes of his predicament passed with marks to his credit, he rapidly drew upon the irrefutable evidence that he was looking to be in serious trouble if he didn't think quickly.

It wasn't his life - or unlife - that he feared for. The smell of blood coated the air. Living blood; a step away from a vampire that both fed and drained their supplier. If these prats bested him, they would likely use him to play on the Slayer's weaknesses, rendering her alone in the position where there was only time to save one life.

Dawn, he thought desperately, ducking out of the way of an accelerating fist but finding himself on the ground the next minute by a blow from the back. There was no doubt about that, and he felt at peace. That was the way it should be.

Then he hopped to his feet.

Two of the three attackers were recovering a series of assaults near a darker portion of the alley. William focused his attention on the vamp holding the stake - determined to wheedle it into possession one way or another. He seemed to be the brightest of the assailants and had thus far managed to evade severe injury. However, the look of him stank of newbism. The bleached blond smirked assertively and stepped back with open arms - welcoming an attack.

Then he froze, and his eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. There was something terribly familiar about the scent of that blood. The aroma, the musk, the...

It took only a second to piece together, and before he could stop himself, William released his demon in a fit of hysteria and charged. Stake be damned; it held nothing against searing fury. His deepest animalesque roots emerged without prompt. There was no thought beyond the blackness - no rational notion swaying in the collective turmoil of his cavity. Nothing beyond her face. Nothing beyond, 'You drank from purity itself, you sick, twisted fuck!'

The stake was in neither's grasp. William hadn't noticed. Black blood sprayed across the ground, pouring candidly from a series of open wounds and inflictions. Something primal tore at his vocals. And then he was yelling, screaming in unkempt outrage, pounding the demon into the ground with every vigorous drive.

"I'll tear your sodding limbs off, you bloody bastard!" he roared. "How dare you touch her?! I'll rip your bleedin' head off!" Before he could stop himself, his fangs had latched into the vamp's throat and began to tear. He had never bitten another of his kind in a manner that wasn't affectionate. God, he wanted to taste the fucker's blood. Wanted to eat right through the skin and gnaw his head off. He withdrew, though, when the first coherent waves broke through a longstanding fortitude of mad internal screaming. A long trail of blackness covered his face, and there was nothing but rage behind his eyes.

The vamp under him writhed in pain - his howls for mercy at last reaching William's ears. There was none to give. He curled his hand around what was left of the newbie's throat, yellow gaze burning maliciously, daring him to look away. "Is she alive?" he managed to growl, spitting blood onto dark concrete.

The vampire made a move that suggested reply, but all he produced was a disgusting gargle of fluids.

Sounds behind him. The bleached blond didn't pay attention. His grip constricted dangerously. "Is she alive, you fucking rot?"

"Yessssssss!" the vamp hissed desperately. "It...just...a...tasssssste..."

William released another roar of vehemence, tearing away what was left of the whelp's head with one furious stroke. And before he could release another cry, the struggling being beneath him vanished in a whirl of dust.

It was only then he remembered the other two. Too late. As he attempted to swivel around, the oncoming blast of another vampiric implosion rang through the air. Wearily, he turned his eyes upward. The taste of dead blood ran bitter in his mouth.

Then he saw her and offered what he could of a grin.

"Buffy," William coughed, fighting to his feet. "When did you get 'ere?"

The Slayer stood directly in front of him, holding her former Watcher's crossbow, the look on her face drawn between concern and horror at his rugged appearance. "About the time you went postal and tore that vamp's throat out." She waved through the dispatching cloud of dust. "And hey - really gross. What provoked you to-"

"Why are you 'ere? Find somethin'?"

"No." She sighed and looked down. "I was at the school when I got this...feeling that you were about to do something incredibly stupid. Had to come." Her eyes darkened as she studied the black ring circling his mouth. William realized he was still sporting bumpies but didn't think to draw them inward. Any composition of thought left him when her hand touched his mouth. "What happened?" There was fear behind her fortitude; voice barely above a whisper. "Why did you do this?"

She searched his eyes. He knew what she was looking for.

Yep, still there, luv, he reflected, taking her hand and drawing it away from his blood-stained lips. "I smelled her on 'im. The Nibblet. Her blood." The Slayer's eyes widened in horror, and he quickly added, "She's all right, an' all. Least tha's what he said before I tore his bloody head off." William exhaled deeply, eyes darting around in increasing awareness that another attack party could visit them at any minute. "Listen, pet, this ponce aims to get us all separated. 'S what he wants. 'E'll come to you soon enough. An' he won' kill the Bit. Can't afford to. All's it would do is brass you off. Wouldn't get you there any quicker."

Buffy looked appalled. "You better believe it would."

"Even if you knew that was exactly what he wants?"

She didn't reply. There were no words.

"See, luv? Best find Peaches before they bloody well try to take 'im out, too. We-"

The sound traveled so rapidly through the air that his first instinct was to pounce the Slayer and drive her to the ground, using himself as her protective sheath. However, by the time the thought had birthed and died, she was already crumpled - a motionless heap. The action took him by such surprise that all he could do was reach and catch her before she hit the pavement.

William's eyes turned upward, a primitive growl rippling from his throat. No one was in sight; no telling scent befouled the air. A dart, small and proud, was embedded deeply in her throat. He yanked it out immediately - hasty and without thought, but it was too late anyway; the toxins were already sweeping through her system.

His mind raced down a labyrinth encircled with dead-ends. William drew in a breath and lifted her into his embrace. There was nothing to do but run for it now. Run for it and hope that faint, distant whizzing sound was just-

It struck categorically, hitting him when there was nowhere to hide. And without ceremony, he, too, hit the ground with deathly stillness.

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