Soulmates

By Miranda

Part 4

Over the next couple of days, Buffy found that she dealt with reliving the night of Angelus and Darla’s attack better than she had expected. Somehow, going through it at a step removed had enabled her to pull the memories out of her subconscious. She no longer flashed back to the feeling of the vampires' gazes on her, and the attack didn’t visit her in dreams. Memories tried to slip into her conscious mind sometimes, but she could push them away.

Even the first night wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Joyce had taken one look as Willow and Tara got her through the door, and grabbed for the cocoa. Buffy’s friends, mother, and sister had then sat up with her, talking of unimportant things until she was finally tired enough to sleep. She had started awake once or twice, but each time, Joyce had reached her within a few seconds. Peering into her mother’s room as she headed toward the bathroom, Buffy had seen Joyce sitting up in bed with a book on her lap, one watchful eye on the door.

But what had helped the most was Spike’s reminder that Angelus had been responsible for the attack rather than Angel. Buffy had known it already, but hearing the words from someone else, someone whom she couldn’t dismiss as just trying to make her feel better, had helped cement the knowledge in her mind. The face she had seen looming over her, laughing at her pain, was not the face of her first love, just the face of someone who looked like him.

How crazy was it that her main comfort had come from one of her greatest enemies?

And that hadn’t been all of it, Buffy admitted to herself as she sat in class, her hand taking notes while her mind wandered back a few nights.

“…what did you do when those happened?”

“Stayed with her. Held her. Told her bits of stories and such until she quieted.”

Being held and told stories had instantly sounded like the best idea she ever heard. Only the presence of the others had prevented Buffy from burying her head in Spike’s shoulder and asking him do just that. Not that any of her friends wouldn’t have done been happy to do the same thing, but that wasn’t what she had wanted. She had wanted… Spike.

She shook her head at the memory.

The same Spike who chained me up a couple of weeks ago, not to mention who used to try to kill me every few days. Wanting to sit on his lap is probably not healthy.

But was it the same Spike? That night in the Magic Box, he had seemed like a completely different person than the one she had fought so often, even different from the one who had confronted her in the alley. There had been no coldness or anger, only worry in his eyes. In his dark blue eyes…

Her pencil snapped in two, the sound like a gun shot in the quiet classroom. Buffy managed a weakly apologetic smile in response to the disapproving glare of the lecturer and bent back over her notes, face burning.

Ok, thinking he might be good with the comfort is one thing. That was a really bad night: weird thoughts aren’t so, well, weird. But ‘Spike’ and ‘cuteness’ are two things that definitely shouldn’t be in my head at the same time. I’m going to listen to this really boring lecture and pretend that last thought didn’t happen.

When the class was over at last, Buffy escaped thankfully. Controlling her thoughts had been iffy, it being rather difficult for her to completely lose herself in geometry. However when she walked outside, inappropriate Spike-oriented reactions were driven from her mind.

It had been cloudy that morning when she reached the campus, different from the blue skies that normally covered Sunnydale, but nothing too strange. It had to rain sometime, after all. But now, heavy black clouds seamlessly covered the sky until it was almost twilight. Buffy looked around uneasily, but could see nothing wrong. People hurried across the quadrangle, trying to get under cover before the rain started, but there was nothing odd about that. It looked like the bottom was going to drop out of the sky.

Still, the sense of impending something wouldn’t go, even though she couldn’t pinpoint the location. Buffy hovered, trying to decide what to do. Willow and Tara were also in class. Xander and her mother were at work. It was a teacher workday, so Dawn was out of school, but she was at The Magic Box. Surely, Anya and Giles could keep her out of trouble for the next hour or so. Buffy only had one more class, and it seemed a shame not to go since she had actually done the required paper, and it was in a cover and everything.

Frowning, she pulled out her cell-phone.

“Good afternoon, this is The Magic Box. We have many items for sale.”

She was too tense to smile over Anya’s new greeting. “It’s Buffy. Is everything ok?”

“Yes, although the weather is keeping customers away.” Anya sounded disapproving, although whether over the weather or the customers, Buffy couldn’t tell.

“And Dawn’s there?”

“Yes. She’s sitting at the table doing her homework. Reluctantly.”

“You don’t have to check on me!” came an outraged shout.

“All right. I’ll be there in an hour or so. And I’ll keep my phone turned on. Call if there’s a problem.”

Buffy disconnected and, still worried, stuck her phone in her jacket pocket and headed for class.

________________________________________

Tara hurried into the student union, shoulders hunched and eyes scanning the corners, and wasn’t surprised to see Willow standing by the window, looking anxiously at the sky. Her lover’s worry had transmitted clearly to Tara as she sat in class, and had been easy to track.

“Something’s wrong,” the red-haired witch burst out as Tara reached her side. She gestured through the window to the lowering sky. “This isn’t natural. It’s...portenty!”

“I know,” Tara shivered. “Can you tell what’s causing it?”

Willow shook her head. “No. I don’t even know if it’s something bad. But it’s definitely something.”

“Maybe we should do a spell? See if you can find out?” Tara offe red. She noticed the ‘coven’ where she and Willow had met, sitting on a couple of couches and talking and laughing. A couple of the girls caught her eye and nudged the others. After a moment, the laughter increased.

Willow followed her gaze. “Idiots. They wouldn’t know a portent if it bit them in the ass.”

“Painful,” Tara said gravely, and her lover grinned and relaxed.

“Let’s go back to the room and see what’s going on. All I’ve got left drama, and somehow, I can stand missing that for today.”

The rain began as they neared the dorm, solid sheets of icy water that drenched them both instantly, accompanied by crashing thunder and lighting that lit the area with an eerie radiance. By the time the witches got inside, their teeth were chattering. They stripped and changed, not taking time for the snuggling that such an activity would normally induce, although each saw the other sneaking admiring looks.

Willow drew the sacred circle and she and Tara knelt across from each other, placing a piece of chalk on the floor between. According to the spell, the spirits should write at least a clue regarding what was happening.

Sisters of Night, Daughters of Hecate,
We stand before you, imploring insight.
Reveal what the storm brings, for good or ill.
That our wills might be worked, and our actions true.

On the third recitation, the chalk began to drag across the floor. Willow and Tara gasped as the chalk inexorably began to recreate the pattern Tara had seen in her vision. As soon as the two lines crossed for the second time, the chalk dropped to the floor.

“I’ll call Buffy.” Willow went to the phone, then sighed. “Line’s out.” She picked up her own cell, punched 2 (Tara was 1), and hurried to the window to get the best connection she could.

After a moment, she turned back to Tara and swallowed. “I can’t get anything but static. She’s way over in the English building. I think…I think we might be running out of time.”

Tara was on her feet and dragging out their raincoats, which seemed hopelessly inadequate against the deluge that still fell outside. “You get Buffy. I’ll meet you at the Magic Box.”

“Where are you going?” Willow asked, slightly surprised but pleased by the other’s sudden decisiveness.

“To get Spike.”

________________________________________

Drusilla happily glided through Sunnydale, barely noticing the rain that plastered her dress to her body and slicked her hair flat. Years and years had passed since she had been out in the day. Even cloudy days weren’t safe, with the sun waiting to creep out and pounce at any moment, but it had no chance today. She could feel it up there behind the clouds, cross and fussy because it was unable to reach her.

She darted through a puddle, giggling as the water splashed up around her. Her shoes had gone off somewhere on their own, which was unkind, but she would forgive them after a few stern words. It was more fun this way: the fish that swam along the sidewalk could nibble her toes.

However, Miss Edith was complaining about the wet, so Drusilla looked around for someplace to go inside. She was on a street of shops, quite deserted because of the weather. No invite was necessary, and one shop was much like another, all with clerks, so she was starting toward the nearest, when a small patch of dryness appeared in the rain about half-way down the block. She cocked her head, studying it with interest. Perhaps she could simply stand there and remain outside, but dry.
Then the hole was filled by a girl of about 14, wearing a long blue dress, with brown hair in curls down her back.

She held out a pleading hand and called urgently, “’Sil, help me! Please help me.”

Drusilla’s hand rose shakily to her mouth, Miss Edith dropping unnoticed to the pavement. “Anne?” she whispered. “Anne, is it you?”

It couldn’t be. Her mind filled with her last sight of Anne, lifeless on the floor of the pantry where she had tried to hide, her skirts rucked up, her throat opened by Grandm…by Darla’s teeth. Yet there she was, down to the hair ribbon that never hung correctly no matter how Nurse labored of a morning.

“Hurry, ‘Sil. Hurry!”

The girl vanished, just as a scream came from inside the shop she had been standing in front of.

Drusilla began to run.

________________________________________

Seated on the floor with her back against a bookcase, Dawn grimly plowed through her essay.

‘The feudal system was propelled by three things:’

“All of which were incredibly dull,” she muttered. She considered putting that in her paper, being fairly sure that Ms. Paul didn’t read every word of every essay since her teacher had shown no sign of boredom-induced insanity.

Giles couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to sit at what he referred to as ‘a perfectly good table’, but she preferred it out here in the body of the store, where she could watch what was happening, although it was quiet today. He was up in the loft with his nose in a book, and Anya had abandoned the front counter to rearrange stock, with the stern warning that Dawn was to call her if a customer should arrive. What did she think Dawn would do, let them leave without paying?

But then, everybody seemed convinced she was an idiot, with Buffy actually calling to make sure she was at the store. Like Mom hadn’t hand-delivered her that morning. Like she’d walk off.

So what if I did that before? So did Buffy. And it wasn’t like I didn’t have a reason.

Still, annoyed or not, Dawn was glad Buffy had recovered from whatever had happened a couple of days ago. She had been afraid for Buffy that night. She had looked worse than bad, and Dawn couldn’t remember the last time her sister had cried in public.

Anya poked her head out from the storeroom. “Everything all right out here?”

“Sure,” Dawn said without looking up. “I’m just getting ready to draw a pentagram, light some black candles, and see if I can’t raise the devil. I’m kidding,” she added as the ex-demon sucked in a horrified breath.

Dawn felt a little ashamed about the teasing as Anya withdrew with a sniff. She really did like Anya, who was much better than Mom or Buffy about answering certain types of questions. Although sometimes you got a little more information than you really wanted. Remembering her advice on attracting Kevin still made Dawn flush.

The front door opened and she looked up, pleased at the opportunity for distraction. Her hands cramped around her notebook as horrible-looking figures in dripping brown robes drifted in, smiling at her.

She tried to scream, but they were on her, impossibly fast, clamping hands over her mouth and grabbing her arms and feet so she couldn’t stand.

“Glory will be pleased,” one of them said happily as they lifted her, and Dawn began to thrash violently in their grasp.

Oh, God no. Buffy, help me.

“Did someone come in? I told you to call… GILES!” Anya screeched at the sight of the creatures carrying off Dawn. “Giles, help!”

She snatched a heavy book from the closest shelf and sprang at the nearest creature, as Giles thundered down from the loft, leaping the last few stairs. Their combined onslaught was enough to make Dawn’s captors drop her roughly to the floor, where she tried to crawl out of the immediate battle.

The one Anya attacked batted her away casually, and Dawn watched in horror as she flew through the air, hit the wall hard, and fell to the floor. Giles was having a little more luck, knocking one to the ground with a large wooden staff. But there were five of them and they were strong.

I have to get Buffy.

She ran for the counter-top phone and was punching her sister’s code when one of the creatures lifted Giles off the ground by neck and knees and threw him into the counter next to her, sending glass, board, and jewelry everywhere. Even as Dawn screamed, she was fumbling for a piece of jagged shelving.

Buffy Slays stuff all the time. How hard can it be?

“Giles? Please say something,” she quavered, moving to stand over his body. The creatures approached, still smiling, seeming very unimpressed by her splintered board.

“You better get out of here,” Dawn managed. “My sister’s the Slayer. She’ll…”

“She’ll tell us where the Key is,” finished the one who seemed to be the leader. “So our great Glorificus will be pleased.”

“Naughty, ugly things.”

It was a quiet, almost pleasant voice, but somehow, it ground everyone to a halt. Dawn swiveled her eyes as the creatures turned toward the door.

The woman standing there didn’t look especially frightening in her soaked dress and bare feet. She was smiling faintly, watching Dawn and her attackers with an expression of mild interest. Her smile broadened as one of the creatures started toward her.

“Watch out,” Dawn croaked, “They work for a hellgod.”

The woman didn’t move except to hold out her hand to the advancing creature, fingers crooking in graceful invitation.

It lunged, her hand moved with inhuman swiftness, and the creature was suddenly howling, hands clapped over its face as its eyes fell to the floor.

Dawn’s stomach heaved, then heaved again as the woman calmly put one of her dripping fingers to her mouth. “Needs salt,” she said thoughtfully. Her hand flashed out again, and this time, the creature dropped to the ground, its head dangling by the remaining flap of skin.

“Get her!” snapped the leader but none of the others moved.

“We can’t,” said a female creature, as she backed away, watching the woman carefully. “We can’t take the girl and get past her. Glorificus will not be served by our deaths.”

“We must,” he returned. “The Slayer will reveal the Key to save her sister.”

“Sister?” the woman said in surprise. She gave Dawn a puzzled look then frowned.

“Bad Slayer. Took my Spike, and my face, and my sister.” She stamped her foot.
Dawn flinched, ‘My Spike’ along with the blood-sucking giving her the clue she needed. This had to be Drusilla, Spike’s crazy ex-girlfriend.

Crazy…oh, God, she can tell I’m the….

Even as thought it, Drusilla’s face softened. “Pretty little sister, all shiny and new.”

The lead creature’s eyes sharpened, “Shiny and new…” he looked from Dawn’s white face to Drusilla’s expression, and Dawn saw him make the connection.

“The girl’s the Key! Everyone get out! One of us must get to Glorificus!”

They all charged the door. Drusilla took out one with another swing of her hand, and spun to reach the lead creature. However, the female seized the fifth and threw him into Drusilla with all her strength, knocking the vampire into the wall. The female darted after them, swiftly yanked a few strands of black hair from the vampire's head, and dashed away again. The creature she had thrown died almost instantly, crushed in Drusilla’s arms, but before she could throw the body aside, the leader and the female were out the door and racing away in opposite directions.

“What happened?” Giles struggled to sit up, wincing painfully. “Dawn, are you…,” his gaze went past her, locked on the woman who was now on her feet and looking at them, and all the blood drained from his face. “Drusilla.”

He struggled to rise, collapsing back with a cry, and Dawn saw that his leg twisted at an unnatural angle beneath him. “Dawn, get out of here.”

“How?” she asked hopelessly as Drusilla approached. She looked at her piece of wood, remembered Drusilla clawing out the creature’s eye, and didn’t even attempt it.

The vampire was standing over them, now, looking down with a blank expression. Dawn took Giles’ hand and tried very hard not to cry because Buffy wouldn’t have, but she couldn’t prevent the tears from sliding down her face.

Maybe this won’t hurt very much. Or at least it’ll be fast.

“Drusilla,” Giles said softly. “Please take me instead. I’ve got lots more blood.” He tried to smile. “And look, it’s already flowing.”

She crouched down and stared at Giles without speaking, her eyes moving over the cuts on the Watcher’s face and neck as she licked her lips. Then, a look of confusion passed across Drusilla’s face, and she rubbed her forehead. At last, her hand flicked out too quickly for him to flinch, but she only adjusted his glasses where they dangled from the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t worry, Papa,” Drusilla said softly. “I’ll keep her safe.” Her hand closed around Dawn’s wrist. “Come, Anne.”

“Papa…, No!” he cried as Drusilla pulled Dawn gently but inexorably to her feet.
“Don’t take her!”

She didn’t answer, just headed toward the exit, and Dawn had no choice but to stumble along behind or be dragged. “Giles, Glory knows I’m the Key!” she shouted as Drusilla pulled her into the rain, leaving Giles alone with Anya and three dead minions.

________________________________________

The sun was well and truly hidden, and Spike could feel the weight of prophecy in the air. Something was going down, either now or soon. Something big.

He sat determinedly in his armchair and reached for the remote. The only intelligent thing to do on a day like this was stay inside where it was dry and unstalked by portent. Whatever was going to happen had nothing to do with him, even though Buffy was undoubtedly in the thick of it. He was one of the villains of this story, not the hero.

I’m evil. High time I started acting like it again.

Pleased with his sensible and appropriately selfish and uncaring decision, Spike settled back, aimed the remote…

…and dropped it to the floor as he shot through the door of the crypt, the scream still echoing in his ears. He searched frantically through the driving sheets of rain until he saw Tara struggling with something large and green. Other occult inhabitants of Sunnydale had taken advantage of the daytime darkness, apparently.

Lovely. It’s not enough I’m fretting myself silly over the Slayer. Now, I’ve taken up Scooby-rescue.

But even as he thought it, he was running flat out despite the mud and rain, morphing to vamp face, and terrified he wasn’t going to make it in time. The demon already had her on the ground, arm pulled back to strike.

He launched, the jump sending him into the demon’s side hard enough to knock it off balance and send them both crashing into a monument. Spike didn’t recognize the type, and it was bloody strong, but he tore at it with fists and fangs and at last managed to hit something vital which caused it to disappear in a cloud of dust. He dragged himself to his feet, feeling as if the rain were trying to beat him back into the ground.

“Are you all right?” Tara quavered.

“What the hell were you doing?” he snapped, irritated both by his soaked clothes and hair and by his irrational worry over the fate of a human.

“It’s happening,” she gasped trying to brush the water from her face. “The vision in the fortune-telling tent. It’s coming together now. But the phones don’t work, so Willow went to get Buffy, and I came to get you. We’re supposed to meet at the
Magic Box.”

She tugged at his arm, but he dug his boot heels into the mud and refused to move.

“Happening is it?” he drawled in response to her surprised look. “I think I’ll just let it happen without me, Pet. I’m quite sure the Slayer can manage on her own.”

Tara stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then something changed behind her eyes and her chin came up.

“Is that what you want?” she asked angrily. “For Buffy to manage on her own when you’re being there would make a difference? This involves both of you. You’re her soulmate!”

“Tell her that!” he shouted back. “Buffy’s made it quite clear she isn’t interested!” The hurt he hadn’t meant to let show was plain in his voice, and he cursed inwardly.

However, Tara didn’t seem to notice. “So you won’t help if there’s nothing in it for you?” she said coldly. “If she doesn’t love you, she can just die? Maybe Buffy’s right not to be interested.”

Spike snorted. “I don’t go in for grand, futile gestures, due to, in case you’ve forgotten, me being evil!”

“You are not!” she shouted. “Get over that one, Spike. You stopped being evil a long time ago.”

Outrage stiffened his spine. “I am too evil! And if I weren’t chipped, I’d prove it.”

“Was it the chip that made you help me? Or did you forget for a moment what everyone says you are and act like what you could be?” She moved closer, eyes locked on his. “This is your last chance, Spike. Choose. Now.”

He glared at her for an endless moment, as his mind whirled. It would be so easy to turn away, and a large part of him, the part that had held sway for many years, wanted to. He would get over the Slayer in time, it whispered, and it wasn’t like he had a chance with her anyhow.

She would face whatever was coming whether he was there or not, and the final scene of his vision was still clear behind his eyes: Buffy and Drusilla both gone and lost to him forever.

Spike sighed. “Can destiny wait a sodding moment while I fetch my coat? Although I’m not sure I can get much wetter.”

Tara nodded slightly, looking as if she were trying not to smile.

He turned back toward his crypt, grumbling. “If I don’t go, the whole thing'll just end up on my doorstep anyhow.”

________________________________________

“You had the Key, and you let it get away?” Glory shrieked as she threw yet another piece of china across the room. “What kind of minions are you?”

“Minions who love you, Glorious One!” Jinx wailed as he collapsed to his knees. “Forgive us. We shall not fail again.”

In contrast Gronx remained calm, although she bowed deeply. “We could not defeat the vampire woman, Greatness. And for that, my sorrow knows no bounds.”

“Oh, you’re not sorry. You haven’t begun to be sorry yet. But you will be.” She moved forward like a crazed juggernaut but paused as the minion held up several strands of dark hair. “I took these from the vampire’s head, Great Mistress. With them, I can lead you to her, and her strength will be no match for yours.”

Glory stopped and eyed her minion speculatively. “You can track the vampire? Seriously?”

Gronx bowed again.

“That’s…not bad. You’ve got a lot on the ball there,…. I might have to think promotion.”

Jinx looked horrified, and Gronx smiled.

The smile wiped away instantly as Glory added, “I’m still not happy you didn’t bring me the Key. And if you can’t track her,” she grinned unpleasantly. “You’re going to wish you were back with that vampire."

________________________________________

Buffy’s tension mounted with every step as she and Willow hurried through the rain.

I knew something was happening. I should have skipped class and…done something.

Realistically, she knew that running blindly around town with no idea of what was going on – hell, she still didn’t know – wouldn’t have accomplished anything. Still, it would have felt more productive than sitting in class. Of course, given the way these things usually sought her out, it was sort of surprising that whatever it was hadn’t been sitting in the row in front of her.

The urge to run screamed through her, but they were moving at Willow’s top speed as it was, and Buffy had no intention of leaving her friend behind, especially since Tara was off locating Spike, which was just so bizarre on so many levels that Buffy was having a hard time dealing about it.

And the freakiest thing of all is that it doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea.

Something deep inside Buffy had said ‘Yeah, good plan,’ when Willow told her what Tara was doing. Immediately thereafter, the rest of her had started yelling that it was not either a good plan. That having Spike around was never a good plan, and why was everyone forgetting that he was one of the enemy?

Buffy sighed as they turned onto Main. She seemed to have several different personalities when it came to the question of Spike, and she didn’t have time to deal with any of them right now.

They were within sight of the Magic Box when her awareness twinged.

“Wait a second, Will,” she called, coming to a stop.

The witch stopped too, watching her worriedly as she began to peer around.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. But there’s something here.”

She extended her senses, and closed her eyes, sight not being that much use in the driving rain. Nothing was much use, for that matter. Buffy hadn’t carried a raincoat that morning and was so drenched that she’d simply stopped thinking about it, but Willow’s coat wasn’t exactly protecting her either. The water had worked through the seams, so that even the parts of her directly under the coat were damp.

There it was. Buffy swooped and grabbed. Then, she opened her eyes, saw what she held, and her heart sank to her shoes.

A bedraggled, headless doll, white lace dress ruined by water and mud.

Miss Edith.

She and Willow exchanged a horrified look, and then both of them were pounding through the rain.

They crashed through the Magic Box’s front door, Buffy’s gaze swiveling, trying to take in everything at once. She barely paid attention to the bodies of the creatures scattered around the store – they were dead and no threat at the moment – and focused on the three living beings who jerked around at her entrance then relaxed as they recognized her.

Giles was propped against the wall getting his leg splinted by Xander. Anya was seated in a chair, an ice pack held to her head. No one seemed in immediate danger of dying, but someone was missing.

“Where’s Dawn? What’s happened?”

Her Watcher’s face was white with more than pain. “Buffy…”

She swallowed hard, braced against news that she thought might kill her, and knelt by his side. “Where is she?”

“Drusilla took her.”

The world spun and wavered, tried to blur.

I will not be sick. I will not pass out.

“How long?”

“About half an hour.”

Not so long. There was still time to get Dawn back, if of course, her sister was still alive. And if she had any idea where they had gone.

There was movement behind her, and Buffy turned to see Spike and Tara enter the shop. The vampire was wearing his duster, but nonetheless looked as soaked as she was. Buffy held up the doll and saw him swallow and close his eyes for a moment.

“Drusilla’s got Dawn,” Buffy said as steadily as she could. “Do you have any idea where she would take her?”

He shook his head. “Not unless she's at the factory where we stayed before.”

“No,” Xander said briefly, his face darkening at the memories he associated with the factory. “My construction crew tore it down last year. I used the wrecking ball myself.”

“How about your crypt?”

“I don’t think so. Not any more." He paused a moment, then said quietly. "Dru thinks I’ve turned against her.”

“Listen to me,” Giles said, managing to sound authoritative despite a voice weak from pain. “Dawn may be reasonably safe. There’s something very peculiar going on. Those dead creatures apparently worked for Glory and were trying to take Dawn away. Drusilla stopped them and didn’t attempt to injure anyone. She addressed Dawn as ‘Anne’.”

“Anne was Drusilla’s youngest sister,” Buffy said slowly. “Darla killed her.” Memory tried to show her what else had happened to Anne, but she crushed it ruthlessly.

Giles nodded. “That makes sense, given that she also called me ‘Papa’ and said that she would keep Dawn safe.” He shrugged at their incredulous looks.

“Past and present are joining,” Spike said softly. “ Time never meant that much to Dru anyhow.”

Part of Buffy started wondering how Spike knew about past and present joining, but she didn't have time to speculate, even though the description of Drusilla's actions gave her a tiny thread of hope. “Maybe. I’ve still got to find them before she changes gears again.”

“Yes,” her Watcher said bleakly. “More than you know. There were five creatures. Two escaped and know Dawn’s the Key. They have doubtlessly returned to Glory with the news.”

Buffy’s fists were suddenly bunched in the wet lapels of Spike’s coat and her voice was a mixture of anger and begging. “Where would Drusilla go?" she said, shaking him slightly. "You know her better than anyone else. I swear I won’t kill her. I just have to get Dawn back.” Her voice became all pleading. "Please."

He rested his hands gently over hers. “I don’t know, Love. I’d tell you if I did.”

She didn’t want to believe him, wanted to believe that she could beat Drusilla’s location out of him, but she could see the truth that was plain in his steady gaze. Spike would tell her if he knew. Buffy released her grip on his coat, and he let her hands go with a squeeze so slight as to be unnoticeable by anyone other than herself.

“Buffy, aren't you the one who knows her best?” Tara asked. “You have her soul.”

She made herself calm down, think it through. It was true, she did have a link to Drusilla, or at least to the human that Drusilla had been, but the memories were probably not enough by themselves…. “The ring,” Buffy said. “Maybe I can track her using the ring.”

Giles opened his mouth, probably to say something on the order of how dangerous that would be, took a look at his Slayer and closed it again. Besides, compared to Glory getting her hands on Dawn, any danger Buffy might suffer from the ring was fairly minor.

Anya was already limping toward the back of the store. “I started putting the more powerful stuff back here. People can view it by appointment.”

Too bad that hadn’t been done before, but then she wouldn’t know how to track Drusilla. Of course, the vampire might not have showed up in the first place if Buffy hadn’t worn the ring, but then Glory’s minions would have Dawn, and…

“I hate destiny,” Buffy muttered.

“Join the club,” Spike agreed.

She cast him an annoyed look, but from his tense, almost angry expression he wasn't trying to be funny. Frantic worry about Dawn was taking up almost all of her mind, but Buffy understood that this must be hard for him, as he was in a sense, choosing her over Drusilla, whom he had loved for more than a century.

Spike had made the same choice a couple of weeks ago by stopping Drusilla’s attack Buffy suddenly realized, except the anger and fear she had felt that night had blinded her to the deeper meaning behind his actions. Not that those actions weren’t still wrong and couldn’t still anger her if she thought about them, but there was something else going on other than Spike being a pain in the ass.

Something else to worry about later.

Still, she stopped frowning at him and managed a semi-friendly nod as Anya brought out the ring.

Willow and Tara bracketed her as she began to slide the ring over her finger.

“Focus on the here and now,” Willow said. “Remember who you are in this life before you start to look for Drusilla.” But the words faded as the ring slid to the base of her finger. Images spun past her in a whirlpool.

…Emilie Montagne hurried the refugees, disguised as her own servants, into a waiting coach under the very eyes of the Guard.

…Nathaniel Blake turned his ship’s cannon in the direction of the pirates.

…Sarah Reynolds labored in the camp hospital, trying hard not to retch as the surgeon began to hack through a gangrened leg.

…Drusilla Fairhaven breathlessly turned the page in Mrs. Radcliffe’s latest and hoped her Mama wouldn’t call her to tea before the heroine was rescued from the dungeon.

Buffy fought to anchor herself, focusing desperately on the last image without losing who she was now.

I’m the Slayer. Buffy, not Drusilla.

The other’s life kept threatening to pull her under, even the shop fading from her physical vision to be replaced by an elaborate drawing room.

From miles away, Buffy thought she heard someone say. “You’re the link between them,” before a cool hand closed around hers and she clutched it like a lifeline.

Abruptly, she was back in the shop, staring at the worried faces of her friends, that were somehow blended with other features that she recognized. Xander was seamlessly blended with John Poole, Nathaniel’s first mate. Willow had been both the surgeon working with Sarah, and Therese Sidonie, one of the fleeing aristocrats. Tara and Giles were the greatest surprise of all, for the blonde witch wore the face of Drusilla’s eldest sister Penelope while the Watcher had the side whiskers of the father she had known in that life.

Only Spike looked as he always had, and as Buffy met his blue gaze the two sides of her life and Drusilla’s snapped into place and what felt like true north on a compass was suddenly in her mind.

“I’ve got her. ”

 

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