DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course. And the chapter titles are courtesy of Robert Burns.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: The Scoobies have gone out for a night at the local pub, while Duncan has taken their absence as an opportunity to go see the guardian kelpie in the dungeon…

*************

The two regarded each other, dark eyes to dark eyes, and Duncan did his best to maintain even breathing as he stared at the guardian kelpie. Yes, he'd eluded all three of them when he'd first run from the Otherworld, but it didn't negate the fact that they were still heavily dangerous and skilled at their chosen path of protecting the entrance. Even if he was only facing one now, that didn't mean he was any the safer.

"Since when does a common thief worry about the plight of his species?" the guardian asked. "If you cared so much, you wouldn't have stolen the harness in the first place."

"The two have nothing to do with the other," Duncan countered. "The vampire is a threat to our world, especially with the harness. If I can't have it, I'd rather it was back in your hands. Not in those of someone who aligns himself with the humans who want to control the passageway to the Otherworld."

The guardian's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. "How do you know about that?" he queried slowly, his voice low and dangerous. "The witch we captured knew very little outside of the spell she was involved with, and you were nowhere around when we drained the information from her."

Damn it. That was more than he should have leaked. Quickly, the cook scrambled to sustain his composure. "I have my ways. I'm even doing what I can to thwart their efforts. Were you aware that the spell they attempted a few nights ago was actually one to close the seal, not to control it? That was my doing."

There was a long silence. "If the vampire is such a threat, why is he helping the humans? The Slayer…seems to trust him."

Duncan shook his head. "I don't know. I only know that I can only do so much on my own. It's part of your responsibility to protect the harness from those who would misuse its power. You must go after the vampire."

"Your generosity of spirit is overwhelming," the guardian said dryly, his disdain for the other kelpie dripping from his words like jagged shards of ice. "I shall consider your statements while I am returning you to face the Elders---." He cut himself off as Duncan stepped backward, readying the sword in his hands.

"I'm not going back."

"You must. You don't belong in the human world. Perhaps, in light of the current circumstances regarding the harness---." His thought was cut off in a garbled cry as the sword darted forward, slicing across his upper arm, leaving a trail of crimson streaming down his flesh, and the guardian watched as the other demon whirled and raced down the tunnel. He could've pursued him. It was his job, after all. But that would leave the Otherworld completely unprotected, and both wounded and unarmed, he was no match for the thief. He would wait. He had other issues to consider now. Primarily…the harness and the vampire.

*************

As much as he loved her, as much as he loved the power and grace and strength of spirit that the Slayer owned, standing there alongside the game table, watching her inch herself backwards along the green to allow him room to join her, Spike decided that he genuinely liked drunk Buffy as well. Gone were the inhibitions he'd seen holding her back when he'd observed her with Captain Cardboard, replaced with a freedom he'd only previously witnessed when she fought, when she thought no one was around and she could lose herself in the thrill of the battle. He'd seen glimpses of this woman briefly over the past few days, each time a little longer, a little more direct, and was glad that she was finally discovering the facility to let go, to stop pretending about who she was and what she wanted. And though he wished she didn't need to drink to find it, he wasn't going to argue with the result.

"Someone could walk in on us," Spike warned, lifting himself onto the edge of the snooker table, settling on his hands and knees as he gazed at her through hooded eyes. Not that he cared about the relative lack of privacy. Just wanted it out there in the open so that if it happened, she couldn't blame him for distracting her.

She didn't even bother looking at the door, or the chair she'd left propped there to prevent anyone from entering. "Don't tell me Spikey's afraid?" Buffy taunted, eyes twinkling. "Does the thought of an audience all of a sudden strike Big Bad down with performance anxiety?"

He heard the breath catch in her throat as he began crawling forward, locking gazes as his tongue ran along the edge of his teeth. "They're your friends, pet," he murmured. "And the last thing you've got to be worried about is me bein' unable to perform." He stopped, nose to nose with her, and caught her mouth with his, nibbling at her bottom lip as he inhaled the scent of her skin. God, she smelled like ripened peaches just waiting to be plucked, and it was taking everything the vampire had not to rip off the clothes she seemed determined to shed and pound her senseless right then.

"So how come there are so many balls?" Buffy said, breaking away from the kiss to slide herself sideways, knocking the spheres out of her way as she stretched herself across the felt. "And why are so many of them red?"

Hovering over her, Spike lifted one hand to allow his fingers to dance down her torso, undoing the buttons of her blouse with a nimble grace, letting the fabric fall to the side and expose the golden expanse of her stomach. "That's the play of the game," he replied, catching the front hook of her bra between index finger and thumb. "Told you it wasn't like pool, not really. Much more complex. More thinkin' involved other than just sinking the balls in the right pockets."

As her nipples became exposed to the air, Buffy let her hands lift to trace the curve of his lip. "But half of them are red," she said. "How do you know which ones to hit?"

He smiled, nipping playfully at her finger. "It's the natural placement of things," he explained. "It's all about doin' things in the right order. First," and he lowered his head to her breast, tongue circling the tip, "you sink a red ball." His lips closed around the hardened bud, sucking it against the roof of his mouth as his hand curled around her waist, chuckling in pleasure when she moaned beneath his touch.

"And then…?"

Spike slid upward, leaving a wet trail across her skin that sizzled as it chilled against her. "Then you go for one of the others," he murmured into her ear, and hooked his fingers through the waistband of her trousers to pull her to him, pressing his hard length to hers, his erection straining to be free of his jeans.

Buffy's arms came up and around his shoulders, tangling in his hair. "What if you miss?" she asked playfully. "Is it the other player's turn?"

His eyes glittered. "Yeah," he drawled, and was immediately flipped over onto his back to find himself gazing through the tendrils of her hair that dangled over his face. Spike gasped as she laid directly on him, hip to hip, lean muscle to lean muscle, grinding her heat into his arousal as her mouth descended to his, swallowing him into a kiss that came from more than hunger.

How did she do it…? Make him forget within the space of a single blink over a hundred years of life without her…as if everything up to this time of his life had been merely preparation, drawing him to her with no doubts as to its truth, readying him to stand at her side regardless of how she might feel about him in return. He would've, too. Even if Scotland had never happened. It wouldn't have been as much fun, but for the love of his Slayer, Spike would've done it.

Yet there was more to it than that. He knew it. He could feel it coming off her skin in tensive filaments that coiled around his limbs to pull him closer, wrapping and stretching and binding him to her in something more than the heat of the moment. He only wondered if she could feel it as well.

Buffy broke away from the kiss to gaze down at him, irises almost completely swallowed by black. "So what happens when I knock one of the colored balls into a corner pocket?" she asked breathlessly.

He grinned. "You lose your turn," he replied. Swiftly, he'd reversed their positions, back to him being on top, and laughed at her wide-eyed surprise. "S'posed to go for a red one first, pet."

"Snooker's hard."

"But doesn't that make it worth it when you win?"

"So where's the strategy come in? Red, color, red, color. Doesn't take much thinking to keep that one straight."

"You have to start thinkin' about the game when you realize you can't sink a ball right away." Spike's thumb began tracing lazy circles around her aureola, carefully avoiding the pink. "When that happens, you try and set it up so that your opponent is forced into an awkward position, make 'em miss hittin' a red at all. That gives you extra points."

She giggled as his hand tickled over her abdomen to settle at the waistband of her pants, undoing the button there before sliding down the zipper to glide inside the silk of her underwear. "I like extra points."

"Not as much as I do."

She was soaking wet, hot and sticky as his fingers parted her outer lips, over her clit to sink deliciously slow into her depths. "No," she disagreed, breath barely coming in brief exhalations. "I think these kind of extra points are definitely more for me."

Propping himself up on his elbow, Spike looked down at her, watching as she caught her lip between her teeth, gliding his hand in and out, each time just lightly allowing the heel of his palm to brush against her clit in giddy anticipation of a firmer contact. "You don't think I win from this?" he asked.

It was getting harder to speak. "Well, maybe…eventually," she said. "But this part…" She moaned as he added a third finger, plunging the trio even deeper. "…this part is…Buffy wins…"

He snorted, but it was done affectionately, his platinum head shaking in mock dismay. "So much to learn," he teased. "This is goin' to be fuuun."

"And just what do you think I have to learn?" She was trying for indignance, but in the waves of pleasure rocketing through her inner muscles, it came out as merely a petulant squeak, her lower lip jutting into that familiar pout as she gazed up at him. Too hard to glare when her eyes refused to focus properly. And for some reason, she knew it wasn't the alcohol's fault.

Spike smiled. "Haven't you sussed out yet what gets me off?" As she opened her mouth to speak, he shook his head. "Other than the obvious." His hand never stopped moving as he spoke, gliding in and out in a lazy rhythm. "See, pet, the way it goes is…" And his voice became a husky whisper. "…the harder you come, the harder I come. So takin' my time with this…playin'…seein' you squirm…it's part and parcel of the same game, 'cause really, we're on the same side here, seein' as how our end goals are pretty much identical."

"Sometimes the obvious is enough." Her hands lit on the waistband of his jeans, tugging them undone to allow his erection to spring free, hard and smooth and pulsing in the circle of her fingers.

"Sometimes," he agreed, and lifted his hip to let her push his pants down, feeling her warm hand cup the curve of his ass in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. "But why settle for just comin' up to scratch when you can excel?"

For a moment, the only sound in the too-warm room was Buffy's heady breaths, catching thickly in her throat in their struggle to get out. "You haven't said," she started, and then moaned as his thumb caught at her clit again, "what happens when the…red balls are all gone. Is the game…over then?"

He pulled his hand free of her heat, sliding it around to drag her own trousers down around her ankles, off her legs, and positioned himself above her. "Not over," Spike murmured, dragging his lips across hers. "Just moves on to the next phase."

Her back arched as he slid himself inside her, no pretense at gentility guiding his motion as he began thrusting, pulling himself almost all the way out before plunging back in. If it had been their first time, each might have thought it was merely about satisfying a mutual lust, their bodies rash in need as hands crawled over skin, clutching and clinging and holding and raking, mouths tangling to encompass the other. But it wasn't. And neither entertained the notion that this was just a passing fling, an answer to a physical call they'd been unable to ignore. It was more than that. Even if Buffy had yet to say the words out loud.

He felt her first orgasm shudder through her body, and clamped his mouth over hers to stifle the scream that rose in her throat, swallowing her breath as she rode it out in writhing silence. No way was he going to get the gang's attention at this point. No bloody way was he ready to be interrupted now. Keep her quiet. Keep her close. Keep her all to himself.

His pace never hesitated, quickening instead into a pounding rhythm that dragged Buffy's skin across the felt of the table, made the snooker balls bounce as they jostled from cushion to cushion, occasionally brushing against her unsuspecting flesh in cool temerity that mimicked Spike's touch before skittering away to collide with another. The last thing she expected was to come again, but as she felt the now-familiar twitch of his cock as it stiffened even further in anticipation of his climax, she wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him deep, buffeting the forces that vibrated through both of them before drowning in the fervor of his mouth as Spike buried his face in her neck.

"God, Buffy…luv…" he murmured. As badly as he wanted---needed---to hear her say it, part of him was hoping she wouldn't, that she'd stay quiet in the aftermath. He didn't want it like this. Not when she wasn't completely sober. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be real. And now, after everything, that's what he wanted, that's what he was aiming for. The real deal.

She giggled against his cheek, and he lifted his head to look down into her laughing eyes. "I think I like snooker," she said softly. "Definitely my kind of game."

*************

It wasn't until she saw one of them standing next to Xander did Willow come to see that, in actuality, rugby players were quite large. Massive, really. Not that she was feeling threatened or anything, but with the other three clustered around their table, everything in the pub seemed suddenly smaller and too close, the shimmery feeling the shandies had been creating in her head beginning to turn to lead, weighing her in until she had to fight the urge to jump from her seat and go running out into the cool night, dragging Tara along behind her.

A bell rang from behind the counter, catching her attention. "What's that?" she asked, deftly avoiding the nearest Scot's meaty hand as she pressed her knee away.

"Last call."

Anya grimaced. "Damn it!" she said. "I totally forgot they have to stop serving in this country at eleven." She began to twist in her seat toward the dartboard. "Xander---."

The man at her side leaned sideways, blocking her view of the game, lifting his arm around her shoulders as he did so. "You won't be needing him," he said. "He looks busy."

The player next to Tara grinned. "Just because the pub's closing, doesn't mean the night has to end," he said suggestively. "We can just move the party to another location."

Willow's eyes widened. OK. Now she was feeling threatened. Just a little. "We have an early morning tomorrow," she said. "We should really be heading back. Xander!"

The hand found her knee this time and pulled her legs apart as it held on. "Don't be daft," he said. "You've got time for just one more drink with us."

OK, maybe a lot threatened.

She reacted without even thinking, the combination of her rising anxiety and too many "poofter" drinks making her aim not as true as it should've been, or really as it would've been if she'd been sober. It was just supposed to be a small distraction, a drink in the farthest's lap so that they could make a break for the car, and stay there until Buffy and Spike came out to join them. But when Xander, who had finally heard his name being called, stepped in front of her pointing finger, it was too late to stop, and the pint that had been on the table suddenly appeared in his hand before tipping of its own accord over the rugby player's head.

It was hard to tell who was more shocked---a wide-eyed Xander or the soaking wet Scot who leapt to his feet to face the young man in front of him. His hands balled into meaty fists and he took a hostile step forward, only to be checked by the publican behind the bar clearing his throat. With one angry glance over his shoulder, he nodded to his teammates, who joined him on their feet. "We're taking this outside, Yank," he growled.

As the quartet herded a now-terrified Xander to the front of the pub, Willow pushed Anya to her feet, shoving her toward the closed door to the snooker room. "Go get Buffy and Spike!" she hissed as she rose to follow the men outside. "Now!"

*************

They were stretched out on the snooker table, she curled into his side, nudging the occasional ball away with their feet, when the doorknob began jiggling, followed immediately by the incessant pounding.

"Buffy!" called Anya. "Get out here! Xander's about to become another basic food group for a group of drunk Scots!"

Spike rolled his eyes as she jumped from the table, stumbling slightly as the alcohol still in her system tilted the room around her. "Coming!" the Slayer replied, scrambling for the trousers that had fallen to a heap on the floor.

"Hurry!"

He listened to the ex-demon's retreating footsteps as he rolled onto his side, blue eyes hooded as he watched Buffy struggle to get her legs into her pants. "Might serve the boy some good," he said casually. "Let him learn not to make with the wisecracks around blokes who really can hurt him."

She glared at him, even as she toppled sideways against the wall, her foot caught in the fabric. "Are you going to come help me?" she demanded. "Or are you just going to lay there, looking..." She couldn't finish the thought, the memories of their recent escapades still flushing her skin. Focus, she thought. Xander needs help now. Sexy Spike thoughts can happen later.

"With the pants or with the boy?" He couldn't help smirking as her underwear appeared in his hand, extracted from underneath his body, and began to twirl them around on his finger.

"With Xander," she said through gritted teeth, finally managing to get both legs in at the same time. Pulling them up, she grabbed for her panties and stuffed them into her pocket before reaching for the shoes that had somehow disappeared from her feet as well.

It was a challenge, unspoken as it was, and he knew even before her heel had disappeared into the first shoe that he was going to help her. Much as Harris annoyed him, he wasn't about to let him get hurt unnecessarily, even if it meant turning his own head into mush as a result. No, this was part of the Slayer package as he'd accepted it. Inherit the friends. Get adopted into the inner circle. Find a family. And, truth be told, the git was starting to grow on him. He wanted to help him out. Damn it.

They found the pub nearly empty as they bolted from the room, rushing for the front door and the chill night air without their jackets to burst upon the scene of Willow standing in front of Xander, blithely attempting to barricade him from the four men who stood menacingly around. "Don't make me angry," she was saying, her voice nearly a squeak. "You won't like me if I get angry."

"Thanks for the help, Will," Xander said, his eyes locked on the four men. "But I'm not so sure Hulk-ese translates very well to Scottish."

"Hi, guys," Buffy said brightly, stepping forward into the fray. "What's going on here?" She stood between the two factions, head swiveling between them, a wide smile on her face.

"Someone needs to learn some manners," said the Scot who'd been dunked with the beer. As he began to take a step closer, a pale hand wrapped around his upper arm, closing in an iron vise that didn't hurt but definitely prevented any movement. He glanced back to see Spike looking up at him with deadly eyes.

"Much as I like your style," the vamp drawled, "I can't let you do that."

"Yeah?" the man barked. "You and what army?"

Before anyone could react, Buffy's leg had shot out, connecting with the chest of the nearest rugby player, sending him flying back into the parking lot even as she stumbled to keep her balance. Gotta remember, she thought as she straightened, watching the world swim before her hazel eyes. Fighting and drinking? Very un-mixy.

As the remaining three stood agape, Spike smiled. "Care to try askin' that one again?" he said, tightening his grip just enough to remind the man he was still there. Sometimes, intimidation could be a wonderful thing.

"He poured his bloody drink over me!"

"And I said I was sorry!"

Buffy folded her arms across her chest. "Sounds like a fair trade to me," she said. "No harm, no foul." She tilted her head to gaze at Spike. "Is that what they call them in rugby?" she asked.

"They're penalties, luv."

She turned back to the offender. "So, no harm, no penalty then." Her eyes flickered to the Scot trying to rise from the ground. "Unless you want some of what your friend got. Because I'm more than happy to oblige."

It took only one look back at the wheezing form of his teammate for the man to back down, stepping away as Spike released the grip on his arm. Black eyes darted between the group and with a quick jerk of his head, he nodded for his friends to follow him, down the path and into the slumbering town.

"Pissin' off a drunk Scot was probably not the smartest thing you've ever done, Harris," Spike said once they were gone.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Why on earth would you pour a drink over him?"

Xander waved an angry finger at Willow. "No more magic!" he demanded. "Every time you start going all bewitchy, I end up turning into the bunny you pull out of your hat!"

"Hey! Not an image that's going to get you lucky tonight, Xander!"

He tossed an apologetic smile at his girlfriend. "Sorry, Ahn."

"Why don't we talk about this on the way home?" the Slayer offered. "I think our fun pub night out has just ground to a screaming halt."

"I'll go get the coats," Spike said, and pivoted on his heel to head back to the pub.

"Wait up," Xander said. "I'll come with you."

They walked in silence until they were on the other side of the door at which point, Xander grabbed the vamp's arm, forcing him to stop and look at him. "Listen," he said. "In case no one else says anything to you. Thanks." He nodded back toward the outside. "For helping."

Spike's eyes narrowed, his surprise etched across his brow. "Don't mention it," he replied slowly.

"No, really." His brown eyes were sincere. "I mean, I know Buffy can ride you kinda hard, so I just wanted to get it out there. 'Cause I'm not sure she's noticing it like I am."

There was a moment, and then the vampire shrugged. "Wasn't goin' to actually hit the wanker, you know," he said, as he turned away. "Not worth the headache it would've given me."

Behind his back, Xander smiled. "Yeah," he agreed, accepting the statement they both recognized as the lie it was. "I know."

*************

None of them could hold their liquor, Spike decided. Within five minutes of jostling along the narrow road back to Dall Rath, the quartet in the back seat were asleep, heads on adjoining shoulders, the ex-demon girl stretched out across Harris' lap as loud snores emanated from his open mouth. Only Buffy remained awake and as soon as she realized her friends were out of it, she had turned to face him in the car, her face hidden in shadow, her hand reaching out to rest lightly on his thigh.

"Did you have fun?" she asked.

He glanced over, wishing he could see her eyes. Was she serious? After everything that had happened tonight, how could she ask him such a thing? "Don't really fancy facin' the Watcher Inquisition in the morning," he said. "But outside of that, yeah, I'd say I had fun."

"Good." She seemed satisfied with that answer, and leaned her head back against the seat, her lids fluttering closed even as her hand remained on his leg. "I was worried."

"After the snooker table? Trust me, pet. You've got nothin' to worry about."

Buffy laughed softly. "No, that's not it," she said, and then stopped as her mouth stretched into an audible yawn. "I thought you'd be a grump about it since the whole thing was Duncan's idea."

The cook's name sent a chill through Spike's body, raising his hackles as his hands tightened around the wheel. "What was that?" he asked, his voice low. But she was already asleep, her even breathing testimony to the effects of the alcohol still in her system.

The vamp's mind raced as he maneuvered the car through the winding road and over the mountain. No wonder it had seemed so off when Buffy suggested it. It wasn't her bloody idea in the first place. It also explained Red's odd behavior about the whole set-up, her evasive answers when she'd been initially pressed. Neither girl had wanted to admit to being convinced by Duncan to drag the gang out for the night, and the fact that she was only now admitting to the truth---albeit under the lingering effects of the alcohol---didn't appease Spike in the slightest. Warning bells were pealing in his head. There was definitely something not right about it, but what exactly it was, he had no idea.

If it wasn't for his heightened agitation, he probably wouldn't have noticed the movement in the adjoining field as he crested the hill. As it was, his gaze only flickered across the moonlit heather, not really seeing until the shadow passed within the path of a stray beam. Immediately, Spike extinguished the lights, braking the car as quietly and gently as he could without rousing his passengers, switching the key in the ignition as he stared out the window. He couldn't really tell for sure, and after a furtive glance at Buffy, let his vampire visage slide into place, golden eyes peering into the darkness, picking up the details that had heretofore escaped him.

Duncan. Speak of the devil.

Slowly, Spike dropped his hand to his lap, tapping firmly on the back of Buffy's. "Slayer," he said, his voice firm but low. When she merely stirred, he gave her fingers a squeeze. "Slayer," he repeated, a little louder.

Her lids drifted open and she gazed sleepily at the car's driver. "Are we…?" she started, only to cut herself off as she noticed the ridges in his forehead. Instantly, she straightened, senses alerted as her head whipped around to look outside.

Spike nodded in the direction of the figure, and waited for the recognition to widen her eyes before speaking. "Now do you believe me?" he asked. "'Cause that's not quite the way back to town for our boy, now is it?"

Wordlessly, she shook her head, watching as Duncan disappeared over the mountain's peak. Where could the cook possibly be going? He should've left the castle hours ago, to return to his aunt's, and yet here he was, trudging through the heather near midnight, moving in the opposite direction of his home. The niggles that had been biting at her ankles before suddenly grew teeth, and Buffy felt a chill as she realized how blind she had really been.

Spike had been right all along. Something was up with Duncan.

Even before she was awake, she knew he wasn’t there. A hollowness seemed to overtake the fuzzy dreamland in her mind, and as Buffy battled through the clouds of waking, the absence of Spike in her bed sent her reaching sideways, fingers stroking the sheets in search of his cool skin, finding instead only the abandoned wrinkles he’d left behind. Wherever he was, it wasn’t with her. And though she knew it shouldn’t, the taste of disappointment it left in her mouth drove the Slayer to pull the pillow over her head, to try and block out the morning and the pounding ache inside her.

Only half of it was because of the hangover. One of these days, she thought miserably, I’m going to actually realize that drinking is a bad thing. I wonder if Willow still has that “Beer=Bad” sign she made up after CaveBuffy came out? Anything to remind me not to go through this again. It just isn’t worth it.

At least she could still remember what had actually happened the previous night, even if things did start getting a little blurry about the time they’d pulled up in front of the castle. She remembered the pub, and the snooker table---oh god, and Spike on the snooker table, no way could she forget that---and the fight with the rugby players, and the drive home…

And it was there that her brain stopped, the image of Duncan’s silhouette in the moonlight as he traipsed through the heather etched in clarity across her mind’s eye. Out on the mountain. Way past when he should’ve been anywhere near Dall Rath. And the look on Spike’s face, that “I told you so but you’re just a stubborn bint who refuses to listen to me” look she had a feeling she was going to come to know really well, staring back at her as she tried to figure out what to do.

Spike had wanted to go after him on the spot, but Buffy had talked him out of it, using the gang in the backseat as an excuse not to abandon the car. She was embarrassed to admit that if he was right and Duncan was actually one of those kelpies, she wasn’t sure she was sober enough to fight effectively, let alone lay chase should he decide to run, and hid behind her responsibility to protect her friends, knowing even as she said the words that the vamp saw right through her. He didn’t argue, though. Just looked at her with that amused tilt of his head as she promised to come out in the morning and scout around, to see if maybe she could find what exactly Duncan was up to. It didn’t make her feel better about it, though.

But thinking of it now wasn’t helping her headache, and Buffy quickly banished the thoughts of the cook to the far recesses of her brain, locking them in the closet of “Things to Do When I’m Feeling Human Again Land” in hopes that sometime in the next few hours, she would actually be up to lifting her head from the mattress. I wonder what time it is, she mused. More importantly, I wonder what the hell could’ve been so important to Spike that he’s not even here when I wake up.

She wanted to go back to sleep, but suddenly, the single bed seemed huge, the vacancy left by the vampire daunting, and Buffy found herself tossing under the blankets, twisting them around her legs as she sought to get comfortable before finally kicking them off to embrace the chilly air. Gotta get up. Find Spike. Make sure he doesn’t approach Duncan until I’ve got a chance to…

She saw it before she was even halfway up, and her surprised smile brought a childlike glee to her hazel eyes. In the corner, the screen had been set aside, revealing a steaming bathtub complete with an array of toiletries at its side. They weren’t hers---somehow, they were nicer---and as she rose from the bed, Buffy couldn’t help but wonder just where he had gotten them from. Because Spike was really the only explanation for this. This had to be his doing.

The paper had fallen to the floor, and she spotted it as she padded quietly to the tub’s side. Stooping, she picked it up, scanning the words once…and then a second time, wishing yet again that he was there.

Because it’ll help. ---S

His handwriting was neater than she’d imagined; somehow, she’d always thought Spike’s script would be more of a scrawl, not the confident, angular strokes that now graced his note. No mention of where he’d gone or when he was going to come back, but as the heat of the water began to steam across her cheeks, the fuzz inside Buffy’s head began to settle in anticipation of the relaxing draw of the bath. He was probably right; a good, long soak was sure to get her ready to face the day, and if anyone knew anything about helping with hangovers, she was sure it was the blond vampire. She could only hope that he wouldn’t be gone for too long.

*************

If he’d had a watch, he would’ve been looking at it, checking to see just how long she had been inside. As it was, Spike had to settle for pacing irritably in front of the closed door, giving it a look of death every time he passed by, his hands balled into fists deep in his pockets.

When it finally inched open, allowing Willow to squeeze herself out without the occupants seeing out into the hall, the vampire pounced, grabbing the bottle from her hand even before she had closed the door behind her. “Took you bloody long enough,” he growled as he looked over the label.

“You are going to owe me in such a huge way,” the witch whispered back, her face furious. “Do you have any idea how many lies I just told to get you that? Not to mention the images that are now burned onto my retinas. Remember that rope Colin was complaining about not being able to find? Well, guess where I just found it.”

Now that he had what he’d come after, Spike’s mood lifted, allowing him to look back at the closed door with a cocked brow and half-smile. “Well, notch one up for Harris,” he drawled.

Willow wrinkled up her nose. “No. No notching. That’s one of my best friends in there. I do not want to be imagining him and Anya playing their little bondage games. I lose enough sleep as it is worrying about important stuff, like school, and Tara, and my other best friend getting involved with another vampire.” She said the last defiantly, lifting her chin as if daring Spike to argue with her, but under his direct gaze, found herself faltering within moments, her own eyes falling to the bottle in his hands. “I don’t know why you want Anya’s bubble bath anyway,” she pouted. “It’s not like you didn’t already raid everything Tara and I brought along for Buffy. Couldn’t you have used her own stuff?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise then, now would it?” He shook his head, turning the toiletry over in his hand as he scanned its label again. “’Sides, this smells better than what the Slayer has. She didn’t exactly pack for a day at the---.”

“Spike!”

His shoulders slumped at the sound of the Watcher’s voice behind him, but he had only managed to turn halfway around to look at him when Giles’ hand gripped his upper arm and shoved him face first against the wall. “Hey!” Spike yelled. “Defenseless vampire here!”

“Defenseless, my ass,” Giles said through gritted teeth, and pushed him harder into the stone. “Where in blazes did you go last night?”

Willow’s eyes widened, and she caught the vamp’s level gaze as he grimaced. Uh oh. Busted.

“What makes you think---?”

“Don’t play me for a fool, Spike.” His words were clipped, the blue of his eyes flashing in anger. “There’s fifty pounds missing from my wallet, and Colin just told me that half the petrol is gone from one of the cars. You’re the only one who can drive in this country, outside of Colin and myself. Now. I’m going to ask you one more time.” He shoved him again for emphasis. “Where did you go last night?”

“Should’ve known you’d be keepin’ an eye on the tanks,” Spike rejoined, but was rewarded with a hard twist of his arm. “I was out of smokes,” he barked. “And goin’ stark ravin’ mad bein’ cooped up here with Nancy Drew and her hardy girls. And since you and Junior were bein’ so stingy with the whiskey last night, I decided I’d get myself a pint or two. That’s all. Not like the rest of you haven’t been gallivanting off into town whenever the fancy takes you. Leavin’ me here to rot in boredom, with nothin’ to do but stare at books that make your eyeballs bleed.”

“And Buffy just let you go?”

“Slayer didn’t know anything about it,” the vamp countered, avoiding the surprised look from the nearby witch. “I told her I was goin’ out to do a bit of patrolling, stretch my legs a bit.”

“And she trusted you to go out on your own? I find that very hard to believe.” Giles’ grip loosened, and he stepped away from the wall, allowing Spike to turn around to face him.

“We’ve got an understanding.”

Willow could see the danger begin to flicker in the azure depths of his eyes, and was amazed at the restraint the vampire was showing in not blurting out the true story to the older Englishman. She didn’t know why he was covering for them, but seeing the righteous anger in the Watcher’s face, she was rather glad he was.

“Well, understand this.” Giles held up a warning finger as he spoke. “You are not to go out of this castle again without the express permission of either myself, Colin, or Buffy, nor without supervision from one of the three of us. I will not have you roaming the Scottish countryside, looking for kicks. Or worse, escaping entirely and leaving us all here with a spell we can’t complete and questions we can’t answer. Until we return to Sunnydale, consider yourself under house arrest.”

“You’re grounding me?” Spike’s jaw dropped in incredulity. “I’m not some soddin’ child---.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“It was just a runner to the pub.”

“I don’t care if it was a runner to Heaven itself. If you can’t behave as a responsible member of this team, you hardly deserve the freedoms afforded to those of us who take the time to search for the answers we need to get out of this place and get back home.”

Spike’s head tilted as his eyes narrowed. “Right. ‘Cause you were burnin’ the midnight oil buried in your books,” he snorted. “How was your little kip? Have any nice dreams?”

The Watcher’s gaze was cold behind his spectacles. “I suggest you make yourself useful for a change, Spike,” he said, ignoring the vampire’s gibe. “Get downstairs and---.” He stopped, noticing for the first time the bottle in the other’s hand. “What is that?” he queried.

Spike’s fingers curled reflexively around the label, blocking its contents from view. “Conditioner,” he said evenly. “Slayer ran out and asked me to get some from the witch here.”

“What were you doing in Buffy’s room while she’s bathing?”

He didn’t even hesitate to respond. “I wasn’t. She makes me stand in the bloody hallway. Yells at me through the door when she’s done.”

As Willow watched the two argue back and forth, it was all she could do not to shake her head in reluctant admiration for the vampire’s ease in lying to Giles. OK, spent a century evil and doing this for a living, she thought, but still, no good reason why he should be doing this now, masking the Scoobies’ involvement in the pub escapades with plausible half-truths.

“Buffy’s just going to have to do without,” Giles finally said, the definitive tone of his voice brooking no more discussion on the matter. “I need you and Willow downstairs in the great hall to work on the spell. Colin and I believe we may have discovered something about the casting.” He turned on his heel and was halfway down the corridor to the stairwell before he stopped, glancing back at the pair over his shoulder. “Five minutes,” he instructed.

“Wow,” the redhead breathed once he was gone, “he’s really mad.”

Spike shrugged. “Nah,” he dismissed. “Should’ve seen him last year when I taped Passions over his copy of the highlights from the 1966 World Cup. Made me drink cold blood for a week.” He shook his head at the wrinkled confusion on her face. “It’s an English thing,” he said. “Trust me. He was pissed.” He handed her back the bubble bath, glancing in the direction of the stairs wistfully as his finger unconsciously caressed the bottle. “Not that I’m thrilled about missing Buffy’s blue lagoon bit, but I better be gettin’ downstairs if we want this story to stick. Thanks anyway, Red.”

She stopped him before he’d taken two steps. “How come you didn’t tell Giles what really happened?” she asked.

“’Cause I’m his favorite fall guy,” Spike replied, with a half-smile. “Let’s just say it’s easier for him to be brassed with me than it is for Buffy to have him being disappointed in her.”

*************

He was whistling when he entered the great hall. Last day, he thought. Time to pack up and move on. In a small way, Duncan realized he was going to miss hanging around the Americans; there was just something about the girls that drew him to them, that Slayer in particular, but with the harness safely stowed in the cave and the groundwork laid for Spike to be the guardian’s target for a while, he knew it was time to go. Take the time the diversion was going to allow him to run as far as possible, to start a new life with the harness to help.

He knew he could’ve just walked away last night. That probably would’ve been the sensible thing to do. But suspicions might be raised if Duncan were to suddenly disappear, and with Fiona’s injury healing enough for her to tend to the matters at Dall Rath herself, putting in this final day seemed right. He just had to inform the Watchers.

“Mr. Sadler?” He had to stifle his smile when the younger Englishman started from his seat at the table, turning to notice him for the first time since entering the room. “I wanted to let you know that my Aunt Fiona is doing much better,” he continued. “In fact, so much better, she’s decided that she can resume her responsibilities around here beginning tomorrow.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you for telling me.” Colin seemed slightly flustered by this information, his brows knitting together. “You’ve been…most helpful in filling in for her.”

“It was my pleasure. Really.” Duncan’s dark eyes darted to the door, watching as the older Watcher came striding in. “I’ll just be starting with breakfast now.”

They didn’t even wait for him to leave the room before striking up a conversation. “You were right,” Giles said behind him. “It was Spike.”

Duncan slowed his pace slightly to hear the other’s response. “I knew I smelled smoke in the leather,” he replied. “What did he think he was going to accomplish by stealing out in the car last night?”

“He said something about needing cigarettes and then started off on this woe-is-me speech about how we leave him out of everything. Funny, really, coming from him, considering how he’s managed to get himself involved in almost every aspect of this project. He was just supposed to help with the spell, yet he’s helped Buffy with the demon in the dungeon, helped us in our translations.” There was a pause. “I can’t believe Buffy would just allow him to go out on his own like that. It’s not like her to be so careless.”

Duncan didn’t hear any answer, but as he stepped out of the room and into the kitchen, the thought in his head almost exactly matched that in Colin’s.

It’s not careless; it’s called being in love.

*************

To say she was disappointed Spike hadn’t returned while she was in the tub was an understatement. By the time Buffy emerged from the water, her mood had shriveled almost as tightly as the wrinkles in her skin, and though the worst of her hangover was now gone, she couldn’t help but be annoyed that the vampire would go to the lengths of providing such an erotic possibility without actually following through with it. Stupid Spike.

When a knock came to the bedroom door, her heart leapt to her throat, only to immediately sink when she realized that he wouldn’t bother with announcing his arrival; Spike would’ve just walked right on in, that jaunt to his step, probably with some self-satisfied smirk on his face. She sighed. Great, now she was doomed to Spike-filled fantasies all day. No doubt of the naked, sweaty variety. Her sweat, not his. That cool flesh of his always seemed to remain so dry, only getting slick when her own body was rubbing up against it, feeling his muscles tense against hers, his mouth…

She sighed again. This was going to a loonngg day.

“B-b-buffy?”

The Slayer frowned, pulling her hair free from her collar as she crossed to the door, opening it to reveal a smiling Tara. “Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Willow asked me to come up and try and catch you before you came downstairs.” She glanced furtively back over her shoulder before returning her wide gaze to the girl in the doorway. “Can I…talk to you…in there?”

Buffy stepped aside to allow her to enter, closing the door behind them to leave the pair in solitude. “Is something wrong?” she quizzed. “Willow hasn’t done another spell on Xander, has she?”

Tara laughed. “No, nothing like that.” Her gaze flickered over the tub. “Did the bath work for your hangover?” she asked. “Spike said it would.”

“Yeah,” she replied, softening. “Are those yours?” She gestured to the toiletries that still rested next to it.

“Spike said they were…nicer than the ones you brought,” the witch offered in apologetic explanation.

“He’s right. Thanks.” Crossing to the bed, Buffy perched herself on its edge to begin slipping on her shoes. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Briefly, Tara explained what Spike had done, the confrontation with Giles and his subsequent banishment to the great hall and research duty. With each passing sentence, the Slayer’s eyes widened, her surprise at his assumed culpability enveloping her in waves of guilt, until she finally cut the other girl off with an upraised palm.

“Stop,” she directed, rising to her feet. “I’m going to go fix this. He can’t be---.”

The touch of Tara’s hand on her arm astonished both of them, but she didn’t remove it even when Buffy made to move away. “Spike said don’t. He passed a note to Willow and said just to let sleeping dogs lie on this one.”

“But why…?”

“Mr. Giles was pretty peeved. Spike thinks it’s better if it’s directed at him, than the rest of us. He s-s-said…well, he wrote that we’ll be more productive this way.”

She hesitated, mulling over the vampire’s logic. Twisted and uncalled for, but somehow, probably right on the money. Funny how he always had a way of doing that. One of these days, she was going to have to ask him how he pulled it off. “So, he wants me to keep quiet when I come down,” she mused. “Guess I can do that. Not like we’re not getting really good at keeping secrets around here.”

“Actually…” Tara seemed hesitant to say anything further, biting at her lip as she blocked Buffy’s path to the door. “Spike said something else to Willow. Something about you not coming down to the hall at all.”

“Oh? And pray tell, what does he think I should be doing?”

“Um…he said not to w-w-wimp out and forget about checking the mountain this morning. I guess…you saw something last night on the way home?”

She seemed to be waiting for a response, the messenger frightened of the unhappy reply, and Buffy smiled in reassurance. “It’s OK. He’s right. Besides, anything is better than research. As long as it’s not raining.” She looked hurriedly up at the small window, and relaxed when she saw the sunlight peeking through. “Just tell Giles I’m doing a little investigating and that I’ll be back in time for lunch. Don’t give him any details or anything. I’m not sure what I’m going to find.”

Tara frowned. “Is it bad?” she queried. “A demon? Or something to do with the harness, maybe?”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I’m going to find out…”

Giles’ eyes flickered over the group, the slumped shoulders of Xander as he slouched in his chair, Anya’s drooping eyes as she rested her chin on the book in front of her, the two witches leaning against each other, Willow’s fingers playing with a strand of Tara’s hair as they read over the texts in their laps. Only Spike appeared as normal, audibly shifting in his corner chair, the occasional snort of derision punctuating his reading almost always immediately followed by the slam of the book onto the floor and a, “Next one, Rupes,” biting through the air. Each time, the noise seemed to reverberate against the stone walls, and though he wouldn’t have called it unnecessarily loud, the gang seemed finely attuned to it, visibly flinching when it happened.

There it was again---the snort---but as the group steeled themselves for the accompanying thud, Spike surprised them by rising to his feet. “Thought you said you and Junior had sussed something new out about the spell,” he said to Giles as he approached the table, tossing the text onto its top. “If that’s so, why’re we still bothering with the Gilgamesh rejects here?”

The Watcher peered at him over his glasses. “It was a theory Colin and I were bandying around,” he explained. “We were hoping to find something substantive to support it before voicing it to the group.”

“But it was good enough to use it as an excuse to lure us back here into research hell,” Spike snapped back. “So ‘fess up, Rupes. I’m not wastin’ my time any more if you’ve got something you’re holdin’ back.”

Behind his book, Xander bit at his lip in a semi-futile attempt to stop from smiling. Leave it to Spike, he thought. It was what everyone in the gang was thinking but no one dared to say; only the annoying bleached one could get away with directness like that when it came to Giles.

The two Watchers exchanged a look before the older one sighed and closed the book in front of him. “It’s just a theory,” he started. “Regarding why the spell failed both times it was attempted.”

“And remember, we’ve found absolutely nothing to deem our theory anything more than preliminary speculation,” Colin jumped in. “That’s why we haven’t mentioned it.” He glanced at Giles. “And why I thought we were going to keep it to ourselves until we knew for sure.”

“Well, the cat’s out now,” Spike drawled. “And those things have a way of scratchin’ if you try to stuff ‘em back in, so give us what you got.” He sat down in one of the chairs, propping his boots up onto the table as he waited expectantly.

Giles cleared his throat. “We believe there’s a…physical element to the spell that we’re overlooking. Some act that must be completed once the incantation has been said. It would explain the immolation of the corpse the Council used. Indirectly, it also explains why Willow was rejected as the host.”

“Yeah, about that host thing.” The redhead straightened in her chair. “Tara and I have been talking about it, and we definitely think that something inside me pushed it out. Literally. That’s what it felt like.”

“Yes. That something would be your magic.”

Xander frowned. “I thought her magic was supposed to be what was sucking whatever she’s hosting in. Turning her into a Big Gulp-sized straw.”

“Actually, the magic was channeled through all of us in the ritual,” Colin interjected. “Buffy, Spike, and the three of us on the outside. Willow was just acting as our mouthpiece.”

“And here I thought that was my job,” Xander quipped with a broad smile. “Being the…mouth…” Under everyone’s direct stare, he slouched back in his chair. “Never mind.”

“Our theory,” Giles continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “is that the spell requires the host’s aspect to be an empty vessel, to allow the spirit of the immortal sufficient room to animate it, so to speak, in order to complete the physical requirements of the spell.”

“An empty vessel?” Willow’s brow was furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“That means…no demon, no magic, no additional inner forces, per se.” He kept his gaze studiously away from the group. “We believe that means Xander actually.”

There was a moment, and then… “Me?” His eyes were wide, his jaw dropped. “How can that mean me? Anya’s demon and magic-free, too.”

“Yes, but she used to be a demon, as well as have all the skills that went along with it. We can’t be certain there might not be some residual effects.”

“What about you? Or Colin? I can’t be the only one empty enough to be able to do this.”

“As Watchers, part of our training includes extensive use of magics. We undergo quite strenuous instruction, as well as partake in numerous rituals and channeling exercises. It’s the same issue with us as it is with Anya. Unknowingly, we could possess lingering effects that would prohibit the spell from working.”

The younger Watcher leaned forward. “My skills are actually quite strong,” he pressed. “In fact, I would hazard a guess that my abilities could rival Miss Rosenberg’s---.”

“Colin. Do shut up.”

He flushed under Giles’ admonishing stare, pulling back into his seat. “Of course,” he mumbled.

“I was possessed once,” Xander offered. “Doesn’t that count?”

“Uh, no.”

Spike chuckled. “Well, guess the boy’s coming finally served a purpose after all,” he said, and then froze as Willow’s head whipped around, her eyes blazing. Bollocks. Too many secrets tumbling about in his head. Wasn’t supposed to let that one slip out so easy. Now he was going to have to deal with a pissed-off Buffy when she got back.

“What’s he talking about?” Xander’s surprise faded into confusion, turning from one Scooby to another, each of them reluctant to meet his gaze. Only Anya seemed as clueless as he.

Giles sighed. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “I’m sure Buffy never meant for him to be kept in the dark indefinitely.”

“Then somebody, please, turn on a light for me. What did Spike mean about ‘finally serving a purpose’?”

“I meant, you two weren’t on the original invite list.” No one else was offering the information, each of them squirming uncomfortably in his or her seat, waiting for someone else to take the initiative. As usual, that someone was Spike. “Slayer had to barter to get you and demon girl to come along.”

“And we weren’t told because…?”

“She didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Willow interjected. “The Council was being all closed-minded about how much of an asset you are to the team. Which you are. An asset. A huge asset. An enormous, gigantic asset. The biggest asset---.” She shot the vampire a dirty look as he muffled the snigger in his throat. “Ass-et,” she stressed to Spike. “Stop trying to make me look bad. It was Buffy’s idea, remember? I just…” Her voice trailed off, guilty eyes flickering back to her best friend’s hurt face.

“…went along with it,” Xander finished for her. “Because poor old Xan can’t pull his weight around here. Or deal with the fact that nobody thinks he’s mature enough to handle the truth.”

“I never understood why they didn’t tell you in the first place. Made bugger all sense to me.”

“Not helping here, Spike.” Willow shot the older Watcher a silent cry for help.

“Regardless of what the Council originally thought,” Giles picked up, “your presence now is of tremendous value to the team. You need to replace Willow within the confines of the spell the next time we attempt it.”

“And that will be…?”

“Tomorrow night,” the redhead said. “That’s the next window of opportunity for us.”

“Some window,” Xander muttered. “How come just this once I can’t be the black lesbian Wicca? Then I’d be safe from this equal opportunity employer. And has everyone forgotten the Harris touch that seems to contaminate every spell I come into contact with? Just watch. Put me in this and you’ll have half of Scotland banging down our doors trying to kill us.”

“Buck up,” said Spike. “It’s not like you’re in any actual peril by doing it. Council’s not about to whack their precious Slayer with a spell that’s goin’ to hurt her.”

Giles cleared his throat. “Actually---.”

“Actually?” The vamp was on his feet in a heartbeat, leaning forward against the table to put his face into the Watcher’s. “Actually is not inspiring, Rupert,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “Don’t be telling me Buffy’s not walkin’ away from this without a scratch. You can just say sayonara to this sunny disposition of mine if something happens to her.”

Willow felt Tara’s hand squeeze her knee, her eyes wide as they just stared at Spike. Why don’t you just come out and say you love her, you stupid vamp? the witch thought wildly. Because if anyone had any doubt about it before, he had pretty much just blown it up with a live grenade at close distance, leaving no survivors. Golden glints of anger flashed in the azure depths, his knuckles even whiter as they dug into the table. If he gripped the wood any harder, she was sure his bones were going to pop straight out through his skin.

“Buffy is not in any danger.” Giles stared up at the blond, eyes hard. “I would not allow her to be.”

“Then…” As the truth sank in, Spike’s body eased, his head tilting as the two men squared off. “You’re bloody kidding me.”

“I told you he would take this badly,” Colin murmured, inching himself away from the pair.

“We think that’s why the Council was willing to bargain with your chip,” Giles said. “They didn’t expect you to walk away from the ritual.”

“Well, now, they can just bugger off then!” Spike pushed off from the table and began pacing the length of the room like a caged animal, muscles taut in fury. “No way am I risking my skin if it’s just goin’ to fry afterward. I’m not playin’ the patsy for a bunch of underhanded, troublemakin’ gits who’re only interested in havin’ a vampire flambé for tea. Not in this lifetime. Or any other, for that matter.”

“We don’t know that. We don’t know what the repercussions will be. That’s…why…we’re doing the research. And why we didn’t tell you in the first place.”

“C’mon, Spike.” Xander’s annoyance shone brightly in his face. “Don’t be backing out on such a great opportunity here. You were so quick to go all Gipper on me, remember?”

“That was different. You’re not the one they’re tryin’ to turn into Guy Fawkes.” He began marching for the door. “I’m outta here. You lot can bloody well suss this one out on your own.”

“Spike.”

She was the only one who probably could’ve stopped him, but as it was, Willow’s voice only slowed his pace, making him hesitate as his hand hit the doorknob. “Not goin’ to work, Red.”

“At least wait until Buffy gets back. Maybe she’ll have a solution to all this.” It was the magic word and she knew it. The song to soothe the savage beast…except a name, not a song. And not really savage. More like just…really, really pissed off.

Tara jumped on the chance her girlfriend gave her. “She’s supposed to be back by lunch time,” she called out as he hung in the doorway. “And that’s only…a little while away. You can wait a little while, can’t you?”

His head dropped, his eyes closing. Whoever said the witches couldn’t play dirty didn’t know them very well. “Fine,” he said, resigned. “I’ll wait for the Slayer. But I’m not changin’ my mind. No way are we celebratin’ Bonfire Night late around here. Over my undead body.”

*************

The ache behind his eyes was starting to pulse, threatening to push out the orbs in its frenzy, making his eardrums quiver in resonance. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. It was supposed to have been a simple retrieval of a demon artifact. Dig under Dall Rath, find the harness, bring it to London. Simple. They weren’t supposed to uncover an entrance to the Otherworld, and they weren’t supposed to lose a dozen good men trying to manage their mistake. And now…still no word from Hornbrook, and unable to get through to young Sadler. Quentin Travers was not having a good day.

Perhaps it had been an error in judgment to approach the vampire with their offer. Perhaps he’d gotten angry and had turned on Hornbrook…

But that couldn’t be, and Travers knew it. Spike was no threat to anyone human, though Colin had voiced his disagreement with that theory on more than one occasion. No, if something had happened to the Council’s agent in Scotland, it wasn’t at Spike’s hand. The question was…whose?

Popping the two tablets into his mouth, Quentin swallowed them dry as he reached for his telephone. The other end was picked up almost immediately. “Ready a plane for a trip to Dall Rath,” he said into the receiver. “If we can’t reach Colin, then we’ll just have to go see him personally.”

*************

She stood at the top of the hill, eyes scanning the rolling sweep as the breeze lifted and swept across the heather. This was where she had seen Duncan; she was sure of it. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed the position the car had been in, and Buffy turned back, mouth grim. Time to search. Time to find out what exactly the cook was hiding.

She discovered it at the base of the swell, the opening hidden behind the heavy brush, obscured from anyone who wasn’t deliberately searching for something out of the ordinary. Not that a cave in the Highlands was odd. But considering the circumstances, she wasn’t leaving any stone unturned. Or…cave unexplored, as the case may be.

Though there was no mistaking the chill in the air, once she stepped through the fissure’s entrance, the first thing she noticed was how much warmer it was inside, a moisture she couldn’t place hanging in the atmosphere to stick in her throat. Buffy felt an odd sense of déjà vu, and stopped, looking around the dimly lit space, absorbing the earthen walls. Something about it seemed familiar, like someplace she’d been before, but where, she couldn’t quite figure.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she singsonged, walking further into the darkness. The knife in her hand played between her fingers. It wasn’t as if she actually thought she was going to find Duncan; it was coming up on lunchtime. He was back at Dall Rath, simmering away, probably getting out the dishes to prepare setting the table. So what was making her so nervous?

Her foot caught in a depression in the earth, and Buffy glanced down, noting the uneven texture of the dirt, frowning as the furrows seemed to stretch back into the depths. Slowly, she kicked at a hard clod, knocking it aside to send it ricocheting against the wall, and felt her pulse begin to accelerate at the glimpse of pale coming from the hole it left behind. Another nudge…and more was revealed, a disclosure she hadn’t been expecting.

It looked like…skin.

Now why didn’t I think to bring a shovel? Buffy thought as she knelt down, hands scraping away at the earth, carefully avoiding direct contact with whatever it covered. Giles would call this being unprepared. Not that I really thought I’d be playing treasure hunt, but still…digging up bodies? Not anywhere near the top of my fun-things-to-do-in-Scotland list.

It took only a few minutes to uncover enough of the body to recognize it, but when she did, the Slayer’s heart dropped. Hornbrook. Not good. Not good at all. Her mind jumped back to the conversation she’d had with the cook, how he’d claimed not to know anything about the doctor showing up at the castle. Big fat liar, she thought irritably. But why on earth are you hiding his dead body?

If Buffy had learned anything by being the Chosen One, it was that one dead body usually led to two, and she quickly set about to scrape away the top layer of dirt at various points around the cavern. It was almost too easy; it was as if he’d been waiting for them to be found. There weren’t that many---well, anything more than zero was too many, but still---and when her hand touched the silky coat of the kelpie she’d chased across the mountain, she hesitated, knowing without having to look that the harness wouldn’t be around its neck, reluctant to dig further to confirm her suspicions.

“So, our Galloping Gourmet has the harness,” she mused out loud as she straightened. Not that there was anyone to talk to, but old habits die hard and she’d spent too many hours walking through cemeteries conversing with the undead. “The question is…why?”

Without answers, Buffy knew she was right back where she’d started from…unsure, with her hands tied until she knew for certain what was going on. But it did give her a springing off point, and right now, she felt like springing off on the smug cook’s face. That charming act of his suddenly seemed very not charming, in light of the plethora of corpses he was leaving behind. She just had to get back to the castle. Empty-handed. Not her favorite state. It was much better to be full-handed, or at least, partially full. Then, at least, she’d have a peace offering for Giles when she had to come clean about the previous night and why, all of a sudden, she’d thought to search this particular part of the landscape.

As she began covering the bodies back up, Buffy noted a small patch near the back of the cave, a recess in the wall invisible to anyone just standing in the entrance. Seeing it required coming deep into its bowels, and then to crawl on hands and knees for a few feet in order to reach it. A nice little hidey-hole, she thought, as she began the trek. Wonder what he’s got stashed in there.

There were more furrows in the ground, matching almost identically with the ones in the front of the cave, and the Slayer wasted little time scratching at them. She stopped almost immediately as a familiar set of dark eyes stared back at her, hitting her head against the low ceiling as she sat abruptly back.

Duncan Davison.

The real Duncan Davison.

Very much dead.

Crap.

There was no more time for searching. She had to return to the castle. She had to warn the others. Someone had left the stable doors open.

And the kelpie was running free.

First, though, she had to hide what she had done. Bury the bodies back up. Make it look like she had never been there in the first place. One of the few tactical strategies she had left to her devices was the element of surprise; if she could take the demon unaware, perhaps they stood a better chance of…

She’d been concentrating so hard on the lifeless form of Duncan Davison, she’d almost missed the glint that emanated from the nadir of the recess. A gleam of gold catching what little light managed to make its way to the back of the cave. A sparkle she hadn’t anticipated finding quite so easily.

And to the victor…came the spoils…

*************

His breathing was heavy as he stood in the small cell, looking behind him to see the wall magically appear. When his hand reached out to touch it, the guardian was met with stone, and silently cursed. A spell. Which seemed to work only one way apparently. It also meant that he was leaving the Otherworld completely unprotected until he could find a way to return. With the harness, that would be no problem, but without it…

He refused to finish the thought, choosing instead to turn back and face the enveloping darkness, the light from the tunnel fading as he crept carefully toward the doorway. He’d come with a plan. Now, he had no choice but to see it through…

The first time, nobody noticed.

The second time, Anya glared at him out of the corner of her eye, and poked him in the side, wordlessly reprimanding him back into silence.

The third time, Xander felt an unwelcome kick in his shins from Willow across the table, along with another poke from his girlfriend, and ducked his head when Giles swiveled his gaze to stare at him over his spectacles.

The fourth time, Spike finally spoke up.

“Oh, for the love of everything evil, will you just stop with the nancy boy sighing already?” The vampire glowered from his chair in the corner. “We all get the idea. Just let it go.”

“What?” The young man looked innocently around at his friends. “I’m tired, and I’ve got one butt cheek snoring away with the other doing its best to join it, and I just want to do something other than stare at these books for a little bit. I don’t know what you guys are talking about.”

“Maybe you should go stretch your legs,” Giles offered. “Take a walk before lunch. Perhaps it will…refresh you sufficiently so that you can continue with our research without the…vocal accompaniment.”

“You’re lettin’ him go?” Spike’s voice was sharp in amazement. “A few bloody sighs and he’s gettin’ paroled. If I thought it was that easy to get outta here, I’d’ve tried it myself. Thanks so ever-lovin’ much, Rupert.”

Xander shambled to his feet. “You wanna come?” he asked the blond vampire.

The invitation took everyone by surprise, no one more so than Spike. He stiffened, brows furrowed, his eyes jumping from Xander to Giles, and then back to Xander again. “This a trick question?” he asked slowly.

The young man shrugged. “Just thought I’d offer,” he said, and turned away from the table.

“Hang on, then!” Spike was on his feet and across the room in seconds. “I didn’t say no.”

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Giles queried, gazing at the pair in annoyance.

“Don’t tell me Harris falls outside of your little grounding rules.” The vampire rolled his eyes. “’Cause unless you or Junior want to tag along, I’m walkin’ through that door whether you like it or not.”

The Watcher inhaled deeply, trying to control his rising irritation “I just meant, it’s noon, and daylight outside. Your options are rather limited if you’re interested in stretching your legs.”

Spike glanced at the unexpected ally at his side before turning back to the group at the table. “We could go scout out the dungeons again,” he suggested. “Do a quick sweep before the Slayer comes back for lunch. Maybe that beastie I killed the other night crawled into one of the nearby cells.”

It was actually a reasonable offer, taking the older Englishman by surprise as he regarded the pair. “Fine,” he finally said. “Just make sure you both take weapons. We can’t be sure what else might have come through from the Otherworld.”

Xander brightened. “Oh! Can I take that nifty sword Buffy had the other night?” he asked as he followed the vampire’s saunter to the doorway. “The one with the swirly things on the handle?”

Spike snorted. “Sure. If you can bloody well lift it.”

*************

Their flashlights cut through the darkness as they descended the stairs into the dungeon, sending dozens of bugs scuttling into the shadows in the wake of their beams. Hesitating at the bottom, Spike waited for Xander to join him before gesturing off toward one of the adjoining halls.

“Slayer and I checked that one out pretty good last time,” he said, and nodded in the opposite direction. “I think this way’s goin’ to be our best bet at findin’ anything.”

“Is that what we really want?” Xander asked, and ducked his head, his cheeks slightly red, when the vamp cocked his eyebrow. “I just didn’t want to read anymore. I didn’t think we were actually going to be doing any serious patrolling here.”

Spike started ambling toward the latter portion of the dungeon he’d suggested. “I was just blowin’ smoke for Rupes’ sake,” he said. “Buffy and I have been through here more than once. Trust me. We’re not goin’ to find anything.”

“That a promise?” He double-timed his step in order to catch up to the vamp. Safety in numbers, after all.

“Since when do I make promises?”

“How ‘bout just a super strong assurance then?”

“Will it make you shut your yap?”

“Probably not.”

“Then no.”

They walked along in silence for a moment, the knife that Xander had grabbed from the weapons cache gripped tightly in his hand as he focused his light before them. “Upstairs earlier,” he said, his voice sounding oddly hollow as it bounced around the stone walls. “You weren’t really going to walk out on doing the spell, were you?”

There was only the slightest hesitation in Spike’s step as he glanced back at his companion. “Were you?” he countered.

“I didn’t actually get up.”

“But you thought about it.”

Xander shrugged. “But I wouldn’t have done it. Just kind of hit me hard, what with the whole not-being-wanted thing, on top of only being useful because I have absolutely no special skills to contribute, whatsoever. Not exactly a huge kick to the old ego there and a double whammy to boot. Useless and uninvited. Xander Harris, empty vessel extraordinaire.”

“Not so empty. I’ve seen the way you eat.”

“Donuts do not a man make. Unless your name is Homer. Or you’re a cop. Or---.”

“At least they expect you to get through this thing alive,” Spike interrupted. “Think about how I feel. Turns out, I’m just spell kindling. You just know they’re thinkin’, ‘good riddance to bad rubbish.’”

“Giles and Willow won’t let that happen. They’ll find a way to work around it. They always do.”

“I think Rupert would be happy to let me fry, right about now. He’s still just a tad vexed about last night.” That made Xander stop in his tracks, and it took the vampire a few seconds to realize the young man was no longer behind him. He halted, tilting his head to look back over his shoulder, his face swallowed in shadow. “What now?”

He seemed to hesitate to pose the query, then made the conscious decision to go for it. “About that…why’d you do it? Take the heat, I mean. Anya told me what happened. We’re all grown-ups here, Spike. And volunteers in the whole battle against evil shebang. It’s not like we’re going to get fired or anything. There’s no reason you had to---.”

“Told Red, and I’m not goin’ to repeat myself,” the vamp interrupted, resuming his pace. “It’s done, it’s out there, and the more people keep harpin’ on it, the more I regret doin’ it in the first place. So let it go.”

“Did you do it for Buffy?”

The Slayer’s name reached into Spike’s spine and jerked him to a standstill, his shoulders tensing as he debated how to respond. Couldn’t turn; even under the veil of darkness in the dungeons, there was no way Harris would be able to miss the truth on his face. Yet, the question held no malice, innocently asked in that trusting manner the young man usually reserved for the girls of the group. Somehow, he suspected that if he looked at Xander right now, Spike would see the wide-eyed artlessness that probably activated every protective instinct in Buffy’s body.

“It was just…the best thing. For all involved,” he finally replied. Good. Safe answer. Boy can’t argue with that one.

“Not for you.”

Bugger. He caught that.

The slight lift of Spike’s shoulders almost went unnoticed. “Since when does that matter? ‘Sides, not like it’s goin’ to happen on a regular basis. Enjoy it while you’ve still got a patsy vamp around to blame things like this on.”

Xander took a step closer. “You didn’t really answer my question, Spike. Did this have anything to do with you and Buffy?”

Spike gritted his teeth. He wanted to tell, even if it was Harris, but he’d promised her he wouldn’t. Sure, he’d slipped upstairs, letting his emotions get the better of him when he’d thought the spell was a threat to her. But had that been enough for Xander to figure out the truth? “Well, seein’ as there is no me and Buffy, that’s not very likely, now is it?” he said, and began walking again. Keep moving. Keep it light. Don’t let him know. Promises, promises, bloody promises.

The hand around his bicep came as a mild surprise, and this time, Spike turned and shone his flashlight in the other man’s face. There was no anger there, no hate, only that quirky half-smile as he struggled to find the right words. Times like this, the vampire knew why the Slayer let Xander hang around as much as he did. Annoying as hell, but still…something there.

“I see how hard you’re trying here,” Xander said. “And if being in love is what’s doing it, then hey, I say, all the power to you. Even if she doesn’t see it right away, no way can Buffy pretend you haven’t been on your best behavior when we get back to Sunnydale. Not to mention a huge help. Which I know is what you’re aiming for. Life on the Hellmouth is easier if you’ve got the Slayer on your side. I can personally vouch for that one.” He laughed. “And you won’t have to worry about her staking your new girlfriend. You can just hold last night over her head as blackmail material with Giles.”

He didn’t know. God, Spike thought. The poor git really is thick. Well-intentioned and mildly likeable, but still thick. “I’ll remember that, Harris” he said slowly. “Though I wouldn’t have thought you’d be a big supporter of something as underhanded as that.” His lips curled into a smirk. “Must be the demon girl’s influence.”

“Ex-demon. Emphasis on the ex.”

“Still good to see she can corrupt with the best of ‘em.”

“I’m not corrupted!”

“You just encouraged me to blackmail the Slayer for personal gain. Sounds corrupt to me.”

“I just…” Xander’s voice trailed off, his brow wrinkled, and he loosed his grip on the vampire’s arm. “How is it you manage to turn every conversation I have with you into something that makes me want to drive something long, wooden, and possibly a little on the blunt side just for that extra bit of pain, right through your unbeating heart?” he asked.

Spike laughed and began heading back down the corridor. “Call it that vamp je ne sais quoi,” he drawled. “I got it in spades.”

“Have you figured out when we’re going to try this thing we planned in exposing the badness that is Duncan?” Xander queried as he hurried to the other’s side.

“We’ll see if the Slayer comes back with anything first,” the vamp instructed. “Somehow, I think any evidence she digs up might be a little more convincing to Rupert than us playin’ ping pong with the wanker cook’s head.” He grinned. “Though that would be fun.”

“You told Buffy? And she believed you?”

“Didn’t have to. When you lot were kipping it on the way home last night, we saw him out for a late night stroll on the mountain. Hard to argue with what’s skulking around right in front of you.”

“But Colin said this was his last day. She’s going to have to move fast if she’s going to---.”

“Junior said what?” The amiable atmosphere evaporated, hardening Spike as he whirled to stare at the young man.

Xander flinched. “Apparently, Duncan showed up this morning and said his aunt was doing better and that she’d be back in the kitchen as of tomorrow,” he explained. “Colin said so before you came downstairs.”

The ramifications of such a move on the part of the cook ticked over in the vampire’s brain, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to figure out what exactly that could mean. Ready to make a run for it? But then why stick around for so long? What was his motive? And why play up to the girls for so long if he wasn’t going to follow through? Plus, couldn’t forget about the not too idle threat he’d made to Spike the night of the storm, even if he had tried covering it up later on with some half-assed apology.

“Don’t like it,” he finally muttered. “Something’s not right there.”

“But this is good, right?” Xander said. “I mean, if he’s not around, he’s not a threat. And the girls will stop acting so crazy without him in the picture.”

The blue of his eyes appeared almost black in the dim light of the dungeon. “And where exactly is he s’posed to be goin’?” he quizzed. “A kelpie roaming around the Highland countryside, eatin’ up the locals for tea? You think Buffy’s goin’ to be thrilled to hear about that? And we’ve still got that whole harness deal to be worryin’ about. That Hornbrook bloke said that came from the Otherworld. What if there’s some tie between that and our least favorite cook? We need to find it, suss out what it does. Maybe then we’ll get some answers about this whole soddin’ mess.”

“OK, I see your point.” Both men were silent, lost in his thoughts. And then, “That doesn’t mean we have to go back up to the research just yet, does it?”

Spike snorted. “Are you kiddin’ me?” he retorted. “We wait for Buffy to get back, see if she found anything. No reason for us to be bored out of our minds in the meantime.” With that, he swept his flashlight back to the corridor and began trekking further into the bowels of the dungeon, Xander close on his heels.

*************

He should’ve known. They didn’t know he was there, blending amidst the velvet shadows. The vampire had obviously been too distracted to sense his presence. So there was no reason for them to lie. But their words, their worries…it only confirmed what he’d suspected from the beginning, solidified his plan. No other choice now. Must proceed forward.

He waited until their footsteps were mere echoes against the stone walls before emerging from the cell, his dark eyes glowing softly in the darkness. Instinctively, the guardian kelpie turned toward the stairwell, his own tread silent. Time to act.

*************

She waited until the two Watchers had stepped from the room before jumping into it. “OK, what the hell is going on?” Anya demanded, dropping her book to lean forward over the table.

Willow and Tara exchanged a quick glance, both brows slightly furrowed. “We’re…researching,” the redhead said slowly. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“That’s not what I meant.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m talking about with Spike. And don’t you two go pretending you don’t know what’s going on. I saw all those little looks getting passed around. Xander may be blind to these kinds of things, but I’m not. Not after a thousand years of watching guys and girls falling in and out of love all over this stupid rock. So, spill. I want details.”

“Details about…what?” Even though she could sense it was pointless, Willow couldn’t bring herself to confess to the truth just yet. Anya was just going to have to…

“Spike’s in love with Buffy. Only a fool can’t see it. If there’d been one more wrong word out of Giles, we’d be scraping little bits of stuffy Englishman off the ceiling right now and Spike would be passed out on the floor from the headache that chip gave him for attacking Giles in the first place. Don’t think I can’t tell that the two of you know about this. So I want the truth here. Is Spike in love with Buffy?”

Willow visibly deflated. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice tiny.

“I knew it!” Anya’s smile was wide. “God, my instincts are good. I’m so glad I haven’t lost my touch. I worry about that sometimes.”

The redhead harrumphed, doing her best not to laugh in the other girl’s face. “Oh, yeah?” she challenged. “You might want to think again about how good that touch of yours actually is. Apparently, Spike’s been in love with Buffy for a while now, since before we left Sunnydale even, so fat lot of good those instincts are doing for you, I’d say.”

“Like I really spent a lot of time with Spike prior to this little Highland fling,” Anya countered. She shook her head. “Xander’s head is going to explode when he finds this out---.”

“You can’t tell Xander!”

The ex-demon frowned at the blonde witch’s outburst. “Why not? Everyone else seems to know about this. Well, except probably for Buffy.” She chuckled. “No way would she ever have agreed to the sleeping arrangements…” This time, there was no mistaking the guilty look exchanged between the two lesbians, and Anya’s jaw dropped. “That’s why you two were borrowing my bubble bath this morning! It was for Buffy!” She paused. “Well, good for her. Bathtub sex can be highly erotic, especially if there’s lots of soap---.”

“You’re not going to tell Xander, right?”

She went on as if she hadn’t heard a word what the witch had said. “His head is soooo going to explode. His best friend in love with another vampire? No way is he going to be able to process that one without some serious cerebral damage.”

“We’re not supposed to say anything. Buffy wants to be the one to break it Giles and, well, just Xander now.” Willow bit her lip. Their little secret wasn’t turning out to be so secret anymore. She just hoped she wasn’t the one who got blamed for it.

“Then she should have a talk with her boyfriend. He’s the one who’s got it written all over his face. Did you not see the way he nearly bit Giles’ head off?”

She had a point. “I’ll find a way to tell her what happened,” the redhead said. “But in the meantime, could you please just keep mum about all this? Don’t say a word to Xander until Buffy gives us the green light. OK?”

Anya shrugged. “OK,” she agreed. “Not like I haven’t kept secrets from him in the past.” She smiled. “There was this one time, when he wanted to have sex on top of the dryer…”

Picking up her book again, Willow slouched in her chair, hunching up her shoulders to try and cover her ears. Maybe if she thought about something totally different, like daffodils or Snoopy dancing or chem equations, she wouldn’t actually hear what was about to come out of the other girl’s mouth, or picture in her head what she was describing…

Nope. She sighed. Didn’t work.

*************

He was reaching for his coat hanging delicately from the stand when the rap came to his door. “Enter,” Quentin called, not hesitating in his task.

It opened, revealing a trim secretary waiting in its entrance. “I realize you’re about to leave, Mr. Travers,” she said. “But I’m afraid something has…come up.”

He shrugged the heavy wool over his shoulders. “Unless it’s regarding the issue at Dall Rath,” he said, “or involves dire circumstances, it can wait until I return.”

“No, sir, it can’t.”

The young man’s appearance behind his secretary surprised Quentin, and he frowned as he lifted his gaze. “You’re…Mr. Finn, correct?” he said.

Riley nodded grimly. “And if you’re going to see Buffy, I’m coming with you. That’s why I’m here.”

Travers shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted the trip for nothing, young man. I have no intention of involving you in Council matters at this time.”

“Look, I can appreciate that you have protocols you have to follow. I’ve been there. I know---.”

“Your government is hardly the same thing as my Board,” Quentin said smoothly, and swept past him. “Now, good day.”

Riley watched as the man walked away. He’d come too far to get the brush off this easily. He wasn’t going to let a little thing like no stop him from getting to Spike. “Buffy’s in danger,” he called after the Englishman.

Hesitating, Quentin glanced back over his shoulder to survey the veracity of his unannounced visitor. “And why would you say that?” he asked slowly.

“She called me. The other night. She didn’t say as much, but I heard Spike in the background---.”

“Spike?” The vampire’s name sent a trigger of alarm through Travers’ veins. “Was he threatening the Slayer in some way?”

No time for niceties. The only thing that mattered was getting to Scotland. “Yes,” he said, chin held high.

There was a moment of consideration, Quentin’s pale eyes flickering over Riley’s face as he seemed to be weighing his words. “I don’t approve of your methods, Mr. Finn,” he said. “No doubt you utilized your government contacts in order to locate me. But I do believe that you have only Miss Summers’ best interests in mind. Very well. You may accompany me to Dall Rath. But I will not have you interfering in Council business, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The relief flooded through the young man’s body as he strode confidently behind Mr. Travers. One step closer to Buffy. One step closer to getting rid of Spike for good.

*************

She stowed it in the brush outside the castle, doing everything she could to make its clarion ring as quiet as possible. Taking it inside would only be tipping her hand, and Buffy wanted to confront Duncan with as much ammo as she possibly could. If he knew she’d found the harness in his stash of dead bodies, no telling how he would react. But first, time to arm up.

His body just inside the doorway jerked her to a halt, and Buffy sighed as she tried to step around him. “Out of my way, Xander,” she said, heading down the hallway toward the weapons cache.

He followed after her, long steps sure, and grabbed her arm. “We need to talk,” he said. When she gazed back at him, hazel slightly glassy, his lips thinned. “In private,” he added, and began pulling her in the opposite direction toward the stairwell.

She followed blindly, not questioning her friend’s motives. It was only when they were on the upper floor, when he had let go of her arm, did she speak. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did something happen while I was out?”

“Kind of.” He stood back, and under her watchful gaze, straightened, lifting his head and staring at her with wide brown eyes.

It was the last thing she expected…the rippling of his skin as he seemed to shrink, his hair to grow…lighten…the chocolate of his eyes dissolving into hazel. Within seconds, Buffy found herself staring into her own face, grim and unsmiling, and only moments after that before she realized what it was standing in front of her.

Her foot lashed out, connecting with the kelpie’s gut, sending it reeling against the stone wall. “Nice trick,” she spat. “But I’ve got you figured out, Duncan, or whatever your name is. Don’t think I’m going to let you kill my friends like you killed all those other people. Not on my watch.”

“Not…wish to…”

It was weird hearing her own voice arguing back with her, and for a second, Buffy faltered, the punch she’d been about to throw catching for a millisecond before it landed. It was enough to allow the kelpie to react, to catch her hand within his, and to stay her movement as it began to shift again…sprouting the black coat she’d seen down in the dungeons…teeth elongating…

“You are a worthy fighter,” it said, its words gliding into her, using his charms to calm her nerves. “But I am not the one you wish to battle.” Very slowly, it released her from its grip, stepping back. And waited.

“Really?” she said, fists still poised, shoulders ready, prepared for another assault should it come. “Who are you then?”

“The last remaining guardian of the Otherworld,” it replied, “and we share a common enemy. I believe you call him…Duncan.”