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

Her arm was stone as she lifted her hand to knock at Buffy’s door. I wonder if they’re still fighting, Dawn thought wearily. Although she had slept after their arrival at this…well, she was going to call it a hotel even though it didn’t look like any hotel she’d ever seen before---her dreams had been fraught with images of the blond pair arguing, physically fighting even though Spike’s chip was supposed to prevent that, their faces superimposing over the bodies of her mom and dad during the worst of their pre-divorce battles. She would not consider herself rested; instead, she was a bundle of nerves, frightened of what she was going to encounter on the other side of the door, worried that things might have actually gotten worse.

Worse is not possible, a little voice inside her head chirped. But even if they are fighting, at least that would mean Spike’s now up and that he’s all right. The teenager had yet to see him awake since Dolly’s rescue; Buffy had been quick to dispatch her to her own room once they had arrived, firmly shutting the door behind her even though Dawn’s arguments had still been coming as to why she wanted to be there when the vampire woke up. The blonde didn’t understand the depth of Dawn’s devotion to Spike, or the fears that plagued her that she was going to lose another member of what she considered her family. This was it. No more letting Buffy shut her out. She was putting her foot down here and now.

As soon as the door opened, she was speaking. “Don’t you dare close this,” Dawn warned, grabbing the door jamb so that Buffy would be forced to slam it on her fingers if she actually did so. “I need to make sure Spike’s OK.”

His head poked around the heavy wood at the sound of his name, a grin spreading across his classical features. “Mornin’, Bit,” he said.

Her eyes widened, and for the first time, she saw that her sister was smiling, opening the door further to allow her entrance as she stepped back to give her room to come in. It wasn’t one of those fake now-is-not-the-time-for-this smiles, either. This was relaxed Buffy, the life-is-actually-pretty-good Buffy, the Buffy she hadn’t seen since the night she brought Spike home for dinner. Dawn felt the tension begin to ease from her stomach, the words she’d prepared dissolve on her tongue, and she edged her way into the room, watching as the vamp crossed to the dresser and pulled out a shirt.

“Hungry?” Buffy asked, closing the door behind her.

The question took her by surprise. “Um, starving, actually,” she replied hesitantly. Her blue gaze flickered between the two, watching Spike’s pale muscles flex as he pulled a tee over his head---was that a wince she just saw?---before skittering to view her sister pick up the telephone on the nightstand. “Are you ordering breakfast? I want pancakes, a huge stack. With blueberry syrup.” She waited until Buffy was busy talking before crossing to the vamp, laying her hand gently on his forearm. “You OK?” she queried softly, eyes searching his face for any sign of a potential lie. He’d do that, to protect her, just like her sister would, but right now, she was past being able to handle that.

He gave her a playful poke on her shoulder, flicking the ends of her hair as he grinned. “You Summers women are a lot of fussbudgets, you are,” he teased, and then hesitated just ever so slightly, as if he were listening to something only he could hear. After a moment, he went on as if nothing had happened. “Don’t be frettin’ over my sorry carcass. It’s goin’ to take more than the Council of Wankers to bring me down.” He leaned conspiratorially in toward her, glancing at the Slayer out of the corner of his eye, the twinkle there unmistakable. “That honor’s probably goin’ to be your sister’s cookin’,” he added, sotto voce, and then ducked when a pillow came flying through the air, laughing as it hit the wall behind him.

Dawn joined in the merriment, grateful for the return of normalcy that permeated the air, even if she didn’t completely understand how it had happened. “Be thankful you have a liquid diet,” she added. “I’m the one she’s probably going to kill. Have you had her Pasta Surprise?”

Buffy set down the phone, hands on her hips. “That wasn’t my fault,” she argued, but there was a smile on her face, belying the quarrelsome tone in her voice. “That was the cheese’s.”

The teenager rolled her eyes. “Because cheese is supposed to be that color,” she said.

“It was pretty!”

“It was toxic!”

“Everything turned out fine, didn’t it? I see you standing here, being all about the complaining. It’s not like I actually killed you, you know.”

“Because Mom drove me to the hospital to get my stomach pumped!” Dawn turned to Spike. “Thank god at least you can drive. I think we’re going to need a delivery service to the emergency room with Buffy in charge of the kitchen now.”

He chuckled. “Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now, we’ll just rely on good old demon room service.”

“Is that where we are?” Her voice was a combination of shock and awe. “Some kind of resort for the demon set?”

“Yes, which means no more leaving your room unless one of us is with you.” Buffy’s tone afforded no room for argument. “The last thing I need to be worrying about right now is whether or not something’s taking a bite out of you. Although they’d probably just spit you back out again. I hear teenaged girls are actually kind of salty.”

Although the jokes bandied about were effectively clearing the air, lessening Dawn’s apprehension about the situation between her two favorite people in the world, it didn’t change the reality of why they were actually there in the first place. There was silence for a moment, and then her eyes settled on the stack of books near the bed, drifting over the leathered covers, the gilt corners. “So,” she said, and her voice had grown serious again. “I guess it’s back to the research, then, huh?”

The levity in the room eased, wiping the smile from Spike’s face, leaving a frown on Buffy’s. “Cort was right,” the Slayer finally said. “Without answers, we’re running blind here. We need to find some way to stop these…Soul Eaters without having to make any more sacrifices. I’m not prepared to lose anyone else over this.” This was as close as she could let herself broach the subject of her mother’s death at the moment. They had to move on, Buffy knew that, but she also couldn’t forget that this new threat was the reason Joyce had been stripped from their lives. And she wanted revenge for that.

“Did you have any more dreams about them?”

A guilty look passed between the vampire and Slayer, and Dawn swore she saw a flush creep into her sister’s cheeks. “No,” Buffy said. “Just…regular-type dreams. The…restful kind.”

Somehow, she thought there was more than was being said, but from the wicked gleam in Spike’s eye, Dawn suspected it was probably of the she’s-too-young-for-that-kind-of-talk talk, and instead crossed to the stack of books. “I guess we better get cracking then,” she said, and then grimaced as she glanced at the first page. “Are any of these actually in English?”

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

His reach for her was automatic, hand curling around her hip as he pulled her back into his, burying his nose in the white hair that spilled over her shoulder without even opening his eyes. His dreams had been troubled, images of Cortina being flayed by the Council while he was bound at the side, helpless to do anything but watch as Quentin Travers slowly peeled her skin from her flesh and fed it to a wraith-like creature chained at his feet. More than once, Giles had woken just to reassure himself that she was still there, laying his hand over her pulse point to feel her heartbeat tattoo against his fingerpads in a gentle reminder that she still lived and breathed, before allowing himself to drift back into slumber.

He couldn’t lose her. Even if the impediments to their relationship seemed insurmountable…even if everything she embodied was indicative of the forces he’d been battling for the last twenty years…even if it hurt sometimes to look into those pale blue eyes and see himself reflected back…Giles knew her absence from his life would be worse, would create an ache that would echo in every aspect of his existence.

And so he would fight. Together, they would find whatever answers were necessary to protect Buffy and Spike, and in the process, do what they could to keep her safe from the Council’s clutches. What would happen afterward, he had no idea. That was a matter to consider when the current catastrophe was averted, when they were through with the fighting.

Now, however, he wished to sleep.

She heard him stir and sighed, letting her eyes return to the book she had cradled in her arm. She had been up for hours, unable to let loose the fetters of her thoughts, and so had finally risen, returning to the bed she shared with Rupert with the first of many books she would read that day, searching for answers she was convinced they weren’t going to find. Cortina knew these texts, believed they hid no truths that she didn’t already know, and yet, she would read them through, searching for the keys to unlock their predicament. Because Rupert did believe, was a staunch supporter in the power of information, and for that, she would stand at his side.

“Well, aren’t you just too cute for words,” she heard from behind her, and glanced over her shoulder to see a diaphanous Dolly hovering at the foot of the bed.

“Shhh,” Cortina whispered. “You’ll wake Rupert.”

“Rupert’s already awake,” he grumbled, letting her loose to reach behind him for his glasses. So much for more sleep. “Hello, Dolly.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled from her throat as she glanced back at the Englishman, wondering if he realized what he’d just said, the urge to break out into song suddenly too inappropriate for the moment. Instead, she focused on her friend, sliding herself up and setting the book aside. “I’d say it’s so nice to have you back where you belong,” she quipped with a sly glance toward the man at her side, “but I have a feeling I might get scolded for being too silly this early in the morning.”

“Only if you tell her she’s looking swell,” he said dryly, and slid his spectacles onto his nose. He immediately frowned. “Oh,” he commented, gazing at the green demon. “You haven’t fully materialized. I thought it was just my eyes.”

“I stopped by because you’ve got a problem on your hands,” Dolly said.

“Well, yes, we’re aware of our problems, thank you. Soul Eaters, the Council chasing Cortina---.”

“More than that. Your Council’s playing hardball. They snatched the two little witches from Cort’s caves.”

Giles stiffened, senses alert, while at his side, Cortina rolled her eyes. Great, she thought. Yet another complication. Gotta give them credit for having balls, though. Kidnapping Spike, kidnapping her best friends. They must not be too interested in staying on the Slayer’s good side if they were willing to go to such lengths just to protect her.

“How do you know this?” the Watcher asked.

Dolly shrugged. “Gave the caves a little drive-by, thought I’d see how they were doing.” At Cortina’s amused gaze, she bristled. “You’ve really got to take better care of your pets, you know. One of these days, I’m not going to be around to save them from certain squashdom.”

“You didn’t exactly save them this time---,” Giles started, only to stop when Cortina squeezed his arm.

“Thank you for stopping by and telling us,” she said to her friend. “I don’t suppose you know where they took them?”

“Nope. Just thought you should be informed.” Her form began to fade, and the pair on the bed were just easing back with a heavy sigh when she re-materialized. “By the way,” Dolly added, “just so you know. The Soul Eaters are on the move again.”

That brought Giles back to attention. “How long before they find Buffy and Spike?”

“No way of telling. Really depends on whether or not they make any pitstops along the way. I’d say you’ve got at least two or three days, though.” She smiled. “I’ve got the lovebirds tucked away nice and safe, don’t worry.”

She left for good this time, leaving Giles and Cortina each lost in his and her thoughts. “Why would they take Willow and Tara?” he finally mused out loud.

“To lure us back. They’re the bait.” She paused. “I’m sure they’re not in any real danger. Even Quentin Travers isn’t that stupid.”

“No, I’m sure you’re right.” Except he wasn’t. Quentin was already proving to be unpredictable…kidnapping Cortina, kidnapping Spike, now kidnapping Willow and Tara. He’s seen one too many documentaries on the Lindbergh baby, he thought dryly. He only hoped that the two witches fared better.

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

“Try again,” she asked, blue eyes intent on her girlfriend.

Willow’s lids fluttered closed, her breathing slow and even, and the minutes seemed to audibly tick away as Tara waited, her legs tucked underneath her. “Nope,” the redhead finally said, opening her eyes. “I got exactly nada juice here.”

They were sitting on a bed identical to ones they had seen when they’d gone in search of Spike, and there was no doubt in either of their minds where exactly they were, or who exactly had grabbed them. The Council. And they were in the same building they’d housed Cortina during their brief interrogation of her. The why of it wasn’t exactly clear at the moment, but the sound of voices in the hallways convinced both of them that it probably wouldn’t be long before they were told. At least, that’s what they hoped.

All their attempts to utilize magic to affect an escape had been for naught. It was just as if Cortina was sitting in the room with them; every time they would attempt to garner the forces necessary to do any type of spell, something---someone?---sucked it all away, leaving them with empty air and increasing frustration. It’s not like they were really scared; in light of the danger that now threatened their friends, it didn’t seem so likely that the Council’s plans could be any worse. It was just maddening knowing they could get out if only they had the full use of their powers.

When the knock finally came at the door, neither girl was surprised, and Willow’s “Come in,” was automatic, blushing as she glanced back at her partner for her silliness. Two armed men in black entered, their weapons trained on the pair on the bed, and the girls straightened as Quentin Travers came in after them.

He stopped just inside the door. “If you would come with me, please,” he said, not even offering a greeting but turning back on his heel to return to the hall.

The guards waited for the witches to stand and follow after Quentin, frowns puzzling their faces. “What exactly’s going on here?” Willow dared to ask as they trailed after the Council head. “Why are we being held hostage? And why won’t our magic work?”

“You ask far too many questions, Miss Rosenberg,” he replied, never breaking stride. They turned a corner and he came to a halt in front of a different door. “How much has Cortina shared with you regarding…the Slayer’s current situation?”

They glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes before Willow turned her innocent face to the older man. “What makes you think she’s said anything?” she replied, holding her chin high, her voice just a trifle too loud. Play it cool, she thought. Don’t let him know that you know how much you know. God, that sentence hurt just thinking it.

Travers shook his head. “Come now, Miss Rosenberg. I have no time for such games. Rupert and the Slayer would not have fought so bravely against my men if the Vrolek had not made her circumstances very clear. Now. This will go much quicker if you cease being evasive and simply answer my question. Do I need to repeat it?”

There was no point in continuing to pretend. “She told us about the Soul Eaters and how you want to use her to stop them,” Willow said quietly.

“Good. Then, I don’t have to waste my energy explaining it to you.” He paused. “The children of the wind are already claiming victims in their search for our runaways. But, perhaps you know this already…” As his hand gripped the knob, Quentin quietly turned it, pushing it open to expose the room behind it, then stepped back to allow the two witches a clear view.

It was almost empty, but in the center of the room, laid out on a gurney, lay the body of Joyce Summers.

Willow audibly gasped, eyes going wide as saucers, as Tara found her lover’s hand and squeezed it tight. The redhead swiveled her head to stare at the older man. “You’re the ones who took her body?” she demanded. “Buffy’s been totally freaking out about that. Why would you do something so sick and twisted?”

“Because it might be possible yet to save her,” he replied calmly. “Provided we are able to bind the children of the wind in time.” His smile was tight. “That is why it is in your best interest to tell me where exactly you hid the Vrolek. We will forego trying to divert the children by splitting Spike from the Slayer if we can conduct the ritual within the next twenty-four hours. After that, it will be far too dangerous to leave them together and we will resume our search for the vampire in full earnest.”

“But we don’t know where they are,” Willow stated, her voice rising. “We’re not the ones who took them away.”y had left for him. Yes, this was the right thing to do. After everything she had done for him, he o

Though no emotions registered on his face, Travers’ silence was testimony to his regret at hearing such a reply. He had deliberately chosen to have the body sent back to Sunnydale, along with bringing in the pair from England to help contain the witches, on the assurance that once they knew the situation, the Slayer’s friends would do everything in their power to help bring her mother back to the world of the living. Now, though, it appeared that that would not happen.

“That…is…unfortunate,” he finally said, and reached past the girls to pull the door closed, his mouth grim. “I had hoped---.”

“But it might be possible to contact who did,” Willow rushed. She waited until he was looking at her to continue. “It would require us using magic, though.”

He shook his head. “That is not possible.” Quentin looked past them at the two guards. “Return them to their quarters.” Waiting until they had disappeared back around the corner of the hallway, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his mind worked over the shambles of a plan he had left before him. There was an additional party in the mix, someone who knew how to get to both the Vrolek and the Slayer, and now he was left with two ineffective witches, a corpse, and a burden he would rather have left in England. This was not turning out to be a very good day.

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

He had thought she would return. Every other time the redhead had left, she had come back within hours, or at least assured him that she would be there soon. This time had been different. She hadn’t even said good-bye, which, although her guardianship of him had been brief, was wrong, and the Hound knew it.

Lifting his dark head, Elvis sniffed at the air, her scent trailing on the wind like a beacon calling him home. He did not understand the pervasive medicinal scent that undercut it, but the aromas of the black-clad men were familiar. They had been at the end of the trail when he’d been searching for the white one. That had not been a good situation, and to think that his caretaker was now in their custody filled the Hound with a sense of foreboding.

Lumbering to his feet, the Hound began his trek across the brightly lit desert, his nose to the ground as he followed the path thewed it to the red-haired witch to go to her aid. She had, after all, come to his.

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

They could’ve been anywhere---in the Magic Box, the defunct high school library, Spike’s crypt. The fact that they were buried in research in the middle of Club Med for the demon set didn’t faze the trio in the least. Dolly had taken great care to secret them away, arranging for a room with no windows so that the vacationing hordes would be unable to see the Slayer and her entourage, choosing a resort that would cater to their specific human and vampire needs without calling too much attention to themselves, even leaving the supplies necessary should they feel the need to contact her. Not that she thought she would be able to handle the spell on her own, Buffy thought wryly, as her gaze stole to the leather bag slouched near the door. But it was nice to have the option.

It almost felt normal, in a weird, alternate-dimension sort of way. Dawn was teasing Spike, Spike was playing footsie with Buffy under the small table, and the Slayer was having her usual troubles focusing on the texts, wishing instead she could be out somewhere, beating something up to vent her frustrations. Those were fewer, thanks to their dream conversation and the fact that they’d actually managed to get some real rest from their slumber this time. No hint of the Soul Eaters, just uninterrupted bliss…talking, and having sex, and more talking, and more sex. It was only the residual burning sensation between her breasts, the phantom pain that mirrored Spike’s, that kept her rooted in the very real here and now.

In his chair opposite, the vampire shifted his weight, wincing slightly as he did so, a small line appearing between his brows as he absentmindedly plucked at the front of his shirt, pulling it just enough away from his skin to ease the friction.

The action didn’t go unnoticed by the youngest person present. “OK, that’s it,” Dawn announced, setting her book down in front of her with a loud thud. “Somebody do some spilling, because you’re totally flying me over the cuckoo’s nest here.”

Buffy frowned. “Spilling about what?”

“About why Spike is in pain. And don’t tell me he’s not. He’s been giving off this macho, not going to complain vibe, ever since I walked through the door.” Her eyes shifted between the pair. “Did something happen that you guys aren’t telling me because you’re worried about protecting poor little Dawnie? Because, gotta tell you, it’s a little late for that. I’m on this ride, whether you like it or not, and I’m not getting off until it’s run its course.”

The vampire’s mouth twitched. I’ll give Bit credit for one thing, he thought, aiming it directly at Buffy. She’s a helluva lot more observant than you ever were.

The blonde rolled her eyes. Thanks, she shot back, and sighed. “It was Spike’s dream,” she said. “He’s the one who should tell you about it.”

“And it’s like I said, you don’t need to be fussin’ over me,” he said to Dawn, awkwardly patting her hand in some semblance of reassurance. “It was just one of those Soul Eaters takin’ a shot. It’s done, it’s over with, and can we get back to the bloody books, please?”

It wasn’t so much his cavalier attitude about the whole thing; Buffy was used to Spike not wanting to dwell too much on his dreams by this point. It was the wall that immediately sprang up around his thoughts as he spoke to her younger sister, the scurrying she could almost see him doing to avoid addressing the issue in any depth. What’s going on? she shot at him, and was grimly satisfied to see him unable to meet her eyes.

Nothing. It’s nothing. It’s like I said. Don’t fuss.

Don’t make me dig on this. Please, Spike. If it’s something to do with these ghost things, the more information we have the better. God, I’m sounding like Giles. See what you do to me?

In spite of his reluctance to talk about it, Spike couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips. “Is this what it’s going to be like when we get back to SunnyD?” he asked out loud, shaking his head. “You two playing tag team in order to get to me?”

Dawn’s eyes went wide. “Is she think-talking at you again?” she quizzed. She faced off with her sister. “I thought you said you weren’t going to do that in front of me. It’s too weird.”

“Try being on this end of it,” Buffy replied. “C’mon, Spike. Tell us what happened. Why are you trying to hide on this?”

She wasn’t going to give. He didn’t need to be able to read her mind to suss that one out. With a twist of his neck to relieve the tension that had suddenly sprung there, Spike leaned heavily back into his chair, lifting his arms to entwine his fingers behind his head. “First off, the fuckin’ bitch talks too much,” he growled to start.

“I sincerely hope you’re referring to the Soul Eater,” Buffy said calmly.

“The Soul Eater’s a woman?” asked Dawn. Why hadn’t anyone told her this little tidbit already?

“In my dreams, she is,” Spike explained. “And when she showed her face in Buffy’s dream, too. But my money’s on that that’s just a convenient form for it to take. ‘Cause that’s how it gets to us the most.”

The Slayer’s face was somber. “It talked to you.” She refused to call it “she.” She wasn’t giving it the satisfaction. “What did it say?”

“I told you some of it already. She got good and pissed when I said you were goin’ to kick her ass.” He grinned, the image of Buffy in the middle of a melee, all gold and black and power unrestrained, stiffening his cock, darkening his eyes as he regarded her.

Buffy blushed, crossing her legs to stifle the tingle that had sprung to her clit. “Not that I’m not glad you’re just as insufferable in your dreams as you can be in real life, but there’s more you’re not telling me here. Us,” she corrected hastily as Dawn shot her a dirty look. “What else got said that’s got your head doing its best Great Wall of China impersonation?”

Looking at those grey-green eyes, he could feel her edging around the borders of his mind, trying to coax her way inside without forcing his defenses back up, both soothing him with her presence and scaring the shit out of him by making him realize he wasn’t going to be able to protect her from this. In all their dream talking, and even in the snippets they’d had before slipping onto their fantasy beach, he’d deliberately refrained from sharing what the creature had said for fear of alerting Buffy’s Slayer instincts even more. Now, though, it was time to stop hiding, and face whatever wrath his partner was going to wreak when she found out the truth.

“You’re not their primary target,” Spike finally said. His voice was low, his blue eyes steady on her face, watching the emotions there settle into confusion.

“What’s that?”

“She called you dessert,” he said a little louder. “Not that that isn’t a delightful image, but apparently, the one they’re really after is me.” His lips curled into a mocking sneer. “This is one time I wish I wasn’t so damn appealing,” he joked derisively.

“But…at the house…” She could still feel the cold fingers winding around her legs, smell the sticky sweetness in the air. “The Council thinks I’m the one who’s most at threat here. Cortina said.”

Spike snorted. “Travers is a tosser, who’s managed to throw a spanner in the works at every turn he’s taken,” he said. “You think he’s got any real clue what these Soul Eaters want? Something tells me he’s not exactly been included on the invite list when they made up their little plan of attack. He probably knows just enough to get himself worked up into a lather and make the rest of us all run willy-nilly after our own tails, because we don’t have the full story.” He straightened, leaning forward to talk directly to Buffy. “I may not like what the bitch was saying, but damn if I don’t believe every word that comes out of her mouth.”

The anger and fear rolled off him in waves, but undercutting all of it was a sense of…awe? frustration?...could that really be it? Buffy frowned, probing at his thoughts as gently as he could, silently irritated when they refused to give beneath her touch. “Why is that?” she asked quietly. “You’ve said before it’s taking a form that gets to you. Who are you talking to when it visits you, Spike?”

He’d known she was going to ask, knew that his time for running from this confrontation had officially expired even as he’d settled into discussing it. Unbidden, the face floated before his inner eye, the blue eyes glittering from some ravenous hunger, the angles of her cheeks softened by the light brown hair curling gently against her skin, and he ducked his own gaze, concentrating on the worn spine of the book on the table, feeling the well of tears sting as they threatened to spill.

“Not that it makes a lick of difference in why I believe her,” he said, and there was the faintest of tremors in his voice as he spoke. “But the bloody bitch always comes a-callin’ looking exactly like my mum.”

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

He was oblivious to seeming out of place as he prowled around the building, his red eyes staring, scrutinizing, contemplating what exactly his next move was going to be. She was inside, and the scent of her fear hung in the air, palpable even through the concrete walls, raising his hackles in anger. That same medicinal current lay beneath the aromas that now filled his nostrils, and though he could sense no blood, it didn’t stop the Hound from battling the fear that something dire had happened to his caretaker. He just wished he knew what to do next.

Sometimes, being a six-foot hellhound was not necessarily a good thing. For instance, though it might prove handy being so large and powerful while in a fight, when it came to traversing paths meant for humans---specifically, doorways and corridors---Elvis was at a severe disadvantage, his options limited. The red-haired witch was inside, and he was out, and each and every entrance to the prison that held her carried with it the danger of being confronted by one of the many men who also remained within. With his mobility impaired, he needed to ensure his path was as clear as possible before negotiating it. He had no doubt he could effectively contend with a few humans; it was the possibility of that few becoming a multitude that he feared.

That was when he saw them, the double doors almost completely hidden by the bushes lining the road leading down to them. They were loading doors, although he knew not the name for them; the Hound’s primary thought was that not only were they open, but they were also extra-wide and extra-tall, affording him plenty of space to move and fight, should the occasion arise.

A quick sniff at the air and he knew it was relatively deserted, a single man just on the inside. More would come, of that he was sure, and so his time to strike was now, while he could claim the advantage. And with his silent tread, Elvis crept toward the entrance.

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

There were supplies from England that were to be arriving any moment, but Travers’ mind was elsewhere, mulling over the circumstances surrounding the Slayer and her friends. Perhaps he’d been too hasty in denying Willow’s suggestion of contacting the person who’d removed Buffy from their reaches. So far, all the attempts by the seers in London to locate the missing parties had been futile, and the stresses along the Hellmouth were growing, the need to bind the Soul Eaters more urgent if they were going to be able to restore Joyce Summers to life. He couldn’t help but believe that if Buffy knew the true circumstances regarding her mother’s situation, she would be the first person to hand over the Vrolek. After all, Cortina was just a demon, and part of the Slayer’s duty was to protect the world from such.

Doing the spell to contact this outside party, however, would mean relocating the witches, and at this point in time, Quentin was unsure as to the wisdom in that. Here, they were powerless. Move them, and they could very well slip from his fingers.

When the telephone in front of him began to ring, he almost didn’t want to answer it, rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he sighed heavily. Sometimes, he wished he wasn’t the ultimate authority, that there was someone else who could shoulder some of the burden he carried. Now, though, it was not the time for having sundry dreams that were entirely made in the clouds.

“Yes?” he said into the receiver, his voice weary.

“Sir, there’s a problem down in the loading docks. I think you should come at once.”

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

Both of them had been silent for minutes, the image of Joyce Summers still hovering between them like…well, like a ghost. Willow grimaced. Creepy, and ooky, and did the Council really think they could bring her back from the dead when she didn’t have a soul anymore? That was powerful magic. Even she knew that you didn’t mess around with that kind of thing. People inevitably came back wrong. But still, why would they go to the bother if they weren’t sure it couldn’t be done? Travers even suggested some kind of window of opportunity, which leant his story a certain credence that the redhead was finding it difficult to ignore.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. She’d loved Joyce, saw her as a second mom, and one of the hardest things Willow had ever had to do was watch her best friend suffer when she discovered her dead. If it was possible to bring her back, to restore to Buffy what had been stolen from her, the young witch would’ve been first in line to try. She just didn’t see how it could be done.

“Maybe it’s not our choice to make,” Tara said softly, the first words she’d spoken since they’d returned to their room. “Maybe we need to stop considering the what ifs and just focus on getting out of here.”

“You’re right,” Willow sighed, leaning into the gentle touch her lover extended. “I know you’re right. I was just, you know, in the whole contemplative place of my brain, the one where even the craziest ideas sound like they should work and not go kaplooie in my face.” She smiled wanly. “I think you’d be surprised how much time I actually spend in there.”

“Why do you think our magic isn’t working?”

Willow shook her head. “I’d say it feels like a dampening field, but I just don’t know how---.” A thundering crash out in the hallway startled both of them, choking the words in the redhead’s throat as they jumped from the bed.

“W-w-what was that?” Tara asked.

Muffled shouts turned into a tortured scream, and the pair shrank away from the door as the walls seemed to shake, grasping hands as they backed into the far corner. The scream burbled into silence, and the two girls just stared at the door, eyes wide, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.

What dropped was the door. With a thunderous crash, it collapsed inward, shards of wood splintering through the air, and the girls shrieked, ducking their heads as they hid from whatever was entering.

His whine was the last thing she expected to hear. Peeking through her fingers, Willow’s green eyes went wide as she saw the hulking form of the Hound in the doorway, his red eyes fixed on them, tongue lolling as he slowly panted, waiting for them to see him.

“Elvis!” she cried out, breaking free from her girlfriend to rush to the dog’s side. Immediately, Tara joined her, two sets of arms and lips cuddling and kissing the canine’s black fur. “Such a good puppy,” Willow crooned, the relief that they were going to get out of the Council’s clutches after all suffusing her body. “Somebody’s getting a huge Scooby treat when we get back…” Her voice dwindled to nothing as she saw the bloody corpses of the two guards who’d been watching them strewn through the hall, and her smile slowly faded.

Tara followed her gaze, and paled. “Oops,” she joked, trying to make light of the carnage.

The redhead set her lips and held up a warning finger to the dog. “Not so good, puppy,” she warned. “What’ve I told you about eating people, huh? Repeat after me. People are not finger food.” The only reply was another whine, and Elvis’ tongue slowly licked the hand she held up to him.

“I think he’s glad to see you,” Tara said.

Willow’s resolve face melted. How could she stay mad at him when he’d just risked everything to come to their rescue? Of course, they still had to get out of the building in one piece, but now they had a six-foot hellhound on their side. The odds were definitely looking up. “Well,” she said reluctantly, and playfully scratched under Elvis’ chin. “I think maybe this one time we might be able to do the overlooking thing.”

“What about the escaping thing? Think we can give that one a go?”

“No maybe there. Let’s get out of here.”

The two witches eased their way past the Hound, looking up and down the hallway, trying to discern their bearings. Outside of the scarlet stains that now marred the floor, each way looked the same, and they hesitated, brows furrowed while they debated which direction to take.

Elvis made the decision for them, loping off to the right, the girls right on his heels. When he began bounding up stairs, Tara and Willow exchanged a surprised look.

“Did you teach him that trick?” the blonde teased gently.

“No, but I’m going to remember to thank whoever did.”

One flight, two…the numbers began to blur as they raced. They could hear the faraway shouts as the Council’s men were alerted to the escape, but chose to ignore it, concentrating instead on following the Hound to safety.

He stopped at seven floors, his head tilting as he seemed to be listening, then giving the air a distinct sniff. Immediately, Willow was at his side, rubbing his head. “What is it, puppy?” she asked. “You smell something interesting?”

Elvis hesitated only a moment longer then ambled a few feet forward, stopping at a closed door, nudging at the knob with his nose.

“You don’t think they got Spike or Cortina again, do you?” Tara asked as the redhead’s hand closed around the knob.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “But he wants us to see whatever’s in there so we better at least look.”

The room was in darkness when she pushed the door open, and Willow fumbled along the jamb, feeling for the switch. When she turned it on, though, her heart stopped, her green eyes wide, and she audibly swallowed as she stood rooted in her spot.

“How many dead people does the Council have around here?” she whispered.

At her shoulder, Tara’s face was equally pale, her gaze fixed on the center of the room. “Willow…I don’t think they’re dead.”

Two beds. The shine of magic surrounding them. And lying inert in each, two small Vroleks, one girl, one boy, eyes closed, chests just barely moving…

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

She didn’t understand why there hadn’t been any guards on the door. As security-aware as Travers seemed to be, the least she would’ve expected was someone watching to make sure the Vroleks were confined. Well, big fat duh, Willow thought, her feet unconsciously leading her to the edge of the beds. No reason to guard what isn’t really going anywhere.

And they weren’t. Though they appeared to be dead, the slight rise and fall in their chests betrayed the life that still slept somewhere in the two small bodies of the demons, white hair spilling to the mattresses, hands laid gently at their sides. If pressed, Willow would’ve put their ages at around ten, the female slightly older, the delicate curve of young breasts just beginning to thrust beneath the white robe she wore. Their skin was just as colorless, and if they’d been able to open their eyes, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see the same pale blue that reflected from Cortina’s aspect.

Slowly, Willow’s hand lifted, fingertips grazing the magical field that surrounded the pair, a shower of silvery sparks sifting harmlessly over her skin. “How is this possible?” she breathed, her voice full of wonder. “They’re Vroleks. This isn’t supposed to happen.”

Just behind her, Tara pointed toward the only spot of color on the pallor before them. “It might have something to do with that,” she said, just as quietly.

The redhead’s gaze slid from the faces in repose to the small dais that was situated between them, and the crystal that set on top of it. It glowed from an inner sapphire light, fading to white as the energy that seeped from it reached to spread and surround the two beds. “They found a way to counter their natural defenses,” she said.

“Maybe not counter. After all, we still can’t use our magic. But maybe…it’s like taking advantage of a blind spot or something.”

“It would explain how they were able to do whatever ritual they need to bind the Soul Eaters,” Willow said. “Cortina didn’t know the details when she told us what they did to her chil…” She couldn’t even finish the word, the connection finally making itself clear in her head. “You don’t…think…” Her eyes finally tore away from the demons to stare at her girlfriend. “These couldn’t be Cortina’s, could they?”

“That was over a hundred years ago. Wouldn’t they have aged?”

There was no time for Willow to respond. A sharp bark from Elvis behind them distracted them from the two Vroleks, turning their heads as they heard the distant shouts of men begin to grow louder. “We’ll think about it later,” the redhead said. “After we get out of here.”

All thoughts of the demons they’d discovered vanished as the witches returned to the hall and raced for the door at its end, the Hound on their heels. They recognized the exit now, but blinked when they stepped out into the sunshine, the sudden illumination blinding in contrast to the dimly lit hallways. More shouting from behind them, and Tara’s head whipped around to see a group of armed men barreling down the hall, their boots resounding against the floor.

“Get on Elvis!” Willow instructed sharply, leaning in to speak softly into the Hound’s ear.

Tara watched as the dog bowed to its front knees, lowering his head to allow them to climb on, and grabbed her girlfriend’s arm to steady herself as she clambered aboard. As she felt the animal’s powerful muscles flex beneath her, springing away from the building to begin running down the sidewalk, she clung to Willow, leaning against her for support. “Why do I feel like shouting, ‘Hi ho, Silver, away!’?” she yelled into the redhead’s ear.

“You can shout whatever you want as soon as we get to the Magic Box,” Willow cried back. “Just don’t fall off.”

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

In spite of the wall that barricaded Spike’s thoughts, Buffy could feel the raw emotion seeping through the imaginary stones…the anxiety that edged his nerves, an underlying love tempering them in reluctance, but most of all, a surprising fear that seemed to tint his thoughts in orange flames. It struck her that in the time they had been joined since the cleansing, in spite of being privy to all his other memories, not once had the specter of his mother arisen, even when they’d been forced to confront the issue of Joyce. That would’ve been expected, she realized. To think of his own mom when she had lost hers. And yet…

But he’d said when they’d first arrived that there was a part of his head that was locked away from her, that the Soul Eater was the only one to see. Knowing now that it was taking the form of his human mother made it logical that that aspect of his history was hidden from her for some reason. Why, though, she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“What does she say to you?” Dawn was asking, her young face pensive.

Spike shrugged. “Just the usual bollocks,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Nothin’ worth repeatin’. Nothin’ I haven’t already done the show and tell with, at least.”

“But it picks that form for a reason. You said that yourself.” She didn’t want to press him. Buffy could feel his nerves skittering like roaches fleeing from sudden light, and knew that even the mention of this subject was making him incredibly jumpy. But they needed answers. And it looked like he was the one who had them.

“Yeah,” Dawn agreed. “Did you have issues with her when you were still human? Is that why it can hurt you?”

“No.” His denial bordered on the vehement, and he rose to his feet, stalking the length of the room behind his chair. “Me and my mum…were just fine when…there weren’t any problems, all right?”

“It’s OK. Relax---.”

“Then let this go. What happened when I was one of you has got bugger all to do with what’s goin’ on in my dreams.” His jaw was clenched, the muscles working in his cheek, and he refused to meet either set of eyes watching him pace. Spike could feel Buffy tiptoeing around inside his head, trying to get past the wall that had sprung there of its own accord and unconsciously, he summoned a remembered image, a particularly vicious kill from those days when he’d been all about proving himself to Angelus, and let her feel the demon’s pleasure that had suffused his body at the time.

It was a tactic of desperation, not one he would’ve deliberately have chosen in other circumstances, but it did the trick, startling the Slayer into stiffening in her chair, her mind retreating from his like a kicked puppy. The shock in her hazel eyes faded into a hesitant hurt, and she quickly ducked her head, locking her jaw and closing off her mind so that he couldn’t do it again.

Dawn’s eyes flickered between the two. Though she wasn’t privy to the thought sharing, she was far from blind, and something was definitely going on. We were doing so well, she thought sadly. Can’t these two go five minutes without something blowing up between them?

“Then tell us why it’s messing with you, Spike.” Buffy’s voice was tight. “Why, all of a sudden, is it hurting you?” Please, she asked silently. Let us in so that we can help.

He felt like an ass for doing what he’d done, and rubbed wearily at his face, a mute apology stretching to caress the ache in the young blonde’s heart as he did so. “It’s not all of a sudden,” he confessed. “It’s been doin’ this sort of rubbish all along.”

“But I haven’t seen anything. No marks, no bruises, not even a scrape. You don’t heal that quickly.”

“OK, time out here.” Dawn held up her hands in a t-shaped referee position. “Back up. It’s hurting Spike? I thought it was just in his head, a dreamland kind of thing.”

His eyes met Buffy’s---show her---and carefully, the vampire grasped the bottom hem of his tee and pulled it over his head, revealing the still angry burn mark emblazoned at the center of his chest.

Dawn gasped, jumping immediately from her chair to cross to him, her fingers reaching out to touch but hesitating, hovering just above his skin. It was healing, but slowly, crimson and violet streaks where the Soul Eater had reached in and squeezed, the tight drawing of the skin around it evidence of the curative process taking its time to restore the flesh to its natural smooth finish. “Does it hurt?” she asked, although she already knew the answer to that.

“Like a bitch,” he admitted. His proud smile took them both off-guard. “Pissed her off good, I did.”

“Needless to say, definitely one of your stronger abilities,” Buffy teased gently. The wall was still there, but his regret at lashing out had eased some of her distress, his reluctant willingness to expose even this much to Dawn---knowing how much he felt she needed to be protected---enough to garner her respect. Seeing the evidence of what he was enduring at the hands of this new threat, too, was working to lessen her anger at him, replacing it instead with an overwhelming desire for blood. She felt his gentle remonstrations inside her skull---not now---and inhaled deeply, quelling the rising hunger for violence in a shaky balm.

“And a Soul Eater did this?” The teenager’s voice was disbelieving, her blue eyes searching his for any indication that he might be holding back on her. When he nodded, she shook her head in counterpoint. “That’s not possible. They’re non-corporeal. How many times did I have to hear Giles and Cortina beat that point to death?”

“I think this proves that at least in Spike’s dreams, they’re more of the solid non-corporeal type of demons,” Buffy argued.

“Did it do this before?” Dawn asked the vampire.

“First time,” he replied, shaking his head. “Must’ve made her really brassed off for it to happen.”

“Plus it was getting near,” the dark-haired girl ruminated. “That’s why we had to leave so fast, right? Because they were closing in on you two?” There was no need for an answer from the others. Her musings were more rhetorical than anything else, her attention riveted by the wound on the demon before her. They stood there in silence for a full minute before Buffy finally spoke up.

“What is it?” she demanded of her sister. “What’s going through that hormone-driven head of yours?” What she wouldn’t give for a second to read that brain, she thought in frustration, and then decided, maybe not. I’d probably be overwhelmed in images of boy bands and Clearasil. Been there, got the t-shirt.

“It’s just…” Dawn lifted her gaze, a hint of self-satisfaction flickering across her face. “I’m thinking…if this demon can manifest itself into something solid so that it can attack Spike…doesn’t that mean it can then be killed?”

The simplicity of the logic hit both of them. Cortina’s argument---can’t kill what you can’t touch---was moot now, the possibility of ending this once and for all a specter looming before them. Almost immediately, both their minds swirled into a flurry of activity---get my bloody hands on that bitch…do it together…just need to sleep…need to be closer---bouncing and ricocheting off the other in a frenzy that contrasted with the utter stillness of their bodies.

In the midst of it all, though, one thought became crystal clear. “We need Giles,” Buffy said firmly, standing up and heading for the bag by the door.

“Think Cort’s goin’ to be pleased as punch she’s not goin’ to be needed in this particular business,” Spike agreed, and knelt at her side as they began extracting the supplies necessary to contact Dolly.

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

To be honest, the last thing she expected to see was the bright red head of one of Cort’s pet witches.

“You’re back!” Dolly exclaimed in shocked surprise, hovering in a diaphanous cloud above the floor, and then frowned, eyes glancing around to see the dim room, the punching bag, the wall of weapons near the door. “Wait,” she said. “This isn’t back. This is---.”

“Giles’ shop,” Willow explained, and hopped to her feet. “The Magic Box.”

“You haven’t been here the whole time?” the green demon asked suspiciously. “Because I told Cort---.” The low growl from behind her cut her off, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Elvis hovering in the entrance to the alleyway, tiny eyes narrowed as his hackles raised at Dolly’s presence. “Oh, hush up,” she scolded the canine, batting at it with a wave of her hand. “What are you going to take bite out of? Air?”

“It’s OK,” the redhead soothed to the Hound. She glanced back at the frowning demon. “He’s a little protective of me. Which is probably a good thing because he’s the reason Tara and I were able to pull our great escape from the Council.”

Her discomfort eased. “So, they did grab you,” she snorted. “I figured as much. But if you just called me here so that I could tell Cort, you’re too late. I already filled her in. But I can pop back there and tell her you two are safe now---.”

“Wait!” Willow watched as the form that had been fading returned to its half-solid form. “I was hoping we might be able to fix up a meeting. Us, Giles and Cortina, Buffy and Spike. We’ve…found some stuff out that we think is going to…change things.” She didn’t want to bring up the issue of the two Vroleks they’d found just yet. She had to find out from the white demon if she’d ever actually seen their dead bodies before broaching the possibility that they could somehow still be alive. Willow didn’t want to be responsible for getting up hopes, only to watch them go crashing to the ground.

“Change as in fix? Or change as in make worse?”

She bit at her lip. “The jury’s still out on that one just yet,” the witch admitted. “But definitely change.”

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

Each in the room sat in stunned silence, lost in the tumult the new information on the table now presented.

For Giles, a guilty sense of regret masked his disgust for the organization he’d applied his allegiance to for so many years. The Council’s methods had never seemed dubious to him prior to his involvement with his own Slayer; now, in the wake of seeing how those somewhat arbitrary decisions affected people he sincerely cared for and loved, he was being forced to re-evaluate the dedication he’d given them, his own dealings with their machinations.

For Cortina, every thought was colored in scarlet, fury with the Council for lying to her for so many years about the death of her children and anger with herself for never confirming it with her own two eyes. That decade-plus of destruction could’ve been avoided if she’d only pushed further, hunted for the truth. But no. She had relied upon what had seemed like reliable witnesses, and paid the consequences by wasting a century without her family. She had no doubt that the Vroleks they held were hers; their eternal youth could be explained away by whatever magical stasis the Council had placed them in. And more than anything else, she wanted them back.

For Spike, it was a light at the end of the tunnel. Dawn’s revelation had presented him with the key necessary to rid himself and Buffy of the Soul Eater threat, and though his heart ached with his lover’s at the Council’s duplicity in dealing with Joyce, his relief that his own torture would soon be over was more prevalent. Perhaps it was his own weariness in facing the events from over a century previous; perhaps it was his revolt against the more human characteristics he’d seemed to acquire since the cleansing. Regardless, the vampire was itching to rid himself of the ghost of his mother, of the memories seeing her invoked, once and for all.

It was worst for Buffy. Willow’s story both horrified her and offered hope, the knowledge that the Council would steal her mother’s corpse on the off-chance of returning her to life comforting in a weird sort of way. Maybe they were only interested in helping her, even if they showed some sick ways of showing it. Kidnapping her friends and her lover did not rate highly with her. Still, Cortina said it wasn’t possible, that death by the Soul Eaters was permanent. But she’d been wrong about her children and the use of magic, a small voice inside the Slayer’s head argued, so maybe she’s wrong about this as well. Buffy didn’t want to wish that things could return to the way they were before, only to have her heart broken again, but even the possibility that she could was too alluring to ignore.

As she lifted her eyes to look over her friends, Buffy felt Spike’s love wrap around her thoughts, reminding her yet again why this was all worth it, and used the strength it offered to meet a level gaze with Cortina. The words passed unspoken between the two, and finally the Vrolek gave her a short, sharp nod.

“It’s the only way,” she said, her control unable to keep the anger from honing her voice.

Giles frowned. “What’s the only way?” he asked.

“I want this done,” Buffy said. “And in order to do that, we need the cards on the table, face up, no more surprises.” Her mouth was grim as she looked at her Watcher. “Let’s see how Quentin Travers likes being on the kidnapped side of things for a change…”

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

He was beginning to wonder why he was bothering. At every turn, Buffy Summers and her friends were making it nigh on impossible for him to help her, thwarting his attempts to divert the Soul Eaters’ attention from her by separating her from Spike, rescuing Cortina though she was necessary for binding the children of the wind from harming anyone further, and somehow, snatching back the witches from his custody without even showing her face.

Though he hadn’t seen the Hound himself, Quentin had seen the carnage the beast had left behind, a trail of broken bodies littering the halls of what he’d considered his fortress left as haphazardly as a path of bread crumbs for him to follow. A path that led straight to the witches’ bedroom door. A room that was now empty. There was no sign of the beast’s own blood, and from viewing the various security tapes, it was obvious the animal had avoided all his men’s attacks, taking the way of least resistance, only attacking when absolutely necessary. Under other circumstances, Travers would have been appropriately intrigued by the Hound’s process, but now, with Buffy still missing, Cortina not in hand, and no bargaining chips with the Slayer’s friends, he was not in the mood for further analysis.

There was more, of course. Much more. His pale eyes stared at the video screen in front of him, watching as Willow and Tara walked into the room housing the two Vroleks, the audio muted so that he was unable to hear their conversation. Listening was unnecessary; simple reasoning could deduce that they knew now how their magic was being hampered, and the shocked recognition on their young faces was enough to clue him in that Cortina had told them more about her history than he had anticipated. Hitting the rewind button, he watched again and again as the redhead lifted her hand to touch the magical barrier that sheathed the Vrolek children in their stasis, the other’s finger pointing out the dais at the center. The only thing that currently offered Quentin any kind of relief was the knowledge that they had been interrupted before they could investigate it any further.

That, and the fact that he still held Joyce Summers’ body.

It was his last card to play. Though they had escaped his control, Willow and Tara carried with them the information that there was a way to save the Slayer’s mother, information he didn’t doubt they would share at their earliest convenience. The only thing he could hope for at this point---until someone came up with yet another plan that was sure to fail, he thought dismally---was that the prospect of having Joyce restored to life was too tempting for Buffy to resist, that she would come to him herself with Cortina in tow as an exchange for life as normal. She would even get to keep her vampire lover that way. All it would cost her was the price of one single Vrolek.

So intent was he on watching the playback of the witches’ escape, Quentin missed the blonde head suddenly appear on a far screen, standing with folded arms addressing an agape young man at the front of the building. When the man on the monitor raised his weapon, the blonde’s dash forward was Slayer-quick, disarming him with a swift kick before sending him sprawling to the ground. She reached down and pulled the cell phone from his waistband, her booted foot keeping him pressed to the earth by sitting between his shoulder blades, barking out an unheard query before letting her fingers fly over the number pad.

The phone rang at Travers’ side and he automatically picked it up, his gaze never straying from the picture of the witches and the Vroleks. “Yes?” he said, clearly annoyed at being disturbed.

“Not even a hi-how-are-you?” Buffy’s tsk through the phone line immediately caused Quentin to straighten. “And here I thought you’d be glad to hear from me.”

“Miss. Summers.” The calmness of his tone was in direct opposite to his racing emotions. Finally. Something was going his way. “I won’t even presume to wonder how you got this number.”

“Funny you should ask. You’ve really got to do some serious training on your bodyguards, Q. Oh, you don’t mind if I call you Q, do you? Because Quentin is just soooo British, and, well, you haven’t done anything to deserve me being all respectful by calling you Mr. Travers any more, now have you?” This last was brittle, her voice hardening, and in the monitor, she shoved roughly down at the man who was trying to rise beneath her foot.

At the mention of his guard, Quentin’s gaze scanned the screens until it settled on the camera for outside, his lips thin as he watched the Slayer. She was alone. But here. That was a good thing. Though he’d like to believe that she’d finally understood they were only trying to protect her, that her best interests were all that mattered to them currently, the brisk set of her shoulders told him otherwise. “I don’t see your friends,” he commented, leaning back in his chair. “Surely you didn’t come alone.” He almost chuckled as her blonde head immediately began turning, looking for the camera she suddenly realized was there, and then smiled as she lifted her eyes to look directly into it.

“I know you have my mother.” She was ignoring his observation, ready to get down to business. “I’ve come to talk about what exactly is going on.”

“So…talk.”

Another shove of her foot and Quentin winced as he saw his guard’s head smack against the pavement. “This really deserves a face to face, don’t you think?” she asked. “And since I can’t see yours…” Her head tilted, and he believed he could even see the gleam of anger in her eyes through the grainy picture on the monitor. “Not that I’m really thrilled with your back-stabbing, friend-snatching, secret-keeping, smug face right now, but at least if you’re in front of me, I can see firsthand what you’re up to.”

He didn’t even hear the disgust in her voice as the glee suddenly jumped to his throat. Yes. The Slayer back in custody. Under his control. Safe. “If you will just wait there, Miss Summers, I will have some of my men come out and escort you inside.”

“I don’t think so. Why don’t we have ourselves a little picnic out here?” She looked up at the sky. “It’s a beautiful day. No soul-eating demons wreaking havoc with the weatherman’s reports. I say we enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Forgive me if I pass.” He paused, considering his next move. He needed her inside, where his power was incontrovertible. Did it matter how she got in as long as she did? “Perhaps we could meet half way? Just you and I.” He smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. “To talk about your mother.”

The mention of Joyce made her eyes jump back to the camera, and there was a long moment of silence as Buffy just watched him. It was disconcerting. Though he knew she couldn’t really see him, those hazel eyes seemed to bore into his, like she knew what he was planning, and Quentin began to squirm in his seat.

“Fine,” she finally said. “I’ll stay on the line. You direct me in, but first sign of one of your guys and I’m out of there, got it?”

“Of course.” He rose, using the length of the phone cord to step to the room’s entrance and open the door, motioning for the guard outside to enter, but placing his finger over his own mouth to indicate the other man should not speak. “If you enter through the door to your right…”

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

“She’s in.”

“Right.” Giles turned away from Willow and the binoculars she was using to gaze at the building across the street to face Dolly and Cortina behind him. “We don’t know how much time---.”

“Giles,” the redhead interrupted. “There’s something we didn’t consider there.”

He frowned. “What?” Hesitantly, he took the binoculars she offered him, training them on the door Buffy had just disappeared through. “What am I looking at?”

“Upper left corner. Near the small window just under the eave.”

He saw it immediately and swore under his breath.

“What is it?” Cortina asked.

“Surveillance cameras.” Lowering the binoculars, his brow was creased as he mused out loud. “They’re going to see everything we do in there.”

“So take them out,” Dolly commented crossly.

“We don’t know where they’re being controlled, or monitored, or…” His voice faded. “I don’t suppose…you…could find them,” he questioned the green demon.

She straightened, pulling herself up to her full height, and folded her arms across her chest with a smug smile. “Aren’t you glad I’m not the sort of demon to hold a grudge?” she said.

“I don’t want you killing anybody,” he hastened to clarify. “Just take out the central station so they can’t observe us.”

Dolly rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s hardly any fun. Can I at least knock a few heads together? I promise not to break any bones, although I won’t swear to not jiggling some Council brains.” She bridled under his steady gaze. “Fine, fine,” she said as she began to fade. “Just give me a sec. Grumpy humans…”

The long breath Cortina exhaled was shaky as her friend disappeared, prompting Giles to settle his hand gently on her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly, blue eyes probing hers.

“Can you believe I’m nervous?” She held up a hand and both of them watched as it visibly vibrated in the shade the building was providing her. Her anger had long ago dissipated in the advent of their plan, but now, she was finding it difficult to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. What if it really was them? What would that mean for her, for her future, for their future? Would it be possible to begin a fresh life? And where was Rupert going to figure into it if that happened?

His lips brushed against her forehead, at once both calming and electrifying. “Everything will be all right,” he assured. “Would you rather I---?”

Cortina shook her head, using the caress as a lifejacket, clinging to its strength as she straightened her shoulders. “No, it has to be me. I’m the only one who will know for sure if it’s them.”

“Hopefully you can tell me what the crystal is,” Willow said, trying for optimism but failing in the serious aspects of her two companions.

“Yes, well…” Giles didn’t like this part of the plan. Though he agreed with the others that their priorities rested in ridding the Council of the hostages it continued to house, the witches’ description of the field that bound the two Vroleks did not bode well. As much as he hoped that these were actually Cortina’s children, the fact that they could be held so meant that there was more to their demon physiology than they were aware, secrets that Quentin Travers obviously held and he could only hope that Buffy would extract before they were forced to flee the premises.

In the meantime, he had to do his best to ensure everything ran smooth. Dawn and Spike were safely ensconced back in their rooms, the vampire a liability in the face of both sunlight and humans and the teenager too headstrong to be predictable under the circumstances. Tara had returned to Cortina’s caves with Elvis, gathering supplies while she soothed the beast in Willow’s absence. And now the remainder of their little group was here, preparing to endeavor what he would have seen under more calming circumstances as an insane escape plan. Please, Buffy, he wished silently. Just keep him talking long enough for us to do this…

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

She was past the incapacitating anger. Some quiet time with Spike prior to their departure had managed to subdue the crimson waves roiling through her head, his arms wrapped around her shoulders as his cheek pressed against her hair, his murmured words of serenity and ease quieting the rage that fought within her breast. Buffy didn’t know if this was something she just hadn’t noticed before, or if it was something to do with the cleansing ritual, or something else entirely, but this still side of the vampire, the gentleness he brought to the table as he helped her focus past the hate, was not something she had ever expected to find in him, but not a gift she was willing to throw away. She had let him soothe her spirit with his voice, with the hands that outlined the veins on the backs of her hands, and though the remnants of their earlier disagreement regarding his dreams still tattered in the distance, both of them deliberately chose to ignore them, settling instead on the moment, and the other, and their current need. It was what they both wanted. To ensure that this plan---foolhardy as it might seem---would work.

She didn’t doubt that Travers was up to something as she paced the length of the room. It was taking him too long to meet up with her; a few more minutes and she’d call a halt to this, using the talisman that hung around her neck to contact Dolly to get her out of here. She had no worries about being ambushed; once she’d found the room he’d selected, Buffy had pulled the door off its hinges and set it aside so that she had a clear shot for the exit, could hear anyone trying to approach. And at least she wasn’t going to have to worry about magic being used on her. Willow had confirmed before Cortina had come through that the dampening field still surrounded the building, which meant the Vrolek children were still inside. That left only armed Council guys to defend herself against. And there were no doubts in her mind about how she’d fare with them.

There was no rush in his step as it came down the hallway and Buffy steeled herself for the next few minutes. Don’t kill him, she reminded herself. Keep him talking. Let Giles get the others out of here, and then you can focus on getting some real answers.

“My apologies for taking so long,” Travers said as he stepped inside the room. He held up his hands to show that he was unarmed. “I’m afraid that I had a few more flights of stairs to navigate than you did. I really should have considered having a lift installed prior to our using this particular building.”

“Where’s my mother?”

He nodded. She hadn’t let him down. He’d known she would cut straight to the heart of the matter. “Did Miss Rosenberg tell you why we were holding her body?”

“Because you think you’ve got the mojo to bring her back to life. Now where is she?”

“That’s actually only partially true.”

It wasn’t what she was expecting, and she hesitated. “So…you can’t bring her back?” No, she said to herself. Don’t feel disappointed. Focus on the plan. Talk. Just talk. Don’t pay too much attention to what he’s really saying. You can get the real answers later.

“Oh, no, we can. Provided it’s done quickly. But the Soul Eaters must be bound first.” Quentin paused, his watery blue gaze steady. “Which requires Cortina’s presence.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “What is she, the back-up plan? You’ve already got your Vroleks. Just do your little ritual and get this over with. I’m tired of your playing games.”

“I’m afraid they’re useless to us now. In order for the children of the wind to be stopped, we need a fresh…” He stopped, realizing he’d almost used a word that he was sure the Slayer would object to. “…Vrolek,” he finished. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring Cortina along with you?”

Buffy’s laugh was loud in the empty room. “Unlike you, Q, I don’t betray my friends,” she snapped. “And I’ve got this weird allegiance thing about people who are constantly saving my life. Color me old-fashioned that way.”

“Saving your life is exactly what I’ve been trying to do all along, Miss Summers. Surely you can see that.”

“Kidnapping my friends only pisses me off. I would’ve thought you’d be smart enough to figure that out by now.”

She wanted to smack the smile from his face. “But it worked, didn’t it?” Travers commented. “You’re here. Spike is not. The targets for the Soul Eaters have been divided, and now it’s just a matter of doing the ritual to stop them for good.”

“Are you deaf as well as dumb? How many times do I have to tell you? You are not using Cortina. There has to be another way to stop these things.”

“There isn’t.” The mirth was gone. “I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that the binding contained them for as long as it did. But they can’t be killed, Miss Summers. You can’t kill what doesn’t---.”

“---have a body, blah, blah, blah. Heard it a million times, and I’m still not buying. How can you save my mother? They’ve taken her soul. Cort says she’ll just be a shell if you restore life to her body. Soulless.”

“We’ve learned that it takes the children of the wind…time, to consume a soul. And we long ago learned of a way to retrieve that which had been taken. Really, you must allow us the opportunity to do this for you, Buffy.” It was the first time she could ever remember him using her first name, and she frowned as he took a step closer to her. He was trying to suck her in with his promises of life as normal, attempting to garner her trust again. And the thing of it was…she wanted to believe him.

“Cortina said she has all the books on the Soul Eaters. And if they’ve been out of commission for the last century, how could you have figured this out?”

“We…experimented during their…incarceration.”

His voice was expressionless, but Buffy wasn’t stupid. Her hazel eyes widened as the meaning of his words sunk in. “Those really are Cortina’s kids, aren’t they?” she said softly. She didn’t even wait for a reply. “You didn’t kill them. This binding thingamabob you did…it imprisons them, doesn’t it? In the Vroleks. That’s why they’re still alive. That’s how you knew when the Soul Eaters escaped. And you want me to trust you?” She shook her head. “You make me sick. They were children---.”

“They were demons---.”

“---children,” she reiterated, almost spitting out the word. “With a mother that still loved them. And you bought them---.”

“To protect the world from the children of the wind---.”

“---when for all you knew, there could be other ways to have that happen.” Her breathing was beginning to be erratic, the anger rising again in her gullet. If the truth of what had happened was affecting her this way, Buffy thought as she struggled to remain calm, what would it do to Cortina?

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

Willow watched in mute desperation as the Vrolek stood frozen next to the bodies, the tension in her arms causing her entire shape to vibrate as she struggled not to react to the sight before her. There had been no doubt who the children were as soon as Dolly had dropped them off in the room, but witnessing Cortina’s fight not to betray their location to anyone outside by maintaining silence was painful at best, heartbreaking at worst.

The tears streaked down the white demon’s face, falling to stain the front of her robe in damp as she gazed down at the unconscious pair of children, a combination of sorrow and anger mixing with the salt. How many times had she dreamed of seeing their faces just one more time? Made untold promises to gods and devils and everything in between for just one more chance to hold them, to tell them she was sorry for failing to protect them from harm? And now here it was, and she was powerless, unable to do anything but stand, and stare, and nod mutely in response to Willow’s question regarding who they were.

The magic that contained them was still there, and because they didn’t know how it worked, Cortina could not even think of touching the barrier for fear of it somehow affecting her in the same way. The crystal on the dais was not something she had ever seen before, and she wanted nothing more than to be able to crush it between her fingers, to break whatever spell it was holding over her children. But nothing they did made any difference. Willow had brought along a few tricks she’d hoped would nullify the crystal’s effects, but these did little more than create some pretty sparks.

“We have to wait for Dolly,” the redhead finally said quietly. “She’ll have to find a way to teleport them out of here so that we can work to free them from…” She gestured futilely at the dais. “…whatever this is.”

“I want him dead.” The monotone of her voice was frightening, sending shivers down Willow’s spine, but Cortina was oblivious to the effect her words were having on the young witch. “When we get Quentin Travers out of this place, please tell Rupert to keep me as far from the bastard as possible, because if I see him, I promise you, I will shred his skin in fire and make him feast upon his own liver before I even consider letting him die.”

“Um…OK.” She didn’t know what else to say, and for the first time since meeting the Vrolek, Willow was feeling genuinely afraid of her. She was saved from any further response by the sudden appearance of Dolly on the other side of the beds.

“I’m going to guess that your human’s little parlor tricks didn’t work,” the green demon said with surprising softness.

“Can you teleport them out of here like this?” Cortina asked, lifting her gaze away from the beds for the first time since arriving into the room.

“I can sure as hell try,” Dolly replied.

Before their eyes, she began to fade away, lifting her arms over the Vrolek children as she did so. Nothing happened to them. They remained as solid as ever.

“Damn,” she muttered, coming back. “Maybe if I got inside it,” she mused out loud, and began to vanish again.

Willow realized she was holding her breath as she watched Dolly try over and over again to move the children, eventually letting it out in a long gasp when the demon finally shook her head.

“I can’t do this all day,” she apologized. “Maybe if I had more time…” There was genuine sorrow in her gaze. “I’m so sorry, Cort.”

“I can’t…” Cortina’s hands curled into fists at her side as she stumbled away from the beds. “You don’t really expect me to leave them here, do you?”

“I expect you to do whatever it’s going to take to free them from whatever...mess that stupid Council’s gotten them into,” Dolly retorted. “And for now, that’s going to mean coming back later. When you know how to get through to them.”

“We’ll find out from Mr. Travers,” Willow offered. Her eyes flicked to Dolly. “Buffy’s still talking to him, right?”

“I haven’t gotten a distress call yet, so I’m assuming yes. And I’ve already gotten her mother out of this place, so it’s time to start wrapping this shindig up before someone figures out what I did to those cameras.”

Cortina’s bloodshot eyes returned to the children. Leaving them again was impossible, but reason told her it was the only she could help them at this point, even if it was going to tear her up inside to do it. “I’ll be back,” she whispered. “I promise.” And the next time, she would die herself before parting from them again.

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

They were divided again.

As soon as he had seen Cortina, Giles had ordered Dolly to return them to their room, where he proceeded to bundle the Vrolek into his arms and hold her wracking form as the hysterical sobs overcame her, his hand tangling in her hair as he murmured what he could only hope were words of soothing into her ear.

Joyce’s body was at Cortina’s caves with Willow and Tara, as they waited for whatever instruction Buffy would offer once she was done interrogating Quentin Travers. They were more than a little creeped out at being the designated corpse-sitters, but the possibility that they might somehow be able to reverse the unnecessary death was sustaining them as they began their research on the crystal.

Meanwhile, the Slayer and her hostage were back at her rooms. He was a little worse for wear, unconscious from the sudden teleportation, so she was taking advantage of the reprieve to fill Spike and Dawn in on the details she’d gleaned so far. The vampire already knew some; his worry for his lover had kept him in close contact with her thoughts while she was gone. Now, though, he eased back, and let her tell the story as she saw fit, taking advantage of her distraction to begin formulating his own plans. This would end, very soon, if he had any say in the matter, and she would be grateful afterward.

And the children of the wind flew ever closer…

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

“Describe the crystal to me,” Giles directed, his eyes hard but his voice low.

Dolly sighed, leaning heavily back against the wall outside his and Cortina’s room. “What’s the point? You’re going to find out soon enough from that Travers what it is.”

“Because he’s still unconscious, and if for some reason I do know what they’ve used, the sooner we get Cortina’s children out of that building, the better it will be for all involved.” Every muscle in his body was wound tight, and he had his arms folded across his chest, hands shoved into his armpits, in an attempt not to spring. “I’m quite learned in these matters. It’s possible I’ll know what it is.”

“And then what? They’ll get rescued, the Slayer and Spike will come up with some plan to get rid of these Soul Eaters without sacrificing Cort, and you’ll go toddling off into the sunset playing daddy knows best with two demon children?” She shook her head. “And here I thought you had a brain in that pea-sized skull of yours, Rupert. You haven’t really given your future with Cort any consideration, have you? One human and three Vroleks does not a family make.”

She wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t thought already while he’d been waiting for them to emerge from the Council building, but he refused to allow her to see that. “This isn’t about my future,” Giles argued. “This is about Cortina regaining whatever life she can with her children. She’s suffered far too much to endure much more of this, and if I can ease that burden in any way possible, you can bloody well be sure that I’m going to.” His blue eyes were flashing behind his glasses, his frustrated anger momentarily causing him to forget that he was actually squaring off with a demon.

Much to his surprise, Dolly started laughing, quickly covering her mouth to stifle the noise as she glanced guiltily at the closed door behind him. Her Vrolek friend was fast asleep on the other side of it, exhaustion and weeping sapping her strength until she’d drifted off in Giles’ arms. “If nothing else, I do like your balls,” she said through her hand. “Cort’s done a lot worse than you, I’ll give her that.”

“I’m glad I amuse you so, but that’s hardly the point here.”

“No.” She sobered immediately. “The point is, your bosses---.”

“Ex-bosses.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Your ex-bosses have spent the last century lying to the woman you claim to love---.”

“I do love her.”

“Will you stop interrupting me? I’m trying to talk here.”

“And I’m trying to do something other than talk for a change.” Stepping forward, Giles raised a single finger in the green demon’s face, his temper straining to be unleashed. “I’m done with debating the finer points of Council mechanics and my relationship with Cortina. For someone who claims to be her friend, it seems to me you’re more interested in arguing semantics than helping find a solution to a nasty problem that’s been tormenting that poor woman in there for more than a century.” He took a deep breath. “Now. I’m grateful for the aid you’ve offered to this point, and I can certainly appreciate that you don’t like me very much, because I’ll admit there are times when I’d like nothing more than to stop your complaining once and for all. But the fact remains…Cortina needs us united in helping her through this, and if you’re not willing to do that, you’re merely a liability. And, if that’s so, you should do us all an enormous favor and just bugger off.”

The coarsening of his language was not the only indication of his fury. Twin spots of red highlighted his cheeks, and the hand that was not in her face was locked in a fist at his side. He hadn’t realized just how much enmity he’d been harboring toward Dolly, but her continued refusals to talk about this, her consistent dredging up of his humanity and his ties to the Council, had worn away the refined veneer until Ripper’s appearance was inevitable. Not that he regretted it in the slightest. There was no time for niceties right now, and if she was going to refuse to see that, he’d be damned if she was going to make it worse.

She didn’t seem flummoxed by his outburst. Cool eyes looked down at the Watcher, searching for what, he had no idea, and it was a full minute before she gave him a slow nod. “There he is,” she commented. “I was wondering how much it was going to take before he decided to show his face again and get it done.”

Her oblique reference caused him to frown. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Not a what. A who. The man who killed the witch to save a demon he barely knew. That’s the one who earned my respect enough to break my rule about helping humans in the first place.”

His confusion eased. She was referring to Ripper. “I’m afraid that my temper---,” he started.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” She cut him off, her voice rising. “Don’t be crawling back into your shell, Rupert. Drag him out, kicking and screaming, because that’s the kind of no-nonsense attitude that’s going to save your Slayer’s soul, and Cortina’s children, and keep you from getting chewed up and spit out once this whole mess gets into the thick of things.” Dolly couldn’t help her smile. “Just don’t be dragging him out in my face all that often or I’m going to have to slap him silly. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of used to being the one in charge.”

There was no point in denying the smile her words brought to his lips. “Does that mean you’re going to tell me what the crystal looked like?” Giles asked.

She nodded. “But first you get a word of advice.” She paused for dramatic effect, and leaned down to whisper conspiratorially. “They bite.”

“Pardon?”

“Vrolek children,” she clarified. “It’s one of those things they eventually grow out of, but it can make for…interesting times while they’re still in their development stages. Just so you know. For after all this over.”

It was her olive branch, and he took it gratefully albeit in slight bewilderment. “About the crystal…” he prompted.

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

He’d slipped away, escaping to a lounge area of the resort, when Dawn and Buffy pulled out the books to begin looking for possible answers to the crystal dilemma. Travers, the pillock, was still out cold, all attempts to revive him so far futile, so they were resorting to the research again while they waited. It wouldn’t be that much longer, she had promised. If the Council director didn’t wake of his own accord within the next hour, she was going to wake him of her accord.

Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Spike slumped forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees as his shoulders bowed. Though Buffy’s mood as indicated by her presence inside his head had eased to the weight of feathers, his own had plummeted, the realization that he was no longer going to be able to shield his past from her slowly breaking through his wall of defense. He had reacted too vehemently to the Summers girls and their efforts to get him to talk about his mother, and he knew it. Something about it, though, dredged up every fight or flight instinct he had, with flight clearly winning for one of the first times in his undead life. Normally, he wasn’t one to run from a confrontation, regardless of how nasty it was going to be, so the fact that he was doing so now made him feel even weaker than he had prior to his hashing things out with Buffy. And if there was one thing he hated more than anything in himself…it was weakness.

Sod it. Just going to tell her and get it over with. Put to test her little “we’re in this together” philosophy, once and for all.

His decision made, Spike rose to his feet, tamping out his cigarette in the dish at his side as his gaze stole to the windows that overlooked the resort. It wasn’t a bad sort of place, he’d decided. Maybe not up to Slayer tastes, but certainly somewhere he would’ve taken Dru if he’d known such a place existed. Though it was daytime, he’d carefully avoided where the light spilled through the glass when he’d settled himself, watching the shifting colors of the sky outside as he’d mused on his issues. The vibrant blue of earlier had slowly darkened, and Spike realized for the first time that those were actually storm clouds rolling in over the far-off mountains, the trees already beginning to bend in the growing winds.

He frowned.

An approaching storm.

Wind.

Shit.

The damn Soul Eaters had found them.

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

His warning cut through the words that were already starting to blur before her hazel eyes, jerking her upright as she listened to his terse thoughts.

On their way, luv. Time to pack up and ship out.

So much for Dolly’s couple of days hope, Buffy thought, and realized she’d put much more stock in the green demon’s assessment than she’d intended. Shaking it away, the Slayer directed her mind toward Spike. What about Travers? she asked. He’s still out cold. And we don’t have any answers yet.

Then I suggest you wake him up.

She could hear his boots tramping down the hallway, could feel the tension in his shoulders and wondered if his aggravation was because of the Soul Eaters’ approach or something else.

Something else. There was a hesitation, a distant tinge of fear that she felt the vampire deliberately swat away before he went on to add, And I’ll tell you ‘bout it once we blow this Popsicle stand. I promise.

When the wash of emotion coursed over her body, she gasped, the surprise of it manifesting itself in such a physical manner rooting her in her chair, curling her fingers around the edge of the table. For just a few seconds, Spike had opened the gates inside his head, allowing everything to gush forth, bridging the gap between them so that it blanketed her in fire and light and ice and everything in between, saturating her skin as her pupils swallowed the hazel irises in ebony, her throat suddenly sandpaper, her stomach filled with thousands of butterflies on speed.

Love, such overwhelming love, blazing and brilliant and drowning in need…not just for her, but for Dawn, and for the memory of Joyce, and for…was that his mother?...and others…

And the fear, and frustration, and anger, and bitterness. So much of it directed toward himself, and others shockingly aimed at her, and the Scoobies…Giles…

And then it was gone, and Buffy was left breathless. Why, Spike? she questioned before stopping to censor herself, not understanding his reasons for granting access to the whirlpool of his emotions, feeling for all intents and purposes as if she’d just stood at the precipice of a gaping chasm and fought back the need to jump.

Because you need to know, he thought. You need to see it all so that when I show you the other, it doesn’t…you don’t…you’ll understand. There was a pause and then…I love you so much, Buffy. For always. You know that, right?

Now he was beginning to scare her. Of course, I do. I love you, too.

She could almost hear him sigh, tension easing away with the unneeded exhalation. Out with the bad, in with the good, right, Buffy? he thought, unable to hold back the ironic tinge to the words. It’s all right. I’m…all right. You just better get Dolly on the horn. The sooner we get out of here, the happier I’m goin’ to be.

It was like disconnecting a phone line. Immediately, Spike’s mind closed off to hers and Buffy felt the sense of loss she was beginning to associate with his absence. She didn’t like it. She’d begun to grow reliant on knowing he was there, feeling the cool comfort of his presence inside her head as a leveling balm in the face of all the flurry. As her gaze slid to Travers’ unconscious body on the bed, she stood, her immediate choices flashing across her mind as she crossed to his side.

“What is it?” Dawn queried from behind her. Something was going on; her sister’s sudden weird behavior could only be attributed to another person-to-person call from Spike.

“Get the stuff ready to call Dolly,” she instructed. “We’re checking out.”

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

No more moving around, Buffy decided grimly as she watched Giles pass the smelling salts underneath Travers’ nose. They were back in Cortina’s caves---for the last time, she’d announced to anyone who cared to listen as Dolly had brought her in through the ether---congregated to begin their interrogation of the Council director and search for the remaining answers that were still hanging so elusively from their grasp. She’d volunteered to wake him with force, but had been met with a reproving glare from her Watcher, forcing her to step back into Spike’s waiting arms, leaning heavily against him as they watched the spectacle before them.

Though his muscles remained tight, there was an ease to the vampire’s thoughts that hadn’t been there since prior to their discovery of the Soul Eaters’ identity, and they flowed in and out of Buffy’s head with a vaporous simplicity that would’ve made their unspoken communications seem like the product of a decade-long link. Images of her and him, body parts entwined, mingled with scattered observations from the grotto surrounding them, the memory of their first time in the underground stream making his erection press into the curve of her buttocks as he pulled her tight against him.

You really think this is the time for this? she teased him silently, not letting her amusement at his arousal flicker across her face. She wasn’t sure what had caused this reversal in his mood, but she wasn’t going to argue with it, the relief at having her solid, snarky, constantly horny vampire back outweighing the questions it brought.

Betcha I could get you off without havin’ to even touch you, he taunted in return.

After. Let’s get our answers first.

All work and no play makes Spike a horny vampire. Unheard by the rest of the group, he growled into her hair, inhaling deeply the scent of her shampoo, grateful for the pervading peace reaching his decision had given him. It was pointless trying to escape it any longer; he could only hope that she would be willing to look past it, like she’d looked past the other parts of his vampire history. Somehow, he was beginning to believe that she would.

Buffy was diverted from replying by Travers jerking in his chair, jumping against the ropes that bound him, his eyes blinking as they focused, grew accustomed to the dim light of the cave. The first thing he saw was Giles standing before him, his arms folded across his chest, blue eyes cold behind his glasses, with Cortina standing just behind him.

“Rise and shine, Quentin,” she said, fighting to maintain as much neutrality in her voice as possible. The tears she’d shed on Rupert’s shoulder had served to take the edge off her anger, just enough so that she felt safe enough in the bastard’s presence not to rip his throat out. At least…not before they got their answers. The man still needed a voicebox to speak.

She swept a graceful arm sideways, gesturing to the cavernous space surrounding them. “I’d say, welcome to my home, but you’ve already been here, now haven’t you?”

He ignored the Vrolek, choosing instead to gaze at Giles. “I would comment on your seeming desperation,” Travers said, “but I fear that it would reflect poorly on my own…past deeds.” It was then that he saw the others, the two witches sitting at the water’s edge, the teenager glaring at him in righteous hate, the Slayer and her vampire lover leaning against the far wall. “Are you leaving young Harris and his paramour from this particular adventure?” he questioned. “It appears that he is the only one currently missing.”

“He’s the only one you haven’t bothered to drag in to this mess by kidnapping,” Buffy said dryly. “So, he gets to stay home, safe and sound, for now.”

“’Sides,” Spike added, “someone’s got to mind Rupes’ shop since you’ve got him chasin’ after ghosts here, tryin’ to protect Buffy and Cort.” He wasn’t going to deign to include himself in Giles’ concerns, though the vamp suspected that for some inexplicable reason, he would be on the list. “Man’s gotta make a livin’, after all.”

“Especially since I’m inclined to believe I will no longer be on the Council’s payroll after this matter is resolved,” Giles added.

“Certainly, drugging and kidnapping your superior would be grounds for dismissal,” Travers replied.

Cortina snorted. “You weren’t drugged, you big baby. You passed out. Just got a little teleportation sickness, that’s all.”

“Tick tock, Rupes,” came from Spike. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Right.” Giles cleared his throat. “I’m sure you know why we have you here, Quentin, so I won’t patronize you by going through some long, boring explanation about what we want and how many enormous mistakes you’ve made in this entire debacle. However, I’ll start with an easy question first. Joyce Summers. You told Buffy she could be revived. We want to know how.”

He knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable. They were primed for answers and would not take no for an answer, would probably stoop to torture to ensure they got what they wanted. “Magic, of course. A spell we’ve perfected over the years in the event the children of the wind should someday be released.”

“But this spell has an expiration date.”

“Yes. Souls taken by the wind children are consumed over a gradual period of time. There reaches a point where too much has deteriorated to warrant saving the person who’s been…taken.”

“What’s necessary for the spell?” This was from Willow.

His watery gaze flickered to her young face. “All the spell’s components are back at my headquarters in Sunnydale. We were fully prepared to conduct it once we had the children of the wind bound.” Though he could feel Cortina’s cold eyes boring into him, he refused to meet them, concentrating instead on those who were directly addressing him.

“Does it require them to be bound?” At his superior’s confused frown, Giles elaborated. “Can the spell be done if the Soul Eaters are merely in proximity?”

“If they’re in proximity, that means they are still a danger.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“And I can’t satisfy your curiosity on that one,” Travers replied. “We’ve only ever performed the resurrections when they were suitably trapped---.” He stopped, unwilling to say anything further should Buffy’s earlier observations not have been transmitted to Cortina. He didn’t doubt she would be vengeful once she knew the extent of her progeny’s current state and seeing as she was now reasonably calm, he could only assume that she was still ignorant of the whole story.

“Will she come back wrong?” Dawn’s voice was tight, the memory of Cortina’s warnings still fresh in her head.

“Wrong…interesting choice of words.” He paused for a moment, visibly contemplating the question, forcing the group to wait as he pondered his next response. “We have noted…changes in some of the subjects who survived the spell. Perhaps an increased propensity for more rash behavior. The occasional lapse in memory. A certain…disposition for making inappropriate decisions. It didn’t occur in all, and in those where the changes were more marked, we…terminated the effects of the spell before the situation could get out of hand.”

“You killed them.” Giles’ voice dripped in disgust, his barely disguised sneer contorting his features. “Does life mean nothing to you people?”

“Oh, it means everything to us,” Travers was quick to reply. “But in our fight for the preservation of our world, there are casualties. You are more than aware of this, Rupert. All wars will have their wounded. Ours is no different.”

Arguing the ethics of everything the Council stood for was fruitless, Giles knew, but it didn’t stop the surge of anger from burning his veins. Concentrate, he reminded himself. He’s answered your question. Move on to the next.

“The Vroleks you are holding. They’re in a…stasis field of some sort. Is the crystal that’s shielding them a pelanthrope, perhaps?” The description Dolly had offered had immediately triggered something in the Watcher’s memory, sending him scurrying to his books, and though he was fairly certain he was correct in his assessment, he would feel much safer proceeding once he had confirmation from the Director.

Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “When did you see it?” he queried.

That was all he needed. “I didn’t.” Damn. He’d almost been hoping he was wrong. The literature he had on the crystal was scanty, with no mention of magical properties. Ordinarily, it was used in a healing capacity, providing sustenance for the wounded, not barring them from joining the real world. “How do we nullify its effects?”

“I wouldn’t advise that.”

“We’re not asking for your counsel. We’re asking how to get those children free from its bondage.”

His watery gaze was measured, and this time, Travers let it slide to Cortina. And here it was. The moment he’d been dreading. He had no doubts she would react violently to the truth, but the question remained…would Rupert beat her to the pain? His concern for the young Vroleks was bordering on obsessive, his determination to aid his demon lover unflagging if morally dubious. Would Quentin die at the hand of one of his own, simply because he’d not had the fortitude to dispose of this matter while the two Vroleks remained in England?

“The effects of the pelanthrope are only operative when it’s used singly. Place another crystal in tandem with it, and it loses its potency. They…cancel each other out, so to speak.” He steeled himself as he saw the relief relax Cortina’s features, the glint of hope begin to shine in those pale blue depths. This was not going to go well. “But if you do that,” he continued, “if you remove the…children from the protection the crystal offers…they will die.”