CHAPTER 10
 

Buffy stood under the shower like a blind robot. Her hand moved with
a mechanical rhythm. Up and down. Side to side. The soap in her hand
was a green, squashed lump. Each time the sponge ran along her body,
a quivering cry clogged her throat and shot images in front of her
swollen eyes. Spike's hands on her hips, savouring her back, her
shoulders, the nape of her neck. Her hands holding tightly the taps,
all her spine arched to receive him and feel him pounding deeply inside
her. Slowly, slowly. Faster, faster. His teeth nibbling her earlobes,
his palms playing wise games with her breasts. Her lips tasting the hot
water and the shampoo foam, mumbling whispers and moans. Blasting in
a magnificent turmoil of comets and hurtling heartbeats. And that had
been... what? Three hours ago? Ago... Three flashing letters in a neon
sign. No tomorrow or later. A-g-o.

A knock at the door. Gentle, almost begging to be answered. Buffy kept
on with the mechanic show. Wild, staring eyes focused on the white
tiles. "I'm okay. Be out in a minute" A lie. A fortuneteller machine
of some freak, old show. Fixed painted eyes and a fixed sinister smile
telling big lies for a coin.

She rinsed her skin with a towel as blue as that she had used to ruffle
Spike's wet hair. Sexy curls she loved. Low growls she had turned into
groans as her hands discarded the towel and went down, further,
reaching his abs, his navel, his always-eager manhood.

A white shirt on one hook of the bathroom waiting for her. One male
garment. Big and perfumed with a faded lavender scent. Her fingers
brushed it and brought another rush of tears. It wasn't Giles's. It
couldn't be. He wasn't dead. He was gone. Vanished. She put Spike's
coat on instead. His scent encased her and it had something soothing,
hopeful.

As she finally came into the living room, she quickly noticed the
subtle changes in the décor. The sofa wasn't green but fawn. Squawking
beige leather facing a glass and marble coffee table. A wooden
chessboard with green stony pieces that looked aristocratic and
expensive. Spike couldn't have put his boots on that table without
smashing all of it into pieces. The walls were light blue. Paper.
Little frames of light coloured wood hung on them; all similar to those
in some doctor's office. Or some lawyer buffet. A deep blue carpet with
red and green patterns. Four chairs. Six packed bookcases. A vase full
with yellow pansies. No Xander, though. Only Oz and his sad smile, his
sad eyes fixed in her more than ridiculous att five minutes skulking
outside the place. Hidden in the shadows waiting for the show to begin.
Never a believer she was. A cloak spell they had said. Altered reality
they had said. Show what we want them to see. But Buffy... She was a
sneaky bitch.

The spell had worked. Had worked so well that her face had refused to
erase the happy grin even after she thought her whole features were
going to stay that way forever. A girlie Joker with a little bit more
of style. A grin that flickered only when his name was yelled in an
agonic yowl. His name... Faith had kept on smiling in response to
Angelus quick glance. Her ultimate prize was trapped there. Under
Buffy's perfect nose. Waiting for his true Slayer. Waiting for her
to complete her dream.

She remembered pretty well the exact moment she had discovered another
mistake in the Slayer's universe. They had invited her to the Bronze.
A gang of happy friends gaping at her as she bragged about half-true
stories. Till the spots converged in one single creature. The world
shrunk to one single floor tile. A white devil was standing there.
A cigarette was hanging from one corner of that perfect mouth, half
curved by a wry smile. All dressed in black, a Tee tightened above a
muscled, obviously hard, flat stomach; the most perfect pair of legs
clad in black jeans... A rush of heat wetted her panties and blushed
her entire skin. As if the armchair in which she was sitting had been
suddenly girdled around by a bonfire. Never in her life had she felt
such lust for a man, a boy or a guy. They were just toys to be
forgotten the next second she ordered them to leave. Or as soon as she
got into her jeans again and stormed away. But this vamp... Her whole
being was aware of that fact and that only aroused her even more. A
powerful, deep feeling hatched out from her most inner corner. She was
the gaping one now. She was drooling and trembling and was about to
jump from the armchair when he did it. He stood next to Buffy's chair
and bent forward, whispering something clearly naughty in her ear. She
giggled quietly and followed him among the crowd. Xander's face had
been a mask of disgust. Willow had squeezed the hand of that tiny,
inexpressive boyfriend of hers and they had smiled conspiratorially.
Faith had been left out. So out that even the leather duster looked
like a drawn curtain. That had been the night she had sworn to herself
that curtain would be hacked away by her fingers. Only two or three
more nights to fulfil another of her dreams. Two or three more days to
fix another mistake. One crumbling Slayer, one raising one. Like a new
Queen.

 

Buffy felt as if she had fallen down into the deepest and most hopeless
well. A tourniquet was tightly twisted round her throat, round her
ribs, stopping the normal flow of blood to her heart and brain. The air
in the room was thick and swampy. She hadn't closed one eye the past
night, not even under Oz's watchful eye. She was devastated. More.
Drained. Empty. Dead. Cornered in the most infamous and dreadful dead
alley of hell. No escape from there.

She wondered for the tenth time why she had let Oz drag her to school
in her state. Her head had that weird way of struggling, though. Books
everywhere to look for a spell. Books to find some clue, some helpful

hint. Books. Giles would have found something useful in them. And her

current Watcher... A prim, well-attired man with a patronizing and

toffee-nosed accent, a black tie around the pristine neck of his white

shirt. To strangle him with. To squeeze and squeeze till his head would

pop out from his neck like a chewing gum bubble.

"We know we are dealing with powerful forces here but what you did
yesterday was absolutely unacceptable." He tugged at the lapels of his
dark coat. "Taking your friends with you... How many times have we
discussed about this matter?" He tilted his head a little waiting for
her to say something. "Now Willow is in extreme danger or dead under
Angelus' maw. Due to your reckless behaviour. What's more, you spent
the whole night at your house when I clearly..."

"Who was Mr. Giles?" Her mind had been replaying Angelus' words. 'You
know who is this?' Maybe that could be a clue. A lose end of the rope
to disentangle the tight loop. "A keeper... No, a Guardian of
treasures..."

"Don't change topics, little girl." Buffy shuddered at the two last
words. "You should be punished... Don't look at me like that. We don't
want to repeat another distasteful incident with another Slayer." He
sat down next to her and something in his voice turned softer. "You
don't want to be sent to a Council reformatory as she was, do you?"

"Faith? You mean Faith?" Her bitter laugh sent a rush of something sour
to her throat. She swallowed so hard that she bit her tongue. "Faith
isn't locked in any Slayer's jail. She is out there with Angelus. She
works with him. And the Mayor."

If she had slapped his face or spat one of his serious eyes he wouldn't
have been more startled. So that was the way somebody looked at you
when they thought you had lost all the screws in your brains... With
horror and pity and a little amount of fear.

"I see all this has upset you more than I expected. You should rest
a few days. It has been long, frantic days after all." Pulling out a
handkerchief, he swept the few pearls of sweat on one of his temples.
"I'm absolutely sure you'll want to be hundred per..."

"All I want is to know who that Mr. Giles was." Buffy shot out in a
coarse, demanding voice. "'Cause those treasures, whichever they were,
they have them now."

Mr. Wyndham-Pryce cleared his throat walking into his office and coming
back after long ten minutes with a thick volume. Some yellow papers
fell from it. He didn't bother to pick them up but reached the pine
wood table instead, opening the tome at random. "Here is an awful
selection of what happens to a Slayer when she is not capable of
performing her duty. Or, just like Faith, she misleads her path. You
do remember those nights you spent locked up in the cellar... After the
William the Bloody affair..."

Buffy took a quick look at the drawings on the page. A woman was
hanging from her feet, her head touching the floor. All her hair had
been cut; snipped would be more accurate, and her clothes were nothing
but rags. There was a puddle of something dark at her feet and another
figure was lapping at it with extreme delight. A dreadful perspective
despite the low quality of the sketch. She had fallen into the Middle
Ages, apparently.

"I didn't want them to do that to you. But I'm only a Watcher. I can't
disobey the rules and neither can't you. I was punished as well as you
might remember..." There was a sad veil on his eyes. Buffy didn't dare
to ask. "So we solved that little W.T.B. issue and you accepted you had
been wrong. Angel had a soul and he willingly had accepted to be tested
by the Council just to be with you. Of course, till we had to kill him
after that soul problem. But William the..."

"I got it, okay?" She lied, unable to hear his name one more time. The
dam she had built around her heart was starting to crack and the waves
of tears were going to flood her entirely. "Please tell me who this Mr.
Giles was..." She begged once more.

He went out again, and this time it took him a little longer to come
back. Buffy could hear a clattering sound of keys and a lid squeaking.
He returned, one hand patting the dust of his coat, the other one
holding a mildew book which he placed in front of her eyes. It looked
like it had been rescued from a catacomb. And it smelt. Awfully.

"There." He impeded her hands to touch it. "You'll be able to take a
look at it after your punishment."

Buffy jumped up. "What? Are you freaking nuts? I've told you..."

Mr. Pryce shook his head with regret. "You don't know what you're
saying. We, you and me, took Faith to the plane in which the Council
would take her to England. The Mayor... he has been an extremely
helpful ally in these demons matters. He's even contributed with
generous funds to build a secret prison for some of them."

A shaking, horrid tremor ran through her body. The "W.T.B. issue", as
he had put it, was solved in that way? The stale whiff of the book
crept up her nostrils making her cough. Her palms, resting flatly on
its cover, were coated in a thin, cold sweat. She was trying, only
trying not to think in him trapped in a prison. Here or there. Or maybe
it would be better if she concentrated in the Mayor's prison. There
would be no Faith's hands there. Or Angelus's. He couldn't be locked
up, though. What about Oz's words? The duster and the secrets... So
lost in her thoughts she was that she almost lost the sound of clinking
metal. A pair of handcuffs shone scornfully under the library lamps. 

"Get off me!" She shoved him backwards and grabbed the book.

"Buffy, this is for all our sake. Believe me." Slowly, he walked round
the table.

"No, you fucking freak!" Buffy kicked the chair that was in her way.

"You know I wouldn't do this if..."

"No! I don't know anything! I don't fucking know YOU!" She screamed,
kicking him in the guts. He flew like a dead, huge bat over the table.
Whirling around, the book crushed against her chest, Buffy ran out of
the library, through the school corridors, out to the yard. She didn't
feel the floor under her feet. She was flying, spinning in the air like
an air diver with no parachute. Turning around a corner she bumped into
someone and fell to her knees.

"Well, you have never been very normal, have you? And look at you...
Even more horrid than usual. You certainly need..."

Buffy could have never believed she was going to thanks the gods for
Cordelia Chase. She was a big mouth as usual. Some things never
changed. "I need your help, Cordelia. Do you still have a car?" She
begged still on her knees.

"As much as I've always wanted to see you crawling it isn't a pleasant
sight, you know..."

"Cordelia, please, I'll do whatever you..."

"You could start by taking your hands off my Prada." Stepping back, her
eyes looking at the sky as if she were praying, Cordelia finally asked.
"Where do you want to go?"


 

CHAPTER 11 

 
Buffy was about to go into her house but chose the sewers instead. The
house wasn't safe anymore. First place they were going to look for her.
She paddled in the fetid water wondering how many times Spike had done
the same after long extenuating love marathons. It would have been so
nice to sleep in his arms all night... His sturdy arms in which she
felt like... "No, not now, please. I can't now. I can't." She begged to
her memories, to the quickening staccato of her heart. A sudden light
beam from the street severed the long passage like a dirty, bright
drape. She stopped under it, listening to the roar of the cars above
her head. Crouching down she opened the book. Her finger trembled a
little as she passed the pages carefully. Finally, her gaze stopped on
a waving river of black ink. A rush of hope passed through her body as
the bright tail of a comet. A flash.

"Lord Hanley Richard Carrington Giles. Lord Hanley for his
acquaintances. Server of the Council from 1877 to 1880. Keeper of the
Ordeal of Kamosis, Warden of the Hindu Gates, Guardian of the Hall of
Stones. Master of the Forbidden Keys and Books. (See biographies for
further information. Chapter 11, section 41)"

"Okay, really impressive but how did he die? And what happened to all
those things he was supposed to keep?" Asking to a book maybe could
have earned her another mark on the asylum road. The book answered
silently with an elegant, slant handwriting.

"After a long journey to India, Lord Carrington Giles was expected
to give a lecture at the annual general meeting of the Royal Hindu
Society, after he attended the gala at the Royal Opera House. As he
never arrived, an inquest was carried out by this Council. His friends
claimed to have seen him at his box in the theatre and afterwards on
the streets waiting for his brougham. Unfortunately, till this moment,
neither the carriage nor the Jade Chest has been found. His fiancée,
Lady Catherine Montour, is not to be blamed for this tragic incident as
she is still at the Riviera. Memorial service will be on November 14th
at St. Paul's, 8.00. A.M. (For the complete inquest report see chapter
66, section 234, pages 78, 79, 80, 81. Any further evidence will be
added in time.) B.P. Travers, C.H.I"

She couldn't but bitterly laugh at the signature. Either that one was
an ancestor or that lunatic bastard was immortal. Sinister thought...
Nothing about the supposed treasures, though. Not a clue of what
wonders, sort of speak, they could achieve with one of them. Maybe that
Chest... What was there in it? Only Lord Hanley knew. And maybe Giles
but he was as dead as his relative. Buffy sank to her feet. Didn't give
a damn about the puddle of stinking water that was soaking her butt.
Didn't even notice the rat that had come to test out who the intruder
was. Her world had collapsed like a house of cards and the damned cards
had slapped her face, had cut her flesh, had stabbed her bones and her
heart. Without a hint about those objects she was lost. Completely out
of the game.

 

The streets had a strange yellow glow, as if only candles were
lightning his path. Or maybe it was Buffy's hair. Golden and swaying
in the cold night, sparkling like a mirror ball while she ran with a
frightened pace.

"What are you doing?" He asked in such a casual way that it seemed
somebody else had said it.

She whirled around and the tears in her eyes were as golden as amber
drops. "I'm saving him!"

"Oh, that's it then? You want him. This is all about him." He shook his
head and his neck made a slight cracking sound. "Okay, go ahead then."

She resumed her race. Only ten steps before she stopped. She didn't
turn around this time. When she finally spoke it looked like she was
talking to an invisible person who were standing in front of her.
"Aren't you coming?"

Spike only laughed. His eyes glided along Buffy's body. Up her spine,
down her legs.

"I have to save him." It sounded like an apology. Her voice quavered
a little.

"Oh, 'cause all that human crap, ain't it? Or is it that you love
him?" A twinge of dejection in his guts. "I can't stop you."

Silence stretched like a rubber band. "Yes, you can."

"Really? I don't think you want me to. Unless you want this demon to
have some fun as its last wish." Twirling around, her watery eyes met
his. He drowned in her green ponds. "I'm not stopping you." He lit a
cigarette and in that street it seemed more out of place than her jeans
or the black nail polish that glimmered under the gas lamp.

"No. I have to stop you." The stake appeared from nowhere. The pain was
a mixture of sorrow and shock. Green eyes were his final sight.

Spike woke up, his hands flying to his chest. Oh, fuck! It had been
a dream... The same ghastly dream that had haunted him for the last
months. He had always wanted to ask. What's this between you and me?
Didn't have the guts to ruin everything. After running away, he wasn't
going to spoil it again by asking. He wasn't an analysing bloke, after
all. Relax and enjoy. That was his mantra. Enjoy even if you can't
relax. They got that, whatever it was and he was extra happy about it.
No further questions allowed. They had never mentioned the L-word again
and, for now, it was okay with him. Sometimes, when he was enjoying the
warmth of her breath on his face, the smoothness of her cheek on his
stomach, the roundness of her breasts splashed against his chest, the
words tingled inside his mouth, crashed against his teeth. He chewed
them back knowing that one day they would jump out of his lips no
matter his choices about the matter. His brain and mouth had never got
on very well together... He had dreamt of telling her, have a decent,
grown-up talking... Later, his heart had said. And now it was more
than later, wasn't it? Alive... That word seemed meaningless and void.
Alive, how? Tortured? Abused? Alive only 'cause her heart still beat
and she could merely open her eyes?

With the blanket still on his head, he peeped at the other cot. Empty.
A nasty lump fell to his stomach. Shit. Red... She wasn't going to bear
any torture those sick bastards could have planned. She was still
fragile. In spite of the growing power boiling in her blood, she was
still like a demon kid. Adjusting to the new powers with which it would
destroy the universe but still a child. No more fluffy, pink sweaters
for her. Those were for innocent girls. Untainted by the filthy and
nasty deeds of the world.

If only that sodding Gil... Who? No, that wasn't the name of the mighty
Watcher... Glasses? British accent, snooty and a pain in the ass. Fangs
on his neck... He shrugged. Maybe another dream. A pleasant one this
time. Dark suits and a barbwire tying his wrists, digging in his flesh,
blood seeping from the wounds as if he were a draining pipe. Long, cold
corridors. Manchester United match on someone's TV.

There was a whisker inside his head. Beating fast and hard all memories
and cell brains. Spike touched one of his ears. His hand was clean.
Good. Didn't want it to be smeared by grey matter. If he had any. His
other senses were a riot. He hadn't even heard when they came for
Willow... The sudden blast of the door being shut, that he heard.
Jumping to his feet, he took a battle stand in spite of the blinding
lights. A shape was crawling towards the cot. He rushed to it.

"Willow?" Oh, shit! Since when his voice had that uncertain tremor?
"Are you there? I mean, are you okay?" Another teasing feeling.
Impotence. As if his fangs had been ripped out from his mouth.

"Yes... I think so..." She sat on the cot, her hands tightly holding
the edge of it. "You don't have a pair of shades, do you?"

Sense of humour. Excellent! In doomed times, if you could find anything
to laugh of, you weren't that beaten. "No, but maybe you could move
that nose of yours and get one for me too." He sat but her side,
holding back the need of putting an arm around her shoulder.  "What
happened?"

"Well, not too much... There was a room and something was glittering
on a table. A stone. Red, with thousands of facets that waved on the
walls... I think I fell asleep 'cause I don't remember anything else...
I had a nightmare, I think. Really scary but..." There had been another
feeling in that bad dream. One of extreme power, as if she had been
raised into another state, one in which she was in command of
everything around her. Death and life in her hands, to dispense at her
entire will.

Spike released the air that he had been holding. That meant nobody had
touched her. "And you... you... by any chance... have you seen Buffy?"
The lack of sight and hearing couldn't have turned him into a weeping
boy, could it? 

"No. Maybe she's in another cell. I'm sure Gil..." She stopped, her
frown wrinkled as an image of an unknown man crossed her mind.

"Who is this bloody Gil?" Nervously, he leapt to his feet. After
furious quick steps, he couldn't but sit down again. "I've got this...
memory? Don't trust my mind anymore, Red. What the fuck is that buzzing
sound? All the time as a soddin' invisible hive buggering up my noggin.
I can't bloody see! I can't bloody hear! What kind of magic is this?"
The cot squealed when he jiggled fretfully. "And please, spare me the
bleeding mumbo jumbo. Not in the mood for long stories."

"A very powerful one?" She couldn't help teasing. "The sound is magic
working at incredible haste. But I think they could control it if they
wanted to do so..."

"You mean they're using it to drive us nuts? It's working, pet." Spike
spread the blanket on both their heads. Something was so soothing about
it. As a cavern in which he could hide for external hazards. If he'd
been a human, that was it. "My soddin' eyes... I twig that. These
bloody lights are going to melt them in their sockets. But not hearing?
The magic tune is not that loud."

"Have you tried the lock? I'm afraid if I cast a spell on it, the
energy will rebound and knock me unconscious... What?" In their tight
cave his snort had a crude resonance.

"I was thinking about poncey words. My blood is the locking key, he
said. So I poured some drops on the lock. There's this beam... It hit
me so hard that I thought I'd lost my teeth. And my jaws. But you must
try, Red. I've got to find Buffy!"

Some sort of outburst darted across the cell bars. One blue eye spied
from under the blanket.

"Are you playing hide and seek? You're grown up for that, aren't you?"

Faith. Spike dashed to the door, his hands stretched out between the
bars trying to seize the bitch's neck.

"Chill out, vampire. You don't want this nice, pointy bolt to stab that
glorious chest, do you?" She pricked his hand with it. "Now, step back
and be nice."

Another strong sound as the door opened. Maybe the noise was an average
one. Maybe his skull didn't want to take any more shrilling clattering.
Something hit his legs. Chains. If that soddin' bitch believed he was
going to chain himself up she was crazier than he thought.

"Come on, hottie. I don't have all the time in the world, you know?
Unless you don't care about your life... Which it'd be such a pity.
Perhaps the witch's life then?" The bolt scratched his arm. Not sounds
of Willow. Not even a muffled cry. "I know. Buffy..." Faith laughed as
he secured the shackles around his wrists and ankles. "I knew we're
going to understand each other well..."

 

The Mayor closed the lid of a big, green chest. His hands rested on it,
his thumb caressing the carved figures as if he was gently stroking a
horse.

"You were right. She fell in some sort of trance. And then she spoke."
Angelus sipped from a black mug. "It won't take too much time to drag
her to our side. It's inside her. I would have never..."

"That Stone is extraordinary. It's said that it corrupts the soul but
there must be something corruptible in you, don't you think? And she
has such power in her... You're a sceptical one, my friend."

"So I reckon is time to test the sceptre?" His dark eyes fixed on the
stone surface of the box. After stealing it, he couldn't restrain
himself. He opened the lid to discover a long, gold staff with an
immense onyx as the headpiece. Such powerful device wouldn't have been
that simple in style. He had expected something made of ivory or ebony,
maybe set with dozens of the most precious stones.

"This treasure can't be tested. It must be used." Wilkins clutched
the chest and there was something so possessive in his attitude that
Angelus squinted his eyes. "But the time hasn't come yet. If this
little thing can control all worlds and make you the ruler of gods and
beings, the barriers between them have to broken. And that's not the
case, yet. Patience, my vampire, is a virtue."
 
Angelus didn't reply. His gaze had only one spot. The Mayor's fingers.
His mind weighted the words. The ruler of gods and beings... One single
sceptre meant one single ruler. For millions of realms. As much amusing
as this whole thing was, he had to be alert. Not all the worlds he
wanted, but at least he would make his stand for half of them. And if
that tricky human planned otherwise, well, he would have to set things
straight. Ruler... He leant back on his armchair savouring the word.
Better than Acathla... Ruler... God...
 

tbc...
Thanks: To Melissa, best beta ever.  

 

CHAPTER 12
 

The persistent ring of the phone woke her up. Still half asleep Buffy
walked towards it and was about to take it when her hand vacillated on
the receiver. She couldn't answer... It could be them... After breaking
into her own house, she had crashed on the couch and fell asleep. She
hadn't even taken a shower. She hadn't even cried. Hadn't even thought.
Her entire body was an untamed knot of entangled muscles that struggled
among them to pull in different sides. Her head had that constant
pulsating throb... as if a woodpecker had nested inside her skull. The
world was wrapped in a haze. She couldn't walk, only shuffle like an
old, ill woman.

The phone finally stopped. Buffy went back to the sofa. Her eyelids
weighted like lead bricks. She was amazed of how it was possible for
her to sleep. But grief had that merciful side. A comforting embrace
when everything had exploded around her feet. When nothing was the
same anymore. His presence lingered everywhere. On the couch, on the
cushions, on the carpet. Standing next to the fireplace. There was a
permanent burnt mark on the coffee table. One of his cigarettes. The
little porcelain girl that looked sadly at her from the mantelpiece had
her tiny neck glued. One of his elbows. The TV was a black monster with
one blind, black eye. His lips and hands, his moans and whispers were
hidden behind her eyelids. She could feel him, touch him, taste him
with only closing her eyes. In her dreams.

This time the sound was an imperative one. Buffy jumped on the sofa,
clutching a cushion like a shield. Dawn drew thin, violet lines on the
closed shutters. That knock again. The door... She tiptoed towards the
door and crouched there as if she was about to pray. Her eye peeped
through the keyhole. A stripped sweater greeted her with its strident
colours. She opened the door, just a crack from where she could grab
Xander's arm and throw him inside.

"Why didn't you...? Holy Moly! You really look like... if you were
sleeping." He quickly changed before a fist could connect with his
flesh. Chicks didn't like to hear they didn't look like a fairy-tale
princess. How many times had he recited that? He was learning, though.
Just in time.

"Somebody followed you?" Buffy rejected the crisps bag. Only thinking
of food made her stomach churn.

"No. It's only six in the morning... But I thought I had to talk to
you. Just to..." He avoided her reddish eyes and headed to the living
room. Standing beside the couch he was about to sit down when he
changed his mind and fell on one of the armchairs. "I've been talking
to Oz last night. He told me... And I thought..."

"Why don't you just say it? Say that Willow is in danger because of me.
Just spit what you want to say and leave me alone!" Her wide eyes
showed all the horror she felt for treating one of her friends like
that. But she couldn't help it. She was a pressure cooker that had been
forgotten over the stove.

"Hey, not the accusation gang here! But I'm worried! And you don't look
like if you were... Maybe after all that happened you're exhausted.
Take out the maybe." His pitiful gaze was more than she could bear.
"All I'm saying is that maybe you need a holiday. You know, to clear
your head..."

Buffy's clenched fist stopped two inches away from Xander's gaping
mouth. "My head is okay. Don't ever say that again." Words sounded like
grinded stone. "I'm not mad!"

"I didn't mean... But I can't believe a word Oz told me! Shit! I didn't
even know you were seeing that fucking killer again! How could you? How
can you? They should have put him down when they had the chance..."

And there it was. The pressure cooker had had enough hot steam to send
it flying into the air. Frantic sobs shook her so intensely that she
fell to the floor in a puddle; her arms wrapped against her bursting
stomach. What a wretched excuse of a warrior she was! Crying, choking,
with her guts twisted in a seething knot, scared and lost.

Giles had always been there to help her. To guide her along the hard of
slaying. Even if he had done certain things, following Council orders.
In the end, all he had done was protect her. Pushing the final signal
stop forward just for her death point to be as far as possible. A
father figure she had said. It was so right! She felt as if she had
lost her dad twice. One, she could catch a plane and go visit. Watch
his eyes, the little wrinkles around them when he smiled. Smell his
aftershave; listen to his voice on the phone saying Happy Birthday even
if it came with bad news. But Giles... not lights would ever reflect
again in his glasses. The sound of his voice would be a faded memory
the next year.

She would never be able to watch girly movies with Willow. Or going
to the mall to buy shoes or clothes for the next Bronze night. They
wouldn't eat chocolate ice cream anymore while they sat on the couch
with a blanket spread on their legs. Nobody would ever share with her
hidden secrets of sexual affairs. She wouldn't laugh or blush whenever
the stories got hotter enough to embarrass her and there wasn't going
to be a Willow with green half shocked eyes to listen to her. 

And Spike... would they kill him after playing with him in ways she
wasn't prepared to consider? Would they be that merciful? How could she
carry on without his naughty smiles, his indecent and arousing remarks,
his hungry and adoring eyes? Every bath she would take, every time
she' put on one of her panties, he'd be there asking what colour it
was. His hands would slide along her skin the moment she closed her
eyes. His voice would always whisper in her ears, his perfume would
cover her entire life. She pictured herself sniffing around in the
streets, in a mall, everywhere, when a similar scent passed by her.
Jumping to the ceilings every time she'd hear a British voice. Her skin
would flake and die without his fingers. Her mouth would be always
thirsty without his kisses.

"Buff, Buff... I'm sorry..." Xander tried to hold her but she avoided
his hands and sat on the coffee table. "I didn't mean to... I'm
sorry." He'd like to fly away like a small sparrow and never came back.
Buffy's state scared him even more than Willow's fate. How was she
going to rescue Willow if she was such a ruin? "Everything is going to
be fine. You'll see. Remember how scared we were when you had to fight
Angelus for the first time? And you beat him. Sent him straight to
hell. And when you got lost in Halloween? We're terrified that you
might be... you know... And suddenly... phhh... you were back with us.
And that time in which you..."

He'd thought that enumerating her countless victories would soothe her
somehow. Would give her some of her lost strength or some peace of
mind. He never expected that hallucinated gaze. As though his words had
hypnotized her or something worse.

All of a sudden she jumped to her feet and grabbed a coat. She stopped
at the door and turned round to face him, still sitting on the
armchair. "I've got to go to Willow's house. Want to come?"

 

No wonder lions wandered around in circles all day long. Spike was sure
his boots would tear apart if he took another circle around that room.
That bitch had left him there, the shackles still in place but no
searing lights this time. Only a yellow bulb which lit his frantic pace
with a dull eye. There was a sort of bed in one corner, a reddish
blanket on it. Another of those known iron bars on the ceiling and a
chain attached to a hook. A hose wiggled on the floor. A green hose
with black stripes. He'd have probably told how many stripes it had.
The mug Faith had offered was still on a small table in one corner. The
red liquid had turned into a sticky jelly last time he had checked.

The door flew opened and Faith came in carrying a bucket and an
impressive crossbow. He'd never seen one of that size in his life. The
Magnum 44 of crossbows. He gulped a chuckle and smirked instead. His
eyes followed the bucket to the floor. Stupid bint. He was dead.
Couldn't drown even if he tried hard.

"Better, handsome?" Grabbing one of the hose ends, she went to one of
the walls and lifted a metal tap. The one hundred and fifty-six stripes
were connected to a faucet. The green hose began to spit water. "Think
so, without those blinding lights and the boring company... Not to talk
about the cot... Does it squeal?"

"Would you if I squeeze your neck?" In spite of the shackles he leant
against the wall with his arms folded on his chest.

Faith only smiled and threw something at him. Spike caught the key in
the air and arched his eyebrow.

"Take them off. Take all off." The strong remark on the "all" didn't
leave any doubts. He stared at the crossbow without moving an inch.

"I'm not your whore, bitch."

"No, you're only Buffy's bitch, aren't you Big Bad? Such a vampire you
are..."

"Take that out of my bloody face and I'll show you what a vampire I can
be." He rebuffed, starting to lose his patience. And this was all they
had in mind? No big plot to conquer the world but to have their own
private sex-toys? And some called him pathetic...

"Oh, I'm sure about that. Now take them off. Be nice. I don't really
want to hurt you. Just check why B. has chosen you..."

"Want to have a peek, babe? Come here and take them off. If you are..."

Faith shook her head and a gloomy spark clouded her eyes. "I knew you
were going to be a stubborn little demon. You'll beg me to take those
clothes off you."

"Huuuh, I can't wait..." He challenged as she tossed aside the weapon
and raised the bucket.

The splash soaked his red shirt, his Tee and his black jeans. Spike
looked down. The world stopped and the yelling started. Holy water...
His mind couldn't begin to process the notion. Crazy maggots were
drilling his flesh searching for his bones. The pain was unbearable,
excruciating. A mist surrounded him and his eyes couldn't focus on
Faith anymore but on his own smoking skin.

"Now you want me to take them off?" Her voice had the sinister ring of
a cruel, mad child.

Spike couldn't speak. His muscles had tensed to an impossible arc; his
teeth gritted together as if he was chewing sand. "I can't hear you...
Okay then." She walked towards the door.

"Fuck...fucking...bitch!" he stuttered in agony. "Yes! Take them off
now! For Christ sake, TAKE THEM OFF!"

A pair of hands tore the shirt and the Tee apart and a welcomed flow of
ordinary water from the hose cleaned the remains of his jeans. Opened,
horrid gashes, holes and welts hissed and bellowed in pain. His mind
was spinning so fast that he fell to the floor. Didn't take notice of
the lack of shackles or the hands that lay him down on the bed. He
wanted to die. Again and again and again. Wouldn't be that painful.

"Oh, poor boy. Look at you now... Bet B. wouldn't like you like this...
Don't worry, though. I'll take care of you." She promised kneeling down
by his side to take off the last shreds of denim. "I will always take
care of you." She whispered, kissing the cold tears that ran along his
cheeks.

 

"So, this is what dating bleached guy had taught you?" Xander couldn't
help the sarcastic remark. It pushed and pushed against his teeth and
he'd to let it out. "Breaking into people's houses..."

"Sometimes is very useful." Buffy replied, giving Willow's bedroom door
a final flick before stepping inside.

"And we are here because? Not that her parents will listen to us or
anything since they are in Europe but... Jail doesn't suit me."

"Does Willow still keeps a magic diary? You know, she's always writing
even the slightest thing in her computer." Turning on the machine, she
checked the different folders. "Hey, did you know she keeps every
school task in here? Isn't enough to give it in when you've finished
with it? Oh, shit. Password here."

Putting aside a pink cushion, Xander sat on the edge of the bed staring
at Buffy's back. Boy, wasn't she moody? One moment she was crying the
guts out of her and the other was chatting about stupid school stuff.
He didn't know how a computer was going to help Willow but Buffy's
hunches had proved to be right most of the time. And he was her friend
in spite of a serial killer bunking her up... Cancel that thought...
In spite of her wobbly mind-set, that's it. Friends were supposed to be
there not matter what and there he was. Coping and helping. "Must be
the magic stuff then. We could shout open sesame or something."

Buffy smiled a little and that thrilled and encouraged her for the
first time. If she could smile then she could rise to her feet and
kick that world upside down. And bring all those she loved back to her
bosom. Keeping the confident mood, she wrote "Abracadabra" and the
folder opened up like a casket of secrets. Alphabetical order... Oh,
Willow! You're the best! H, h, h. Halloween. A full detailed tale of
what had happened. With a little changes of course. Every time she read
Wyndham-Pryce instead of Giles her smile quavered a bit. But the whole
lot was almost the same. The words for casting the spell, the way she
had opened the portal, the list of required ingredients. Everything
with a typical Willow quote like "The only snag is the starch word.
Sounded like a poem. Must be stardust. Or starch for stiffen the whole
thing? Hmmm, look it up." And the most important one. "Mr. Pryce had
commissioned (his words there. Isn't he stuffy?) me the spell thing
'cause he hasn't been in touch with magic for a while and this needs
extra magic-dealing powers. Not that he knows about the other stuff
I've been dealing with... Think I should erase this last sentence..."

"So, - Xander peeped over Buffy's shoulder, - something we can use?"

"If we have a witch at hand, maybe. Or a demon. Or somebody used to
perform spells..." Her eyes widened as an idea twinkled in her head.
A, a, a. Yes! Anyanka. Former vengeance demon.

"You're mad, aren't you?" Xander stepped back a little when she twirled
around with a stormy look. "Sorry. I'll never say that again. Promise.
But she's the most annoying creature in the world! Not to mention that
he's always horny! Well, that's what I've heard..."

Second smile in less than an hour. She was definitely improving. "Maybe
it's been enough of skiving off. School is waiting for you. Grab your
books."

 

tbc...

Thanks: To Melissa, best beta ever.  

 

CHAPTER 13

 

Angelus stood beside the bed and tilted his head to deliver Faith an
angry gaze. He was planning on hurting his grandchilde but slowly. This
stupid girl had spoilt the fun. Useless attempt that of trusting on
amateurs brats. They ruined everything. At least, he'd seek comfort
in the obvious pain rushing inside Spike's body. Or maybe not even in
that. He was as unconscious as a knocked out boxer. With another look
he bunged a vial at Faith's face and left the room.

Spike was swimming in a fog. Sometimes it grew thinner and he could
focus on the world around. Sometimes it was so thick that veiled
everything. He was caught in an eddy where he spun round and round as
a little paper boat in a stream. He was aware of the hands that were
daubing his body with something fresh and welcome. And yet, he couldn't
help feeling that he was been anointed as a sacrifice for a black mass.
His inner flesh was boiling as if he was burning in some ghaut.

Images leapt inside his head as crazy goats. Gil... an Englishman with
a special task. To teach and protect... Gil... A Watcher... No. Mr.
Wyndham-Prissy was a Watcher. He had sent the hound dogs after him.
Had nearly locked him in some demon jail were they were all tied up
with hot wires and tortured every time of the day. The runaway had been
tough. Spike fidgeted on the mattress, feeling the pokers stabbing his
stomach again.

Hot hands fondling his chest. Dru... Dru's dark hair caressing his
thighs, her tongue tracing his knees, his legs, his shaft. As only
she could do it. Painfully. Wonder why he didn't like it anymore...
Buffy... Sweet lips on his eyelids and her voice whispering naughty,
future sexy things while he watched TV sipping from a mug. Joyce's
gentle conversation coming from the next armchair while Buffy's fingers
sneaked under his duster, folded on his lap. Joyce? He'd talked to the
lady a few times but calling her by her name was out of the question.
And, definitely, he had never been that close to Buffy's mother.
Buffy... His movements became more restless. The pain wasn't supposed
to be there. Something pinned his hands to the mattress. Darla's golden
hair then... Darla and that night in which he had been chosen as a
making-up present. Her present to his twisted Childe...

Spike yelled and squirmed and the hands disappeared like hands did in
a dream. Only whispers now. The nightmare went on. No matter how he
tried, he couldn't open his eyes.

 

Buffy peeked from behind a car, waiting for Xander and Oz to get Anya.
Too many pins to be attached to her coat in those days. Mad, fugitive,
vamp's bitch. And now, kidnapper. A poke on her shoulder nearly gave
her a stroke.

"How many times, people, do I have to say this? No paws on my car!"
Taking out a handkerchief from her purse, Cordelia cleaned the supposed
dirty spots from the red surface. "And what? Aren't you going inside?
Don't tell me! They've finally expelled you!" She sighed with evident
glee.

"I promise not to touch your precious car anymore if you leave right
now, Cordelia. If not I'll kick it. You know, a super Slayer's kick."
Buffy said the last words ducking a little when a suit man went out the
school doors.

"Hiding from that Watcher of yours, eh?" Something in Cordelia's voice
caught her attention. "Can't blame you really. He's such a total jerk!
What? He is and you know it. I mean, he didn't need to tell Snyder
that I spent too much time in the library, did he? It wasn't that I
wanted... Okay, I can't fool you. I wanted it. But he..."

"Cordelia, Cordelia, please..." Buffy was more than eager to listen
to that particular tale. Could be of some help if her plans went wrong.
Mad, kidnapper, and pin number five... Briber. Xander was coming
downstairs with a pleased Anya dangling from his arm, followed by Oz.
Cordelia had to be sent away. Now.

"Oh, that bitch! Guess some people are meant to be together..."
Cordelia's eyes went after the trio. She was taken aback when Xander
gave Anya a quick push to force her into the van. "Wait!" She grabbed
Buffy's arm before she could run away. "If you're going to take her to
that demon prison I want to go. She owes me!" She shouted jumping on
the front seat of the van after pushing Buffy aside. "You go back
there. Demons and you... Well, let's say you're used to dirty
clothes..." She smiled and shut the door.

 

The smell in the empty Magic Shop weren't as pleasant as it used to be.
Some of the things kept on the jars had horrible greenish goo floating
on the liquid they had been maintained freshly. Others jars had
shattered into pieces and nasty gluey slime shed to the floor as if
the shelves were drooling.

Buffy dragged a heavy table to block the basement door and turned round
to look at Anya, sitting on a wooden chair.

"What do you want? I'm human now." Anya stated without a thread of
fear. Her head was a little tilted to a side and a bored, disgusted
line curved her lips.

"I want you to cast a spell for me." Buffy crossed her arms on her
chest. Her gaze was hard and murky.

"Yes, sure. And then you're going to lock me up in that... whatever it
is of yours. Won't do it." She imitated Buffy's posture.

"Okay, since you're nothing but human now I guess it'd be pretty simple
to snap your neck in two..." Standing in front of her, Buffy put her
hands on the back of the chair.

Anya laughed. A true, amused laugh. Buffy winced a little. "That's
impossible. You're the Slayer and slayers don't kill humans."

"Don't be that sure..." It was only a murmur.

"Maybe certain slayers, but not you."

Cordelia hit a cobweb with her purse and stepped forward. "Well, I'm
not a slayer so I could break your neck if you don't help. After all,
you ruined my wish. I died!" One of her shoes stamped the floor lifting
a small cloud of dust.

"I cast a perfect spell. You ruined it." Anya glared at her with
antipathy.

"Maybe I'd eat you." Oz smiled sweetly. His eyes locked with Anya's
and she was the first one to avert her gaze.

"No. We would have to wait till next full moon for that and I don't
have that much time..."

"Time for what?" Cordelia looked at Buffy as if she just found out she
was locked up in a cellar. "I mean, I thought you're going to lock her
not ask for spells... Why do you want a spell? And why are we hiding
like common criminals?"

"You want the long story or the short one?" Xander teased. "Okay, Buffy
believes... knows, - he changed with a nod, - that this reality has
been bent a little. Meaning that the Watcher we all know it's not
really her watcher. She wants things back as they were. Her Watcher
and Willow back with her."

"You mean this here is not true? You mean that I was suspended from
school nearly a month and forced to be humiliated in front of my
friends for somebody who doesn't even exist?" Cordelia was blushing so
hard even in the soft light of the basement her cheeks looked as red as
beets. "Not to mention that we have to wear these awful clothes 'cause
your Watcher, - she stated with an accusatory voice, - has talked the
Principal into forcing the students to wear ancient, completely out of
date, boarding-school style! I can only wear decent shoes just not to
look like a complete loser! Not that you could have a problem with that
subject but..."

"Cordi, later, okay?" Buffy stared at Cordelia for a minute. She hadn't
noticed before but the Queen of Design looked like a fifty year old
woman clothed in a long dark skirt and a yellow turtle neck sweater.
Which wasn't even tight. She was right. It was awful. Turning to Anya
she showed her a piece of paper. "Here's what you've got to do. It's
not that difficult. You do it, you go away."

"If I do it, would you, don't know, help me to get my demon status
again?" Having no answer Anya skimmed the sheet and sighed. "That's
it? You can't do it yourselves? This human thing is pathetic, really.
You're worthless. I'm worthless!"

"That means you can do it?" A third smile shone on Buffy's face when
Anya nodded her acceptance.

"But first you must tell me everything. I mean, the whole story. Don't
want you to accuse me of having ruined a perfect spell." Anya parried
the blow Cordelia aimed to her head with her head. She thought she
should buy one of those. To use it as a weapon. Seemed useful...
"Where did you get this words from? And this list..."

"I'll explain, then you put your ex demon hands to it. Understood?"
Buffy sat on a table and began to talk.

 

"So I thought that if I could, well, you could, open a portal in that
same date and spot as Willow did, maybe I could have a chance..." Buffy
looked around but there wasn't anything remotely similar to water. Her
throat was burning. "Like a travel machine, you know..."

"But that was Halloween!" Xander was impressed by his friend's tale.
Nobody that could explain things so accurately could be that mad. It
wasn't that he'd considered... Maybe a little delusional... But he had
been scared. Now, he was terrified. Buffy was in lo... Buffy was
dating Spike! Regularly. Having met him as human didn't change the big
subject. And Faith... She was a bitch. He knew that. Her strength and
Angelus together were like a Molotov cocktail. Not to mention that
disgusting Mayor. He had that superior speech... Every time he appeared
on the TV Xander turned it off. Maybe it was something with that weasel
face of his. Or the fact that he talked as if he were some god trapped
among useless dwarves...

"Yes, and the memorial service would be on November the 14th. According
to the book. If she can change the date just for a few days..." Buffy's
heart was ablaze with hope. "I've figured out that, since the dress was
the... vehicle... is that the word? Anyway, that maybe we could bewitch
the dress I have. It could be helpful to come back home..."

"What if you have to change clothes?" Cordelia blinked several times.
Buffy changing? Doubtful... Only if she could find jeans and thighs in
the nearest Victorian shop... "I mean, if your dress get all muddy, as
usual and... You know what. Forget it. It'll never happen."

"I was free to go everywhere I wanted..." Melancholic eyes and deep
sighs. Anya was lost in her glorious memories. "I had this beautiful
pendant..." The chair knocking against the floor brought her back from
her reverie.

"That's it!" Buffy didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  "I've got a
necklace! Since I don't know how long it will take me to find this guy
I'll need something I can open the portal with. Can't keep all of you
waiting here. I mean, it's not that I'm going to phone or something."
Revamped. That was how she felt. Full of new strength and back to the
fight. "Cordelia, can you take me home? I've got to dress properly and
I'm sure you could help with that. Xander, you go back to school and
make sure everybody knows there's something really wrong with Buffy.
That she's being chased by her Watcher or something like that. In the
meantime, Oz will help you with everything you need. Take what you
want." She pointed at the shelves around.  "It's free of charge." Six
pins. Thief. And see if I care...

 

A thin, long haired, young vampire was sat on the edge of the bed in
which Spike was still lying. His hands went from a bowl containing a
blue scented liquid to the half-healed wounds on Spike's body. His grey
eyes never left the skin he was cleansing. His long fingers moved in
slow, pleasured circles on the pale flesh.

Angelus stood in the room threshold for a while, watching him. The
young guy didn't even notice he was being stared by an interested gaze.
"Where's Faith?" Angelus finally asked and had to hold back a giggle
when the fellow nearly fell to the floor. The metal bowl jumped from
his lap and chimed on the tiles like a bell.

"She... she went out, sir." His fear was so evidently disgusting.
Rookies had always annoyed him. They were like pariahs crawling
backwards. "She said she had something to check."

Nodding, Angelus smiled slyly. "You like him, don't you boy? Bet you're
thinking that somebody like you would never have somebody like him.
After all, you're a minion..." He took out a packet of cigarettes from
a pocket and lit one with a gold lighter. "Imaging the humiliation...
A master vampire being shagged by a useless minion..." A silvery, thin
column of smoke swirled in the air. "Unless he was unconscious...
Unless somebody had given you some blessing..."

Shaking from head to toes, the young vampire could see a stake in those
dark eyes. The cloth fell from his fingers and he was about to beg for
his un life when Angelus's next words staked him better than a wooden
weapon.

"Unless nobody had ever seen you..." Angelus stepped out closing the
door in the gentlest way. The distinctive sound of a key reached the
fellow's ears. He had been locked up. Alone. With an unconscious,
gorgeous master vampire... The fear in his grey eyes petered out as
a hungry spark replaced it.

 

tbc...




Warning: I was told I'd write a warning for this chapter so here it
goes... Torture and abuse. Sorry to S...    

 

CHAPTER 14

 
First thing Buffy took mental notice of, after crossing the blinding
portal to the past, was to kill Cordelia as soon as she went back to
Sunnydale.  She was sure the brunette had taken extreme pleasure in
tightening the corset laces to an extreme point... Buffy had argued
against the painful garment but she had to accept it in the end. The
damned dress didn't fit her without the corset not matter how she
wriggled inside it. Thanks God she hadn't thrown away the wig... In
spite of how much she hated that long hair, she didn't want anything
to spoil the spell. If she had crossed with that on, she had to wear
it. She would have worn a dress made of human skin if that had helped.


Second thing was that she was absolutely convinced she had forgotten
something. Not the pendant. Her hand had clutched it all the time Anya
had chanted the magic words. Not even the tiniest piece of paper she
had attached with a safety pin inside one of her white linen bloomers.
Buffy knew she should have learnt the going-back song by heart but she
had been so jumpy since they all had gathered in the alley for her
journey to the past... Afraid something, someone better said, would be
spying to ruin her last chance of getting things right.

Taking a deep, necessary breath she turned round. A closed, wooden door
and a wood sign swinging above it. "Jonathan Crowther & Sons. Private
Undertaker." Buffy shuddered. So Anya had cast a perfect spell after
all. Just in the same spot Willow had opened that one. But the
undertaker... It was closed... She's supposed to be staring at
William's cheap splintered coffin. What if it wasn't November anymore?
What if she had struggled so hard for nothing?

Buffy started to walk. She remembered those streets as if everything
had happened only yesterday. Now the sound of clattering wheels and
hooves would hit the cobblestones like a deadly drum. Now the horses
would snort when a whip smacked their hindquarters and her shoes would
rattle on the floor as her heart in her chest.

But there wasn't anything of that. The streets were silent and chilly,
empty and wrapped in a thin mist that blurred the kerbs and the lamp
post pedestals. The cold breeze sneaked under the layers of petticoats
making her shiver. She should have brought a London map. Or some money.
William had paid for the carriage. His mother had lent her the dress
and every piece of garment underneath. Even the shoes... But she was
alone now. Unless... unless it were still October... Unless they were
alive... Of course they wouldn't know her but she knew the house. Could
break into and... borrow some coins... The sixth pin was thief? So
true... But it was for a good purpose! If she'd manage to do it she
promised to give the money back to Spike.

The house she had known had had a lamp lighting the crocheted curtains
in the ground floor. It was warm and friendly. This one was dark and
gloomy. Maybe it was only her imagination and they were only out in
some social meeting... The front door was a black pit. Buffy tiptoed
towards it and rested an ear against the surface. Nothing. Not even the
tall clock in the hall. Her hand tried the doorknob. The door opened
its dark mouth with such easiness that she should have known that
something was really wrong. Despite her doubts, she stepped inside
the house and shut the door at her back. In the small parlour, a log
spluttered in the fireplace and died with a red hiss.

Her gaze climbed the stairs and a fist clutched her heart. It was so
difficult to control her rumbling feelings in that moment... Torn apart
she was. She'd have liked to verify that William was still alive. At
the same time, her heart bled and screamed for Spike. For what would
be going on with him. What if she took a peek? Only a second. Just to
check the date in that small leather notebook of his... As furtive as
a woman dressed in rustling silk could be, Buffy went upstairs and got
into his bedroom.

The box of matches was still on the bedside table. Just as she
remembered. She lit the gas lamp. A sizzling sound filled her ears
together with a door slamming downstairs. Voices. Shouting. Her hand
reached for the doorknob but it was too late. Someone was stomping on
the stairs, followed by a heavier sound. Buffy's eyes whirled around
the room and she jumped towards the desk, hiding behind the wide
armchair that stood between it and the bookcase. The orange glow of
the lamp stopped at the middle of the room leaving her wrapped in deep
shadows.

"All I say is that I don't want to stay here!"

William's voice! Buffy was so happy that she was about to leave her
refuge when the next voice froze her behind the armchair.

"And who told you, boy, that you can say something about anything?"

Angelus... Angelus's voice. That cold draught in it, mixed with an
unreal sweetness, something Buffy knew so well...

"This is MY house!"

"Was your house. Now... it's mine."

"YOURS! Who the hell do you think you are? I'm leaving and I'm taking
Dru with me!" He stared at his grandsire, challenging him to say otherwise.

"Don't push your luck, Willie... I only tolerate Dru's stupid caprices.
But me patience isn't strong..." That was a real threatening voice.
Buffy could picture a simple door with thousand of knives hid behind it
as a bobby trap.

"I'm a caprice? It's that what you're implying?" William chuckled.
"You're nobody to give me orders. And if I want to..."

Angelus's blow was so unexpected that caught him defenceless. His body
crashed onto a chair splitting it in half. Buffy crouched down even
more, not sure whether to stay where she was or jump like Batgirl
saving the powerless.

"I give the orders here." Angelus slowly walked towards William's
fallen shape. "I'm your master. And you'll do as I tell. You'll be
needin' somebody to teach you how things work 'round here, Willie." He
grabbed the front of William's shirt, forcing him to his feet. The next
slosh was straight to his chin. "'Cause in case you haven't realized,
you don't own anything. My women are mine." His fist sank in William's
stomach and he threw him against the desk. Buffy stopped breathing.
Almost. "And you're just a toy she'll throw away soon enough."

William leapt from the floor and his knuckles erased Angelus's smirk.
"I'm not a toy!" Another blow and Angelus's nose started to bleed.

The taller vampire wiped away the blood and sighed deeply. "Now you're
getting me angry, boy..." A clout on his head nearly knocked William
down but he managed to clutch Angelus's shirt. The fabric ripped and
they both fell to the floor in a confusion of limbs and fists.

Buffy's eyes were two green coins peeping from her shelter. Her fingers
grabbed the bottom of the armchair, ready to send it flying across the
room. No flying... Only an ordinary lift. As if she was picking it up
to sweep under it. She tried again. The same... And suddenly she had
the picture of what she had forgotten. The tiny detail about her lack
of strength. Just as she had done when she'd talked to Giles. Panic
crept over her, making her crouch down even more. All she could do was
follow Angelus's fingers crawling on the carpet as furtive worms.

The splintered leg of the chair appeared among them before sinking in
William's shoulder. Another one stabbed him on his right nipple but he
still fought back. A third smaller sliver pierced his side. William
wriggled backwards trying to get to his feet but Angelus's kicked him
and his back hit the edge of the bed. His shirt was soon ripped in half
and his wrists were tied to each of the bed posts. His foot threw out
but he didn't kick a thing. Everything was a blur. He didn't even feel
his bones.

"Now look what you've done to my shirt." Angelus pointed at the torn
garment. "It was my favourite one." Yanking it from his body he threw
it away on the armchair. "Oh, boy... you know why I don't kill you? And
I'm so close to doin' it... 'Cause Dru'd be so upset... But things are
going to change. They have to. 'Cause two roosters? Bad idea. You can't
beat me Willie. Think you've learnt the first lesson already. Second,
I do give the orders here and you just obey." His figure was as tall as
a dark obelisk standing between William's legs. "Third... yes, you're a
toy. A new one. Always wonder what she saw in you." He knelt and pulled
William's chin up. "Was it your blue eyes? Or those beautiful chiselled
features of yours?" Kneeling down, his big hands perched on both sides
of the young's face. His thumbs traced the cheekbones and stopped on
the lips. "Maybe it was that full bottom lip of yours." His face was
so near that, for William, it was nothing but a round yellow shape with
entangled features. His tongue outlined William's lips with extreme
slowness.

Buffy's hands ran to her mouth and her nose. She hadn't been wrong at
the warehouse. Everything had been etched in his words and his gaze. An
intense rush of something bitter was hitting her throat. She swallowed.
She merely breathed. He was so into the fight that he hadn't sensed
another presence in the room. She wasn't going to give herself away
only by puking.

"Or is it that you taste good?" His palm pushed the stake on the
shoulder and his mouth caught a blood mouthful. "I bet it was this."
William's crotch was painfully squeezed. Suddenly, his trousers were
shreds around his legs. His gaze was fixed on his grandsire's face
showing not a thread of the expected fear. His wrists didn't move at
his command. Maybe the stake on his shoulder had severed a nerve...
"Did you know that for certain people nudity makes 'em feel
vulnerable?"

Her eyes were itching. They didn't want to comply with her command of
no tears. They hung from her eyelashes, hot and furious. She dared to
pat the nearest desk. Not a single letter opener, a pencil, the box of
matches. Why in hell she had left the box of matches on the bedside
table? And lit what? Her dress? Would be a quick snack before seeing
the first sparks.

"So you are a big bad boy, ah Willie?" He held William's cock in one
hand as if he was inspecting some vegetable quality. "I can fix that
too. I can fix everything. I can make you so useless that you won't
be anybody's toy again." He pulled out the wood from between the ribs.
"Let's see..." Angelus unbuttoned his own pants. His cock sprang free
nearly hitting his lower belly. His palm began to rub William's shaft.
The nail of his thumb scratched the slit. "Oh, come on, boy. It's not
fair if yours is like that. Okay." He shrugged cutting a slight gash
near the head. William winced and clenched his jaws. "You think that
would make them look alike? Or maybe here?" The second cut went deeper.
"What if I cut it all?" The wooden shiver sank deeply. "Am I smelling
tears, boy? What a girl..."

Buffy desperately wiped the tears out with the dress sleeve. She
wondered how it was possible that her heartbeat hadn't set the whole
room to rock. She wondered if it was possible for her to hammer the
fiend head as she had done with Dru's. Her hand crawled to the blue
leather boot.

"Bastard!" William spluttered among gasps and grunts. The pain was
unbearable and he'd lost enough blood to faint. But he wasn't going to.
The prick had to kill him first.

"What have you said? Who gave you the order to speak?" The golden hair
was yanked backwards. " You speak if I want, you jump if I want. You
shag if I want. I'm your master."

"And that's why Darla is here?" William spat, a mockery ringing in his
rough voice. A slap crossed his face but he didn't falter. "Are you her
master as well?"

"Shut up!" Jumping to his feet, Angelus grabbed his grandson's hair.
His hand held his bursting cock pushing it against William's lips.
"Stupid boy! You won't be able to speak for a while. I guarantee you
that." His knee hit the shoulder stake forcing a scream out of the lips
he was pressing. He plundered into the opened mouth like a battering
ram through a castle defence. It didn't matter how hard William tried
to pull back. The hand on his neck was a thick wall. "You see, you do
what I want. Speak when I tell you. Do what I command." His thrusts
were violent and bruising. "Oh, yes, - he hissed, - you'll be a good
toy..."

He was so near that his grasp slackened. Gathering the last threads of
energy, William's face changed and his fangs sank deeply on the invader
piece of flesh. The hurt roar filled every inch of the room. Angelus
stomped back, his bleeding cock pointing at the savage smirk on
William's swollen lips like a finger promising a deserved punishment.
His face was twisted with rage. Only one thing in mind. Erase that
smile forever. He hit him so hard that the shirt split completely,
releasing William's wrists.

His booted foot kicked Angelus's balls with all the strength he had
left. Grabbing the bed post he struggled to get to his feet. Maybe he
should run away. At least for now. Till he could regain some power on
his own body. This could be the best and only chance he'd have that
night. He wasn't quick enough, though. His forehead was crashed against
the bedpost till he thought his brains would leave their spot on it
permanently. A hissing sound shrilled behind him and a rain of leather
lashes fell on his back. Losing his unstable balance, he fell on the
bed. The stakes ran through his flesh and pointed at the ceiling.

"So you want it the rough way. I'll give you rough then."

Oh, shit. He was lost. Lost for that crazy beast to finally win his
prize. With a final effort William kicked him on the chest and send him
against the bookcase. The bronze earth globe on the top of it waved a
little before falling on Angelus's skull knocking him out. William's
glazed eyes gawked for a moment. His face sank on the mattress.

Finally picking up the courage, Buffy got out from behind the chair.
Her legs were dancing a mad waltz. She stopped near Angelus stiff body
and kicked his ribs. He didn't move. She turned round to the bed. Only
two steps and her mouth opened in a silent scream to throw a flow of
sour liquid on the carpet. She had walked bare foot on that carpet. Had
swung like a princess. Had picked up jewels. Her face was now a river.
Holding her stomach she pulled out the two stakes in his body and shook
him gently. His blue eyes were bewildered and shocked slits. Buffy
forced him to his feet; amazed he could still have some strength left
in him. Downstairs, she was about to head to the door when a song
filled the air. Oh, shit! This night had no end! Shuffling hastily, she
dragged him to a door on the left. A dark pit welcomed her. The cellar?
She didn't think. Too shocked for even that.

 

tbc...
Summary: Set during Season 3, Buffy and Spike are figuring out their
relationship, while the Mayor gets a Big Bad ally...

Thanks: To Melissa, best beta ever.

 

CHAPTER 15               

  

Spike had been dreaming of a blue dress and a glass of champagne.
Bubbles tickled his nose. A white heather scent wrapped him in warm
arms. Till a clattering noise woke him up. A noise and Angelus's voice
delivering him as a dustbin to be filled with useless, rotten rubbish.
He stayed still, though. Let that bastard think he'd do whatever he
wanted. Let him leave. Let this sodding minion feel confident enough
to break his neck. Or show him the way out.

Two hands glided gently along his thighs, over his chest. A pair of
legs straddled his hips and a tongue, cold and sickening, flicked on
one of his nipples. His eyes flew open, a blue steel cleave that cut
the minion's ministrations. His fist punched the wanker's nose, sending
him to the floor.

"I should kill you, buggering prick." Spike jumped out from the bed.
"I should rip that shaft out from you and shove it up your sorry ass.
Make you walk with it stuck in your hole for all the years to come."
He kicked the minion's stunned face. "But I'm not going to. At least for
now. 'Cause you're going to show me the way out of here. And if you
succeed, maybe, just maybe, I won't wipe your sodding dust off my
hands."

He picked up the minion's clothes and checked the size. Too damned
small. Tearing the sheet in two, he tied it around his waist like a
white sarong before walking towards the door. He pressed an ear against
it. Not a sound. As if that room was the only thing in the world. With
a strong flick of his wrists he broke the lock and opened a crack. A
blue eye peeked down a long, dimly lit corridor.

"Now, - his fingers seized the minion's throat, - take me to the
Slayer."

"Faith? She is not... not..." The grip didn't allow too much talk.

"Not that bitch. Buffy. Where do they keep her?" Spike released his
hold only a little.

"There's no other slayer here." A thumb dug one of his eyes and a few
drops of blood trickled from one corner. "I swear it! The other Slayer
is out there! Crazy, they say!"

Spike couldn't believe his luck. This sod wasn't only a bum-boy but a
dork as well! "You know where the witch is?"

"Yes! Yes!" The younger vamp shouted when the thumb went for his other
eye. "I'll take you there!"

"Ladies first then." Spike quickly skimmed the room looking for some
wood he could use as a weapon but everything was either plastic or
iron. Snapping necks was all he had left then. His hand held the
minion's nape.

The place was like a maze of yellow, flaky walls. Water fell from the
ceilings in constant drops forming dark, smelling puddles on the broken
brown tiles of the floor. Bare bulbs hung from wires and did nothing to
light the damp hallways. Spike nearly welcomed it. After spending days
in Radiance Palace, this was some sort of bliss. Like the past days in
Oblivious Land. The problem was that he was going back to the Palace.
And nothing he could do, could possibly prepare his eyes for the
blinding blast.

"Behind that door." The vampire pointed at a grey metal surface.
"There's the cage."

Spike sneered at him and pointed at the door with a quick movement of
his head. The minion complied with the silent command. Spike squeezed
his eyes shut for a moment.

There was something wrong in that room. As he slowly approached the
metal humming bars, he checked the cots and the blankets. They were the
same. But the lights were bluish. No searing beams ready to destroy his
eyes. He touched the bars and a slight shot of energy ran along his
arm. Bloody hell! And Willow wasn't even there.

"Where is she?" He kicked the running vamp in his back. "Where the fuck
is...?" He lifted up his head. Steps. Near. Spike snapped the minion's
neck before he could call for help and ran to the door hiding behind
it.

Willow entered first followed by a girl. She was even younger than the
witch. Spike frowned, a little confused. That girl... she couldn't be
more than fourteen. And that was a guardian? Taking no chances he
jumped at her nearly strangling her neck with an iron arm.

"Now be a nice girl and turn round." His confusion climbed two levels.
She was human. But at the same time, she wasn't. As if she were nothing
but an empty shell. He hadn't time to suss it out, though. His other
hand sought Willow's wrist and forced her to walk behind him. "You're
going to show us the bloody exit. Got it?" The girl nodded with a blank
movement. A robot could have been more enthusiastic.

After crossing three corridors, she finally stopped. Spike sighed with
some relief. He remembered the big wood boxes. Had come in through a
door at the end of that room. Didn't need the girl that stood in front
of him like a figurehead. He vamped out. Couldn't let her run away and
deliver the big news, could he?  He retreated his fangs as soon as they
pierced the soft flesh. She tasted as a bag full of foul air. Fuck!
Spitting a little he pushed her aside and resumed his race. Willow ran
behind him as if he were dragging a kite to raise it in the air. Spike
stopped and howled like an abandoned wolf.

There was no door but some sort of temple front. Two tall, black
columns held a black frieze, from where twisted, suffering, stony
faces shouted in silent screams. Two strange birds were perched on each
column. They looked like eagles but their bodies were covered in fur
instead of feathers. Their long tails waved furiously in the air.
Growls resounded at his back. Spike whirled round. Three dark dogs
drooling a thick thread of white saliva. Each of them had four mad eyes
and curved, sharp claws. Okay, escaping wasn't going to be that easy.
He was about to make a move when Willow threw out her hands. A
murmuring chant flowed from her lips as pinkish sparks circled faster
and faster above her stretched palms. The sparks turned into red flames
and then into something black that grew larger and began to wriggle on
the floor like... like black serpents. Spike leapt back a few steps but
he couldn't take his eyes off of the approaching snakes as though he
had fallen into some trance. Why didn't they go for those damned dogs?
He couldn't move. With a great effort, he finally looked at Willow. Her
eyes had lost their sweetness and the green fields of their depths were
wrapped in black clouds. They were as empty, evil wells. A red flake
was stuck to her forehead and it looked like a third flaring eye. 
Snakes began to creep up his legs, his arms, his neck. "RED!!!" He
shouted before falling to the floor, locked up by five cold, black
chains.

 

The Bronze was really bursting that night. After being closed for
almost two months by a new decree against immorality and some League
of Caring for our Teens' Health, somebody finally thought the only way
of caring about teens was knowing where they were. Nobody could have
missed the grand re-opening. Oz had said that if they didn't show up
"they" would know. And he had been right. For a werewolf he was right
most of the time. That was a thing Xander could deal with. He had known
Oz for... well, not that long. But he was human... almost. He had known
him as human and now as... a... demon? Werewolves were demons? Didn't
know and didn't matter. They just got on well. Maybe 'cause... And it
had nothing to do with Buffy's personal story with a bleached vampire.
'Cause it wasn't the same, was it? Oz didn't go around killing people.
Not that he knew. And about the human part... Now he was entangling
things. Better got out of that crowded restroom.

Two steps out and Xander stopped on his track. A well-known dark haired
woman caught his sight. Faith... Faith jumping behind some noisy girls
with skirts so short that he'd nearly see their... Focus.  All Buffy
had told them chimed in his head while he took little steps, his back
pressed to the back wall. She was spying on them? Xander elbowed the
mass of sweaty people and finally reached the couch in which Cordelia
was babbling about her next holidays in the French Riviera.

"Faith is here." Three pair of eyes stared at him as if he had
announced he'd a bomb hidden in his underwear. Sort of speak. "I've
seen her."

"So... it's show time then. Can you see her now?" Oz tried to take a
glimpse by the corner of one eye but it only hurt. His back was so
tense that he thought his transforming ritual would begin in any
minute.

"She is six mega-mini skirts from us." Xander shook his head once more.
Man, she really got a nerve! What if Mr. Wyndham... Was he nuts? That
priggish guy wouldn't have recognized a dancing floor even if it had
been swept with his own body. Suit and everything. "Maybe you could go
for some Cokes? And take Cordelia with you? The deaf could hear when
she opens her mouth." Xander smiled a little just to soothe the angry
brunette.

"I'm doing this just to get my life back, you know. I mean, the one
that your friend told me about. The one with none of you around, I
hope" Cordelia stood up. The glass in her hand spilled its last drops
of sticky Pepsi on Xander's pants. "Oops, sorry Xander. It's not that
you'll ever notice another stain, though."

Her grin nearly blinded him. Something patted his jeans. Anya and
a paper napkin. Anya's hand cleaning his thighs like if he had been
soaked in a Pepsi barrel. And in a place the drops hadn't even touched
him. Xander gaped at her while his body, always with a mind of its own,
decided it liked the rubbing. Anya's smile was so near... Since when
did he like...? He leant forward and kissed her.

"It's not that I'm surprised." Cordelia asked for another Pepsi. "I
mean, she has always been an odd creature. All those strange things
mixed with an incredible lack of style could drive anybody mad."

Oz just nodded, his attention focused on the excellent view he had from
the mirror which was behind the bar counter. A girl with pink hair was
standing behind him. A big bubble gum nearly hid her face, turning her
into a pink balloon. Behind her, to the left, a tall guy with a
flowered shirt was trying to convince Faith about the benefits of
dancing with him. The Slayer had kneed something precious, apparently
'cause the boy's face was twisted in pain. Faith stepped closer.

"And that Watcher of hers! How could anybody stand his boring chat
without losing their mind? It's his fault, I think." Cordelia couldn't
stop talking. She was really enjoying pestering freely about her
annoying so-called friends. "Two Slayers and they both went nuts.
Thanks God they are both out of the way now."

"Yes! And Buffy..." Oz agreed turning round a little. He didn't want
Faith to know he'd seen her. "She deserves it. Hope they keep her in
that English cell forever. She killed Willow..."

"Oh, that little witch!" Cordelia winced when Oz's boot stomped on
her shoe. "Maybe she's still alive. Or doing some hocus-pocus in some
basement. And that's Buffy's fault as well. Had driven everybody around
completely loony. You know about the Napoleon tale, don't you? Well, if
you put a madman and a psychologist..." She began to swim against the
queue of people, heading for the couch. "Oh, my! Xander!" She yelled
with disgust.

Xander quickly jumped backwards, wiping his mouth with the back of his
palm. His hair was dishevelled as he had faced a tornado. "So... what
happened?"
 


Faith went to the back of the club feeling waves of pure pleasure
tingling her blood. As she dialled the phone number, images of a hot
and nearly healed vampire waiting for her in a room assaulted her mind.
"She's out of our way." Six words that tasted like nectar in her mouth.
Whistling a tune, she left the Bronze with a huge smile dancing on her
lips.

 
tbc...

 

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