CHAPTER 16

 
The cellar was extraordinarily cold. Like a death pit. Or a grave.
Buffy's eyes were so open that they were like magnifying glasses on
dark, blurry silhouettes. He was so heavy... And so not of any help at
all. Besides, the long train of the dress did nothing to collaborate
and kept on entangling in her ankles as another demon trying to stop
her pace. She bumped into a hard surface. Hard and soft in some places.
Maybe a big sofa of some kind... Rounding it, she managed to hide them
both behind it.

Patting his face, Buffy reached his closed eyelids. Still out...
But she had to do something! She couldn't stay down there waiting for
Angelus to find them. Maybe her blood still held some kind of super
fast healing powers in spite of the lack of Slayer's strength... She
pushed her wrist against his swollen lips but he didn't move. Never
knew when she started to cry again. Her tears fell on his eyebrows and
glided along his nose. One, two, three as rain drops in a winter night.
Taking one of the pins that held her hair out of her face, she cut a
little gash and pushed the wound hastily.

"Come on, come on." A constant, pleading murmur. "Please, Spike.
Please..."

She didn't know if he had heard her but his tongue licked her wrist
making her jolt. God, how she missed him! How she missed the soft and
hot feeling of his mouth on her skin... A sudden racket made her raise
her head. Footsteps were coming down... She hugged the limp figure in
her arms like an orphan child who had found a new doll on the streets.

"Hiding Willie?" Buffy felt she had no tongue but a new heart pounding
against her palate. How in hell he was on his feet so quick? "Never
thought you're such a coward. Come on, - he ran into something and his
insult cut the air, - I know you're here. I can smell you... Your
blood, mmm. Really tasty, boy."

Buffy's hands flew to her chest as if she'd be able to cup her own
heart to prevent the beats from being heard. Her rapid gasps slowed to
those of a dying bird. But... if that fiend had smelt Spike's blood...
The gash in her wrist screamed with fear.

Another loud bump and an awful odour mixed with another swearing.
Something tickling and intense filled the enclosed space. Paraffin...

"Okay, play hide and sick, - Angelus giggled, - as long as you want.
Dru and I are going to have some fun out there. Without you, of course.
There's that place I always wanted to visit... Hope you'll be healed
when we return... Dru can't stand weak and feeble boys, Willie. Take it
as a friend's tip."

Her ears had grown. Either that or her hearing powers had achieved
vampiric levels. That silly, sinister giggle was Dru's. Buffy's guts
jumped with disgust and jealousy. For Christ sake! She could still feel
something so absurd as that in this hideous situation! The front door
slammed sharply. The air in her lungs escaped in a long stream as
though she were nothing but now flat tyres. Minutes passed without
further sounds. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Her legs were a numb spot. Grabbing
the back of the sofa, Buffy got to her feet. The light that came down
from the ground floor traced a yellowish path along dirty pieces of
furniture and stopped on the springs that pointed at the ceiling
through the torn flowered upholstery.

She stomped the floor a few seconds just to regain the normal flood of
blood. A moan came from the lying figure at her feet. "Sp... William.
William, please open your eyes." She begged with a strangled throat.
"I need your help. Just a little at least." She mumbled helping him to
a standing position.

Going upstairs had never taken so long to any person. Two steps left
and it seemed as far as her home. With a final effort they both
collided on the hall carpet. Buffy didn't stop to check on him. Rushing
to the door, she ran to the corner just to get a carriage of any sort.
She was going to get as far as she could away from that fucking house
even if she had to steal it, which it would probably be the case with
her current bad luck...

"Oh, come on! Where the fuck are you when somebody needs you?" She
shouted at the long street ahead as if she were waiting for a taxi in
some city. "Past year this damned place was crowded with... Oh! STOP!"
She waved her arms to the black carriage that turned round the corner.
And froze in that position. What if they were coming back in that
carriage? How more stupid she could be? Too late now. The driver
managed to bring the horses to a halt just a few inches from her dress.

"So, are ya getting in or wha'?" The man asked her from above. His
hatched-face was outlined by a lamp hanging from a hook by his side.

"Oh, sir! Yes! But I must... I have to..." The gears in her mind looked
for a good excuse. That not too gentle guy would never let her get into
his carriage dragging a fainted man. And last thing she wanted was
facing the police again.

"I'm here." A weak, rough voice sputtered behind her. Buffy swirled
around and her shocked gaze ran along a long, dark overcoat. Something
in his eyes was pleading her to stop gaping and start moving. He didn't
know how much time he was going to be able to fake a normal posture.
Buffy seized his arm and they both got into the carriage. The house was
soon a distant black speck in a black canvas.

 

After dozing the whole trip, William woke up in Buffy's arms. Her head
had rolled to one side and bumped slightly against the frame of the
window. Still a little dizzy, he drew the small, dark curtain but he
couldn't work out where they were. Tapping the ceiling with an
amazingly strong fist, he waited for the driver to stop.

"Where are we?" His face was like a moon showing through the drapes.

"Your missus back there told me to get ya as far as I could. Crossing
the river, she said. Never told me where."

"I'm asking you now." His fingers nails sank on his palm. For all
the...! He could feel the strength slowly filling them as warm ants.

"Tooley St."

"What???" William jumped out of the carriage. His knees buckled a
little. "Where were you planning to take us, mate? All the bloody way
to Dover? Thanks God horses don't swim. Would be in Calais right now."
He put a note in the man's stretched hand. Could have snapped his neck
in a second but a pair of sleepy hazel eyes were staring at him from
the window. A dream. He was so beaten that probably he was dreaming it
all. Her warm hand felt real enough, though. And the funny noise of her
skirt. Or the shiver that ran along her body and stopped in his palm.
Even the soft and insistent rain that fell from the sky.

As he walked along the streets, he couldn't but think the driver fellow
had done a good thing. Angelus would never trace them so far.  In case,
the bastard would plan such a thing. He'd have time to heal and to find
out certain things as why in hell, she, of all the women in the world,
was there again.  With the same borrowed dress, and he was not going
to think of his mother in that moment; spotless as if that damned party
had been only hours ago. The same pendant, the same earrings, the same
round, full heaving breasts threatening to burst the seams...

"Want a room, mate? Can't have that lovely missy all drenched, now can
you?" A man he hadn't seen. Or sensed. The rain was a heavy curtain
now, blurring the tall buildings and fading the poor lights of the gas
lamps.

William turned round. Her hair was a dark, soaked cloak, half hiding
her eyes. She was shivering. That wasn't a dress for being out in the
cold. William followed the man into a long corridor that smelt of old
wax and old leaking ceilings. The stairs squealed under their steps
as if it were full of invisible rats. He stopped in front of a bad
painted door. Some woman was singing a lullaby in the next room. A man
was shouting in the upper floor to a bunch of noisy kids. A ship siren
pierced the air.

"It's not the Queen's Palace but it's clean. And has a big bed..." The
man joked but all he got back was a steel blue gaze. "Fifteen shillings
a week. And the fireplace doesn't work."

William dug in his pocket. After she had run away to the street,
leaving him on that carpet, he had decided it wasn't a good idea to
stay in the house. As he'd said to himself before, he needed to get
his strength back to face Angelus again. He had grabbed the first coat
he had found hanging in the coat stand in the parlour. Couldn't wander
along the streets only dressed with black boots. And then, he had seen
her. Again. Like a ghost. Standing in that corner, waving her hands at
the approaching carriage, filling him again with the strange feeling
of a never-ending dream. He was still wrapped in it. While he gave the
coins to the man, when she walked into the room, inviting him in with
a weak voice. While they both stood still in the middle of the small
space, her eyes jumping from the ceiling to the floor, never reaching
his face. The wounds in his body still ached and shed tiny drops.

"You should..." ...take that dress off... He was going to say that.
His former William had stopped his tongue as though he were still a
gentleman. Facing her, he felt like that. As if he hadn't died and
reborn into a new life. As inhibited and shy as he used to be.

Listening to the unspoken words her eyes finally met his and something
in her heart broke like a porcelain cup. All the way inside that
carriage she had tried so hard to steel her heart. Just to face his
eyes. Just to look into them and didn't sink in a desperate whirlpool
of thinking she had Spike again. 'Cause he wasn't. He wasn't even human
William. And yet... His eyes told otherwise. The same blue, the same
tenderness they held when Spike thought she wasn't looking at him. The
same beautiful features caressed intensely by the warm orange light of
the candles. Outlined as if they were in some crypt, hiding from the
world to shout and scream in perfect and utter satisfaction. There was
something missing, though. The scar on his eyebrow. That she sketched
with her fingers when she was straddling him on her couch. She had to
focus on that, then. Just for her guts to stay calm. Just for the tears
not to flood her. Yet... it was such a thin rope... It would snap in
frayed halves. Sooner or later. She knew it with all the hot, clinking
nerve endings of her being.

 

tbc...



CHAPTER 17
 

There was a buzzing sound above his head. As if a fly was stuck in
some cobweb in the ceiling. Xander raised his eyes. The class had been
particularly boring that morning. Maybe it was due to the fact that two
seats were empty. Nobody had asked, though. Not even the teacher which
didn't make sense at all. He had been wondering if it would be wise to
talk to Mr. Wyndham... He felt from his seat when a high-pitched scream
filled the silent room.

The girl from the first desk was shrieking like a police car and it
didn't matter how she was slapped by the more than pale teacher; she
couldn't seem to stop. Cordelia jumped from her seat and gave her a
sudden blow that sent her to the floor.

Scrambling to his feet Xander rushed towards her with a pencil as a
weapon. Cordelia had turned evil! More! Now she would force them to
wear designer clothes or be banished from school if they weren't cool
enough. For her own cool standards, that's it.

"Well, she had to be stopped, hadn't she? It wasn't like she was some
famous soprano." Cordelia explained at the stunned look in the
teacher's face. "She's fine now. Look, her eyes are opened..."

"The red eyes, the red eyes..." The poor girl repeated in between gasps
pointing at the class board.

Cordelia frowned and tugged Xander's sleeve. Another scream from the
next classroom. Then another. The whole school seemed to be screaming.
Running steps filled the corridors. Frightened students and clueless
teachers were racing towards the exit door.

"Where are you going!?" Cordelia grabbed Xander's shirt splitting it in
two.

"Out! Where else?" Something in her eyes told him that wasn't what
she'd expected to hear. "Oh, please! We can't talk to that guy! Forget
him, okay? We can find something by..."

"Ourselves? How? Fishing on witchcraft sites on the Internet? In your
school textbooks? How!" Her mouth was curled in a wry line. Suddenly
the line changed to a wide smile. Her arm was a fast fishing rod. "Look
who I have found..."

 

Willow rejected the tray a fat vampire put on a table near the bed she
was sitting on. Her gaze followed the man's chubby fingers as they
pointed to each dish on the silvery surface till she finally begged
him to leave her alone.

She held her knees against her chest with trembling arms. She felt
as if a hammer was rhythmically hitting each of her temples and she
couldn't even focus properly.  Could be happy for the change in
accommodation. But it wasn't the case. She'd have welcomed the shining
bars just to check on Spike. Why had she done such a thing? It felt
that she had been guided by a remote control as those planes kids
played with in the city square. Till they bumped on the hard land
sending pieces of engine all over the place. Exactly how she felt.
Deactivated. Shattered and yet... The forces that had taken her over
had filled her with such undeniable and exquisite power... She had
really enjoyed it.

Willow hid her face on the crook of her arms. So ashamed of herself she
was! So splintered in parts she couldn't begin to recognize. All she
had in mind was the suffering on Spike's face as the chains constricted
his muscles. Buffy's watery eyes and her endless tales of love, despite
she had never pronounced that word aloud. Her friend... How was she
going to forgive her? How could she possibly know? How long have they
been left there to be played with? Nobody had come to rescue them.
Nobody had made any attempt to set them free. Buffy deserved... Her
sobs went deeper. Who was she? Who was that horrible creature that
flailed her slackening chains within her inner flesh? Willow cried out
loud and a bolt of energy from her hand sent the tray to fly. Spots of
food decorated the opposite wall as new humidity stains. Terrified, she
buried herself under the blanket.

 

Angelus jumped the last two steps of the long stairs. He had never
known there were caves and caverns underneath the City Hall. Not even
beyond. But that city from hell never ceased to amaze him. The Mayor
stopped in front of a black door putting out a key from the right
pocket of his blue navy suit. After blinking one eye he finally stepped
inside a huge room lighted with four big braziers. Golden cherubs who
held big round bowls where coal burnt furiously. Hieroglyphics covered
the walls; black, hermetic drawings of a sort the vampire had never
seen. Thin, white, shining lines separated them in columns. As if the
walls were Venetian blinds partially hiding a bright sunlight.

The alabaster pedestal that stood on the middle of the place shone
brightly under the firelight. The sceptre had been attached to its
centre and the onyx headpiece spread a fan of yellow beams on the
ceiling.

"Time is coming when the fabric of realms will open like an old net."
Wilkins stated with dark eyes. "It's so near, my friend. Can't you see
them? Spying through the cracks that treasure is opening?"

Angelus swirled around. His eyes were trying to cope with the images
that leapt from the cracks, crashing and fading into the yellow beams.
All sort of creatures travelled briefly in that light. As slides
running at incredible speed. Even his vampiric eyes couldn't catch
them all at once.

"They will feed the sceptre. Their energy will be ours to control
each of those worlds that are now falling apart." The Mayor's voice
had changed to a low and soft tone that seemed to come from a different
being. "Doors are revealing their secrets. Doors will be soon
completely opened. They are impatient. But it's not time yet. Soon,
very soon." His tone changed again and he chuckled softly.

"I can't understand how this could help us. I thought we were going to
have some fun..." Angelus took his leather coat off. How in hell could
he be feeling the heat?

"Maybe you haven't paid attention to the sceptre's name... Siva's
sceptre, that is. There's always a reason for everything, my eager
vampire." Wilkins walked towards the door, slightly pushing a reluctant
Angelus. "Erase old boundaries to trace new ones. To create new things
you have to destroy old ones... Sad but so true! And this, my friend,
is as a good world as any of those. You'll have your bloodshed, don't
worry. Do you really think these humans will give in without a fight?
I doubt it. Those demons that are trying to wrestle the power of the
sceptre are fighting for their worlds. This, my friend, is as those
lands... They'll fight. And even without a Slayer there's still a
Council. Get out of that warehouse. You may have an amusing task in
front of your very eyes..."

"Another Watcher?" Angelus's smirk matched the Mayor's. "Or maybe some
snooping Scobbies?" He sighed with delight. Time has come... Yes. To
take his revenge. To get rid of those that had spoilt his first attempt
for a good apocalypse. But this one... This one was so different! A
kingdom was waiting for him and no scrawny worms would stop him in his
way to his well-deserved throne.

 

"So, you've been a naughty boy, they say? Trying to leave me when I've
treated you so well..." Faith paced to and fro outside the cage in
which Spike was chained to the bars. "Maybe if I get a blond wig..."

Spike snorted. "Don't bother, brass. Won't happen even if you pull out
your bloody head out of your neck and trade it for hers."

Faith fuming sigh flowed from her nostrils like from a sleeping dragon.
"And I thought you liked Slayers..."

"Yeah, to drain them dead. Have you, by any chance, got a black leather
coat?" He teased, unable to see her expression. The lights were a white
heat wire over his head. "Mine is missing..."

"Buffy looked perfectly alive to me last time I saw her... If you don't
count her naked body hanging from a hook..." She recoiled, taken by
surprise by his sudden leapt. His fingers tore the shoulder of her
purple T-shirt.

"Still don't get it, do you?" Spike clutched the bars in spite of the
bolts of energy that shook him. "It's not the Slayer thing. She could
be anything else. A regular girl, a demon, a sodding cheerleader. I
wouldn't mind 'cause it's SHE who I want."

Was that completely true? Would he cherish her the way he did if she
wasn't a perfect match for him? He'd liked her without strength...
He'd wanted to... But he had turned to Cecily instead. He was a
pathetic geek, granted. But... what would he have done if he hadn't
been human? He would have ripped her throat out without looking at
her twice. Or maybe he would have shagged her while draining her out,
enjoying her desperate gasps for staying alive a little more. That
wasn't a thing he was going to say to this crazy bint, though.

"This game is only starting, Spike. When I finish with you, you'll
be begging for me to stake you. And I will. I swear it." Faith
venomous ring only made him laugh. "In the meantime... enjoy your
foodless days. Maybe you could drink from your own neck..."

"I'll be soon drinking from yours, bitch..." He promised, changing
to his demon visage. "Have anybody told you Slayers' blood is
aphrodisiac...? Hey, why don't you come in here and let me have
a taste? Who knows... maybe it could work. Maybe you could even get
me hard..." His laughing roar followed Faith livid withdraw for long
seconds. Oh, bollocks! He certainly had to figure how to get out of
that place!

 

tbc...

CHAPTER 18
 

"Where are you going?" She had asked from the black corner of the bed.
Not a sleepy voice but one in which sadness and something else blended
in an intoxicating potion. She had coughed again, deeply this time. Her
dress was still a little wet without a fireplace for drying it up and
the room was so chilly that even he had started to feel it.

"Out." He had said running away from the next question as if it would
be armed with a poisonous arrow. Away from the tempting puzzle that was
sitting on that mattress with only an old, worn blanket covering her
exposed skin. One night of lying on the very edge of the bed to regain
some strength had been enough. Enough of listening to her soft
breathing, enough of smelling a faded vanilla scent and something else
he couldn't put his finger on...

His excuse for running away had been she needed some medicine. His
stupid excuse. He could have said he needed some clothes. Could have
been more accurate. Less... obvious. 'I'm going out 'cause I don't know
why you are here, how you could save me, why I feel this way.' That
gaze of hers had prevented all his questions the past night. She had
grown thinner... If that was possible in... how many days? Four? Five?
Bluish circles surrounded her beautiful eyes giving them the look of
fields that had been turned into isolated isles strapped by evil
waters. An abandoned, cornered creature still lived there and its
sorrow was gigantic.

Too many questions swirled in his mind as he walked along narrow
streets, blindly stared by tall crowded buildings that looked like
rabbit warrens. Only that the rabbits were well hidden inside and his
guts had began to grumble for a small dinner. How in hell...? How could
she possibly have known? How to heal him? About his kind? And most
important... what was there in her blood? He felt awesome. As if
nothing had... No. That, he'd remember for all the years he might last.
Yet, every time he cooked up a new plan, and he had cooked a hundred
only in one night, for killing Angelus he hadn't been able to suppress
the dread that had run along his spine.

He passed by a dim lit inn. Some drunken voices were having a fight.
The bright smile of his cousin Lawrence appeared in the soft glow of
the street lamps. It hadn't been a year... Eight months. And he could
still hear his cheerful laugh when he stomped in the house early in
the morning, carrying bunches of fresh flowers for his mother.
Breakfast had never been the same after his death. There'd always been
a little more silence. His mother had made him move all the furniture
just not to look at an empty chair. And then, more important matters,
if somebody could put on a scale matters like that to measure their
importance, had taken them by surprise and Lawrence had become a sad
smile at teatime.

Why in hell was he pondering about the past? It was gone as a bottle
taken away by the sea. The girl. That was it. She and her trustful
eyes. She and her warm bosom in which he could have lost himself for
good. He had named her Queen Mab once. She was. A fairy. A golden fairy
that had torn the fabric of dreams to reveal herself in flesh and
blood... An alarm bell chimed in the night. The sound of the train got
nearer. Of course, maybe she had returned to the house after that party
but he had never seen her. His mother hadn't said anything about...
Well, it wasn't that they had had a nice long chat before... He pushed
the thought aside. He still cringed when he remembered what had
happened. Bad choice that of turning her. He should have known better.
His mother had always been...

"Turn round slowly or I'll kill you." A sharp tip pricked his back.
William whirled around but the boy didn't jump backwards but leapt
against his chest, missing his heart for inches.

William looked at the spike in his body. Bastard! He was really tired
of being stabbed every single day! His fingers sank in the boy's throat
dragging him closer. "You scared me for a second, you know? Want my
money, mate? Here. Get my money..."

The whizzing sound of the train that ran on the tracks behind his
back covered the boy's scream when he vamped out. Five minutes and a
completely drained corpse was discarded on the tracks. He looked at
it as he pulled the spike out of his chest and raise it to his eyes.
"Nice trick, lad." Three drops of his own blood fell onto his fingers.
"Really nice..."

Putting it on his pocket, he walked away knowing one thing now. Poor
old William'd have pissed his trousers in the same situation. Poor old
William'd have pissed his trousers about any situation whatsoever. He'd
have hesitated so much that he'd have ended not only stabbed but with
her ass-cheeks staring at the moon. Hesitation was a luxury he couldn't
afford anymore. He'd vacillated in the house. Had taken a few minutes
to deliver Angelus the first blow. And that had only earned him a good
whacking. From now on he had to act first just to save himself by
offering a sacrifice of blood. As radical as it might sound it was the
only thing that would let him conquer this new life, this new world.
He was a hunter now. And he had to be not only that but a dauntless
fighter as well. Achieve glorious, bigger things. Bigger than those of
that hideous grandsire of him. And in order to do that... he needed to
put the past behind.

 

William jumped from the train as soon as it crossed the Thames.
Dressed in some clothes he had pilfered from a window, he stopped the
first carriage and headed to his former house, determined to save Dru
from that maniac. The girl... he still didn't know her name, how came
he didn't ask? had to wait a few more hours. First thing was saving his
sire from that monster. He owed her that if not a brand wide universe
he now was eager to seize. Another house, a beautiful one, away from
Angelus could do for that night. He might stay with her just to erase
doubts. That grieving girl... made him feel guilty. Made him feel
things that he couldn't feel in this new path he had taken after
killing that boy. After making significant decisions. Face your
monsters. Face them all. Survive. No grovelling allowed anymore.

Empty. The house was empty and after one single night the perfumes
and odours were fading away like smoke. Back on the streets, William
sniffed the air. The scent lead him to his left and got stronger as
he approached St. James's Park. Maybe they had had a feast among the
trees. Maybe they had met some of those aristocrats Angelus liked that
much. So easy to follow them across the park that hid among bushes
discarded people that soon would be missed. As he reached Regent St.
the scent hit his nostrils as if those he was hunting were standing
next to him. A double wooden door with carved foliage and brass
doorknobs stood above six marble steps. William slinked inside and a
heavy, over decorated room assaulted him. Deep red velvet drapes with
golden silk tassels did nothing to hide the perfection of the golden
lamps and the ornate Persian carpets. Dark oak furniture of exquisite
beauty shone like big hazelnuts under the gas lamps. An old couple was
lying in one chaise longue. Their throats had been chewed unmercifully.
William stared at them and the white handkerchief that was trapped
among the podgy fingers of the woman brought him a fleeting, unexpected
image of his mother. The past had its own ways to break doors it
seemed. Of course, burying a sentimental fool like him would never take
one only night, would it? Still, he couldn't but feel that ridiculous
relief... Angelus had found another place. Some sort of baroque palace
in which he would feel like a refined creature despite the tawdry
little maggot he was. How was that of making a silk purse out of a
sow's ear? Not that he really cared. If Angelus wanted to live in the
Buckingham Palace itself, that was up to him. William had had enough of
those aristocratic asses to see behind their well-bred façade.

Faded grunts slide through the corridors as he passed by closed doors.
So it wasn't a house but a hotel. An expensive one. Good. Angelus would
probably jump from bed to bed just to think he was the King of monkeys.
He would be entertained and it would be easier to convince Dru to...
William never knew what hit him harder. The wolfish grin on Angelus
turned face or Dru's legs raised in the air, wrapped around her sire
waist.

"Take your hands off her!" William shouted, mugged by flashes from his
own personal experience in that psycho's hands. Poor innocent Dru of
him... That smile on her lips...just one little tune it sang. I'm not
that innocent. And I'm certainly not that raped.

"So, - Angelus chortled at the sweltering rage in William's eyes, - our
boy is healed! And back to our little family... Not that coward are you
after all." He tried to pat William's shoulder but he shoved him aside
never leaving the fixed look on Dru's face.

How could she betray him? How...? All his life he had been teased and
bullied by everyone who had had the chance to do so. Even minutes
before running to his death he had been betrayed in the most horrid
way. He had served his own shattered heart for Dru to feed from it. And
she had understood. She had taken his grief and given him wings to fly
wherever he wanted to go. By her side. 'Cause she had chosen him,
right? Right? So why was she rolling on silk sheets with this arrogant
bastard...?

"Oh, sweet William... come, join us. Love us... Don't spoil the un..."

The fun! For all the demons in hell! What fun was that of breaking his
heart again? Love us... He knew how to love. Had always been a pilgrim
knelt at the love shrine. But this... William stomped out of the room
followed by an amused Angelus. This... meant he was selfish? That they
could share when he couldn't? Love was selfishness. Somehow, you didn't
want to be touched by anybody else but by the one you cherish. Not due
to a possessive feeling like a kid could have for his favourite toy but
'cause he'd truly believed her fingers were the only ones who could
sketch his skin like any else could do. So... she didn't love him as
he... did? He loved her? In five days? All of a sudden his heart had
changed just by not beating anymore? It wasn't that he really loved
Cecily. He had figured that out. It was only an incantation. The way
she moved as in slow motion, her soft, well-educated voice. As some
distant goddess made of stone. As that fascination he had felt facing
the Greek sculptures at the museum. Grateful, then. He would never be
able to thank Dru enough for setting him free. For turning him from a
dying cocoon into a liberated butterfly. For setting at his feet and
opened chest of wonders. For giving him birth. 

Still, the borrowed blood in his veins boiled as a bucket of water
forgotten on the stove. Rage and humiliation, a well-known mixture,
were threatening to conquer his eyes. Trudging along the thick carpets
William left the hotel wrapped in heavy thoughts about deception and
disgrace. His fingers played with the cold spike in his pocket, with
the coins jingling in it. The far bells of Westminster Cathedral chimed
twice. Maybe it wasn't the bells. Maybe even the gargoyles were
laughing at him.

"William?" A shocked voice startled him when he reached the corner.
"Oh, my God! You're... But they said you were dead! We were so..."
The man ran his eyes all over his figure. His curled, fair moustache
flickered with disgust His wife had a gloved hand firmly cupping her
mouth as if she were about to throw up.

"Amused? Happy?" The horrified gazes were fixed in his face. Two
o'clock and they were still wandering along the cold streets. Surely
coming from another of those long, dull social meetings of them. This
one had to be extremely good, though. Perhaps with some exotic dancers
from abroad or a new artist to submit to a strict scrutiny just to
launch him or her in the most exclusive circles. Till they find another
toy. Not too different from Angelus they were... His fist clenched
around the spike in his pocket as words came crawling to his brain.
"I'd rather have a railroad spike..."

The man straightened his back, really irritated by his lack of manners
and his wife finally released her stretched lips. "Oh, William! How can
you say that?"

"Oh, sorry Helene. Sometimes I'm so rude... Nice diamonds by the way.
Bet they cost a fortune." The increasing rage that had overwhelmed him
while leaving the hotel had turned into wrath. How dared they pretend
to care when they had sent him towards the death path? Not that he
complained but... Certain people had no limits at all. Hypocrisy wasn't
something he had ever taken too well... "Some are so lucky..."


His armed left hand flew to the man's forehead while his right one
closed around the diamond necklace to stop the approaching scream.
"Does it hurt?" He asked as the spike drilled the man's flesh. "Oh,
please, do tell Blatham! It's not fair if you look at me with those
wide round eyes without answering my questions. After all, it was
your idea... Maybe if I help you a little more..." He pushed the spike
deeper. "That's a lovely dress, Helene. And an excellent cloak. Is your
son still in Paris? TELL ME!" She only nodded between choked gasps.
"Good! The house must be empty then, isn't it dear?" Another nod, a
little weaker this time. "Excellent! Well, this has been a wonderful
rendezvous but I'm afraid I have to go now."

Was it his imagination or her blood tasted deliciously sweet? As
revenge should taste. He knelt next to the man gasping on the floor
pulling the spike out with extreme slowness. "Better, Blatham? Bet
you rather listen to a poem right now. Even one of my awful ones.
Well, I've changed my style. This is so much better poetry, don't you
think?" The bleeding spike pierced one temple. "Oh, yes." He sighed.
"So much, much better..."

 

tbc...



CHAPTER 19

 

"Oh, my God, Xander!" Cordelia grimaced with disgust pulling a blue
sock from under her butt. "Can you just pick up around here? It looks
like a pigsty!"

Xander hauled the sock from her fingers, throwing it in a far basket
and missing it completely. "Can't you just focus or is it too difficult
for you?" He turned to Anya. "You were saying..."

"That you should be careful?" She replied still skulking in a drawer.
She pulled out a blue pair of boxers with an image of Bugs Bunny eating
a carrot. 

He sighed repressing the urge to leap and yank it out of her fingers.
And maybe gag Cordelia's mouth with it and made her gulp her own laugh.
He remained in his place, guzzling his Coke instead. "These things...
doors you said, how can we close them?"

"You can't." Her eyes widened at the next piece of garment. A leopard
print. Did it mean he was wild? Her gaze sought his pants. "Unless
you've got the sceptre, which I doubt."

"What sceptre?" Oz stopped tapping on the table. A teasing headache had
his head in a whirl. Since Buffy had crossed that portal he had gone to
that warehouse night after night just to check if there was a slight
possibility of getting Willow out.

"It's a legend, actually. The Siva's sceptre. To mould new realms from
those that already exist. To rule hellish gods and beings under one
single King who would set order in chaos. Destroy to create."

"Destroy beings to create new ones? Demon ones? Or destroy hell
dimensions? I'm a little lost..." Xander shook his head and couldn't
but picture himself with fangs and ridges on his forehead. Phew!

"No. You can't destroy hell dimensions without destroying good worlds.
It's how the universe balances itself." Anya opened a third drawer.
Socks. Not very interesting material... "So the sceptre reinforces the
barriers and destroys chaos. It was created to bring peace among
realms. Put everything in its place. A dangerous artefact..."

"If it fell into wrong hands. Got it. But how...?"

"Very simple. It's like a sweater. When you've got it hooked in some
nail you get a hole. If you poke in it, it grows wider. Imagine
thousands of hooks tearing the fabric of the whole bunch of universes.
Ouch!" She shrieked when Xander nearly snipped her fingers when he
closed the drawer.

Cordelia put a mirror and a lipstick back in her purse. "So, we should
find that... whatever it is and snap it in two. And don't look around
while we are at it. I saw this... I don't know what toothy thing
staring at me from a crack in my closet. And it was drooling!"

"Should we talk to Mr. Wyndham-Prissy?" Oz remembered how many times
he'd heard Spike calling the Watcher by that name. He'd smiled every
time in spite of knowing it by heart. It amazed him how he didn't smile
anymore. "See if he knows..."

"What for? To end in a jail or in a loony house? Like he wanted to do
with Buffy?" Xander paced along the narrow space. He had completely
forgotten he himself had considered the Watcher could be right about
the mental health of his friend. Reality had its one ways to put you in
the right track, though. A punch straight to your guts and you opened
your eyes like a freaking dummy.

"Maybe we could find out if he knows something... Induce him in a...
subtle way, that is." Cordelia patted an invisible wrinkle of her short
skirt. "While you spy on the Mayor."

"Oh, Miss Man-Eater wants another trip to Rejection-Land!" Xander held
her killing gaze without wavering an inch. "Do it. But make sure he
doesn't piss his pants this time. I know where we can start. The City
Hall. Tonight."

Oz didn't move. Something was flying around his head. Something...
"Anya. This King... he's only one, isn't it? I mean..."

Xander stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "You mean there are too
many chiefs in that evil tribe? Seems so..."

"There's this scroll, if I remember well... It explained how somebody
could use the sceptre to divide realms and rule above all of them."
Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to summon the memories. Finally, she
shook her head. "It's been so long ago... Five hundred years, actually.
Amazing how time flies..."

"When you're having fun. Sure." Xander barged in. Amazing was how much
time they were wasting. It seemed they had spent those five hundred
years talking in his basement.

Suddenly, some words came to her mind. "She shall be given the realm of
Sorcery. To rule above lesser beings, to control the primal forges of
witchcraft. Where everything starts and everything ends." Anya rolled
her eyes and smiled as if she had been caught in something naughty.
"It's the only thing I remember. And you can't blame me, 'cause if one
of you'd be a female demon..."

"Unbelievable! Please, let's go!" He yanked the door opened "We've got
urgent things to do!"

 

Faith walked hastily along the silent city streets wrapped in
a seething cloud. All she had in mind was Buffy and that tricky,
infuriating smile of hers. Why in hell didn't she stay in LA working
for some TV studio, making toothpaste commercials? Nope, she had to be
the chosen one. Had to screw her life over and over again. What was
there in her that everybody fell for? She wasn't even attractive. And
least of all, a good fighter. If she could have put her hands on that
little, good-for-nothing body of hers Faith was absolutely sure that
dull blonde wouldn't have lasted one round. But she was going to find
her. She was going to rip her skin off just to make a dress and flaunt
herself with it in front of that fucking cage.

The school had been closed till further notice. A flu epidemic, a board
said. She snorted loudly. Who was going to believe that when everybody
was hiding under their beds or locked inside a closet? Too many
fainting girls. That was it. And some boys as well. But she knew that
Watcher was there. In his private library with his private books. He
couldn't be so stupid and not figure out what was going on. And she
knew how to make him spit out the truth. Had Buffy been delivered
already? Or kept in some cell till the "welcoming committee" came for
her? If that were the case, she wasn't going to let them steal the fun
from her. She was going to snap that neck with her own bare hands.

Security locks weren't meant to deal with angry Slayers, it seemed.
It gave way so ridiculously. Silent, soft-lit corridors welcomed her.
There was something sinister in an empty school. Buildings that had
been built to be forever crowded should never be left empty. Shrieking
young voices, laugh and noise, teen gibberish made them. Those were
things that brought them to life. Without them, the structure was
nothing but a drain, dead carcass.

Faith reached the library doors. Only a crack and her chirping eye.
There was a tall, dark-haired woman with her back to the door with the
shortest and slinky black dress she had ever seen. Faith tried to look
further her but it was impossible. A British accent suddenly filled the
silent room.

"I'm pretty aware of that fact, Groves. No, the book is missing." There
was a pause and a tapping that sounded like a pen on a desk. "I've told
you..." A nervous fidgeting. Squealing shoes shuffling on the floor.
"I'm absolutely sure about that. Yes, I'll let you know." A phone being
replaced on its cradle. So, the Council was nervous. Well, they should
be.

"Cordelia..." Faith grimaced with disgust. And yet... Wasn't she one
of Buffy's friends? Maybe she knew... "I can't deal with you right now.
Important matters have..."

"You are always so tense..." Cordelia swung her hips as if she was
about to hypnotize a cobra. "Books won't go anywhere, you know. At
least, no while we have some tea..." She cornered him between a chair
and the table jam-packed with books of all sorts. 

Faith clutched the doorknobs. Wasn't going to waste her time in some
bitch in heat. They would have time... after she talked to that useless
moron.

"Are you researching about what happened yesterday?" Cordelia bent over
the table, doing her best to show as much of her panties as she could.
Her voice could have won the "I'm the clueless and most stupid girl
in the world" contest. Bet her "friend" Harmony wouldn't have done it
better. And she was natural... "I was so scared! I bet you are too,
now that Buffy is..."

Now they were getting to the point. Faith couldn't restrain herself
anymore. Doors slammed against the walls when she kicked them opened.
Two stunned faces stared at her in awe. She should give the brunette
some credit, though. She wasn't as pale as the Watcher was. He looked
like a drowned man. Even his eyes were bulging out as some dreadful
fish. "Yes, you should be scared... And talking about Buffy... where
is she?"

If looks could have spoken, Cordelia's would have been screaming at
Wesley. Don't fucking say it! Thanks God, he stuttered enough to choke
with his own saliva. "Wha...what a... are... you...?"

"Doing here? Well, what can I say? I was just in the neighbourhood...
Wanted to see what a pathetic Watcher Buffy had now..." She shoved
Wesley against the table.

"So... it was true! You're... evil!" Wesley couldn't believe his eyes.
She was there; nearly strangling him with powerful fingers and all he
could think about was how stupid he had been. If he had believed Buffy,
if he had given her the chance to speak... "And the Mayor... How could
you?"

"Why does everybody asks that? How could you?" She scorned his tone.
"Maybe 'cause I'm one step from glory. I'll be given my own armies. I'm
going to be the one to bitch others around. Like you do. With a little
more of technique, of course." She slapped his face. His head made a
funny rocking movement.

So, that would be a very good moment to hit the road... Cordelia didn't
think it twice. She started to move around the table to reach some
clear path from where she could run to the door. She was near the
stairs when Faith lifted up her head. The cruel glint in her gaze froze
her in the spot.

"Are you going so soon? Thought you wanted some tea..." Faith pushed
Wesley aside and booted the chair that stood in her way. Cordelia
didn't wait. She spun on her heels and rushed upstairs. For one single
minute, watching the approaching back door, she thought she was going
to make it. Her hand would clutch the doorknob and she would fly free
as a bird from a cage full of cats. Away of that thundering, ominous
noise that crunched the air at her back. A rain of books fell on her
head, on her shoulders, sending her to the floor. The heavy wooden
bookcase plumped down after them. Cordelia screamed in horror, her
eyes tightly shut at the looming piece of furniture, waiting for the
terrible pain of her shattered bones. The damned thing seemed to be
falling in slow motion. Like a plume ripped from a hat by a powerful
wind. One of the shelves broke her arm before the whole damned thing
stopped inches from her head. Her watery, horrified eyes dared to look
above her head. The bookcase in front of her had stopped it as a
merciful hand from Heaven. It wasn't going to last very long, though.
And she certainly needed to crawl out of that wooden prison before that
crazy bitch had the chance to finish her work.

"Why don't you make yourself a favour, Cordelia? Before you die crushed
like a nasty cockroach..." Faith kicked the wavering bookcase getting
another weak scream. "I can get this off of your skinny body, you know.
All you have to do is tell me where Buffy is."

Shots of painful lightening bolts ran along Cordelia's nerves while she
tried to roll under the books weight. One thing in mind she had. Crawl
out of this killing trap. The door is near. Come on. The bookcase fell
from the fourth shelf that was holding it to the third one. She didn't
scream this time. When it fell to the second shelf, giving her the
narrow escaping slit of a worm, Cordelia called for all the air she had
left in her lungs. "SHE'S IN ENGLAND!"  Gasping deeply, she couldn't
but feel a little proud of herself. A lie and a truth to buy some more
time. "FUCKING BITCH!" And she had had enough air left to add a well-
deserved insult! Her head had reached the vast empty space of one
corner and soon she'd have her whole body lying on the dirty but
welcomed empty carpet.

Wesley had finally opened the weapon cage after fumbling with the
padlock for what it seemed an eternity. His fingers were made of
rubber. Of warm butter from which the damned key had slipped to the
floor over and over again. Buffy's words danced to a flabbergasted
speed inside his head. Faith was there. Faith had to be stopped. Faith
was going to kill that beautiful, sexy little woman he had despised
against all the nerves in his body. That woman yelling lies for no
purpose at all. A dagger sliced the air aiming to Faith's body while he
went for the bigger axe that hung from the furthest hook. He caught it
halfway from the floor when his shaking fingers failed to grip it.
Inhaling deeply he turned round, raising the weapon on one shoulder.
A laugh like knelling bells hit his face.

"Playing rough I see." Faith pulled the dagger out of her shoulder and
stabbed Wesley's chest. He stumbled backwards in complete shock while
she pulled off the axe from his hand. As easy as stealing a big
Popsicle from a little kid. As easy as cutting bread for breakfast
toasts. "My sort of game..." She blinked at the red spray that painted
her face as a native warrior ready for war. "Guess we are not having
that tea after all?" Shrugging, she spun on her heels and was about to
leave when she looked at the cage again. Might be a good idea... Full
of new hopes she was. England was as far as the moon. Even more if they
had that B. bitch chained and drugged to a drooling monkey. Wish she
could have seen that show. And clapped. Road clear, girl. Poor old
Spike would know how to behave from now on. Would know how to beg and
kneel. Or vice versa. She didn't particularly care about the order.
He was going to understand one thing now. Slayers weren't a thing to
deliver unselfishly around like
 hot bread. They weren't meant to be a kicking-asses bunch. One and
only. That was what the game was about. One and only Faith for him to
believe in. To pray to. The Queen of future armies.

 

Pinkish orange rays touched the top of the hills, the roofs, the tall
trees wrapping them in a bucolic and peaceful atmosphere. From above
a hill, the sudden streaks that flashed on the walls were unseen. The
Mayor walked towards the small shape standing at the very edge. His
hand stopped on the slim shoulder.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Fresh air, an incredible sunset... Of course,
if you don't like it, you'll be able to change it. Don't know... the
colours... or maybe three suns or two moons..." He blinked his eye to
the serious gaze near him. "You'll be able to change everything. To
set things in motion and to make them stop. To make stars shine only at
your command. And to turn them off. So much power in one single pair of
hands..."

So much power... Willow drew a small smile.

 

tbc...
 

CHAPTER 20

 
Deja vu... The gas lamp light, soft and orange, bathed the dark spread
bed. A fire was crackling nearby. Buffy snuggled down enjoying the
warmth. She thought she could have died from cold in that Spartan
room... She jumped on the mattress. This room... Where was she? Panic
crept on her heart as she clutched the velvet bed spread to her chin.

"What's wrong love?"

Buffy shifted hastily. His shape was outlined with a soft yellow
aura. She hadn't felt his presence. As if he had been a ghost or
some hallucination... Maybe it was. Maybe she had been trapped in
a nightmare and now she was awoke in her bed and he was... Moving
forward, she hugged him and hid her face on the crook of his neck.
He dithered for a moment before encircling her with his strong arms.
"You're here." The soft mumbling caressed his neck like a feather.
All his body shivered in response.

"'Course I'm here. Wouldn't leave you..." But that was half true. He
would have. If Dru hadn't... He shoved the image aside.

"Turn the light up." As he did it, the look in her eyes flickered from
a happy one to a bewildered green. He frowned at the sight. There was
that grief again. As if she had expected something else. Somebody else.
She stared at the lamp as though she hadn't seen one in her entire
life. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looked around. "Where are
we?"

She could feel his vacillation. Fleeting. A pause like those Spike made
when he was trying to convince her about something he was sure she
wasn't going to like.

"Some friends' house..." His eyes ran to the door. Her slightly
frowned forehead told him she didn't quite believe him. Never knew
why it bothered him that much. He didn't need her approval or her
understanding. He found himself explaining a little bit, though. A
bunch of lies that seared in his gullet. " Okay, so not that friends
but they're out and it's better than that slum. I mean, there's food
and fireplaces... You're starting to catch a cold... Want some tea?"
Whatever to escape from those green depths that were clawed to his
guts. As though she was desperate to find in him something she had
lost. Pain and... love? glittered in them.

Buffy hugged herself tighter. Her hand suddenly leapt to her neck to
check for the pendant. Still there. A washing relieved tide cleansed
her blood. Her dress... Perhaps she shouldn't be worried about it. Had
only brought tears and suffering. As if somebody had put a jinx on it.
But the little paper attached to her underwear... Her underwear...
A sudden flush coloured her cheeks. Naked Buffy meant William's hands
undressing her. Not Spike. Spike had done that so many times. Well, not
quite. She could count with the fingers of only one hand the times they
had been naked. Too much to worry about. Friends, schedules, mother,
Watcher...

The china clattering happily on a silver tray brought her back from
painful memories. William put it on the bedside table. "Here you
are..." He tilted his head to a side. Buffy's heart skipped ten beats.
"It's funny but... I don't know your name. I've never known... Unless
your memory is..."

"I've remembered a name..." Jump into the pool and see if there's any
water, little Buffy. Maybe he knew something... "Badminton..." His
eyebrows flied, amused. "Sorry, Carrington Giles..."

"Is that a relative or...?"

"No! I mean, I don't know..." She had completely forgotten about that
lack of memory issue. She really felt as if little midgets were playing
badminton inside her stomach. Having him so near, under the soft light,
his lips as kissable as ever...

"And what about your name? Do you remember that?" It didn't matter how
much he commanded to his eyes to stay on the same spot. And that meant
her face. They kept on sliding along her mouth to the exposed neck and
the round, golden shoulders...

"Anne..." It was the first thing that jumped to her mouth. Not a lie
but a plain truth.

"It's okay, love. Anne is enough for me." He had assumed her pause had
to do with a lack of a surname? "So, what about eating something, Anne?
Bet only a cup of tea won't ease those little maggots that are shouting
inside you."

Buffy blushed a little. Her stomach had always had the commanding
voice. She smiled back. "It'd be great, Sp... William."

 

Angelus stood by the heavy deep red curtain, peeping to the sunset.
The last threads of the dying sun sparkled on the roofs. It had a
hypnotizing gleam, as shining drops of blood dripping from the roof
tiles.

"He hasn't come back..." Drusilla came into the room holding a
porcelain figure. "Are you going for him? You have been mean..." She
raised her head at the intense glare of Angelus. "He's a poet. You
can't mistreat a poet..."

"I mistreated him..." He snorted and clutched a crystal bottle taking
a big gulp. "You were there, me darling. Don't worry. He'll come back.
He needs us..."

"He needs me. I know how to treat him. Stars are so strange, though.
They don't answer my questions..." She pouted and her chin trembled.

"Maybe 'cause it's still daylight..." He scoffed.

"Bring him back to me!" Her satin white shoe stomped the floor.

"Dru..." Such an impatient ring in his voice. He just wanted his own
sire back. Was fed up of being surrounded by jumpy, moody brats who
didn't understand the greatness of this life they had been given. Darla
understood... Had taught him and he had learnt. Why in hell they didn't
want to learn? They were both still too human. That 'poet'... He didn't
give a thing about him. He didn't give a thing whether he came back or
not. In fact, he'd be extremely happy if he didn't show his face again.

"You don't love me anymore!" The porcelain figure crashed on the wall
behind his back. "You're bad! Bad, bad, bad!"

 

Buffy put on her underwear after reciting the spell for more than
twenty minutes. The tiny paper was thrown to the fireplace where
it burnt like a moth. The house was so silent. It kept her in a
distressful pacing that went from the bed to the door. Back and forth,
back and forth till she couldn't stand it anymore and dared into the
carpeted corridor. Three doors later she finally reached the one
that, she was sure, was his. There still was a reddish gleam in the
fireplace. A huge four-posted bed faced it like an inciting oasis. The
purple velvet curtains were tied to each of them by a golden tassel.

Buffy put the candlestick on a desk near the door. The yellow flame
lighted the magazine that lay there. Maybe she'd borrow it for a while.
Never expected to find a magazine and it would be extraordinarily funny
and enlightening, Giles would have said, to know what people in that
century read about. The magazine name wasn't a hook, really. "Punch",
as if they wanted to give you a blow just from the beginning. Perhaps
it was a kids' magazine... Skimming through it, her slight smile froze
in her lips as if Mr. Punch had appeared from nowhere and hit her in
her face with his stick. There was a drawing there... A satiric drawing
of a social meeting. Buffy got near the candlelight. Two of the drawn
figures had a red dot on the heads as made with a tool. Something
chilling ran along her spine without any reason. They were just
spots... She left the magazine on the desk grabbing the candlestick
with a shaking hand. The book that was beside the magazine fell to the
floor. Baudelaire. Les fleurs du mal. She had never been very good at
French but... didn't it mean something like... evil? Bad, at least by
the poems titles. The destruction. The Vampire. Nice reading! Not the
style William had kept by his bedside table. She remembered pretty well
finding a book of poems by Rossetti. She had bought it in one of those
long, painful nights she had stayed in LA. Had learnt some of them by
heart.

Uneasy, she went back to her room. She had never understood, at full
length, how much William had changed. What it had taken to give birth
to such a different creature as Spike. Had she ever looked at his eyes
without looking for William? Had she ever accepted the complex and
intriguing being he had turned out to be? What had she been doing?
Hunting a ghost? She didn't want to think about it in that very moment.
Needed something to keep her mind away from thinking. Fumble inside the
closet treasures. Take out each dress from it. Rest them on your chest,
one by one, while looking in the mirror. Don't think. Don't. Pace,
that's it. Back and forth. Back and forth... From the bed to the drawn
curtains. From the door to the opened curtains that faced the gas-lit
streets. Those cold streets were the night was darker. Real. Gas lamps
weren't as modern ones. Modern ones were harsh and icy. They lit every
single corner with white bluish glow, slackening the natural brightness
of the stars. Gas lamps allowed the sky to be the night master. Gas
lamps didn't light the sordid corridors of those rabbit warrens she
had been in, where any kind of threat remained hidden like cockroaches
under the furniture. Darkness glued to the windows like a merciful
cloak for good eyes. Just to avoid them the evil show; the evil
carnival of the streets where night took advantage of those less
luckier; of those not loved, not cared.

He was out there. Prowling. Feeding maybe. And yet, he wasn't the
evilest thing on the loose. Worse things happened shielded by filthy
brick walls. Children being abused in ways she didn't want to consider;
opium slums where people went to lay oblivious to reality. Not the
poor, though. They had to survive. Rich people who didn't give a damn
about their luck. People who didn't give a damn about the rabble they'd
helped to create.

He had been shaped by that night. By the evil night and the good,
starry night. Had given him the wisdom, the strength, the knowledge and
the infinite grace of a nocturnal feline. He belonged to it 'cause it
had shaped him. He had died and reborn all the time. One night after
the other.

She belonged to the night as well. She had always wanted to believe
that she had been shaped only by the good night. By the beautiful
symphony of the moon and the stars shining brightly above her head.
That wasn't true. The nasty and horrible creatures that she fought had
shaped her too. Had turned her into a different girl. A resourceful
one. A powerful one. There was something she had, though. The sun and
the warmth of daylight. When she came back to life after dying every
night. After rows of tombstones and cold grass. After bloodshed and
sick slime and opened guts.

But most of all, she belonged to him. She was his sun as he was her
night. The good one. He brought those stars and the moon with him and
left all the horrible things out. They didn't dare to follow him. She
was safe in his arms. The most dangerous place on earth. Here and there
her soul screamed for him. Her eyes dug into the shadows crying for his
known shape. And if she failed, there wasn't going to be any good
nights anymore. Only a void with no laughs. He made her laugh. In spite
of everything. In spite of the tears and grief and sore flesh. In spite
of nightmares. He was her shelter. And now that shelter had been torn
to pieces by two... "Slayers don't kill humans..." "Don't be so
sure..." Faith would pay. She was going to rip each and every finger of
her hands starting with her nails. Buffy shook her head and went back
to the bed. Something awful was creeping inside her blood. Something
scary. Something that enjoyed planning torturing sessions for a
particular human.

 

William shut his bedroom door, leaning against it. A thought had been
teasing him along the cold streets. She's alone. She's alone in that
huge, empty house and the damned place is so near. Why didn't you stay
where nobody could find you? But there he was, trying to please a
human, trying to grab a human life in his slippery hands when he wasn't
human anymore. Why? Why couldn't he steel his heart? Why did he always
have to be a sentimental bloke when he had no heart left? Why did he
care?

He was about to pull the spikes out from his pocket when the noise
reached his ears. His hands stopped inside it and his fingers squeezed
a roll of paper that had been left there by the previous owner of the
expensive coat. There it was again. Slight and imperceptible as if a
band of goblins had entered into the lounge. He torn the drawing off
the magazine, shoved it in his pocket and ran towards her room. Didn't
stop to knock but rushed inside catching her half-sitting on the edge
of the bed. Still had time to close the door behind him. So stupid!

"Come on." His hand looked for hers. "We must go."

There was such urgency in his voice... "Go where? Why?"

"Shhhh... Come on..." He murmured while his eyes flew to the wooden
surface.

Buffy jumped from the soft mattress. Angelus had found them. There was
no doubt in her running heart.

"Forget the clothes." William urged when she tried to pick up a dress.
"We've no time..."

His fingers had barely clutched the doorknob when the door was kicked
wildly. Angelus looming figure didn't stop on the threshold but grabbed
William by the lapels of his coat and sent him flying to the opposite
wall.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat has found..."

The speed at which he moved turned him into a wavering line. She
couldn't even hold the iron poker she had left next to the bedside
table. Angelus twisted her arm to her back and stepped back with a
human shield between him and his grandson. Long fingers pressed Buffy's
throat.

"A human?" He scoffed. "Now you like humans, Willie?" His other hand
looked for the front of her camisole ripping it easily. One breast
pointed at William. "Yes, I can understand that. They are warm..."
His big hand cupped the breast; his thumb circled the nipple and then
slipped on her stomach towards her bloomers. Buffy wriggled against
him but the hand in his throat became a steel rope when the invading
fingers sneaked inside her underwear and glided to her inner folds.

William leapt forward. The damned bastard dared to touch her! That
beautiful, innocent girl his own mother had saved! Those round, shocked
eyes had been the last thing he'd seen when he was dying. He had even
tasted the salty flavour of her tears. The memory of it came back like
a hitting tide. His blue gaze desperately tried to avoid the sight of
those fingers moving under the transparent linen. His ears shut down
her sickened gasp when Angelus sank one of them inside her core.

"Now come here." The gold in Angelus's eyes was like another gas lamp.
But with a sinister glow. Having no reply to his command he squeezed
Buffy's throat tighter raising her from the floor. William finally
complied. "You see, you do what I say. It isn't that hard... Now, bite
her." His own fangs went near the crazy pulse of her veins but stopped
sharply. She had been bitten. By... William? That was his scent and yet
it wasn't. How on earth he might smell like a master vampire when he
was nothing but a new worm? And what was that other scent? Power. Of
her own. As if she were more than a weak human.

Angelus blinked and whiffed deeply. It was like holding a riddle.
Everything was there and yet it wasn't. One way of finding it out. His
head dashed forward completely oblivious to William's running shape.
The sharp pain in his forearm relaxed the strong grip on Buffy's neck.
His growl filled all the corridors of her ears as she fell to the floor
and crawled towards the bed, gasping for air.

William ducked to avoid Angelus's raging blow and kicked his knee.
The big vampire fell on the carpet with a curse, still trying to get
the spike out from his arm. William booted his face but didn't jump
backwards soon enough. His ankle was twisted in such a way that he
heard the bones cracking. With great effort he got free and rolled back
to a standing position. Angelus lunged to his midriff with an echoing
howl. William jumped and flipped over in the air, landing on the
opposite side of the bed. Rage fuelled inside his grandsire chest.
It sounded so deeply that it seemed as if the walls were shaking with
fury. His large figure leapt onto the bed with a triumphal snarl.
Stupid boy! He was going to smash his sorry brain on that green paper
wall. How he dared to face him and only for this human? How he dared to
fight him after what he had said nights ago? Why in hell did he listen
to Dru's pleas in the first place? He was going to drag that childe of
hers straight to her feet. Let her know what kind of treacherous slug
she had created.

He had taken only one step on the mattress when something hit his back.
The soft material waved under his weight and didn't allow him a quick
turn. Half swirling he caught the glimpse of golden naked skin. Fool
girl! She'd have to wait. Facing William again, he'd resumed his path
when a crystal globe shattered on his back. The fuel quickly spread on
the velvet blankets as flames danced around his legs licking the
sleeves of his shirt.

Buffy threw the iron poker to William and he stroke Angelus's forehead
with it. He could have stayed all night hitting that very spot. Had to
go, though. Didn't fancy to crisp in a luxurious bonfire. He hastily
rounded the bed grabbing Buffy's wrists, pulling her to the door.

"My dress!" She cried trying to get back to the room.

"Bloody hell, woman!" William picked up a dress at random. "What now?"
Shoes. For Christ's sake! Women could be so annoying sometimes! In a
middle of an emergency they still had time for trivial things!

 

tbc...
 

CHAPTER 21

 
Buffy slid inside the hot water with a sigh. She had never run so much
in her entire life. From a roaring fire and a roaring demon chasing
them till he couldn't walk anymore. Her lungs had stretched to an
impossible size and even when they had jumped into a carriage, it had
taken half the way to breathe normally again.

So they were back in that poor, small place where they should have
stayed in the first place and it felt as a corner of paradise after
what she had gone through. Not that much. Even in that metal tub
wrapped in the steam that spun from the hot water. A hot bath he had
paid for. She felt useless as never before. Of course she had been the
one with that useful idea of breaking the gas lamp on Angelus's back.
Yet, it didn't mean anything. She could have staked him good and proper
if she had had half of her usual strength. Instead of being chasing a
Lord, she was jeopardizing William's future. `Cause, she was going to
leave. Leave him alone with those maniacs who were his family and. He
was going to be forced to pay. And that made her heart bleed in agony.

What was worse, William, soon Spike, was going to hate her for more
than a century. She couldn't tell him the truth. Would he help her?
Would he understand? Hey, I'm the Slayer by the way. Powerless but
still one. And I'm here just to save my Watcher and my world and our
love. Yes, love. Was impossible to deny it anymore. Weren't those his
hands rinsing her skin with a sponge? Wasn't that his voice telling her
everything was going to be all right? Weren't those not candle lights
but his beautiful amber eyes, looking at her as if she were the only
woman on earth? As much as she had always wanted to contradict it, she
adored the way in which he protected her. Being there when she needed
him, in spite of never having asked him. That sixth sense he had when
it came to her things, to her safety. Her happiness. Somehow he had the
key to the secret rules of her heart.  

And she needed him more than ever. Not only his body, but his strength
and his arrogant but wise ideas just to help her play her cards well.
Go somewhere where she could find this man and convince him to take
the next ship to the moon if that's what it took to push him far enough
from Angelus. Maybe packed in that Jade Chest of his just to prevent
it from being stolen. She had never been a liar, at least not to Spike.
But now. She couldn't have William there. No when she was going to jump
through a portal with only one man on track, showing him that she too
had been used him for her purposes.

 

Leaning against the wall on one foot due to the pain that still
twitched in his sprained ankle, William heard the soft crying that
came from inside the room. It made his guts twirl. After promising to
himself he was going to be faster and punch first, he'd made the same
bloody mistake. In fact, he had made the first mistake when he'd left
that safe place pursuing a better place only for a woman. Something hit
the wall inside the room. Hard and sharp as a shot. His hand opened the
door before he could think of it.



Stepping out from the tub, Buffy walked towards the bed where a big
white cloth was waiting for her dripping body. Tears were still rolling
on her cheeks, slowly replaced by a burning anger. A metal box of what
turned out to be white powder served to let off steam. But it wasn't
enough. Things she could have done with that fucking bastard if only.

The sudden noise at the door made her grab the cloth. Just in time to
see William dithering at the threshold. Her hand pressed the fabric
against her chest like a Greek goddess.

"I thought something. I'm sorry." He took two steps back as though he
was about to leave the room but shut the door instead. "Maybe I'd stay
here. Just in case.", - he suggested sheepishly and began to turn round
to face the door. The soft call of his name stopped him.

The kiss was soft and sweet. It reminded her of that first one they
had shared under the crossed gaze of a stone icon. Almost a year had
passed. The memory brought new tears to her eyes. Pressing her body
against his taut one, she changed the grip on the cloth for his wetted
shirt while his arms, unsurely at first, finally raise her in the air.
He placed her on the bed, the wet cloth forgotten on the floor as a
drenched odd wedding dress. A mixture of fragrances entered through a
broken windowpane. Tea, lilies, roses, pine and dozens of other things
stored at the Hay's Wharf warehouses waiting for the clippers to
receive their cargo. His palm traced the curve of her thigh and stopped
on her hip. Wasn't the time to touch her in a rude way. She'd had
enough of that for the night. All he wanted, all he craved was lying
there with her, kissing her, enjoying the warmth and the sweetness of
her delicious mouth.

Buffy squashed against him. Strange and erotic feeling that of bare
skin against soft fabric. Her fingers sank in his shoulders with a
dazzling urgency. His scent was different. There were no cigarettes
there. Or booze, or leather. But his lips were as demanding and silky
as they'd always had been. She softly bit them before her tongue dived
inside his mouth and her hands became a yoke on the nape of his neck.
So much she had missed him. So much that her body had taken over every
single complaint in her mind. He's not him. He's not him. Two times and
the tiny voice was send to sleep in the furthest corner of her soul.
One of her legs trapped his calf as a strangled whimper filled her
throat.

William pulled backwards, misunderstanding her cry. He wasn't a monster
like Angelus. He wanted her to want him but not under any external
pressure or due to any twisted feeling of gratitude. Her eyes were
glazed and dark. No traces of green. "Go to sleep now, love. He won't
touch you again."

Sleep? Sleep? She was bursting and he wanted her to sleep? Turning
round she faced the window just not to show him her pain. Spike would
have never done that. Left her in desperate need. Not because he was 
a perv, `cause he was and that was one of the hundred of reasons she
found him the sexiest and hottest man on the galaxy, but because he
just wanted her and loved her the way she did. Obviously, it'd take 
a century for that to happen. Her body stubbornly refused to wait for
that long. A blanket was pulled carefully over her twitching skin. She
shivered when one of his arms enfolded her waist, pulling her closer.

Her gaze fell to his big hand resting on her stomach. So he wasn't
going anywhere. Her fingers entwined with his as her eyelids began
to slide down. Never realized how tired she was... Maybe it was better
this way. Maybe she could wait after all.

 

Buffy woke up. A gentle rain thudded against the window. Her eyes hung
from the grey and sad sky feeling his presence at her back. Still
clothed under the blanket, he was trussing her up with his arms as the
most precious treasure. Buffy sighed and a slow smile curved her lips.
She knew she had to go. But it was impossible to escape from that
prison in which she'd die happily. Even knowing. Moving slowly to one
side, she finally sat up against the pillows. He looked so young. No
bleached hair gave him a childish look, a more innocent one. Paler
under the greyish gleam of the window and yet as beautiful as ever.
She had never woken up in his arms before. Too afraid of being caught.
She'd have never forgiven herself if by any chance her mother had
opened the door of her room one morning only to find out a naked,
glorious vampire comfortably spread on her bed. She had fantasized
about that, though. Every night she braced herself, imagining his arms
were around her. Imagining his low, sleepy voice greeting her in the
mornings. His blue eyes looking at her the way only he could look at
her. An explosive blend of love and passion, sweet and raw, caring and
possessive. Her fingers outlined his face, those lips she loved, his
nose, the forearm still lingering across her legs. She should be going
by then. Walk the streets finding clues. Now he was completely unaware.
Now she had the chance of disappearing without further explanations.
Only one more minute. Only one. She lay down again, facing him, all her
body in full contact with his. One of her thighs crossed on his leg,
her arm possessively wrapping around his waist. She kept looking at him
till she finally felt asleep again.

 

The soft rain was gone, leaving behind it a chilling gale that howled
under the roof tiles like ghouls. A cold, tender breeze was grazing her
back. Buffy moved forward, snuggling tightly between Spike's arms.
Never opening her eyes, she tilted her head to one side enjoying the
cool caress of his tongue. Her fingers played with the buttons of his
shirt, unfastening one after the other with delighted slowness, till
her palms pressed his bare chest. When had he worn shirts? Didn't
matter. She felt like if the wind could take her to fly in any minute.
Her tongue tasted one of his hard nipples, sucking and licking in
charmed circles while her hand went down to his pants.

 

William's hands skated down her back reaching the round curves of her
ass, bringing her closer. Pushing her lightly, he half-laid on top of
her, his leg slinking between hers. With a growl he captured her mouth
in a hungry kiss, feeling her fingers unbuttoning his trousers, pushing
them down till she couldn't reach anymore. Her feet completed the task
while her hands clutched his hair to keep him in place. Slowly, as
though she hadn't welcomed him enough, he slid between her legs. The
full contact with her skin made him thought of lightning-bolts hitting
a high needle. White violent sparks filling the air, crackling in the
complete silence of the early evening. Her palms outlined his hips with
such reverence. His only experience with sex had been a ravenous, wild
debut with his Sire. Had left him bruised and dizzy. He had enjoyed it,
though. But there had been something missing. Something he had dreamt
about as a human, in those long nights he'd spent awake wondering how
it'd be to hold a woman, a loved woman in his arms. Too much like this.

 

Buffy pulled back a little. She needed air. The room was black and
white with only one spot of colour. Blue. His blue eyes fixed on hers.
So many things they kept in its depths. The same dark glint that
shimmered in Spike's eyes whenever he was kissing her. As if he were
aching inside... Something that had always shook her to the core taking
away her breath. She had never understood it. Maybe `cause she had been
so busy denying her true feelings. It was love. Raw and overwhelming.
Of the kind that promised her he'd never leave him. That he would be
there forever, whether she liked it or not. So intense that sometimes
she had to close her eyes just not to be burnt as a moth by the blue
fire. And his skin. His whole naked body pressed against her. As never
before. A pang of sadness veiled her eyes.

 

Hours before, when he had fallen asleep, William'd dreamt of this.
Well, something similar. A bit rougher. He was pressing her against the
wooden surface of a wall, lost in that huge mansion. His hand digging,
peeling the layers of laced linen under the skirt of her blue silk
dress, hitching the petticoats up, reaching warm, smooth skin. A fire
had been burning somewhere while the tip of his fingers outlined the
curve of her thighs and his mouth tasted her neck and then his tongue
went further down, flicking on one dark nipple. He had dreamt she liked
it. Just like now when he finally touched those full breasts that had
bewitched him since that night in the carriage that was taking him to
his death. He sucked at the pink bud as if it were the sweetest thing.
One and then the other. Rubbing his cheekbone against its hardness,
making her moan and arch upwards. The soles of her feet leisurely
caressed his calves; her hands ran along his back, his shoulders,
drinking in the velvety cadence of his muscles.

The wrath he had felt when Angelus had touched her so intimately. It'd
been choking. He'd never thought he would be scared anymore. No in this
brand new life where he was supposed to be the master of fears. The
dealer of darkness. Then it had been the true, primitive and intense
desire to kill. Stronger than when he fed. He'd have ripped the fingers
from that intruding hand that was profaning her flesh. That flesh his
tongue was now worshiping. Dru had taught him that. She had tasted so
different! Cold as a squall, with a faded scent of dead jasmines.
Nothing as warm and fragrant as this sleek human panting under his
touch. Waves of lavender scent waved off her skin; the remains of
the soap she had used for her bath. Her warm skin was threatening to
liquefy his body, as the sun would have done with a wandering iceberg.
She trembled and quivered and mumbled bitten words against the pillow
when an orgasm shook her blood.

 

Buffy tugged at his hair, still shivering. She welcomed his hungry
mouth; her hand hastily running to the throbbing erection pressed
against her belly. Her teeth nibbled his lower lip, the tip of his
nose, one earlobe. She was sailing in this daydream in which everything
had been erased from her mind. Present, past or future. Nothing but the
exquisite sensation of having him again on top of her, enjoying the
searing coldness of his palms raising her hips a little, sketching his
delicate and beautiful features, guiding his silky, swollen cock to her
demanding entrance. She was slinging in the air as a line of colourful
flags between the trees. Swaying gently, matching his sluggish
movements. Taking her time, as he did, for this to last forever.

 

William thrust slowly, his eyes closed; his head threw a little
backwards. Sinking in this ocean of fire a flashing image past across
his forehead. His hand burning under the sun. The steam wavering from
it as he challenged his grandsire with daring eyes. The hot rays had
nearly melted his bones. He was melting now. In a riot of senses and
nerves. Her legs wrapped his waist, imperatively, and he couldn't but
push harder, faster; his hands holding the round slim curves of her
shoulders, his tongue battling with hers. Swivelling like the leaves
that spun in crazy whirlpools in the streets. Groaning and moaning like
the freezing wind outside. Drops of sweat glistened between her breasts
and he licked them as if he were tasting blood. Her eyes were fixed on
that spot. He could feel them while he traced her breasts with his
tongue, when he sucked at them, when he nibbled the soft flesh of their
contours. His hand cupped one of them, pushing it up like the corset
had done. Her gaze was made of hot coals. As though she were expecting
something else she quickened her pace, her fingers firmly sank in his
ass-cheeks. Their eyes met and the plea he saw there triggered off his
roaring orgasm.

 

Buffy enfolded him with arms and legs, shuddering by the intense heat
of her own release. She held him there, trembling between her legs,
till he finally rolled on the mattress in complete silence. A slight
crease wrinkled his forehead and brought a waterfall of guilty feelings
to her heart. What had she done? Spike would never forgive her. Even
if, technically, she hadn't cheated him. Jealousy wasn't an issue Spike
handled very well.

Maybe it was time to do what she had come to do in the first place.
Stop dreaming and indulging herself in the aching lie of having him
back. Her legs bucked a little when she got off the bed looking for a
glass of water. The floor welcomed her bare feet with an icy surface.
Her teeth rattled while she poured the water in a glass, fighting the
hot tears that hung from her eyelashes. Suddenly, her hand froze in the
air. As if the icy floor had turned her into a statue. Her eyes widened
as her shaking hand seized the tickets lying on the table. Opera House.
Tonight. Verdi. She nearly choked.

 

His shocked gaze was stuck to the smeared windowpanes, gawking at the
leaden sky. She had wanted him to bite her. It had been so written in
her face, in her darkened eyes, in her parted lips that it had puzzled
and overtaken his last threads of control. He didn't want to consider
what would have happened if he'd obliged. Could have he stopped? A rush
of lust travelled through his body making him hard again. He licked his
tongue and wrestled the strong need to grab her arms and pushed her
under him once more, now that she had climbed on to the bed again. The
swinging tickets in front of his eyes allowed him to brush thoughts
aside. Drawing a smile he turned round to face her. She looked radiant.
Even under the greyish glow of that awful evening.

"So, you've found them." Anything to put his mind off the intoxicating
smell of her body, off the powerful beat of her blood. "Want to go?
I think we're in time."

"It'd be so exciting." Buffy leant forward to kiss him, feeling a nasty
knot compressing her guts. How could she be such a slut? But she had
to. She had to and he would understand. In a century but he would.
Her face disappeared in the crook of his neck, desperately hiding her
grief. God, how she hated herself! 

 

tbc...
 

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