Part 3:
As the stake entered his heart, Spike’s gaze flew to Buffy’s face. He devoured every line of her, crystallizing her image in his mind’s eye. He held tight to the memory of her as his body was transformed to ashes and bone.
He could hear Vladimir, Count Dracula, speaking from long ago, the voice clear in his mind, as if the ancient vampire was standing next to him in the crypt.
“There is one thing in this world you value,” the Romany accented voice was saying. “You must know it…and hold onto it. Make it more real to you than your own death. Keep the image of that one thing true within you, as your flesh is ripped apart. Let it fill your entire being.”
“It can’t be that simple,” Spike had scoffed.
“It is not simple, my young friend,” Dracula corrected. “It is far from simple. It takes more concentration than you can possibly imagine. If you would do this thing then you must practice for many years. I learned of it by accident while studying with the Rossi gli abiti and you would do well to join their number for a time.”
“Monks?!?” Spike snorted. “You want me to join a poxy load of hood wearing pillocks.”
“You are the one who wants to learn my secrets, young one,” Vlad reminded. “I am merely suggesting one route that you could follow. These monks are able to turn themselves into a mist and enter where there is no door or window. It is a similar talent that you seek to master.”
“Still, mist is one thing…but the stake?” Spike said not believing yet, “If that’s all there is to it, then why don’t more of us come back from the staking? Why don’t these Red Robed blighters of yours make a habit of it?”
“Who can say?” the Dark Lord shrugged. “Perhaps many are too afraid to even try, others may simply fail in the attempt. Perhaps they don’t believe that it can be done”
He leaned forward and shoved at Spike’s shoulder with one elegant finger.
“It is like killing the Slayer, yes?” he said, grinning. “Most of our kind haven’t the imagination to conceive of the idea. Therefore most will fail.”
Spike laughed then and, after killing the barmaid, they made a toast to the success of the younger vampire’s upcoming trip to China. But Spike wasn’t ready to give up on the topic. He was fascinated by the idea of reforming after a staking. He returned to the subject several times as the night wore on until the Romany Count grew impatient with the constant questioning.
“We are not this flesh,” Drac snarled, at last, holding up one hand between them as illustration. “And wood? What is that to us? Nothing but ancient Druid magic!" He gestured elegantly as if tossing the objection aside. "Certainly it binds us, certainly it scatters us but when the stake is pulled away…
He brought his two hands together, interlacing the long fingers and clasping them tightly.
“It is possible to become whole again,” Spike nodded, understanding the concept.
“Find that which is true to your heart and your mind,” Vlad said touching Spike’s chest and forehead in succession. “Let it anchor you in the world. Then you need only reform around that cherished image.”
“Buffy!” Spike thought, as he felt the pull of eternity. She was his everything; there was nothing else that mattered to him now, he repeated it in his mind, “There is only Buffy.”
The monks were still gathered in a loose circle. Saul had removed the stake and leaned forward to catch the falling chip. Dying, Spike let all else fade away until only the Slayer existed for him. It was easier than he had expected and yet at the same time immensely difficult. William’s soul was calling from the beyond, urging him to let go of their flesh. A vast gulf had opened up all around him and all sensation, all awareness faded into meaningless shadow. Only Buffy remained. Only Buffy was real. He wrapped his very being around that truth. And slowly Spike felt his body begin to reform around his consciousness.
There was a great rushing sound and an implosion. The door of the crypt slammed open and a swirl of leaves joined with the swirl of Spike’s ashes. Several of the monks stepped back in superstitious fear as the blond vampire began to reform. Saul moved away from the unconscious Slayer and walked over to stand near the point of reincarnation. Bone and ash, merged at the high priest's feet creating an outline of a man and then miraculously became flesh. Spike gasped in night air, feeling the chilled bite of it in his throat. He lay on the floor looking up at Saul not really believing…and yet knowing…Dracula had been telling him the truth all those years ago.
“What do you know?” Spike said, to himself. “The black-hearted old welcher, finally, made good on that debt.”
Gingerly, he turned his head. It was attached to his neck again. He pressed his hands to the floor, enjoying the solid feel of the stone under his fingers. Carefully, he sat up and, instinctively, his eyes sought out the Slayer.
“She is unharmed,” Saul assured, noticing the direction of Spike’s glance. “Of course, she is also helpless and you are in need of blood, my brother. No one will stand against you if you choose to feed.”
The high priest’s words were like a trigger for Spike’s bloodlust. He realized all at once that he was ravenous. The effort of reforming had left him weak as a kitten. He was shaking with the desire to kill, to drain the life from someone.
Spike was moving toward the Slayer before he had time to consider what he was doing. He caught her up in his arms. Buffy’s head lolled against his shoulder as he held her close. He could hear her heart beating; feel the soft warmth of her breath against his skin. He ran his one hand into her hair and tilted her head to expose the pulse at her throat. Buffy’s lips were slightly parted. Looking into her face, Spike remembered how her beauty had sustained him in the echoing vastness of eternity.
Growling, the blond vampire dropped Buffy as if she had burned him. She hit her head as she fell and Spike reached out in remorse. But stopped short, afraid to touch her, as his demon cried out for blood again. Spike shrank back and then rose up spinning around to unleash his wrath on the gathered monks. He dragged one of them close and ripped out the red robed vampire’s throat. The blood was cold and dead but it sobered Spike, slightly. He tossed the injured monk into the faces of the other faithful, knocking several of them to the ground.
“I won’t kill her, Saul,” Spike growled, as he dashed for the door, “I won’t do it!”
Several of the monks made as if to follow the blond vampire into the night but the High Priest held up one hand to halt them.
“Let him go, my brothers,” Saul said. “The work of this night is complete and as you have witnessed he is all that we could have hoped for. We must pray now and prepare ourselves for the wondrous events to come.”
“What about the Slayer?” one of the monks asked, looking down at the unconscious Buffy.
“Leave her,” Saul said, with a dismissive wave. “William will not return for her this night.”
“But…how can you be sure?” another monk asked.
“I rely on my faith, my brother,” Saul smiled, gently. “I rely on my faith!”
He walked to the crypt door and, stepping across the threshold, evaporated into a mist. The other monks faded into an incorporeal state as well, leaving the fallen Slayer alone on the floor.
Running blindly through the back alleys of Sunnydale, Spike was at a loss about where to go. He wanted to return to the crypt but he didn’t trust himself that close to Buffy. More than anything, he wanted to make her his eternally and he was desperate for blood. He needed it to be solidified in his body again. He was straddling two worlds, still half incorporeal. He thought about breaking into the butcher’s shop and stealing a pint or two, but he didn’t think that goat’s blood would do the trick. Human hemoglobin was what Spike really craved. He was headed in the general direction of the hospital when it came to him that he knew just where to find a few pints of the vintage stuff.
Skirting the populated areas, Spike made his way back toward the Summers’ place. He had run in the opposite direction at first and it was nearly 11:30 by the time he reached the house. Lightening cracked across the sky as he came up the walk and a few heavy raindrops fell around him. Fishing under the flowerpots, he located the back door key and turned it in the lock.
Spike slipped into the darkened kitchen and stood quietly listening. The sound of slow steady breathing came to him. Dawn Summers was asleep upstairs. Young, tender, innocent Dawn was all alone in her bed. A sharp-toothed smile danced across Spike’s lips as he padded toward the staircase.
Dawn stirred in her sleep. Turning on her side, she pulled one fist to her cheek like a tiny child. Spike stood above her still and horrible in his demonic mask. His eyes glowed yellow. Pale moonlight shown through the open curtains, it glistened off of his fangs. His fingers were curled like claws.
Spike’s demon was talking to him, filling his mind with dark logic. All he had to do, it told him, was strike and he could have everything he’d ever desired. His hunger would be sated and he could remake Dawn as his true daughter, his daughter in blood. Once he did that Buffy would surely join them. They could be a real family.
Or the demon mused as it savored Dawn’s lovely nubile curves; if the Slayer remained stubborn...there were other possibilities. Spike’s stomach roiled in horror as the thought came to him.
“NO!” he screamed, lunging away from the bed.
Dawn jerked awake. She sat up and looked around. After a confused moment, she saw Spike cowering in the far corner of her room. His face was turned to the wall.
“Spike?” she questioned, still drugged with sleep. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“It’s okay, Bit,” Spike said, shakily. He didn't look at her and sounded anything but okay.
Dawn turned away from him to look at her alarm clock. It was 11:47pm. She frowned trying to remember what was wrong with this picture.
“Your date!” she exclaimed, suddenly recalling. “How did your date with Buffy go? Did you just bring her home?”
“It didn’t go so well, Niblet,” Spike said, giving a hollow laugh as he turned strangely glowing eyes on her.
Dawn wondered if a vampire’s eyes always shone like that if the light hit them at just the right angle. Spike looked like a cat in the moonlight. She thought that it was kind of creepy but didn’t want to upset her friend by mentioning it, especially, if his date with her sister had gone badly. She started to get out of bed.
“STAY WHERE YOU ARE,” Spike barked at her, his voice a guttural growl.
She pulled her feet back under the covers and sat up hugging her knees and biting back the tears. Spike was edging toward the door. He was hunched over holding his stomach as if he was in pain.
“Is-is Buffy, okay?” Dawn asked, really worried now. “She’s not hurt or anything?”
“Buffy is just ducky,” Spike said, a little too quickly. “I just came to get something of hers. Thought I would check on you while I was here. Everything is going to be all right." He paused, took a deep breath and seemed to pull himself together, adding in a nearly normal tone, "You should go back to sleep, Snacksize! You can talk to Buffy about this in the morning.”
He yanked the door open and was through it before Dawn could question him further. She lay back down and listened to the sound of Spike taking the stairs to the first floor. She heard him continue his decent, going all the way to the basement. There was a bit of slamming and cursing and he stomped back up to the kitchen. After another 20 minutes, there was a series of beeps and then she heard the outside door open and close behind him. Dawn looked at the clock again. It was 12:24 am. She listened to the rain slow and then stop and wondered what had brought Spike out in such weather. She didn’t fall asleep again for almost an hour.
Buffy awoke to the morning sun shining through the open door, warming her body. She still lay on the crypt floor. The wind had blown dead leaves all around her. She sat up, feeling groggy and confused. The hard plastic of the chip bit into her fingers and she opened her hand. Blissful emptiness pulled away like a curtain in her mind and all of the horrors of the night came back to her. She retched, her body trying to purge itself of pain and loss. When her stomach was empty of bile she simply curled up and wept, sobbing like a forsaken soul until she could not longer even bring forth tears.
And that was how Willow and Dawn finally found her in the early afternoon, laying in a fetal position in the sunlight among the leaves on the floor of Spike’s crypt. Buffy was drained of emotion; barely able to move for the stiffness in her joints and almost past caring if she ever left the spot. She wanted to die. She wasn’t up to explaining what had happened but Willow and Dawn pieced the story together as they coaxed Buffy out to Willow’s waiting car.
Just before they could leave the crypt, however, the Slayer wrenched away from them and ran over to Spike’s trunk. She opened it and pulled out his long leather jacket. Buffy hugged the duster close as Dawn’s eyes filled up with tears. Then huddling into the coat to stop her shaking, Buffy let her two “sisters” help her leave.
They went to Willow’s place first so that Buffy could shower and change. Dawn, her nose stuffy from crying, put the call in for the gang to meet at the Magic Shop and then went to fetch Buffy a change of clothes.
It was nearly 7:00 pm by the time they had all gathered around the research table at the Magic Box. Buffy was pale but no longer shaken and subdued. She was wearing black leather pants, a tan shirt and Spike’s duster. She seemed to be filled with the dark light of vengeance.
“I want them all dead before sunrise,” she said, simply, turning the chip over and over in her fingers like a meditation stone.
“Okay,” Willow said, glancing around at the others, “Let’s get started, then. What do we know? Who were they? What did they look like?”
“They were vampires,” Buffy said. “They wore red robes. And one of them, this," she hissed out the name, "Saul…was wearing a gold necklace with a huge garnet or ruby in the center of it.”
“Rossi gli abiti,” Anya said, entering the room with a cup of tea for Buffy.
“Rosie who?” Xander asked.
“And what’s she got to do with anything?” Willow added.
“She’s not a she,” Anya corrected, setting Buffy's tea on the table. “She’s a them! The Red Robes?" she looked around expectantly but the gang continued to stare in stupefaction until she continued, "In Italian that’s Rossi gli abiti. This sounds like them to me. They’re an ancient progenitor cult. And it would make sense, too, because of all the girl children missing lately. I have been sticking really close to Melanie just in case it was a cult sacrifice thing.”
Xander, Willow, Dawn and Buffy exchanged glances and then looked back at Anya. They all began questioning her at once.
“You knew about the abductions? You know these guys? Sacrifices? A...what kind of cult? How do you know…?”
The babble of voices went on until Buffy put her thumb and index finger to her lips and blew a loud whistle.
“Who are these Red Robes?” Buffy asked, into the sudden silence. “And where can I find them?”
“Like I said,” Anya reiterated, “it’s a Progenitor Cult made up of vampires. They worship the first ancestor, Lilith, the mother of all the children of the night.”
“Wasn’t she was supposed to be Adam’s first wife?” Willow inserted. “Before Eve and the whole rib thing?”
“Did they name the Faire after her?” Dawn asked, ingenuously.
“Yep, that’s the one,” Anya nodded, patting Dawnie's hand. “I always thought that concert thing was kind of silly. Them making her a symbol of woman power and all and her not strictly speaking even female.”
“Why did they ki...” Buffy began and her voice broke. She took a shuddering breath and tried again, “Why Spike? Why not me? They’re vampires, right? So, why leave the Slayer there, all helpless and alive?”
“I don’t know about the first part,” Anya answered, “but they wouldn’t want to kill the Slayer. You are a big part of their end-times mythology. This faction of the cult, Rossi gli abiti, traces back to 11th century Italy but the origins of the faith are pre-historic. They believe that the first Slayer and the first Vampire were created together. When the last of the Old Ones were driven from the earth Lilith refused to leave. She created the first vampire and…”
“Oh, I know this,” Willow interrupted, “Giles told us…a demon, Lilith, I guess, shared its blood with a man and created the first vampire.”
“And as long as there’s been vampires,” Xander put in, snapping his fingers and pointing out his recollection of the tale, “there’s been a Slayer to fight them. But nobody really knows where she came from, she just appeared one night.”
“Well, that’s one version of the story,” Anya sighed, frowning at the inept human interpretation. “But according to the Rossi gli abiti, what actually happened was that a council of ancient Shamans used a gem called Cuore Della Notte, the Heart of the Night, a.k.a. Lilith’s Heart, to split The Night Monster herself into two separate entities. One half, the first vampire, carried Lilith’s blood and would prey on humans. The other half, the Slayer, carried the seed of Lilith’s life force, and would prey on demons. The Rossi gli abiti believe that Lilith will be reborn when a vampire mates with the Slayer. And then it’s look out world.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Xander reasoned. "I mean, assuming they want all this to happen, why burst in like that and, if you’ll pardon the expression, kill the mood?”
"Xander's right,” Buffy nodded. “If they wanted me to mate with a vampire all they really had to do was hang around outside for another hour or so. And anyway, been there done that! Can we say Angel? And while it wasn’t exactly a party…the world certainly didn’t end, afterward.”
“Well, Angel has a soul,” Willow said, working it out. “So, maybe he didn’t count…somehow…because Angelus is the true Vampire. And you never slept with Angelus…or Dracula either.”
“But that doesn’t explain about Spike,” Anya said, dismissively. “Spike is a vampire." She frowned over the puzzle for a minute and then shrugged, "I have no idea why they wouldn’t want you to be with him. That really doesn’t make any sense from what I know of their religious beliefs.”
“What if they didn’t think that Buffy could conceive this Night Monster by mating with Spike.” Willow speculated. “And how’s that even work? With the conception and all…I thought vampires were sterile.”
“It is a ridiculous superstition, when you really think about it,” Anya admitted. “Vampires don’t breed by having sex, in any case. So, why should it matter if they mate with the Slayer? But my impression is that they are expecting a divine conception of some kind. In fact, they don’t even specify that the vampire be male…so, maybe it’s not a traditional mating at all. Maybe it has nothing to do with sex. There are lots of stories about rituals and invocations and sacrifices. They’re big into purification and denial of their natural urges, going with out blood and such. So, maybe they DIDN’T want you to have sex with Spike because that would make you impure or something.”
“Maybe it was because of the chip?” Dawn guessed, re-entering the conversation. “Because Spike wasn't like a real vampire. He couldn’t hurt anyone with the chip in his head?”
“That’s a good thought, Dawnie,” Willow nodded, as she powered up her computer to type in the cult name. She hit the search button and waited for results.
“We aren’t getting anywhere just randomly guessing,” Buffy snapped, impatiently. “And I don’t really care what their plans are. I just want to find out where their lair is, so I can kill them.”
“Hey!” Xander said, sitting up straight, the two front legs of his chair returning to the floor with a bang. “I wonder if Oz could find them for you? He’s gotten really good at the tracking thing since he came back from Outer Mongolia.”
“I could call him,” Willow said, already reaching for the phone. “You’re right about his wolfie senses. Spreading the ‘grrr’ out over a whole month is really making a difference on the full moon days. I bet if he starts at Spike’s crypt he could trace these guys back to their hideout in no time.”
“I don’t know, Will,” Buffy said. “It’s worth a try but it has been nearly 24 hours and didn’t it rain last night?”
“Yeah, but that was before Spike died,” Dawn pointed out, swallowing the sudden lump that came with saying the words.
“No, it wasn’t,” Buffy corrected, with a quick shake of her head. “Spike died at about nine or nine-thirty and it definitely hadn’t rained yet. I was there, remember?”
“Buffy,” Dawn sighed, impatient with her know-it-all sister. “You were drugged, remember? You might not be exactly clear on the times. But I saw Spike just before midnight, last night. I checked the clock a couple of times so I'm totally sure…. It must have been closer to one in the morning when he died.”
“You SAW Spike?” Buffy exclaimed, sitting forward and grabbing her sister’s arm, fiercely. “Last Night? Where?”
“At our house,” Dawn answered, her voice trembling as she, suddenly, recalled how strangely Spike had behaved. “H-h-he s-s-said he came to get something of yours and…”
“AND?” Buffy prompted.
“Well,” Dawn hesitated, shifting in her chair as everyone focused on her. “He WAS acting kind of funny. When I woke up he was in the corner of my room but I think that h-h-he had been standing over me. It felt sort of like he was watching me sleep or something.”
The hair rose up on Buffy’s arms as a chill shot through her.
“He couldn’t have survived the staking?” she whispered, more to herself than to Dawn.
“Well, Dracula can do it,” Anya chirped, helpfully. “So we know it is possible.”
“Yeah…but Drac is like…Super-Vamp,” Xander inserted, with only a minor touch of hero worship. “He could turn into a bat and become a mist and everything.”
“These Red Robed vamps could do the mist thing,” Buffy recalled. “I am pretty sure that’s how they got so close to us without me sensing them. You know…now that I think about it, Spike acted like he knew them, too. And I heard Saul call him ‘my brother’.”
“Then maybe Dracula isn’t the only vampire with special powers,” Dawn yelped, clapping her hands together, happily. “Maybe Spike is still alive!”
But Willow, Xander and Anya were far less enthusiastic in their response to this idea. They were all looking across the table, at Buffy, faces clouded with apprehension, as the Slayer sat studying the chip in her hand through dark haunted eyes.
“A chip-free, unstakeable Spike,” Xander said it aloud for all of them to hear.
“Willow,” Buffy ordered, her tone chilled and impersonal. “Call Oz. Tell him I want those Martini and Rossi guys scent traced back to their home lair from the crypt but ask him to meet me at our house first. I want to know if Spike has been there in the last 12 hours.”
“And if he has?” Dawn asked, picking up on the drastic undercurrent of fear in the room.
But the Slayer didn’t answer; she just turned the chip in her fingers, staring at it fixedly. She looked manic and dangerous. The room reached an uncomfortable level of silence. Then, with alarming abruptness, Buffy sprang up out of her chair and stalked toward the Shop’s weapon filled backroom. Her body was wound tight with conflicting emotions and Spike's duster flared out behind her as she punched open the training room door, vanishing into the darkness beyond.
“Will,” Xander urged, looking after the Slayer, as the door crashed violently closed behind her retreating form, “you better call Giles while you’re at it.”
The red-haired witch nodded her understanding, flipped open her cell phone and started dialing.
PART 4
“Oh, yeah,” Oz nodded, after completing a circle of the darkened Summers’ house, “Spikeage! Very recent!”
“So, he could have been here last night after the rain?” Buffy asked.
“I’d say he was here this evening,” Oz clarified. “Just after sunset.”
He looked long and hard at the Slayer, studying her in the light of the streetlamps. He was wondering if he should mention the other scent that was coming to him.
“What?” Buffy asked, sensing that he was holding back. “What is it? You smell something else?”
“Blood,” Oz said, lifting an apologetic brow. “There’s a lot of blood. I think it’s coming from the basement.”
Buffy’s body tensed. She felt sick inside. Spike was alive. A chip-free Spike was out there somewhere. He had been in her house. He had stood over her sleeping sister. Then he had come back to the house later and there was blood in her basement. Her hands shook with the thought that she was the only one who could stop him.
Memories of Spike kept coming at the Slayer, assaulting her mind’s eye and driving her toward madness. Tender, loving images strobed together with images of dead Slayers, slaughtered families and unspeakable perversion. Spike was Buffy’s true north, she turned toward him, yearned for him and she knew, now, that she would have to kill him. She just didn’t know how to make herself do it.
“Is he still in the house?” she asked, not really wanting to hear the wolfman’s answer.
“I don’t think so,” Oz said, shaking his head. Then, he amended, “Course, you should definitely check.”
Buffy nodded, pulled her shoulder’s back and walked briskly to the front door. She edged inside and, after checking under the stairs, went into the living room and grabbed a double-edged sword from her weapon’s chest. She headed for the basement, clutching the hilt of her weapon in a white-knuckled fist. Standing to one side, she opened the basement door. When nothing happened, she peered around the corner and down the steps. There was a steady dripping noise from the dimly lit depths.
Tensed for trouble, Buffy hit the overhead light switch. She, immediately, noticed the freezer standing open. A puddle of defrosted water had spread across the concrete floor of the obviously deserted room. Hit with a sudden inspiration, Buffy stalked down the stairs. Crossing to peer into the freezer, she checked on her stockpile of Bargaining Blood, the high-grade mix of Slayer and Scoobie plasma she traded for premium supernatural information. The concept had been Spike’s. “Red Gold”, he called it.
All of the pint bags were gone. Buffy, searched and found one of them under the basement stairs. Apparently, Spike had dropped it in his rush to leave the house. The bag had burst open from the fall. As the blood thawed, it became a sticky pool, alerting Oz and probably enticing Spike back to the house. Buffy tried not to think about what would happen when the vampire’s stash ran out. It would be her or Dawn that would have to satisfy Spike’s appetite for Summers’ blood then. Buffy was sure he’d take the easier kill first.
“How’s it going?” Oz called, from the top of the stairs, making her jump.
“He’s not here,” Buffy said. “I’ll do a quick check upstairs then we’ll head for the crypt.”
“Will that stop him?” Oz asked, nodding at Buffy’s weapon as she came up the basement steps to his level. “Since, I’m thinking, the stake won’t.”
“I don’t know,” Buffy shrugged, looking down at the sword, dispassionately.
“That’s what I thought,” Oz said, just as coolly.
The werewolf and the Slayer left the Summers’ house, heading for the cemetery. Spike watched them leave from his hiding place, beneath the neighbor’s porch. He’d spent the day in an elevator shaft at the deserted Stafford Dorm but he had come back home as soon as the sun went down. Home to his girls and the fix he so desperately needed. The last of the bargain blood bags was empty beside him. He’d saved the best one for dessert, intermingled Dawn and Buffy, the straight Summers shot.
He licked their sweetness from his lips, as Buffy and Oz turned the corner a block up the street. Hugging the shadows, the vampire slipped from cover to follow them. They were very close to the cemetery with Spike a few hundred yards behind the Slayer, when a girl about Dawn’s age dashed around a corner and careened into the vampire. He fanged up in surprise and she shrank away from him.
“Don’t run,” he cautioned, barely holding his demon in check in the face of such sweet temptation.
The twit of a girl gave a brilliant shriek and dashed toward the graveyard with the panicky flight of a prey animal. Spike’s predatory instincts fired and he gave chase. Alerted by the teen’s screaming, Buffy came running from the opposite direction. The young girl saw only an armed woman approaching and, imagining her another enemy, veered away toward the woods. That tangent brought her closer to the vampire than to the Slayer.
Buffy watched in horror as Spike hit the fleeing girl like a cheetah taking down a gazelle. The girl gave another shriek, as the vampire spun her violently around. His talons were buried in her back. Buffy skidded to a halt in front of the pair. She pointed her sword at them like a spear, her eyes searching for an opening. Spike wrapped his right arm around his victim’s neck, lifting her bodily off the ground. He held her like a living shield in front of him, his fangs glistening above her jugular. Buffy knew, any further struggle would shut off the teenager’s air supply.
“I’ll kill her,” Spike hissed, glaring at Buffy. “Come one step closer and I’ll kill her.”
“As opposed to taking her for a nice ice cream soda if I let you walk?” Buffy asked sarcastically. “Let her go and we’ll talk.”
“You want to talk, Luv?” Spike snarled, before morphing back into his human face. “You want to establish the meaningful dialog? Then you put down the bloody sword.”
“Okay, so that’s not happening,” the Slayer said, casually. “Let’s pretend that you are not really a night crawling monster and are still capable of understanding me. You kill the girl and I will lop your head off and scatter your ashes.”
“Harsh,” Oz declared, coming up on Spike’s left hand side and drawing part of the vampire’s attention. The werewolf gave a congenial nod as if he and Spike were meeting as friends, “Hey, Spike! Mexican stand-off night?”
“Sod off, Dogboy!” Spike growled, fanging up again at the possible threat. “This is between me and Buffy.”
“Buffy? Buffy Summers?” the girl in Spike’s arms squeaked. “Dawn’s sister?”
All of the major players looked at her in surprise. It was as if the meatloaf had voiced an opinion during a dinner party debate. Oz recovered first and addressed the girl.
“You know Dawn?” he asked, his voice kind and casually interested.
“Sh-sh-She’s my chem. lab partner,” the girl said, shaking with shock. “Fifth period. I’m Alice Peters.”
“Don’t worry, Alice,” Buffy reassured the girl, “I won’t let him hurt you.”
“I’m not going to hurt you anyway, Alice,” Spike said, in exasperation. Going all human again, he addressed the Slayer, “What are we doing here, Pet? You coming after me with a sword, threatening decapitation. I ain’t hurt no one. Not you, not Dawn and I’m not going to hurt little Bit’s buddy here. What makes you think I would?”
“Oh, I don’t know...The fact that you attacked her in the first place,” Buffy answered simply. But she lowered the point of her sword, ever so slightly, as she added, “That and your chip is out.”
“Not the chip keeping me on the short lead is it?” Spike commented.
“He’s got a point there,” Oz injected, in his casually objective manner. “Not like he was obligated to kill us personally.”
“He didn’t let me know he was alive,” Buffy insisted, addressing the wolfman, “And he didn’t tell me that he could survive the staking in the first place.” She transferred her attention back to Spike, shooting him an accusatory look. “All these years I’ve been threatening you with the pointy wood and that never comes up?”
“Didn’t KNOW I could do it, did I?” Spike shrugged. “Not the sort of thing you get to practice. And I couldn’t see you until after I ate. Came back shaky with the low blood pressure.” He indicated Alice with a dip of his head to stress his point, as he continued “Didn’t want to go all primeval on you.”
Buffy kept her sword up and Spike began to lose his temper. Loosening his hold, he dropped Alice to her feet with a bump and glared at the Slayer.
“See her, Buffy,” he snarled, “make up your mind. You in love with me or that soddin’ chip?”
“Ll-l-love?” Alice said looking back and forth between them in mingled apprehension and surprise, “Ah-Are you his g-g-girlf-friend or something?”
“That all depends on who he is,” Buffy responded, meeting the vampire’s eye.
“But…isn’t he a…” Dawn’s young friend began. She glanced up at Spike and then shrank away, afraid to complete the question.
“Monster?” the vampire said, his voice low and menacing. He leaned in very close to her, delighting in her fear, “Is that what you were going to say, Pet?”
“Spike!” Buffy reprimanded, sharply.
Alice was trembling and tender, the very picture of what Spike had always savored in a kill. He could hear her young heart pounding in her chest. He could sense the blood rushing just under her skin. She made his mouth water. But she wasn’t the Slayer and that was all that mattered in the end. Twisting her arm painfully, he yanked Alice into him and gave her an abrupt kiss on the cheek. Then, he spoke into her ear.
“When I let you go…walk,” he said. He gave her a pointed shake for emphasis, and repeated, “WALK! You understand me? Go toward Buffy. No running, no screaming, and no sudden moves.”
With those words, Spike released his hold on the girl and stepped back. The Slayer shifted slightly to the left to keep the vampire in her sites as Alice came toward her.
“Keep walking,” Buffy encouraged the girl. “Nice and easy. You’re doing just fine.”’
With maddening slowness, Alice inched toward the Slayer. Oz started to circle behind Spike but Buffy gave him the tiniest negative shake of her head. The werewolf was backing down when a multitude of Red Robed figures erupted from the woods. Alice gave another high-pitched scream and dashed for the trees. Spike morphed into fangs again and sprang after her. He caught hold of the girl by the nape of her neck and dragged her into the woods. Buffy rushed to follow but four monks armed with pikes blocked her way.
“Do not interfere,” one of the Rossi gli abiti advised. “Our Brother must face this test alone.”
The Slayer slashed through the monk’s neck severing his head from his shoulders and reducing him to dust. With equal precision, she dispatched the other three Red Robed brethren in her path. Eager to go after Spike and Alice, Buffy looked toward the woods and impatiently turned away to help Oz. But the werewolf had morphed into his own version of savage and was rending his way through his two attackers. As quick as the attack had occurred, it was over.
“Get back to the Magic Shop,” Buffy called, to Oz as she loped toward the woods, “I have to go after Spike.”
Not waiting to see if the werewolf obeyed or even heard her, the Slayer disappeared into the trees in pursuit of the blond vampire and his intended victim. Pausing to listen, Buffy picked up on the crash of underbrush off to her right. She adjusted her direction accordingly, moving with extreme caution. Then she heard Alice scream in sudden terror. Spike’s despairing voice called out “NO!” and the woods fell silent.
Casting all caution aside, Buffy began running again toward the location of that final scream. She burst out of cover, unexpectedly, just behind a mausoleum. Spike was sitting on the ground, cradling Alice Peters in his arms. His face was demonic and spattered with blood. There was no doubt that the girl was dead, her neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. Her eyes stared sightlessly into the night and a jagged wound had been torn in her jugular. Spike was drenched in her blood, it dripped from his lips and glistened in his hair and clung to both his hands.
“I didn’t kill her,” he said, holding up one crimson stained palm in supplication, even as Buffy rushed toward him, “I didn’t…”
But Buffy’s face was more demonic than his own. The primitive Slayer had stirred to life in her and rendered her deaf to his words. Her fury made her incapable of reasoned understanding. Without hesitation, she swung her sword in a powerful arc on a trajectory to pass straight through Spike’s neck. At the last possible second, the vampire threw himself to the ground. The Slayer’s blade whistled, harmlessly, over him and cut through a stone statue as smoothly as if the marble was candle wax.
“BUFFY!” Spike screamed, taking human form in hopes that his transformation would soften her. “LISTEN TO ME! I DIDN’T KILL HER…IT WAS SAUL! This is some kind of test…. BUFFY?”
A half second later, the vampire was forced to roll, blindly, to one side as Buffy spun the grip of her weapon. Twirling her blade in the air like a baton, she brought the point down to impale him. Spike skittered sideways but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the Slayer’s recovering uppercut. Pain lanced through him as the sword bit into his flesh.
“Bloody Hell,” Spike spat, scrambling for the cover of the nearby mausoleum before Buffy took another swing at decapitating him. “I didn’t kill her, Buffy, I swear to you I didn’t,” he called out, clutching his ribs as he leaned against the stonewall of the building.
Spike looked around, desperately, searching for a way to escape the Slayer without harming her. There was nothing, no cover and nowhere to run where she wouldn’t be on him in seconds. Buffy came around the corner and Spike raised both hands, palms out, signaling surrender.
“Come on then,” he said, “Let’s get it over wi…”
The Slayer didn’t even acknowledge him as she pulled back her arm for the death stroke. Spike stood very still, waiting for the end, as the blade came whistling toward him. At the last second, Buffy tightened her grip, tilting her wrist so that the tip of the sword swished harmlessly past the vampire’s throat. If anything, she looked more shocked than he did by the development. She swung her arm over her head, whipping the weapon around for another strike. Before the Slayer could quite complete her swing, Spike stepped in and leveled her with a punch to the temple.
“Bad habit you got into,” he told her, as she hit the ground, “not killing me.”
Without another word, he took off for the woods again, leaping over Buffy’s fallen form. In a matter of seconds, he disappeared into the trees.
“Dead?” Dawn said, in a small voice. “But we were going to meet at the prom tomorrow. We were both on the decorating committee. Alice’s dad was going to drive us to the Starlight diner afterward for cheeseburgers.”
She fell silent as she contemplated the fact that her lab partner would never be eating at the Starlight again. Willow, Oz, Buffy and Dawn were gathered around the dining room table at the Summers’ House. Willow had de-invited the place.
“Were you able to track the monks?” Willow asked Oz.
“Nada,” he grimaced, with a shake of his head. “That mist is too insubstantial. There were traces everywhere but,” he spread his hands out in a show of helplessness, “I wasn’t able to focus in on them.”
“Did Spike…” Dawn started, and then swallowed. “I me-m-mean are you sure that he was the one who…? I mean it was him and not those other guys that hurt Alice.”
“Looks like,” Oz replied, when Buffy failed to answer her sister.
The Slayer was holding a bag of ice to her temple. She had followed after Spike as soon as she recovered but his trail vanished in the middle of the U.C. Sunnydale campus. She hadn’t told anyone about her failure to kill him. Everyone assumed the vampire had gotten in a lucky blow during the battle and escaped before she could recover her wits.
“Will she come back?” the Slayer’s sister asked. “Alice? Will she be a vampire?”
“He doesn’t sire them,” Buffy sighed, with an impatient shake of her head. “You know he doesn’t do that Dawn.” The Slayer didn’t look at the teenager as she spoke. She was staring into the middle distance, her eyes unfocused and bleak as if she was looking at some horrifying future event.
“That means she won’t rise, Dawnie,” Willow explained, patiently. “She’s just dead.”
“This whole prom week has been nothing but a disaster,” Dawn said, resting her chin in her hands. “First I get dumped, then Spike turns evil and now Alice is dead. I’m glad I won’t be going…”
“You will be going,” Buffy said, fiercely, as she turned at last to look at her sister. “If Spike’s going to surface I want you somewhere with lots of people.”
“But Buffy…” Dawn started to protest.
“And I promised to protect the rest of those kids when I volunteered to chaperon,” the Slayer interrupted, with intensity. “Do you want someone else to end up dead?”
“You don’t think that he would…” Willow’s voice trailed off as she looked over at Dawn.
“It’s what he does, Willow,” Buffy said, in a cold emotionless voice. “But this time, he’s coming after me. I’m going to make sure of that.”
The ballroom of Elizabeth Hall on the U.C. Sunnydale campus was draped with colorful streamers. The vaulted ceiling was sprinkled with tiny glowing points of light, flickering like stars. Buffy and Dawn paused on the threshold surveying the room. Dawn was wearing a dark green, off-the-shoulder gown; her hair was dressed up and held in place with gold ribbons. Her large, black-lashed eyes looked luminous contrasted with skin as pale as cream. She was beautiful in her dignified innocence, a virginal goddess of the night.
Her sister was a marked contrast. Buffy’s golden hair was also swept up off her neck but it was pinned and had a bedroom tousle to it. She was casually sexy, almost offhandedly so, in a light slip dress of soft blue silk worked over with a golden mesh. Her shoulders were bare. Her neckline plunged, provocatively, and the semi-sheer fabric clung to her skin. She was eye-catching and bright as a summer day.
The Slayer ran over the plan in her mind, counting the exits. The number of succulent young girls in the crowd was disheartening but Buffy felt sure she was drawing enough adolescent male attention to make her plan feasible. If Spike showed up there was a good chance that he would target her instead of some nearly ripe teen. If he went for Dawn or one of the other girls they could be back to a standoff. Willow, Oz, Xander and Anya were strategically placed around the perimeter. Weapons were stashed in a number of handy places. She was ready for Spike…in theory.
And, in fact, Buffy was determined not to lose her nerve again. Spike was a vampire; she was the Slayer. They had always known that it would come down to this. Everything else between them was an illusion. Or so she told herself. But, the Slayer lurking in the back of Buffy’s mind, was very concerned about her ability to finish Spike off. She had opened her heart to the enemy and she had failed in her duty. An innocent girl had died. Buffy knew that everyone was depending on her but it was becoming harder and harder to maintain the coldness of spirit that this work would require.
________________________________________________________________________
From his place in the mezzanine, Spike watched the Summers’ girls enter the ballroom. His attention was, immediately, arrested by Buffy’s blatant sex appeal. A slow knowing smile spread across his face as he contemplated her.
“Dressing up for me, Baby?” he whispered, savoring the tantalizing tug of a multitude of appetites.
Spike knew Buffy all too well. She was trying to outmaneuver him. He knew that her goal was to draw his focus and keep him off balance. And she’d played the right card to do that. But he had no intention of letting her control their game. If he was ever going to reason with the Slayer, he needed leverage. And Spike knew just how to gain the advantage.
He wrested his gaze away from the provocatively dressed blond and studied the movements of her little sister. Dawn was beautiful tonight. Gracefully, she glided through the crowd, smiling at friends and stopping for a moment to talk before continuing on. Watching her, Spike felt a momentary rush of almost paternal pride. Angrily, he shook the feeling off.
He tried not to think about his last two years with the Summers’ women as he slipped down the stairs to the ground floor. He blocked out his memories of family dinners, training sessions and late night walks along the beach; Dawn’s ready laugh and the way blue moonlight lingered in Buffy’s eyes. Spike knew he couldn’t afford to have any sentimental attachments slowing his reflexes. Buffy would surely kill him if he couldn’t get through to her and to get through to Buffy he needed Dawn’s help.
Patient as a trapdoor spider, Spike waited for Dawn to come to him. He stood in the shadow of a potted palm, near the rear exit. When she was very close, he shifted, slightly, drawing her attention. Dawn’s eyes widened and she looked over her shoulder toward Buffy. Spike, however, had made sure the Slayer was looking elsewhere before he showed himself. The vampire gave Dawn a small nod and an encouraging smile. Hesitantly, the teenager stepped closer but she stopped just out of his reach.
“Buffy will know that you’re here,” she said. “She knew you were coming and she won’t let you hurt anyone.”
“Same old song,” Spike ground out, between clenched teeth. “What is it with you Summers’ women? Can’t a man change? Haven’t I done enough, given enough for the pair of you? Who is it that’s been there for you these past two years, Sweet Bit? Me, that’s who!”
“But you had a chip in your head,” Dawn argued, over the nag of her own doubt. “And Buffy says now you’re just a vampire again. She says you’ll kill people…like you killed Alice.”
“I DIDN’T Ki,” he raged and then broke off, beginning again in a calmer tone, “I ain’t here to kill anyone, Bit, I jus’ need to speak to Big Sis. I need to tell her my side of the story.”
“Tell me,” Dawn pleaded, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing and dread.
Spike shot an apprehensive glance at the last location of the Slayer. She had faded into the crowd. He searched for her in vain, feeling panic rise in his chest.
“The Rossi gli abiti are in town,” Spike began, as he cautiously edged back toward the door. “Load of mad monks that get off on child sacrifice. All waiting for the second coming of the First Ancestor or some such rot. Don’t know what they’re up to with me and Buffy but what I know of them it can’t be good. I need to be working with your Sister, not running for my life every five minutes.”
“But did you kill Alice?” Dawn asked her voice breaking.
“Like I told Buffy, already, that was Saul,” Spike said, with intense exasperation, “The high priest of these Red Robed blighters. He pops out of nowhere and does your friend just as I let her go. Happened so fast I couldn’t stop him. There was blood everywhere. I was holding on trying not to feed when the Slayer comes rushing at me. I knew it was wrong to feed on your pal, Niblet.”
“That was darn insightful of you,” Buffy said, from just behind him. Before Spike could react, she laid cold steel against his throat.
Spike, silently, cursed himself for letting her get the drop on him. He tensed and the blade bit into his flesh in warning. The Slayer twisted his right arm up against his shoulder blade, pulling him back into her body.
“We are going outside,” she informed. “You back up nice and slow.”
“Buffy,” Spike said, turning his head gingerly to address her. “It’s the god’s truth. Saul killed that girl.”
“And you seem to know him really well,” Buffy muttered, shifting her weight to push open the outer door. “First name basis and everything. He called you brother and rescued you. Helped you to remove your chip. Why would he feed you? You can hunt. You can kill. The bastard made sure of that, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Spike said, genuinely puzzled. “I think it was a test. The dodgy geezer keeps going on about my destiny, like I’m the bleeding Chosen One instead of you.”
“Anya says they want to bring back Lilith,” Dawn said, from just inside the Hall door. “She said that you and Buffy would have to…”
“DAWN!” Buffy snapped, interrupting her sister, “I need you to find Willow and Xander for me, right now.”
Dawn hesitated as Spike looked at her with imploring eyes. The young girl suddenly realized the vampire was about to die. She knew, in that moment, that her sister had no intention of letting Spike live two minutes longer than it took to get rid of the witness.
“Bu-uffy?” she began, her voice cracking. “Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he’s not evil anymore.”
“Now, Dawn,” Buffy ordered, her icy tone allowing no further argument. “Go!”
Dawn turned and ran toward the place where Willow was hiding. Buffy had gone mad. Her sister knew it in her bones. It was a dispassionate madness but there was no other explanation for such single-minded insistence on Spike’s death. The conflict between love and duty must have become too much for the Slayer. It had drained all of the emotion out of her and blinded her to reason. Dawn’s one thought was Willow might somehow stop Buffy from making a horrible mistake.
“Willow?” the Slayer’s little sister yelled out, as she rounded the corner of the building.
Something pungent puffed into Dawn’s face and she felt herself begin to fall forward. A red robed figure loomed up and the Slayer’s baby sister opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. The monk caught her up in his arms and, lifting her easily, carried her toward Stafford Dorm.
By the time Willow arrived, there was no sign of Dawn. The red-haired witch was sure she had heard someone calling her by name but after a quick check of the area she shrugged off the feeling and settled in again, watching her assigned exit. It was almost two hours before she checked in with Xander. It was then that the others discovered both Buffy and Dawn were missing.