Chapter 1.09

Spike twisted his body and turned his head so he could see under his arm. The approaching footfalls caused a surge of adrenaline through his system even after more than a century. However, it was no longer a thrill of pleasure that flooded his being at Drusilla's approach, but a useless fight or flight impulse.

Some time earlier Lorne had finally succumbed to a bone-deep weariness and curled up on the room's only bed. For a short time, he had managed to keep up his end of the conversation from a horizontal position, but slumber had eventually claimed him, much against his will.

The door to the room opened, and the battle of wills began.

"Hello, precious." Spike started off the conversation with a note of false gaiety. "You know, pet, you could have skipped all the crossbows and chains. If you wanted to get the chip out, all you had to do was hand me an appointment card."

Drusilla swayed her way over to a hi-fi in one corner of the room, ignoring Spike for the moment. She selected a CD and turned it on, cranking up the volume so that Lorne was startled from his sleep.

"Now, pet," Spike chided. "You've gone and woken our guest, and I don't think German industrial's his cup of tea."

Dru's head swivelled toward Spike as if she were noticing him for the first time. "You didn't tell me we had guests."

"I thought you would find him difficult to miss, considering the suit. I'm afraid to do the proper formal introductions I would need to be rather more mobile." Spike raised an eyebrow and a manacled wrist in a hopeful manner.

Dru merely tutted softly and then clapped her hands together twice. It seemed that this was some pre-arranged signal, for half a dozen burly guard types came into the room. Four of the men took up positions near the room's four corners, training their crossbows on him, while the remaining two undid the chains that bound him.

As they did so, another figure appeared in the doorway. As if Spike's thoughts of escape were written clearly across his face, the newcomer cautioned him. "I wouldn't. This time they're not aiming low. You can't keep Dru happy if you're dust."

"I've got news for you, mate. You can't keep Dru happy. She's off her rocker, and it don't matter what the hell you do for her, she'll find something to cry over. Won't you, love?"

As if on cue, Dru began to make the humming sound that preceded an all out tantrum. She stamped her heels, even as the two guards jerked the chains attached to his wrists, pulling him into a roughly cruciform pose, and then dragging him to one end of the four-poster bed.

While this was going on, Lorne pulled himself into a sitting position on the bed. He gave the man in the doorway a cool glance.

"Well, now I know where to send the thank you note for the helicopter ride. I'd like to say it's good to see you again, Lindsey, but we both know that I'd be lying."

"Gee, you save a guy's life, and that's all the thanks you get."

"Well, hey, just drop me off in LA and let me know your address here, and I'll make sure you get a fruit basket," Lorne replied in his bitchiest voice.

"I'd be careful what you say. You used to manage impartial, but if you can't manage to stay civil, I'm sure that Dru wouldn't mind having both you boys to play with," Lindsey suggested.

"Oh yes!" Dru's moaning stopped, her face visibly brightening. "Mummy would like that very much." She clapped her hands in excitement, as the two guards attached Spike's chains to the top of the bed frame. The chains were fixed so that if he stood, he could drop his arms to a horizontal position, but in order to rest his legs by sitting on or even leaning against the framework at the bottom of the bed, his arms would almost be pulled from their sockets.

"But only if he's rude, Dru."

Spike snorted. "God forbid that anybody should forget the proper torture etiquette."

"Down, Spike. Bad dog," Dru scolded.

"Yeah, or you'll do what, pet? Torture me more?" Spike drawled.

"That's about the size of it," Lindsey responded for her. "But don't let it stop you."

Dru opened up a wooden chest that sat off to one side and pulled out what looked like a normal spray bottle for watering plants. It was a normal spray bottle for watering plants. Spike's problem was that he would bet it was full of holy water, and he suspected that he was about to become a plant substitute.

"Does that mean we have to listen to more of this music?" Lorne asked.

"I'm sure you'll learn to appreciate it before she's done," Lindsey added as he signalled the guards to leave the room and followed them out, with just a few final words for his sire. "Dru, remember. Don't take off all the skin at once. You've got days to amuse yourself. You know if you have to resort to broken bones, you'll only have to push him round in a wheelchair again when we're finished."

"I'll remember, Lonesome. Are you going to fetch Daddy tonight?"

"We'll see, sweetness. We'll see."

"Take care, my turtle dove."

Dru wandered back to where Spike was chained up. She put down the spray momentarily and used both hands to rip open the front of Spike's shirt.

Spike smirked in response. "You really didn't want to do that, Dru. The slayer's gonna be right pissed off at somebody else ripping off the shirt she bought me. Reckons that's her job, she does."

"The nasty girl won't find my Spike. Not until he's ready."

"He's ready now, pet."

Dru picked up the spray bottle and matched the hissing noise it made with one of her own. "Tsss. Nasty white-hat. Hissing like a snake." Dru formed her free hand into a swaying snake's head, bringing it up until it snapped at Spike's face. All the time, that first squirt of water burned into the side of Spike's neck. It was such a fine mist that, as yet, his skin had not discoloured, but it stung worse than one of Buffy's spin kicks.

Spike gave Dru a big grin. "Pet. I really hope you've got some jasmine that needs watering, 'cause if lover boy told you that was holy water, he was lyin'."

Dru squirted the spray three times at close range, so that this time instead of a light mist a trail of water ran down his neck and pooled briefly at his collar bone before leaving a pink trail down his alabaster chest. Dru, however, was too busy watching Spike's laughing face to notice.

"Say, pet. How about you fetch some toothpaste and a toothbrush, and I can use that stuff to rinse?" Spike suggested.

"N-n-n-nno." Dru dissolved into despair. She squirted once more, this time onto her own hand, yelping and dropping the bottle when the mist burned her pale skin.

"What? Did it burn? Maybe it's just me? Maybe shaggin' the slayer's made me go all human again."

"Nasty doggy. We shan't play nice any more." Dru picked up the bottle again and stormed from the room.

"Did you really have to piss her off like that?" Lorne asked the vampire.

"And how else am I goin' to do it when I'm chained up like this? Speaking of which, I don't suppose there's any chance of you being able to get these off at all?

"Locks and chains, no. Not my scene."

"So, where do you stand, Lorne. Who was the greatest? Elvis or the Beatles?" Spike swiftly changed the subject as he heard Dru coming back toward the room.

Dru walked into the room, dragging a young girl about Dawn's age behind her. The girl looked like her clothes could use a good wash. Her mousy hair hung limply round an emaciated face that reminded Spike far too much of how the slayer had looked for the last couple of months. There was no way to know for sure, but Spike could read the signs. The kid had been living on the streets. No one would miss her, and if they did, the police would pay no attention until there was a body.

Behind her Scheherazade came through and set up a video camera on a tripod so that it was focused on Spike from in front and off to one side.

"Nasty Spike shall pay for hurting mommy. We'll make the nasty girl think my lovely boy is home, and then he'll have nowhere else to go." Dru muttered as she dragged the girl over in front of Spike.

"Really, pet. If you're planning on getting into the porn market, you really shouldn't put the only woman in the room that actually has a pair of tits behind the camera. It's mostly guys that hire these things, and they like to see something a bit bigger than a double A cup. I never said anything before, 'cause I never wanted to hurt your feelin's, and I know it's not your fault that the Poof turned you before you hit puberty b-" Spike's words were cut off as Dru's palm impacted full force with his face.

He ran his tongue along his teeth and spat a gobbet of blood onto the room's ice-blue carpet. "Does it hurt to know that all the time he was shaggin' you, he was imaginin' you were some fifteen year old boy? That he was wishing you had a dick he could wank off while he took you up the arse."

This time instead of slapping him, Dru pulled the girl to her feet and with one swift twist she snapped her neck, before either Lorne or Spike could even protest.

Lifting the body, she pressed it to Spike's chest. Morphing into demon form, she began to suck the warm delicious aromatic blood from one side of the girl's neck.

Spike knew what was expected of him. Many times in their long association, he and Dru had shared a victim, trapping him or her between their bodies in a macabre three-way embrace whilst they drained the life from the victim's body. Part of him, a large part, wanted nothing more than to return to that life, but the better part, the part that Buffy had managed to drag kicking and screaming into the metaphorical, if not literal, light of day, knew the price was too high to pay.

Pulling sharply on his chains, he used them to pull himself up and pivoted his hips swinging his leg into the side of Dru's head. She staggered slightly, and dropped the body, even as Scheherezade abandoned the camera and came to her aid, giving her a helping hand to get back upright.

Dru gave Spike an accusing stare. "You aren't playing the game by the rules."

"I never did, poodle. It's just that you used to be on the same side. As I recall, it was you who decided to terminate the arrangement," Spike reminded her, his voice almost gentle.

"You don't want to try that again," Sheherazade told Spike as she led Dru over to the bed, Lorne shifting to an armchair in order to maintain his distance.

"And if I think I do?" the blond asked.

"Then we keep bringing them in and snapping their necks until you pretend to play nice. Who knows? Maybe once you get a taste you'll remember what you're missing?" she taunted.

"Won't work. You want to make me responsible for a bunch of kids you brought up here to be your all you can eat buffet. You can't blackmail me by saying you're going to kill a bunch of people that you're going to kill anyway. Do I look stupid?"

"Actually, you look good enough to eat... or at least lick, but that's a conversation for when you're back to your evil self. He's got a point, though," his hostess drawled, looking over toward Dru. "Tell you what, we'll bring them up here, and they can stink up your little suite here with their sweaty unwashed bodies, and that way you can see that nobody's snacking on your little pets. At least, not till you're yourself again."

"You seem to think that it's a foregone conclusion." Spike gave a dry laugh. "Didn't anybody tell you I've got a tendency to buck the odds."

Scheherazade walked over to the door and called down the corridor to an unseen accomplice. "Bring the rest of the kids. They're moving in with Goldilocks."

Within minutes, half a dozen teenagers were herded into the room.

Scheherezade walked over to Spike and cupped his cheek in her palm. "There they are, Uncle Spikey. Your new pets. Now it's time for you to perform, or Grandma will start snapping their fragile little necks."

The vampiress turned to resume her position behind the camera. "Come on, Grandma, time for you to play with your little blond Ken doll."

"Goody." Dru wiped genteelly at a couple of blood dribbles. "Will my William be a good dolly now? He must mind his manners if he is to come to tea."

"I'll put on your little show, princess, but if you don't stick to your side of the agreement, when these chains come off, you'll wish you'd staked me."

Dru smiled at him in a way that would once have set his libido racing. She picked up the girl's body, holding it once more between herself and Spike. The blond let his demon come to the fore and ripped into the girl's neck, knowing that if his captors failed to get the shots they wanted, then they would use it as an excuse to claim another victim. He raised his head, his lips reddened with innocent human blood. His eyes met Lorne's across the room. The green demon rocked the youngest of the hostages in his arm, humming a comforting tune as the group watched Dru and Spike drain their friend's corpse. Before he could turn to see the looks of fear and disgust the other prisoners were giving him, Dru claimed his bloodstained lips with her own. Spike had no choice but to acquiesce to her demands.

The staff of Angel Investigations, past and present, and the Sunnydale contingent all returned together to the Hyperion having stayed overnight at the same motel. Buffy had covered the bill from the money Spike had given her for the wedding. The way she looked at it, if they didn't all stay alive and get Spike back, she wouldn't have to worry about the wedding.

When they reached the Hyperion they found a package waiting for them.

Chapter 1.10

Gunn was the first to speak after the television screen turned into a blur of white noise. "You can't be telling me you still think going after that animal is a rescue mission, 'cause in my book, I call that a 'seek and destroy'."

The group filled every corner of Wesley's apartment. Everyone was there except Dawn, who had been packed off on the ten past six flight for Sunnydale the previous evening. Angel had even compromised his dignity enough to undertake a quick run from one of the cars to Wesley's building under Spike's blanket. Of course, the fact that the hotel was bereft of not only a VCR but also a TV set, had pretty much forced the issue. Buffy had found herself close to tears as she watched the vampire stamp out the flames around the already scorched edges.

"Then buy a new book," Buffy retorted. "Rewind it Wesley."

"Buffy-" Angel began in a soft voice.

"Can the soft soap routine, Angel, I know him."

The tape clunked to a stop, and Wesley started to play it over.

"Are you sure? That looked an awful lot like the Spike I knew for twenty years. You swore blind to me last week that he wouldn't change if he got the chip out. I think we've got pretty conclusive proof here to the contrary."

"It's... it's not right. There's something. I know it looks bad... Tara, you've known Spike for years, now. Tell him." Buffy exhorted the witch to take her side.

"Buffy, I don't know. I don't think he would, but I never knew him before he got the chip. If they took the chip out, I can't say for sure."

"I'm sure."

Everyone's head swivelled toward Clem.

"See. It's not just me." Buffy clamoured for all the support she could get. "Tell them he just couldn't do that sort of thing any more."

"Oh, he could totally do it." Clem pronounced much to Angel's evident satisfaction. Willow and Tara looked toward Buffy, concerned as to how she would take this bit of news. "He just wouldn't. Not unless the alternative was something that would hurt Buffy more. Besides, I can't be the only one that thought the music was meant to be a message." The floppy eared demon swiped quickly at his cheek. "That song always makes me cry."

"Rammstein makes you cry?" Gunn asked, as most of the group turned to look at the floppy eared demon. Angel and Connor, however, were listening to the tape with renewed attention.

"So?" asked the teenager. "Somebody's humming in the background. You can hear somebody crying, too? It doesn't make a difference to what you can see. The demon helped kill the girl, even if he didn't kill her himself."

"Is Robin Hood song," Lily offered by way of clarification or those whose hearing was not as sensitive as that of her son. She extracted a neatly folded, cotton handkerchief from her purse and passed it to Clem.

"Aahhh!" Willow vocalised the relief that most of the Sunnydale crowd now felt.

"I knew it sounded vaguely familiar," Angel said looking slightly confused at the way everyone else except Connor seemed to now be disregarding the evidence of Spike's perfidy. "...And, obviously, I know it's Lorne... Is there something I'm not getting?"

Gunn shook his head softly. "Man, you really did let entire decades of pop culture pass you by. Not, in this case, that most of us wouldn't want to." He looked across to where Lori, Clem and Lily were squashed up on the sofa, the floppy-eared demon gently dabbing the tears from his eyes. "And can I just say, that you have to be the sorriest excuse for a demon that I have ever met."

"I spent five years in a hell dimension an' even that wasn't enough to let me forget that one." Fred put in.

Angel still looked blank. "What? I never saw the film. Robin Hood was just a bunch of English propaganda, and half the actors were American anyway. Cuchulain's far more interesting."

"Not that our Irish friend would be biased, of course," Wesley commented dryly. "I believe that Clem's point is that the words of the song's refrain are something along the line of 'Everything I do, I do it for you', meaning Lorne, assuming it is he, was trying to let us know, that Spike was under duress."

"Duress or not, he still killed the girl," Gunn commented. "I don't care what they threatened to do to his bony white hide. He ain't walkin' away from that with no free pass."

"'Cept if she'd been alive, that neck wound woulda been pourin' with blood round about now." Fred pointed at the screen as Spike lifted his head. "I'm guessin' she was dead before they even started filmin'. They just want us all to think he's killin' again."

"Well, thanks to Clem, we know better, so maybe we can get back to our original plans for this morning," Willow suggested.

"Bryan 'bloody' Adams. That was the best you could come up with?" Spike looked at Lorne through the one eye that would actually open.

"And what would you have suggested?" Lorne asked, as he tried to sponge off he dried blood from Spike's face and neck.

Spike fish-mouthed a couple of times. "Not the point, mate. That could end up bein' the last record that I even existed an' you're hummin' bloody Bryan Adams, and for whose benefit? A cultural retard an' a kid that hasn't even been in this dimension a month. It's not like any of the ones who would recognise it, could have heard you."

"So you think our hosts'll get what they wanted?" Lorne asked.

"Dunno. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Just leave that bit alone." Spike pulled as far back as his chains would allow. "We had a bust up last night, 'cause she didn't want to believe what a rotten shit her ex was. Least, not on my say so. Don't know whether that means she just doesn't want to think the worst of anyone, or whether she just doesn't trust me." Spike let his head hang forward.

It was all too easy to remember Buffy's words. "That's all it is to you, isn't it? Just another body! ...You don't have a soul. There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside. You can't feel anything real."

He tried to remember instead all the memories of the past week or so, of how she had claimed him, but the poisonous words from that alley by the police station just wouldn't leave his mind. Now, Buffy had Technicolor footage and another body to back her words.

Lorne looked at the mass of raw flesh. He was almost sure he could see Spike's collar bone through the scorched flesh. Once the video session was over, Dru had resumed her earlier games, seemingly intent both on getting Spike to renounce his feelings for Buffy, and to obliterate all physical signs of Buffy's claim. His shirt had been first to go, Dru taking satisfaction in ripping the rich material, that Buffy had chosen, from his body. It was to the same end that she had positioned a folded washcloth at the base of his neck and poured holy water on it. She left the moist cloth against his skin for hours, using a pair of tongs to lift it every so often. At first, it was to check whether Buffy's teeth marks were still visible. Later, she merely probed the open wound as she asked Spike whose dog he was.

The right side of his chest and back were covered with pink runnels where the holy water had run down his body, thanks to his upright position. Lorne knew, however, that the worst of the clean up was yet to come.

"I can leave that, puddin', but those jeans are going to have to come off," Lorne announced. As the water had run down, it had soaked into the material of Spike's jeans, burning the flesh underneath. If the jeans weren't removed they would continue to fuse to his flesh as he healed.

Spike grimaced. "Do it quick, mate." Lorne knelt before the blond vampire, fumbling with the fastenings of the skin-tight denim. Under normal circumstances, Spike would have made a joke about their compromising position, but for once his humour failed him. He'd used up all his best efforts to taunt Dru and show his defiance over the course of the afternoon, evening and night.

Once the fastenings were undone, Lorne grabbed a handful of cotton at the sides where the material was dry, and quickly yanked the jeans down. Spike couldn't hold back a short-lived scream before he lost consciousness, to hang limply from his chains.

Lorne silently worked to stem the fresh flow of blood, and once he had done that, he pulled a sheet from the bed. He tried, only partially successfully, to drape it over and around Spike's slumped figure, to allow him some semblance of modesty.

The teenager, who Lorne had earlier tried to comfort, watched as he ministered tenderly to Spike's wounds, even as he stepped over the body that still lay on the carpet near Spike's feet.

"Why'd you do that for him? He deserves everything he gets. He's a monster."

"But he's a monster who's trying to be a good man." Lorne turned to look the teenager square in the eye. "And he's a monster who, at least for a while, managed to buy the safety of half a dozen kids."

Spike came awake the next morning to the sound of Lorne humming to himself as he checked over Spike’s wounds. The human blood that he had consumed over the last day was enough to start the healing process. In fact, his healing had progressed better than Spike would have expected, but so much flesh had been eaten away by the sustained application of holy water that it would take weeks of steady nourishment before the wounds were totally healed.

His arms burned, from the strain of supporting his body’s dead weight, and he stood up trying to ease the ache slightly. He looked down at the sheet draped around his slight frame and smiled his thanks to the anagogic demon.

"How long was I out?"

Lorne shrugged. "Can’t say for sure. After they brought the kids in, they started locking the door. Figure our hostess isn’t so sure that all her guards will use force on a bunch of kids if they get out. I suspect that most of the ones on duty through the day are still human, in the broadest possible terms. My guess is it’s about mid-morning."

"Prob’ly gives us another couple of hours before princess gets back to work."

"Couldn’t you just pretend to give her what she wants?"

Spike shook his head slightly. "Would work for all of about two minutes. She’d either do a readin’ or somethin’ or she’d just straight out try and make her own claim. Even if it wasn’t for Buffy, ‘d be damned if I’d let her do that now. Was never good enough for her when we were together. Buggered if I’m goin’ to play along with some nutty bint just because she doesn’t want somebody else to have me."

Lorne sighed. "But how long can you keep taking all this punishment?"

"Till she gets bored."

"And what happens then?"

"She either gives up... or she finally stakes me," Spike said with a wry smile.

Dru arrived with a cavalcade of followers when she finally made her entrance. The group spread out around a man that neither Lorne nor Spike had seen previously. As best Spike could tell, the man, who knelt next to the room’s fireplace, was human, which would normally have made Spike wonder why he was being treated with such deference by the vampires. What gave it away was the plastic baggy filled with dried flowers and the large crystal that the man carried.

The man pulled a couple of large sprigs of the dried flowers from the bag and held a lighter under the flowers. Spike’s skin where there were still hairs to stand on end began to prickle at the magic that filled the air as the warlock began to chant.

"For William, fair one, this I char.
Let Lethe’s Bramble do its chore.
Purge his mind of memories grim,
Of pains from his sire’s slights and sins.
Let dead love be now reborn,
Take Drusilla’s wicked form."

Spike began to panic. He struggled ineffectually in his chains; his efforts merely reopening partially healed wounds. He watched the man hold a large crystal in the flames that rose from the burning flowers, completing the casting.

"When the fire goes out, when the crystal turns black, the spell will be cast.

Tabula rasa, tabula rasa, tabula rasa."

Chapter 1.11

"You’re telling me you went to see this demi-goddess, and all she gave you was the address to some freaky bookstore."

"Actually, all she told me was that the answer was already within my grasp," Angel answered Buffy’s question.

"And you made the intuitive leap from there to bookstore how?" the petite blonde interrogated her ex. "Since it’s the only lead we’ve got, I’d kinda like to at least know how we got there."

Angel looked slightly sheepish. "I kinda beat up this snitch for information the other night. He gave me this guy’s business card. It was still in my pocket. I guess I was kinda fidgety."

"You mean you had it in your hand?" Buffy asked incredulously.

Angel nodded and looked slightly embarrassed.

He pulled the plastic card from his pocket and passed it over to Buffy.

The slayer took the card and read the inscription. "Benjamin Holliday. Dealer in rare books and artefacts. Ooh, the nice end of the strip," she said sarcastically.

"So is he supposed to be something to do with Drusilla, or are we just supposed to be able to find what we need to get round the wards?" Willow asked.

"Do I look like the Delphic oracle?" Angel asked. "All I know is that a guy who could have been Groo went to see him about finding a way to another plane… And he looks human."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "He looks human, but he’s…?"

"A demon."

"Hell-o-o-o? What’re we talking here? There are quite a few demons that look human, but they don’t all stay down if you stick a stake through their heart. It could be kinda important," Buffy commented in an exasperated tone.

"That’s all I know."

"Tara, Willow, Wes, if we’re looking for some spell or something, you three had best come with for the magicky-ness. Wes, you’re our designated driver. Lily, Clem, either of you know anything about rare books and artefacts?"

"Little," answered Lily, "but Holliday, I know."

"Okay, Gunn, looks like we’re going to need you to drive. Lily, Clem, Wes you’re with me. Willow, Tara you ride with Gunn. Lori keep on with the computer stuff. Connor, Fred, your call whether you want to stay or go." Buffy turned toward the door, but Lily gripped her shoulder to hold her back. The diminutive demon then crossed to the weapons cabinet and unerringly selected the most finely crafted broadsword.

"Use this," she said passing it to the slayer.

"I’m guessing you don’t like this guy Holliday," Buffy commented dryly.

"I knowing you no like Holliday. William no like Holliday." With that Lily headed out toward the car, leaving a confused Buffy to half-run to keep up.

"What do you mean, me and Spike don’t like Holliday? I don’t know any Holliday."

Gunn grabbed his axe and passed a narrow-bladed longsword to Fred before ushering her and the witches toward the hotel’s back door. Wes grabbed another axe before following on, with Clem and Connor trailing at the back.

Angel looked out through the main doors at the street bathed in brilliant sunshine. "Why does everybody always take my favourite sword. And they couldn’t wait a few hours?"

Lori looked up from where she was poised behind the computer for a few seconds before she decided that not only did he not really want an answer, he’d forgotten she was there. At least she hoped he had, because if he normally spent that long checking he didn’t have "blanket" hair when there were other people around then he was seriously strange.

Spike strained against his chains, desperate to escape but as the last bud of Lethe’s bramble was consumed by the flame, he slumped again.

"It is done. He’ll be out for a couple of hours. When he comes to, he shouldn’t remember anything that caused your break up."

The mage took a length of silver wire, winding it in a spiral around the black crystal, so that one end formed a loop through which he passed a leather thong, giving the piece the look of a pendant that could be purchased in almost any New Age shop. He dangled the necklace in front of Lindsey. The former lawyer pulled a cheque from the inside pocket of his suit and the pair made the exchange. Lindsey passed the necklace over to Drusilla, who hung it around her neck with a near orgasmic smile.

The mage picked up his remaining accoutrements and left the room with one of the guards. Another guard produced a set of keys from his pocket and released Spike from his chains.

Drusilla was there to catch him before he could sag to the ground. She carried him from the room without a backward glance.

Lorne almost automatically found himself standing between the kids as he thought of them and the remaining vampires, and silently cursed himself for spending too much time hanging around with all these heroic types. Darned if they weren’t starting to rub off.

Unfortunately, Scheherazade seemed to have noticed his movement. His hostess gave an almost feral smile as she walked up and stroked his cheek. "Aren't you playing the manly man, today? Don't worry. No need to go all Pappa Bear... yet. We made a deal. They're under his protection, until he says they're not. But then, I would expect that to be pretty much as soon as he wakes up.

Personally, I can't wait. I hear he used to be a real demon's demon, before he went soft.

Though, if you keep up the macho act, I might just be tempted to wait for Stockholm Syndrome to set in. I think I might like that.

I wonder what you would be prepared to do for our little strays." She brushed against him so softly as she leaned in to whisper in his ear that Lorne would have thought it was an accident, if he didn’t know by now that everything the woman did was deliberate. "Something tells me that you’re more of a lover than a fighter… but maybe we’ll get a chance to put the theory to the test."

She turned and gave Lorne ample opportunity to appreciate her rear view as she made her way to the door where she was the last to leave. "Technically, dinner shouldn’t count, since it’s on me, but I guess we’ll have to make do. Someone will come by to collect you at nine. We picked up some of your clothes from Angel’s place. One of the guys will bring them up in a bit. In the meantime I suggest you make use of the en suite to freshen up. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me… Would you?"

Spike winced as he turned over in his sleep. Drusilla rolled over next to him, draping her arm carefully along his naked side, so as not to brush against any of the areas where scars marred his flesh.

She smiled contentedly to herself. Her darling boy was home again, at last. She had been so alone for so long. Even the last year she had spent with Spike, he had already belonged to the slayer.

Daddy had said she didn't need her knight, that he would be there, but Daddy lied. Again.

Her sweet William never came back after that. His smile never reached the ocean any more. Sad William never wanted to love her. He was a caged bird and in the end she'd been forced to set him free.

Now she could be his princess, his kitten, his goddess or just his. She didn't ever have to be alone again. She inhaled deeply, savouring his scent like a familiar and cherished caress. She decided they would move again. They would go home to Europe. The fairies no longer danced round her boy, taunting her with his love for a mortal. They could leave tonight. He would never see Her again. Never fall in love with Her.

He would be hers forever. And they would both be happy. They would dance together through the capitals of Europe, and when his slayer lay dead beneath the ground, he wouldn't mourn. He wouldn't cry for Her broken body. He wouldn’t waste his time trying to be true to a pile of bones long gone. He wouldn’t wither away living in his own isolated world, unable to leave Her resting-place unattended, but never truly accepted by either humans or demons. He wouldn’t be lonely.

When She lay beneath the ground, then it would be safe to come back, and they would dance together on Her grave, just like he promised.

Drusilla drifted back to sleep, feeling loved and protected, feeling secure, for the first time in almost half a decade.

 The two cars pulled up on a bit of waste ground on the same block as the book-store and Buffy made her way over to Angel’s convertible along with Wesley to speak to the Angel investigations crowd.

"Okay, you guys want to find out about what went down with Cordy’s possibly former honey, so we’re going to do it like this. Wes has one of our phones and he’s going to keep a line open between him and Clem, so Clem’ll be able to hear what’s going on.

We can’t risk Holliday seeing anyone from Sunnydale, but we’ll follow on with the weapons. It’s up to you four to see what you can get out of the guy before we come in, which we’ll do as soon as Wes gives us the signal or we hear fighting. Wes can warn you what to look out for if he does start a fight, though until he sees us, there’s no real reason that he should.

Willow, Tara, when we go in, I want you to do that barrier spell you did at the gas station. I don’t want this guy to have any way out. If you can do it from outside, that’s even better. Things might get a little cramped in there with four of us swinging swords and axes. The guy’s a total pack-rat."

Willow took in Buffy’s earnest expression as the slayer watched Wesley, Gunn, Fred and Connor make their way down the street.

"I’m guessin’ from the ‘destroy all monsters’ approach that you think this guy is something to do with Spike’s disappearing act?" the redhead asked, giving her friend a questioning look.

Buffy shrugged. "Nope. At least not that I know about. We’ve just got unfinished business." Judging that Wes’s group had a big enough head start, Buffy gathered her people together, sharing out the weapons between them.

"Time to go, people." She took a determined step forward and then hesitated turning to Clem and Lily. "Em, you guys don’t mind being called people, do you? It’s not some sort of massive insult or something?"

"Only if you meant it to be," Clem answered. "Of course, calling mom a guy, now, that’s an insult."

The gentle brush of Drusilla’s fingertips along his arm brought Spike back to consciousness. He lay there for a second or two revelling in her tenderness before he rolled to face her, discovering his injuries as he moved.

He flinched and shifted slightly to accommodate the more tender areas.

"How’s my darling boy?" Dru pushed a soft curl back from Spike’s forehead.

"Been worse," he said, though he couldn’t honestly think it when that might have been. "What about you, princess? Did your cure work? Are you strong again?"

Spike felt an almost physical surge of warmth through his entire body at the smile Drusilla gave him by way of reply. "I’m all better again. My Spike made me well. Shall I show you?" A cool hand reached to cup Spike’s balls, and he jumped backward.

"Tell you what, pet. Why don’t we wait till I grow some skin back down there." Spike looked around the room. "Not that it isn’t an improvement, but what happened to our old digs? And where are we?"

"My boy went all away, and I was all alone," Dru replied.

Spike sighed. He walked over to the room’s wardrobe, automatically checking for his clothes in the left-hand side. Everything was new. Still creased where they had been unpacked from the cellophane.

He took a pair of stiff black canvas jeans from a hanger pulling off the tags. He wondered what had happened to his soft, faded denim jeans. These new ones were going to rub him raw.

He decided to forego a T-shirt, and skipped straight to the red button-down shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. He strode to the room's door, yanking it open.

"Alright, people," he called out. "Who's in charge here? Hell-o-o-o?"

"That depends..." came a drawl from the living room.

"On what?" Spike asked as he came to the head of the stairway down into the open-plan reception room.

"On what it is you're lookin' for the boss of," Lindsey replied. He raised a crystal whisky glass in Spike's direction. "Join me?"

"That depends on who you are."

"You could say I'm your little brother."

"And you came on the scene when?" Spike asked.

"A few months back. You've been out of the loop for quite a while, but we don't need to fight over who's top dog."

Spike started his descent into the cabin's main room.

"And why's that?" Spike asked.

"'Cause sooner or later, you and Dru'll be heading off on your own and until then I can take a back seat."

"Okay, I'll bite. What do you want?"

"To stay young forever, know true love, and never have to worry about money again, but as the song goes two out of three ain’t bad."

"Well, I’m guessin’ that you’re okay on the first and judgin’ by the digs and the clothes I’d say the you’re doing pretty well on the third and the second I don’t think anyone can help with."

Lindsey rose as Spike reached the bottom of the stairs, moving to where a decanter and several crystal glasses rested on a silver salver. "This," he gestured around him, "isn’t mine." He passed the freshly poured whisky to Spike. "But when all’s said and done I’ll be doin’ pretty well. True love, well, I guess I missed my chance, so all that’s left is cold, ugly revenge."

Spike took a swig of the well-aged spirit taking the time to savour its taste before he commented. "Why do I get the impression that we’re negotiating here?"

"I’ve got resources here. I’ve got enough people to get pretty much anything I want done, done. I can live anywhere I want and I can get enough blood to keep me and mine without ever having to leave a corpse to bring trouble to my door. There’s only one fly in the ointment when it comes to getting what I want."

"Enlighten me."

"Dru wants to put her family back together. I want to take Angel apart."

"I guess that means he didn’t die, then?" Spike drawled.

"He’s in LA. Set himself up as a Private Investigator and that little blonde slayer's in town to pay him a visit."

"Really? Now that is fun. You get your people in play. You can have Angel, but the slayer is mine."

"And Dru?" the American asked.

"Your people keep her out of the fight, and when it’s all over I’ll take her back to Europe."

Spike knocked back his remaining whisky in one mouthful and passed his glass back to Lindsey, before turning for the stairs.

"Better fetch your coat if you’re plannin’ on comin’, mate."

Chapter 1.12

Wesley was first through the bookstore’s doors. Instantly, he was surrounded by the familiar slightly musty smell of old books and also by the less pleasant scent of cat’s urine. Display cases lined the right hand wall, containing all sorts of curios, and the remainder of the shop seemed filled with waist-high stacks of books and papers. He made his way to the counter, while Fred, Gunn and Connor spread out as much as they could amongst the room’s cramped shelves. The sound of the shop’s bell drew the shop’s proprietor from the back room behind the main shop.

"Good day, gentleman… and lady," the withered-looking old man amended his greeting as Fred straightened up from behind a stack of books whose titles she had been scanning. "How can I help you young people?"

It was difficult to believe that this apparently frail, slightly cross-eyed and myopic old man could represent the sort of threat that Buffy had warned him of. Wesley pulled a photograph from his pocket and placed it on the counter.

Cordelia and Groo smiled up at both of them. The photograph dated back to the vacation that the pair had shared. They looked happy. They looked like they belonged together. "Our friends are missing. We heard that possibly Groo might have contacted you about finding a way home." Wesley pointed to the smiling champion.

"Hmm." The man picked up the picture, taking off his glasses and holding the photo close to his face. "Hmm. Yes. He looked rather different. Not quite so cheerful, you might say." He replaced the image on the counter.

"So you remember him?" Wesley pressed for information.

"The lights may look dim, but that doesn’t mean that there’s nobody home. He wanted to go to some place called Pylea, that’s right?" the man confirmed.

"There’s a strong likelihood that that would be the case," Wes responded. "Did you help him get there?"

"Not yet. I advised him to take a vacation," the old man began to hunt through some stacks of books and papers until he found what he was looking for.

He pulled a glossy colour brochure from the midst of one of the stacks. He flipped it open at a page that was marked by a bright pink post-it note. "The book he needs comes up for auction in just over three months time. I told him, if he wanted, I’d be happy to act as an agent for him in the auction. In the meantime, I suggested that he should see some of the sights, round here."

"So Groo is still in this plane?"

"Can’t say for sure. We never came to any definite arrangement. I think he was hoping he might find another copy somewhere else. The prices were running a little rich for his blood. Though your young friend there would be the one to speak to about that. The Destroyer’s such a cruel nickname for a child to have to live with. Never mind."

"What sort of price are we talking about?" Wes asked.

"For the book? I’d say around twenty thousand. It’s one of the cheaper pieces, but it’s ten thousand just to get through the door on the day. Discourages the looky-loos, you see."

"I’m guessing that this isn’t your run of the mill book sale, then?"

"No, by no means." The demon flipped the brochure shut. "Some of the items are priceless, though, of course, since we are talking about an auction, one shouldn’t take the word literally."

Buffy, Willow, Tara, Clem and Lily loitered in front of a shop window about thirty feet from the bookstore on the same side. Every few seconds, Buffy would throw a hopeful glance at Clem, who had an earpiece firmly inserted under one floppy ear. The demon was relaying the conversation between the pair inside the shop. The remainder of her time was spent pacing back and forth.

"Maybe we should just go in now?" she suggested.

"Patience. You and William too the same," Lily chided.

"But as far as you know, Groo was likely to be in this dimension for another few months?"

"It certainly seemed so. That’s not the sort of book you find in the local library, you know."

Wes was grateful that the old man didn’t realise just how wrong his last comment was, otherwise he was sure that the volume would rather rapidly go missing. "Well, in that case we may be looking at a different problem. We haven’t had any luck using any of the standard location spells. We had thought it might be because he had already travelled to another plane, but it may be that his location is being warded to prevent magical detection."

"Let’s see." The old man wandered out from behind the counter and into the main shop. The man paused near Fred, bending to scan titles on one of the lower shelves. "Heillige’s Counterspells and Enchantments." He pulled a fairly hefty leather-bound volume from the middle of the stack. "That should have what you need, though you may need to try a few different spells before you find one that works. There’s quite a few different ways that these wards work and they all have to be countered differently."

"How much is it?"

The old man pulled a strip of paper from between the pages of the volume and checked that the title and edition matched before he quoted the price to the Englishman. "It’s a hundred and twenty bucks, but if you want to bring it back after you’ve used it, then you can keep the receipt and I’ll give you eighty bucks for it, provided it’s still in the same condition."

When Wesley made no demurral the old man carried the book to the counter and set it down, beginning to wrap it up with a double layer of thick brown paper and twine.

"And if he has found another way to leave this dimension?"

"Then, I suspect he’ll probably stay lost." The old man pointed at the brochure’s cover. "That," he said, "is the only way I know of to find something or someone who’s lost in another dimension. And I expect it to go for a considerable sum."

"What is it?" Wesley asked.

"That, is the Axis of Pythia. It’s also conservatively valued at thirty-three million dollars."

"In that case, we’d best hope that our friend’s location is merely warded."

"If I were you, I would certainly hope so," The aged demon confirmed.

"Well, I suppose I’d best just pay you for the book and that will conclude our business." Wesley reached for his wallet. "I’m afraid I’ve only got fifty in cash. Will you take a personal cheque?"

"Whoa, Wes is done. We can go," Clem announced.

Buffy looked across to the two witches. "Ready?"

The two girls nodded and clasped hands to form a very small circle. Clem and Lily carried the weapons for those already in the shop, while Buffy carried only the broadsword she herself would use. She burst into the shop like a small tornado.

‘Doc’ immediately lashed out toward her with his tongue, and Buffy ducked underneath the strike, whilst simultaneously twisting her wrist so that the broadsword swept round in a circle that caused the last foot of the demon’s tongue to drop to the floor.

Unwittingly, Buffy echoed Spike’s words on the tower. "Can’t a guy stay dead when you push him off a tower, these days?"

"And you would be in a position to talk?" the demon responded apparently unimpaired by his injury, even as he leapt toward the door that was only just beginning to shut behind Lily and Clem.

"Yeah, well, I just couldn’t bear the thought that you were still walking around. Had to come back and do something about it."

"The feeling’s mutual, I’m sure. What happened to your pet vampire by the way? I don’t suppose he was fortuitous enough to land on, say, a nice wooden fence when he fell?" the demon taunted from atop a stack of books.

"Nope. He has gone missing, though. Good of you to help us out with that counterspell thing, though I guess Spike’ll be disappointed at not getting a piece of your hide for himself. I think you might have pissed him off."

The demon leapt at Clem and Lily who dove to either side out of his way. From his position on the floor Clem slid Gunn’s axe toward him, so that he had only to stoop slightly to pick it up. ‘Doc’ pulled the door open, convinced that nothing now stood between him and freedom, only to collide sharply with a solid wall of fresh air.

The demon found himself cornered with Buffy approaching from one flank, Gunn on the other and Connor taking the same approach, leaping from stack to stack, that the demon had taken himself.

"Can’t we just let bygones be bygones?" the demon with the face of an old man suggested.

Buffy shook her head slightly. "Even if we could, which, seeing as how you tried to sacrifice my sister and turn this and every world into a living hell, is a big no, by the way, I don’t really think that I want you using this pithy-thing to find out where your little hell-bitch ended up when she couldn’t live in Ben any more."

The demon sighed. "Religious intolerance is such a waste of everybody’s time and effort I’ve always thought."

"But sometimes it just feels so good," Buffy quipped.

"Are you two going to exchange witty repartee all day, or can we just kill him now?" Gunn asked.

"Well, either way suits me." Wes, having safely stowed away the book that they needed and reclaimed his axe from Lily, moved to join the others who formed a quarter circle around the demon at the shop’s door.

The demon made a last desperate bid for freedom, trying to knock Connor, the only one of his assailants that was unarmed, out of the way. However, the youngster was quicker than he anticipated managed to grab his arm and swing him back into the area encircled by Buffy and the others. As the demon collided with the shop door, Buffy lunged and pierced his heart from behind.

As she expected the demon fell to the floor, and his strange blue blood began to pool around him. She had to admit that it was convincing. She nodded to Wesley, who brought down his axe, severing the head from the body in a single stroke. He passed the axe to Buffy and picked up the demon’s head by the curly white hair. Buffy followed him through to the back of the shop. It seemed that even spring in California was too cold for the blue-blooded demon, for just like in his old apartment a coal fire burned in the old-fashioned tile fireplace.

Wesley tossed the offending item into the flames. Buffy wasn't surprised when the head seemed to stir slightly as it burned, but she was glad that this time she was spared the sight of the shrivelling eyeballs and the silent scream. Events differed from how they had unfolded in Spike’s nightmare in that the head had landed facing the back of the fireplace.

"I’ve never come across that particular species before. How did you know what to do to kill him?"

Buffy glanced over to the grim-faced ex-Watcher. She decided that the simplest explanation was probably best. "Spike told me."

As they made their way back through to the main shop Wesley’s cell-phone began to ring.

Spike pulled his leather duster from the closet, noticing the light that shone through multiple holes in the back of it as he swung it round to put it on.

"For crying out loud, Dru. You could have at least got the coat fixed while I’ve been laid up."

Drusilla began to bluster and Spike rushed to apologise before the tears hit. He cupped her face between his hands.

"I’m sorry, love. I’m a nasty, evil, bad-tempered man. It’s not your fault. C’mon, love. Finish getting dressed and we’ll go out. We’ll take you somewhere nice and you’ll have a special treat."

"Can we go to Paris? I want to go in the boats on the Seine."

"We can go anywhere you want, my dark beauty, my moonlit rose." He used his hands to tilt her face toward his as he ducked his head to claim a kiss: a soft, tender, seemingly endless kiss that spoke of mutual devotion. When their lips finally parted they stood forehead to forehead, Spike’s palms still resting gently against her cheeks. "Next week, we’ll leave for France, but first there’s a few loose ends to be tied up." His lips met hers again in a brief caress. "Okay?"

"Will Daddy come with us?" Dru asked.

"I don’t know, pet." Spike’s hands dropped to his sides. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was a core of steel to it that hadn’t been there before. ‘With any luck,’ he thought to himself, ‘if he does, it’ll be in a bloody urn.’

Spike held out Dru’s coat for her, sliding his left arm around her waist and drawing her against his left side, he rested his cheek against hers. "C’mon, pet. I know just how to celebrate your return to health."

Lindsey, Drusilla and Spike waited for dusk in the cabin’s small library. A phone call to Lindsey’s informants had confirmed that the combined group seemed to be carrying on as normal during daylight hours, only seeming to worry about the possibility of attack or being observed after dusk. At present, it appeared that Angel and the unidentified female were alone in the hotel. All the others had gone to some junk shop downtown. Lindsey noted the number for the shop before he hung up the phone.

He dialled the number and waited for a reply. "It would seem that the staff are indisposed. I suppose we’ll have to use the more direct route."

He pulled open the top drawer of the desk at which he sat and extracted the pad, which was normally kept at the hotel’s reception desk. He flipped the pages until he found a list of cell phone numbers, and dialled the first one.

"Wesley Wyndham-Price."

"Wesley, I hope Mr Holliday was able to help you."

Wesley moved to the front of the shop and scanned the area for anyone who might be watching their movements.

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"Oh, I think you know. Tell the slayer if she isn’t at the Hyperion with Angel an hour after dusk, then a lot of innocent people are going to get hurt unnecessarily. See you then."

Spike smiled as the phone slid back into the cradle, not noticing Drusilla’s agitation at the mention of the slayer’s name.

"It looks like we’ve got a date, princess. How about that?"

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