Blood on a Sundial: 26 ~ 32
by Maz

 

26. Sunshine on my shoulders

 

They left the park, Xander walking silently beside Spike and Jimmy trailing behind. Xander realised he was still in shock - the spell hadn't triggered! He turned to Spike and opened his mouth, but his brain clicked into gear just in time. If Spike hadn't noticed there was no way he was going to remind him. Instead he asked the next question that occurred to him, "What the fuck just happened? I saw it, but... what the hell just happened?" He stopped, trying to get his thoughts under control. "And where did your accent go?"

 

Spike smirked, "Formal event, a Holmgång. Formal events have formal words." He glanced around at the teeming crowds, the bright neon lights and the roaring traffic. He wasn't limping as badly as before they left the park but his stride was definitely less cocky than usual. "Let's get a cab," he suggested. "I really want that drink and I want it somewhere that doesn't ask questions."

 

Xander nodded. "Sure. Why not?"

 

Spike signalled to Jimmy who went to the curb and started trying to attract the attention of any of the many passing yellow cabs. Spike wandered over to a shop window and leant up against it, digging a packet of cigarettes and his lighter out of his pocket and lighting up. He stayed there, seemingly at peace with the world and his smoke. Xander glanced around, then went to lean next to him. "Are there really only twenty vampires in New York?" he asked.

 

Spike blew smoke into the air and gazed up at the windows opposite. "Well there were thirty, now there's less." He glanced around, as if he could assess the extent of Manhattan from their position surrounded by tall buildings. He appeared to be totting something up in his head. "Population's usually pretty stable. There were always about fifty, when I was here before." He looked along his shoulder at Xander. "There's the main nest. What the pretentious call 'the court'. That's as many as ten. Then there's pairs, and groups of three or four scattered around the periphery. Flavia just lost her entire court, so she'll be looking to rebuild. She'll pull in some of the ones from the edges and make the rest."

 

Considering that, Xander remembered something else Spike had said to her. "Why did you tell her to choose carefully?"

 

Spike shrugged. "She looks like the impatient type. I gave her a warning, that's all. Nothing to do with you. If she chooses carefully, she'll choose the ones who last."

 

*****

 

Being out in daylight was strangely liberating and Xander felt his heart lift with the freedom of it. He mooched. There was definite mooching going on, as he walking the streets at a leisurely pace. He had $50 in his pocket and a backpack loaded with a pad of paper and a couple of books (for verisimilitude, Spike said, causing Xander to snort with amusement, which in turn had pulled a smile from Spike). The streets around him teemed with bright young things, rushing to class or loitering in small groups, and as he watched their faces he felt a momentary pity for them and their carefree belief that life would always be so easy. He was again struck by how much older than them he felt, even though in years they had to be older than him. He shook the thought away. It was a bright early summer's day with none of yesterday's mugginess. Not too hot, but warm enough to be comfortable without his jacket. He would have felt like a sore thumb if he'd come here in his old clothes from home. As it was, he just felt out of place because of his whole life. A slim girl with long red hair walking arm in arm with a tall, skinny guy momentarily caught his eye and he felt a pang run through him. Then she laughed and the sound was wrong, so he shook his head and continued with his mooching.

 

Locating his destination proved no challenge, once he'd got to Washington Square Gardens and for a moment he stood still, watching the steady stream of students going in and out of the building. Tilting back his head he squinted up at the sky, basking in the feel of the sun on his face until a cloud crossed in front of it and the bright warmth was instantly taken away. There was no real reason to put this off, so he shook himself, squared his shoulders and joined the crowds of students, doing his best to look like he knew what he was doing and that he belonged there.

 

After half an hour of wandering around Xander had to agree that the library did have what they needed, but he also had to admit that the chances of getting in after closing, were slight. No matter how brilliant he was, Jimmy had obviously not been the type to break into libraries to get more study time. But that was why Xander was on this expedition in the first place, so it was time to use his initiative. Grabbing a campus map from the information desk he ducked into a rest room and locked himself in a stall while he studied it. The Computer Science Department was the next obvious choice, but there had to be other possibilities.

 

*****

 

Tailgating a group of kids as they entered the main door of the hall proved remarkably easy. He didn't want to appear hesitant so he continued to follow them, even as his eyes scanned the entrance looking for any signs to indicating where he should go. He didn't see any so he kept following. Then the group began to break up and he glanced around, confused. He was standing in the middle of the cafeteria and his human shield were busy grabbing extra chairs and pushing them into place around one of the tables. With a sudden feeling of panic Xander looked around the room, imagining himself the focus of attention, that at any moment someone would point to him and call out "Who are you? What are you doing here? Get out, impostor."

 

One of the guys he'd followed got up and headed to the queue of other students waiting to be served, leaving the rest guarding their table. Xander stood frozen to the spot, feeling like a jilted fool. With a flash of inspiration, he turned back towards the door and waved as he pretended to spot a friend. "Hey man!" He called, maybe a little too loudly because at least five people nearby looked up surprise. "Been looking everywhere for you," he added, as he rushed past the queue and back out of the room.

 

Once in the corridor he broke into a jog, until he was able to round a corner and collapse against the wall, panting with the after-effects of his panic. 'Okay, Xan-man. Pull yourself together. Breath. Think. It's got to be around here somewhere'. The corridor was momentarily empty but what he really needed was a directory. This place was huge. He thought about going back the way he'd come, but the idea of walking past the cafeteria was too much. Cursing himself for a coward he continued further along the corridor, peering through the glass panes in the doors as he went. Most of them looked like offices, with the occasional lounge with coffee machines and a scattering of students. The corridor ended in a stairwell. He'd have to go back. He sank to the floor, hugging his backpack and decided to wait it out for a while.

 

*****

 

Xander pushed open the door, once again trying on his bravado for size. As he walked in he took a quick look around. Luckily there were only four or five students occupying the benches and they were concentrating completely on their screens. None of them looked up. Xander made his way over to the furthest corner, where nobody could see what he was doing and pulled up a stool. The computer was turned on, its screensaver swirling in multicoloured sleep. He gave the mouse a little shake to wake it up and was greeted by the requirement to log on. Grabbing his backpack he pulled out the books, taking in the titles for the first time. 'Nineteenth Century Poets' and 'The Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge', what the fuck? Digging in the side pocket of his bag, for pens and pencils, he laid them out to look as if he was studying and flipped open the pad of paper. Jimmy's login details were on the first page and he concentrated on his two fingered style as he tapped them into the machine. Now it was just a matter of waiting until the room was empty. In the meantime there was a whole world available on the Internet for the touch of a button. Maybe he could find out a few things about Sunnydale, about Spike, and about a really cool idea he'd had after the fight yesterday - it really shouldn't take two or three shots to the head with his Colts to dust a vampire. Opening the web browser he set to work.

 

27. Doing IT

 

Spike surveyed the front of the building from across the street. He allowed his eyes to sweep across the exposed windows, noting the faint flash of a torch which marked the presence of at least one security guard doing his rounds. With a nod to Xander he led them away, around the corner and into the alley that ran along the back of the row of converted Victorian office buildings. As they walked past parked cars and occasional dumpsters Jimmy counted backwards in a low whisper, until they got to approximately the right place. Xander ran his eyes along the ranks of windows. "I stuck a sheet of paper in the one I unlocked," he explained. "Like a flag. Hang on. Look. That one there," he added, pointing. "I jammed the catch with a pencil."

 

The wall in front of them obviously enclosed a small back yard and was about fifteen feet high. The door set into it was strong and well locked but the window Xander was pointing at was set close to the edge of the yard and they should be able to reach it from the top. The next yard seemed to be the main goods delivery point, since the wall had been removed to allow trucks in to the reinforced back door. If necessary they could maybe pick the lock and get in that way, but they would be one floor too low and there was security inside. Better to make straight for the room they wanted. He walked up to the base of the wall and looked up, measuring it, before turning back to Xander and Jimmy.

 

Xander was hanging back, already glancing around with that discouraged look on his face that irritated Spike for some reason. "It didn't look so high from inside," he whispered.

 

Spike shrugged. "Not to worry. It's not that tall." He walked around to the open space of the loading bay. "Come on. What are you waiting for?"

 

Xander glanced at Jimmy, then back at Spike. "What? You want us to hoist you up, or something?"

 

That made Spike grin. All this time in the company of a vampire, all that time fighting them in Sunnydale and the boy still didn't know what he was dealing with. He winked at Xander and stalked over to the foot of the wall and jumped, grabbed the top and hauled himself up in one smooth fluid movement. Not to be outdone and probably wanting to show off to Spike, and possibly show up the human, Jimmy followed. Not quite so graceful, but he still managing to reach the top without assistance.

 

Xander stood below them and looked up at Spike sitting astride the wall, his right leg dangling, his foot swinging at least three feet out of Xander's reach. He sighed in resigned recognition. "There's no way I can get up there by myself," he whispered fiercely.

 

Spike stretched his right leg straight. "Jump and grab hold of my ankle," he instructed.

 

Xander crouched slightly and jumped up, reaching for Spike's foot. One hand brushed Spike's boot, but he couldn't get a good grip and he ended up back on the ground in a crouch. He stood up again, wiping his hands on his jeans and shook his head.

 

"Once more, pet," Spike instructed. "Bit more spring in your legs, yeah?"

 

Shaking his head in disbelief, Xander paced backward, measuring the distance. He took a couple of running steps and launched himself upwards again. This time he managed to get one hand around Spike's ankle and the other on his foot. He hung there for a moment before tilting his head back and looking up. "Now what?" he gasped.

 

"Now, hold on tight, okay?" Spike began to bend his leg, lifting Xander further off the ground. When he had his knee bent almost to his chest, he reached down and grasped Xander's wrist. "Grab my hand," he said. Xander's weight shifted from his leg to his arm as the boy let go his hold on Spike's boot and quickly shifted it to Spike's forearm. Spike's foot swung free and Xander was now hanging six feet clear of the ground. Placing his left hand in front of him, Spike used his shoulder muscles to lift his right arm higher, pulling Xander's dead weight with it. Xander shifted his left hand from Spike's arm in order to grab the edge of the wall and Spike twisted on his perch, getting his right foot up onto the wall and pushing with his left arm, began slowly to stand up.

 

One small swing and Xander was sitting secure. Spike let him go. Xander sat on the top of the wall, his legs dangling. He turned his head and gazed up at Spike in amazement. "Wow," he said.

 

Spike executed a little dance step of shear exuberance, balancing on the narrow brick top and spun on the spot to inspect the back of the building again. As he turned he caught Jimmy's eye across the top of Xander's head and winked. Jimmy's slight frown immediately lightened and he grinned back, happy again, now that his Sire had noticed him. Fledges and minions, they were so predictable.

 

Spike pulled a hunting knife similar to Xander's, from the sheath on the back of his belt and passed it to Jimmy. "You're nearest," he said. "Go stick that in the gap and jimmy the window," he added, ignoring Xander's snigger.

 

Jimmy took the knife and walked along the top of the wall until he reached the back of the building. He leant across and grabbed the sill. It took only moments for him to insert the point of the blade at the base of the pane and work it open enough to get his fingers into the gap and push upwards. Heaving himself up onto the ledge, he shimmied through the gap and into the room beyond.

 

Spike climbed over Xander's seated form then turned and gave him a hand up as Jimmy opened the window wider. Spike pulled himself into the room and took a quick look around at the computers on their benches. Xander was still on the wall outside, but already leaning over, trying to get a good grip on the window frame. He hauled himself over, for a moment he teetered on his stomach, half in and half out, before pitching forwards in an ungainly heap onto the floor inside. Cursing under his breath he scrambled around until he was sitting and tried to look as if that had been deliberate. "Stupid vampire stealth thing," he muttered.

 

"You finished playing?" Spike asked.

 

Xander got to his feet, looking faintly resentful, and took his time dusting himself down to hide his embarrassment. Spike spared him a glance, but was more interested in what Jimmy was doing to one of the computers. "Okay all yours. Do your thing. I want to know where that book is and I want to be out of here, sharpish. Got that?"

 

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically "Not a problem. Just let me log-in," he said eagerly. He pulled up a stool and set to work. Within minutes he was engrossed. "Shouldn't take more than half an hour," he muttered. "If all goes well."

 

"Make it go well." Spike was peripherally aware of Xander wandering aimlessly around the room, idly hitting keys and shifting mice, but he was being quiet, so Spike left him alone. Until he got bored with watching Jimmy. When he wandered over to Xander he saw that the boy had apparently found a computer that hadn't been turned off. "Thought you said you didn't know how to use these things," he commented.

 

"No, I said I didn't know how to hack into the secure network of a commercial enterprise. Everyone knows how to surf the web."

 

Spike raised an eyebrow at him. "Learn that at school, did you?" he asked. Xander nodded. "Okay. So show me."

 

Xander looked at him in surprise. "You want to know how to....?"

 

"Yeah. Never had the chance before. Didn't have these things when I was human." He paused. "Didn't have cinema. Didn't have TV. Didn't have computers." He pulled up a stool next to Xander. "Come on, show me how it works. What's this web thing look like?"

 

"Okay. Well, see this? This is the mouse."

 

"I know that, you berk. I do watch TV. I know what a computer looks like. I've just never used one."

 

"Sorry." Xander moved the mouse and clicked it. The screen changed. "There. This is Yahoo. It's the search engine. You type words into this box and Yahoo finds web pages with those words in."

 

"Just like that?"

 

"Yep. What do you want me to look for."

 

"How about me?"

 

"Huh?"

 

"Put 'Spike' in there. Lets see if there's anything about me."

 

"Err... trouble is... if it finds the word 'spike'... it can't tell what kind of spike. You could gets loads of hits for Spike Lee, or Spike Milligan, or railroad spikes, or... I don't know, all sorts of spiky stuff."

 

"Okay, put in 'William the Bloody'"

 

Xander just looked at him. "Narcissistic, much?" he asked.

 

Spike scowled. "Don't go all articulate on me, pet. You don't know what that means. Hardly know how to read, if I remember right."

 

"Hey! I read. I read today. When the computers froze, before the other guys gave up and left. I read the books you gave me." He placed his right hand on his heart and stretched out the other, hamming his delivery. "I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high ... er, something, something. When all at once I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils." He grinned and looked up at Spike from under his hair. "Doesn't even rhyme. And how does a cloud wander, anyway? Sounds like it should have legs."

 

"Don't mock Wordsworth, pet,"

 

"And I do so, know what Narcissistic means."

 

There was definite sulk in that voice and Spike was about to retort, when he was interrupted from the other side of the room.

 

"Sire, I'm in."

 

Suddenly Spike lost interest in scoring points, or defending the art of a bloke who'd been dead for over a hundred years. He was across the room in moments, wanting to see what Jimmy had found.

 

"I've got their archive accounts. Do you have any idea how long ago the book was sold?

 

Xander came to stand next to him, peering over Jimmy's shoulder.

 

"1992. 22nd of June." Catching Xander's incredulous look he added, "Told you - they all tell the truth in the end."

 

Xander shuddered.

 

There was more clicking of keys as Jimmy typed rapidly. Then he sat back. "There it is. Argentum Veneficus, slightly foxed, one tear in the binding. Wow! That was a lot of money to spend on a book."

 

"So who bought it?" he asked impatiently.

 

"There's no name. Just an account number and 'WC, London'. Does that mean anything to you? There's an address."

 

Spike growled with suppressed excitement and frustration. He started to demand more information when he heard something. He cocked his head, listening. There was a faint sound of foot steps in the corridor outside. "Print it out, quick. I'll be back." He went to the door, listening carefully, locating the direction of the approaching security guard. Xander followed him and behind them there was a faint hum as the printer started to work. "You, stay here," he ordered, pushing Xander back with his hand on Xander's chest.

 

"No. Stop. Please? You don't have to kill him. You said you'd go to the blood house to feed." The boy sounded frightened, but Spike wasn't sure if it was for himself, for Spike, or possibly for the guard. "If you kill him, people will ask questions and they'll find out someone was hacking and they'll track it back and find out that you're interested in the book."

 

Spike paused. That sounded almost convincing. Could they do that? Trouble was, he didn't know. He growled again and shot Xander an interrogatory look. The boy was pleading with him with his eyes. He hesitated. "Can they do that?" he asked Jimmy.

 

Jimmy grimaced. "Probably," he admitted.

 

Spike checked the door was locked and turned back to the room. "Turn off that screen and get down," he instructed, taking up a position against the wall, out of sight of anybody looking through the glass pane in the door. Jimmy did as he was told, while Xander took up position flat on the other side of the door. Stupid human boy, he'd probably try and get in the way if Spike did have to take the guy out. He still looked a little panicked, but at least he was being quiet. The foot steps got closer. They stopped outside the door and the knob rattled as it was tested. Spike got ready, listening for the sound of a key in the lock. They waited. Then the footsteps resumed, moving away and he relaxed. Next to him Xander let out a huff of held breath and slumped against the wall. Jimmy's head appeared from behind the bench. "Huh!" Spike snorted. "You got that page?" Jimmy nodded. "Right. Lets get out of here then."

 

Xander raised his head and turned to look at Spike. "Thank you," he breathed.

 

*****

 

Getting out was easier than getting in and half an hour later they were a mile away, heading back to the factory. Xander was almost skipping with suppressed energy and relief. Jimmy was eagerly offering to set up a computer at the factory, if Spike wanted to hack any more auction houses. Spike was scanning the information on the sheaf of printed pages, not really listening to either of them. Watchers' Council. Damn! Wasn't it just his luck that the only copy of the book he needed had been bought by the bloody Watchers' Council? He wondered if that antiquated bunch of old dinosaurs had got around to computerising their inventory yet. Xander started jumping, playing hopscotch along the paving stones and Spike turned to Jimmy. "Yeah. We'll do that. Get a computer and you can see if you can track it down." Jimmy's face lit up with the gleeful knowledge that his Sire needed him and he opened his mouth to say something, but Spike silenced him with a gesture, peering into the darkness of the alley they were passing. "Quiet," he ordered, as a figure detached itself from the shadows and stepped out in front of Xander, who froze mid-hop before placing both his feet on the ground and stepping carefully backwards to Spike's side.

 

Spike looked at their visitor. "Black Wind," he greeted. "What brings you this side of the country?"

 

28. Diversion

 

Black Wind took another step forward and stopped under a streetlight, deliberately exposing himself to view. "Calling in a debt, my friend," he said. "You owe me two favours for what I did for you when..."

 

Spike interrupted, "Yes, I remember."

 

Black Wind's smile turned as predatory as any that had ever graced Spike's features, looking out of place on his youthful, innocent face, but he merely nodded, acknowledging Spike's obvious desire to not discuss their last meeting. Instead, he shrugged "So, we talk?"

 

*****

 

Xander placed the cup of hot water on the coffee table in front of their guest, retreated to the other easy chair and sat down, curling his legs under him and gripping his can of coke in both hands. His previous exuberance had drained out of him with Black Wind's appearance, as if it had never been there and he'd been subdued for the rest of the walk home. And for all that Spike had not been taking any notice of the boy, he missed that lightness of spirit. Now, sitting curled up in their living room Xander might look relaxed to a casual observer, but Spike could see the tension in his body, which matched the tightness of his own muscles. He wanted to say something, some witty remark or barb that would cause Xander's own wit to lash out with a snarking riposte and lighten the mood, but Black Wind had brought an atmosphere of foreboding with him and the task was beyond him at the moment.

 

Black Wind himself looked totally relaxed, seated comfortably on the reassembled sofa, for all the world like he was in his own home, which was an irritant in and of itself. He was dressed the same as on every other occasion Spike had ever seen him: casually smart, his dark hair tidy and his thick rimmed glasses both hiding and framing his eyes. Sitting there, he looked like Jimmy would have done in a couple of years time, if Spike hadn't got to him first, and his aura of harmless gawkiness would have fooled anyone not familiar with his true powers. Jimmy himself had been left downstairs, guarding the door, Spike neither wanting, nor trusting the fledge with whatever Black Wind was about to bring down on them. He moodily contemplated his whisky. He knew the protocols, so he waited as Black Wind pulled a leather pouch out of his pocket, extracted a pinch of some dried powder and sprinkled it into his cup. He gave it a stir with his finger, lifted the cup to his nose, breathed in the steam then took a sip, before placing the cup carefully back on the table.

 

Only then did Spike break the silence. "What do you want, old man?" he asked.

 

Black Wind flicked a glance at Spike then turned to Xander. "Thank you," he said with a broad and friendly smile. "I appreciate the trouble you took to boil water, just for me. One day I will find a way to return the favour."

 

Spike felt his hackles stir and growled low in warning, while Xander's own gaze switched between them two of them and he returned Black Wind's smile with a tentative one of his own.

 

Turning back to Spike, Black Wind nodded. "My apologies, Master Spike." He hesitated. "But your boy... he's from the Hellmouth. I don't know why I didn't realise it... immediately." He glanced at Xander again. "State of mind, maybe? Alertness? Yes, it could be, that would mask..."

 

Spike jumped in quickly, before he said too much. His boy wasn't stupid, after all. He was quite capable of joining the dots and realising that Black Wind had seen him before, even if he didn't remember it himself. "Yeah. He's from the Hellmouth. What of it? That a problem to you?" He looked over at Xander and saw that he was unconsciously fiddling with his bracelet, his eyes fixed on Black Wind. But there was no sign of recognition in his face and Spike gave a small sigh of relief, as he recognised that fact. Some of his tension eased.

 

Black Wind shook his head. "No. Just a coincidence," he said. "Just an interesting coincidence, I'm sure." Spike made a hurry-up motion with his hand, urging Black Wind to come to the point, he wanted this over and the old man out of his home. Black Wind nodded, acknowledging Spike's right to decide what Xander was told. "Business, yes. You owe me two favours."

 

"Already said that." Spike agreed. "What else?"

 

"I'm calling one in." There was a definite note of mischief in his tone and Spike felt himself begin to relax, at last. Maybe he'd been making too much of this sudden appearance?

 

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I got that too. So? What is it? You got a story to tell? Tell it."

 

Black Wind's features settled into a more serious fame and he sighed as he picked up his cup and stared into it. "I have been forced to relocate the entrance to my shop, here. I am not happy about it, but it couldn't be avoided. I don't wish to stay. You know I prefer the desert and the mountains to this... cacophony of mechanical living." He shrugged in the general direction of the city outside with a grimace of distaste. "But there were enquiries being made. Someone was asking questions in Reno." He paused for a moment, as if feeling for the shape of the story. Spike rolled the last of the tension out of his shoulders, sat back and took a sip of his whiskey. "At the same time, I had some visitors. Careful men. Not local. I'd done some small jobs for them already. Their roots are not in this land and they needed an intermediary, some augmentations... Simple stuff. Small stuff." He looked up and caught Spike's eyes, holding them with his gaze and Spike could feel the ancient power. "But last time they came... they asked too much."

 

"What did they want?"

 

"They want me to loosen the binding of native magic on someone of mixed heritage, so she is more responsive to their roots, without the influence of mine."

 

"This a matter of honour?" Spike asked.

 

Black Wind was staring into his cup again but he looked up at this. "No. This is a matter of wrong. Such a thing is counter to everything. It is not to be done."

 

"So why do they want it?"

 

With a shrug, Black Wind gave what could only be called a slightly hysterical laugh. "They are European magic," he said. "They want her under their influence alone. Her native blood is not great, but here on our soil it calls strongly. They are afraid of what they don't know. And they fear she will reject them and their ways. They want control of her and of her destiny." He looked up again and the serious nature of the order was clear in his eyes. "Even if I could do this thing without harm to myself, to my spirit, it would weaken her, but they don't care about that. To them, what is not in their compass, is not to be trusted."

 

"Hang on." Spike leant forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, his glass clasped lightly in his hands, as a realisation struck him. "Are you saying you want me to go save this 'her'? Is that it? Because we had a deal, mate. Nothing against my nature. And random rescuing of damsels in distress don't qualify. Go find yourself a hero. This doesn't count, so you can't ask me to do it."

 

"Spike, Spike, really." Black Wind chided, his face lightening into true amusement. "Do you think me stupid?" adding as Spike opened his mouth, "don't answer that." Spike settled back in his chair with a smirk and Black Wind smiled faintly in reply. "I don't want you to rescue the girl. The slayer is always capable of looking after herself." He paused thoughtfully. "Until she isn't."

 

"The slayer?" Spike was incredulous. "You're asking my help, for the slayer?"

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Xander frantically wiping spilled coke off his leg, as he gazed open-mouthed at Black Wind. "What, about Buffy?" Xander asked urgently. "Is she in danger?"

 

Black Wind nodded to himself. "Yes, a coincidence," he observed quietly. His mouth twisted in a parody of a smile as he turned to Xander. "The slayer is in no danger from me. I told you. What they asked of me is wrong. It would compromise me. Taint my power. I won't do it." He turned back to Spike. "They have driven me out of Reno. Driven me here, because this is where you are. And I want you to stop them. That's my favour." He held Spike's gaze as he continued, "They also have something of mine. A small carved stone. I want it back. Do this for me. Kill the members of the Watchers Council who have followed me to New York, retrieve the Anashaman, and one of your debts to me is paid.

 

29. The Anashaman

 

"But, but, that can't be true," Xander said, oblivious to Spike's scowl. "You must be making this up. The Watchers Council are the good guys. They help the slayer. They can't..." he petered out as Black Wind turned back to look at him.

 

Black wind's expression was bland, unless you were awake to the glint in his eyes. "I am not lying," he explained. "I have no interest in European magic. I had no reason to contact the Watchers Council. No reason to care about what they do. But they came to my shop, to my home, and they threatened me. They have an American slayer and she has some blood in her veins which calls to this land. They want to weaken her links to Our magic, so the other part of her ancestry is all that is left. And that holds to Europe. They want to weaken an aspect of her power, so they have control. I would refuse on those grounds alone. To deliberately weaken someone's essence? That is not what my magic is about."

 

Obviously still not convinced, Xander's voice took on an edge of sarcasm. "So you're what? Like a good shaman? A white shaman? That's why you come to ask a vampire to kill humans?"

 

Black Wind smiled reassuringly, but still with an edge. "Black, white, good, evil, these terms mean nothing," he said with a vague wave of his hand. "They are words used to name opposites. It's a European way of thinking. I am not good or evil, child. But I am whole. To make someone less than whole? That would diminish me. It would hollow me out, like a canker in the soul of a tree." He sat back in his seat and for a moment he looked weary. "The slayer line is old. She comes from the source of humanity itself. But she is born in a human body, which is part of the present and the route to it, from the past. This slayer has roots in Europe and in this land." Again he smiled. And this time it was not reassuring. "The Council has never felt comfortable when the slayer is born out of their familiar realm."

 

The preaching registered on Spike's mind, but he was not really listening, at this however, he looked up sharply. "Are you saying that my first slayer was weakened somehow?"

 

Black Wind shook his head "I'm not saying anything about her at all. Where were you? How old were you?

 

"The first was in China, when I was twenty years dead. The second was here in New York, African American bird. What do you know?"

 

"Nothing, my friend. I know nothing for certain. At twenty, there is no reason you could not have met and killed a slayer at full strength. I have no reason to believe they have tried to do this before. I only know the ones who came to me and asked me to perform abomination."

 

Spike relaxed, slightly reassured "That's better. Yeah. 'Course she hadn't been tampered with. Was a good fight." He muttered.

 

*****

 

After Black Wind left, Spike went downstairs and sent Jimmy out, scouting for information. He was useless in a fight, but he was intelligent enough to ask questions and young enough to look innocent while he did so. With the information Black Wind had supplied, Spike had no doubt Jimmy would locate the council members. He, meanwhile, went to pay a visit on Flavia, leaving Xander at the factory.

 

*****

The sun had only been down for half an hour when Xander entered the hotel. Spike had roused him out of bed with, "Come on. We're going to pay a visit on a couple of watchers. You want to check the truth? You can join the team."

 

Xander had blinked up at him. "We have a team?"

 

"Yeah. You and me. Jimmy stays here. He's no good to man nor beast in a fight. Bring your guns."

 

So here he was, about to infiltrate the watcher's den. He crossed the marble floor of the foyer, trying to appear confident of his welcome and asked the clerk at the front desk for Roger Wyndam-Pryce. The clerk looked doubtful, but picked up the telephone and dialled. "Mr Wyndam-Pryce, Sir. There is a... young gentleman at reception asking to speak to you." There was a pause as he listened to the voice at the other end. "No, Sir. Yes, Sir. I'll ask, Sir." He looked up at Xander. "Since you don't have an appointment, do you have any identification, please?"

 

"Just tell him I have a message from Buffy." The clerk looked doubtful. "Buffy. Just tell him... Look, let me talk to him."

 

Taking a step back from his desk, the clerk shook his head and spoke into the telephone again. "He says he has a message, Sir. From someone called.... Buffy? Yes, Sir. Buffy. I see. Yes, of course. Thank you, Sir." Placing the handset back in its holder he nodded to Xander. "Room 443. Take the elevator to the fourth floor, turn right and it is on your right."

 

Xander nodded back, feeling a slight glow at the fact that he'd succeeded in getting past the guy. Without the magic 'B' word, he had no doubt the clerk would have taken great pleasure in showing him the door. With a grin he turned away and hurried to the open elevator, before Spike went up without him.

 

The hallway was plush. That was the only word Xander could use to describe the thick carpet, the real paintings on the walls and the shiny brass fittings on the doors. Room 443 was exactly were the clerk had said and trying not to feel nervous, Xander raised his hand and knocked, while Spike stood out of sight to the side.

 

The door was opened immediately, but before Xander could open his mouth, Spike pushed past him, and past the man who had opened it, and stalked into the room, taking up a position in the centre of the open space, facing an older man, who was sitting on the sofa, in the act of talking into a telephone.

 

Xander followed more cautiously, glanced around, taking in the positions of the two occupants and stepped back against the wall, where he could watch them both. The seated man spoke slowly, "I think I may need to call you back, Mr Giles. No, no trouble, I think I may have been mistaken about the nature of my visitor. I'm sure you're right. I have no doubt she is well known in some circles." Keeping his eyes fixed on Spike, he carefully laid the telephone back in its cradle. "William the Bloody," he announced, calmly. Xander saw the younger man blanch. "This is a surprise. Close the door, Wesley."

 

Spike grinned, "You've heard of me?"

 

"No. We've met. 1963. My colleagues and I fell upon you slaughtering an orphanage in Vienna. Killed two of my men before you escaped." Standing up, he walked casually to the window and looked out, raising his hand in what, even to Xander's eyes, looked like an unnatural move.

 

Spike expression sharpened to one of gleeful enjoyment. "Don't bother, Roger," he said. "They're dead too."

 

A flash of shock crossed Roger Wyndam-Pryce's face, before he was able to control himself and Xander heard a whimper from the younger man, Wesley. "Do be quite, boy!" Roger snapped and it took Xander a moment to realise he was talking to Wesley, not to him. For himself, he was just as thrown as Wesley. Who was dead? Although he had no doubts that Spike intended to kill the watchers, he had agreed that they needed to learn the truth behind Black Wind's accusations and had had some vague idea that if it all turned out to be rubbish, as he very much hoped it would, he could intervene in some way to prevent actual death. And Spike hadn't had time to kill anyone, because he'd followed Xander into the hotel and was already in the elevator when Xander finished speaking to the desk clerk. He had to be bluffing.

 

Roger Wyndam-Pryce didn't seem so sure, but he shrugged and moved away from the window, back into the room. "What do you want?"

 

Spike pursed his lips in thought. "What do I want? I don't want nothing. 'Cept maybe blood on demand. Bit o' mayhem 'casonally. What do you want?"

 

"You really don't need to put on the accent, you know." Roger said with a sneer. "We are quite aware of what you were." Spike growled, but Roger kept speaking as he continued his casual stroll, towards a desk against the far wall. "A bad poet. A mother's boy. A failure as a man, who was turned in an alley by a mad woman." By the time he got to that point he had reached the desk and flipped open the lid of a small wooden box, grabbing something from inside.

 

Spike roared. "That's it! You are dead, mate," he yelled as he sprang forward.

 

Roger Wyndam-Pryce lifted his hand, holding up a small stone. "Expositus via, Ego dico vox, terminus veneficus" he shouted.

 

Spike stopped dead a mere foot from Roger's outstretched hand. He cocked his head, looking at the object Roger held. "That must be the Anashaman," he observed. Before Roger could react, Spike grabbed hold of his wrist and smashed his arm down on his own knee, which he raised to meet it. There was a crack and Roger screamed. The Anashaman fell to the floor and rolled a few feet before coming to rest against the leg of a chair. Roger fell to his knees, hugging his arm to his chest.

 

Xander noticed movement to his right and dragged one of his colts from the waistband of his jeans. He pointed it at Wesley. "Don't move," he instructed. Wesley cringed back against the wall with another whimper. Xander turned to Spike. "Can we have a little less violence and a bit more calm, please? Before room service, or security, or somebody come to investigate. We have some questions to ask, remember?" He gestured with his gun towards the sofa. "Get him up and sit him down over there," he told Wesley. "And you sit down next to him." Then he turned to Spike. "Please? There's no need to kill anyone. We just want to know what the story is with Black Wind and Buffy. Please?"

 

With a sigh, Spike nodded. "Spoil my fun. Okay, we'll ask questions, pet." He pursed his lips again. "Got to say, I'm a mite curious myself." He walked over to Roger, staying out of Xander's line of fire, and crouched down next to the arm of the sofa. Raising one eyebrow he said, "Black Wind came to see me. You know Black Wind, don't you?"

 

Roger was glaring at Xander's steady hand on the gun. "You won't shoot. You'll bring hotel security and the police down on us in moments. You're human, too. I don't know what you're doing with this thing." He sneered as he nodded towards Spike. "But you should know, he's a killer. Help us and I'll make sure you're safe. If you let him kill us, you'll be guilty of murder. You don't want that, do you?"

 

Xander opened his mouth, but Spike got there first. "He knows exactly what I am. He's with me. Nothing you can do about it." He growled softly. "Now tell us what we want to know. What are you planning to do to the slayer? Black Wind's already told us his story. Let's hear yours."

 

Wesley was sitting nervously on the edge of his seat, hugging himself and making soft mewling noises. Roger spared him a glance. "Do be quiet, boy. You are disgracing yourself and your vocation." There was a faint crunching sound and Roger gazed up at Spike, seemingly fixated on the suddenly sharp fangs in his demonic face, and as Spike rose and stepped behind him out of his view, he hunched forward over his broken arm. "Alright," he said, attempting to retain some control, even as it slipped further away. "I don't know what that charlatan's told you, but it was nothing that would harm the slayer." He looked up at Xander, pleadingly. "From the first, there've been concerns. She wasn't trained to her task. Her watcher reported her as wilful and insolent, unable to obey orders and reckless of herself and others. There are some in the Council who feel she might have rogue tendencies. Our own observations have shown that she tried to reject her appointed destiny on a number of occasions. We just want to make sure she doesn't do that again. A little bit of pre-emptive action, but I repeat, nothing that will harm her."

 

Xander lowered his weapon slightly and took the chair opposite the watchers. "Now why don't I believe that?" he asked, rhetorically. "Oh," he went on, allowing his anger to rise, "I know. Maybe it's because you're lying! You wanted Black Wind to tie her to you with magic. You wanted to cripple her and make her into some sort of tool. Buffy's a person. She's a beautiful, brave, wonderful girl. You keep your magical mitts off her."

 

Spike's hands came down on Roger's shoulder and he started. Leaning over, Spike brought his face down next to Roger's ear, speaking softly he asked, "And what the bloody hell was that palaver with the stone?" Looking across at Xander he added conversationally, "Go pick it up, there's a love? It belongs in that box on the desk."

 

As Xander stood up to retrieve the stone, Wesley whimpered again and Spike casually clouted him with the back of his left hand, before returning it to Roger's shoulder. Wesley fell sideways under the blow and lay still, shaking his head, then he rolled off the sofa onto his knees on the floor and, shuffling around onto his ass, crab-crawled back a few feet, out of reach. Spike glared at him and he froze. "Father, tell him," he pleaded. "Please?"

 

"Father, is it?" Spike smirked pushing himself upright, but leaving his hands heavy on Roger's shoulders. "Well, maybe it's you we should be asking, eh? I'm sure you know all about it, being Daddy's boy and all."

 

Wesley let loose a slightly hysterical giggle. "Oh, yes. Daddy's boy." Somehow he managed to inject his tone with a note of heavy irony, in spite of the chattering of his teeth. "I don't know much. I was just there to fetch and carry."

 

"Where?"

 

"In, in Reno, when, when we went to see the shaman. He wouldn't help, so the Council sent over the amulet. It, it's supposed to come from Africa, from the time of the first slayer."

 

Xander bent down and picked the stone up. It was the size of a walnut and cool to the touch. A crude carving, it was impossible to tell what is was supposed to represent. He leant back against the wall, trying for nonchalant, and tossed it up in the air and caught it again, "It doesn't look like much," he observed.

 

"Be careful," Wes cried. "It's an ancient artefact. It's been handed down through the Council since before records began. It's priceless. Not some cheap tat from we bought from Argos, you know?"

 

Xander dropped the stone into the padded box and closed the lid on it. He looked up at Wesley as he slipped the box and it's contents in his jacket pocket and fastened the zip to keep it safe. "Huh?"

 

But Wesley took no notice. It was as if, now that he had started talking, he couldn't stop. "It's supposed to neutralise magic. Take a shaman's power and turn him into an ordinary person. They say it was made by the first shaman, in case the magic went bad? I don't know. I'm not senior enough to have that knowledge. Please don't hurt us?" He looked at his father and something he saw finally caused him to shut up. "Don't hurt him," he added. "Please?"

 

"And I'm supposed to believe that claptrap?" Spike observed, leaning back over Roger's shoulder. "You tried to use it against me and nothing happened. Now why do you think that is?"

 

"I don't know," Roger replied, tightly. "You're a magical creature. It should have killed you."

 

"You say the sweetest things," Spike said, shifting his hands to Roger's neck, caressing his jaw and cheekbones. Then with a swift twist and another cracking sound, Roger's body toppled forwards onto it's face on the floor as Spike pushed himself back upright.

 

Wesley let out a gasp and scrambled on hands and knees to Roger's side. He rolled him over and gazed down at him before he lifted his face and caught Xander's eye. "You've killed him," he said. "He's dead."

 

Xander stared dumbstruck. Slowly his legs gave way and he slumped down the wall until he was sitting in an ungainly heap. He tore his eyes away from Wesley and looked at Spike. "Why did you do that?" he asked.

 

Spike shrugged. "What do you mean, why? Thought you'd be pleased. He was trying to mess up your little friend. He'd have succeeded too." He gestured to Wesley's hunched form. "Look what a good job he did on this one." Striding over, he grabbed Xander's arm and hauled him to his feet. "Come on. Time to go. Anyway, he insulted Dru. She may have been crazy, but it's not for the likes of him to comment. Let me just kill the son and we'll be off."

 

"Spike! No! Please. Don't kill him." Seeing the mulish expression forming on Spike's face, he cast around for a reason, any reason. "He might still know stuff. We could take him with us."

 

Spike nodded. "Good thought. Okay. We take him with us. Easier to only have to carry one body, anyway. Can't leave it here. Police'll find it too quickly." He went over to Wesley and pulled him to his feet too, giving him a shove which sent him stumbling into Xander. He hoisted Roger's body over his shoulder. "Right, pet. Take a look outside, make sure there's no one around and we'll use the service lift. Hop to it."

 

30. O' Mice an' Men

 

Spike was glad to get to the car and get the boy and the watcher bundled into the backseat and the body dumped in the boot. Xander was twitchy. He'd kept the gun on Watcher Junior as they made their careful way out of the hotel to where the car was stashed, but Spike had almost been afraid he'd shoot through sheer nerves, the way he was trembling. Taking his seat behind the wheel, Spike was feeling justifiably aggrieved. He'd only killed the old guy because he knew Xander cared about the Slayer. It was not like it was anything to him what the Council wanted to do. He could have gone in, done the job and got out again, with half the fuss and with one favour to Black Wind paid off. But he'd not only had to carry the body, he'd also had to shepherd two live humans out of the hotel and keep an eye out to avoid the hotel staff.

 

He looked over his shoulder. The boy was slumped back in his seat, arms wrapped around himself as if he was cold, the gun now hanging uselessly from lax fingers. At least the watcher was being quiet. He was huddled forward, hands gripping his knees and his head bowed onto his chest. Spike flipped open the glove box and rummaged around, finally extracting a length of sash cord and a relatively clean handkerchief. He reached back and nudged Xander's leg. "Hey mate," he said encouragingly, adding more harshly, "want to do the honours and tie this guy up? We don't want trouble here. You insisted on keeping him alive, you look after him."

 

Xander raised his head and his eyes widened when he saw the rope and handkerchief, but he took them and, after turning them over in his hands a few times with a puzzled air, he seemed to realise what Spike wanted. He shuffled around so that he was facing Wesley. "Uhm, listen, I need to tie you up. Can you give me your hands?" He'd picked up Wesley's right hand and began to tie a loop of the cord around his wrist while Wesley just watched, as if the hand didn't belong to him. He looked up at Xander, but Xander was avoiding his eye. Wesley lifted his left arm and placed it on his knee, allowing Xander to tie the two wrists together. Spike returned his gaze to the front, started the engine and pulled away, turning left out of the alley into the busy evening traffic.

 

By the time he turned off onto a quieter street and had a chance to check again, Xander had the handkerchief in place and Wesley had slumped back in the seat. There were tears hovering in the corners of his eyes. Xander, however, was looking a little more alert, although there was a tautness about him that worried Spike in some indefinable way. Shrugging, Spike decided to let the boy stew. He'd get over whatever was bothering him. Meanwhile Spike opened his window wide and concentrated on the road.

 

Getting rid of the body didn't prove too tricky, weevilers tended to have a limited geographical range, so it was just a matter of tracking them down in the likely places. It only took an hour or so before he caught the rancid scent of them, down by the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. He glanced over his shoulder. The boy looked a little better. The tightness around his mouth had relaxed, although he still wouldn't look at Spike and his shoulders had slumped even further. With a curt, "Stay here." Spike got out of the car and went to strike another bargain. Then it was just a matter of delivering the body to the mouth of the weevilers' den. He even got a cold snack from the blood pooling in the neck and head, as he delivered it. By morning there'd be nothing but the odd scrap of bone left and those few broken pieces would sink peacefully to the bottom of the Hudson.

 

On returning to the car Spike decided he'd had just about enough of Xander's sulking. He opened the rear door and pulled the boy out, reached in again, grabbed the watcher's upper arm and dragged him over towards the middle of the seat. Wesley started struggling and panicked eyes gazed up at Spike from above the gag as he shook his head wildly from side to side. "Don't worry, Percy," Spike sneered. "You're not on the menu tonight. My boy asked for your life, so you co-operate and you'll be fine " Wesley didn't look convinced, but at least he stopped trying to fight as Spike shoved his shoulders down so he was lying on his side across the seat. Turning back to Xander, Spike marched the boy around the car, opened the front passenger door and gave him a shove in that direction. "Get in," he ordered. Xander did as he was told. It didn't do any good. The boy never said a word, the whole way home.

 

Jimmy was obviously on the watch for them, because the garage doors began to open as soon as they arrived at the factory. Spike pulled the car in and turned off the engine. He got out as Jimmy shut the door and for the first time that evening, he began to relax. Walking over to Jimmy, he clapped him on the shoulder. "You eaten?" he asked. Jimmy shook his head. "Go to the house behind Duke's place. Take your time. Have some fun. I've got a prisoner and I don't need a hungry fledge round at the moment." He deliberately caught and held Jimmy's eyes. "You did good," he added. "I'm pleased. So go get your reward." He shoved his hand deep into a pocket. "In fact, here, butter them up, pay for it, for once. Make sure they know it's because I'm pleased about how they're conducting their business. That'll get you a fresh one." He allowed his face to take on a sterner expression. "And steer clear of any that're using Orpheus. I don't want you touching that shit. Okay?"

 

Jimmy nodded and took the proffered note. "Thank you, Sire. I will, I promise." He paused a moment. "Does this mean you're planning on moving on Flavia again?" he asked.

 

Spike shook his head. "Nah. Just don't want anyone forgetting that I could, that's all. Don't want them forgetting who won that fight and that she's only Master on my word." He nodded towards the door. "Go on. Have fun." Jimmy grinned and ran, as if he thought Spike might change his mind.

 

Spike turned back to the car and found Xander standing two paces behind him. "You don't talk to him," he said, jerking a thumb back over is shoulder. "He's not stupid, but he is just a fledge and I don't have time to teach him. So he's unpredictable. You stay clear. Okay?"

 

What's Orpheus?" Xander asked.

 

Spike shrugged. "Drug. Not your concern. You hear what I said?" Xander nodded. "Right. Well. Come on, we'll lock this one up in the storeroom." He walked over to the wall and took a key down from a hook. "And you're cooking for him. I don't want any complaints."

 

He turned back to find that Xander hadn't moved. "Err. What about... uhm... bathroom stuff?" Xander asked.

 

Spike sighed and closed his eyes as he thought that one through. Bloody inconvenient humans. He looked up at Xander again. "Okay. Good point." He came back to the car and opened the boot, leaning in, searching amid the accumulated rubbish. Finding what he was looking for, he gave a grunt of satisfaction and stood back up, dragging a long length of hefty chain and a leg shackle out of the mess and gathering it over his arm. He tossed the key to Xander. "There's some sacks of cotton waste in there." He nodded towards the store room. "Take it through to the toilet block. I'll bring the watcher." Seeing Xander's expression, he added, "And don't start moaning. You want to keep him, I don't want him stinking the place out, so he gets to sleep next to the facilities. If you don't like sharing, I can always kill him and have him off my hands."

 

Xander shook his head. "No. No, that's okay. No complaints. I am totally complaint free." He hurried across to the store, fumbling the lock in his eagerness, but eventually getting it open. Spike, meanwhile, went to the old staff rest room and began testing the pipes to find the one most firmly attached to the wall, feeling unreasonably relieved to hear the boy talking again. He'd hire someone to put in a proper fix point tomorrow, if Xander hadn't got bored with having a pet to look after by then.

 

*****

 

Spike clipped the shackle around Wesley's ankle and sat back on his haunches. He'd searched the man's pockets and removed anything that could conceivable be used as a lock pick and Xander had made up a thick mattress of cotton waste for him in the corner of the room and now removed the gag. Wesley looked almost comfortable, if you ignored the way he was grimacing as he got the saliva flowing again and tried to rid himself of the taste of cotton. After a few minutes of this, he sat back against the wall. "What... what do you want from me?" he asked nervously.

 

Spike nodded towards Xander. "The boy asked me not to kill you." He shook his head. "He reckons you might still know stuff. And I'm thinking he's right. So how about you tell me a bit more about the Anashaman and why it didn't work on me?"

 

Wesley looked up at Xander. "Thank you," he said. "You must know... I... I really don't want to die." Xander shrugged. Wesley looked back at Spike. "Uhm... Yes... Err... Of course, I'll tell you anything. Anything. Although... in truth, and I know this isn't what you want to hear... I really don't know much about it. Just what I said. It's not taught at the academy and I have only been working for the Council for a couple of years. Before that I was at university..." Spike gave a low growl and Wesley flinched. "I... I.... I..." He took a breath, seemed to gather himself together and started again, speaking eagerly. "Errr... It's old and it's been handed down through the Council since before there were records. It takes magic and neutralises it, but it's very focused and has a very short range. So it's not often used in the field. Uhm... I... I never heard of it until recently. So I don't know any secrets." He looked up at Spike, pleadingly. "Please, just tell me what you want to know. I'll help you in any way I can."

 

Spike smiled. "Why didn't it work on me, then?" he asked.

 

"Well I think... that is to say... there's a debate, of sorts, in the Watchers Council. Among the more academic watchers... About the nature of vampires..."

 

Spike frowned, "I know about that. 'M not stupid. I've read the arguments - how you watchers defend your cause with rationalisations about the unnatural nature of demons. Well, we may be unnatural, but we're here. Vampires may be predators, but so are lots of so called natural creatures, so are humans. And not all demons are 'evil' in your definition of the word, or even violent. You watchers just have a need to stand on the moral high ground - you debate and argue and it's all to justify the fact you want to wipe us out. I knew some German scientists and soldiers like that, about 50 years ago."

 

Xander had taken a seat at the foot of Wesley's makeshift bed, with his knees drawn up in front of him and Spike saw him start at that, his head coming up to stare. But before Spike could catch his eye, he looked away and seemed to concentrate on fiddling with his shoe laces.

 

Meanwhile Wesley blanched under Spike's sudden vehemence. "Err... Please. I'm sorry. Really, I am. We... we studied it in philosophy. It was an academic debate, like the Angels dancing on the head of a pin." He glanced up at Spike, searching for recognition of the reference and Spike nodded.

 

"There's a reason for you telling us all this?"

 

"Yes. yes, there is. Please. My... My father, like most members of the Council believed that vampires are unnatural. That they could only exist through the presence of magic. Evil magic. Wrongly used magic. They argue that the evil has to be destroyed to put the world right again. That when the old ones left the Earth, the act that created modern demons was a misuse of power and needs to be corrected.

 

"The... the other school of thought, the unpopular one, is that they... uhm... you, are natural. That demons are a natural part of creation. It is a heresy, but we studied it. As an argument it wasn't very strong. It never really held up in debate... "

 

"Of course it didn't," Spike sneered. "Couldn't have that, could we?"

 

"But that's my point," Wesley said. "I... I think that the fact that the Anashaman didn't kill you would tend to suggest that the commonly accepted view is, is... wrong." He shrugged, helplessly. "That might be why the Anashaman was never used as a weapon against demons... Or maybe it was, and that's why it was ignored for so long... because it didn't work...? That's all I can suggest. I really don't know. But it is very, very powerful. Every reference agrees on that. And it does neutralise magic, or so I'm told. I... I heard rumours of it being used against a coven in Devon, who were plotting against the Council. But, what I mean is, if you had been magical, it should have worked."

 

Spike sat back, leaning on his braced arms and relaxed. The implications of this would be food for later thought, but right now... it felt... right. Not that he'd even felt the need for any sort of validation, but, it felt... nice, to know that demon kind were natural. And especially nice to prove the watchers wrong. He let his head fall back between his shoulders and stared up at the stained and dirty ceiling. "Oh you watchers," he said. "'For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries, Unlawful magic, and enticing lies' you end up proving through experiment what you didn't want to know." He laughed with delight at the concept. "Not that it'll change anything." He lifted his head and focussed back on Wesley. "I think you've proved you aren't interested in truth, for all your posturing." He pushed himself back to sit upright and crossed his legs in front of him, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Well, since we've sorted that age old question out, and since you're being so chatty, how about you tell me what you know about the Argentum Veneficus too?"

 

Wesley looked around wildly, as if searching for inspiration from the dingy walls and toilet cubicles, but before he could splutter out any words, Xander interrupted. "Hang on," he said, indignantly. "Can we rewind a moment? Did I just hear you right? Are you saying that vampires are like... like lions, or something? That it's wrong to kill them? 'Cause, that doesn't sound right to me."

 

Spike smiled as he turned to look at him. "No, pet. He's not saying that. Vampires hunt humans, so humans have every reason to hunt them back. It's just that the Watchers Council has a crusade, a mission, to rid the Earth of all demons and they justify it by arguing that demons are not natural. Even the peaceful ones."

 

Xander interrupted again, "There are peaceful demons?"

 

"'Course there are. Lots of demons are peaceful, some even tend to be 'good'. But most are like humans, neither good nor bad." He raised an eyebrow and Xander made an 'okay, carry on' motion with his hands. Spike nodded. "All this stuff." He waved his hand vaguely around the room. "It doesn't make any difference. It answers the question for the debating society, nothing more. Not going to change anything, except it'll give the minority side some powerful ammunition if they ever hear about it." He grinned. "But the thing I like, is it robs the watchers of their holier than thou justification." Xander's face slowly spread into a grin, too and for a moment Spike thought he was alright again. Then his smile shut down, like the light had been turned off and he went back to staring at his feet and picking at the hem of his jeans.

 

Spike turned back to the watcher. "The Argentum Veneficus. Talk, or I'll turn you and in a coupla days, you'll be happy to tell me everything you know."

 

Wesley cringed back "You... you wouldn't."

 

Looking up Xander said, "He would. He turned Jimmy because he wanted an IT expert."

 

Wesley turned horrified eyes on Xander. "And you stay with this monster? You condone this by your presence."

 

Xander went back to concentrating on his shoes and Spike ignored Wesley's last statement. "Yes, I would," he said, with a smug smile and a slight nod. "I'm a very bad man."

 

Closing his eyes, as if trying to blot out the room, the world, the whole of reality, Wesley buried his face in his still bound hands. After a moment, he looked up again. "I don't know anything," he said, stiffly.

 

"Oh, come on. Guy like you, stuffed full of book learning? You know what I'm talking about." Spike allowed a low growl to rumble up from the bottom of his chest and was rewarded with a very satisfying flinch.

 

"Okay, okay. Yes. I know of the book. I may have even seen it. But that was in London. It's not there now."

 

"So where is it?"

 

"It... It... was one of a shipment sent out to Mr, umm, to the slayer's watcher."

 

"In Sunnydale" Spike finished for him. "Bloody Hell. I'm not ready to go back there yet. Bloody, bloody hell!" He pushed himself to his feet and stormed out of the room, before he ended up doing Xander's pet watcher an injury, out of sheer frustration, throwing back over his shoulder, "Come on, mate. We have a shaman to see." He didn't look back, but he heard Xander's footsteps slapping on the concrete behind him as he headed for the door. "And make sure you've got that blasted stone with you."

 

31. Double six

 

Xander hurried after Spike as he strode down the street, almost managing to catch him by the time he reached the corner. "Spike, wait up. Where are you going? What are you going to do?"

 

Spike came to a halt and turned to face him. His shoulders were slumped and his hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm not going to do anything. I'm just not happy. I need that book, to find the gem, and your bloody watcher's got it."

 

Xander calmed down at little, since Spike was actually talking, instead of tearing off and destroying stuff. In fact, he seemed to be sulking, more than anything else. But he was still dangerous. How to calm him down? Maybe if he talked about it. Did that work on vampires? "But why do you want the gem?"

 

"It's the Gem of Amara. I told you, I've been looking for it, for a long time. Spent years researching and everything points to the book holding the key to its whereabouts." He threw his head back and growled in frustration at the sky. "That blasted watcher. Fucking council. It's a fucking conspiracy."

 

"But what does the gem do? Why do you want it?"

 

Spike's voice was resigned, almost weary. "I want my revenge. And the gem was going to help me get it."

 

"Revenge for what? Revenge on who?"

 

"Revenge for Dru, of course. The watcher killed my Dru. You didn't think I've forgotten that, did you? It's why we're here. It's why you're here. With the gem I could go anywhere, any time." His voice took on a note of controlled viciousness. "I could march up to him as he stood hiding in the sunlight and he wouldn't be able to stop me."

 

Xander felt like he'd been struck. "So all this time, all this time we've been together, you've been plotting revenge? You're planning to use me somehow to help you kill Giles? To kill my friend?"

 

"That was the plan. Originally. Still is. And after what you have learnt tonight, do you still think he's one of your good guys? Why the hell do you care what happens to him?"

 

With a sigh, Xander shrugged. "I don't know what I believe any more. You're right, I don't believe the Watchers Council are the good guys. I don't even know if Mr Giles is. But even if he has done bad things, he's still my friend. No, I'm not sure I trust him. I'm pretty sure that I don't always agree with him. And I know for a fact that I don't always like what he does, or think he's right. But he's my friend. And I can't help you kill him."

 

"Not asking you to help. Never was." Spike paused in thought. "Listen mate, you ended up with me because of an accident. I was after the Watcher that day. But I got you instead. After a bit, it seemed like fate. After all, Angelus gave you to me. Seemed like, when you fell into my hands, that it was more than coincidence." His shoulders twisted, in a move which looked like embarrassment. "And after a while, I kind of got used to you. Company, you know? I like having you around." He shrugged again. "So yeah, I still want my revenge. But I don't expect you to help. I understand about loyalty. I'll even keep you out of it, if I can. Can't say fairer than that."

 

"But... I don't want you to hurt Giles at all."

 

"Xander, he killed my sire. He broke a deal and he killed my sire. I let that pack of pathetic, deluded idiots walk, when I had them all at my fangs end, in exchange for Dru's life. And he killed her anyway. She made me. Can you imagine what it's like to love someone for a hundred years? I owed her everything. I'd have traded ten slayers for her. Twenty."

 

Xander frowned. "I know it wasn't right what he did. Did you know that Angel came back and accused him of it, and told him that he'd taken you away and let you go? And I understand how Angel felt, how you felt. But I can't stand by and watch you kill him. I won't stand by and watch you kill him. I don't care that I can't kill you. But I promise, if you go after Giles, I'll try and stop you."

 

Spike nodded his understanding. "Well it's all pretty bloody academic, at the moment. Told you, I'm not ready to go back to Sunnydale yet."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because I'm not stupid, that's why not. I lost more than my sire that night. I lost a lot of face. The demon world isn't very tolerant of failure. To go back to Sunnydale, I need to be sure, because my reputation can't take another failure, not on top of everything else that happened there. The fact that I killed two slayers, when most vampires are lucky to meet one and walk away, means nothing. Except maybe, to buy me a bit of time. I need to know exactly what I'm doing before I go back there." He growled again in renewed frustration. "Especially since my treacherous grandsire is on the side that is ranged against me."

 

Xander took a deep breath. "So can I relax for now? Or do I have to do start planning how to stop you?"

 

Spike sighed "Yeah, you can relax for now." He shrugged again and grinned. "Meantime, hows about we go pay off my first debt, eh?"

 

Xander patted his pocket. "Sure. I've got the stone. Where are we going?"

 

"Just round here." Spike spun on his heel and continued around the corner and turned into the alley behind their block. "If you concentrate, you'll feel it."

 

"Feel what?"

 

"The entrance to Black Wind's shop. He relocated. And he went and parked right behind our house." He started walking slowly, one hand reaching out in front of him. "Can you feel the thickness of the air?" Xander shook his head. Spike reached down and picked up Xander's right hand holding it out ahead of them. "Feel that?" he asked. "Does the air feel different?"

 

There was a heaviness, a slight resistance, like the air had turned to treacle. "Yes, yes it does. That's really weird."

 

"Give it a push, pet. Just a little shove." Xander did as he was told.

 

A strange rippling feeling flowed through him, like his body was the water at the edge of a lake. And then he was blinking in the sudden light of the inside of a room. A very white and somehow familiar room. He looked at Spike who presented a glaring contrast to the overwhelming whiteness, like a crow on a field of snow. "Wow, that was weird." He looked around, turning on the spot, scanning the glass fronted cabinets and the long glass topped counter. Further around, and he stopping at the sight of three leather covered wing chairs set in front of a fireplace with a bright log fire burning in the stove and a small brass kettle on top. It all looking as odd and out of place as Spike did.

 

Black Wind stood up from one of the chairs, placing his glass down on a small table by his side and stepped forward to greet them. "Welcome my friends, welcome. You have been successful, I can feel it. You have brought me the Anashaman. Please, come sit." He gestured towards the chairs. Spike shrugged and led the way, taking the seat opposite Black Wind's and accepted a glass of something pale gold and probably alcoholic, while Xander took the one on his right and declined a similar offer with a polite smile and a shake of his head. Black Wind walked over to the stove and picked up the kettle, pouring hot water into a mug. "So tell me," Black Wind asked, returning to offer the mug to Xander. "The watchers?"

 

Spike leaned back in his chair and took a sip, seemingly totally at ease. "The watchers won't trouble you any more. "Black Wind nodded, pleased, but Spike continued. "But you didn't tell me the truth, old man. You said the Anashaman was yours. You can feel it?"

 

Black Wind's youthful face twitched, uncomfortably. "Yes, I can feel it. I know you have it."

 

"And you admit you lied?" Spike asked. Black Wind grimaced and Spike asked again, "The Anashaman was never yours, was it?"

 

"No, it wasn't mine. And I don't want it. But neither do I wish to have it hanging like a threat over me. If it remained in their hands, they would never leave me in peace."

 

"No, they probably wouldn't," Spike agreed. "So what's it worth to you, for me to destroy it, instead of holding it up and reciting some very interesting words I happened to hear?"

 

Black Wind gasped. "He tried to use it on you?" he asked, incredulously.

 

"You don't seem very surprised that it didn't work."

 

With a snort, Black Wind shook his head. "Of course it didn't work."

 

"But if I said these words, it would work on you, won't it?" Black Wind nodded reluctantly. "So what's it worth for me to destroy it instead of speaking those words?"

 

With narrowed eyes, Black Wind assessed Spike. "What do you want?"

 

"The promise of a favour. A big favour. At any time I ask it."

 

"I could offer to nullify both your debts?"

 

Spike grinned. "Nah. I don't mind what I owe you, seeing as how you can't ask me to do anything outside of my nature. I want for you to owe me. Anything I want. No provisos."

 

"No. I won't accept that." Spike raised one eyebrow. "There must be one proviso - nothing that would compromise my magic in any way resembling what the watchers wanted from me."

 

"Fine by me." Spike turned to Xander. "Pass me the box, mate." Xander dug in the pocket of his jacket and drew out the small wooden box and handed it to Spike. Spike opened the lid and extracted the stone. Placing it carefully on the floor he lifted his foot and stamped down hard. When he lifted his foot away the Anashaman was five separate pieces and Black Wind breathed a sigh of relief. Spike leaned down and picked up the bits placing them carefully back in the box. He looked up at Black Wind and observed, "Somehow I don't think that gluing them together again will make it work again?" Black Wind nodded his agreement. "But think this might still be useful." Turning to Xander he added, "Sorry, mate. You'll have to let your pet go. I think it would be useful if young Wesley got to see that it's really gone."

 

"Wesley?" Black Wind asked.

 

"Yeah, one of the watchers. The old one, Roger Wyndham Pryce, he's dead, as is their little band of soldiers. But the young one... the kid here didn't want to see him die. Seems he was mostly an errand boy anyway. So we'll use him as an errand boy and send him back with the broken bits, to show there's no more point in chasing after you and threatening you."

 

Black Wind's smile lit his face and made him look even more like a young student. "Thank you. That is well thought of." He raised his glass in a toast. "With this act, one of your debts to me is fully paid." He frowned slightly, but it didn't look like he was really displeased. "And you have gained the promise of a favour from me. I would say you have also profited well from this exploit, my friend. Allow me to offer you another drink?"

 

Spike grinned back as he leant forward, offering his glass to be refilled and Xander felt the atmosphere in the room relax and lighten. Sitting back in his chair, he sniffed his mug. It smelt of honey and herbs. He glanced up at Black Wind, who smiled at his dubious expression. "Never fear. It will do you no harm. It has no properties, other than an enjoyable taste. I promise." Xander took a sip and found that it did indeed taste good.

 

With the business over, they moved on to general conversation, what Giles would call 'the social pleasantries', Spike asking if Black Wind was planning to go back to Reno, which he said he was not. He'd decided that city was too big for him and was thinking of finding a smaller town to base his main entrance. Xander sat back and listened as they discussed a number of locations in the mountains, places Xander had never heard of, but which Spike had apparently passed through at one time or another. Once again Xander was reminded of how old Spike was. Yet Spike called Black Wind 'Old Man'. It made Xander wonder.

 

They discussed different styles of magic, which Spike admitted to not being overly fond of in any guise, although he acknowledged its usefulness, and different breeds of demons. Black Wind told a story about an encounter with a family of Wares, in the mountains and how he got invited to dinner and ended up almost married to the eldest daughter, which had them laughing at his expense. Spike followed up with an account of what he called a true vampire court, the politics that riddled the place and the secret gathering to declare the new master, when the old one had an accident at the hands of one of his children, and how he was afraid at one point that they'd elect him, just because no two members of the family could agree to work together. And how, if it hadn't been for Dru, he might have been master at 40, although he admitted he'd have been lucky to last a day.

 

At one point Spike introduced the Gem of Amara into the conversation, but he did it so seamlessly, that if Xander hadn't known his interest, he would have thought it was just idle chit chat. Black Wind admitted to having heard of it and Xander learnt that it gave the vampire who wore it the ability to walk in sunlight. He could understand the attraction of that, for Spike. It was no wonder, he thought, that Spike had been searching for it for so long. It also made him realise the threat that such an amulet could be to Giles and Buffy. It was almost a relief to hear that Black Wind believed it to be lost somewhere in Peru, or thereabouts.

 

Eventually Spike began to make noises about leaving before the sun came up and put his glass down on the floor by his chair. He glanced over at Xander. "Come on, mate. Time we were heading. Leave the old man in peace, to pack himself up."

 

Xander stood and passed his mug to Black Wind, who smiled at him, took it from him and placed it on the table. He turned back and took both Xander's hands in a firm grip. "Thank you for your assistance, my friend. Do not take more responsibility than you should for the actions of this night. You saved a life and in doing so, actually made the outcome even better. Your young watcher will go free. You could not have done anything about the others." He looked into Xander eyes and his own widened slightly. With his left hand he gently stroked the bracelet on Xander's wrist. "An interesting bauble you have there," he observed. Then he turned to Spike. "I owe you both a favour, for what you have done. Yours, you can call in at any time." Turning back to Xander, he added, "And yours I pay now." Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small leather bag, pressing it into Xander's hand. "This is very like the tea you've been drinking. Use a small pinch in a mug with a spoonful of honey. It is good for concentration, keeps the mind alert without destroying sleep. Write and ask, when you run out, and I will send you more. It will help you with your studies." Xander opened his mouth to say that he didn't think he'd be in school again anytime soon, but shut it again, not wanting to spoil the mood. Instead he smiled and thanked him. Black wind smiled back "There is magic and there is physics," he said, "and in physics there are forces that keep things together and forces that keep things apart, just as in there are in magic. Remember that."

 

Xander smiled again. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll make sure to do that. Thank you."

 

Spike shook his head. "Are you talking in riddles, old man? Is there a meaning in all that?"

 

Black Wind smiled at him too. "I owe you, Spike. I won't forget."

 

Spike snorted. "Fine. And if you do, I'll remind you. But I'm not worried, because I owe you too and I don't fear you'll forget that." Then he turned towards the back wall. "Come on, pet. Give me your hand. See if you can find the doorway out, eh?"

 

32. ...except a little life

 

"I like you at bedtime?" Willow asked, with delighted amazement and some awe, almost tripping over because she was looking at Buffy instead of at where she was going. Buffy's hand flashed out and grabbed her elbow, just in time, rescuing her from an ignominious somersault down the school steps. Willow waited until they were at the bottom and had veered off onto the grass, away from the clamour of students celebrating their release from another day of schooling, before she spoke again, picking up her thought. "You actually said that?" she asked.

 

Buffy's dreamy expression turned into a mixture of embarrassment and something Willow thought looked like joy. "I know, I know."

 

She shook her head. "Man, that's like..." Gazing at Buffy, she was both amazed and proud to be the confidant for this news. Somehow it didn't seem strange that Buffy was contemplating sex, when she herself had not yet managed to catch a single kiss. "I-I dunno, that's moxie or something." Why did she always feel so young, when she was actually older than Buffy by a couple of months? Maybe it always went that way - she always felt older than Xander, and his birthday was in October.

 

Buffy's voice dragged her back from that brink, just as her hand had saved her earlier. "Totally unplanned." Buffy explained, both excusing her words and revelling in them. "It just... came out."

 

A giggle escaped her, but she concentrated on the important part. "And he was into it? I mean, he wants to see you at bedtime, too?"

 

"Yeah, I... I think he does." Buffy's voice turned hesitant. "Well, I, I mean he-he's cool about it."

 

Instinct led Willow to offer what reassurance she could. "Well, of course he is. 'Cause he's cool. I mean, he would never... you know..."

 

"Push?" Buffy asked and Willow thought she heard a note of doubt.

 

"Right," she said, firmly. "He's not the type."

 

But now doubts seemed to have taken their hold. "Will," Buffy appealed, "what am I gonna do?"

 

"What do you wanna do?"

 

"I don't know. I... I mean, 'want' isn't always the right thing to do." She turned to face Willow. "To act on want can be wrong."

 

Willow nodded, waiting to see what Buffy wanted to hear. "True," she agreed.

 

"But... to not act on want..." Buffy threw her up hands. "What if I never feel this way again?"

 

Oh, it was the 'go with your instincts' talk. "Carpe diem," she said. "You told me that once."

 

Buffy's memory was obviously not as good as Willow's "'Fish of the day'?" she asked in a puzzled voice.

 

Willow sighed. "Not carp. Carpe. It means 'seize the day.'"

 

"Right." Buffy nodded. "I... I think we're going to. Seize it. Once you get to a certain point, then seizing is sort of inevitable."

 

"Wow..."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Wow..."

 

"Yeah." Buffy looked down at her watch. "Oh..." She looked back at Willow. "I have to go. Giles wants to see me. But, hey...." She was looking over Willow's shoulder and Willow started to turn to see what had caught her attention. "Speaking of 'wow' potential, there's Oz over there. What are we thinking, any sparkage?"

 

Accepting the change of subject Willow smiled. "He's nice." Seeing that that didn't satisfy, she cast around for something to add. "Hey, I like his hands."

 

Buffy grinned. "Mm. A fixation on insignificant detail is a definite crush sign."

 

With a grimace, Willow attempted to demure. "Oh, I don't know, though. I mean, he is a senior."

 

Buffy gave her a look. "You think he's too old 'cause he's a senior? Please. My boyfriend had a bicentennial." She gave Willow a friendly pat on the shoulder, which was almost a shove. "I've gotta go. Why don't you..." And she was off, striding across the grass, heading for the Library. Willow turned towards Oz.

 

*****

 

Willow threw down her pen in exasperation, five times she'd read that passage and still the sense was eluding her. She checked the time and saw that it was nearly one o'clock, no wonder she was tired. But she'd never been late handing in her homework. Never. And she wasn't going to start now. Even in the first days of worrying, after Xander disappeared, she'd been able to use study as a way of taking her mind off the things she could do nothing about. Even in the days when she'd harboured a bitter and unrequited, unnoticed, crush on Xander himself, she'd always managed to concentrate on her homework. But there was something about Oz...

 

The muted jangle of the telephone on the bed sidetable jerked her from her unproductive, but enjoyable daydreaming and she got up and went over to the bed to pick it up, thinking it must be Buffy, because who else would call at this hour? She settled back against the pillows, ready for a good gossip about boys and dates and love, or at least the possibility of it. "Hello," she said.

 

But the voice that answered with a "Hello?" of it's own, wasn't Buffy.

 

"Xander!" she cried. "Oh, Wow! Xander!" This was wonderful. Fantastic. "It's really you? Are you okay? Where are you? Are you coming back? Are you back already? No, because if you were, you'd have come to see me, so you can't be back." She took a breath as it finally penetrated her brain that what she was hearing, was Xander laughing. She laughed herself, trying to be firm through the feeling of overwhelming relief. "Hey mister, I'm talking to you. Are... Are you sure you're okay?"

 

"I'm fine, Will. I'm alive and I'm fine."

 

"Giles said you rang him a few times. I wish I could'a talked to you. Why didn't you call me? It's so good to hear you. Are you really, really sure you're alright?"

 

"Yes Willow, I'm fine, I promise. I just rang, because..." He hesitated and Willow held her breath, but he sounded so normal when he asked, "Tell me how you are. I want the news. And who would I call to get that, but you? Tell me everything. How's tricks in Sunnydale? What're you guys up to? Have you been doing the defeating of the evil? I just want to hear some normal stuff."

 

Her heart wrenched. "Normal? This is Sunnydale."

 

Xander's laugh sounded a little strained. "Normal, Sunnydale stuff. Tell me, please?"

 

"O-Okay. Normal stuff. I can do that. Well, lets see... There was a demon came after Giles. Because it turns out, when he was our age, he wasn't all tweedy at all.... In fact, it seems he was a bit of a rebel. And the demon came back and it got into Ms Calendar and we had to get Angel to draw it out, into him, and his demon killed it, and it was really scary for a moment. But Ms Calendar wasn't happy and it looked like Giles' romance might be on the rocks for a while. Oh, oh, and last week there were possessed eggs. And they got the whole class." She shuddered and she knew her voice was a bit shaky. "And, and if that's what it was like for you, when you got possessed at Halloween, all I can say is: Yuk! It was like I could feel it seeping it's evil into me." Realising suddenly that this probably wasn't the kind of thing Xander wanted to hear about, but not wanting to be too obvious, either, she went on. "And you'll never guess, but it was Cordelia who helped Buffy save us." In response to the disbelieving choking sound in her ear, she continued, "Yeah. Cordelia! She went to Buffy because John Lee ignored her in the corridor." Willow warmed to the task of telling the story at Cordelia's expense. "He just walked past her. So, she decided something had to be wrong. Of course." She paused to consider that. "Except it turned out she was right. But Buffy worked it out and killed the mama bezoar. That was what it was called. And all the baby bezoars died and fell off and we were okay again. Giles told everyone it was hallucinations caused by a gas attack. And Buffy's Mom believed him, even though she's still mad at Buffy, because of the killer robot killage."

 

Xander's voice was loud and clear. "The what?"

 

"Oh, well, Joyce got a boyfriend and he was a computer software salesman and had all these really cool applications, and he gave me some for nothing and gave me loads of great advice for improving the speed on my computer. But it turned out he was a robot. Really advanced. I mean the programming, not to mention the servo motors."

 

Xander interrupted. "But Buffy killed him? I mean, it?"

 

"Yes, yes, she did. Just after he tried to kill her and kidnap Mrs Summers. And we got rid of him in pieces at the city dump."

 

"I know you, Will." Xander sounded stern. "Please tell me you didn't keep any parts.

 

"Err... Not any big ones."

 

"Willow. You have seen The Terminator. And Terminator 2. I know you have. Promise me, you'll destroy those bits."

 

It was so good to hear him and to know he was concerned about her. "I will," she promised. She'd got all the information she was going to get out of them, anyway.

 

"Ms Calendar's been trying to find you," she added, in an attempt to distract him from the robot parts. "She's been asking all her contacts about any magic workers in Reno, after your first call. Angel's been helping too. And Buffy and Angel..." She sighed. "It's so romantic. Like Romeo and Juliette. Except not, because that was a tragedy and Buffy and Angel... aren't. But they're not a comedy, either. Maybe a romance? Anyway, they've been looking for you too."

 

The voice of the operator interrupted, telling Xander he needed to add more money and there was some frantic whispering at the other end, then Xander returned. "It's okay, I'm still here."

 

Willow sighed with relief. It would have been awful if they'd been cut off, when she had been hogging all the conversation. "What about you, Xander. What's up where you are? Wherever that is. Where are you, anyway?"

 

"I'm okay, Wills. But I need to tell you something. Listen. We had a run in with the Watcher's Council today."

 

"Today?"

 

"Well, last night. You have to listen. There was a man called Roger Wyndam-Pryce. He was blackmailing a shaman. He wanted this shaman guy to do a spell on Buffy."

 

"On Buffy?"

 

"Yes. Listen. They're not the good guys. You can't trust them. Don't trust any of them. Not even Giles."

 

"But, but, Giles is Buffy's watcher."

 

"Yes, I know. But Pryce was talking to Giles on the phone when we arrived at his hotel, to confront him."

 

"Xander? Who's we?"

 

"Me and Spike. The shaman came to Spike for help. And I went along to make sure the story was true, and to make sure he couldn't do anything to Buffy."

 

"Oh my goodness. What... what happened?"

 

"He's dead. Buffy's safe."

 

"Dead?" She knew her voice was too loud and high pitched for this time of night. It would be really bad if her parents woke up and came to find out what was going on, so she lowered it. "Xander? You didn't? No, you didn't.... kill him?"

 

There was a silence, which seemed last forever. Then Xander's voice again, sounding tired and depressed. "No, I didn't kill him. But he is dead. There was a thing. It was called the Anashaman. He was blackmailing the shaman to do some magic which would tie Buffy to the Council. So she'd always do what they said."

 

"But that's crazy. She already does do what they say...." She considered that. "Well... she does what Giles says... Sometimes... Umm... If she wants to."

 

"Look, Willow. Listen to me. I don't know why they wanted to do it, but he admitted it. He didn't think it would do her any harm. But Bla... er, the shaman did. He said it would cripple her. I couldn't let that happen. I didn't kill him. But I'm not sorry he's gone and can't try and do it again. Okay?" That sounded almost like a challenge. What had happened to her Xander in the weeks he'd been gone. "Xander? Is Spike there now?"

 

"Yes, Spike's here."

 

"Is he forcing you to say these things?"

 

"No. He's not even particularly happy I'm calling. He's not making me say anything." He paused for a moment and there were muffled sounds of speech, as he apparently put his hand over the mouth piece. Then he was back. "I've gotta go. The sun'll be up soon and Spike needs to get inside. Just remember what I said. Don't trust Giles. Don't trust the Council."

 

"Xander, please?"

 

"I'll call again. Sometime soon, okay? But I have to go now. Goodbye Willow. Take care."

 

The line went dead with a click and Willow sat, clutching the handset and stared blindly across the room, as the tears ran down her cheeks.

 

*****

 

Spike pushed himself away from the wall with his shoulders, as Xander placed the hand set carefully down in it's rest. He waited as the boy stood, head bowed, leaning heavily on the telephone, before flexing his shoulders and standing up straight. He turned to Spike. "I suppose we'd better go and give these bits of stone to Wesley, then?"

 

"Yeah. Sunrise in half an hour or so. Wouldn't mind getting inside."

 

They turned together and began to walk back to the factory.

 

Suddenly Xander spoke. "I didn't understand her."

 

"You what?" Spike asked in surprise.

 

"Willow. All the things she was talking about. I didn't understand her." He looked across at Spike. "Sure, I understood the words. I haven't forgotten English, in spite of having to live with your constantly shifting accent for weeks."

 

"That would be my English accent?"

 

"Yeah, all of them." He paused, obviously thinking hard. Spike decided not to interrupt, wouldn't do to disrupt such hard work. He smirked to himself.

 

"I've always known Willow," Xander said eventually. "All my life. And I think I must have changed. Or she has." He seemed to be talking to himself now, rather than to his audience. "No, it must be me. She looks at the world and it's all so clear to her. And... it was like we were just friends."

 

Hazarding a guess, Spike suggested, "You are friends."

 

"No! She was more than that. She was my safe place, my home. But she doesn't feel like that anymore." He fell silent, staring at his feet as he walked along. They were almost home when he spoke again. "I killed him," he said.

 

Spike looked up. "No, you didn't. I did."

 

"Wesley said I killed him. And it's true. I helped you get in. I held them at gun point. I might as well have killed him."

 

The boy sounded like he almost believed that crap. "Don't care what watcher boy said." This kind of stupid wallowing got on his wick. "I didn't need you there," he said in a deliberate voice of sorely tried patience. "I'd have killed them both, if you hadn't been there. Glass half full, mate. You saved one."

 

Xander looked along his shoulder at Spike and his mouth twisted into a half smile. "Stop being logical, it's creepy"

 

Spike smirked back. "Creature of the night. S'posed to be creepy."

 

Xander sighed. "I'm really not cut out for this, you know?"

 

"Cut out for what?"

 

"This." He swept his arm in an all encompassing gesture. "This, questioning. And not being sure what's right."

 

"Oh, that." They were almost at the door and Spike stopped, forcing Xander to stop, too, by grabbing his arm. He stepped around in front of Xander and studied him. "So which bit's giving you the trouble? The moral ambiguity or the basic uncertainty about y'future?"

 

"Er, both?" Xander ducked his head and became fascinated by the pavement between the toes of their boots.

 

Spike reached out with his right hand and pushed Xander's chin back up, so he was looking at him again. "My Dru," he said. "She was a seer. Could see the future, could talk to the stars and tell your fortune from them. She read the cards, too. And she said..." he froze as a memory, clear as day, played across his consciousness, like a film on a screen: Dru, sitting at a table. Him, stepping up behind her and putting his arms around her, looking over her shoulder. She was staring down at a card with a picture of a man on a horse with a goblet in his hand. She tapped the card. "You keep missing him," She said. "Squandering your chances for the promise of more."

 

Xander's voice broke the image. "What did she say?"

 

Spike shook his head to clear it. "Nothing, mate. Doesn't matter. Come on, lets get that watcher on his merry." He turned away, pulled out his key and opened the door. Xander trailed in behind him.

 

*****

 

Wesley stood ramrod straight, a very tight smile on his lips. "Thank you Xander." He hesitated glancing across at Spike, who was standing by the door to the stairs, watching. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and leant forward towards Xander. "Listen, why don't you come with me? The Council can protect you. Get you home safe."

 

Xander lifted his left arm, showing Wes the bangle. "Can't," he said briefly. "Magical handcuffs. I can't leave. And, no offence, but I think the Watchers Council is the last place I would run to, if I could run. You go. Go back to England and tell them what happened. And don't send anyone after me." With a flash of inspiration, he added. "If you kill him, it kills me too. Just leave us in peace. Spike won't come after any more watchers, as long as you leave him alone. I'll see to that."

 

Wesley gave a smart nod. "Good man. Okay. You have my word. And the word of a Wyndam-Pryce is not lightly given."

 

Xander smiled "Great."

 

 

Footnotes:

 

'Expositus via, ego dico vox, terminus veneficus' is a translation of 'Open the way, I call the power, end the magic' courtesy of the Free Online English to Latin Translator at http://www.translation-guide.com/free_online_translators.php?from=English&to=Latin

 

The line Spike quotes: 'For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries, Unlawful magic, and enticing lies' is from the poem Lamia, by John Keats (1795–1821). Oh, and the title of that chapter comes from the line 'The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, gang aft agley' from Robert Burns' (1759–1796) poem 'To a Mouse'.

 

The title of chapter 32: ...except a little life, comes from a poem by Lord Byron, another one of the romantic poets. Dru's tarot card was the Knight of Cups -The Grail Knight and the scene Spike remembers happened in chapter 7, The principle of the thing.

 

 

Blood on a Sundial: 33 ~ 43

 

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