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Part 112 |
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“The way you look at them sometimes… It’s like… You know those restaurants where they have a tank full of live fish and diners get to choose the one they want to eat?” “Just…interested.” “Pick a fish and tell me why them.” “No. Not even as a game.” Spike turned away from the gallery’s window, back to watching Xander waxing the desk. “How does it feel though? When you’re out, walking amongst humans and knowing you could kill any one of them? Every one of them.” “I don’t tend to think about it.” “Even when you’re hungry?” “They tasted off,” Spike said under his breath, still not quite understanding that, despite Xander’s prodding in the direction of psychosomatic. “’Cause there used to be this fixation about fresh from the vein, and…” “What is this? You want me to start killing?” “Just curious. Trying to come to terms with how I thought you’d be without the chip, I guess.” “You expected William the Bloody to reappear.” “Maybe. It’s like… If we were marooned on a desert island and all there was to eat was coconut. We get back to civilisation after ten years, you ask me what I want to eat I’m not going to opt for coconut.” “But you wouldn’t rampage through the nearest grocery store, ripping up and eating everything you could lay your hands on.” Xander shot him a pointed look. “Okay, not after the first time, at any rate.” “So you’re picking and choosing.” “No, I’m not!” Spike protested. “You know it too.” “That’s right,” Xander grinned, “you’re being a good boy.” Spike scowled and Xander laughed. “Sexily big and ominously bad good boy?” Better, Spike preened. “Is this about the spell?” Spike asked after a further ten minutes staring out into the mall. “I’ve been waiting for you to mention it,” Xander confessed. “It seems to bother me more than it bothers you. The chip working.” Pause. “It’s been two months since Sunnydale.” “You’re right, I’m not bothered. And you waving the mall’s blood supply under my nose won’t make the slightest difference to that.” “You should be at least a little concerned. How can you let yourself be vulnerable? After…everything.” “Funny. I don’t feel vulnerable. I haven’t since— Y’know.” “That’s good,” Xander said, equally and confusingly subdued and buoyed by the reminder of Riley’s death. “But… If you didn’t want to go to LA then Angel could come here, and…” “I don’t want you to go through it again,” Spike told him abruptly. “It would be different this time. I know what to expect.” “No.” “But I promised you…” “If I feel the need I’ll go to him.” “But…” “No, Xander, no argument.” Xander stopped what he was doing and fixed his best I-will-eventually-get-what-I-want stare on Spike. But it wasn’t going to work, not this time. “You almost done here?” Spike very deliberately changed the subject. Xander accepted defeat and sighed, patting the desk. “Yup. Looks good, doesn’t it?” “Looks great. This finish… Resistant to bodily fluids, is it?” “Have to think about that one,” Xander teased as he checked his watch. “I just have enough time to get to work and cleaned up before my meeting.” “Can’t tempt you to miss it?” “You can always tempt me, but I can’t miss it.” “I could come to the office with you, join you in your posh executive shower, hope Cora doesn’t walk in mid—” “Nuh! How many times have I warned you? Now I’m going to have to check that lock a thousand times before I get under the water.” Spike snickered unsympathetically and Xander started to clear cans, cloths and garnet paper into an old canvas holdall. “Hey, did you know John Durman…” “Invited us all to his Summer do, yes, I know. Behold the power of Nancy, who naturally thinks I’m adorable.” “Naturally. But did you know Pat…” “Told him to take a running jump, yes, I know that too.” “You have spies everywhere.” “I do.” Xander dropped the holdall, wandered to Spike and slipped his arms around his waist. “Do you speak to Jake every day?” “Yeah.” “Every single day?” “Yeah.” “Thought so. He’s seemed… Not stronger, but… He’s coping better. Thanks for that.” Spike shrugged disarmingly and Xander smiled. “Modesty turns you into William.” “Just as well you wanted to shag him silly then.” “It wasn’t sex. I love William. I love you.” Spike dropped his head, looked up coyly through his dark lashes. “Oh, fuck, don’t!” “Don’t…?” Spike asked innocently. “William. I really do have to go to this meeting.” “I’m not stopping you,” Spike chuckled, dropping the twee act. Xander kissed him hard. “Tonight, okay? We can play whatever games you like.” “Actually… I won’t be home tonight.” “Really?” “Don’t look so worried. It’s about…” Spike manoeuvred them around and redirected Xander’s attention. “...that.” The mantel. “What about it?” “Remember when we lived together in Sunnydale? You bought those gargoyles?” “The bookends?” “They’re exactly what the mantel needs.” “Seriously?” “So I’m going to go and fetch them.” “You’re going all the way to Sunnydale for bookends?” Spike nodded. “What happened to no more Sunnydale? And… Wait. I thought you got rid of everything from our apartment.” “It’s all in Red’s basement. I couldn’t bear to look at it when I was living there, but I’d never have got rid of it.” “I thought…I thought you threw it out so you could forget me. Us.” “No, love. Never. Maybe, deep in my heart, I always knew…” He kissed Xander tenderly. “I’d need a set of gargoyle bookends.” Xander laughed and turfed his lover out of the embrace. Then grabbed him back. “Are you serious?” “Yep.” “Sunnydale? No spell. And…y’know…stuff.” “Let’s not mention what we don’t mention. As for the rest… Unmentionable.” “You think…” “Don’t worry. Xander, listen to me. Don’t. Worry.” “Yeah, right.” Kiss. “Should I take Henry with me?” “No, I’ll keep him. Swap cars.” Keys were exchanged, vampire and dog fussed. Xander stopped in the shop’s doorway as he reluctantly left. “This is so weird. Knowing you won’t be there tonight when I get home.” “You’re working all weekend, you’ll hardly miss me.” “That isn’t true. Well, the work, but…” “I’ll give you a ring later and I’ll be home in a couple of days. I’ll bring it all back, everything from the – our apartment. Be a few memories in there, eh?” Xander stepped into another hug and a plethora of kisses. “You take care. Give my love to the girls and… Take care.” “I will.” “Love you, sweetheart.” “Love you too, Xander.” “Can’t do this. Throw me out, will ya?” Spike threw Xander out and locked the door behind him. With a sigh he crossed to the inner gallery, finding Hamish sitting expectantly beside the corner table that bore the perplexing tome. “That’s right, lad. Need to see a witch about a book.” … Spike called back home first, letting Hamish out to run off some energy before the long drive, showering quickly but jerking off slowly to the memories of fucking Xander post-Riley. As he dressed he was
drawn to the fuzzy orange sweater Xander had worn the previous evening; he
picked it up and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply. Fabric conditioner, shower gel, aftershave,
deodorant, leather from the sofa, Spike from the canoodling, but most overwhelmingly
Xander. A fresh wriggle of lust that
Spike quelled with thoughts of the trip to Sunnydale, then he was muttering a
resigned ‘Sod it’ before pulling the sweater on, picturing the look on Spike wrote a quick note for Xander and left it on the kitchen table, finishing it with an anatomically impossible sketch of what he was planning for them when he returned, knowing from experience that Xander would have one doozy of a scenario for him when they spoke that night. More memories of Xander as Spike transferred his required detritus from the pockets of the duster to his cashmere coat, carefully ensuring the battered photograph of his partner that had been with him for so long was tucked safely away, inner breast pocket, closest to his heart. The ward creaked as Spike gathered up food and a container of water for Hamish, and he smiled at the timely, protesting woof as his cohort appeared, bristling with indignation at the house’s noisy cheek. All so normal, Spike reflected, wishing he didn’t feel the need for this trip, knowing there was the chance of making things worse rather than better. But he wanted answers, he needed to feel that, in some minor way, he was in control of their lives, their destiny. If that was laughable, he wanted to understand more in order to keep them – keep Xander – safe. So where did the book fit in? He had no idea. Just like he had no idea about why William’s pen was tucked into his pocket, why Hamish had turned up with perfect timing to help Spike face the darkness, why demons that loathed vampires made spells to assist them, why fire couldn’t touch Xander, why human blood from the vein didn’t taste as good as Max’s bagged… Spike sighed and tried switching off as much of his brain as he could cope without. He finished his preparations for the journey, whistled for his hound to follow, and made his way back through the house to where the Merc was parked in the Jag’s spot. Creature of habit, Spike acknowledged; was curiosity a habit that was possible to break? Apparently not, as he was about to prove, possibly stupidly, hopefully not fatally, as his life continued to veer from one bizarre event to the next. … Spike thought about taking a different route, but in the end he couldn’t resist driving the road by the copse that had been struck by lightning the night… The night he and Xander should have burned together. Shuddering at the thought, he sat now and stared at the remains of the trees, marring the skyline with their charred and jagged ugliness. He thought it was his imagination, the feeling of malicious doom that permeated this area, but Hamish stirred in the back seat, hackles rising and a coarse growl emerging from the back of his throat as he stared fixatedly through the window. Naturally, it was Spike’s consideration for the wolfhound that made him drive away at speed. … Yes, Willow’s face was the expected picture of perfect surprise as she took in the version of Spike on her doorstep, eyes travelling from softly waved two-tone hair, via the expensive coat, over the orange sweater with the attached glasses, one metal arm poked through the wool at the throat, over worn blue jeans, to the malleable suede boots Xander had originally bought to accommodate William’s damaged feet. “Going to let me in?”
Spike asked with a smile. “Sir Henry?” “That lasted about an hour. Hamish.” “Is he friendly?” “Can be,” Spike told her,
trying for a little suspense, but Hamish was already wagging himself into a
frenzy and licking “You look…” “I know, you don’t have to say.” “You look…” “Bollocks. Couldn’t be arsed to do the hair and wanted to wear what reminded me of the other half.” With a fond smile, “You look like a very contented man.” “I am,” Spike willingly agreed, with Xander, he added to himself. No point in dissecting the rest of the weird in public. “How are you? Barely got the chance to talk when we were here last.” “Good. I’m good.” “I certainly didn’t get a chance to ask what happened to the twinks.” “Didn’t Xander tell you? They’re long gone.” “Ah. Right.” “What?” “Nothing.” “Good.” “So…” “Don’t start.” “I’m not.” Pause. “So…” “Don’t.” “Not.” Pause. “Then…” “No.” “Okay.” A warning scowl from “Why are you here?” “To collect the boxes I left in the basement. From when Xander… From the old apartment.” “Help yourself, they’re still exactly where you left them.” “And I wondered if you’d let me have a look at the Watcher’s database. Someone played around with it and it’s not so easy to hack into anymore.” “Once again, help yourself, I haven’t logged out. What are you looking for?” “I got hurt a while back, I wanted to have a look and see if I could figure out what it was,” Spike semi-lied. “Angel told us,” “That’s the trouble, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. If I could just have a couple of hours browsing, see if anything jumps out at me…?” “You’re welcome to. Can I get you anything? I have blood in the freezer if…” “I brought my own.” “In the cooler,” Spike laughed. “In the car.” “Tea first?” “Tea’d be smashing, love,” Spike stood and wandered over to the study. “Does Hamish need a drink?” “Just leave the toilet seat up and he’ll help himself.” Alone at the computer,
Spike accessed the Watcher’s database, entering a coded sequence that would
ensure his enquiries could not be traced later by … He heard Buffy come in a
couple of hours later, excited voice asking after Xander, “Hello, Grandma,” Spike greeted her without a look. “Hey, Spike. I barely recognise you. Looking more than a little granny yourself.” Now Spike glanced in her direction, peering over his glasses at her beaming smile. “All right, are you? There seems to be something wrong with your face.” Consternation, and a hand came up to check, but at the wicked grin Buffy turned the check into a gesture with a less than polite message. She finally noticed Hamish, sitting under Spike’s feet beneath the desk. “I thought Xander was exaggerating, but that’s a big, big, big dog. Can I…” “He’s not always friendly in a confined area,” Spike warned, because he had a bit of an inkling about how this wasn’t going to work out. Buffy reached out to stroke the shaggy head that had risen when she entered the room; it was only the speed of her slayer reactions that stopped her losing a finger or two as the wolfhound snapped at her. “Oi, you!” Hamish looked sheepishly at Spike and gave a subdued wag. “That’s not nice, is it?” Spike used a foot to push the dog back to the floor and returned to the computer, clicking onto the page he’d opened for cover. “Don’t know the life he had before he came to us, makes him a bit unpredictable.” “Hold on, wasn’t that always our excuse for you?” Buffy teased as she moved behind him to look at the monitor. “Is this what attacked you?” she asked, slipping into business mode. “Could be.” Buffy read over his shoulder. “But you could kill this easily. Maybe there was more than one.” “I can’t remember a thing about it. Bit tricky working backwards from feeling crap and covering the bedclothes with ash.” A hand on his shoulder squeezed before Buffy moved and sat in the chair beside the desk. “I feel like we let you get hurt.” “Nah. If you’re worried about Xander taking it that way…” Buffy’s expression was eloquent. “He doesn’t.” “Are you sure?” “Xander nowadays? We’d all know about it.” “I guess.” They sat in silence as Spike carried on searching through the database, knowing that Buffy wasn’t about to start paying attention to the reams of text he was scanning. She sighed ten times before he asked: “What’s up? Shouldn’t you be out killing the not quite next of kin?” “I was thinking more of your almost next of kin.” “What’s the old man done now?” Buffy shrugged; Spike threw an exasperated look. “Don’t get all precious ‘cause he’s acting himself. Give him a chance, this is the new improved.” “The changes in him started when you…came back. So, it’s to do with you.” “Before me. His friends getting slaughtered, that’s the start.” Buffy considered that and wrapped her arms around herself. “I underestimated what it meant to him, didn’t I? Because he refused to talk about it.” “Don’t write off your in-built defences,” Spike said distractedly. “Slayer and vampire… You’re always going to have alarms going off. Not natural for a vampire to behave the way Angel does, so it makes you suspicious.” “I should be able to get around that. I know him. I have to… What do I have to do?” “Adapt. But you’re not made for adapting, are you? It’s like no-one thought to include that life skill in your make up seeing as no slayer ever makes twenty-plus.” “I adapt.” “You learn new ways of killing things. Not quite what I was referring to.” Buffy stood and strolled, sat and stood. Thought. Was too bothered by the subject. Stopped. “I have to patrol. Come with?” “I want to get finished here. Tomorrow night? If I’m still around?” “I’d like that.” “You’re working hard. Smiles and civility. Trying to score points with Xander?” “No,” she replied simply. “I’ve realised. Xander likes me when he likes me, and doesn’t like me when he doesn’t.” “Very profound,” Spike feigned disinterest. “There doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it anymore, so… I’ve adapted.” “Yeah, I remember back to when I couldn’t stand him. He could be an awkward, stubborn tosser.” “And now you can stand him?” Buffy grinned. “He’s the awkward, stubborn tosser I love,” Spike grinned back. “That’s so sweet.” “Innit just?” Turning to the computer once more. “Now, stop hanging about here or I’ll never get this done. Go and kill things, have a good time.” Buffy headed for the door, thinking about her patrol. Or possibly not. “About Angel…” she said hesitantly as she stopped and turned back. “Is there anything I need to know?” “Yes. There is.” Spike swivelled the chair so he could look at her, meeting her anxious expression with one of complete sincerity. “Angel loves you, and he loves you as honestly as you deserve. That’s really all you need to know.” … Hours on and fed up with disappointingly fruitless searches on the computer, Spike went down into the basement, ostensibly to find his and Xander’s stored property, but also for the chance to poke around and see if his fickle memory was reliable on the matter of the book. Actually, after much intensive thought he knew it was; he knew but he simply didn’t…know. “Where’s Xander?” he encouraged Hamish. “Good lad, find Xander.” The hound weaved through the packing cases and safes and crates and chests, snuffling his way around until he struck gold – or at least the scent of Xander – and bounded on the spot in his excitement. Spike followed him, recognising the boxes Xander had left for him when he’d escaped Sunnydale, tracing the scrawled notes on the thick card in Xander’s semi-legible handwriting. Despite being tempted to rip them open immediately and start reminiscing, Spike forced himself to shift the boxes to the foot of the stairs, ready to take up to the Merc, cursing as he repeatedly tripped over Hamish who was enthusiastically offering his assistance. Moments later the dog was gone and Spike was almost falling over him because he wasn’t where he’d been anticipated. Spike stacked the boxes and turned to see what the further wuffing and bouncing was about, edgy about the darkness in the farthest corner where the organised storage system had fallen apart and it was about towers of books and artefacts wedged between floor and ceiling, untidy piles of non-classifiable and unfathomable whatnots. “This better be worth
it,” Spike growled, feigning ferocious as he brought out the demon to exploit
his night sight and stalking over to ascertain what Hamish was fussing over. Bloody
obvious. There was the book, the
spitting image of the one sitting in his gallery that had been jerking at his
memory since the moment he’d set eyes on it.
After congratulating Hamish on the find, Spike went to stairs and called
up, assuming A few minutes later he morphed back to human features as the watcher joined him. “Couldn’t this have waited until morning?” “Technically it is morning.” “And that tells you nothing?” “You weren’t asleep.” “Just because I wasn’t asleep doesn’t necessarily mean I want to spend the last of my waking minutes in the basement doing something I’m convinced I don’t want to do simply because you look so innocent about it.” “Breathe, pet.” “Breathing now.” “It can wait until morning.” “I’m here now, Spike.” “It’s…this.” He heaved the book from its heap and into the light. “What about it?” “That’s what I was going to ask.” “It hasn’t been fully investigated. The volume appears to be impenetrable either by physical force or magical.” “Have you tried?” “Not personally, but I don’t have any reason to doubt the person who attempted to open it. That would be a Mr Rupert Giles in case you’re wondering, not known for his bad judgement.” “Care to take a guess about it?” “Well…no. What is this smug look for?” “Hate to break it to you, but I have one of these back home. Identical.” “You do?” Spike slid a digital photograph of his book from a back pocket and handed it over. “It’s a prop. For the gallery. Mine does open, however, and the pages are blank.” “This feels genuine.” “So does the prop. But this one might be a dummy – no real pages at all which is why it won’t open.” “And?” “And…I wanted another to complete the effect. Can I have this one?” “I guess you can take it. Tomorrow. If it’s still inaccessible after I’ve tried a few spells to open it.” “Cheers, love, that’ll look a treat with the other and the gargoyles.” “Gargoyles?” Spike gestured to the boxes. “Bookends.” “Promise me you’ll be careful with it, and if you ever manage to open it…” “You’ll be the first to know.” Spike began to cast hopefully about. “Don’t suppose you have a…” “Don’t push your luck, mister.” Handing the book over,
turning on her heel, “Switch the kettle on, I’ll make you a nice cuppa to say thank you.” “Going to bed. You go to bed. Call Xander and go to bed. Or go to bed and call Xander, ‘cause you guys are so obvious.” Fifteen minutes later all was quiet upstairs. Spike sat on a packing crate with the massive volume on his lap, stroking his hands over the leather, the pewter, trying to sense if it was in any way different to the book in his gallery. Okay, he’d been trying to play its worth down to persuade Willow to part with it, but maybe it wasn’t authentic, maybe it didn’t actually open, maybe its similarity to the prop was simply another coincidence, maybe… With a distinct snicking
sound, the clasps loosened beneath his hands.
Spike sat there for a while, unmoving, a little afraid of what he might
have unleashed, wary and pleased and in torment as to whether to lift the front
cover, or hand it over to That’s right, he wouldn’t know until he looked. Looking seemed quite impossible, here, now. His instincts told him to wait until home, even if his sheer nosiness was driving him crazy. His fingers curled around the first clasp, slowly working the fastening open. And just as slowly working it closed again. “Angelus used to say…” Spike confided in Hamish, “…that knowledge is strength. And I feel stronger, I do, just from knowing…this.” Spike rattled the clasps. Hamish…stared. “But it’s not for this place, is it? It’s for home. Inside the ward where I know I’m – we’re – safe, where I know I’m not setting something free that will find Xander and— Am I crazy?” Hamish…stared. “It’s a book, a bloody book, that’s all.” Spike respectfully set
the bloody book aside, leaving it where … Spike woke too early and spent the next hour or so
eavesdropping without compunction: the distant mutterings of “What the…” Spike shot up and examined his hand in the light of the bedside lamp. Third finger, left hand, was a…white gold? – he tasted the metal: no, not gold, platinum – ring, an uneven band that was inscribed with worn and indecipherable symbols. “What the…” Spike repeated, staring at it in astonishment. “How the…” he tried for a little variety, touching the band, rolling it around his slim finger, finding it quite loose until the moment he attempted to remove it, when it inexplicably refused to slide over the knuckle. “Bloody. Fucking. Hell.” He wasn’t even entirely
sure how long it had been there. After
the book opened? Would have had to have
been then, sometime during the night, because Spike felt a sudden sense
of panic, then Hamish was at his side, distracting him by amicably slobbering
in his ear. By the time the dog had been
fought off, the panic was diffused and Spike was able to look at this
calmly. Nobody noticed the ring ergo
nobody was supposed to notice. Yet. If he tried to hide it from Spike couldn’t find a way to deflect one highly troubling thought: did his ability to see the ring mean that any influence on him was lessening? If this was about Patrick, was his power fading? Was that the reason Spike was able to concentrate long enough to use the watchers’ database to investigate ‘MacDonald’? The reason it had even occurred to him after all this time? And if Patrick’s power
was fading did it mean that Xander was in danger? Spike was immediately furious with himself
for leaving Xander alone, just for a damn book. No.
The book had to matter, and retrieving it was a part of what he should
be doing, his small effort toward… Or… If it had been Patrick-approved wouldn’t it
have been remembered before now?
Although it was in Sunnydale – somewhere Patrick had refused to set foot
– and where that…whatever had most
successfully influenced Xander. Fire.
Fuck. But he’d remembered it
at home, and Beth had brought the other book into the gallery, so… Fuck
fuck fuck fuck fuck… Now. Think. Xander. Xander alone. Xander. Alone. The panic resurfaced with a vengeance; Spike was so very far away from Xander. ‘I can’t live without you.’ Xander’s voice in his head. ‘I can’t live without you.’ Spike rose and hurriedly gathered his belongings, needing to get home as quickly as possible. Because, whether it was
sense or nonsense, a conviction born of fact or fear, he didn’t need any more
convincing. Whatever their true connection, Xander couldn’t live without him. … That same evening, unaware of Spike dashing homewards, Xander left work, going through the usual routine, a little curious that the security guard wasn’t in reception for their customary five-minute discussion on how to put the world right, but looking forward to being home, having some privacy with Spike, even if it was only on the phone. He’d thought up a particularly tasty little fantasy during the afternoon and was fairly sure it would tickle Spike’s fancy in more ways than one. Into the parking garage and he was instantly reminded of a moment two months before, sixth sense tingling as he stopped and surveyed the area. “What’s the plural of déjà vu?” he said quietly to himself. “Déjà vu-deux?” A few more steps. “Angel?” he called aloud. To himself: “Who’s for the slaughter this time?” The slightest movement caught his eye: Bradley emerging from behind a bulky SUV. “Okay. Guess that would be me,” Xander muttered. He put on a friendly smile and walked forward, mentally pressing the schmooze button despite the hand dipping into his pocket to rest on the stake that lived there. “Hey, Brad, how are you?” The amicable demeanour was a little harder to maintain once Xander had spotted the drained body of the security guard, but he restrained the warranted outburst of emotion and forced neutrality into his expression. He’d get close enough, take out Mr Spike-Obsessed, and… Oh, shit. Die at the hands of any of the other vampires that were appearing around the garage. “I’m sorry, Xander,” Bradley apologised immediately and insincerely. “But having you is the only way.” “Way to…?” “Save our community.” “I thought Spike told you to make yourself master, I thought you were…doing okay,” Xander finished distractedly as he turned a tight circle to find himself surrounded and his retreat to the offices completely cut off. “Master Spike has destroyed everyone who confronted him, anyone who might have had the authority to be master. I certainly don’t, and I’m sure you understand, even if the Master refused to. We have nobody to lead us, and need him, you must be able to see that,” “Actually, we’ve been talking, me and Spike, and he was starting to show a real interest in becoming a part of your lives. Unlives. If you can just wait a little longer…” “We can’t wait, the entire structure is falling apart. And once you’re one of us we won’t have to. Master Spike will come for you, he’ll stay for you.” “One of you?” “It’s the only way.” Fear prickled along Xander’s spine and his stomach churned at the thought, sickened by the prospect of being turned by one of these creatures; Spike had manufactured the idea of being turned into a wicked fantasy but Xander doubted he’d ever see the appeal in it again. Unless he was a vampire the next time he saw Spike, in which case what would it matter anymore? The only tiny, pathetic hope Xander had was that if he were turned, his soul could be restored when Spike retrieved him and then… He’d be dead. For the rest of his life he’d be dead. His stomach churned double-time. “He won’t stay where he doesn’t want to be, Brad, you know him well enough by now. You touch me and he’ll kill every single one of you.” “You’ll be my childe, and he’ll respect…” “Respect! This is Spike we’re talking about, William the Bloody, Scourge of Europe. He’s not going to respect you, he’s going to tear you into itty-bitty pieces.” “My childe will protect me.” Xander suspected that was horribly true, having seen the inbuilt loyalty of the sire/childe relationship. It would be irresistible even if this piece of shit were his sire. “I am a full consort, Order of Aurelius. Angelus will come here with Spike, you want that? ‘Cause I’ve seen him in action, I’ve seen what he’s capable of inflicting. Together they’ll completely decimate everything you’re trying to hold onto.” “We’re losing it all anyhow,” Brad explained sadly as he began his approach, “you’re our last hope.” “Spike can teach you how to be master, if you just wait…” “I’m done waiting. If we – if I can’t have the master, I’ll take the next best thing. If I can’t have him I’ll go where he’s been. He took everything from us and it’s about time we took a little in return. You think I’m an ignorant fledgling. Perhaps that’s true. But even the ignorant fledgling knows how delicious revenge can be.” “No, wait, wait. I’ll come with you now. Willingly. But alive. When Spike comes to get me we’ll talk about him being Master, and he’ll listen, if I’m not hurt he’ll listen.” “That’s true, he’ll listen. Listen to my childe. Now, Xander. Make it easy on yourself.” Xander had backed and circled and had nowhere left to run, trapped away from elevators or exits, corralled by a dozen vampiric faces he recognised from the gates of Cedar House. He knew he could fight Bradley, maybe a few more, but not this many. Frantically scanning around, he tried to ascertain where the vampires had entered. Or was that as senseless as wondering how? “How did you find me?” Xander was impressed that he managed to sound so composed when he felt anything but. “Playing for time?” “Nosy to the last.” Bradley gave a nasty, self-satisfied smile. “A little something we read in a magazine. So obviously about Master Spike, and once these admiring fans were put in touch with the writer…” “Sammy?” asked fearfully. “Is that your M’lura?” “What have you done with him?” Xander demanded. “He was very loyal, very protective, you should be proud of him. Your location came from his paperwork, not from his mouth.” “Was? He was?” Xander’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You – you killed him?” “Your responsibility naturally. If you hadn’t used wards and spells to keep us from finding you every other way…” “You killed Sammy?” “Your distress will pass,
Xander. Come to me, Childe,” Brad smiled
tauntingly, “I can help.” Xander flung his case aside and brought the stake from his pocket, reeling with sorrow, seething with anger, determined that Bradley would pay for Sammy’s death, regardless of what happened to him after the ringleader was dust. He lunged forward. Or rather…he didn’t. For the shortest moment Xander wondered if this were a dream, or if he was so overwhelmed by rage and grief that his body had stopped working. He was fading out. Becoming physically numb. Intellectually there but not there. Far above him, Patrick was on his feet, seeing through Xander’s eyes; his hands rising in perfect synchronicity with Xander’s, almost a gesture of surrender, then the stance widened, symbolic of a blessing. In the garage the vampires moved together, glancing about themselves fearfully as the hum of power grated over their keen senses; Xander/Patrick looked at every face individually and saw the fear and confusion deepen as the air became hot, crackling with electricity. Blue lightning, too fast for the eye to see, streaked from Patrick to Xander, exploding every light bulb and piece of electrical equipment in its path. The two men spoke, and when the word fell from their lips it was deceptively tender. “Burn.” Caught within a flash of power, the vampires did exactly as they were told, their shrieks of agony curtailed as they exploded into columns of flame. The power, the support, withdrew, and Xander had mere seconds to be overwhelmed by the curiosity that was his life before his eyes rolled back into his head and he inelegantly concertinaed onto the ground.
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