Blood on a Sundial: 33 ~ 44
by Maz

33. Close to the grain

Spike woke to the sound of hammering from below. He poked his head out from under the blankets. Yep, that was definitely hammering. Climbing out of bed, he blinked his way across the room to the kitchen and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of the coffee pot, half full. Xander had been silent and withdrawn for days. Polite enough if spoken to and perfectly happy to discuss practical things like what he needed to buy when he went food shopping and more than willing to spar, or run the shooting range, but at other times he'd seemed heavy-hearted and unwilling to relax and enjoy himself. The habit they'd developed of long, rambling conversations over the kitchen table at dawn, as Spike drank a beer or six and Xander ate his supper, and they set the world to rights, had ceased entirely, as the boy retreated to his bed at the first opportunity. Spike had missed that and as he retrieved a large mug from the cupboard, he chose to interpret the coffee as a peace offering. Maybe the boy was getting over his snit at last, he thought.

Taking a couple of reviving gulps and topping the mug up again, Spike headed downstairs, to see what Xander was doing. It was still early, the sun would be only just setting and Jimmy was still dead to the world on his pile of rags, blankets and cotton waste in the corner of the garage. As a new fledge, he hadn't learnt yet how to sleep with one ear open. Spike doubted an explosion in the street outside would wake him. He shook his head as the vulnerability of the young and continued to the cellar, pushing the door open with his foot as he concentrated on not spilling his coffee.

The side of the room with the shooting range was in shadow, but the lights were on above the exercise mats. Xander was kneeling on the edge of one of the mats, and appeared to be hammering at a chisel embedded into the edge of a small block of wood, about five inches across and an inch thick, on the concrete floor in front of him. He also seemed to be making heavy weather of it, since it took a number of heavy wallops to make any impression on the wood. Spike wandered nearer to get a better view, but he still couldn't work out what hell was going on. The boy wasn't carving the wood. In fact it looked like he was bent only on destroying it. Maybe he wasn't over his bad mood and had decided to divert his energy into pointless destruction? Well, that was a reaction Spike could identify with, although Xander's air of concentrated deliberation didn't really go with such an aim. Nor did the small, carefully gathered pile of wood chips at his side.

The top of the small work bench against the wall beyond Xander was scattered with other tools: a couple of saws, some clamps, a mallet, another, larger chisel, as if he had previously attempted to destroy his block of wood by other means. Spike stopped a few feet away and took a long drink from his mug as he contemplated the hunched figure before him.

Without looking round, Xander said, "Did you bring me a coffee?"

Spike looked down at his mug. "Er..." Folding his legs beneath him, so he was sitting cross legged next to Xander, he handed it across. "Here, have some of this."

Putting the hammer and chisel down, Xander sat back on his heels and stretched. He reached for the mug with a tentative half smile, took a sip and passed it back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thanks."

Hugging the mug between his hands, Spike contemplated the lump of wood. It was small with a dense black and green grain. "So, watcha doing?" he asked.

With a sigh, Xander picked up the chisel again. "Trying to break this up into small bits."

Spike grunted. "Can see that. Why?"

"It's lignum vitae," Xander said, as if that should explain everything. Spike got the distinct impression he was being played with, but it was nice to have the boy talking again, so he just narrowed his eyes in contemplation. "So?" he asked, cautiously.

Xander looked across at him and grinned. "Its really hard. I learnt about it in woodwork class. I was going to make my Dad an ash tray, after the bowl I was making for my Mom, 'though that was just maple. The day we broke into the university, I did some research on the web. I figured that I could maybe make wooden bullets, if the wood was hard enough. And Lignum vitae is kind of oily, so I thought it wouldn't mess up the gun barrel." He hesitated, as if embarrassed. "The Sarge didn't think it would work." In response to Spike's raised eyebrow, he explained. "The soldier in my head? It's not like he talks to me," he said. "I'm not crazy. But like I just know how I should move when we fight? I know stuff about guns, too. I call that 'The Sarge'." He looked up at Spike, as if searching for understanding, so Spike nodded and Xander, reassured, continued. "So, the Sarge said the bullets would ruin the gun, but I could make pellets for the shotgun. Then I'd just need to shoot a vampire in the chest and, 'poof'. See?"

"I'm impressed," Spike said, and it was true, he was. "You could be really dangerous, especially if we got you one of those pump action things." He picked up one of the chips. More of a splinter really. Approximately an inch long with a squareish section of about an eighth of an inch each way at it's widest. "So, what you going to do with these? Stuff them in a shell?" Xander nodded. "Do they have to be round?" he asked. "'Cause, I don't think you'll manage that."

"No, I don't think so. I'll have to cut them in half to fit, but I thought I'd try it out a few times. See how it worked." He picked up the block, hefting it casually. "That's why I just bought a small bit. There's a craft shop in the Village. They got it for me. But there's a bigger place in Brooklyn, if this works out."

Tossing the splinter back on the pile, Spike stood up. "Okay. I've gotta job for Jimmy to do, so I'll go kick his arse out of bed and get him moving, then I'll come back and see if we can't make this work."

He took his empty mug and headed for the door. Behind him Xander picked up the hammer again. "Will you bring some more coffee?" he called, as Spike opened the door.

*****

Given the nature of the ammunition, Spike elected to stand behind Xander when he was finally ready to take his first shot. They'd propped one of the floor mats up against the wall, Spike shrugging off Xander's protests about destroying perfectly good equipment with the observation that if it worked, it would be worth it. He watched cautiously as Xander raised the gun to his shoulder and took another step backwards.

As always, the shot was deafening in the enclosed space and Spike found that he had instinctively closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked over at the mat. At first sight it didn't appear any different, then he realised that there were scattered tears all over it's surface, from floor level, right to the top and across it's whole width. As Xander carefully placed the gun on the bench, Spike walked forward to inspect it more closely. The wood splinters had scattered everywhere. Xander joined him, his shoulders slumped with disappointment, and began digging the broken splinters out of the foam. "Damn," he said. "So much for that bright idea."

Spike pulled his flask out of his back pocket and took a swig, before offering it to Xander. "Never mind, mate. It might have worked." He looked over when Xander didn't take the flask, or even acknowledge his words of commiseration.

Xander was standing staring at his hand as he rolled a splinter between his finger tips. He looked up. "Stupid!" he announced. "Of course! How could I be so stupid?" He turned to Spike, holding out the splinter. "Paper aeroplanes." he said. Spike ignored the splinter in favour of another drag on his flask and just looked at him, waiting. "They don't fly straight if you throw them too hard," Xander explained. "These things must have tumbled when they were shot." He dropped the broken piece of wood and rushed back to the workbench, calling over his shoulder, "You said it. You asked if they had to be round." He picked up an unused splinter and laid it on the bench. "Well, they don't, but we need to make them square. This shape, it's no wonder they scattered. I'm, I'm thinking about bits the size of rock salt. You know? Like those stories about people shooting burglars with rock salt instead of lead pellets?" He grabbed a small saw and started cutting the end off the splinter. Spike sighed and went over to help him.

An hour later Spike stood back and put down the tenon saw he'd been using to cut the slivers Xander chopped off the main block into rough cubes and loosened the clamp that had been holding the last tiny bit in place. Beside him Xander was pouring the shot out of a shell and carefully replacing it with wood pellets. The biggest was an eighth of an inch or so, but many were smaller. "I think I can get about twelve or fourteen bits in each," he reported.

Spike grunted. That'd be enough to do some damage, as long a they hit the target. He looked at Xander's rapt expression. "Tell you what," he said, as he shook feeling back into his sore finger tips. "If you can prove this idea to me, I can maybe get some proper pellets made up. Can buy anything if you've got the contacts. Let someone else do the labour. Someone with the proper tools."

Once again Spike stood well back and watched carefully as Xander took aim on the centre of the mat and fired. This time there was no need to walk forwards to see the damage. Beside him, Xander let out a whoop of excitement at the large hole in the middle of the foam and turned to Spike. "It worked! Look at that! It worked!" he broke the breach of the shotgun, put it down on the bench and grabbed Spikes biceps, jumping up and down in front of him, like an excited puppy.

Spike felt a grin spread over his own face, infected by the boy's excitement. "Yeah, pet. It worked. Congratulations," he said, as his own hands came up to grip Xander's arms in return, steadying him when he looked ready to bounce himself into tripping over the edge of the mat on the floor by their feet. "You got another one, just so we can be sure it wasn't a fluke?"

Xander pulled away and reached for the shotgun. "Yeah, one more made and enough pellets to try another two." He shoved his second shell in the breach and snapped the gun closed. Holding it out to Spike he offered, "Do you want to try it?"

*****

As dawn broke outside, Spike sat back in his chair at the kitchen table. Altogether, it had been a very interesting night. Three more test shots had proved that Xander's idea worked, the square pellets did very satisfying damage and the Lingnum vitae was hard enough to penetrate nicely. Then they'd gone out and negotiated a pump action shotgun for Xander and Spike had made a call to his lawyers and arranged a meeting with one of their gofer contacts, who had proved very happy to assist in providing small balls of Lignum vitae, even though he had tried to winkle out of them what spell they were wanting to use the wood of life for. In fact, once the idea had taken hold in Spike's mind, he'd seen other possibilities and had also specified a set of pointed cylinders of a specified diameter. He had a few ideas of his own about disposable handguns, because if they did the job once, it didn't matter if they were ruined for future use.

By the time the business was done, it was too late to visit the blood house, so he'd sent the boy home and gone for a short prowl down the back alleys, trading some cash for a half pint from a number of the crazier members of the cardboard city population. No bodies to cause problems, and no reliable witnesses, whose stories would be believed, if they did happen to talk to the law about the strange puncture wounds on their arms. And on top of that, Jimmy had been successful too, coming back from the 24 hour computer warehouse, with a machine he swore would provide both fast and secure access to the net.

Taking a sip from his drink, Spike watched as Xander finished his supper and tidied away the dishes. Then Xander grabbed a beer of his own, sat down, took in a long breath and let it out again. "So I've been thinking," he said hesitantly, cracking the lid off his bottle and taking a swig, like a man trying to bolster his courage, avoiding Spike's eyes. "I... I hate that you killed Wesley's father and I hate that you kill other people. But... that's because I'm one of those other people." He looked up quickly and away again, just as fast, back to staring at his bottle. "But the Anna thingy didn't work on you. And although I probably shouldn't trust him, because he must be the guy you got my handcuff from, Black Wind says vamps aren't unnatural and I believe him." He began to pick at the label with his thumb, shooting quick glances up at Spike, but mainly keeping his eyes down. "And if I was a gazelle, I'd hate lions. But if I was a gazelle that got brought up by lions, I'd probably feel different." Spike blinked, slightly overwhelmed by this rush of words, but they hadn't ended. Xander went on, "But I'm not a gazelle, and I wasn't brought up by you, so I do hate it. And I guess... what I'm saying is... do you have to kill? I mean, you have to take precautions not to be found out. So why do you have to kill?"

Spike nodded thoughtfully, giving the boy's logic the respect of consideration. He took another swig of his beer then placed the bottle carefully on the table, cupping his hands around it. "I've been thinking, too," he said. "Trying to remember what it feels like to be human and how humans feel." He looked straight into Xander's eyes, which were now fixed unwaveringly on his face. "I was human once. Or at least this body was. I'm not sure how it works." He shook his head regretfully. "But I can't remember. Its not even like I'm trying to remember what it was like to be a fledge. I just don't remember feeling human." He shrugged. "But I'll explain something to you, pet. Apart from Sunnydale, we don't always kill when we feed. Fledges, sure. They'll do it, because they haven't learnt better. But any vampire who survives their first decade, they learn to hunt carefully. We take the weak and the sick and the ones who've been left behind. And the blood houses exist for more than to give the humans their thrills." He grinned. "Or to satisfy their religious faith in our nobility." He gazed upwards, attempting a look of holiness. "We are after all, 'The Lonely Ones', 'The Exalted'." He shrugged again. "Basically, the blood houses are our main source of safe food in any big city. There's always one or two around, if you know how to find them." Xander's face was losing it's tightness and Spike realised he really had been worried about bringing this topic up for discussion.

"You could even say we serve a purpose when we do kill - we thin the herd." He frowned. "But mostly I do what I did tonight. I went and took the blood from ten separate homeless folk. And paid them for their trouble. They've each got enough for a bed in a hostel, if they choose to use it. Or enough for a good meal and a sit down in a warm caff, for a couple of hours."

Xander let out a huff of breath, in a huge sigh of relief. "So, you don't kill?"

Spike weighed the truth against comfort and shook his head. "Sometimes. But not usually. Not often, in some places. And yes, that last exhilarating drop is so good." He smiled and winked at Xander. "But you can't live on caviar, everyday of the week."

"I wouldn't know," Xander observed, dryly. But he was smiling too.

34. There is no disguise

"What else are lawyers for," Spike asked, "if not to handle the boring stuff?" But that didn't change the fact that the 'telephone installation specialist' the lawyers had organised was human and worked normal daytime hours, so Xander, who wasn't a lawyer was stuck doing guard duty, while Spike retreated to the basement dragging Jimmy with him, as soon as he'd pointed out where he wanted the phone to sit on the new desk.

It wasn't that Xander didn't often get up in daylight. He had to if he wanted to eat, after all. It was just that he usually got to do it when he was actually awake. And 9am was too early to be up and about. It was only when he'd put the cushions back on the sofa and had finished arranging the blankets strategically, so it looked like he slept there, that he realised he was embarrassed. That was crazy. Why did he care what a telephone repairman would think, walking into the apartment with its one big room and its one big bed? Didn't mean it was the only room in the building. He was hardly going to give the guy the guided tour. Glumly he picked up the cleaning supplies and trudged downstairs to scrub out the rest room, get rid of the evidence of Wesley's brief occupancy and try to make it look more like a deliberate design choice and less like the accidental survivor of the previous human inhabitants of the factory.

And of course it was nearly midday before the technician actually turned up, by which time Xander was hot and bothered and even more tired, as well as embarrassed. Glancing round one last time, before going to answer the knock on the door, he gave a nod of satisfaction to his camouflage. The paint can and drop sheet were a nice touch, he thought. Made it look like a renovation in progress. But he still found himself babbling as he led the man upstairs, explaining how his friend was out at work, but was in the process of renovating the factory into studio apartments and how he, himself, was visiting for a few weeks, while his folks are away in Europe.

Thankfully the guy seemed pretty laid back and friendly and he didn't laugh at Xander's nervousness. He said his name was Steve and he promised he wouldn't take too long. Once they got upstairs the absence of any windows stumped him for a moment, but he soon figured out where he could bring the cable in and got to work, while Xander perched on the edge of the sofa, trying to keep out of the way. But it was odd, having a stranger in the factory, with Spike not around. Xander found himself fidgeting, trying not to watch Steve at work, but also trying not to ignore him. He felt awkward, like he was the interloper, afraid Steve would think he was spying on him. In desperation he grabbed his backpack and went over to the kitchen.

Sitting down at the table, Xander pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil and began noting down what he knew about the book Spike was looking for and the Gem of Amara it was supposed to lead them to. Black Wind had said the Gem was in Peru. He considered that. That might be good. But the book was in Sunnydale. That was a potential problem. Even worse, Giles had it. It was possible Spike had got this internet connection so he could set Jimmy off searching, to see if there were any other copies. But if there weren't, then wasn't he likely to want to head back to Sunnydale, anyway, regardless of what he'd said that night about needing to be sure his plan would work this time? And if he decided they were going back to Sunnydale, what would Xander do? The telephone cable stretched like a thin line between New York and Sunnydale, promising the possibility of phone calls from Willow, at times she chose. Promising news and gossip and warnings delivered. Trying to pull him back, like a giant elastic band, with false promises of safety and certainty. And if they went back to Sunnydale, Spike would face not only Giles, but Buffy too. And Willow. Face to face. And so, inevitably, would Xander.

And Buffy and Willow would face Spike.

A voice broke through his obsessive musings. "Done," it announced. "The rest's an outside job." Steve was standing in the middle of the room, looking around. "Nice place," he observed. "Shouldn't be too difficult, opening out those bricked up windows. But your friend's going about this job backwards. Should've had the big stuff done before he got into decorating. Shame, it'll make a real mess when he does it." He began packing away his tools and gathering up the snipped off ends of wires and insulation from the top of the desk. "Tell him to be careful when he opens that one up. The cable goes through the wall at the corner. Okay?"

Xander stood, glad of an excuse to start moving and stop thinking. "Sure, I'll, I'll be certain to tell him that... about the cable. So is that it?"

"Yeah. The inside job's quick. I've still gotta connect it outside, though. The line should be live by this evening. Just call the operator to activate the account. They'll tell you the number, too." Picking up his tool box, Steve headed for the door and Xander followed him down to the ground floor.

After watching Steve leave and making sure he got into his van and drove away, Xander locked up securely and turned back to the stairs. He was going to retreat to the sofa and catch some more sleep, but it occurred to him that Spike and Jimmy might be glad to move too, so instead he went down to the basement. Opening the door carefully, he peered into the darkness, trying to locate the vampires by the light spilling in from behind him. There was a lump of bedding on the practice mats, so he tiptoed towards it, not wanting to disturb Spike if he was sleeping and not wanting to disturb Jimmy at all, if it was him. He was about three feet away when he froze. The lump was far too big to be only one vampire. It had to be both of them. Together. Sleeping. Under the same blankets. He gasped and almost against his will, found himself leaning forwards for a better look.

The two glowing yellow eyes that suddenly appeared out of the gloom sent him stumbling backward in shock, but Spike's voice sounded more groggy than annoyed. "Fuck off, will you, mate?" he growled. "It's too early to be waking up."

Grabbing at a shelf to steady himself, Xander edged back towards the door. "Umm. Sure," he whispered. "Yeah. I just thought.... But it doesn't matter. I'll, umm, I'll leave you in peace. Er... I'm going to get some sleep too."

Spike must have blinked and the disappearance and reappearance of the yellow spots of light was totally unnerving, but his voice, though soft, was clearer and it was still calm. "You do that," he advised. "We'll see you at sunset." Xander reached the door and grabbed the knob. As he pulled it to, he turned in the doorway and saw movement in the darker shape on the mat and heard Spike's voice whisper, "S'okay, pet. I'm here. Go back to sleep."

Xander fled upstairs and into the living room. He grabbed the cushions off the sofa and threw them into his corner along with the blankets. Then he climbed in, still fully clothed, and buried his head under the covers.

35. Just another word

It was, Xander realised, the first time Jimmy had been allowed up to the apartment. Ushered in by Spike, he entered hesitantly, his eyes scanning around the room, fixing for a moment on the bed, then moving on to the desk, the kitchen and the table where Xander sat with his notebook open in front of him, before switching back to Xander's nest in the corner. Seeming to relax slightly, he stepped away from the door and went over to the desk, taking hold of the back of the chair.

Spike followed. "Go on then," he instructed. "Get it up and working. I've got a job for you. Need you to do another one of those search thingies."

Glancing back over his shoulder, Jimmy nodded. "Sire." He took a quick inventory of the hardware and started untangling the mass of cables lying next to the monitor, separating them and laying them out on the desk. Then he took a seat and began plugging them into the various sockets on the machine. It didn't take him long before the mess was replaced by an orderly arrangement of monitor, mouse, keyboard and main box. Xander wandered over to watch, compelled by the efficiency of his movements. Jimmy pushed the 'on' button. "I just need to set up the connection. It won't take long," he explained as the screen came alive - white text flashing across it, too fast for Xander to make sense of, even if he'd known what it all meant. The brand new Windows 98 logo appeared for a moment, before it was replaced by more white text on black. Then an electronic fanfare burst out and Jimmy reached forwards, twisting a knob on one of the speakers, as the screen settled on white clouds on a pale blue background. "Do you have a user ID you want to use?"

Glancing at Spike, Xander saw that the question meant nothing to him. "How about 'bigbad'," he suggested, with a grin.

Spike's eyebrow went up. "You mean, like a name?" he asked. Jimmy looked round, but Spike's gaze was fixed on Xander. Xander nodded. "Okay, yeah, 'Bigbad', that'll do. Go for it." They watched as Jimmy began to type and click his way through the set up procedure. After a moment, Spike appeared to get bored with his role as observer. "Well, pet," he said, nodding towards the table. "Watcha doing over there?"

Xander scowled. "Don't call me 'pet'. I don't like it. I'm not a pet."

Grinning, Spike put a hand on his shoulder, turning him back to the kitchen. "Okay, Xander" he said, with ironic emphasis. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. It doesn't mean you are. 'S just a term of affection. Be grateful, I could call you 'ducks' or 'mon petit chou'. If you knew what that meant, you'd probably like it even less. He gave Xander a gentle shove. "Come on, show me what you've been playing at while we were asleep."

Scowling harder, Xander led the way to the kitchen table and flopped into his chair. "What is it with you and the way you talk?" he asked. "You don't speak like you used to."

Spike looked nonplussed. "Y'what? 'Course I do." He picked up his cigarette packet and pulled one out, then started searching around the table top in a distracted manner.

Xander reached across to the counter and threw him the lighter from next to the stove. "No you don't, except you are now. Why?"

Frowning, Spike sat back and took a drag on his cigarette. "Guess I forgot." he admitted eventually. He slouched further down in his chair, adding thoughtfully, "Dru had a real strong accent. Don't know why, since she was brought up well when she was human, but she did. I picked it up from her. Became a habit." He looked at Xander from under his brows. "It's useful anyway, being able to play different parts. Helps you get access to all sorts of parties and stuff. I can be upper class posh or guttersnipe as the occasion demands." He shrugged. "Depends on the company." He took another drag and absentmindedly blew the smoke out over the table.

Xander flinched back, waving his hand in front of his face. "Hey! Human here. You know there's this theory about second hand smoke?"

"You won't die of cancer, pet. Don't worry."

Somehow that sounded more like a promise than empty reassurance and for some reason it worried Xander. In an attempt to escape where that thought may take him, he stood and picked up the kettle, taking it across to the tap to fill. As he turned back to put it on the hob he remembered what Roger Wyndam-Pryce had said. "So were you really a poet?" he asked.

Spike looked up sharply, then turned to glance at Jimmy, but he seemed to be engrossed in the computer. "Don't go there," he warned. "I'd have to kill you, and you don't want that." Pulling a couple of mugs out of the cupboard, Xander hid his grin in his shoulder.

He made the coffee, sat back down and decided that he might as well explain his idea to Spike. "I've been thinking," he said, taking a sip of his drink and grinning as he caught Spike's sceptical expression. "I think I may have a lead on that book you want." At that, Spike's expression sharpened, so he continued. "Last year, we did a project at school. We scanned all Giles' books into the computer. It was a whole big mess with a demon in the internet, so we kind of forgot about it. But that didn't happen until after we'd finished. So, I'm thinking your book might have been one of the ones we scanned in...." He trailed off, uncertain if he was making promises that would come to nothing. "I mean, I'm not certain. But it might be. If Jimmy can hack into the auction house records, I'm sure he can get into the high school library. I don't think Willow put any fancy protection on it, or anything."

Spike was back with Jimmy in seconds, peering over his shoulder and urging him on to 'get it sorted now!' And eventually Jimmy did get it sorted. By 10pm he'd not only got the computer working and connected to the internet, but on Spike's instruction and with Xander's help, he had also hacked into the Sunnydale High School library server and located the scanned images of the Argentum Veneficus, saved in a folder called 'Giles Personal'. It then took over an hour to download the files to their own computer, but eventually they were saved and Jimmy began printing them out. Each page seemed to take an age to print and Spike snatched them, one at a time, from the printer as they appeared, running his eyes across the tightly printed words and throwing each one down as the next came out. Xander, realising there were no numbers on the sheets, gathered them up and stacked them neatly, resolving to go and buy a folder the next day, to keep them safe. After all Jimmy's hard work, it only seemed fair to treat the results with some respect.

Sometime near midnight Spike gave a growl. "Yes!" he cried. "Here it is: The Gem of Amara." He continued to read for a bit longer, his pleasure turning to frustration. "Sorcerers! Why do they insist on being so bloody obscure? This is going to take days to work out." Slapping the page down on the desk, he turned to Jimmy. "But you've done good and you deserve a reward. Come on, lets go out to eat, before it's too late and all the houses shut for the day." He turned to Xander. "I need to check it out anyway. Heard some rumours of trouble last time I was there. Whispering and plots. Need to go take them down a peg or two. You stay here."

"You think there's trouble at the house?" Xander asked. "But, I'd better come. Jimmy can't fight." He ignored the glare that got him from Jimmy.

Spike laughed, slapping Jimmy on the shoulder. "Maybe not, but he's a vampire. You're not. A human in a place like that? Asking to get bit. You stay here, okay? We'll be back before dawn."

Realising any protest would be useless, Xander nodded sulkily and watched them leave. He looked at the printer, still slowly churning out the pages of the precious book. They'd be safe there, now that Spike wasn't doing his best to mix them all up. He looked back at the door. Then he went and got his shoes.

It took him longer than he thought to get out of the factory and by the time he reached the street, Spike and Jimmy were out of sight. But he had a pretty good idea where Duke's place was, so he set off at a run, certain he'd catch sight of them shortly. He didn't. Even though the streets were fairly empty, there was no sign of a white head of hair, or a long leather duster.

He ended up wandering, certain he'd spot them eventually, unwilling to admit that he had no idea where they'd gone. Every time he considered turning back, the thought that they might be round the next corner, tempted him on. But eventually he had to admit he was not going to find them. At about the same time, he also realised he'd not eaten since breakfast at sunset and he was starving. Spotting an all night burger joint, surrounded by parked up taxi cabs, he crossed the road and went in. He didn't intend to stay long, but the place was crowded and he had to wait, then he got talking to one of the drivers, when he asked to share a table. And the burger was good and the fries were just right and the chocolate shake was perfect. The taxi driver was talkative and it was easier to sit and chat and pretend to be human, than it was to contemplate the possibility that Spike was in the middle of a fight. It wasn't until his companion eventually left, mumbling about getting his cab back to the depot, that he glanced up at the window and saw the lightening of the sky and realised just how late it really was. As the thought struck him, he braced himself for the not-quite-pain of the spell, already beginning to stand, knowing that once he was heading back home, the discomfort would soon pass. Nothing happened. He sat down again.

His shake was sitting in a pool of condensation on the formica table top, and after a moment he picked it up carefully and stuck the straw in his mouth. It was still thick enough to make it difficult to drink, but the cold chocolate milkyness was a comforting flavour from childhood and he needed all the comfort he could get, as the implications of his lack of discomfort sank in. He thought about the early part of the evening and was surprised to recognise how relaxed he'd been sitting across the table from an old and powerful vampire. It had felt familiar, friendly, comfortable. He had, he realised, become accustomed. But now he was faced with a choice, and he didn't know what to do.

So he sat and watched the sunrise brighten further, trying to work out what it meant. Sunnydale or Peru? Peru or Sunnydale? The question circled his mind, leaving him more confused than he could ever remember being. Considering his life so far, that was saying something. And that was assuming Spike and Jimmy got back safe. For a moment, he considered Canada. Taking another pull on the straw, the sound of the dregs of his shake echoed around the cup and up into his mouth. He chased the last traces of chocolate noisily around the bottom, then set it down. Wearily, he got up and gazed around the diner at the last few customers. He thought about walking away. Walking until he reached a bus station. Walking right up town to Grand Central. Walking anywhere and finding a bank, like Giles had said all those weeks and months ago. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned his feet towards home.

Climbing the rickety fire escape was child's play. When he reached the roof access door he used his key to unlock it, but he didn't go in. Instead he sat down in his camp chair, where he sat when he woke up early enough and didn't need to go shopping. Turning his face to the sun, he basked.

Eventually there was a shuffling sound behind him and Spike's voice from the dark of the stairs. "Here you are. I've been looking for you."

Xander rolled his head to the side and squinted into the doorway. "Yeah, here I am."

Spike settled himself down on the top step, well out of the way of the light. "You been sulking up here all morning?"

"Guess so."

"Huh. Right. Well, we both got back safe, thanks for asking. Jimmy's a bit beaten up, but I settled him eventually. He'll be good as new by tonight." He paused and Xander saw the flare of a flame followed by a thin puff of smoke which clouded the air, before it disappeared in the brightness of the morning. "So, you coming in, p... Xander?"

"In a moment. I just want to enjoy the fresh air and sunlight for a while."

Spike grunted with apparent displeasure, but he didn't say anything else, just got up and disappeared downstairs, grumbling to himself. Xander turned his face back to the light.

An hour later he hauled himself out of the chair and went down to bed.

36. A dateless bargain

"Spike was awesome." Jimmy's voice carried a mixture of excitement and awe. "He was all kicks and punches and, dude, you should have seen the bodies flying all over the place." As he talked, he mimed out some of the moves, but when he came closer and seemed about to try and drag Xander up to join in, Xander picked up the fully assembled gun from his side and cocked it. Jimmy drew back and whether it was a natural movement on his part, or a response to the gun, almost but not quite pointing at him, Xander didn't know. Regardless, he continued his tale, "He got me out because I wasn't in such a good way by then. But I tell you, man, it's not over, not by a long chalk, it's not."

Returned to his task of cleaning the other gun Xander nodded. "Yeah, he can fight." He wasn't too sure why he had Jimmy's company. It had not yet been dark outside when he came downstairs and Jimmy had never been up and about before Spike, at least, not as far as Xander had noticed. Xander had been in the basement making up some more shells for his shotgun, but he'd soon been distracted by his new Colt 45s. They were beautiful. They felt so right in his hands. Prettier than the Smith & Wessons they'd seen, he was looking forward to testing them, once Spike was awake. Waking a sleeping vampire by shooting at targets in his basement was probably not such a good idea. But why Jimmy had joined him and why he seemed to want to talk, had Xander puzzled.

He kept one wary eye on the young vampire as he reassembled his weapon, but Jimmy didn't seem interested in snacking off him. He paced back and forth across the mats, arms waving with more enthusiasm than Xander could ever remember seeing, although his contact with Jimmy had been strictly limited and always under Spike's watchful eye. "I tell you, man, I'm not going to stand around and let them behave like that to my Sire. Scum like that should think themselves lucky he even goes to their house. They should be treating him with respect. He deserves that. I mean, he's old, man. And any master who lives that long... He's like the oldest vampire ever."

Xander smirked to himself, remembering the real Master with his wrinkly skin and piggy face. And Angel. Hell, even Drusilla had been older than Spike was now. It was obvious Spike was not teaching Jimmy any vampire history. He remembered the soft tone in Spike's voice, when Xander found them asleep together. Maybe he'd been doing other things. Maybe he didn't see Jimmy that way, whatever way that was. Studying the vampire, Xander had to admit that Jimmy was pretty. His face had fined out in the weeks since his death, so his cheekbones were more visible, like he'd lost his puppy fat. He looked like the grad student he had been in life, with a fresh faced innocence, in spite of his pallor. Xander hefted his reassembled gun. Personally, he preferred being able to fight for himself. He placed the Colt carefully in it's box but kept the other, loaded one, close.

Picking up the remaining one of his original pair, he began dismantling it. Jimmy had moved on to a description of the fate deserved by anyone who didn't grant Spike his due respect. Xander wanted to laugh and luckily Jimmy mistook his snort of amusement for approval. "Well, you know how it should be, man. I mean, you follow him. You fight for him. Because you recognise how strong he is, how he deserves your respect." The gun was pretty badly carboned up, but it didn't look like it had been damaged by Spike's experiment. Xander set to cleaning out the barrel. "He must trust you, too." Jimmy's voice was wistful. "I mean, he gave you those guns and he lets you sleep upstairs." His tone brightened. "But I tell you, man, I'm going to be up there too. Soon as I prove myself. I'll be up there in that fancy room," he smirked at Xander, "and maybe you'll be down with the car, like that guy Spike took prisoner for a while." His forehead creased thoughtfully. "What happened to him anyway, did Spike eat him?"

Sighting down the barrel, Xander decided it was clean enough. He glanced up at Jimmy as he picked up the breach mechanism. "No, we let him go."

Jimmy's face fell. "Oh. Oh well, I'm sure Spike had good reasons for that. He must have." He paused in thought and apparently came up blank. "Er, do you know what they were?"

Taking pity, Xander smiled. "He took a message back to the people who sent him. And we needed him alive to do it. But I'm sure if it hadn't been for that, your Sire would have drained every drop."

Bouncing back to happiness, Jimmy grinned. "Yeah, yeah, that's right. He would. If he'd had more time. Because Spike would never let a watcher escape with his life, normally. He's death to them. The slayer of slayers. Did you know he's killed two?"

Xander nodded his recognition of that fact as he began to snap the gun back together. Maybe he'd mount it on the test rig they'd built for Spike's experiment. The Sarge objected to a potentially unsafe firearm lying around. It should be okay now it was clean, but better safe than sorry. He looked across at the rig.

In that way he did, that involved no word, the Sarge had insisted that Xander not actually hold the gun, when Spike pulled out his wooden bullets. So they'd mounted the guns in a vice and activating the triggers by means of a length of wire and a few pulleys. The first shot had been a success, the wooden bullet doing commendable damage to the target, before splintering against the wall behind and Spike had been gleeful. But the second had resulted in the breach exploding, scattering shrapnel across the room and putting a big dent in the wall behind the workbench, about where Xander's head would have been, if he'd been holding the gun himself. So that had been the end of that and the Sarge had sent him a smug sense of vindication. Xander had strung some of the remaining, unused rounds on a leather thong and now they hung around his neck like the lion tooth necklace he had envied Jungle Jake having, as he fought the poachers and treasure hunters in Xander's childhood comic books.

Reassembling the cleaned gun and putting it down, he picked up the loaded one and, getting up carefully, walked over to the ammunition shelf. Grabbing a box, he went back to the workbench and turned to face Jimmy as he loaded the clip with standard, non wooden rounds. Jimmy watched him. "What you doing, man?" he asked, tilting his head as he considered the gun in Xander's hand and the one on the bench by his side.

"Just going to take a couple of test shots. See if the wooden bullets did any permanent damage. See if the breech is still solid. It looks okay, but I think the wood expanded too fast and blocked the barrel in the other one. I've cleaned this one now, but I want to be sure it's good." He placed it in the special mount he'd fashioned, in the vice, and attached the trigger wire. "Go stand over there, out of the way," he instructed. Once Jimmy had withdrawn to the far side of the room, Xander climbed behind the wall of the firing range, wire in hand. Bracing himself, he gave a tug and the explosion reverberated around the room. It was only after he shook his head to clear the echoes that he remembered that Spike was still asleep upstairs. Probably not any more. However the gun looked to be okay and the bullet had even hit the target. Xander grinned to himself and stood up as Jimmy started to move. "Let's try that again," he suggested.

Jimmy backed up. "How many bullets does that thing hold?" he asked.

"Eight," Xander replied. "Seven in the clip, one in the chamber. Now, get back." Five more shots and the gun was still in one piece. He picked up his own gun as he watched Jimmy approach the workbench.

"You know what?" Jimmy asked, rhetorically. "I think that might be just what I want." He reached out and began to unwind the vice, pulling the gun free.

Xander raised his own weapon. "Leave that alone."

Jimmy smiled. "You can't kill me with that," he pointed out smugly. Xander lowered his gun, recognising that he really didn't want to shoot, not even to maim. Not Jimmy.

Turning the gun over in his hands, Jimmy worked out where his various fingers went and struck a pose, feet apart, knees slightly bent, arms stretched out in front of him, pointing it right at Xander and Xander felt a sudden conviction that Jimmy didn't share his own scruples about shooting someone he sort of knew. He straightened slowly, both hand raised, palms facing outwards, his gun hanging loosely from his fingers. "Err, gently now, put the gun down." Jimmy didn't move. "Put the gun down, Jimmy. Spike would really not be pleased if you hurt me. So, just put the gun down."

Jimmy's smile was hard and feral. "But if you have an accident... I'll get to move upstairs even sooner." He didn't shoot though, instead he grabbed the box of ammunition off the bench and began backing up, towards the door. "I just want the gun, man. I won't hurt Spike's pet human. But I'm going to prove to him that I'm as good as anyone." He nodded in approval as Xander stayed still. "So I just want the gun." Reaching the door, he fumbled behind his back, searching for the knob, then pulled it open and backed through, never removing his aim from Xander's chest. When the door finally closed behind him, Xander collapsed to his knees in a heap of panting breaths and released tension and buried his head in the crook of his arms, his fingers flexing through his hair.

By the time Spike wandered downstairs, still blinking sleep from his eyes and hugging a mug of coffee, fifteen minutes later, he had pulled himself back together. On hearing what Jimmy was up to, Spike sighed, then shrugged. "Better go find the stupid bastard, I suppose. You wait here," he said as he headed out. "When I find him, I'm going to skin him alive and chain him up in the store room for a week." Since Xander believed that might well be the literal truth, he was glad he hadn't mentioned Jimmy's delusions of moving upstairs. If they were delusions and not promises made late at night. Shaking his head to clear it of that image, he took his new pump-action shotgun and his beautiful new Colts, and went to spend some quality time in the garage with the car, the front door and too many thoughts.

Spike returned six hours later and was talking even as he walked in and slammed the door shut behind him. "That bitch is boasting about taking out the watchers," he fumed. "As if she even knew they were in town before I told her. As if she thought it up herself." He began to pace around the garage, picking things up from the shelves at random and putting them down again, without looking at them. "Presumptuous, undisciplined, under-educated nonentity. Wouldn't know a watcher if he walked up and kicked her in the shins. Blasted woman! She's got something to do with it. I know it. Can feel it in my water."

Xander let him pace, piecing the story together from Spike's half sentences. Eventually he interrupted, "So you didn't find Jimmy?"

Swinging to face him Spike growled through fangs and pulled back lips. His eyes glowed yellow under heavy ridges and his voice distorted by the change. "No. He wasn't at Duke's and hadn't been there. I tried the other houses, too. No sign." He shook his head and his face shifted back to human. "He obviously didn't come back on his own?" Xander shook his head. "Bugger!" He stopped suddenly and took a long, deep breath which appeared to calm him. "After trailing around town half the night, I'm not best pleased," he announced. "Tomorrow night... we're going out. And you can bring your guns and give them a proper test drive. Meanwhile, I need a bloody drink. You eaten?"

They had turned away towards the stairs when Xander froze. "Do you hear that?" There was a scratching sound coming from the door. Then it bust open and Jimmy flopped in and fell to the floor, on his face.

Xander wheeled around and rushed back towards Jimmy, while Spike ran for the door. Coming to a halt by catching the sides of the opening, he hung out and peered up and down the street. "Damn!" he growled.

Meanwhile Xander had come to a cold stop, a foot from Jimmy's body. He felt the gorge rise in his throat at the sight. The back of Jimmy's head was missing, blood and matted hair framing a hole which left part of his brain exposed. One arm lay stretched out across the floor, terminating in a bloody stump at what should have been the wrist. Behind Xander the door slammed. "Bloody bastards!" Spike growled. "Picked the lock and ran." Xander found himself sitting on his ass, knees bent in front of him, his hands on the oily floor behind him the only things stopping him collapsing completely. "Not a chance of seeing them, let alone catching them." Spike's voice trailed off as it got closer.

Xander's head tilted slowly and he looked up at Spike's face. "Is he dead?" he asked.

Spike frowned. "He's not dust, is he? So, no, he's not dead." He strode away to the stairs where Xander had left his shotgun and Xander followed him with his eyes. Anything rather than look at Jimmy. Breaking the breech, Spike checked the shells and snapping the gun closed, marched back. "Left a letter on the pavement outside. Wankers!" Frozen, Xander watched as Spike walked towards them, wondering how he could ignore Jimmy's injuries, when he had admitted that whoever had dumped Jimmy's body was long gone. So when the shot roared out, he was totally unprepared.

As he watched the dust settle, he dimly heard Spike's voice echoing and roaring above him. "Looks like they work for real, then. Guess you've got your test drive." Xander tilted his face upwards and saw the hard line of Spike's mouth. "Jimmy was okay," Spike said. "Give him fifty years and he'd have made something of himself. He was smart. Well read, too." He paused and sighed. "He liked poetry."

37. Nor law, nor duty

"I told you. It's one on one. It has to be. That's the lore. She's called Wergeld and I'm going to oblige. You, stay here! If I'm not back by dawn, you get out. Right out of New York. You get on a plane or a bus, or you bloody hitch a ride, but you get out! Understood?

Xander's expression was, for once, unreadable. "Are you planning on getting beaten, Spike?"

"'Course not." Spike snorted his derision. "That overblown minion? Not a chance." He looked down at the knife and sheath in his hand and spoke to them, rather than to Xander. "But, just in case. If I trip over or get hit on the head by a meteorite... if anything happens to me, you're free. If you're there, she'll get you." Now he did look up, emphasising his final point. "So you stay here!"

"And what about the bit where it's a trap?" Xander grabbed the letter off the table and shook it in Spike's face. "Flavia, destroyer of the Watchers Council declares herself Master of New York, beholden to no one," he recited the first words of the letter he'd spent most of last night reading, over and over, once he'd wrested it from Spike's charge. "Anyone who writes like that has got to be up to no good. It's too flowery. And it's not even true."

Sighing, Spike shrugged. "It's a formal challenge, of course it's flowery. But she can't break the lore. It has to be one on one. And one on one, I can beat her with both arms tied behind my back."

"So, I'll come and watch. Just to make sure."

Bloody humans, with their complicated feelings and their inconsistent thinking. They didn't understand that there were ways of acting, there were forms of behaviour, that had been in place for centuries. Unchanged through the long life spans of the members of the society that founded them. "No you won't." Spike's patience was beginning to stretch to breaking point. "I'm not arguing, I'm telling! You promise to stay here, or I tie you up and leave you here anyway. Which is it going to be?"

Xander stopped then, and stared at Spike. "You're stubborn," he exclaimed, his own exasperation colouring his voice. "You're like some rock. You're like the biggest rock in the world. You're like that big rock in Australia." For a full thirty seconds, he glared at Spike, but seeing no softening in Spike's expression eventually he rolled his eyes. "Oh, why do I bother?" he asked the ceiling. Looking back he apparently recognised that Spike was quite capable of doing exactly what he threatened and his crooked smile twisted his lips as he lifted his arms in resigned defeat and took a couple of steps back. "Okay, okay, I get it. But since the reason you don't want me to come is so I can run if you don't come back, I'd rather not be tied up and left helpless, if you don't mind."

With one last glare Spike nodded, picked up the whetstone and went back to sharpening his knives, while Xander withdrew to the other side of the room and sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, picking up one of his Colts and beginning to dismantle it. Spike guessed he was going to clean it, again. Boy seemed to love those guns more than anything else in his life and caring for them did seem to calm him.

Silence reigned for fifteen minutes as they both concentrated on their tasks, but when Spike slid his second knife into its sheath Xander spoke again. "How are you going to approach?"

Spike pursed his lips in apparent thought. "Er, the overpass next to the bridge?" he suggested with a sly shrug, snorting his amusement when he saw Xander's shocked expression. "I'm not stupid mate. I'll head through Corlears Hook and cut north once I cross FDR."

Xander nodded. "Yeah, that's a good route. At least there's a bit of cover, until you get close. Better than coming in from the north - the tennis courts make that way too open." He gave a faint smile. "Just be careful, okay?"

Spike raised an eyebrow as he fastened the knives, in their sheaths, to his wrists. "I didn't know you cared."

The smile was swallowed by a scowl. "I don't," Xander said, emphatically.

Grinning openly now, Spike strapped a couple of stake sheaths to his thighs before walking over, picking up his duster and pulling it on. "Right." He paused, looking down at the boy, resisting the urge to reach out and give Xander's shoulder a squeeze, contenting himself with a half hearted punch as he turned away. "I'll see you later," he said, as he walked to the door.

*****

Spike knew he was being watched long before he stepped out onto the tarmac'ed area under the Williamsburg Bridge. He'd known when he passed Flavia's look out's and he'd felt them close in behind him. Automatically, he logged the shadows, noting which were big enough to conceal a guard, as he scanned the immediate area. Flavia was standing arrogantly in the centre of the open space, so Spike approached carefully, but with enough swagger to ensure she didn't mistake his natural caution for fear.

"Don't you get tired of this, Flavia?" he asked. "Why are you so determined to die?"

Flavia stiffened. "I won't be Master of this city by anyone's leave," she announced, pompously. "I am the strongest here and I owe you nothing."

"Yeah? Like you don't own me for the tip that those watchers were in town? Like you would have dared take them on, if I hadn't shamed you into it?"

Flavia's head jerked and the followers he had known were there, detached themselves from their dark corners and approached, surrounding Spike on three sides.

"Thought you'd issued Wergeld, girl. That means one to one, and you know it."

Laughing, Flavia stepped forward into the final position, directly in front of him. Her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer of assured supremacy. She wasn't going to attack immediately, she wanted time to gloat and possibly time to convince her acolytes that this course of action was acceptable. Spike turned in a slow circle on the spot, eyeing each of them in turn. He noted the silent signals that passed between them as their eyes flicked back and forth between him and each other. An established group then, a street gang maybe, turned together and knowing no better than to follow their sire. That made them very young. He didn't doubt they knew how to fight. The only questions were, did they know how to use the additional strength and speed of the demon and did they know their new weaknesses? He cursed himself for not keeping a closer eye on Flavia's court, but he'd really not wanted to waste his time on her. All he wanted was for her to leave him alone and get on and rule the city, not set the cops onto his business and keep the streets clean and tidy. But she couldn't leave it at that. She couldn't bear to know she'd been bested. That kind of stupid pride led to a short life. Unfortunately, he'd underestimated her when he'd assumed she wasn't too stupid to know that. She was overdue a lesson in common sense and he was going to make sure it was him who delivered it.

Relaxing his face, he allowed it to change and bringing his hands together, he drew the knives from inside the cuffs of his duster and moved into a fighting stance. Across from him, Flavia smiled and a flicker of disquiet entered his brain, which swiftly coalesced into a kernel of dread in the pit of his stomach as Flavia drew a gun from the back of her waistband. "It won't kill you," she agreed with his unspoken thought, "but it'll hurt like hell. And with both your kneecaps gone, you won't be doing any of that fancy dancing." Laughing she continued, as she pulled back the hammer with her left hand and repositioned the grip of her right, "You didn't really fall for it, did you?"

From behind her came the strange 'chunk-chunk ' sound of a pump action shotgun being primed and a voice agreed, "Yes, he did, actually," as Xander stepped into view. "Spike's always been a bit of a romantic." He held his shotgun loosely, but it was pointed squarely at her back. "But I'm not!"

Flavia spun to face him. "Good, I wanted you, too," she growled, raising her own gun. It was the last thing she said, as the shotgun spoke and her body exploded, leaving only her ashes to settle slowly to the ground.

Dropping his knives, Spike grabbed his stakes and with a backward thrust, took out the minion behind him before he could react to the shifted power dynamic. The shotgun fired again, claiming the one on his left and he spun fast to face the last, just as his target burst into furious action and charged. Together they tumbled over, with Spike on his back underneath, but using the momentum he continued the roll, throwing the furious fledge over his head and clear, while he snapped back to his feet and swung around to face where the body had landed. His opponent was scrambling to his feet, face twisted in furious denial. "You bastard! I'm going to get you!"

Laughing, as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, Spike held his hands out in front of him, palms up and twitched his fingers towards himself. "Come on then, what're you waiting for?"

The fledgling growled at the taunt and charged again. But this time Spike was ready and well balanced. He absorbed the force of the untutored attack and used it to swing his attacker into the base of the nearest bridge pylon, where his head made sharp contact with the concrete. Before he could shake whatever small modicum of sense he normally had back into his head, Spike closed and staked him through his back, feeling the minor resistance of his ribs give under the blow, before he too was dust on the breeze.

The sudden quiet was broken by the sound of a late night train, as it rattled it's way across the river to Brooklyn above their heads and the 'chunk chunk' of Xander's shotgun, as he pumped a new shell into the chamber. Spike turned to face him. "It's over, mate. They're all gone." Xander's face was a frozen mask, a mixture of horror and something else that Spike couldn't identify. Suddenly he felt nervous. "Xander? Pet? Are you okay? Come on, you know you can't use that on me, so why don't you put it down? It's alright. You can relax, they're gone now."

He took a few steps forward, but stopped when the shotgun swung towards him. They stood unmoving for whole moments, then Xander shook his head, as if to clear it. He lowered the gun and broke it, removing the shell from the breech and walked past Spike to the base of the pylon. Placing his arm against the concrete he raised the shotgun like a stake and brought the butt down sharply against his wrist. Spike started forward with a cry, but stopped as he saw that it was not his wrist Xander had hit, but the bracelet. The bracelet which now broke neatly into two parts and fell to the floor. Xander bent down and picked them up, slipping them into his pocket with the shell.

"How...?" Spike gasped. "How did you...? You broke it?"

Turning to face him, Xander looked like he was going to cry. "It's been broken for weeks," he said wearily. "I think it was the Anashaman."

"And... And you knew....?"

Xander shrugged "I knew." He swung the shotgun up, so it rested over his shoulder. "I'll see you at home," he said, as he began to walk away.

38. To thine own self...

Spike's walk home through the late night streets was a confused tangle of reassessment as he called up every available memory from the last three weeks and examined them in the light of his new knowledge: the boy's sulkiness in the days following their confrontation with the watchers, but his determination at the same time to learn all that Spike could teach him of hand-to-hand combat, the fact that he'd volunteered the secret to finding the book, but his coldness in the days that followed. Suddenly Black Wind's words to Xander as they left his place took on stark new meaning.

On reaching home, he climbed the stairs and hesitated at the door, almost afraid to enter, not sure if he wanted to find Xander there, or not. It became moot, anyway - the flat was empty.

For a few moments he stood, shoulders slumped and arms hanging uselessly at his sides, staring at the bed, before he realised that sleep was far beyond him right now. Instead he shrugged off his duster and flung it over the back of the sofa as he made his way to the kitchen, where he grabbed a glass and the bottle of Jack Daniels with one hand and a fresh packet of fags and the ashtray with the other. Turning to the table he set the bottle down, allowing the glass to skitter from his fingers at the same time. Slamming down the ashtray and the packet of cigarettes next to it, he fell into the nearest chair. He slumped forward, elbows resting on the table, as he ran his hands back across his head and lacing his fingers together at the back of his neck. For a while, he stared sightlessly down at the golden grain of the table then, with a sigh, he reached for the bottle, unscrewed the top and sloshed a large measure into the glass. Raising it to his lips, he took a long gulp, gasping as the spirit hit the back of his throat sending fumes snaking up into his sinuses. With his other hand he awkwardly tore open the cigarette packet and extracted one. It was only as he was digging in his pocket, searching for his zippo, that he felt the intellectual centres of his brain re-engage and begin to shove possible motivations, reasons, explanations into his consciousness.

Xander had said he knew that the bracelet wasn't working, but he hadn't said for how long he'd known. And suddenly Spike was sure it wasn't immediately after it broke down. The boy's behaviour in the days following Roger Wyndham-Pryce's death and Wesley's release had been sullenly hostile. If he'd known then that he was free, Spike had no doubt he would have run.

Everything Spike knew about the boy, told him that Xander should have left anyway. So why didn't he? Taking a drag from his cigarette, he thought back to that eventful night. They'd done the job, retrieved the Anashaman, found out what Black Wind wasn't telling them about it, locked Wesley away safe, gone to Black Wind's shop and stayed to barter and to reminisce, then they'd gone home. Hang on! Telephone call. On the way back from Black Wind's shop Xander had made a phone call to his little friend and afterwards, he'd talked about change. Spike had been so caught up by the sudden memory of Dru and her blasted tarot cards, he'd forgotten about Xander's confidences. But thinking about it now, the boy had seemed lost, bereaved almost.

Spike lifted the glass to his lips again and emptied it. Slamming it back down, he picked up the bottle and refilled it. "You keep missing him," she said. "Squandering your chances for the promise of more." What the fuck was Dru talking about? What the hell did that card mean? Lurching to his feet, he crossed the room and switched on the computer, returning for his supplies as he waited for it to do its booting up thing. The internet seemed to be the twentieth century equivalent of the British Library Reading Room, there had to be something about tarot cards in there.

*****

The sun had long risen and the bottle was three quarters empty before Spike caught the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. He stiffened in his chair and swung around to watch the door handle, waiting for it to move. Nothing happened. The footsteps continued past and on up to the floors above.

Picking up the bottle, Spike threw it across the room where it smashed against the brick wall scattering shards of glittering glass across the floor and leaving a dripping stain of pungent liquid, marring the smooth perfection of the paintwork. He got to his feet, walked over to the door, opened it and trudged up the stairs.

He found Xander, as he expected, on the roof, sitting in his deck chair out of Spike's reach, but there all the same. "You came back," he observed, speaking to Xander's profile.

"As you see."

Sitting down on the top step, Spike tilted his head back against the wall and gazed at the picture of boy and chair and sky, framed by the limitations of the doorway. "Why?"

Rolling his head against the back of the seat, Xander turned to look back at Spike. "Because I have nowhere else to go."

In spite of knowing it was a stupid thing to say, Spike opened his mouth and said it anyway: "You could go back to Sunnydale."

Xander's smile was bitter and twisted. "No. I really can't." He closed his eyes and a frown formed between them. "What's it been," he asked, "three months? Four? It feels like longer." He opened his eyes again. "I'll be 18 in a couple of months," he added inconsequentially. "Right now, the High School's closing down for the summer. Soon it'll be the start of a new school year. Senior year. I'm not supposed to grow up until after that." He shook his head. "I never thought I'd get out of that place alive. And I certainly never thought I'd get out of it like this. I know it was you that cried havoc, not me, but the idea of going back..." He turned his face away from Spike and gazed up at the sky as he trailed off.

"So you staying?"

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Right then," Spike announced cheerfully. "We'd best see about you getting your GED then."

39. Power and influence

Placing the folder containing the carefully collated pages of 'The Book' down on the bed next to him, Spike looked up at Xander. "I have no problem with you going out," he said. "Just so long as it's broad daylight and you stay away from the shady side of the street." He squinted thoughtfully. "And don't talk to anyone," he added firmly. Xander felt his face flush at the memory of almost being dragged into a dark alley by a young girl who'd claimed she was lost, but was now mixing her ashes with the dirt in the gutters up on Lafayette. With a faint smirk, acknowledging the hit, Spike continued, "The thing of it is, I killed Flavia." Xander stared at him flatly. "Okay, you killed Flavia, but then we killed the witnesses. So, as far as the general population are concerned, I killed Flavia, okay? Just get accustomed to being overlooked. " He grinned. "More overlooked," he corrected himself.

Xander folded his arms across his chest and upped the wattage of his glare. "But I'm not being overlooked, am I? We've been ambushed every night this week."

"Which would be why I don't want you going out alone."

"Except in broad daylight?"

"Yeah," Spike agreed. "And S'long as you stay on the sunny side of the street and away from alleys." He picked up the folder again, but lay it face down across his thighs. "Look," he sighed. "I've nearly got this done. Give me half an hour, then we'll go out. Where do you want to go?"

That was the question. Xander didn't know where, he just wanted out of these four walls. He wanted, if he were truthful, to find another ambush and feel the power of his shotgun disperse the vampires into clouds of meaningless dust. It seemed every vampire on the eastern seaboard had decided that with Heinrich and Flavia gone, New York was open season for challenge. And this lot played by the rules about as much as Flavia did. Spike had spent most of that morning complaining about the lack of tradition in the younger generation, until Xander thought he could sit an exam on 'the lore' set by Darla herself. But right now, he just wanted out of the factory. He turned away from Spike and went over to the computer, switching it on. "I don't know," he muttered. "Just out."

"Don't sulk!" Spike called from behind him, before going back to his interrupted reading. Xander offered him one last glare and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove.

He'd just pulled the sugar out of the cupboard and was putting some in his mug when Spike gave a whoop of triumph. "Here it is!" he cried. Xander turned to look at him, spoon suspended in midair, sugar slowly trickling off onto the floor. "It says here that the Gem of Amara resides in the Valley of the Sun." Spike continued reading. "And it's hidden in a sealed underground crypt.

Pursing his lips, Xander considered that. "And the Valley of the Sun would be....?"

Spike tossed the folder down. "It doesn't bloody say," he growled. "Sorcerers! Always got to be so bleeding obscure." Then he brightened. "Why don't you ask the computer, pet? Seems you can find anything on there. Go on, do a search."

"What for, 'secret crypts of the world'?" Xander turned back to the counter and stirred the remaining sugar into his coffee.

But Spike's enthusiasm was undimmed. "No, you twit! 'Valley of the Sun'. Search for 'Valley of the Sun'."

Nodding, Xander picked up his cup and went back to the computer. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I suppose that might work." Sitting down he logged in and waited while the computer went through the rest of its start up procedure then, once the sky and clouds had settled, he opened the browser. After ten minutes he turned to Spike. "Okay," he said cautiously, "there's a Valley of the Sun, in Arizona, but that seems to be most of Phoenix." A thought occurred to him. "Hey, there's probably graveyards in Phoenix. I mean, lots of people live there and that means they die and have to get buried." He trailed of in the face of Spike's sceptical expression.

"I doubt it's a human crypt, pet. Try again."

"Alright already. Sheesh!" Xander shoved his hair back from his face. It was getting long, he observed, he should get it cut. Out loud he said, "Hang on," and concentrated on the screen, scanning the list. "Okay, there's a Sun Valley in Idaho. And another in Nevada, but that one looks like it's just a suburb of Reno."

"Not interested in Reno, mate, not if we can avoid it. Where else?"

"Um, Sun Valley, Los Angeles, in the San Fernando Valley and Sun Valley, El Paso in Texas. And that's it." He sat back. "Nothing in Peru, at least not on Yahoo."

Rolling smoothly off the bed, Spike crossed the room to stand behind Xander, peering over his shoulder at the screen. "Why the hell would it be in Peru?" he asked.

"Um, because that's where Black Wind said he thought it was?" Picking up his coffee Xander swung around in the chair and looked up at Spike. "So whatcha want to do?"

Spike scratched his chin. "More research," he decided. "Need t' find out if any of them places have more demonic activity than the rest." Xander rolled his eyes at Spike's constantly shifting accent. "If we can't find anything, we'll go to Texas first, then Phoenix, then Idaho. Leave Reno t'last." He nodded in satisfaction. "You know how t'do that, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure. I spent hours searching for demonic activity with Willow, last year. That's one search I do know all the tricks for. I'll see what I can find out." He paused and looked up at Spike. "But tomorrow, okay? Can we go out now?"

Spike nodded again. "Sure, pet. We'll go wherever you like." He looked around the apartment and smiled when he located his duster, draped over the back of the sofa. "I need something to eat, anyway."

That sounded suspiciously like Spike back-tracking. "I thought you didn't want me near the blood houses?" Xander suggested, cautiously.

"I don't. We'll go down to cardboard town and I'll show you how the poor make a few bucks to keep body and soul together when there's no welfare state." He crossed to the sofa, picked up his coat and pulled it on, ignoring Xander's puzzled 'huh?'

They had just reached the bottom of the stairs and Spike was suggesting they check out Film Forum after he'd eaten, while Xander calculated the chances of any film showing there not having subtitles, when they were interrupted by a loud knocking. Xander pulled his colts out of his pockets and moved into position next to the small man-door set into the larger garage doors. Spike meanwhile, walked around the back of the car and positioned himself in the open space on the other side, facing the man-door. "Doubt it's a challenger," he observed, conversationally. "They wouldn't be stupid enough to request entry." He shrugged. "Or they might." Seeing that Xander was in position he jerked his chin. "Okay, open up." Xander flicked the latch, swung the door open and stepped back behind it.

For a moment, nothing happened, then a man stepped arrogantly over the threshold. He was black and better dressed than any vampire Xander had ever seen, except maybe Angel, and he walked into the room with his arms held away from his side, either in welcome or to show he was unarmed. Xander didn't care, he had his colts aimed at the back of the guy's head. The stranger came to a halt facing Spike across two yards of concrete. With a quick glance around, he concentrated his attention on Spike and his voice was rich and smooth and somehow musical. "Hello darkness!" It also dripped irony. "My old friend, it's good to see you."

Spike was unimpressed. "Darkness may be your friend, mate, but I'm not. I don't know you."

The vampire bowed slightly from the waist. "The name's Trick, and I feel I know you. You're quite the celebrity. Hits all over the 'Net." Spike caught Xander's eye behind Trick's back. 'Told you,' he mouthed with a grin, before looking back at Trick, who continued his spiel, "You have quite a rep-u-tay-shun, know what I'm saying?" Looking over his shoulder he saw Xander, guns trained on him, and took a step to the side, keeping both Spike and Xander in view. "I don't think we need to resort to violence." He flicked an imaginary spec off his sleeve and pulled his cuffs down over his wrists. "I've come to you with a proposition."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Have you indeed?" he asked sceptically. "And what might that be?"

"Well, way I hear it, you find yourself master of this fine burg." Trick paused, as if waiting for some acknowledgement which Spike didn't give, so he continued, "And if I'm not mistaken, that is not where you want to be."

Spike snorted "And you think you can help me with that, do you?"

"I'm sure of it. Things are changing, man, and we need to change with them, or be left behind. I'm a 20th century vampire. Live local, shop global." His smile suddenly broke free and lit his face, making him look younger, although Xander knew well enough that that meant nothing, and his eyes widened with excitement. "And there's large parts of this city... wired for fibre optics." He lifted his arms in an expansive gesture of shared delight. "I jack in a T-3, um, twenty-five hundred megs per, and I'm on the 'Net and I have the whole world at my fingertips."

"So why come to me? Sounds like you could do that anywhere."

Trick's smile turned predatory. "But this is New York. The trade centre of the country, of the world. It needs a firm hand, to keep the fledges in line, you know what I'm saying?"

"And you want to be that firm hand?"

"My friend," Trick paused at Xander's scowl and the slight lifting of his gun barrels, and he gave another small bow. "Master Spike, we really don’t need to attack each other." Spike raised an eyebrow as if to say 'why would I bother' and Trick swallowed before he went on. "What I'm saying is that as long as I pay my taxes and keep the streets clean... as long as I make sure no one makes waves... Well, a peaceful New York, is a prosperous New York and everybody wins. The way I see it, I'm doing you a favour."

"And you're just delighted for me to stay here, minding my own business. It would never occur to you to try and take me out?"

With a careless shrug, Trick smiled again, more warmly this time. "Why would I want to? What I'm offering is mutually beneficial. I take all the administration off your hands and you, you carry on your peaceful life. And if we have some trouble that I can't handle, I come and ask for your assistance and bow to your greater experience in battle."

There was silence for a full twenty seconds as they stood watching each other, then suddenly Spike laughed. "Do what you like, mate. I'm off anyway. Leaving tomorrow. I've got business to attend to, somewhere that isn't here." A furious expression flashed across Trick's face, but was gone so fast Xander wasn't sure he'd really seen it. Spike smiled. "But you're the first challenger with the good sense to talk, instead of trying to ambush," he said. "So yeah, you get what you want - all of New York, with my blessing." He glanced over at Xander. "Show the nice man out, pet. And lock the door behind him."

They gave Trick twenty minutes to clear the area, then the trip to the movies was replaced by a round of the local haunts, to announce the succession and make sure it was known that Spike approved. After that they went home to pack and for Xander to see what more he could discover of demonic activity in Texas, Arizona, Idaho and Nevada.

40. Selling it cheap

Stalking through the streets of Cleveland, Spike felt the rush of the hunt again, like the first taste of good wine and as addictive as cocaine. This first night out from New York he'd checked them into the best hotel in town, rather than one of the fleabag motels, like those they'd stopped at on their last cross country trip. They'd got in just short of dawn and, for the right inducement, the manager had been persuaded to give them a room and not disturb them all day. As evening fell, he'd woken and soon they'd be on their way again. He'd left Xander in the hotel restaurant, boggling over the prices, but determined on steak and chocolate mousse for breakfast. Now it was Spike's turn.

The sun had been down for less than an hour and the streets were still quite busy, but Spike had marked his target twenty minutes ago, recognising the type: tattered clothes that no amount of washing would ever get clean again, a shuffling gait that indicated bone weariness and ill health and a tatty and overfilled duffle bag dragging from one hand. It was just a matter of following and his prey would lead him somewhere where they wouldn't be disturbed. This man had a map of such places in his head, probably had one particular favourite - a place where he could curl up and sleep and guarantee not being moved on.

Sure enough, another forty five minutes of patient following and the old man bent stiffly down, pulled a bulging black sack out from under a pile of pallets against the wall of some commercial building and began to crawl inside the hole he'd exposed. Spike walked up to him. "Hey, Grandpa," he called. His mark started in surprise and shuffled around on his knees to look up. "Want to make ten bucks?" Spike asked. The old man looked confused, so Spike squatted down in front of him and allowed his face to change. "You know what I am, granddad?" he asked.

The tramp crossed himself. "St Peter and all the Saints, preserve us," he gasped.

Smiling, Spike nodded and pulled out his wallet. "You know what I am. So you know how this works. I give you ten bucks, you give me some blood, yeah? You want to deal?" Spike held out the ten dollar note and waved it in front of the man's face, watching his eyes follow the movement as he thought. Eventually he nodded and reached for the money, but Spike stood up and held it out of reach. "Blood first. Then the money. Come on, up you get." He reached his hand down to help his meal stand, glad of his superior strength, since the old guy relied on him more than on his own legs to do the job. Not that he weighed much for all his apparent bulk.

Once they were facing each other Spike jerked his chin and the man slowly shed his coat. Underneath, his arms and shoulders were relatively clean which was an unnecessary, if pleasant, relief. The muscles of his arms were wasted away, indicating a long term, poor quality diet that failed to replace the energy he used in just surviving day to day: chronic low level starvation. He shivered and although it wasn't really cold, it was likely his old bones felt every chill and whisper of wind. Hunched in on himself he peered up at Spike, his expression wavering as he glanced quickly up and down the alley, as if he was actually considering his chances of escape. Spike grinned at him, took hold of his upper arms and pushed him back against the wall.

"My, my arm?" the meal stuttered.

Resting his right hand against the old man's chest to keep him in place, Spike lifted his left and gently stroked the tired face. "Not this time," he said soothingly. "This time, we do it quick." He grabbed a sparse handful of hair and forced the head to the side, exposing the neck. The old body jerked, reflex action easily stilled and Spike bent his head, slicing neatly into the jugular, and began to drink. He took his time, enjoying the sensation, making sure he dragged out as much as possible before the old heart stopped. Relishing the sweet piquancy of the final struggling breath and beat, feeling the life rush into him as it left the body of his food, that last drop more potent and more satisfying than any quantity of blood bartered for from the top of a donor's supply, he revelled in the euphoria of the kill.

At last, when the body hung, a limp weight from his hands, he pushed it back against the wall and used the knife from the back of his belt to slash through the bite marks and disguise them. Pulling back he allowed the old frame to sag and caught it over his arm, so some last drops of blood drained out, staining the neck and dripping into the remnants of hair. Then he stuffed it into the cave of pallets, shoved the black sack of scrunched up newspaper in after it, to block the gap, and walked away humming happily under his breath. One more task to complete, then they could be on their way. He found a phone box and made a call to his lawyers.

Back at the hotel he was mildly surprised, and relieved, to see that Xander was not still in the restaurant. He wanted to be on the road. Now that his goal was almost in sight he was impatient for an ending. An ending that would also be a beginning. An image of the watcher struggling under Spike's fangs, as Spike took that precious last drop of life, played across his imagination. He could almost taste it. For a moment he considered Xander; the boy had said he would try to stop Spike, if Spike did go after the watcher. Well, there were ways of dealing with that too. Xander was still young, but he wasn't too young. Not a huge problem: spending eternity looking like an eighteen year old. A child turned was an abomination - forever dependent, forever weak. But at eighteen Xander was tall and strong, and in the last few months he had grown up significantly, the workouts and sparring having toned his boyish muscles. He could probably pass for a few years older, with the right clothes and haircut. He wouldn't need to spend his entire existence being carded in bars. And if it looked like he might, well, they could always go back to Europe. Spike shrugged the thought away. There was time for that later. For now, he just wanted to get them across this damn country again and find the demon who seemed to have his gem.

Taking the stairs at a run he burst into the room already talking. "Did you have a good meal, pet? Come on, lets be off. We have a demon to find." He trailed off at the sight that met him.

The boy was sitting on one of the beds; he looked like he was waiting. Spike let the door close behind him and took a couple more steps forward, and Xander looked up, his eyes dark and solemn. "You killed, didn't you?"

Spike shrugged "'Safer, now we're on the move. No one left to talk. I hid the marks."

Xander shook his head, dismissing Spike's precautions. "Who was it?"

"Best you don't know, love."

"I have to know."

With a sigh, Spike gave in, wondering if this was going to be a regular thing. "Some old homeless guy."

"And because he was homeless, he deserved to die?"

That was enough! "Deserving's got nothing to do with it," Spike growled. "Or if it does? Well, I deserve to eat. He was old and sick. We thin the herd. It's what we do."

For a full minute Xander sat still, staring at Spike, until Spike wanted to squirm under the assessing gaze, but then he nodded and when he spoke his voice was neutral. "I packed," he said. "I figured we'd best get out of town quickly. Your bag's by the bed. Come on." And with that, he picked up his own bag from the floor by his feet, stood up, walked past Spike, opened the door and left the room.

41. Joining the dance

As Xander started unpacking his bag, Spike opened the large, bulky envelope that had been waiting for him at the front desk and spilled the contents out onto the bedspread. Pushing apart the papers and a couple of shotgun cartridge boxes, he picked up a map and spread it out. Xander left what he was doing, wandering over to watch and Spike looked up from his seat on the bed. "Having good lawyers on tap, who understand the dark side of the force, does make things easier. Bit of luck, we won't have to go hunting through back streets and bars." He paused, thinking about what he'd just said. "If a place like this even has back streets." Then, reverting to his original thought, "They can find anything for a good client."

Xander pushed some stray papers out of the way and sat opposite Spike, with the map between them. "And you'd be one of those?"

"Yeah, pet. I've brought them good business over the years. They look after my money and invest it for me. I get good returns, they get their cut off the top, everybody's happy. Acted for me since Dru and I left Darla at the Old Master's Court, during the war." He looked across at Xander. "That would be the Great War, the first one," he added with a smirk. And Xander was again struck by how much Spike must have seen and experienced in his long life, and in spite of having known it - suddenly he knew it. Spike was older than his great-grandfather, probably older than his great-great-grandfather.

Plucking an envelope from the mess, Spike turned it over in his hands and studied the writing on the front. "This is for you," he said, tossing it over to Xander who caught it by instinct.

Cautiously Xander broke the seal and pulled out a distinctive green credit card and a slip of paper with a number on it. Spike took in his open mouthed expression of shock and nodded. "Memorise the number. That'll give you access to sufficient funds to set yourself up, if you need to. Don't spend it all at once, eh?"

Pulling himself together Xander asked, "Will I need to?"

Spike shrugged. "Nah, pet. 'Course not. But this isn't a two bit fight with a nondescript, would-be-master like Flavia. This could be a real battle. Don't underestimate the gravity of the challenge, but don't fear it either." His rare smile spread across his face before it transformed into the more usual smirk. "I can beat this bastard. Been around a long time and I've not met my match yet. And I plan to be around for a lot longer, don't worry."

Giving the edge of the map a twitch, he pointed to a spot in the valley "We're here."

Xander looked at the credit card one more time, then stuffed it in his pocket along with the slip of paper, to consider more carefully later. He turned his attention back to Spike's discourse as Spike ran a finger along a dotted red line, while reading what was written on another typed page from the mess. "This is the footpath up to the tourist lookout point."

"Trail," Xander interrupted. "It's not a footpath, it's a trail."

Spike shrugged. "Call it what you like. We go up to here." He jabbed a point on the map. "According to the lawyers' pet shaman, this Khalroth guy you found the reference to has a den in a cave at the source of this stream."

"Creek. Did you tell them why you wanted to find Khalroth?"

"I'm not stupid, mate. No, they're there to do what I want, I'm not giving them any details of why I want it." He looked back at the map and put his finger down on a point in the middle of nowhere. "So I reckon the cave is here."

Xander studied the map as a whole and the area Spike wanted to get to. "That's not exactly in Sun Valley," he observed. "And it's a long hike. We'd have to set off early." He cast his eyes around, following highway 75 north. "But if we drive up here," he suggested, trailing his own finger over the map, following the line of the highway, "and take this service road, it would save us a lot of time. From there we could strike off south? And if we approached this way," he ran his finger across the map towards where Spike was still marking the position of the cave, "we have the ridge to the east, so the sun will take longer to get over to us. We might still need to camp out for the day, but it looks like an easier route. There could even be tree cover. And one of those space blanket sleeping bags would keep the sun out, if we don't make it in one night."

Spike looked at him, an expression like admiration in his eyes. "Right," he said. "That's good." Gathering the map back up and folded it he added, "So we'll do that, then. Good to have you at my back, mate."

Xander ducked his head. "Nowhere else to go, so yeah, I guess I've got your back. What about ammo? What do I need?"

Spike picking through the rest of the papers, reading some sheets, tossing others aside at once. "Your wooden ones'll be no use, but take some anyway," he suggested, "it's called the Wood of Life for a reason, and you never know." He picked up the two boxes. "Here's a variety pack: more lignum vitae, silver, iron, copper, lead, rock salt; take the lot, we'll play it by ear. There doesn't seem to be any Intel on killing this thing and this note says he's a traditionalist, so formal challenge is probably the order of the day. That's my job. You hold back and keep out of it. Anything you take is for personal defence only, you can't interfere."

"Where have I heard that before?" Xander asked innocently.

*****

They set off well before dark, with Spike doing a dash for the car when Xander brought it as close to the shaded back entrance of the hotel as he could, and the service road took them further into the mountain than the map suggested. When it did eventually end Xander was able to pull up under a stand of trees, out of sight of aerial spotters, and the trek up the mountain was almost pleasant. The full moon was already in the sky by the time the sun set, so Xander hardly needed his flashlight, even though the first part of their route was along the gully floor. Once they began to climb in earnest, the trees were well spaced, so there was no fighting through undergrowth and they made good time.

For three hours they slogged up the slope, resting occasionally for Xander to take a drink from the water bottle in his pack. There was no wind at all and the air smelt clean and heavy with moisture and a hint of wood smoke. Xander stood for a moment staring back down the mountain, up at the stars, so much brighter here than in the town, and at the craters of the moon, trying to see the rabbit instead of the face on it's surface.

The distant cry of a wolf hardly disturbed the peace of the night, but it did pull him out of his dreaming and sent him hurrying to catch up with Spike, who looked back over his shoulder. "Not much further," he said, pointing towards a rocky outcrop silhouetted black against the dark blue of the sky. "I reckon it's just over that rise."

Xander made a show of looking around. "I don't see any crypts, sealed or not."

With his face in shadow, Xander couldn't be sure of Spike's expression, but no doubt Spike could see Xander's face more clearly than he could see Spike's because there was a definite smirk in his voice when he answered, "Might be inside?"

Xander spared him a glare on principle and jerked his shot gun, indicating that Spike should lead the way.

*****

The cave entrance, once they located it, turned out to be a narrow crack in the rock which opened out into a passage, almost wide enough to negotiate two abreast. They dropped their packs and Spike took the lead with Xander directing his flashlight down onto the sandy floor between them, so he could avoid the fallen, scattered rocks which Spike stepped over so effortlessly in the dark.

The unexpected grasp of a hand on his hip caused him to jump, but Spike's breathy, "Shhh," told him that Spike had simply reached back with an order to halt. He switched off his flashlight and crowded up to Spike to find out what had caused the warning. Gradually his eyes adjusted and he became aware of a diffuse golden glow ahead. "Torches," Spike whispered. "Round that bend. Come on."

They edged forwards, the light getting brighter, and then they were in a huge cavern with real Hollywood style torches in brackets around the walls, their flames sending crazy shadows dancing over the uneven surface of the rock walls and causing the cave paintings of men with spears hunting strange beasts to contort, as if they were alive.

From the darkness on the far side, near where a small altar stood, a deep gravely voice addressed them. "Trespass! Who disturbs me?" Out of the shadows two balls of fire appeared, much bigger and brighter than Spike's demon eyes, but eyes none the less. A darker shadow began to form below them as their owner came towards the light. "You seek me, vampire?" the voice boomed.

42. To beard the lion

Xander could see the moment Spike threw caution to the winds - he straightened, threw back his shoulders and strutted forward. There was no other word for it, that was definitely a strut. "Yeah, I seek you. William the bloody," he announced loudly. "You have something I want. I've come to get it." Stopping in the middle of the open space, he looked around as if taking in the decor for the first time and 'hmmm-ed' with measured approval. "You do the finger paintings?" he asked. "Nice work."

The demon stared down at Spike and, ignoring the artistic criticism and the attempt at provocation, addressed the meat of Spike's statement. "And what would that be halfling?" His voice was like the sound of a landslide, crashing and echoing around the cavern.

If anything, Spike puffed himself up even more. "I want your gem. And I challenge you for it."

The demon, Khalroth, laughed and it was as if the roof was caving in. "You have the audacity to crawl in here and demand challenge?"

Spike seemed all of a sudden to deflate and he sounded slightly doubtful, but indignant, when he answered, "Yeah!"

Khalroth considered him, then he took another step forward and Xander got a clear view of his legs, torso and arms, although his face remained in shadow. He was not as huge as he had appeared at a distance, but he still towered over Spike. His skin was brown and crusted, like the rock in which he lived, his hands were tipped by long talon-like nails that curved into vicious looking hooks and his legs ended in huge goat-like hooves. A stray flicker of light caught and reflected off what looked like long horns that swept around from the top of his head, down towards his shoulders. As silently as possible Xander operated the release button on his shotgun and began to expel the lead loaded shells, replacing them with lignum vitae, silver and iron from his pockets. Khalroth's eyes swung towards him, before shifting back to Spike. His voice was clearer now, although it still carried the undertones of earthquake. "I am Khalroth, known to the untutored as 'The Beast'. I may not refuse Challenge, halfling. You will face my champion and my gem will be my stake. While you, like all other challengers before you, will die on the first pass."

Spike threw a glance back at Xander, his face alive with vindication and the anticipation of victory. "Right! Champion to champion," he crowed and his face shifted.

But The Beast continued, "You have set my stake for me. What do you propose for your stake in this contest?"

That caused Spike to redirect his full attention back up at the demon in front of him, and he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders. "What do you want?" he asked. Immediately his face screwed up and he turned his head aside, realising what he had said. Xander only just heard his muttered, "Shit!"

Khalroth also seemed taken aback by Spike's carelessness, but he answered quickly. "I will take the thing you value most."

Spike looked down at himself. "You want my coat?" he asked dubiously.

This time Khalroth's laugh was derisive. "That is not the thing you value most. The coat is just a coat. A memento, nothing more."

Turning his back on the demon, Spike began to dig through his duster, as if searching for something, anything, of value, looking everywhere except at Xander. Eventually he ran out of pockets, straightened and seemed to come to a decision. He threw back his head and gazed up at the dark roof of the cavern, speaking over his shoulder. "Okay!" he agreed. Turning around and stepping forward, so he was squared up, chest to stomach with his opponent, he glared up at the fiery yellow eyes suspended in the shadows, his own eyes a dim reflection of their burning malignancy. "I've got a favour from Black Wind," he said. "A nice big favour. How'd you like that? Is that valuable enough for you?"

"My thanks," Khalroth replied with ironic courtesy. "I accept the gift, offered straight from your mouth, but it is not your stake in this challenge." Spike took a couple of steps back and appeared about to burst into indignant argument, but the demon pre-empted him. "You took it upon yourself to name my stake, so I will name yours." The glowing eyes swung towards Xander, who closed his own eyes and shook his head in despair. Trust the dead guy to sound off, without considering the consequences. Even Xander knew better than to play chess with the devil; all the fairy stories and comic books agreed that demons could twist anything to suit their own ends. Where was John Constantine, when you needed him? The Beast's voice was heavy with contempt as he continued. "You reek of humanity, halfling, and the human who fights at your side; you share pain and anger with him. He will be your stake."

"No!" Spike shouted, while Xander felt his own body jerk with shock.

The Beast's eyes remained trained on Xander and he ignored Spike's punch to his stomach, which didn't even cause him to sway, although it left Spike staggering backwards, clutching his fist in his other hand. Recovering himself, Xander decided that he needed to be in on this conversation. "Hey!" he yelled. "Standing right here!" He took a few unguarded steps into the cavern and collided with an invisible wall. 'Fucking, tricky, bloody demons,' he thought angrily. Although unable to get nearer, he figured he could still make himself heard from where he was. "I'm not a possession! " he shouted. "I can't be gambled!" He tried to step back to go around the obstruction, whatever it was, but was brought up short by another solid wall of air behind him.

Stretching out his left arm parallel to the floor and swinging it in a circular motion, the beast demon laughed yet again. This time it sounded almost like a snigger, with a hint of giggle. If Xander hadn't been so terrified, he might have found it amusing, to hear such a sound come from such a body. "You have admitted your status," The Beast said, as a silver disc appeared, hanging in midair in front of them. It rippled, like the surface of a pond when a stone is thrown into it's centre and a picture appeared there, gradually expanding out to the edges, and they were looking through a window into the past:

Xander sat against a wall on the floor of Spike's old lair in Sunnydale, ropes and shackles around his wrists and ankles. Spike was on the sofa opposite, leaning forwards as he pulled a cigarette out of his pack. "My Sire gave you to me, the other day," vision-Spike said conversationally.

The picture flickered with interference, like the fast forward of a VCR, before it settled again. The scene was unchanged, except that vision-Spike was now smoking. Xander watched as vision-Xander opened his mouth. "Or you could just give me back to Angel. Think of me as a Sire's day present, or something," he said.

The disc disappeared taking the picture with it and The Beast focused his glowing eyes on Xander. "Condemned with your own words. You are the stake for which the vampire will fight." He turned back to Spike and the sneer was back. "You! A legendary dark warrior? Look at you now! You care for this human man-child."

"I am a warrior-" Spike began to protest.

Khalroth interrupted, "Yours is the lowest of all the half-breeds and your short ascendancy, beyond your natural status, is long past. You are a pathetic excuse for a demon, vampire. Half-breed!"

Shucking off his duster and allowing it to fall carelessly to the floor, Spike braced himself in a fighting stance and growled, "Yeah? Insult me, would you? I'll show you pathetic! You want champion to champion? I'll give you champion to champion. Just give it your best shot!"

Xander lifted his shotgun and using it as a battering ram tried to hammer at the invisible walls that confined him, yelling, "Let me out! You bastard, let me out!" The gun's butt didn't actually hit anything, it just stopped. Xander turned and tried another direction with the same results. He was well and truly trapped. Spike didn't even glance over and Xander got the distinct impression that although he could see and hear everything, Spike could no longer hear him. He dropped his arms and Khalroth's gravely voice whispered in the air behind him, "Yessss."

From behind The Beast, a new dark shadow appeared. Rushing into the cavern it charged at Spike, who only just managed to dodge to the side to avoid it. As he turned to face the threat, the creature appeared to bounce off the wall. In fact, Xander could have sworn that it actually climbed up the vertical face of the rock before it sprang back into the cleared central space. There it halted, pawing the sandy floor with one front hoof, its huge tusks dripping saliva on the ground in front of it. It looked like a cross between a wild boar and a small buffalo, but with long, needle-like spines protruding from around it's neck and along the length of its back. It also looked annoyed. Spike was bouncing again.

"Bloody hell!" Spike cried. "What the fuck happened to introductions? This your champion?" He glared at the creature. "You bloody attack without warning? I could get seriously annoyed, here." With the edge of his foot, he kicked his duster out of the way and settled into a fighting crouch.

Xander stood hard up against the wall of his invisible prison, hands braced on nothing, as the creature charged again. It was fast and Xander couldn't see how Spike would combat it. It didn't seem to have any obvious weak spots and its tusks were pointing straight at Spike's stomach. He gave an involuntary cry, useless warning or dismay, as it registered that Spike wasn't going to dodge this time. He just stood there, his slight bouncing the only sign that he was ready.

With his heart in his mouth Xander watched as everything slowed down, he could almost see the individual drops of saliva hitting the sand. Then with a rush the scene accelerated and Spike fell backwards to the floor, just before the creature reached him, grabbing at and gripping the vicious two foot long tusks as he pulled his knees up his chest. As the creature loomed above him Spike allowed himself to roll back onto his shoulders with the momentum, straightening his legs at the same time. He planted his feet straight up into the creature's soft underbelly, and the tips of the tusks hit the ground next to his shoulders and their tips dug into the sand, while the rest of the creature went over in a crazy summersault, crashing onto its back with a squeal of indignation, shock and pain. Spike rolled away and scrambled to his feet, wiping saliva from his face and Xander took a deep steadying breath.

While the creature was trying to get all four of its legs underneath it, Spike backed away instead of closing for the kill and Xander winced as he realised the reason. Spike's left shoulder was dislocated. Spinning quickly round in a circle, scanning the cavern, Spike ran to the entrance, braced himself for a moment, before crashing his shoulder into the rock wall. He screamed, but when he pulled back the joint looked like it was back in place, although he seemed to be cautious about moving it.

Meanwhile the four legged beastie was back on its feet and was already charging. This time Spike jumped, legs bent and clearing the creature's tossing head by a scant six inches, before crashing down to plant both heavy boots squarely in the centre of the creature's back bone, regardless of the needle sharp spines. The creature staggered under the blow, lurching to the side while Spike retained his balance on the unstable surface, bent his knees and sprang free, dripping blood from a long gash in the leg of his jeans. He landed awkwardly and tried to turn, but this time the creature had not gone down, its hooves scrabbled in the sand, but retained enough purchase for it to swing around and one tusk tore another gash across Spike's side, just above his belt, before he was able to lurch out of range. His feet were peddling madly, trying keep themselves under him as he staggered backwards and crashed into the rock wall.

The creature followed and while Spike's body was still reverberating with the shock of impact, it closed and Xander watched in horror as one tusk skewered him through the stomach pinning him in place. Spike screamed again and the creature backed up, tossing its head. Spike, still skewered on its tusk and flapping around like the proverbial rag doll, eventually came loose and flew across the room to land in an ungainly heap of arms and legs a good fifteen feet behind the creature.

Xander closed his eyes, thinking that he couldn't bear to watch, but snapped them open again when he realised that hearing without seeing was even worse. Spike was still on the floor, apparently struggling to get his hands under him, to push himself up and the creature approached cautiously, tusks down, ready to scoop him up and throw him again. It was within inches of slipping its tusk under Spike's body to do so, or possibly slipping them into Spike's body, when Spike's right arm came free from behind his back, the knife blade catching the light. He lashed out at the creature's face, scoring the point of the blade across its right eye and for a moment Xander thought it had penetrated, but the Beast's champion merely squealed again, pulled its head back and kept coming, knocking the hand and the knife away with its tusk and planting its left forefoot down on Spike's arm, pinning him down to the sound of cracking bones. It had already lifted its right leg above Spike's ribcage, when Khalroth interrupted its actions with a word of command in some guttural and probably non-human language. The creature froze, glanced back at its master and placed the foot down anyway, but more gently, just pinning Spike down, not crushing him. Another string of incomprehensible orders and the creature backed reluctantly away from Spike, to Khalroth's side. Khalroth lowered one hand and gently stroked its snout, before walked forward to stand over the fallen vampire. The creature followed, like a dog walking at heel.

And now The Beast's face came into the light. Somehow, in spite of the rotting flesh populated by maggots that took the place of the nose and left cheek bone Xander had expected, Xander could still read the expression of triumph and the sneer he directed at Spike. "Did you really think you'd win?" he asked. He glanced at Xander and smiled. "I claim your stake." Turning back he looked down on Spike and cocked his head in thought, and the smile turned sly. "But for all your lowly status, you have been a worthy adversary and in recognition of that, and in thanks for your earlier gift, I will allow you to live. I'll even do you a favour. The removal of all memories of humanity will free you, to be a true warrior for the cause, a real demon, fully and without pollution. No more halfling, in future you will fight for the darkness with an unclouded heart." His eyes flared, bright as fire, seeming to cast shadows of their own over Spike's pain-contorted face. "I will make you whole!"

43. More grievous torment

Spike raised his head weakly and glared at The Beast, his right hand twitched where it lay across his chest, two fingers straight while the others were curled into the palm, but the effort appeared to be too much and he collapsed back to the floor.

Walking away to face the altar, from where he had first appeared, Khalroth raised his voice and cried, "I call on Black Wind. With the favour granted by this halfling, I call. Come and fulfil your promise. Make this warrior whole."

Turning to Xander, who was leaning against the invisible walls that confined him, he added conversationally. "He'll be here soon."

Xander snarled, "Let me out. Let me out of here, right now!" The walls disappeared before he had even finished speaking and he staggered forwards, only preventing himself falling flat on his face by the use of his shotgun as a prop. Recovering, he rushed across the cavern to Spike's side, falling to his knees by Spike's shoulder and putting his ear to the still chest, stupidly searching for a heartbeat before he came to his senses. "Spike?" he whispered, his hand hovering above the bloody mess that was Spike's stomach, afraid to touch, afraid to leave him be. "Spike, open your eyes. You're not dust, so you're not dead. Come on! Wake up, damn you!"

Slowly Spike's eyes cracked open and he gazed up into Xander's face. "I knew," he breathed. "I knew it could be. William was right." He stifled a groan behind tight lips and took another shallow breath. "I'm sorry, pet. Run! Run now, because I won't remember this, once..." His eyes closed again and his head fell back limply on the sand and this time he stayed still.

Xander turned to look up at Khalroth who smiled. "You can't run anywhere, you're mine, human."

In spite of the fear that ran like an icy chill down Xander's spine, he gathered his courage and stood, gripping his shotgun and holding it ready in front of his hips. He swallowed to moisten his dry mouth and gritted out, "You've made a mistake. Everybody makes a mistake sometime, and this was yours." The Beast cocked his head to one side questioningly and Xander took a deep breath. "You forgot something - you declared your champion, but you didn't give Spike a chance to declare his. I'm a soldier. Do you know what a soldier is?" Inside he was terrified, but he concentrated on keeping his voice firm and his hands steady. "I am Spike's champion!" he announced as he raised his shotgun and fired straight into the face of the creature at Khalroth's side, backing up as he fired: one of silver, one of iron and two of Lignum vitae. The creature squealed again, more violently than before and began to shudder, the spines on its back vibrating as it reared up, its forefeet lifting a foot off the ground and it's head tossing from side to side. With a final ear piercing whistle, which ended in a guttural wheeze, the creature sank to the floor and rolled onto it's side. Frantically, Xander tried to remember what the next round was charged with as he pumped it into the breech and the spent shell casing fell to the floor.

Swinging the shotgun away from the mess that was the pig-creature, he pointed it at Khalroth, who stared down at his fallen champion with shock. "What have you done?" Khalroth gasped.

Xander shifted to stand astride Spike's unconscious body. "It's called the 'Wood of Life' for a reason, mate," he said viciously. "So, champion to champion, I'd say my side wins, wouldn't you?"

The Beast knelt and laid a craggy hand on his champion's still flank, almost petting the bristly hair. He looked up at Xander. "This changes things."

Whatever else The Beast may have been about to add was interrupted by a deep, warm laugh and a slow clap of hands. Xander spun to face the sound, shotgun raised, and there was Black Wind, wearing a knitted wool beanie which caused the ends of his hair to stick out sideways from beneath it, faded jeans, battered sneakers, a shapeless brown coat with huge sagging pockets and a smile. Xander lowered his weapon and turned back to The Beast, speaking over his shoulder to Black Wind, "Hello, old man, sir," he said and, in spite of everything, he found himself smiling at the sound of Black Wind's appreciative chuckle. "Can you help Spike?" he asked.

There was a rustling sound behind him, but he didn't look back, keeping his attention fixed on The Beast and trusting in Black Wind to do whatever was necessary, although he did relax slightly when Black Wind replied, "Yes, I can patch him up, so he won't bleed out. He'll live, so to speak. You carry on with your negotiations, I'll look after your friend here."

Right, negotiations. What the hell did that mean? Xander looked at The Beast, who, while still ugly as sin, didn't seem so all powerful, now that his champion was dead. He shrugged. "So, I guess that means I'm not yours after all, huh?" he said. "And if I'm not mistaken, we win a gem. Want to bring that out here?"

"Come," Khalroth instructed as he turned and walked over to the altar. Xander followed and watched as Khalroth pressed one of the carvings on its side. There was a grinding sound and slowly a small pedestal raised itself above the surface of the altar, exposing a large diamond to view. Khalroth picked up the gem and held it out on the flat palm of his hand.

Xander gazed at it in awe. It was almost an inch across at its widest point. "Wow," he gasped as he reached out and took it. An almost sensual quiver ran up his arm to his shoulder and settled in his chest. Suddenly he felt smug and happy. "This is the Gem of Amara? It's impressive."

The Beast's hands twitched, as if he wanted to snatch it back. "No, stupid mortal. It's the Gem of Endless Being. The gem your master wanted and challenged me for."

A shiver of dread snaked down Xander's spine, dislodging the warmth from the gem. "Er, no," he said, hoping that this was just a case of mistaken baubles. "We came for the Gem of Amara. So why don't you quit stalling and pull it from where ever you have it hidden?"

It was strange hearing exasperation coming from such a pug-ugly face. "The Gem of Amara is in the Valley of the Sun, not here, mortal. This is my gem, which your Master has now won."

Feeling somewhat out of his depth, Xander cast a quick glance over his shoulder, but Spike was still out and Black Wind was busy working a bandage around his middle. Xander turned back to Khalroth. "So, what does this one do then?"

"This is the gem that balances the world," Khalroth announced, and what was it with demon types that they had to be so pompous all the time?

"And I've won that?"

"Your master has won that, through your efforts." Khalroth corrected.

Xander nodded slowly, he had a bad feeling about this. That was a pretty big name to go with a pretty impressive bit of crystal and Xander's spider senses were tingling like crazy. "And what happens when we take it?" he asked cautiously.

"You don't take it," The Beast said. "The responsibility of the balance is now yours. Now, I have to leave and you become its guardians. Eventually a challenger will arrive and defeat you. Or not. Until then, you will stay here. When you are finally defeated, you will still stay here, but your master will be in my place and take his leave."

Sometimes Xander wished that his spider senses weren't so freaking accurate. Placing the gem carefully back on its stand, he took his shotgun in both hands and glared up at The Beast's face. "Oh no!" he declared. "That can't be right! That's not what we came for. We don't want that."

There was flicker of something in Khalroth's eyes as he gazed back. "You have no choice. You challenged for the gem and this is the gem you won."

With a groan Xander turned away and walked back the few yards to Spike's side, checking how Black Wind was getting on with his bandaging, before he turned back to The Beast. "But there must be a way?" he said. "Something we can do. Some other thing?"

Khalroth's smile was not reassuring. "Do you cede the victory to me then?"

Xander narrowed his eyes. "And what happens if I do?"

"You can leave," The Beast said with a careless shrug.

But Xander figured that anybody who proudly announced that their name was 'The Beast' and threatened to turn Spike into a pure, evil demon was unlikely to suddenly become a straight talker, so he decided to get as much information as possible and hope he didn't miss anything important. "And I take Spike with me?" he asked.

"Ah, no. If you cede victory, I keep the gem and your master dies. But I'll let you go."

Xander pursed his lips in thought. He hated being this responsible, but Black Wind seemed to be deliberately keeping out of it, leaving him the only candidate still standing. "We need a compromise," he said, staring straight up into The Beast's eyes. "At the moment, we have the gem, but it turns out we don't want it. You seem to want it back. So let's think about this and see if we can't work it out?"

"Umm, excuse me," Black Wind interrupted the staring contest and stood to address Khalroth, "Fascinating as this dilemma is for you," he agreed, tentatively, "I have a shop to run. You called me here to do a job. Maybe we can get to that first?"

The Beast, shifted his gaze to Black Wind and nodded. "Yes, I called you to fulfil the favour you owe me, but things have changed, I have a different call."

With a shake of his head, Black Wind knelt back down on one knee and finished tying off the bandages that covered Spike's torso. Xander noticed that Black Wind had straightened Spike's limbs and that Spike's eyes were now open. He appeared to be listening carefully to the exchange and his face had relaxed, so hopefully Black Wind had been able to do something for the pain, as well.

"You have already asked your favour," Black Wind explained, without looking away from his task. "You asked me to make Spike whole. You cannot now change your mind."

Spike rolled his head on the ground in denial. "No, Black Wind," he whispered. "I can't be that." From where he stood, Xander couldn't see Black Wind's face, but Spike suddenly fell silent, his face going blank and Xander felt like a glass wall had formed between him and the intimacy of their communication.

"There is an alternative." Black Wind suggested. "The call was to make you whole. I can make you whole by giving you your soul."

The Beast interrupted "That's not what I asked for. You play tricks, shaman."

Black Wind's expression of contempt would have withered Xander on the spot, if it had been directed at him. "As did you. And like you, I break no rules." He turned back to Spike, placing a calming hand on Spike's shoulder, as if holding him down. "In fact, I would claim to stay closer to the spirit of the rules than you did when you gained the favour from the vampire in the first place.

Spike's face twisted in anguished denial as he groaned, "It's that or lose my memories of William?"

"That's what Khalroth wants."

Spike raised his head and gazed at them, all gathered around him. He looked desolate, like there was nowhere further he could fall. He focussed on Xander and a strange series of expressions flitted across his face: sorrow, regret, wonder, pride. Finally he turned to Black Wind. "So I get to be a poof like my grandsire, or some sort of work slave to the higher powers of darkness?" He closed his eyes for a moment and when he reopened them there was a new determination there. "Okay, you old bastard. Do it! I'll live with the consequences. Give me my bloody soul!"

Khalroth roared. "Stop! This is my call. You don't get the choice on which direction you go." He pointed at Black Wind. "I demand he be made pure. Take his humanity!"

From feeling like he was standing on the edge of the conversation, Xander suddenly felt it rush back at him with the impact of a freight train. "Hang on!" he cried. "Taking his memories, you can't do that." He looked at Black Wind beseechingly and added quietly, "You can't, can you?"

Black Wind looked thoughtful. "I could," he said. "Technically, I could." A smile curved his lips and lit his eyes. "But there were terms attached to the favour I granted - nothing that would compromise my magic in any way resembling what the watchers wanted from me. And to take such a big part of Spike away from him, would be to compromise his integrity as a vampire. You should always check the details of a contract, before you cash it in. By definition vampires are what you call halflings." He noticed Khalroth open his mouth and continued quickly. "But you asked for me to make him whole." He grinned. "And that I can do. I can give him his soul and the favour is paid."

Xander stared at Black Wind, aghast. "But, but, you're going to drag William out of heaven? Just so you can be free of a debt?"

Black Wind shook his head "No, boy!" He threw up his hands, then took a deep breath and it seemed that he decided to explain. "You know the word 'ego'?" he asked.

Xander nodded cautiously.

"Well, know this: 'soul' and 'ego' have nothing to do with each other! It is a Christian thing, to believe that the soul carries the personality, because you can't imagine the concept of 'you' without your self image, your 'ego'. William is dead and long gone to his reward. I'm going to give Spike his own soul." He must have read Xander's incomprehension from his face, because he tried again. "The closest term you Christians have for what it is, is 'conscience', but even that is woefully inadequate. It is a soul and it will be Spike's soul!"

Xander felt as if the world had started spinning backwards "But the only vampire with a soul is Angel, and his was a curse. You're going to curse Spike?"

With a grimace Black Wind opened his mouth to answer, but Khalroth interrupted, spluttering with indignation. "I take it back! I'll keep the favour."

Shaking his head in mock regret, Black Wind disagreed, "I'm so sorry," he said, sweetly, "but you can't do that. You asked and I will fulfil your wish. I couldn't take William out of Spike and leave him whole, but giving a soul will not destroy the vampire and, as the boy says, there's a precedent." Forestalling The Beast's repeated objection he added, "Nor can you cancel without my agreement. And since I don't want the shadow of a favour owed to you hanging over my head like a bad smell, you get the favour you asked for, or you grant it back to me, unpaid.

"You've been hiding in here for centuries. You wanted to turn Spike free as pure demon, to curry favour with the powers you offended. So, how's this as an alternative? Instead you turn him free with a soul. Wouldn't you prefer to stay here? If I give Spike his soul, he can't be the gem's guardian. So, he'll have to return it to you. If I don't, he will stay here, and you will leave.

"I know it's not usual, but it's not actually against the Lore, if you," he pointed at Xander, "on behalf of your, er, on behalf of your vampire, cede the gem back to Khalroth here, while you," pointing at The Beast this time, "cede the vampire back to the Champion and let them leave. The only downside I can see is that you," still pointing at Khalroth, "will have to be your own champion from now on, unless you can persuade some other dumb beast with a love of gore and glory to join you?"

By the time he'd finished, Khalroth was wearing a small smug smile, although he did add one more token protest. "It will disturb the balance too much."

Black Wind waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, not a bit of it. It might be a small act of magnanimity on your part," Khalroth winced, "but it's balanced by an act of pure selfishness on the part of the human." He shrugged. "It all balances out." He studied the demon. "And you don't really want to be back out there, do you, with all the politics and intrigue?" Khalroth shuddered, but probably for a different reason this time.

Xander gazed at Black Wind in shock. "It's that easy? It can't be that easy."

With another shrug Black Wind spared him a glance, but immediately returned his attention back to The Beast. "No, it's not easy at all, but it is not complex."

Reluctantly Khalroth nodded and Black Wind placed his hand on Spike's chest. There was a pause, then the air seemed to crackle and the torches around the walls spluttered, before flaring brighter than before. Xander saw a clear blue-white glow form around Black Wind's hand. It seemed to burn through his flesh, so Xander could see the individual bones stand out dark against the glare. Spike stiffened and his back arched away from the floor as the light sank into his chest, and he screamed.

Rising shakily to his feet, Black Wind swayed as he turned and nodded to The Beast. Xander reached out to catch him and for a moment the shaman braced himself against Xander's strength, resting his head on Xander's shoulder. His chest and back heaved with the effort of breathing.

After a moment that felt like an hour, Black Wind looked up. "Come child," he said, "let me help you get this poor creature out of here." He stepped away from Xander and together they hoisted Spike onto his feet. Taking an arm each, across their own shoulders, they half supported, half dragged Spike to the entrance of the cavern.

They staggered out into the passage way, heading once more for the open mountainside. At the entrance Black Wind paused and with Xander's help, propped Spike up on a rocky outcrop. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a couple of bags of blood. "Here," he instructed. "You open these, while I check that the bandage held, so it doesn't pour straight out again."

Xander retrieved their back packs and dug in the side pocket of his own for a pen knife. "Was that true?" he asked. "What you said about Spike with a soul not being able to be guardian of the gem?"

Looking back over his shoulder Black Wind winked "Maybe," he said. "Or maybe I was creative with the truth." He laughed. "Demons! You know what? Once you get past all the pomp and ceremony, they're still unprincipled, tricky bastards, but they're much more natural about it. That gem is powerful and it will infect a soul, if there's a soul nearby." He shrugged and took the first opened bag from Xander and held it to Spike's mouth. "It doesn't matter. I knew being stuck in there for eternity would drive Spike crazy and anyway, he still owes me a favour."

Spike was only half conscious, but he could apparently drink on autopilot and the blood mostly disappeared down his throat on the inside. Once he had emptied both bags, Black Wind shouldered Spike's pack and between them they hauled him up and dragged him out of the cave mouth, into the night.

As the fresh mountain air hit his face, Spike roused. He shook his head, as if confused, looking along his shoulder at Xander. "You gotta stop doin' this, y'know?" he slurred.

"Doing what?"

"Rescuing me, like I'm some bleeding damsel in distress. I told y'to run."

"Well, you were bleeding," Xander pointed out. Off Spike's exasperated expression he added, "So you want us to leave you here to fry, do you?" He glanced at his watch. "Sun's up in just over two hours. Or do you want a hand?" he asked, as he took a stronger hold on Spike's wrist.

Spike attempted to answer, but all he could manage was the raising of one finger in salute.

44. Epilogue

The phone rang five times before it was picked up and Willow's voice framed a tentative, "Hello?"

"Wills?" Xander asked, although he knew it was her. "It's me," he added.

His introduction was also unnecessary, because she was already gasping a surprised, "Xander? Oh God, Xander! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, yes. I'm still alive." Such a crazy thing to have to say, but so necessary given the world they lived in. "I'm coming home. Are you alright? Is everyone okay?" He couldn't ask if everyone was alive, but it was what he meant and they both knew it. It was over a month since his last phone call from New York, on the night of the watchers and Black Wind's shop, and anything could have happened in that time.

But Willow was still caught in the amazement of his first news. "Oh Xander. You got free? How? When? No wait!" She paused and took a breath. "Where are you? How are you getting home? Can we come and..." She trailed off and Xander felt a lump of worry form in his throat. "Are you really alright?" she added, instead of finishing her previous thought.

"Yes," he assured her, "I promise." It wasn't just the hesitation, there was something about the tone of her voice. There was no doubting the real relief, but something was clouding her honest joy at hearing from him. Almost afraid of the answer, nevertheless he asked, "What's wrong?"

But instead of answering, she launched into string of explanation and suggestions. "I was going to say that Giles would come and collect you, wherever you are. He was ready to fly anywhere, if we only knew where to find you, but now, I don't think he could. Maybe Jenny, Ms Calendar, could come? She has a car, if you're not too far away, I'm sure she wouldn't mind. But I don't think Giles could leave Buffy right now, not with everything..." Again, she didn't finish. There was a long pause, then she whispered, as if afraid she'd be overheard, "It's not good here." Xander almost felt the 'huff' of her sigh against his ear. "Angelus came back."

"Angelus?" From the deep reaches of his memories, Xander pulled up the reference. "You mean Angel?"

Willow's sigh was deep and heartfelt and, for some reason, it irritated him. He tried to shake off the impression that she was disappointed in him, but her next words didn't help. "You've been gone so long," she said. There was a momentary pause and if Xander hadn't already been listening carefully to the tone and rhythm of her speech, he would have missed it. "Angel lost his soul and became Angelus," she explained. "It happened last week. We really don't know why. But the curse broke somehow." Another pause and when she spoke again her voice was firmer. "When will you be home?"

Looking across the room of the basement apartment that Black Wind had helped him find in Las Vegas, to the vampire curled up and shivering, wedged into the corner, hugging his knees and muttering quietly, Xander thought about madness and the cures for madness, and pinned his hopes on Black Wind's prediction that this would pass. "A couple of weeks?" he suggested, tentatively, unwilling to make promises at this stage. Spike's mutterings were becoming clearer and he knew what came next. "Sorry Wills, I've gotta go," he said. "I'll call again when I'm back. I need to find a place to live. I'm not going home to my parents." He took a deep breath "I'm bringing Spike. I'll explain when I see you, but he's got a soul now. I know it sounds crazy, but it is true. Tell Giles and Buffy, I'll see them soon. But I have to go now. Bye, Wills. Bye."

He put the phone down before she could protest and sat back in his chair. Angel had lost his soul. Xander wanted to kick something. Angel was supposed to help him. Help Spike. Angel, who had had a soul for a hundred years. And he went and lost it the very week he was needed!

Spike stirred again and he looked up, straight into Xander's eyes. "I had a speech," he said clearly. "I learned it all. Oh, God. He won't understand, He won't understand." Xander slumped, knowing that Spike wasn't actually seeing him. "If I don't move, if I don't think, if I don't listen to the voices, then I won't hurt...much," Spike wailed. "No! Don't! I can't!" He fell silent for a moment, but it didn't last. His eyes shifted away from Xander's so he was staring blankly down at the floor in front of his bare feet. "I'm a bad man. William is a baaad man. I hurt the boy, can't blame him for being skittish. But making him understand... is a totally different matter." He looked up and caught Xander's eye again. "No manners is the problem. Proper breeding. Lack of etiquette. All of it lacking." For a moment Xander wondered if Spike was talking about him, but his next utterances were back to being nonsense. "Stop! Please, mum! Begging now! Make it stop! Oh, God!" Xander thanked heaven that he had managed to find and confiscate all the knives Spike kept secreted about his person. At least, he hoped he had.

In his waking hours, Spike alternated between quiet but rational, and totally incoherent, and during those times Xander had to sometimes fight him, to prevent him ripping his own chest open, redirecting Spike's hands so they held onto Xander, instead of clawing at his own body. The slashes and scratches were deep and painful looking, but Spike ignored them as if they were nothing. His sleep was always shallow, and troubled by dreams, and over the past week Xander had learnt that once he started dreaming it was not safe to be too close. The first night after Black Wind left them in their hotel room and disappeared with a promise to be back, Spike had slipped into a fitful, healing sleep, just as Black Wind had predicted, and Xander had relaxed in his hopeful ignorance. Curling up in his bed he had fallen into the deep, dreamless sleep of too much exercise after an adrenaline crash.

It had been the sound of breaking glass that dragged him out of his exhausted stupor and he'd opened bleary eyes just in time to see Spike, standing in the middle of the floor, suddenly bathed in sunlight streaming in through the broken window. Spike had yelped and jumped back, dropping the smashed up room service telephone in the process and Xander rushed to him, to check he was not burnt and to try and calm him down. That proved to be beyond his powers and he spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in a patch of sunlight on the carpet, nursing a black eye, while he watched Spike first tear the room apart as he cursed and ranted, then gradually still and retreat, until he was curled up in a tight ball between Xander's bed and the bathroom door, his rants reduced to wails of sorrow and loss, as the tears streamed down his face.

It hurt to see this proud, scary guy curled in upon himself, like a broken doll. It scared the fuck out of him, almost more than the previous manic fit, although for totally different reasons.

But by evening Spike seemed lucid again, complaining about the loss of his coat - his leathery comfort blanket. He even managed to do some deal with the hotel so that they didn't actually call the cops and have them both arrested. They had however been asked to leave and never come back.

It was as they drove out of town that Xander brought up the idea of going home and finding Angel. Spike refused point blank, at first, but Xander argued his case, pointing out that Spike didn't have to model himself on Angel, but reminding him that Angel had helped him before, when he'd needed his sire, and he would surely help again. But in the end, it was Xander's admission that he wanted to go home that had swung it. It seemed that Spike with a soul could be swayed by emotional blackmail, where rational argument had no effect.

They stopped for the day in Salt Lake City and for a few blissful hours Xander had thought it would be okay, but then Spike's condition had begun to deteriorate. As he gradually slipped into a world of incoherence and the nightmare of memory, his moments of normality becoming fewer and further between. That was when Xander knew that they couldn't go straight back to Sunnydale. Angel would have to come to them. There was no way Xander could expose Spike, or his damaged reputation, to the Hellmouth. Not until he figured out what was wrong and how to fix him. When Black Wind rejoined them that night, Xander enlisted his assistance, playing on the fact that Spike was only in this state because Black Wind had wanted rid of a debt. Whether it was his increasing skill in playing the blackmail card, or whether it was in Black Wind's own interests to have Spike safe and sane, Xander didn't know, but at least Black Wind had helped find them a place to stay for a while.

So here they were, holed up in Las Vegas on the strength of Xander's credit card, and Angel had failed them. Xander was exhausted. For the last two days he'd been almost too afraid to sleep, for fear that Spike would try to leave during the day. And tying him up was really not an option, unless he co-operated, which he wasn't about to do. Xander had almost lost him on their first day in town. He'd started awake just as the motel door closed, rolled out of bed and pulled on his jeans, rushing out into the dusk without shoes or shirt, thankfully managing to catch up with Spike before the end of the street and persuade him to return to the room with promises of blood.

If for no other reason, the need to keep Spike fed made it impossible to go back to Sunnydale. He'd walked the streets for hours, dragging the muttering vampire with him, in search of down-and-outs willing to do a deal for a few pints. That wasn't a problem in a city like this, but he really wasn't sure it would work on the Hellmouth. That meant Willy's and he couldn't take Spike there, where his face was known. The danger from the local demon population finding out what a mess he was, was too great.

At least there had been no more wrecking of rooms, because Xander had finally discovered a means of keeping Spike calm. He scrubbed his face, braced his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. Walking slowly towards Spike, like a wild beast trainer approaching a lion, he began to whisper soothingly, "Spike? It's okay. It's me. Xander. I'm here. Hang on in there, it's alright, you're not alone." Crouching down he laid a tentative hand on Spike's knee.

For a moment nothing happened and Xander wasn't sure if the vampire was aware he was there. Then Spike's hand shot out, grabbed Xander's and clutched it to his own chest, pulling Xander off balance, so he had to place his other hand on Spike shoulder to prevent himself falling straight into the vampire's lap. "Don't, don't leave me. Stay here, and help me be quiet," Spike whispered.

Unable, and unwilling to even try, to free his left hand from Spike's grasp, Xander shuffled around so he was leaning against the wall next to the huddled figure. He slipped his right arm round Spike shoulders and pulled the stiff body in towards his chest. For a moment the vampire seemed to resist, then he slumped into Xander's side and laid his head in the crook of Xander's neck. Xander tilted his head so his cheek rested against Spike's hair and gazed across the room, thinking about the phone call to Spike's lawyers in LA and the instructions he had given, that they find accommodation suitable for a vampire and a human, in one of Sunnydale's better neighbourhoods. It had all been bluff, but it seemed to work when he insisted that Master Spike had given him very specific instructions about payment. Remembering Willow's reaction, he spent some time trying to figure out how he was going to explain both his return and his protective feelings towards Spike to her, and to Giles and Buffy. But eventually he gave up, if they could accept Angel when he had a soul, they'd just have to do the same for Spike. The Scoobies and Angelus were a problem for another day. He'd face that, with Spike, when they got back. In the meantime, he held Spike close and kept the nightmares at bay.

Note: The title of chapter 37 is from a poem by Yeats, written in 1919. Something about it seemed to fit Xander at this point:

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

For those outside of North America, the GED is the General Educational Development test, for people
who don't have a high school diploma for some reason and acts as proof of equivalent achievement.