As Spike entered the bar, he searched for the darkest, emptiest corner
available and made himself comfortable. Looking around, he saw a dim,
smokey room, which was almost empty. A few people sat at the bar. Most of
them were drunken old men. Easy targets, if it wasn't for this damn chip
in his head. He missed the thrill of the kill. Surveying his surroundings
a bit more, he noticed a cloaked figure across the room. The figure seemed
to look his way, but a second later, its head was down, looking at an
unknown object on the table. He cocked his head to the side, observing
this Figure more closely. Clothed in simple black robes, a large hood
covered the mysterious stranger's face. The figure's hands were busy
fidgeting with something which he could not see. A waitress came by
minutes later and he ordered a gin and tonic. Not his usual drink, but he
wasn't feeling his usual naughty self tonight. Quite the opposite,
actually. He was miserable as ever. Not that he would pass up a good
fight, but he wasn't going to go looking for trouble this evening. The
waitress brought his drink over. Her scent wafted under his nose making
him lust for the taste of hot blood rather than this cold hard alcohol.
'Well, it's better than nothing,' he thought and took a large gulp. Again,
his eyes strayed over to the dark Figure in the corner, who, again, seemed
to be looking his way. Confused, he finished his drink and motioned for
the waitress to bring him another. This time, he kept his eyes on the
Figure. And the Figure kept its eyes on him. He began to wonder if maybe
he knew this person. He thought of waving, but quickly dismissed the idea,
deciding it was stupid. He racked his brain for a clue. Still, this
Figure did not seem familiar. Perhaps it was just a Druid or Sorcerer who
could sense he wasn't quite human. The waitress then brought over another
drink and he mumbled a thank you as he barely took his eyes off the cloaked
stranger. He looked over to the Figure one more time and saw that it was
blatantly staring at him, not wavering in its gaze. Annoyed, he slammed
down his glass, strutted over to the table and sat himself down.
"What do you want?" He asked the mysterious person.
"I've been watching you." A female's voice answered.
"I noticed. What for?" He snapped.
The figure looked about her and, when no one was watching her, she lowered her hood. Her dark hair, offset by her icy blue eyes, spilled down over her shoulders. Thick and shiny, it waved a little, framing her pale, round face nicely. A large patch was worn over her left eye and practically covered half of her face. Her mouth, though, was completely visible. Sitting below a small rounded nose, her lips were a soft pink, parted slightly in a tiny smile. Her cheeks were pale, a sheen of the whitest skin he'd seen in a long time. Overall, this woman, whom he estimated to be no older than twenty, was beautiful. He found himself staring and would have kept his eyes on hers if not for a glint of silver at her neck that caught his eye. A small shiny rune dangled from a black velvet collar. The rune was carved deeply into a circle of silver in many sharp lines which seemed to bounce off of each other. Finally, the entire symbol was encased in a circle. It almost resembled a pentacle, but was too far off to be mistaken for one. Observing it more, he realized that didn't recognize its origin, so he dismissed it, assuming it was unimportant.
He grew impatient waiting for a response. "I said, what for?"
"I heard you were in the market for a reverse love spell." She said quietly, holding his gaze, her sweet voice throaty, scratchy, sexy.
"You know me?" Spike asked quizzically.
"I know OF you. You're from Sunny Dale. Fallen in love with a Slayer, I hear." She paused, looking at him sternly. "I'd like to help you get rid of this little problem."
"Why?" He asked suspiciously.
"Because that's what it is. A problem. Vampires do not love Slayers. Vampires KILL Slayers. You've killed two yourself." Her tone was condescending. She had a distinct authority in her voice that Spike didn't like. He looked away. When Spike didn't respond, she leaned over the table and continued, changing her tone. This time, she sounded tempting. She wanted the Slayer dead. That much was clear. "Don't you miss it, Spike? The rush? The thrill? Don't you want to kill another?" She whispered.
"Not her."
"You won't feel that way once I'm done with you." She said confidently, perhaps even seductively.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Faitlin." She smiled, then reached up to the eye patch. Slowly pulling it off her face and over her head, she revealed her other eye, made entirely of silver. Still, though, her eye was lined with black thick lashes, and sat under a thin black brow. She was scarred severely, a long line, coming down from the eye, stretched across her cheek to her jaw, roughly an inch away from her ear. Another ran up from her eyebrow to her hairline, deep and red. This was the mark of the Magi.
Immediately recognizing it, he exclaimed softly and in awe, "Magi." He stared a while longer. He'd never been in the presence of a Magi before. They were all powerful witches and warlocks, some from this dimension, others from far off places. Hells, which he would rather not think about, too creepy, even for him. It was told that the Magi were able to waltz through time or dimensional portals whenever it pleased them, make reincarnations look like child's play, and kill a human in a glance. He respected them as he would respect anyone of that stature. Smiling suddenly, he joked, "They really branded you good, didn't they?" Gesturing to her scar.
"Being all powerful isn't as glamorous as they make it out to be." She smiled back. She looked around the now empty bar. The waitress seemed to be in the kitchen and the drunkards at the bar had cleared out. Their privacy was ensured. She no longer felt the need to lower her voice. Speaking at normal volume she asked, "Well? Do you want my help or no?"
Weighing his options, he quickly decided that he would never have another opportunity as good as this to get rid of his pesky feelings for Buffy. Spike looked Faitlin right in the eye and nodded, knowing he somehow had probably just made a pact with the devil herself, and they both stood. Faitlin walked toward the exit and Spike followed closely behind. As silently as they had both came, they left, neither paying for their drinks.
"What do you want?" He asked the mysterious person.
"I've been watching you." A female's voice answered.
"I noticed. What for?" He snapped.
The figure looked about her and, when no one was watching her, she lowered her hood. Her dark hair, offset by her icy blue eyes, spilled down over her shoulders. Thick and shiny, it waved a little, framing her pale, round face nicely. A large patch was worn over her left eye and practically covered half of her face. Her mouth, though, was completely visible. Sitting below a small rounded nose, her lips were a soft pink, parted slightly in a tiny smile. Her cheeks were pale, a sheen of the whitest skin he'd seen in a long time. Overall, this woman, whom he estimated to be no older than twenty, was beautiful. He found himself staring and would have kept his eyes on hers if not for a glint of silver at her neck that caught his eye. A small shiny rune dangled from a black velvet collar. The rune was carved deeply into a circle of silver in many sharp lines which seemed to bounce off of each other. Finally, the entire symbol was encased in a circle. It almost resembled a pentacle, but was too far off to be mistaken for one. Observing it more, he realized that didn't recognize its origin, so he dismissed it, assuming it was unimportant.
He grew impatient waiting for a response. "I said, what for?"
"I heard you were in the market for a reverse love spell." She said quietly, holding his gaze, her sweet voice throaty, scratchy, sexy.
"You know me?" Spike asked quizzically.
"I know OF you. You're from Sunny Dale. Fallen in love with a Slayer, I hear." She paused, looking at him sternly. "I'd like to help you get rid of this little problem."
"Why?" He asked suspiciously.
"Because that's what it is. A problem. Vampires do not love Slayers. Vampires KILL Slayers. You've killed two yourself." Her tone was condescending. She had a distinct authority in her voice that Spike didn't like. He looked away. When Spike didn't respond, she leaned over the table and continued, changing her tone. This time, she sounded tempting. She wanted the Slayer dead. That much was clear. "Don't you miss it, Spike? The rush? The thrill? Don't you want to kill another?" She whispered.
"Not her."
"You won't feel that way once I'm done with you." She said confidently, perhaps even seductively.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Faitlin." She smiled, then reached up to the eye patch. Slowly pulling it off her face and over her head, she revealed her other eye, made entirely of silver. Still, though, her eye was lined with black thick lashes, and sat under a thin black brow. She was scarred severely, a long line, coming down from the eye, stretched across her cheek to her jaw, roughly an inch away from her ear. Another ran up from her eyebrow to her hairline, deep and red. This was the mark of the Magi.
Immediately recognizing it, he exclaimed softly and in awe, "Magi." He stared a while longer. He'd never been in the presence of a Magi before. They were all powerful witches and warlocks, some from this dimension, others from far off places. Hells, which he would rather not think about, too creepy, even for him. It was told that the Magi were able to waltz through time or dimensional portals whenever it pleased them, make reincarnations look like child's play, and kill a human in a glance. He respected them as he would respect anyone of that stature. Smiling suddenly, he joked, "They really branded you good, didn't they?" Gesturing to her scar.
"Being all powerful isn't as glamorous as they make it out to be." She smiled back. She looked around the now empty bar. The waitress seemed to be in the kitchen and the drunkards at the bar had cleared out. Their privacy was ensured. She no longer felt the need to lower her voice. Speaking at normal volume she asked, "Well? Do you want my help or no?"
Weighing his options, he quickly decided that he would never have another opportunity as good as this to get rid of his pesky feelings for Buffy. Spike looked Faitlin right in the eye and nodded, knowing he somehow had probably just made a pact with the devil herself, and they both stood. Faitlin walked toward the exit and Spike followed closely behind. As silently as they had both came, they left, neither paying for their drinks.