BLOOD REDEMPTION

PROLOGUE: ASHES TO ASHES

Nothing was left but the ashes.

The charred skeletons of the buildings made desolate shadows against the starless sky. No wind blew across the ruins to stir the cinders.

There was a sharp clash of metal as a black boot kicked aside a warped tin sign. Welcome To Sunnydale! The rest of the message had been twisted into illegibility by fire.

"'S all bloody ashes now, isn't it? I shouldn't be here…I'm not supposed to…I should-"

"You can't leave now!" a voice crooned. "We haven't finished our game."

Drusilla gazed into the unreadable expression of Spike. Her hands were on his face as though to keep his attention.

Spike pulled away. He was laughing, a tragic, unbidden sound.

"You're not real," he said, his back turned to her. "None of this is real. I'm not supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to come back."

"Things that aren't real are far lovelier than things that are. Truth is rather like sunshine. At first it's pretty, and then your eyes start to sizzle."

"I have to leave," Spike said, pushing her beckoning hand away from him. "She doesn't know. I don't have time for this. I'm late. Late for the party."

"Well, if I were you, I'd stop yapping and hurry the hell up!"

Surprised by Dru's sudden change of tone (and, even more unsettling, voice), Spike whirled around and saw Glory standing there, wearing a ridiculously glittery red dress and chomping on a piece of gum.

"Cos it's true. It is coming for her. More like waiting, really."

She yawned, blew a pink bubble, and popped it.

"Gotta soul, huh? That's gotta suck."

"It hurts," Spike replied. A flicker of pain clouded over his face and then quickly faded away. "Sodding hell, it hurts. But I'm better now. She thinks I'm better."

Glory gave a high pitched giggle. "You are sooo stupid! You haven't figured it out yet, have ya? She doesn't give a dancin' damn what happens to you. She's a Slayer, and you're, well, a Slayee."

She sat down on a crumbling pillar that might have been a telephone pole once-upon-a-time. She ignored Spike ignoring her.

"Some people are suckers for the whole unrequited love thing. I've never been one of them. Instead of pining under the moonlight, I strangle them with their own spines. I find it just as satisfying."

Spike turned and stared at her blankly over his shoulder. It was like seeing someone dressed in a cheap Halloween costume. Something else, something dark and ancient and hungry, was hiding behind that smug grin.

"You know what I'm talking about, right?" continued Glory, examining her nails. "You used to be a Big Bad. Before you went all effulgent on us."

"That's all over," Spike murmured. "Everything's over."

"You're wrong there!" exclaimed Glory in a completely different voice. Spike looked up. It was Buffy, wearing a white shirt and a pale blue coat. She was kneeling beside him.

"None of it's over. You can move on. You can win. You can blow up the whole town if you want. But every time you turn around, something else'll just be waiting to tear you to shreds."

She smiled. "Pretty funny, huh?"

Spike placed a hand on her shoulder. "Buffy," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "I have to tell you. It's waiting."

"Pfft. You can't help me now." Her grin grew wider. "It'll eat you alive."

Buffy laughed delightedly. Spike buried his face in his hands. The pain in his head was becoming intolerable. The voices came in torrents, lapsing into each other like images in a dream or faces in an old memory.

The ashes rose around him and danced in the thick, smoky air. He looked down at the thirsty ground and began to sing. It was an old song, one that reminded him of blue skies and fires and blood. It was sung in a tuneless way that invited all the voices in his head to join in boundless merriment.

"Oh, don't decieve me, oh, never leave me. How could you use a poor maiden so?"